Courage to Believe

Leanne Karella

COURAGE TO BELIEVE By LEANNE KARELLA www.TitanPress.net 2

COURAGE TO BELIEVE

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COURAGE TO BELIEVE Copyright © 2006 by Leanne Karella ISBN: 1-59836-334-4 Cover art and design © 2006 by Sable Grey All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.TitanPress.net

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Dedication:

For every woman who gives until it hurts but takes nothing in return. Know that you are loved.

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COURAGE TO BELIEVE

Chapter One

Just go in there and get it over with. God, I can’t deal with the rejection again. Yes, you can. Just go in there and get it done. Then I can go crawling home to my sister and tell her she was right. I should never have come to New York. I never should’ve left home. Mary stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall and cringed. How could she go back to Belle and tell her she’d failed? Her sister had warned her that New York was a place that chewed up women like her for lunch. She’d been right. Mary dug into her purse and pulled out her lipstick. Coral--nothing too bright--and smoothed it on. Then she pulled out a tissue and blotted it off. What good would lipstick do when the rest of her looked like a frump? Yeah, Belle had been right. New York was populated with tall, beautiful, size two women. Mary wasn’t a size two, she was closer to a twenty-two. Okay, not quite a twenty-two anymore, but darned close. Who would have thought Sex And The City was an accurate portrayal of life in the Big Apple? And this was her last chance to make it. She’d made it through the pre-interview with the outgoing executive assistant two days ago--a very strange interview it had been-and had been called back for the final interview with him. Mr. Jacob Stone. The owner and CEO of Stone Enterprises. Until last week she’d never heard of the man, which wasn’t surprising considering her lack of knowledge of any business bigger than the mom and pop convenience store she’d worked in since she was sixteen years old. But she’d read up on him before her interview. If Donald Trump was the king of New York, Jacob Stone was the crown prince. According to Forbes, within five years he may even be worth more than Trump himself. This was her last chance. She was out of money and she had to be out of the Y by the end of the week. With only her return bus ticket to Vergennes, Vermont--touted as the third oldest city in the United States, and also the smallest--she had nowhere to go but up. 5

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She had to make it on this one. Taking a deep breath, she prayed for luck. Prayed for a chance with this man. Then, still staring at herself in the mirror, almost turned tail and ran. Who was she kidding? Almost thirty-two years old, fresh out of a small state college, and sixty pounds overweight with flame red hair. What owner of a New York based corporation was going to hire her for the prominent position of executive assistant? The door to Stone Enterprise’s main office swung open and Mrs. Brocton, the outgoing executive assistant who’d done the pre-interview, stuck her head out into the hallway. “There you are, dear. He’s waiting on you.” Mary’s stomach threatened to send back the salad she’d had at lunch. She knew she should have skipped the meal, but the thought of sitting in an interview with her stomach growling had been more of a threat at the time. “Come along, Ms. O’Toole. Mr. Stone doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Mrs. Brocton had to be close to seventy, petite, only five one or two, and had a better figure than most thirty-year-olds Mary knew. “Yes, ma’am,” Mary finally said when she thought her tongue would work. “I’m sorry.” Mrs. Brocton gave her a warm smile and patted her arm. “You’ll do well, Ms. O’Toole. You’re just what he’s been looking for. Come along.” Mary followed her into the spacious outer office, past a long desk with a young, beautiful blonde woman sitting behind it. The windows lining the wall gave a rather dreary view of a gray New York cityscape. The clouds hung so low she couldn’t even see the Empire State Building. The woman at the desk looked up and smiled, then turned back to a stack of papers. Through another door they went, this one leading to Mrs. Brocton’s office. Then in front of her stood the huge, dark wood door that led to Mr. Jacob Stone. She knew this because the gold plaque right there on the mahogany read: Jacob Stone CEO. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she whispered to no one in particular. Mrs. Brocton gave her another smile and this time she could swear there was a bit of pity in the look. At her five foot eight height, Mary felt like a giant--an ogre--next to the beautiful petite woman. Mary swallowed. “I’m okay. Let’s just get this over with so I can go home.” Mrs. Brocton’s smile faltered a bit, but almost immediately returned. She pushed open the door on silent hinges and walked briskly into the office. “Mr. Stone. Ms. O’Toole is here for the interview.” 6

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“Thank you.” His voice was low. Smooth. She’d seen his picture in Forbes, but he was even more handsome in person with a full head of smartly combed back black hair with a sprinkling of gray at the temples. When he looked up from whatever he’d been reading on his desk, Mary was met by startling, deep blue eyes. “Come in. I have another meeting in fifteen minutes.” Mary stepped into the office and casually wiped her right palm on her slacks to make sure it wasn’t moist when she shook his hand. “Have a seat.” Obediently, she lowered herself onto the edge of the comfortable leather chair opposite his desk. Darn it. She should have shaken his hand. Where had all her training gone? She debated standing back up and extending her hand over the wide desk, but that would look utterly stupid at this point. Her heart thudded in her throat and a trickle of sweat slid down between her breasts. “Mrs. Brocton has informed me you are perfect for the position, but, considering the importance of this job, I needed to meet you in person.” He was back to reading from papers on his desk as he spoke. He wore a white dress shirt, and my goodness, his shoulders filled it nicely. He sure didn’t look like most of the businessmen she’d met in the last month. There wasn’t a hint of the two martini lunches she’d noticed on others. His face was chiseled, and, from what she could see of his body behind the desk, the rest of him was the same. Shirt collar open at the throat and no tie in sight. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing lean, tanned forearms. Even his hands looked sexy. But not as sexy as that chest. She’d lay odds, what with the tan and all, that he didn’t get that kind of physique from any gym. “Ms. O’Toole?” She raised her gaze from his chest. Uh oh. She’d missed whatever he said. Her face heated. She hadn’t been thinking of his body that way, she reassured herself. She never thought of a man’s body that way. Not for a very long time, anyway. And certainly not Jacob Stone, one of the richest men in America. Clearing her throat, she tried to remember what he’d said, but her brain had turned the consistency of oatmeal. Cooked, soggy oatmeal. Maybe it was the pollution. Growing up in Hicksville, Vermont, she hadn’t inhaled so much car exhaust in her life, and she’d been breathing unsanitary New York air for almost a month. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone, what did you say?” His even black brows furrowed slightly, but his voice remained steadily unaffected as he said, “I asked if you could start today.” 7

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“I...uh...” Today? This kind of thing didn’t happen. Certainly not to her. “Yes?” her voice squeaked. “You don’t know?” “I mean yes, sir. I’m sorry. You caught me off guard. Of course I can start today.” Like she’d throw away the chance of a job with the illustrious Jacob Stone! “Thank God,” she thought she heard him mutter, but couldn’t be sure. He shuffled the papers on his desk. “Mrs. Brocton will call for the car.” He paused and looked up with those bluer than blue eyes. “Do you have your own transportation, Ms. O’Toole?” She shook her head. “That’s fine. My driver will be at your disposal most of the time, for any errands you might need to run.” He put the papers in a manila file folder. She glimpsed her name on the top one, but it wasn’t her resume. “As I was saying, Mrs. Brocton will call for the car. Angelina arrives home from school sharply at three-thirty. One hour of play time, then one hour of homework. Be sure to spend extra time on the math, she seems to be struggling lately.” He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and drew out a blue tie. Silk, if she wasn’t mistaken. The exact shade as his eyes. He flipped up the collar of his shirt, did up the buttons and began tying the tie. “Dinner on the table at six. I try to make it home in time to eat with her, but if I don’t, don’t wait on me. Her bedtime is eight-thirty.” He stood up and rolled down his shirtsleeves as he walked to a door on the paneled wall. It was a closet and he drew out a black jacket that matched the black slacks he wore. As he put it on, fabric drew tight against his wide, sculpted chest, and his pants hung from narrow hips. Mary had never seen a living work of art before. Until now. “Tomorrow morning over breakfast we’ll go over the rest of the particulars.” “Breakfast?” Mary blurted out. Since when did executive secretaries have breakfast with their bosses? He gave a brisk nod as he checked his cuffs. “I leave the house at exactly seven forty-five. Breakfast is at seven. Angelina leaves for school at eight-thirty, so you can see that she’s dressed and has a lunch packed after I leave.” Mary’s right temple began to throb. Who was Angelina and why was Mary getting her dressed for school? And packing her lunch? Mr. Stone came back toward the desk and picked up his briefcase from the floor, set it on the desk and opened it. Finally he looked up, probably wondering why she was sitting there like a lump. Confusion swamped her and she didn’t know what to do, what 8

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to say. She’d been given a job by Jacob Stone, but it obviously wasn’t as his executive assistant. “Is there a problem, Ms. O’Toole?” Think fast, she silently commanded herself. Real fast. “How much does this job pay? Mrs. Brocton didn’t go over that in the pre-interview,” she added, hoping she didn’t sound like the uncultured idiot she felt like. “Seven-fifty a week.” He placed some files in his briefcase. “Plus room and board, of course. Sundays and alternate Saturdays off.” Her quick mind did the calculations, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that if she didn’t have to pay rent in New York City, seven-fifty a week was way more take home pay than she’d ever see as his secretary. Whatever the heck this job was, she was on it! Mr. Stone clicked his briefcase closed and hefted it off the desk. “I have a meeting.” He pointedly glanced at his watch. “If you have any immediate questions, Mrs. Brocton can help you. Otherwise, we’ll speak in the morning.” “I...” Oh, she had questions all right. Mrs. Brocton’s strange questions during the interview were falling into place. Questions like, did she like children? Did she cook? Had she ever run a household before? Silly Mary had thought it was some kind of corporate personality test. He raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. He didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. He’d hired her, but he didn’t look happy about it. “Thank you, Mr. Stone.” Mary rose from the chair and finally got the chance to extend her hand across the desk. “I look forward to working with you.” He took her hand in a firm, no-nonsense shake. Mary was shocked to feel slight calluses. Definitely not the typical businessman. His skin was warm. Dry. A quick shiver ran up her arm. My goodness he was potent. No wonder he commanded so much respect from those who worked for him. Those who wanted to be him. “Fine, then,” he said as he headed for the door. He held it open and let her precede him into Mrs. Brocton’s office. “Mrs. Brocton, please call Sam to bring the car around front.” “Of course, Mr. Stone,” Mrs. Brocton said, looking up from her desk. “Anything else, sir?” “Pray this meeting goes better than the last.” He then turned toward Mary, gave a stiff nod, and left the office. “So, I take it he hired you?” Mrs. Brocton said quietly. She had the good sense to look slightly sheepish, her fair skin even flushed slightly. 9

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Biting back the annoyed retort on the tip of her tongue, Mary nodded, then asked calmly, “Would you please tell me what job I was just hired for?” Mrs. Brocton’s face lit up with that warm, gentle smile and she reached across her desk, lifting a picture from the corner. “You’re to be nanny to Jacob’s seven-year-old daughter, Angelina.” Mary took the picture from the woman and studied it. Jacob Stone sat stiffly, with an even stiffer smile on his lips, as if he didn’t smile often and wasn’t comfortable with the action. On his lap sat the prettiest little girl Mary had ever seen. Long golden curls hung over her shoulders and bright blue eyes, the same color as her father’s, glinted with mischievous humor. Even her grin, with her two front teeth missing, was beautiful. Mary’s heart melted on the spot and she hadn’t met the girl yet. Longings she’d set aside in order to further her future resurfaced and brought the quick sting of tears to her eyes. Blinking rapidly, she handed the picture back to Mrs. Brocton. “I see,” Mary said softly. “And cook, too, I suppose?” Mrs. Brocton set the picture back on the corner of the desk. “Yes. And light cleaning. But he has a maid service come in twice a week to do the deep cleaning,” she rushed to say. Mary swallowed. Her right temple thumped and that annoying pinch returned to her stomach. “Tell me,” Mary said, taking the seat in front of Mrs. Brocton’s desk. “Does this job come with medical benefits?” She knew she needed to see a doctor, but she’d not been able to afford one in a very long time. She was past due for a physical and these odd pains were starting to worry her. Mrs. Brocton sat down behind her desk. “Oh, my yes. After the thirty-day probation period you will get full medical, dental and optical. And an option to join the retirement plan.” The twinge in her stomach kicked up a notch as her heart thumped with excitement. Seven-fifty a week. No rent. Full medical. Retirement plan. This was all too good to be true. And, she wouldn’t have to work in a stuffy office. That was the best news she’d gotten in a very long time. Two years. That’s all it would take, just two years and she’d have enough saved up to go to the art school. Heck, with this job, and the lack of bills to be paid, she’d even get that trip to Paris she’d spent her whole life dreaming of. “Vacation,” she blurted out. Mrs. Brocton chuckled. “Two weeks a year, paid.” 10

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“Oh, my goodness.” Tears again. Mary blinked and glanced off to the side, hoping she didn’t break down right here and now. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She had to. She had to know why. “Mrs. Brocton, I applied for your job.” The lady patted her perfectly coifed hair and flushed again. “Yes. Well.” She fidgeted with a gold pen on her desk. “I’d prefer if you didn’t mention that little detail to Jacob.” Mary’s eyes widened. “I mean...” Mrs. Brocton folded her hands on the desk and leaned over slightly, then said in an almost conspiratorial tone, “I’ve been interviewing for a nanny for three weeks, ever since the last one walked out, and you...you were just what I’ve been looking for.” A frown pulled Mary’s brows together. “I don’t understand.” With a smile, Mrs. Brocton leaned back in her chair. “You’re too sweet for the corporate world, Ms. O’Toole. You seem to me more the mothering type than the kicking butt type. And little Angelina needs someone soft in her life.” “I’m not soft.” Offended by the little woman’s words, Mary straightened in the chair. She’d spent years building her backbone, finally getting strong enough to stand up for herself and pursue the life she wanted, not the one her sister and good for nothing husband had wanted her to lead. Ex-husband, she silently amended. Mrs. Brocton’s sugary sweet smile was getting rather annoying. “Ms. O’Toole. Answer me honestly. Do you want to be Mr. Stone’s executive secretary, or his daughter’s nanny?” Mary stared at Mrs. Brocton and saw, for the first time, what the woman was seeing. She wasn't cut out for executive life. She might have grown a backbone in the past couple of years, but she wasn’t vicious. From what she’d seen, a person needed to have a little venom to get ahead here. And she didn’t have the look, either. Even Mrs. Brocton, who was at least twice Mary’s age, was probably no more than a size five. She almost groaned with the final realization that she just plain didn’t fit in. And never would. Not that she hadn’t known it before now, but this was the first time anyone had actually said the words to her. “Why’d the last nanny quit?” With a sigh, Mrs. Brocton picked up her pen to fiddle with it again. Mary thought that a corporate woman would be better at hiding her guilty conscience.

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“Mr. Stone likes things his way. If they’re not his way, he lets you know.” She reached into the top drawer of the desk and drew out a sheaf of papers. “This is the schedule he’s lined out. He likes things kept...timely.” Mary took the papers from her and scanned it. “My goodness.” Mrs. Brocton nodded. “He’s a very punctual man.” “Anything else I should know?” “He’s a widower, but I’m sure you already know that.” Mary nodded, not wanting to look dumb even though she hadn’t known. Forbes hadn’t mentioned it in his financial statistics. Nor had it mentioned that he had a daughter. “He was very attached to his wife, as he is his daughter. And his mother for that matter. He tends to put the women in his life on a very high pedestal, so it would be best if you need to discuss Angelina with him, that you are extremely diplomatic about it.” Oedipus complex? “His mother, Eunice Stone, takes Angelina every other Saturday. Those would be your Saturdays off.” “All right.” Mrs. Brocton handed her a business card from a little dispenser on the desk. “This is my direct line. If you have any questions, please feel free to call.” “Thank you.” Mary didn’t know what else to say. Part of her was annoyed that Mrs. Brocton had pulled the old switcheroo with her application, but on the other hand, this job was so much more up her alley. So much for two years of studying and her newly acquired degree. “I’ll call Sam to pick you up,” Mrs. Brocton said as she picked up the phone. Mary had assumed the “car” would be a limousine, but instead she was greeted just outside the doors of the office building by the man named Sam, and a silver Rolls Royce Phantom. “Good day, Ms. O’Toole,” Sam said, bowing slightly, his neatly cropped gray hair blowing in the chilly breeze as he held the back door open. She gave a tentative smile and carefully seated herself inside the car. The scent of leather and...Jacob Stone assaulted her senses. During their meeting, she hadn’t consciously taken notice of his subtle cologne, but now it surrounded her. She reached for the seatbelt and clicked it around her as Sam slipped behind the wheel. The ride wasn’t long, and part of her wondered why she couldn’t have walked. Just a few blocks and they pulled under the awning of another extraordinarily tall building. 12

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Then again, there weren’t many buildings in this section of Manhattan that weren’t huge, she thought as Sam rounded the car and opened the door for her. Belatedly, she remembered to undo the seatbelt then stepped out, snatching her purse and the sheaf of instructions off the seat. “Do you have personal belongings I might fetch for you?” She hadn’t noticed his slight English accent before. Mary shook her head. It was getting on toward two-thirty and there wasn’t time to go all the way to the Y and back before Jacob’s daughter got home. “Would it be all right to go tomorrow?” Sam gave a slight nod, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Here are the keys to the penthouse and the security code.” He pulled a business card from another pocket and handed it to her. “And this is my cell phone number, should you need anything. Mr. Stone has instructed me to be at your disposal.” Frowning, Mary thanked him. Where did this man live? Could she call him any time day or night? How much did Jacob pay him to be at her disposal? Rich people were strange. Wasn’t she capable of hailing a taxi? She’d done it a total of three times since she arrived in New York, and she was proud at how efficient she was getting at it. She turned away from the safety of the gorgeous silver car and headed up the steps to the front doors of the building. A doorman bowed slightly, bid her a good afternoon, “Ma’am,” and opened the door for her. “Holy cow,” she whispered on a rush of breath. Marble and mirrors covered every surface. Black marble floors, white marble walls, all polished to a gleam. The bank of elevators stood directly in front of her. Off to the side was a security desk. Behind the desk, two uniformed guards stood, staring at her. Mary ripped open the envelope Sam had given her and pulled out the keys and the slip of paper with the security code on it. She headed for the elevator. “Can we help you, ma’am?” The older of the two guards asked. “I’m going to Jacob Stone’s...” she glanced at the paper in her hand, “…penthouse. I’m the new nanny.” “Ms. O’Toole?” the younger one asked, and his stern expression softened slightly when she nodded. He stepped around the desk and escorted her to the elevator, then pushed the call button. “You’ll need the key to access the penthouse.” “Um,” she held up the two keys, “I’ve never done this before. Needed a key for an elevator, that is.” The handsome young man gave her an indulgent smile and slipped the key from her fingers as the elevator doors silently opened. He stepped inside, motioning for her to 13

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follow, and then he showed her where to slide the key in next to the PH button then press the button. He even rode up with her. Were rich people helpless, she wondered, that they needed to be waited on hand and foot like this? She supposed so. Pampered and rich. She’d always wondered what that might be like. Though, after such a tiny taste of it, she was sure it would get annoying real fast. The doors opened onto a marbled foyer with lush green plants and a domed skylight in the ceiling a good twenty feet above. “How many floors up are we?” she asked. “The penthouse is the fifty-first floor of the JA Stone Tower. I hope you are comfortable here.” The guard, whose nametag read Brent Harcort, walked across the foyer and slipped the second key into the lock of the only door. He pushed the door open, turned toward her, gave a slight bow, and then handed the keys back to her. “Have a good day, Ms. O’Toole. If you need anything, please feel free to ring the desk. Star six on any phone.” She thanked him and he disappeared into the elevator. The JA Stone Tower. She hadn’t realized Jacob had his own tower. But why not? His assets were outstanding. He probably owned a couple of them. Holy shit, she thought with a twinge of panic as she stared at the door to her new home. At least for a little while. Maybe until JA Stone realized she was a fraud and didn’t know the first thing about being a nanny. She worked for a multi million--no--billionaire. The man could buy and sell people. He probably did just that. Her breathing shortened and she laid a hand over her chest, trying to calm her pounding heart. A pain twinged just below her ribs. Damn it, she didn’t need this now. Rubbing her fingers against her diaphragm, she stepped toward the looming white door. She’d be okay, she reassured herself. Mrs. Brocton had liked her well enough. And she knew about children. She had three hellion nephews she could control when she had to, didn’t she? An only child couldn’t be so bad. At least there wouldn’t be any sibling rivalry. No punching and hitting. Then again, Mary thought as she carefully pushed the door open further, she was probably spoiled rotten and let the world know it. “Oh, God,” she groaned as she stepped into the penthouse. “Oh, no.” She couldn’t take it all in at once. The spacious room, the expensive furniture, the rugs she was sure were antiques. The wall of windows that overlooked Central Park. Crystal, silver, brass and glass gleamed in the dull afternoon light. How was she to live in a place like this and not break something? And she had to clean it, too? 14

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She dropped her purse and papers and covered her face, trying desperately to block out the beautiful apartment. She’d never dreamt of living in a place like this. Not ever. It was too...much. Too posh. Too expensive. She’d grown up in a tiny two-bedroom home in the country. Even after her marriage, up until a month ago, she’d lived in that same house. She was out of her league. In way over her head.

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Chapter Two

Pull yourself together, woman. Mary dropped her hands to her sides and took another look at the room in front of her. Yes, it was big. Yes, it was richly furnished. But this is just a job, she reminded herself. A job. Taking a deep breath, her jangled nerves settled a smidgen and the pain in her gut subsided. She’d only worked one job her entire life, though. Since age fourteen, until two years ago when she started school in Burlington, she worked for Pop Anderson in Anderson’s Hardware and Sundry, then later at Anderson’s grocery. “You ain’t in Kansas anymore, Mary.” Burlington’s population, huge compared to Vergennes, would fit within a couple New York City blocks. With another calming breath, she kicked off the toe-pinching, low-heeled dress shoes. The floor was hardwood, and she had no clue what it took to scuff it. She didn’t want to take any chances. Reaching for her fallen purse and list of rules, she scanned the regulations and timetables Mrs. Brocton had given her. She decided the first thing to do was make supper, and pray they wouldn’t expect something fancy-schmancy. Her culinary skills leaned toward wholesome country fare, not gourmet frou-frou. Of course, it seemed the one thing not on the list was a menu. Taking a quick tour through what she would call the living room, all she could do was shake her head. Who lived like this? Though beautiful, it looked like a museum. The sofa was soft beige leather. The coffee table smoked glass and brass. The chandelier overhead was probably real crystal. A wet bar on one side, a really huge television on the other, and then there was that wall of windows. An entire wall. Ten feet tall and easily thirty feet wide. Tentatively she stepped toward the glass and peered out over the city. Her tummy took a nosedive and she stepped back. Ugh. Enough of that. She found a bathroom. A sink and toilet set in a space half the size of the bedroom she’d slept in all her life. White marble accented by gold fixtures gleamed. 16

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The dining room was a showpiece. Another chandelier, as big as the one in the living room, took center stage. Again with the windows, she thought, and stepped to the other side of the eight foot long cherry wood table. Probably an antique. A sideboard of the same wood took up the wall opposite the windows. On the other side of the dining room was the kitchen. It was big enough for a restaurant. But a whole lot prettier than any restaurant she’d been in. Dark granite countertops, stainless steel appliances. The fridge alone had to be big enough to hold an entire side of beef. There was an indoor grill set up in the enormous island, with copper pots hanging from a rack above. Now this was a room she would enjoy spending time in. Cooking was one thing she did well, and this room was a chef’s dream. She went to the fridge and pulled open the door. A pitcher of milk, some fruits and vegetables, bottles of salad dressing and other condiments. About five kinds of mustards. She found a pack of sliced turkey and some Cheese, but definitely not enough to make a meal. After closing the fridge, she set the papers and her purse on a counter and made a circuit of the room. Of the several doors off the kitchen, one led to a small sitting room. She flicked on the light switch. This place looked cozy, with a fireplace and a normal sized television. Books lined one wall and there wasn’t a window in sight. No overhead lighting, just a couple of well-placed lamps. Another door led to yet another small sitting room. This one was too sterile, even smelled of pine cleaner. Icy blue rug and white upholstered furniture. How many sitting rooms did one person need? Finally she found the pantry, but it wasn’t like any she’d ever seen before. It was almost as big as one of the aisles at Anderson Grocery. The walls were lined with shelves filled with boxes and cans and bags of...everything. Jeesh, things she’d never heard of. Who would have thought there was a gourmet brand of white flour? At least flour she recognized. First thing on tomorrow’s to-do list, after she picked up her bags from the Y, would be to get a cookbook. Did the bookstores sell something titled Cooking for the Rich and Famous? Or better yet, Cooking With Food Normal People Wouldn’t Touch. “Let’s see,” she said, needing some kind of noise. The place was too big. Too quiet. She took the flour off the shelf, and a box of bowtie noodles. Looked like mac and cheese for supper, because she had no idea where the meat might be located. Over breakfast in the morning, she’d get Jacob to give her a list of foods he liked to eat, and then hope she could figure out how to make them. Mrs. Brocton should have asked what she knew how to cook, not if she knew how to cook. 17

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Mary set the flour and noodles on the counter, then pulled the block of cheese from the fridge. Even that looked too expensive. Why would this cheese be any better than the good old Kraft brand? She shook her head, totally confounded by...everything. If she were rich, she’d live up in Maine. Maybe somewhere around Bar Harbor. She’d been there once many, many years ago with her parents and always remembered how absolutely beautiful it was. The harbor, the shops along the main street. And ohhh, the lobster dinners. If she were rich, she’d have a pretty little cottage, just four or five rooms. A sunny kitchen and a cozy den to sit and read. A huge fireplace for chilly winter nights, and a tree-lined back yard with a greenhouse and garden for the summer. She sure as hell wouldn’t live in a museum, surrounded by ancient, priceless artifacts, afraid to breathe too hard for fear of knocking something over. “Hello?” The voice was harsh, cold. Bitter. And female. Mary’s heart stuttered for an instant as she realized she’d forgotten to close the front door. Then again, a person needed a key just to get to the foyer outside the door. “I’m going to call security if you don’t show yourself.” Sharp heels clicked on the hardwood as the woman neared the kitchen. Mary wondered if this might be Jacob Stone’s significant other. Though he hadn’t mentioned there would be a woman in the house and neither had Mrs. Brocton. “I’m in the kitchen,” she managed to call out. Why she felt like a naughty child with her hands in the cookie jar, she couldn’t say. But she felt like she was doing something bad just by being in this apartment. The door swung inward and there stood the most imposing woman Mary had ever laid eyes on. Not in size, but in presence. She wore a beige skirt and jacket over a black silk blouse. But it was the eyes that shot straight through Mary. Icy blue. Glacial. Combined with the white-blonde hair and pale skin, thin face and bony hands, she looked like a walking corpse. Mary shivered. “You must be the new nanny.” Her face hadn’t changed its stoic expression, but Mary could hear the sneer in her voice. Disgust. “Yes. I am. Mary O’Toole.” She stood a bit straighter and asked, “Who might you be?” The woman stopped in the doorway, as if loath to set one toe into the kitchen. Diamonds sparkled at her ears, on her fingers, at her throat. Mary felt like a frump, even though she wore her best business suit. 18

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“Eunice Stone. Jacob’s mother. He told me he had a new nanny, but...” Her voice trailed off and one manicured eyebrow rose slightly, as if in question. Mary didn’t have any clue what that question might be, so she stood silently and waited for Eunice to say more. Silence stretched to a full minute as Eunice so deliberately sized her up. Mary wanted to cower under the woman’s frigid gaze, but she stood tall. Inside she quaked like a frightened puppy, but she knew this was one woman who would chew her up and spit her out if one sign of weakness ever showed. Finally Eunice broke the silence. “What are your qualifications?” This time Mary raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Stone hired me. He has seen my resume.” The woman’s jaw ticked once, the only sign of her annoyance. “I see.” No, I don’t think you see, old lady. Mary let out a slow, calming breath. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have supper to attend to.” My goodness, didn’t that sound snobbish? She tamped down the giggle wiggling its way up her throat. Eunice stood in the doorway for another long moment. Her cheeks flushed a little. Mary knew she’d ticked the lady off, but at this point, she really didn’t care. If Eunice went crying to her son about her bad behavior, then maybe Jacob would fire her, and she’d finally be able to go home. The starch went out of her at that thought. She didn’t have a home any longer. Not anywhere. So damned sure of herself and her ability to secure a job in New York, she’d sold the house before she left Vergennes. Stupid Mary. So excited to finally be on her own, away from the small town rumor mill that had shredded her during and after her divorce. She’d vowed to never return. But she disliked New York even more. Dealing with small-minded rich people was a million times worse than facing narrow-minded, small-town folks. Now the money was gone, and here she was. Stuck. When Mary looked up, Eunice was gone. Thank goodness. Mrs. Brocton’s words about Jacob’s mother being put on a pedestal returned to her, and she wondered if there was more to the woman than met the eye. He must love the woman. That was a given. She was his mother after all. Maybe it was only Mary that made her look like she’d swallowed a cow pie. But those eyes. Mary shivered. She couldn’t believe that those eyes looked on anyone with warmth and love. Mary glanced at her watch. 3:15. Mac and cheese didn’t take more than a half hour to prepare, so she didn’t need to start cooking yet. Picking up the list of dos, don’ts and schedules, Mary began to read. 19

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Exactly fifteen minutes later, Mary heard Eunice’s strident voice again. She set her instruction manual aside and headed back through the dining room toward the living room. “Yes, Grandmother,” a young voice said. “I have math and spelling to practice tonight.” “Then you’d best be off to it.” “But, I--” “Angelina,” Eunice warned in a threatening tone. Mary stepped from the dining room. “Hi,” she said softly and smiled at Angelina. The girl was even more beautiful than her picture. Her long blonde hair was up in two ponytails and her big blue eyes sparkled with tears. There was no mistaking the private school uniform of navy skirt and knee-high white socks below her heavy winter coat. Angelina swallowed and glanced from Mary to her grandmother. “The new nanny?” Mary nodded and stepped toward her. “Let me help you off with your backpack and jacket, and then you can go change into your play clothes.” “Angelina does her homework before she plays,” Eunice informed her in a whip-like voice. “Well, now,” Mary said as she gently tugged the backpack from Angelina’s shoulders, “Mr. Stone’s instructions say one hour of play time before one hour of homework time.” She waited for Angelina to unzip her coat before taking it, too. “So, I think we should follow your dad’s schedule, don’t you?” Angelina’s smile was a little wobbly, a lot weary as she glanced at her grandmother again. “Go ahead, Angel,” Mary said softly. Angelina rushed off without a backward glance, probably fearing her grandmother’s wrath. Mary had that tome on the counter with the schedule all written out. She had it in writing that Jacob let his kid play after school. Eunice turned on her with those dead eyes and pointy cheekbones, now flushed with color. Mary had definitely slapped the grizzly in the nose. “How dare you.” Mary took a deep breath and waited for the yelling to commence. She’d been shouted at and berated by the best of them, and this woman was nothing to her. If she didn’t establish herself here and now, she never would. And if Mr. Jacob Stone didn’t like Mommy Dearest being riled, then he’d best fire her today. 20

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Eunice didn’t shout, though. In fact, with a look of perfect decorum and breeding she smoothed her skirt then folded her arms over her middle. “She is my granddaughter. You are the nanny. The nanny takes orders from her employer. When Jacob is not here, I am your employer.” Mary’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. No one had told her that anyone but Jacob would be her boss. She wasn’t sure she could take orders from Eunice. Everything inside her wanted to rebel, which was strange because Mary didn’t normally rebel against anyone in a position of authority. Maybe it was Mrs. Brocton’s words from earlier. Angelina needed some softness in her life. If Eunice was the woman who normally took care of Angelina in Jacob’s absences, then Mrs. Brocton had hit the nail squarely on the head. Indignation bubbled up inside Mary and she had to tamp it down. Every little girl needed kindness and warmth. Love and hugs. Hugging Eunice would be like hugging one of the marble walls. Cold and stiff. “Mrs. Stone,” Mary began, keeping her voice low and even, “Mr. Stone gave me a very thorough schedule. It plainly states that Angelina is to have one hour of playtime before one hour of homework. Then it’s time for her to get ready for supper. Supper is between six and seven. Then she may watch one half hour of television, then one hour of reading, and then it’s time for bed. As long as I am the nanny, I will follow Mr. Stone’s schedule. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with him.” Mary wanted to shrivel under Eunice’s glare, but she forced herself to stand tall and firm. Eunice turned on a pointed heel and stalked to the door. “I shall return for supper at six.” When the door shut silently behind Eunice, Mary’s shoulders sagged with relief. She’d have just over two hours of getting-to-know-you time with Angelina before Scary Lady returned. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t try to get to know the little girl. By sixfifteen she’d probably be out of a job. Jacob wondered why men from out of town wanted to conduct business meetings here. Dakinis was one of New York’s elite gentlemen’s clubs. Multi-million dollar deals went on at the tables, three hundred dollar a shot whisky was consumed like water, and the animal-masked strippers regularly received room keys to the Astoria, the Plaza, or the Four Seasons as tips.

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It made him sick. Seventy-five percent of the men he did business with were married. Of that, fifty percent solicited company for the evening. Did marriage mean nothing to them? Tonight he sat with Blaine Houser, an oil baron from Texas. Fifty years old with six children and a lovely wife of over twenty years waiting back home in Houston. On his lap sat a long-legged blonde wearing a tiger mask, a g-string, and nothing else. His tie loose, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and a fat cigar chomped between his teeth, he palmed the woman’s right breast even as he spoke of the land Jacob was interested in. Jacob wished he could leave this place. The smell of alcohol, cigars and perfume made his stomach roil and the filet mignon he’d eaten for supper an hour before threatened to return on him. But he wanted that land. Fifty acres just outside Houston. Untouched. Blaine had held that land close since he inherited it from his father nearly thirty years ago. It was finally on the auction block, and Jacob vowed to be the highest bidder. Even if it meant sitting here watching an old man get his jollies with a girl half his age. Old man. Hell. Blaine Houser was only ten years his senior. Jacob sat back in the velvet-cushioned bench and sighed. There was nothing like the chase of a good deal. The lure of unbroken earth to make his blood rush. But damned if he wasn’t getting tired of it, too. He glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. He always liked to be home for the eleven o’clock news. He wasn’t going to make it tonight. As Blaine rambled on about the virtues of the property he was offering--all of which Jacob knew, had researched for over a month--he wondered how the nanny had gotten along with Angelina and his mother. Then he wondered what kind of report he was going to receive first thing in the morning from his mother about the nanny. Damned if he couldn’t remember the woman’s name. Something Irish, to match that fiery hair and sparkling green eyes. O...O’Connor or O’Leary or...O’something. Jacob nodded when appropriate, but wondered if his response even mattered. Blaine had consumed more than a few shots of whisky and probably wouldn’t notice if Jacob got up and left. Not that he’d take the chance of offending him, but the idea did have merit. Blaine’s key to his room at the Plaza had already been passed to and accepted by tigerlady. With any luck he’d call it a night soon. Though, that was perhaps wishful thinking. Most men Jacob knew didn’t leave the club until last call. Why couldn’t it be like in his grandfather’s time? Business was conducted at the country club before supper. Grandfather was never out past nine p.m., but if he was, 22

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Granna was with him. There might have been a bit too much alcohol consumed, even during prohibition, but family came first. Not so anymore. Money came first. Money and power. And his little girl was at home, alone, with a woman she’d met only this afternoon. Son of a bitch. Even if he didn’t bed whores, he wasn’t a whole lot better than Blaine Houser and the men of his ilk. Jacob realized Blaine’s raspy voice had stopped. The burly man had his face pressed between tiger-lady’s breasts. He took that as his cue to escape and make it home before the late news ended. Standing, he laid a hundred on the low table between them. “Mr. Houser, I’ll see you in the morning in my office?” Blaine latched on to one nipple with his lips, glanced up at Jacob then gave a slight nod before returning to his feast. A shiver of disgust ran through Jacob as he beat a hasty retreat toward the door and his waiting car. Sam held the door open for him. With a disgusted huff at himself, Jacob settled into the cool leather. Maybe it was time to pull back from the business. Find something less time consuming to occupy him. Something that would let him spend more time at home with Angelina and away from the men he was coming to loath doing business with. Jacob let himself into his silent apartment and sighed with relief that he was home. He shut the door, turned the deadbolt and headed straight for the bar, where he poured himself two fingers of sherry from a crystal decanter. He stripped off his overcoat and tossed it on the sofa, kicked off his shoes, jerked the knot from his tie and began undoing the buttons of his shirt as he headed through the dining room. As he sipped the smooth alcohol, its warmth spreading through him, some of the tension in his neck and shoulders eased. Below the windows, Central Park was a dark space on an otherwise shimmering world. An orange glow reflected off the low, clouded sky. Jacob stopped to admire the view for a long moment. He’d once loved New York. As a young man overseas, he’d missed it with all his heart. Now it was like an anchor around his neck. His duty. Always duty. The sherry turned sour in his stomach, and he set the empty glass on the table before heading to his rooms. The light was on over the stove in the kitchen and he flipped it off 23

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as he passed through. As he stepped into the darkened sitting room, he heard a noise and froze. A soft breath. A bit of a purr. He didn’t own a cat. He was allergic to them. His nose twitched with an itch at even the thought of a cat in the house. He reached for the wall switch and slapped on the light. The nanny lay in the easy chair. The soft kitten-like purr came from her lips. Something soft and warm moved within him at the sight of her curled up in his chair, her red hair mussed and her cheeks pink, the knitted throw from the back of the sofa, one his grandmother had made, tucked around her shoulders. The soft warmth cooled and congealed inside him. She’d probably been waiting up for him in order to tender her resignation. Why were these women so afraid of a little hard work? And how hard was it to watch over a well mannered seven year old and do a little light cooking and cleaning? As he approached the sleeping woman, he noticed the dark smudges below her auburn eyelashes. Freckles powdered her nose. Her skin was pale, except for the warm pinkness in her cheeks. O’Toole, he remembered suddenly. And something sweet for a first name. Made him think of warm chocolate chip cookies. Mary. That was it. Mary O’Toole. She’d looked like a skittish rabbit as she’d sat in his office. After the wide variety of nannies that had gone through this apartment in the past seven years, he’d wondered how one that looked so...bruisable could make it. Obviously she hadn’t if she was sitting in his favorite chair, waiting for him to come home. “Ms. O’Toole,” he called softly. The purring abruptly ceased. Her eyes snapped open and her mouth opened to scream. He clamped his hand over her mouth. “It’s Jacob Stone. Don’t be afraid.” Her eyes were wide and filled with terror, her breathing shallow and harsh, hot on his hand. Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall. Jeezus, he hadn’t meant to send her into cardiac arrest. Lowering his hand from her mouth, he hunkered down next to the chair. “It’s okay, Ms. O’Toole. Don’t scream. You’ll wake Angelina.” She swallowed. Blinked back the tears. Stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. 24

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Skittish as a rabbit, he thought again. Damn. She would never do. Yet... Something inside him softened again as he gazed into those bright green eyes. The color of spring. Of laughter. Of warmth. She blinked and the fear was gone. The transformation in her was instantaneous and rather amazing to watch. She went from terror to mortification in an instant. Her eyes widened again, but not in fear. In embarrassment. Her slightly pink cheeks turned a deep rose and her gaze slid from his. She scrambled from the chair, taking the afghan with her. “Mr. Stone,” she muttered as she haphazardly folded the blanket. “I’m sorry. I...uh...fell asleep.” Jacob’s lip twitched. He stood and took the blanket from her shaky fingers. She took a step backward, bumped into the hearth and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her. “I...well...um...” Her gaze darted around the room as if trying to remember why she was there. Crazy, he thought, he wanted to calm her. Maybe it was because she was so very different than the other nannies. She was soft spoken. He didn’t know her, but he’d bet that her name fit her. Sweetness. “Ms. O’Toole, is there something you wish to discuss with me this evening?” “Yes.” She quit fidgeting with the hem of her pink blouse and looked back up at him. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to sleep.” His lip twitched again. It might have been a smile trying to form, but he couldn’t be sure. “Your rooms are on the other side of the kitchen. Didn’t Angelina show you?” Mary shook her head. Wild burnished curls bounced against her cheek. “Your mother, I mean, Mrs. Stone was here until her bedtime.” A frown puckered her brow. “Is she my boss?” “Who?” “Your mother--er, Mrs. Stone.” “No.” The puckered brow smoothed and a soft smile spread over Mary’s face. His gut clenched. When she smiled, it was a whole new her. And that sweetness practically oozed from her. “Is there anything else?” “Um...” “Did all go well tonight?” he prompted. Smile faltering, she shrugged. “I’m not sure.” 25

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“Explain.” Her widened gaze snapped up to his and he realized that last word had come out harsher than intended. But his daughter’s well being was at stake, there was no time for uncertainty. “Mrs. Stone said that noodles and cheese were not suitable supper fare. Then she had food delivered. I made the noodles and cheese because I couldn’t find any meat, and you didn’t leave me a menu to follow. I don’t know what you want me to feed Angel. And then I...never mind, that’s not important.” She shook her head and all he could do was stare at the springy curls. She called his daughter Angel. He frowned. Her name was Angelina. He opened his mouth to say as much, but she kept talking. “I do believe you will receive a very poor report about my behavior from Mrs. Stone. She seemed very displeased with me even though I was following your instructions to the letter.” He wanted to touch her hair to see what it felt like. Was it soft or coarse? Did it hold warmth? “Mr. Stone?” “Follow my instructions. I will speak with my mother. I’m sorry I forgot to give you the number of the butcher shop. We will discuss the menu in the morning.” He needed her to go away. Get out of his space. There was something dangerous about her. Something warm and inviting. And very scary to a man who’d spent the last seven years alone. Someone who enjoyed being alone. Mary’s head tilted a bit to the side as she looked up at him. Her brow furrowed once more. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Stone?” He tossed the blanket on the sofa and turned his back on her. Her voice was low and smooth, like hundred-year-old single malt whisky. Damn, he wanted a drink all of a sudden. “I assure you I am fine, Ms. O’Toole.” When he was far enough away that he couldn’t reach out and touch her, he turned back. “But I am not your concern. Only Angelina.” Her gaze lowered to the floor and she muttered, “Yes, sir,” before turning toward the door. And that made him feel like the lowest slime on earth. She’d offered her concern, and he’d made her retreat even further. “Ms. O’Toole.” She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned toward him. “Yes, sir?” 26

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He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words stuck in his throat. She was nothing but an employee, after all. “Seven o’clock sharp.” She gave a single nod. “Yes, sir.”

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Chapter Three

Bang. Bang. Bang. Mary dragged her eyelids open and stared at the white ceiling above the bed. Bang! Bang! Bang! Her gaze drifted toward the door, past the powder blue crown molding and the ivy vine painted on the stark white wall. “Ms. O’Toole. I’m coming in.” Through the haze of half sleep, Mary yawned. Jacob was coming in. She tried to focus, but she felt drugged. The bed was so very soft, and the fluffy quilt, warm. She snuggled down another inch. The door swung open and there stood Jacob Stone. Tall, powerful, hands on hips and a scowl dark enough to scare the meanest of men. A lazy smile tipped her lips as her eyes closed. He was the most gorgeous man. “G’mornin’” she mumbled. “Ms. O’Toole. It is seven-fifteen. Breakfast is on the table and Angelina needs help with her hair. Are you ill?” Her eyes snapped open as she came fully awake. Morning. Breakfast. Angelina. “Ohmygod.” A black eyebrow arched at her as Jacob’s frown turned even fiercer. “Sir.” She sat up, realized she was practically naked, and pulled the blanket up to her neck. “Sir. I’m sorry. I set the alarm.” She waved her hand toward the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. “I didn’t hear it.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced at the clock, then back at her. Oh lord, she must look a mess. Her hair had a mind of its own on a good day, first thing in the morning she tended to look like a scarecrow. Without another word, he turned away, shutting the door behind him. Mary scrambled from the bed, jerked on the clothing she’d removed and laid over a chair the night before, and then made a mad dash for the bathroom where she wet down her hair and then pulled it back into a ponytail. Heart hammering in her throat, she hurried to the kitchen. 28

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Father and daughter sat at the small round table, Jacob with a newspaper in front of him, Angelina reading from a Babysitter’s Club. Jacob lowered the paper and pointed to the seat across from him. With a sharp snap of the paper, he folded it in half, then half again, every motion deliberate and controlled. He looked mad enough to kill. Or at least mad enough to fire. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone. I--” He stood, placed the paper on the counter, then went to the stove and filled a plate with an omelet. The plate was gently set in front of her, along with a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. Was this punishment? Was he trying to make her feel guilty for not having breakfast prepared? Okay, it was working. Her stomach growled as the scent of eggs, onions and peppers rose to her on the steam from the plate. He took his seat again and picked up his coffee cup. “Tardiness is not acceptable in this household, Ms. O’Toole.” She swallowed. Without another word on the subject, he slid a piece of paper across the table toward her. Across the top it said: MENU. In a man’s economical handwriting, Jacob’s, she assumed, was a list of foods. Seemed basic enough. Steak, grilled chicken, poached fish, fettuccini, spaghetti, vegetables. Noodles and cheese were not on the list, but other pasta was. She wondered if noodles and cheese could be a side dish. There was a phone number for a butcher, a grocer, and one place specifically for ordering milk. These people had all their groceries delivered? Okay, now she’d seen it all. Mary liked going to the grocery store. Walking up and down the aisles, seeing what was new, reading labels. Now she had to do it all over the phone? “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.” “Yes, sir.” She cut a bite with the side of her fork. Steam rose up and her stomach growled again. She’d only eaten a salad for supper. She’d made the noodles and cheese, but she didn’t eat pasta. There was no meat besides the turkey cold cuts in the fridge, and she’d thought that was for Angelina’s lunch. And that witch of a woman had only ordered enough for two. Then, when Mary had sat at the table with them, she’d been glared at. When the glare hadn’t worked on her, Eunice had, in no uncertain terms, informed her that the “help” did not sit at the dining table. What a witch. “You don’t like eggs?” Jacob asked.

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Mary realized she’d been sitting there holding the fork just inches from her mouth. “I do.” To prove it, she slid the food into her mouth then almost moaned. The eggs were fluffy, the spices strong. And cheese. She loved cheese. Jacob’s eyebrow rose again. His expressions didn’t vary much, she thought as she took another bite. He frowned, he raised an eyebrow in question, but he didn’t smile. Then again, maybe he had nothing to smile about where she was concerned. His face was hard, lined with more than age. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth, which would make a person think he’d once smiled a lot. His hair was thick, the gray at his temples distinguished. He looked hard, like his name suggested, but not as cold as his mother. Maybe he needed some softness in his life as much as his daughter did. “Ms. O’Toole,” he said after clearing his throat. Damn it, she’d been staring again. She desperately needed to stop doing that. “Your clothes... You were wearing them yesterday.” After chewing the bite of food in her mouth, she nodded. “I was going to ask Sam to take me to pick up my things today. If that’s okay?” He nodded once. Another piece of paper slid across the table toward her. “This is Angelina’s after school schedule. Dance class on Tuesdays. Piano on Thursday. She is also to practice the piano half an hour each evening.” Mary did a quick calculation. According to his last list, she had play, homework, supper, TV, reading. That put her in bed right at eight-thirty. When was she supposed to do this other stuff? “Will Mrs. Stone be here this afternoon?” Mary asked. Angelina’s book hit the table when she dropped it and her gaze swung to her father’s. Jacob scowled at his daughter. It was obvious she didn’t like her grandmother. Angelina was a silent child. Every question Mary had asked her the night before got the shortest, most concise answers. “Did I hear my name?” Mary’s eyes widened as Eunice stepped into the kitchen from the dining room. She went directly to Jacob, laid a hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head. Like any normal mom would. “Good morning, Mother,” Jacob said in his low voice. “We were just discussing Angelina’s schedule. Now that Ms. O’Toole is here, you are free to pursue your own activities instead of watching her.” How very diplomatic, Mary thought. The woman had kissed his head, touched his shoulder, but Mary just couldn’t see any real affection there. Not like her family had been when her parents were alive. 30

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“Nonsense. You know I enjoy spending time with your daughter.” No inflection in the woman’s voice. Cold as the granite counter tops. And what was with the your daughter comment? “Mother--” Angelina chose that moment to excuse herself from the table. She grabbed her book and headed toward her room, which was through Jacob’s sitting room. Mary’s stomach started to ache, and she pushed the plate away and stood. “I think I should see to Angelina.” Without waiting for permission she high-tailed it out of the room, but not before she heard Eunice’s nasty hiss. “That woman does not belong in this house.” Jacob frowned at his mother. She’d always been a very opinionated woman, and lately she seemed to be getting worse. The nanny situation was a sore spot of contention between them. “Mrs. Dodgeson has a wonderful governess for her girls, and gave me the number of the agency she came from. Why won’t you call them?” “Mrs. Dodgeson lives in London, and I don’t want a stuffy English governess for Angelina.” Still standing over him, Eunice crossed her arms over her middle and tapped her foot on the floor. Jacob was not in the mood for this conversation this morning. Thank God Mary had finally pulled herself out of bed before his mother arrived, or there would have been hell to pay. Mary looked exhausted. Not that he would allow her to while away the day in bed under his employ, but those shadows under her eyes, the puffy eyelids... “That woman does not belong in this house,” his mother said again. “Last night for supper she tried feeding us goo.” Jacob’s lip twitched. He’d seen the goo in a casserole dish in the refrigerator this morning. It looked rather good. He hadn’t had macaroni and cheese since college. “Mother, it was my fault she didn’t have the number of the butcher shop. It’s been taken care of, and I assure you she won’t be making goo again.” “She’s not suitable, Jacob.” Eunice sat herself on the edge of Angelina’s vacated chair. “Employees of our family represent us. What kind of impression do you think that woman will make?” He’d heard these lines before from his mother, and they annoyed him to no end. “What’s wrong with her?” 31

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“She’s a country bumpkin. Dresses poorly. And just look at that hair of hers. If her name didn’t give her away, that hair and those eyes would.” Jacob closed his eyes for a moment and fought back the headache at the base of his skull. “What are you talking about, Mother?” “She’s Irish.” The word came like a curse from his mother’s lips. Inside he shook with anger. He hadn’t even thought about it. It didn’t matter to him. He lived in America for Christ’s sake, but his mother still had the snobbish ideals of an upper crust, nineteenth century Englishwoman. Because the Stone family came over on the Britannia, while most of the Irish got their start on Ellis Island, she looked down on them with disdain. And Eunice was a descendant of the Rockefellers. She never let anyone forget that detail. On the other hand, what she conveniently forgot was that John D. Rockefeller’s father was a traveling salesman and bigamist. “I don’t see what her parentage has to do with caring for Angelina.” He kept his voice even, calm. Never would he disrespect his mother, but she had no right disparaging Mary because she had red hair, green eyes, or that her last name started with an O. Eunice’s jaw tightened and she glared. She wasn’t used to him arguing with her, but he knew, somewhere deep in his gut, that in this instance she was totally, completely wrong. Mrs. Brocton had sung Mary’s praise and, after meeting her, he knew she was just what Angelina needed. Sweetness and warmth. Something he had a terribly difficult time giving his own child. “Have you looked at her?” his mother snapped. Her vehemence surprised him. She hadn’t liked any nanny he’d brought in, but she’d never been quite this full of disdain. “What do you mean, have I looked at her? What do her looks have to do with my daughter?” At his mother’s widened eyes, he realized his voice had risen. He let out a slow breath and reached across the table to take her hand. He had to be gentle with her. She wasn’t as strong as she looked. Since his father’s death ten years ago, he was all she had left, and he hated to think of hurting her feelings. “I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to shout. Please let me handle things with Mary. There’s no need to upset yourself over her.” “Don’t you want Angelina brought up properly?” Her voice was harsh, almost grating. Why did she need to pick this morning to be so difficult? Even as the thought flitted through his mind, he chastised himself for it. 32

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“I have a meeting in twenty minutes. I really must be going.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before standing. “You know if Mary ever did anything inappropriate, she would not be allowed around Angelina. Don’t worry yourself.” Eunice stared at the tabletop, her hands tightly folded in her lap, a sure sign that he’d angered her. There was nothing he could do now. Blaine Houser was due in his office at eight. “She disrespected me,” Eunice said, her voice strangely soft. Jacob stopped between the table and the counter, the dirty plates in his hands. “How did she disrespect you?” Lifting her chin she said, “She told me she would not follow my instructions. That you were her employer and not I.” He stood still, weighing his options. His words were going to sting, but perhaps it was time to set a few boundaries. Boundaries he’d never thought were necessary. “I am her employer, Mother. Not you.” A sharp intake of breath and the glitter of angry eyes were her only response. He felt like a heel, but he was a forty-year-old man. He did what he could for his mother, but these past few years, nothing made her happy. Maybe a few apron strings needed to be cut. For both their sakes. He didn’t even want to think how she might react when he told her he was thinking of passing the reins of Stone Enterprises off to his CFO. Provided the board of trustees agreed. Jacob didn’t foresee any opposition, though. Zander Grey had been working at Stone for as long as Jacob. He rinsed the plates quickly then headed to his office for his jacket and briefcase. “At least hire a cook and full-time housekeeper,” his mother called. “There’s no reason you should be washing your own dishes, and the Lord only knows what kind of meals that woman is going to feed you. She probably has a fixation with boiled potatoes.” His neck tensed even tighter, and the headache began a slow crawl up the back of his skull. He didn’t even like when the maid service his mother insisted on came in and invaded his space twice a week. There was no way in hell he was having two more fulltime employees under his roof. Mary O’Toole was enough, thank you very much. As he grabbed up his briefcase and suit jacket, the picture of her in bed, her hair wild and eyes soft and luminous came back to him. She had freckles on her shoulders and he’d wondered if they covered her entire body. Her lips were pink and lush. When she smiled, that warm feeling in his gut returned. With a glance out the window at the darkly clouded sky, he wondered exactly how long it had been since he’d felt truly warm. 33

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Getting Angelina to talk was like pulling teeth without Novocain. Mary was able to squeeze out the fact that Sam drove her to and from school each day, and that he drove her to the dance class and piano lessons. When Mary asked her if Jacob ever attended her classes, Angelina had looked at her as if she were crazy. “He has more important things to do,” was the answer. Mary’s heart nearly broke for the child. Her own youth hadn’t been full of dance classes or piano recitals, but her parents had always been there when it mattered. She’d been the Matchmaker in her junior high production of Fiddler on the Roof. Mom and Dad had sat front row center. Jacob Stone might have more money than God, but that was no excuse to neglect his daughter. And definitely no excuse to leave her in the hands of a woman who had no feelings whatsoever. Mary fixed Angelina’s hair into one fat French braid and the girl grinned as she admired it in the mirror, turning side to side trying to get a good look. “Father can only do ponytails.” Mary bit her lip. Jacob Stone fixed his daughter’s hair in the mornings? She would have never guessed. But then again, who else was there? “Would you mind if I ride to school with you? I need Sam to take me to pick up my things.” Angelina, still admiring the braid, nodded. “Father said he’d be home tonight for supper.” Her smile slipped a bit then fell completely. She went to the pink dresser against the wall and shoved a couple books into her backpack. “Why are you sad?” Mary asked softly, sitting down on the edge of the pink ruffled bed. Angelina shook her head and refused to answer. “Don’t you like it when your dad has supper with you?” Angelina’s wide blue eyes focused in on her. “I do. I miss him. He’s always busy.” “Then what’s wrong?” Mary pressed. Something had taken the smile from the girl’s lips. Angelina zipped her bag then picked up her shoes. She sat on the bed next to Mary to lace them. “It’s Grandmother,” she said just above a whisper. “She’s always here.” Mary nodded. “You’d like time alone with your father.” “Yeah.” Angelina stood up, picked up her bag and headed for the door. “We have to be downstairs at exactly eight-thirty.” If this family had one thing going for it, it was punctuality.

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After dropping Angelina off at school, Sam drove Mary across town to the Y. She officially checked out and collected her two bags. Sam placed them in the trunk then asked if she had any other errands to run. Mary couldn’t think of any. What with having groceries delivered right to your door, who needed to leave the house? Once back at the penthouse, she quickly unpacked her clothing and personal items before heading to the bathroom. The tub was huge, the shower spray hard and hot. Knowing she had the rest of the day until three-thirty to herself, she felt freer than she had in...she didn’t know how long. Sure, she had a couple dishes to wash, and she’d pick up the few clothing items she’d noticed dropped in the big living room, but the place was virtually spotless. After towel drying her hair and pulling on a pair of her favorite jeans and a floppy sweatshirt, she headed to the kitchen. First order of business. Ordering food. After the third and final phone call, she was almost giddy with the ease of it all. Maybe being rich wasn’t so bad. Now it was time to call her sister and let her know she really wasn’t coming back. Mary glanced around the humongous kitchen and wondered how long the job would last. How long before Eunice convinced her son that she “does not belong in this house.” However long it lasted, Mary vowed to herself, she’d do what she could to bring a little more happiness, and a little less Eunice Stone, into Angelina’s life. Mary wandered into her rooms, which consisted of a small sitting room, the bedroom with a king-sized bed, and a bathroom with the oversized tub. She picked her purse off the loveseat and rummaged through it until she found her prepaid calling card. She only had about ten minutes left on it, so she’d have to make it a quick call. After searching for something that would give her the phone number and actual address of the Stone Building, she wound up calling the security desk and getting the information from them. Brent Harcort, the guard she’d met the day before, was more than kind and answered her questions. Finally it was time to call her sister. “Hel-lo” “Belle, it’s Mary.” Belle snapped her gum in the phone, something Mary had always found exceedingly annoying. “Hey, sis, when are you coming home? Wasn’t your last interview yesterday?” “Yes, it was. And I got the job.” Grinning to herself, she glanced around the room, at the white walls, the powder blue accents. Relief flowed through her that the search for employment had finally come to an end. “I’m at work right now.” “No way! I don’t believe you.” 35

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“It’s true. I’m working for a man named Jacob Stone.” “The billionaire?” Belle squeaked. “No way! I saw him on Entertainment Tonight last week. He’s like one of the fifty sexiest bachelors in the world. Now I know you’re lying. Why would he hire you?” The words cut deep, as Belle’s callous words tended to. “I was qualified,” Mary said evenly. She’d raised Belle since she was fourteen. If that didn’t qualify her, what did? “Yeah, right.” More gum snapping. “Tell me the truth, when are you coming home? Bobby wants me to get a job, and I can’t do that unless I have somebody to watch the kids.” Instant tears stung her eyes. Maybe she hadn’t done such a good job raising Belle. She was a selfish little girl. It didn’t matter if she was almost thirty years old and had three kids, all she thought about was herself. Then again, it wasn’t all Mary’s fault. Their parents had spoiled their baby girl to no end before they died. “I’m not coming home,” Mary said with more heat. “Get a pen and write this down.” “Shit, Mary, what’s up your butt? Okay, got a pen.” Mary recited the phone number and address. Then she asked about the boys. “Doug has a cold. Eddie might have the chickenpox, which is fine since everyone else has had them, and Quinn is fine.” Mary did miss the little hellions. More than she missed her sister, she sadly admitted to herself. Belle was the pretty one. The golden-haired angel in the family. Dad had always favored her. She was tall and thin, even after having three kids all over nine pounds apiece. And she changed men almost as often as she changed her underwear. “How’s Bobby?” Mary asked, referring to her current live-in. She didn’t care for him at all. He drank too much, smoked like a chimney, and didn’t even bother to go outside away from the kids to do it. “His dad signed over the shop to him, so he owns it now. Has some great plans for expansion.” Belle sounded excited at the prospects. Mary wondered why Belle needed to get a job if Bobby now had ownership of the only garage in town. “And the money I gave you to pay off your mortgage?” Mary asked then held her breath, fearing what the answer might be. Her sister was silent for a long moment and Mary’s heart began to sink. She rubbed her stomach as the muscles cramped and a dull ache started. “We put half of it on the mortgage.” 36

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“Damn it, Belle! That was to get your mortgage paid off. I specifically told you--” “Bobby said in a year he’ll have the expansion done, and then we’ll be able to pay off the house.” Mary took a deep breath. God, she was stupid sometimes. She should have taken the money from selling the family home right to the bank and put it on Belle’s mortgage, not handed her a cashier’s check for close to sixty thousand dollars. But no, she’d thought maybe Belle had matured enough to handle it. “Don’t be mad, Mary,” Belle said, her tone almost a whine. “You’ll see. Bobby’ll do right by me. He promised.” So had the other three men she’d married in the past eight years. They’d promised her the moon and the stars and everything in between. And Belle had always believed them. Bobby wasn’t any better than the rest. Worse in some cases, especially the drinking. She just kept on marrying them. Thank God Mary had learned her lesson with the first one. She’d never do that to herself again. Nothing, not home, not security, not anything was worth the pain of being married. Belle and her first husband had purchased the small house in town right after they were married. When Belle got pregnant with Doug, Carter had skipped town. A month later, when divorce papers were delivered, Belle had foolishly signed them without thinking about her future or her baby’s. But she’d met husband number two by that time, so nothing mattered to her. Mary had helped her with mortgage payments so she could keep the house and a roof over the boys’ heads. She’d wanted to give her sister the security of owning her home outright before she left. Now even that was gone. And Mary would lay odds that in a year the garage Bobby owned would go under. He was too young and stupid to handle a business. There was nothing left for Mary to say to Belle. She couldn’t even threaten to never help Belle out again, because she knew it wasn’t true. If Belle wound up alone again, in financial straits, she’d do all she could to make sure the boys were safe and happy. “I have to get to work,” Mary said. “You’re mad.” “Yeah. A bit. But I’ll get over it. I always do.” “I love you, sis.” Mary didn’t doubt that she did. She just didn’t know how to show it. “I love you too, Belle. Give the boys a kiss for me.” “I really wish you’d reconsider and come home.” “No. That won’t happen. Goodbye.” 37

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Mary hung up the phone and let out a slow breath. There was nothing to go back to Vermont for. Maybe she’d visit once in a while but for right now, she thought, as her gaze roamed over the too-sterile sitting room, this was her home. For better or for worse.

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Chapter Four

“We need to talk.” Mary looked up from the potatoes she’d been peeling to see Eunice across the counter from her. Mary’d been so deep into her thoughts about Belle and the money, she hadn’t heard her approach. The only sound came from the extremely discordant plunking of a piano in the music room off Jacob’s sitting room, and she’d been trying to block that out for a good twenty minutes. “Mrs. Stone,” Mary said cordially, though inside she cringed. What could the woman possibly want to say to her? Eunice glanced toward the sitting room door, as if checking to make sure they were alone. “I don’t know what you said to Jacob, but you will do nothing to put a strain on our relationship.” Mary set down the potato and peeler and fully faced Eunice over the granite-topped island. “I have no intention of straining your relationship, Mrs. Stone. I simply wish to keep my job here, and that means following Mr. Stone’s instructions.” “When Jacob is not here, you will follow my instructions. That’s the way it has always been in this house. You will not change that.” Mary knew she had to tread very carefully here. She had no idea what had been said between Jacob and his mother after she left the kitchen this morning. By the time she and Angelina had been ready to leave, both of them had been gone. Jacob hadn’t even said goodbye to Angelina, which Mary found very sad. “I will do nothing that opposes Mr. Stone’s instructions. If he wishes to change them to...agree with your wishes, then I have no problem. Until then--” “You won’t last more than two weeks. They never do.” With that, Eunice turned and left the kitchen. Mary let out a slow breath and pressed her hand to her stomach. Muscles clenched and pain radiated out of her diaphragm. That woman was evil. She wondered if Eunice was correct. Could she last more than two weeks here? She wanted to. She liked 39

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Angelina and wanted to take care of her, but the tension in this place when Eunice was around was thick enough to choke a goat. “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?” Angelina stood in the doorway to the sitting room. Her hair was still braided, but slick little tendrils had escaped and brushed her cheeks. Her eyes were so big and sad, it nearly broke Mary’s heart. “I don’t know, sweetie. Your grandmother doesn’t like me very much.” Angelina came toward her. “Grandmother doesn’t like anyone but Father.” “She likes you, or she wouldn’t be so upset that I’m here.” Angelina furiously shook her head and more hair slipped from the braid. “No, she doesn’t. I ruined Father’s chance of finding another wife.” Mary’s mouth fell open. “That’s a horrible thing to say. It’s simply not true.” The little girl rested her chin on the counter. “She said so. I heard her talking to Father. She said if he’d put me up for adoption when I was born, he wouldn’t be alone now.” Tears burned the back of Mary’s eyes. Eunice was worse than evil. The woman had no feelings at all. Mary moved to sit at the kitchen table and motioned for Angelina to come over. She did, and Mary took her hands in hers. “Sweetheart,” she said softly. “If your dad wanted to find another wife, having a child wouldn’t stop him. I know lots of women that would gladly marry a man with a beautiful little girl and call that child their own.” “No,” she argued. “Grandmother said that no woman in her right mind would marry him because of me.” Mary swallowed. How could anyone be so cruel to a little girl? To say something so hurtful to her own son? “What did your father say?” Angelina’s little hands shook within her own and Mary pulled her a little closer. “He said he didn’t want another wife. That he wasn’t going to give me up. That I was all he had left of my mother.” Tears glimmered in Angelina’s eyes and Mary couldn’t take it anymore. She tugged the girl into her arms and hugged her. “You see? Your dad loves you very much. You mean more to him than anything.” Angelina was stiff in her arms for an instant, then the girl softened and leaned against her, resting her head on Mary’s shoulder. “His job is the most important,” Angelina whispered. “No, baby,” Mary said softly, running her hand over Angelina’s head. “No. You are.” 40

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Little hands crept up behind Mary’s neck and she smiled through the tears. She pulled Angelina up onto her lap and held her quietly. Mary was one of those women that would marry a man she loved, especially if there was a beautiful little girl involved. She’d dreamt for years of having a child of her own, but it had never happened. Through twelve years of a loveless marriage, Mary had wanted a baby more than anything. She’d never conceived, no matter how many times Sheldon had taken her to bed. And that had happened much too often. “What’s going on here?” Angelina jumped and scrambled off Mary’s lap, stepped away until her back was pressed against the stainless steel refrigerator. She looked scared to death. Mary met Jacob’s gaze and wondered what she should say. His daughter’s eyes were shining with tears. Mary’s tears had streaked her cheeks. Walking into the kitchen to find them huddled together like someone had just died made his heart stop for an instant. “I asked a question.” He turned toward Angelina. “Are you hurt?” She shook her head and scooted sideways toward the door. God, he hated that look in her eyes. She was afraid of him. She’d been afraid of him for years. What happened to his sweet little girl who used to run to him when he got home from work? He longed for her to once again throw her arms around his legs and say, “Hi, Da,” and give him slobbery kisses. “Come here,” he said, trying to gentle his voice. Something was wrong, and he was going to find out what it was, damn it. Angelina took several cautious steps toward him before finally raising her gaze to meet his. Her bottom lip trembled slightly and she twisted the bottom of her blouse in her fingers. “What happened? Why are you crying?” “I’m not,” she answered softly. Mary stood up and moved behind Angelina, placed her hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “We were just talking, and it got a little emotional. You know how girls can be.” Her green eyes were shadowed with sadness as she met his gaze evenly, but she looked like a momma bear protecting her cub. She wasn’t as soft as he’d originally thought. Whatever was going on, they weren’t going to tell him. And he doubted that threats would work with her. “Angelina doesn’t cry.” 41

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Mary’s mouth fell open the tiniest bit and her brow puckered. “Everyone cries, Mr. Stone.” I don’t, he almost said, but clamped his teeth tight. None of her business that his heart had hardened so much in the past years that no one and nothing could penetrate it. But for some stupid reason, he wanted to tell her. He felt choked. Pressed down upon by some unseen hand. He glanced at his watch for no other reason than to break the unnerving eye contact with Mary. “Will supper be ready on time?” “Yes, sir.” “Have you practiced today?” he asked his daughter. She nodded. “Yes, sir.” Her voice was so small he couldn’t take it any more. He headed out of the room. He needed a drink. He needed someone to tell him what he was doing wrong with his child. When he tried to talk to her, she clammed up. She never said more than two or three words to him at a time. She spent all her time in her bedroom, coloring pictures. Even when he was home he barely saw her. He poured himself a sherry, sat down on the smooth leather sofa and stared out at the darkening sky. Gray. Bleak. The way he felt inside. He’d lost his wife when Angelina was born. Now he’d lost his baby, too. Houser had sold him the Houston property. He’d closed a multi-million dollar deal over coffee this morning, but he couldn’t get his seven-year-old to talk to him. What kind of man was that?

**** At precisely six p.m. Mary set a platter of grilled chicken, a bowl of steamed broccoli and a bowl of the re-warmed noodles and cheese on the dinner table. Three glasses were filled with ice water, two more of the white wine Jacob had suggested, and the table was set to perfection with all the forks in just the right place and a plate of sliced butter pats for the veggies. Three pairs of eyes stared at her as if she’d suddenly burst out singing the Star Spangled Banner. “You expect us to serve ourselves?” Eunice asked in that brittle voice of hers. Mary glanced at the dishes of food she’d set down. “Oh, right. Sorry.” She rushed back to the kitchen for serving spoons, and a meat fork for the chicken. She gently set them into the dishes and turned to leave the dining room. “Well, I’ve never...” Mary turned back and frowned. “Is something wrong?” 42

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Jacob waved her away with a shake of his head. She went back into the kitchen to sit at the table there and eat her supper. Alone. Not that she wanted to sit in the dining room with that group. Eunice had shown up at five-thirty and turned on the news in the big living room--she’d called it the social room. At that time, Angelina had disappeared into her bedroom. Jacob sat on the sofa in front of the television with his mother, but the two times Mary had peeked in, he hadn’t been watching the news. He’d been staring out the window, drinking something from the bar, and looking absolutely miserable. This family needed some major help, but Mary had no clue what to do. Her home life had been warm and fun. Cooking with her mother, tickle fights with her dad, sitting down as a family to watch Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday afternoons and eating vats of buttered popcorn. They’d been poor as dirt, but there was love. This family had more money than they could possibly spend in ten lifetimes, and they were cold and sad and miserable. Mary cut her grilled chicken breast into bite-sized pieces, and then her broccoli. What she would give for a big juicy burger. But that was out of the question. She’d been so good for so long with her diet, she couldn’t take the chance of falling off the wagon now. Just as she raised the first fork of meat to her lips, she heard Eunice ask, “What score did you get on your math test today, Angelina?” She couldn’t hear the girl’s reply, her voice was too soft, but Eunice’s nasty comment that followed was loud and clear. “A C-minus? Is that as good as you can do? You’re not trying hard enough. I told you she’d do better if you sent her to that school in France.” The chicken was as good as sawdust in Mary’s mouth as her stomach clenched. How dare that woman! “I’m not sending Angelina to boarding school, Mother,” Jacob said in that low, calm voice. “She needs discipline.” “Mother, please.” “I got an A in spelling,” Angelina said softly, her voice barely carrying into the kitchen. “Good girl,” Jacob said, but there was no inflection in his voice. Did he even care? “How do you expect her to find a suitable husband, someone who can run Stone Enterprises, when she won’t be able to get into college?” “Mother, she’s seven.” 43

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“At seven, you were making straight A’s. I expect no less from your daughter. I told you that woman you married wouldn’t give you the children you need. You need a son, like you, to carry on the Stone name, to keep Stone Enterprises growing.” Silence fell in the dining room and Mary shook with rage. She counted to ten, then ten again. Her stomach hurt so bad she nearly doubled over with it. The food on her plate made her want to gag. The chair scraped loud on the tile floor as she pushed away from the table and stood. If Jacob wasn’t going to do anything, she certainly needed to. With a determined lift of her chin, Mary headed toward the dining room. Jacob and Eunice ate quietly while Angelina sat in her chair, her hands folded in her lap, her head bowed. “Angel?” Mary said calmly. “Could you help me for a minute?” “Her name is Angelina,” Eunice barked. Angelina glanced at her father, who gave her one curt nod before turning back to his meal. The girl slid off her chair and followed Mary through the kitchen and into the laundry room. “I did a couple loads of clothes today, and was hoping you could show me where everything goes.” Angelina stood silently and waited for Mary to pick up a basket brimming with folded towels. Then she led Mary to the hall closet and opened the door. “The towels go in there, except for the one in each of the bathrooms,” Angelina said softly. Then she added, “You can call me Angel if you want. I like it.” Mary set the basket on the floor and then knelt down to be eye level with the girl. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” Angel shrugged. “I’m used to it.” “Do you want me to talk to your dad? Maybe tell him how sad it makes you?” Her head shook and she bit her bottom lip. “No way. He has too many other things to worry about. It’s not important. Really.” She wasn’t afraid of her father, she was afraid of Eunice. Mary sat back on her heels and watched Angel chew on her lip and twist the hem of her blouse between her fingers. “I think maybe if he knew--” “No. Please. I shouldn’ta said anything.” Tears came to Angel’s eyes again and Mary wanted to grab her up and take her away from this place. Away from people who thought work was more important than a little girl’s feelings. “Okay, sweetie. I won’t say anything.” For now, Mary silently added. But if things really were like this every day, Jacob had to be told. Mary squeezed her shoulder lightly. 44

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“Help me put the towels away, and then we’ll go in your room and...” Mary didn’t know what to do with her. Her room was spotless, not a thing out of place. And most of the ‘toys’ on the shelves looked like priceless heirlooms. Her nephews’ rooms were always a tornado zone, and they were always up for a good round of G.I. Joe battles. “I could show you my pictures,” Angel said softly. “I like to draw.” “I do, too.” Mary stood up and smiled at her. “I want to go to art school someday.” She began stacking the folded towels in the closet. “Do you have any pictures? That one goes in Father’s bathroom,” Angel said, taking the fluffy black towel from her hands. “No, I don’t have any with me.” “I could let you use my pencils. Mrs. Brocton buys me nice paper, too.” “You know Mrs. Brocton well?” Mary asked as she placed the last towel on the shelf and picked up the basket. “Yes. Sometimes when Grandmother is busy after school, I go to Father’s work and Mrs. Brocton always has paper and pencils for me to draw with. I miss her,” she added wistfully. They headed down the hall toward Angel’s room. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her?” Angel shrugged and opened her door. “A long time. Since Grandmother quit going to the club.” Mary wondered why the old hag didn’t go to the club anymore, but didn’t want to ask Angel. For a child of her age, she was far too mature, and obviously heard too many things she shouldn’t be hearing. Angel pulled a thick sketchpad from beneath her bed, along with a box of colored pencils. She bounced up onto the bed and flipped back the cover. “This one is of me and a puppy I got to pet in the park. This is Dorra. She was my last nanny.” Mary sat down next to her and studied the picture. “This is amazing, Angel. Beautiful.” The dog was obviously a golden retriever, her last nanny, a shapely blonde. The trees were lush and full, the grass green and Angel was smiling. The picture most definitely didn’t look like a seven-year-old sketched it. Angel flipped the page. “That’s your school.” The detail in the brick front was outstanding. “Have you shown your father these pictures?” If her daughter had drawn these, they’d be framed and hanging on every wall. 45

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“He has more important things to think about,” Angel said...for the third time that day. Mary was getting mightily sick of hearing it, too. She didn’t think she could keep her promise of not saying anything to Jacob for very long. Someone had to tell him that there was nothing more important in this world than his daughter. Angel leaned over the side of the bed and brought out another sketchpad. “Here, it’s new. You can use this one, if you want.” The paper was low quality, but that didn’t matter to Mary. It had been more than a few months since she’d drawn anything. Watercolors were her preference over pencils, and Angel’s pencils were nothing more than Crayola, but her fingers nearly itched to create. “Thank you, Angel.” With a smile, Mary chose the royal blue pencil, to match Angel’s eyes, flexed her fingers to loosen them up, and then began outlining the first portrait she’d drawn in a very long time. Angel’s stomach growled and then she giggled. Stretched out across Angel’s bed, with the little girl hanging over her shoulder, Mary put the final touches on the portrait. “Tell me what you think,” she said. “If you’re nice, I’ll get you some food.” “Can I hang it on my mirror?” Angel asked. “It looks just like me.” It was crude, Mary admitted to herself. She hadn’t sketched for years, but the fact that Angel liked it warmed her inside. “Of course you can have it.” She ripped it off the pad and handed it to Angel. “You forgot to sign it.” Mary took it back and put her initials in the lower right hand corner. “After you go to art school and get famous, I’ll have an original.” Mary laughed and hugged her. “I doubt I’ll ever be famous, kiddo, but thanks for the vote of confidence. Now you, on the other hand, are going to be famous. You keep drawing and getting better and better and the art schools will be begging you to come to them when you’re old enough.” As Angel stared at the portrait of herself, her face fell. “Grandmother says I have to go to Vassar, like she did. So I’ll make a good wife someday.” “Well,” Mary said carefully, “I don’t know anything about Vassar, but most colleges have art programs.” Angel shrugged. The girl was far too young to be worrying about college at this point in her life. Mary touched her shoulder. “I’ll get you some food. Then we can read for a while if you like.” “Father likes me to sit with him and read when he’s home.” 46

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Finally! Something they did together. “Okay. Come on to the kitchen and we’ll scrounge something up.” The two of them made their way down the hall toward the sitting room. Jacob sat in his chair with his briefcase on his lap and was studying an open file. He glanced up as they walked through the room. “Ms. O’Toole, I need to speak with you.” Crap. “Yes, sir. I’m just going to fix Angel a plate of food, and then I’ll be back.” Without another word, he turned back to his papers. The leftover chicken and vegetables had been wrapped and put in the fridge. All of the dishes, including her plate, were stacked neatly in the sink. She warmed a piece of chicken and a little of the cheese noodles--most of which hadn’t been touched--in the microwave. Mary had planned on eating with her, but she figured she shouldn’t keep Jacob waiting long. Pulling the warm plate from the microwave, she took it into the dining room. The table had been cleared. “Why don’t you eat, and I’ll be back as soon as I talk to your father.” “He’s gonna fire you,” Angel said sadly. “We’ll see,” was all Mary could say. She had a feeling Angel might be right. Mary went back to Jacob’s sitting room and silently closed the door behind her. The less Angel heard the better. God, the girl was so young, yet so old for her age. “Have a seat,” Jacob said in a commanding, no nonsense tone. Mary perched on the edge of the sofa and faced him. With slow deliberation, he placed the file folder back in his briefcase, shut it, and set it on the floor near his chair, then looked at her. His blue eyes were steely, looking scarily like his mother’s. “My mother likes her supper served to her on a plate. She’s not used to serving herself from bowls set on the table.” “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Jeesh these people were lazy. “My mother would prefer if you wore more appropriate clothing.” With a glance at her faded jeans and sweatshirt she shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had to wear a dress to do the laundry and cook food.” His face remained impassive. “Mother feels that an employee of the Stone family should dress as such. Slacks and blouse will be fine.” “I don’t own any. Does my clothing disturb you?” 47

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There was a pause as his gaze ran over her. Warm tingles speared through her middle at the intensity in his eyes. But she squashed it as fast as it started. This man would have no interest in someone like her. Not in a million years. “Not particularly. But, my mother--” He stopped. Blinked once. “Wear what you will. It matters not to me.” She suppressed a smile at her tiny triumph, but if he said “my mother” one more time, she might scream. His face went hard again. “Supper is at six o’clock. That means Angelina eats at six, not,” he glanced at his watch, “seven-fifteen.” Mary said nothing. Her gut throbbed, but she couldn’t let him see her discomfort. “You will not call her away from the table again. Are we understood?” “No, sir.” That one eyebrow arched at her, and his jaw ticked. “Excuse me?” “I said, no, sir.” He glared. Hard. Mary sat up a bit straighter and folded her hands in her lap. “As I understand, I was hired to care for Angel. To see to her needs. At that moment, her greatest need was to leave the table.” Jacob came out of the easy chair in a rush. “Would you care to explain yourself, Ms. O’Toole?” He towered over her, hands propped on narrow hips, and she wanted to cower. To hide. To leave. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced her eyes to remain on his. “I’m waiting.” “Sir.” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. She’d promised Angel she wouldn’t say anything, but this was so far out of hand, something had to be done. The girl was miserable. “I feel it’s in Angel’s best interest if you and Mrs. Stone would discuss things such as boarding school somewhere other than in front of Angel.” His hands slid into his front pants pockets. “I’m not sending her to boarding school.” “Good, I’m glad to hear that. But does a child of her age need to hear how disappointed her grandmother is in her grades? Does she need to hear that her mother wasn’t good enough because you didn’t have a son instead of her?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, and the angry tone she’d said them in registered in her brain, she cringed. Here it comes, she thought. Now she’d be asked to leave. “I never said I wished Angelina had been a boy.” 48

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Mary saw sadness in his eyes then, for just an instant before he brought the wall back down on his expression. Sadness and pain. She came to her feet, thanking God she was tall, for she didn’t have to look up very much to meet his eyes. “Mr. Stone, your daughter... Your mother...” Huffing out a breath, she shrugged. How do you diplomatically tell a man that his mother is a bitch? “My mother has had it hard these past years since my father died. She says things she doesn’t mean. Angelina knows this. She understands.” Mary shook her head. “No, sir, she doesn’t. She’s a child, and words hurt.” “I don’t want her to hurt.” In those few words, for just a flash of a second, Mary saw into Jacob’s soul. He hurt, too. From what, she had no idea. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t want to care. Caring for her boss’ anguish was not something she needed to do. But when he spoke so softly and his eyes gentled, the lines around his eyes deepened and she saw that he was as shattered and scared as Angel.

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Chapter Five

Mary’s expression softened as she reached out toward him and, God help him, he wanted to know what her touch felt like. He watched as her hand neared his arm, but then her fingers curled in and she pulled back. His shoulders sagged and he turned away. He had no business wanting his employee to touch him. Especially not one who lived under his roof. Squeezing the back of his neck, he prayed the pain would subside, just a little. Mary was right. His mother said mean, hurtful things. And Angelina received the brunt of those words. He hated it. His mother hadn’t been the same since his father died. She’d once been a beautiful socialite who attended every party by every important person in New York, Boston, and Chicago. She’d even made a few trips to Hollywood. But these past ten years had been so hard on her. She’d changed. Become so bitter and angry. She’d hated his wife because Jacquelyn hadn’t been from old money. Her father had risen to the top ranks of money and power during the late eighties and early nineties when the stock market was on the high upswing and Internet startups were all the buzz. Consequentially, her disdain came through even now, seven years after Jacquelyn’s death. He’d done the best he could by his mother. Made sure she had a secure place to live right here in his own building. Invited her in and took care of her. But she’d never gotten over the fact that Jacob Stone the third, her own husband, had left absolutely everything to his son when he died. Not his wife. “I’ll speak with my mother,” he said, thoroughly defeated. Not that talking to her would do much good. He’d told her before that she needed to keep her tongue in check around Angelina, but it hadn’t mattered. Maybe for a few days, but then she’d be back with her sniping. “Mr. Stone,” Mary said softly. “I don’t mean to cause any strife between you and your mother. I just worry about Angel.” He turned back to Mary and dropped his hand from the back of his neck. “I know. And I appreciate it.” 50

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Mary opened her mouth as if to say something else, but clamped it shut so hard her teeth clicked. Her green gaze slid away from him and she stared at the floor. Even though he knew she had more to say, he wasn’t up to it tonight. He wanted to spend a little time with Angelina in the only way he knew how. “Send Angelina in when she’s through eating. Oh, and one more thing,” he added, remembering his mother’s terse words on Mary’s cooking ability. “Mother would like some form of dessert served after every meal. She prefers pie. Apple or peach is what she favors.” She looked up at him and gave him a tiny, almost secret smile. “What about you?” He shoved his hands into his pockets again. “What about me?” “What are your favorite desserts?” Her eyes had brightened a bit, the sadness lessened. When was the last time someone asked him something personal, someone who had nothing to gain by it? Not since Jacquelyn had anyone asked what he preferred to eat unless it meant a larger tip at the end of the evening. “I’ve always been partial to strawberries and chocolate.” He let his eyes roam over her hair. Not quite the color of strawberries, but close. And little droplets of milk chocolate made up her freckles. “And whipped cream.” Like her skin, pale and silky. “What are Angel’s favorites?” He had no idea. She ate whatever was served, usually from his mother’s favorite bistro. Then a memory came to him, warm and fuzzy as if in a dream. A sunny Saturday afternoon and a walk in the park. Angelina had been four then, a laughing, happy child. “Bubblegum ice cream,” he answered. That’s what she’d wanted more than anything that day. “Bubblegum ice cream in one of those big waffle cones.” Mary smiled at him and he wanted to touch her. To know if the sweetness of her could be felt if he laid his hand on her shoulder, touched her soft cheek. With a nod, she turned toward the door. With her hand on the knob she glanced back over her shoulder. “Mr. Stone, may I make one more suggestion?” He sighed in resignation. He was getting fanciful in his old age if his nanny inspired hunger for dessert fruit and gentle touches. “Perhaps more time spent alone with Angel would benefit you both.” And then she was gone from the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He wanted more time with Angelina. He did. He just didn’t know...how. Mary took her last fifty-two dollars and twenty-three cents and went shopping. Even though all the produce she’d ordered from the home delivery grocery had been fresh, she wanted to pick out the strawberries she would serve Jacob with her own two 51

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hands. A bar of extraordinarily expensive dark chocolate came next. And a bottle of fresh cream. Funny, she’d never seen whipping cream come in a bottle before, but these New York people were funny, weren’t they? There was more to Jacob Stone than money, though. After last night, and what she’d seen in his eyes, he was not a happy man. For hours she’d lain awake in her big bed, wondering what demons he fought. Wondering what hold his mother held over him. Wondering why, when he did spend time with Angel, it was at opposite sides of the room, each of them reading silently. Jacob from his files, Angel from The Babysitter’s Club. To Mary, that wasn’t family time. That was we live in the same house and should be somewhat sociable time. It made her so sad. There had to be something she could say or do to help father and daughter connect. If only Eunice would stay out of the picture. Even though he’d said he’d speak with his mother, Mary doubted it would do any good. She feared Mrs. Brocton had been correct in saying he tended to put his mother on a pedestal. He defended her actions and words even as he obviously knew they hurt Angel. Mr. Jacob Stone needed to make a decision. Mary hoped with all her heart he would choose his daughter. In an overly expensive bookstore, Mary found a cookbook with detailed pictures and recipes: Gourmet Meals in Minutes. That sounded good. The glossy back cover promised it to be the best cookbook for gourmet cooking for busy weeknights. With the book tucked under her arm, the bag from the gourmet grocery of organic strawberries, Swiss chocolate and fresh cream, and only a few cents left to her name, she headed home. Jacob rang the buzzer of his mother’s apartment, hoping he’d made it early enough that she hadn’t gone up to the penthouse yet. Sigmund, his mother’s butler, answered the door. “Mr. Stone,” the tall, thin, whitehaired Englishman said with a slight bow. “Is my mother in?” “Yes, sir. She’s in her sitting room.” He held out his hand in a gesture of welcome. His mother’s apartment was about half the size of his. She shared the forty-ninth floor of the building with one other tenant, a retired shipping magnate and his wife. She’d seemed pleased with her accommodations at first, but after Jacquelyn died, she’d hinted at moving in with him. Back then, he’d been worried about finding suitable care for his infant daughter, but at least he’d been intelligent enough to refuse her “offer” of help.

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Jacob headed through the social room into his mother’s private rooms. “Hello, Mother,” he said quietly as he sat down on the white floral print lounging chair across from where she sat on the matching Queen Anne sofa. Her rooms were bright and loaded with priceless antiques, unlike his private rooms. He liked the earthy feel of suede, the glow of a soft lamp, and the slight scent of wood smoke from the river rock fireplace. His mother’s own hearth was made of white marble and had never felt the warmth of a fire. “Jacob,” she said, setting the Architectural Digest she’d been reading aside. “To what do I owe this visit?” Her voice was cool, as if she already knew why he was there. He’d spent the entire day trying to find the right words to use, to not offend. “I need to speak to you about Angelina.” He leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “About how much is said in front of her.” His mother’s lips pressed together in a tight line, her eyes narrowed a bit. She folded her hands demurely in her lap. Jacob didn’t know what to say. How to say it. Part of him was furious that she wouldn’t understand the importance of what he was asking. Part of him felt so sorry for her. After his father’s will had been read, he’d offered to sign over some of the assets. The house in the Hamptons, the apartment in one of his father’s first buildings. She’d refused. Told him that if his father had wanted her to have them, he would have left them to her. And then began her decline into the shell of the woman she’d once been. “You must think of Angelina’s feelings before you speak of Jacquelyn,” he blurted out. No, he hadn’t had the best marriage in the world. Angelina had been conceived with the idea of saving the marriage. But she’d been Angelina’s mother. He never wanted Angelina to think poorly of the woman who gave her to him. “That red-haired witch talked to you, didn’t she?” Heat flushed his mother’s cheeks and he worried about her heart. She’d had a few spells in the past two years. She wasn’t strong enough to handle too much upset. “No, Mother.” He moved to sit next to her, placed his big hand over her cool, thin ones. “I don’t mean to upset you, but Angelina is just a little girl.” “You should have had a son,” Eunice said defiantly. “Why, Mother? What difference would it have made?” “You need a boy to take over Stone Enterprises. Someone to be molded and shaped the way your father shaped you. Look at you,” she said, dragging one hand out from under his and touching his cheek. “You’re such a handsome boy. And so smart.” 53

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Another little piece of Jacob died at her words. What if he hadn’t gotten the best of his parents’ genes? What if he’d been overweight and pimple-marked? What if he hadn’t had a high IQ? Would his own mother have loved him less? And if he’d been born female? Would she have thrown him away the way she’d wanted him to do with Angelina? “The fact is, Mother, I...” I’m not happy. But the words didn’t leave his lips. His sorrows were his own. “It would make me happy if you’d please not disparage my late wife. I would like it if you could show a little kindness toward your granddaughter.” The hand that had been caressing his face landed against his cheek with a stinging slap. “How dare you? I show that child every kindness.” Jacob didn’t move. He could count on one hand the number of times his mother had laid a hand on him in anger. And now that he was forty years old, his mother smacked him like a back-talking adolescent. She was just getting older, more temperamental, he told himself. It wasn’t her fault. He should get her in for another checkup. She’d been given pills for depression the last time he took her in, but she refused to take them, said they made her feel worse. It popped into his head to wonder if she’d ever slapped Angelina. Heat rushed to his face and his hands began to shake as he snatched them from her. His daughter was so skittish, so frightened all the time. Except when she was drawing or reading. Her two favorite pastimes. Then she was in a world of her own making. A world that didn’t include him. “I think it would be best if you... Mrs. Brocton would like to keep Angelina for a weekend or two,” he amended. He knew he could bribe Mrs. Brocton to take over his mother’s role of weekend caretaker. She’d offered, in fact, the one time he’d mentioned his worry over Angelina’s behavior. “You think I’m unfit to care for a child?” Eunice asked, hurt in her eyes. “No, Mother. Perhaps it’s time for a break. You work so hard,” he placated, touching her hand again. “Maybe you should start going back to the club every once in a while. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson asked about you just the other day.” Eunice touched her hair and she looked a few years younger all of a sudden. “Perhaps. It has been a long time since I was out.” Jacob let out a relieved breath. “It should be fun.” She smiled and just a tiny spark of the woman he’d once known showed through. “Yes. I think I will call Glenda and have my hair done tomorrow. Supper at the club tomorrow evening sounds lovely, doesn’t it? Of course, you will join me.” 54

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Jacob swallowed. He hated going to the club. Only went there to conduct business when absolutely necessary. “Yes, Mother. Of course.”

**** Mary was dipping the last perfect strawberry in the glossy melted chocolate when she heard footsteps coming toward the kitchen. Jacob’s footsteps, steady and heavy, not Eunice’s clicky heels. Mary stuck the last of a dozen fat, juicy strawberries on the platter and rushed to slip them in the fridge so he didn’t see them. He came in just as she shut the door. He gave her a distracted nod to her “Good evening, Ms. O’Toole,” and continued on into his sitting room. The discordant plunking on the piano stopped. A few minutes later she heard Jacob’s low voice in the sitting room, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. With only twenty minutes to get dinner on the table, Mary rushed back to the stove and checked her bubbling sauces. Glad she didn’t have to pay the bill, she could only imagine what the costs of the food she prepared tonight might add up to. The stores Jacob had given her the phone numbers for all had a running tab for him. Filet mignon with a black trumpet mushroom sauce, asparagus tips and flaky butter rolls. The rolls she made from scratch, too. If that woman could find fault with this supper, then she needed to go somewhere else to eat. She’d prepared a peach pie for the old bat, ordered bubblegum ice cream and a few hand-made waffle cones for Angel, and made a dozen chocolate dipped strawberries for Jacob. Oh, she still had to whip the cream. Then she wondered what the heck she’d do for dessert tomorrow. She stirred the sauce and took a deep breath of the fragrant steam. Her mouth watered. Taking a spoon out of the drawer, she dipped the tip into the sauce. “Mmmmm.” It was better than she expected. Too bad she couldn’t eat more than a bite. But at least she could have the filet and asparagus though her serving of the decadent meat would need to be kept small. Jacob went through the kitchen again. Mary assumed he was going to pour himself a drink and wondered if he had a problem with alcohol. So far she hadn’t seen him over his limit, or even close for that matter, but one couldn’t always be sure. Angelina came into the kitchen. “Hi,” she said in her soft little voice. “Hey sweets, what’s up?” She stood on the other side of the island and looked up at Mary with those big blue eyes. “Father wanted to know if Grandmother ever hit me.” Mary dropped the spoon. The clatter of silver on the tiles echoed through the kitchen. “Has she?” 55

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Angelina flinched and took a step away from the island. Stomach muscles clamping tight, Mary moved around the counter toward Angel. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” She went down on her knees in front of the girl. “Has she hit you?” Angelina shook her head and relaxed a little. “No.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Just...says stuff.” Mary held her arms out and Angelina walked into them, resting her head on Mary’s shoulder. “I know, sweetie. You gotta remember she’s...” Mary almost said an old bat, but caught her tongue. Eunice was the girl’s grandmother, after all. “She says things that don’t mean anything. What she says can’t hurt you if you don’t let it.” Angel nodded, her chin bumping against Mary’s shoulder. How could a child make that distinction though? Mary was in her late twenties before she was mature enough to follow that same advice. Even now, her sister could cut her to the quick with one thoughtless comment. She squeezed Angel’s shoulders. “Why don’t you get ready for supper?” Angel turned away without another word, her head lowered as she went toward her room. Mary wanted to hit something. Or someone. God, she’d never met a sadder child in her life. There had to be some way to fix things. Something she could do without causing Angel any more distress. The filet was overcooked, the asparagus was undercooked, and the peach pie was too sweet. Eating an ice cream cone at the table was barbaric. These comments Mary heard from Eunice as she ate her own plate of food in the kitchen. The filet was fork tender and the asparagus was cooked just perfectly. She’d even splurged just a bit and put some sauce on her steak and had nearly moaned at how good it was. Maybe gourmet cooking wasn’t so bad. She could certainly get used to eating it. It was the tiniest twitch of Jacob’s lips as she’d set the plate of chocolate dipped strawberries and small bowl of whipped cream in front of him that made Eunice’s grumbling all worthwhile. And Angel’s wide blue eyes as she took the first lick of her ice cream. She’d pleased them, and that made her feel about ten feet tall. Eunice left directly after supper, to Mary’s relief, and Mary set to work clearing the table. Jacob was waiting for her in the kitchen. “Mother and I won’t be here for supper tomorrow night.” “All right.” “She won’t be taking Angel for the overnights on Friday for a while, either.” 56

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After filling the sink with hot water, she turned toward Jacob. “Mrs. Brocton had said something about Mrs. Stone taking Angel every other weekend.” Jacob nodded. His hand went to the back of his neck. He must have a heck of a knot there. Every time she saw him, he was rubbing at it. “I...” He sighed and then sank down on a chair at the small table. He looked old. Defeated. She had the urge to put her arms around him the way she had done with Angel. But that was laughable. Why would someone in his position want comfort from someone in hers? “I talked to Mother tonight.” He rubbed his right cheek absently. “Mrs. Brocton will take Angelina on your weekends off.” “I don’t mind working every Saturday,” she said quickly. He shook his head. “No. Mrs. Brocton has been asking to take Angelina for an overnight. She’s like family. She worked for my father from the time he took over Stone Enterprises.” Mary dried her hands on a towel and sat down across the table from Jacob. If he needed to talk, she’d listen. “Mother can’t help it,” he said softly, not meeting her eyes. “She’s sick. She had a breakdown after my father died. She’s never been the same.” Guilt washed over Mary like a tidal wave for all the horrible thoughts she’d had toward the woman. “I’m sorry.” She bit her tongue and waited. Eventually Jacob raised his gaze from the tabletop to her face. “You’ve worked with children before. How do I get my daughter back?” Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord. How much had Mrs. Brocton fudged her resume? How much nanny experience did he think she had? She’d changed countless diapers for her nephews when they were babies, and did her best to corral them and keep them from hurting themselves or each other as they got older, but she’d never dealt with anything like this. Mary wiped her fingers across her lips and racked her brain. The only thing that came to her was Angel’s comments about Eunice being around all the time. “What happens with Angel on Sundays?” “She’s with me.” He traced the grain of the oak table with his fingertip. “I don’t work on Sundays unless I’m called out of town.” “What do you do together?” He shook his head, still concentrating on the table. “She stays to her bedroom most of the time. She doesn’t like to talk much.” 57

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“You live a stone’s throw from Central Park,” Mary said slowly, her thoughts forming even as she spoke them. “What about a walk? Take some bread and feed the pigeons?” She studied Jacob’s strong features. He was picture perfect and she wondered why he didn’t have a woman in his life. If there were someone who cared for him and his child, someone to counteract his mother’s spitefulness, maybe he wouldn’t look so...hard. “She loves to read. How about a trip to a bookstore?” “She hugged you,” he said softly. “Children need lots of hugs.” She knew that from experience. After her parents died, that’s what she missed the most. Human contact. The warmth and safety of a loving parent’s arms. Jacob finally raised his eyes. “Would you come with us on Sunday? I’ll pay you for your time,” he rushed to add. “I just don’t know if I can handle it on my own. I don’t know...” His jaw flexed as his teeth gnashed together for an instant. “I don’t want to do anything wrong. If you’re there, you can tell me if I do or say anything I shouldn’t.” Mary smiled. “Of course I’ll come, Mr. Stone. And I don’t need to be paid, either. It would be my honor.” His lip twitched. Was he trying to smile? Or fighting it? Either way, the fact that the desolate look had faded a bit from his eyes made her smile. “Thank you,” he said, pushing to his feet. “And thank you for the strawberries. They were wonderful.” He tapped his knuckles on the table. “The entire meal was superb.” “You’re welcome.” “Goodnight, Ms. O’Toole,” he said as he headed toward the sitting room. “Goodnight, Mr. Stone.” Mary practically floated on air while she finished washing the dishes and put them away. He’d asked for help, Eunice wouldn’t have her claws into Angel quite as much, and he’d liked the berries. Things just might turn out okay after all.

**** Friday, Mary stayed out of the way as the four-woman maid service dusted, waxed, vacuumed, and polished every imaginable surface of the penthouse. They’d arrived with a stack of clear drycleaner bags filled with Jacob’s suits and Angel’s dresses, and had left with another stack. In less than two hours, the place was spotless and the only thing left for Mary to do was one load of towels and bed linens. By noon, Mary decided it was time to check the place out, do a little snooping. She’d been too nervous the past couple of days, but now was her chance to see how the rich 58

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really lived. Curiosity killed the cat, but no one would be home for hours. Providing Eunice didn’t decide to show up, that is. Mary went through Jacob’s sitting room that now smelled of lemon furniture polish. The stack of newspapers was gone from the end table. Down the hall she passed Angel’s bedroom and Jacob’s office. Then she peeked into Jacob’s bedroom. The bed was a California King, with a solid oak head- and footboard. The dresser was of the same wood, as well as the two nightstands. On the walls was an array of paintings. Not great, Mary thought, and all of them had the same look, obviously by the same artist. She wouldn’t have paid for them. They were mostly scenery, mountains and lakes and rivers. The only one she recognized was of St. Paul’s Cathedral. She walked up to the closest one and looked for a signature. In the lower right-hand corner was the initials J.S. Was Jacob a closet artist? The thought made her grin. So, that’s where Angel got her talent. Or at least her drive. The sad thing was Angel’s sketches were better than these oil paintings. Across the room, past twenty-plus feet of light beige carpet, stood that imposing wall of windows. Feeling a little naughty, she took a quick tour of the room, avoiding the windows. There was a walk-in closet the size of her bedroom back home. Shoes were stacked on a rack below the row of suits. She pulled open a drawer and saw something she wouldn’t have believed. Two-dozen pairs of socks, all black, paired up perfectly and laid flat in rows. Talk about anal retentive, Mary thought as she closed the drawer and pulled open the next one. Underwear. Again, all black. Briefs and Boxers. Folded just so and laid in rows. He had his underwear dry cleaned? Oh, man. Lifestyles of the rich and famous. She wondered if he rotated through them or if he had specific days he wore briefs, certain days he wore boxers. She giggled. Besides the suits, black, dark blue or charcoal in color, there were two pairs of khakis. And dress shirts. Dozens of dress shirts in varying shades of white and blue. Not a t-shirt or pair of jeans in sight. The man really needed to loosen up. Then again, anyone who has their underwear folded and placed into perfect little rows... With a sigh, Mary left the closet and glanced into the bathroom. “Oh, my goodness,” Mary sighed almost reverently. She’d never seen anything quite so luxurious in her life. The tub in her rooms had seemed big, but this one was 59

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monstrous. Enough for four people, it had whirlpool jets and three showerhead mounts. The colors were dark and subdued. Rich blue marble with antiqued brass fittings. The double sink countertop held a small array of bottles. Picking up an expensive brand of cologne, Mary sniffed. Mmmm. That’s what made Jacob smell so good. He’d smelled good that first night when she’d fallen asleep in his easy chair. The touch of his hand over her mouth as he’d kept her from screaming had been warm, slightly rough. When the shock of being woken by a man passed, all she’d wanted was for him to touch her again. She set the bottle down exactly as she’d found it and left his bedroom. She had no business in there in the first place, and much less business remembering what his touch felt like. He was Jacob Stone. Rich. Powerful. Way, way out of her league. But once again the picture of his muscled stomach came to her. His shirt had been open. His eyes had been so dark. The way he’d looked at her had made her skin tingle and her heartbeat pound in her throat. She knew she had no right, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be held against that wide, hard chest. With his corded arms wrapped around her. What his lips would taste like. What the rest of him tasted like.

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Chapter Six

There were three guestrooms along the long hallway, each with a little different color scheme. They looked a bit like hotel rooms. There was the music room, with acoustical tiles on the walls and ceiling and a baby grand piano smack in the middle. Angel hated that piano, but Eunice insisted she be cultured. Mary wondered if she could talk to Jacob about getting Angel into some art classes and off the piano. In her opinion, a child would excel at something she liked doing better than at something she hated with a passion. She opened the door at the end of the hall. It was like stepping out of a dark hallway onto the edge of a cliff. The room was huge, with two entire walls of windows. She could see practically the entire city from where she stood. Her stomach clenched and she took a step to the side, toward a solid wall. She hated heights. Always had. She knew she was safe inside a building. That the windows were triple-paned and there was no chance of them breaking. But what her mind said and what the adrenaline pumping through her veins conveyed were two entirely different things. It was what stood in the center of the room that kept her from turning tail and running. An artist’s easel with a canvas sitting on it. Next to the easel was a low cabinet. She saw tubes of paint and a color-smattered palette. Focusing her attention on the table, avoiding any conscious thought of the windows, Mary slowly stepped toward the center of the room. The tubes were crusty and when Mary picked up a couple, they were dried solid. The paint on the palette was cracked and peeling. It hadn’t been touched in a long time. Mary raised her gaze from the cabinet top to the canvas. The painting had been left unfinished. Blue, cloud-studded sky and what looked like a church steeple. But that was it. Nothing more. The style was identical to that of the paintings hanging on Jacob’s bedroom walls. How long had it been since Jacob had been in here? Why had he stopped painting? It was a shame. Even if an artist would never win any awards, or even if they weren’t very good, it was in their soul. A necessity to happiness. Like a poet or an author who felt the need to create, painting was an outlet, a way of life. 61

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As she turned back to the cabinet and pulled open the doors to reveal more acrylics in the store boxes and probably still usable, some expensive pencils and even more expensive brushes, an idea began to form in her mind. She found some heavy-duty sketch paper and a small box of charcoals--her personal favorite after watercolors. If she could use these supplies and give Angel a few lessons, if she could show Jacob his daughter’s talent, give them something they have in common, something that would strengthen the tenuous bond between them... With a new hope blossoming inside her, Mary pulled everything from the cabinet and laid it out on top. The brushes were first rate. The sketchpad wasn’t exactly a canvas, but the paper was thick enough for Angel to practice with the acrylics. There were a variety of paint knives, too. If Mary could find something to anchor the sketch paper, a piece of wood or something, she could give Angel the basics of using the acrylics. Her fingers twitched with the need to create and she wished for watercolors. But this wasn’t for her, she reminded herself. These were Jacob’s things. She pulled open the only drawer in the cabinet. Her breath stilled for a moment as she stared down at a picture. Carefully, she lifted the picture and studied the couple. Jacob. And a woman. Her golden hair and big blue eyes were all Angel. They stood in front of a big white church, obviously on their wedding day. Her dress was yards and yards of snowy white froth. His black tuxedo had tails. And they smiled. Jacob was much younger then, the lines and hardness of age hadn’t settled into his features. His eyes glittered with happiness and maybe just a little mischief. His arm was around the slender woman who gazed up at him with unabashed love. Tears prickled her eyes. From that one picture, she knew why he was so hard. So sad. He’d lost the love of his life. A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it away before returning the picture to the drawer. Had Jacob stopped painting when he lost her? Had he given up all forms of pleasure when his wife died? She wondered when and how the woman had passed away. But she’d never have the nerve to ask. That was Jacob’s burden. Unless he wanted to share with her. In that moment, she knew she’d do anything she could for him and Angel. Anything to bring back even a bit of that happy smile to his eyes. The only thing she knew she could do was to bring him and Angel closer. And she’d start that tonight.

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Sunday dawned bright and clear. The cloudy wetness of the past week had given way to a warm breeze, and the trees in Central Park were bright with fall color. Jacob pretended to read the New York Times, but his brain refused to register anything he read. Mary hummed as she flipped pancakes onto a serving plate at the stove. Angelina sat in her chair reading a book. His neck muscles twisted into a tight ball and a low headache was brewing. He had no idea how he was going to survive the day. The plan was to head out to the park after breakfast. His stomach churned at the thought. He hadn’t spent a day with Angelina in...he didn’t know how long. Years maybe. Yes, most Sundays they were in the apartment together with only Eunice as a buffer, but this was different. This was...scary. He didn’t want to mess it up. Mary set the plate of pancakes in the center of the kitchen table. “Eat up,” she said cheerily. “We have a long day ahead of us.” Angelina’s blue gaze glanced up at Mary, and then at him. “Why a long day?” Mary’s eyebrows rose as she looked at him. “You didn’t tell her?” Jacob ground his teeth. Shook his head. With a sigh, Mary slid into her chair opposite him. “You and me and your dad are going to go to the park today.” Angelina cast a quick glance at him. “Why?” Mary still smiled, but the emotion that crept into her eyes was unmistakable. Disappointment probably. Disappointment in him. “Because it’s something to do.” She picked up a pancake and put it on Angelina’s plate. “Why sit inside on such a pretty day? The sun’s out. It’s warm. And I’ve never been in Central Park before.” “Is Grandmother coming?” she asked, throwing him another weary glance. Mary had been right, he thought. He needed more time alone with Angelina. Without his mother around. “No, Angelina. It will be just the three of us.” His daughter looked upset, and he had no idea what to say to remove the worry from her eyes. A change in schedule always made her leery. Since Mary came, everything was changing. “Come on,” Mary said. “Eat.” Angelina picked up her fork and began to eat. Jacob followed suit, keeping his eyes averted from Mary. He couldn’t handle the censure right now. Just who did she think she was anyway? She was his employee. Nothing more. She had no right making him feel guilty about the way he’d raised Angelina. His daughter had everything money could buy. The best school. The best clothing. The best food. 63

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He took a sip from his steaming mug. Told himself to calm down. Told himself that he was the one who’d asked for Mary’s help. “The first thing we need to do,” Mary said, leaning her elbows on the table and grinning mischievously, “is get the two of you some play clothes.” Jacob choked on his Kona blend coffee. “What?” Mary’s eyes were bright with laughter. “Play clothes.” She pointed at his chest. “Can’t go to the park dressed for the office.” She tipped her head toward Angelina, who wore a navy blue dress with white lace collar. One of Eunice’s favorites. “Or school.” “I am perfectly happy with my clothing,” he informed her. “You may be, but I’m not.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her middle. The motion tightened the normally loose sweatshirt over her ample breasts and his mouth went dry. Those green eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were slightly flushed. Her flame-red hair was pulled back into the soft ponytail he was getting used to seeing. She was...beautiful. So...so...natural. No makeup that he could see. Nothing artificial about her. “And what,” he asked carefully after another sip of coffee to moisten his lips, “exactly, do you consider play clothes for a forty year old man?” Her eyes crinkled a bit as her smile grew. “Jeans. T-shirt. You know, comfy clothes. Ones you can sit down on the grass in and not worry about stains.” She winked at Angelina and said, “Clothes you can get a little dirty and no one cares.” A bright smile burst across Angelina’s face. “I want blue jeans.” Her smile faded as fast as it had come when she looked up at him. Her voice lowered as did her eyes. “Most of the girls at school have blue jeans.” Anger sliced through Jacob with the speed of quicksilver. Angelina was afraid to ask for something as simple as pants? My God, he thought, what have I done to her? Mary’s smile was gone too, and she watched him. Waiting. Standing in front of the board of directors for Stone Enterprises was a cakewalk compared to Mary. She made him feel small and insignificant. A bug she could squash with one word. One heated glare from those green eyes. “I think we can manage a couple pairs of jeans,” he said, keeping his voice low. Calm. A ghost of a smile flitted across Angelina’s lips. She raised her eyes. “Really? Grandmother says jeans aren’t approp--” “One more thing,” Mary cut in. “Just for today, we don’t worry about what Grandmother says. It’s just the three of us and whatever we want, we get to do.” She sent him a crooked little smile. “As long as Dad agrees. He is still the boss.” 64

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Angelina looked up at him, the tiniest smile on her lips. “Just the three of us,” she said softly. “I like that.” That thing inside him that had felt all mushy and soft the night he came home to find Mary in his chair...it had returned. When he looked over at Mary, she was smiling at him. A warm smile. One that said he’d done well. Never in his life had he needed back patting. Never had he received anything as simple as an ataboy from his father. But right now, with Mary’s approval, he felt on top of the world. “Aren’t you eating?” he asked as he realized there was no plate in front of Mary. She shook her head. “I ate earlier.” “Hurry, please, Father,” Angelina whispered. “I want to go shopping with Mary.” His lips twitched and he winked at his daughter, which made her grin. Maybe the changes Mary brought on were all good.

**** Mary glanced up from the rack of long sleeved t-shirts to see Jacob standing as still and dour-faced as one of the nearby mannequins. She grinned and pulled a bright pink one from the hanger and handed it to Angel. “What do you think of this one?” “It’s...okay,” Angel said, but pointed to a purple one. “I like that one better.” Mary pulled the purple one off the rack. It had a bright orange daisy in the middle of the chest. “I think you’re right. This one is much better.” Angel grinned, showing off two adult teeth so incongruous with her little mouth. “And now jeans?” Mary nodded and Angel dashed across the aisle toward racks of jeans. She chose a pair with embroidered flowers down one leg. “Okay. Time for the dressing room.” Mary ushered Angel toward the girl’s changing rooms where a sales clerk met them. Mary nodded and Angel went in by herself after the sales clerk unlocked the door. Jacob had moved with them, but he stood, hands in the pockets of his slacks, with a pained expression on his face. “Lighten up, Mr. Stone. Today is supposed to be fun.” “The clothes could have been ordered and delivered.” He glanced around the children’s department as if he might catch a disease from the place. Mary burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. Jacob frowned at her.

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“Come on, Mr. Stone. Look how much fun Angel’s having. She’s never picked out her own clothes before.” When he continued to frown at her, she added, “Does someone pick your clothes?” “I have a tailor that comes to the house every three months.” “Jeez.” Mary shook her head. “You’ve never been in a department store before?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his lips puckered as if he’d kissed a lemon. “Only the ones I own. I certainly never shopped there.” Mary rolled her eyes. “What does that mean, Ms. O’Toole? The eye thing you just did.” “It means, Mr. Stone, that maybe it’s time you come down out of your ivory tower and join the rest of the world once in a while. I, for one, have never had anyone pick my clothes out for me, nor have I ever had a tailor come to my house.” “You watch your tone with me, Ms. O’Toole. I’ll not stand for insolence.” “Then maybe you should find yourself a new nanny. You asked for my help. If you don’t like what I have to say--” “I don’t want the clothes.” Mary swung around to see Angel standing just outside the dressing room, tears shining in her eyes. Jacob turned and stalked away. Mary went down on her knees in front of Angel. “You look so good in them. You don’t like them? We’ll find others.” “I don’t want Father to be mad,” she whispered as her bottom lip trembled. Mary forced a smile and hugged Angel. “He’s mad at me, not you.” “He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be with me. I want to go home. Back to my room where--” Her words broke off into a sob as she clung to Mary. Mary’s eyes filled with tears. How stupid was she? Arguing with Jacob where Angel could hear. The very thing she’d told Jacob needed to stop. And she’d picked the fight. If she’d just kept her mouth shut. But his holier than thou attitude really rankled her. “He does want to be with you, sweetheart. I promise he does. He’s just not very good at it. You have to have patience with him. He’s trying. He’s trying really hard.” Mary prayed her words were true and that he wasn’t calling Sam to bring the car right this second. Jacob had asked for her help. She should give him credit and take her own words to heart. Patience. “I’m sorry, Angel,” Jacob said from over Mary’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” 66

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Mary’s heart melted into goo in her chest at Jacob’s tender apology. His voice was low. His words soft. “Please forgive me?” With her arms still around Mary, Angel looked up at her father. Mary cringed at the pop of Jacob’s knees as he hunkered down beside them. She gently pulled Angel’s arms from around her neck. “What do you say? You forgive him?” Angel glanced from her father to Mary, and back. “Can we still go to the park?” “Of course,” Jacob said. “Can I get the jeans?” Mary looked at Jacob in time to see his nod. “Can you get jeans, too?” His lips twitched. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Mary vowed that by the end of the day, they’d get a real smile out of him. “Yes, Angel. I’ll even get jeans, too.” “Okay.” Angel turned away and went back into the dressing room. Mary didn’t miss that Jacob had begun calling his daughter Angel. He truly was trying. She turned to face him, both of them sitting on their heels. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone,” she said softly. He nodded. “I think it’s time to drop the formality, don’t you?” He got to his feet, then held out his hand to help her. Mary slid her fingers against his and heat raced up her arm. His grip was firm, yet gentle. She stood and met his gaze, her hand still in his. “I call you Jacob, you call me Mary?” His lips twitched again. Oh, yeah. Within the next eight hours, she’d get a smile out of him. “If that suits you,” he said quietly, his thumb running over the back of her hand, sending warm, tender tingles straight to her heart. “Suits me just fine.” Angel came out of the dressing room and Jacob dropped her hand as if it’d burnt him. She wore the jeans and carried her dress draped over her arm. She’d put her little patent leather shoes back on. “Running shoes will be the next stop,” Mary said with authority, then raised her eyebrow at Jacob, waiting for him to disagree. His lip twitched again. “Lead the way, Mistress of the Department Store.” Mary laughed and Angel giggled. Yes. It would be a good day. She’d see to it. No more tears. No more upsets. 67

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Jacob didn’t want the day to end. The sun had set, the temperature was dropping and yet he wanted to make it last just a bit longer. “How about dinner out?” he asked Mary as the three of them walked down Fifth Avenue toward the Stone Tower. She smiled at him and looked down at Angel. “What do you think?” Angel peered up at him. Her smiles were coming more frequent, some even directed toward him. “What would you like?” he asked Angel. He stopped walking and looked up and down the avenue. Myriad shops and restaurants lined the street. “Steak?” Angel wrinkled her nose at him. His lips twitched. “Sushi?” “I like my fish cooked, thank you,” Mary tossed in. “Hmm. Chinese?” “Can we have something Grandmother says is bad? I had it at Michelle’s. At her birthday party.” Jacob vaguely remembered a Friday night sleepover at a schoolmate’s house in Queens the previous spring. “What does Grandmother think is bad to eat?” “Pizza.” Jacob’s jaw tensed. His mother forbade Angel from eating pizza? God only knew how long it had been since he’d sunk his teeth into a gooey pie, but Angel was seven for Christ’s sake! What was wrong with his mother? When he was young they’d eaten more than a few frozen pizzas for dinner. Stone Enterprises had been a much smaller company and there were a few tough years in the seventies when the household budget had been tight. Frozen dinners had been common. Thinking about it now, he doubted Angel had ever had a frozen dinner in her life. Things were going to change. Now. Mary, once again, was right. It was time to step down from the ivory tower every once in a while. “Pizza it is,” he said, not realizing his voice had gone hard until Angel stepped sideways and bumped into Mary. He forced his muscles to relax. There was no way he was going to ruin the day now. Taking a huge leap of faith but needing to make the connection to his daughter, he held out his hand. “Come on, I know just the place.” A long moment passed as Angel stared at his hand. Mary watched on with concern in her deep green eyes, but she didn’t move. Seemed not to even breathe until Angel took a tentative step toward him and slowly placed her little hand in his. His knees nearly gave way with relief. He smiled. An honest to God smile moved over his lips and it felt good. “Pizza for three,” he announced. “Right this way.” 68

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Geraldo’s was one of his favorite bistros. He’d taken a few dates here over the past couple of years. Just the thought of Geraldo’s spicy antipasto and the veal parmigiana were enough to make his mouth water. And the frothy tiramisu was enough to make a man beg. But tonight they’d try the house special. A large pizza with everything. “Would you care for a glass of wine?” he asked Mary. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.” Foregoing the rich Bordeaux he normally drank, he ordered a root beer, the same drink Angel had chosen. Mary just wanted water. “Grandmother says soda is bad for me,” Angel said, breaking the silence at the table. “It is,” Jacob said. “But a little every once in a while won’t kill you.” Angel turned that bright smile on him again and that mushy spot inside his chest expanded even further. He glanced at Mary. A soft smile tipped her lips and her eyes were soft and luminous in the low candlelight from the table. Fiddling with her napkin, Angel asked, “Can we do this again next Sunday?” Jacob reached over and laid his hand over his daughter’s. She was so small. So delicate. “I’d like that a lot.” Their drinks were served, Angel’s with a fat straw sticking out of it, and she grinned. After taking a healthy draw of the root beer, she tilted her head to the side. “I liked feeding the pigeons the best. I like the sounds they make.” Jacob chuckled. It had been a good thing they changed into their play clothes before going to the park. Angel had been right down in the grass, pigeons swarming around her as she held out breadcrumbs to them. Breadcrumbs, he thought with a little laugh, that Mary had stashed in her purse before they left the penthouse that morning. He had to admit that the Levi’s Mary had chosen for him were rather comfortable. Nearly ten years had passed since he’d donned a pair. Even when he went up to Kennebunkport to work on his house, he wore his casual khakis. Right after he’d received his MBA from Harvard, he’d come back to New York to settle into his job, working under his father at Stone. He’d walked in the front door wearing the typical college student fare of worn-out denims and a faded ZZ Top t-shirt. His mother had been waiting there with Gene, his father’s tailor. She’d told him if he was to work in his father’s company, he had to represent the family in every way. At all times. He had to grow up and look like a man. He’d turned around and joined the Marine Corps instead. “Jacob?” Mary’s voice brought him out of his past and he focused on her. 69

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“I was thinking that maybe next weekend we could go to the Museum of Natural History. I read in the newspaper that they have a new dinosaur exhibit that Angel might like. She’s studying them in school right now.” He looked over at Angel, as she smiled up at him with longing in her eyes. Eyes so much like her mother’s it made him ache. “Would you like that?” he asked, his voice unnaturally rough. Angel nodded. “It’s a date.” He held onto her hand, never wanted to let go. Then his pleasant mood shattered as he remembered he had plans to be in London the following weekend for an art exhibit opening by one of the young American talents he funded. He opened his mouth to tell Angel it would have to be postponed, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break his promise to her. She asked for so little from him as it was. He’d get out of the London trip. Somehow. The steaming pizza arrived. The waiter placed plates in front of each of them, and served up a slice to each. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Stone?” “A refill on my daughter’s root beer.” “Very well, sir.” The waiter took Angel’s glass and left. Angel picked up her knife and fork and made to cut a piece from her slice. Mary laughed. The sound rippled through him like a warm, calming spring breeze. She took the utensils from Angel’s hands and told her to pick it up. “Go on, Dad,” Mary said, as if she were daring him to use his fork. “Show her how it’s done.” Jacob grinned and lifted the gooey slice and took a big bite. Eunice wasn’t here, was she? He had no one to impress but his daughter. And the happiness lighting her eyes was more than enough. Angel laughed and imitated him, sinking her teeth into the pizza. “There ya go,” Mary said with a satisfied smile. Jacob and Angel polished off their first pieces and were halfway through seconds when Jacob looked at Mary, and then at her plate. After telling them how to eat, she was picking at the pizza. She’d eaten the vegetables and the meat off the top, and some of the cheese, but most of it was still sitting there getting cold. “You don’t like it?” Jacob asked. “You can order something else off the menu if you wish.” Mary shook her head. “I love pizza. It’s one of my favorites.” She pulled a glob of cheese off the crust and ate it, as if to prove a point. He frowned, but didn’t say anything else. She’d been with them for a little less than a week, but she barely ate. Twice he’d rinsed off her dishes and found more than half of the food left. 70

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Letting his gaze wander over her while she concentrated on picking at her food, he couldn’t see that she was malnourished. In fact, she had a beautiful, shapely figure. At least what he could see of it under the baggy clothes she wore all the time. Recalling the shape and fullness of her breasts this morning as she’d crossed her arms made his new jeans feel a little too tight in the groin. Jacob ripped his gaze from Mary and focused on his food. He had no business thinking of Mary that way. She was his employee. He had a strict policy about fraternization between his employees. The boss couldn’t go breaking that rule. Besides, she could barely tolerate him. She thought him snobbish, if her comment about the ivory tower was any indication. She’d never be interested in him. And he wasn’t interested in her. Not at all. She wasn’t the first sexy nanny Angel had ever had. She was just...the kindest. Sweetness and warmth. For the first time in his life, Jacob envied another man. The nameless, faceless person that Mary would one day love. Someone who could return her love. He glanced at her across the table. She watched Angel with tenderness in her eyes. Maybe there already was someone in her life. It was impossible to imagine she’d made it to her thirties and was alone. Someone had to care for her. A strobe went off and Jacob’s head jerked toward the light. Another flash. Damn it all to hell. The three waiters surrounded the cameraman and none too gently escorted him out the door. “What was that?” Mary asked, her eyes wide. “Welcome to my world,” Jacob said, disgust scoring through him. “Mary, meet the paparazzi.”

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Chapter Seven

Within minutes the staff of waiters and hostesses dropped the shades on every window. A balding, round man wearing a tomato sauce smudged apron rushed up to the table. “Mr. Stone,” he said in a thick Italian accent. “I’m so sorry. I do not know how that beast got in.” Mary saw Jacob’s jaw tick with annoyance but he remained outwardly calm, even though his hand had balled into a white-knuckled fist on the table. “It’s not your fault, Geraldo. They’re a sneaky lot. I’ll be using your back door tonight, if you don’t mind.” “Sì, signore. Of course.” Geraldo stood nervously at the side of the table wringing his hands together, as Jacob pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “Sam. I need the car brought to the alley behind Geraldo’s.” He glanced at Mary and then toward Angel. “Ten minutes. Thank you, Sam.” He closed the phone and slid it back into his pocket. “Geraldo, I believe we’ll take the rest of the pizza to go.” “Sì, signore.” The man picked up the deep-edged black pan and hurried off. “I’m sorry,” Jacob said to Angel. Angel shrugged. But then she smiled up at her father and Jacob’s whole demeanor changed. He softened. The harsh lines around his eyes eased. “Well,” Mary said cheerily. “Next Sunday for our trip to the museum, you’ll just have to go in disguise.” Jacob’s brows pulled together in a frown. “What else is there? I’m already wearing clothes I’ve never gone out in public in.” Mary laughed. “Ye of little faith.” She winked at Angel. “We’ll come up with something, won’t we?” Angel grinned and nodded. “Should have gotten the hat.” “And sunglasses,” Mary added. Angel had tried getting Jacob to buy a New York Yankees baseball cap to match the Yankees sweatshirt Mary had picked out for him, but he said that was pushing it. She figured after this little debacle, he’d reconsider. 72

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“And a beard,” Angel giggled. Mary looked at Jacob and raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, Jacob? Next weekend we’ll rip holes in the knees of your jeans, get you that baseball cap and you don’t shave.” She tipped her head to the side and grinned. “How about a black leather biker jacket?” Jacob’s lips tipped into a small grin as he looked at Angel. For the past two hours, ever since Angel had taken his hand on the sidewalk, the smiles had come often. He ran his hand over his chin. “I think we can do that. But wearing sunglasses inside the museum would make it rather difficult to see, wouldn’t it?” “We’ll worry about it. You just be there,” Mary said softly. Jacob turned those deep-sea eyes on her. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, and she knew his word was his vow. “Your car has arrived, signore,” Geraldo said, holding a small pizza box in front of him. “I do apologize for your supper being interrupted so rudely. Please, Mr. Stone, do not hold it against my humble establishment. Your patronage is important to us.” Jacob came to his feet and laid a reassuring hand on the little man’s shoulder. “It is already forgotten.” Geraldo’s round face split into a huge smile. Jacob took the box from Geraldo and held his other hand out for Angel. She clambered off her chair and, without any hesitation this time, placed her hand in his. They were going to be all right, Mary decided as she followed Jacob and Angel through the kitchen, to the back door of the restaurant. It would just take a little time. And patience. Jacob hated the duck and cover of avoiding the paparazzi. He had ever since the day Stone Enterprise went public almost ten years ago and his face--and life--were splashed all over every national newspaper, magazine and tabloid. Since then there’d been no respite. Worst of all, today, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to look out for them. He’d only been interested in spending time with Angel. And Mary. He leaned back in the plush leather seat of his car, the pizza box perched on his lap, and glanced at Mary over the top of Angel’s head. She was holding Angel’s hand, and sent him that sweet smile that made him go all gooey inside. Mary made him forget who he was. That he was something other than a normal, average Joe. He liked that feeling. He wanted to be normal. Wanted to be like every other 73

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guy. Wanted to work a nine-to-five job. Come home to his beautiful daughter and a soft, sweet woman. Swiping his hand down his face, he stifled a groan. He had the daughter down, but the woman wasn’t his. Never would be. She worked for him. Tolerated him because he paid her to do so. But this morning, in the department store, she hadn’t pulled any punches when she told him to stop being so high and mighty. And once he forced himself to shed the exterior shell of the corporate executive and came down out of his ivory tower, as she’d said, he’d had an incredibly enjoyable day. Until the flashbulb went off. “I’m sorry the evening was ruined,” he said softly. Angel turned her face up to look at him and the smile in her eyes touched him so deep, he wanted to grab her up, hold her close and never let her go. To protect her and keep that smile just for himself. “I’ve always wondered what it was like,” Mary said with a little chuckle. “What?” he asked. “You know. All the cloak and dagger stuff of being a celebrity.” She laughed and the sweet sound of it had him thinking about grabbing her up and keeping her, too. “Sneaking out into dark back alleys to avoid the press.” A smile tipped his lips and he shook his head. “It’s not all fun and games.” She tilted her head slightly to the side, still a hint of a smile touching her face, her eyes. “No, I suppose it isn’t. But for a small town country bumpkin, it was kind of exciting.” “You heard my mother say that, didn’t you?” She nodded. “I’m sorry.” Mary shook her head, but her gaze fell away from him. She concentrated on her and Angel's clasped hands. “I’m an adult, I can handle it, Mr. Stone.” He didn't believe her. His mother's callous comments had hurt her, and that made his back tense. If words could hurt a thirty-something woman, what were they doing to his daughter? Mary was right. Again. Something had to be done about his mother. The car stopped under the awning of Stone Tower and Sam got out to open Mary’s door. She thanked him as Jacob let himself out his side and Angel climbed out after him. “See you in the morning, Mr. Stone,” Sam called before he slid back behind the wheel. 74

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Jacob took Angel’s hand, which she now freely gave him. He handed the pizza box to Mary, and then held the door open for her. She smiled politely, but her sparkle had dimmed. He wanted to touch her, to lay his hand on her shoulder and tell her his mother hadn’t meant what she’d said. But Eunice had meant it. She meant every word. From here on out, he’d start paying attention. He wouldn’t let his mother get away with such insults. Not toward Mary, and definitely not toward Angel. Brent brought several bags out from behind the security desk. “These were delivered earlier, sir. Would you like me to bring them up?” Jacob shook his head and took the bags. “We can handle it. Have a good night.” “Thank you, sir.” After their shopping spree, he’d had their things delivered. No need in carrying them around all day, he’d told Mary. She’d rolled her eyes at him and mumbled something about being pampered. The memory made his lip twitch. Funny thing, though, she hadn’t minded spending his money today. As the elevator doors opened and they stepped in, he realized that she’d asked for nothing for herself. Every purchase made had been for Angel or himself. Even when Angel had tried getting her to purchase a silky pink scarf, Mary had simply said she didn’t care for the color. Yet, he’d seen her eyeing it while Angel tried on shoes. The elevator opened onto the penthouse foyer and as he moved to put the key into the lock, the apartment door swung open. “Where have you been?” A groan built up inside him but he swallowed it. “Mother.” There goes the great day, he thought as he waited for Eunice to step out of the way. She moved away from the door, and he walked in. Setting the shopping bags on the sofa, he turned back to see Angel practically cowering against Mary. Fury bubbled through him. “I asked you a question, Jacob. Where have you been? I came down for supper and you weren’t here. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.” Bullshit. That one word said it all. His mother was full of it. She never worried about him. She was more worried that she didn’t get her supper. “I’m sure you ordered in,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Angel, why don’t you get ready for bed?” Angel scurried off like a beaten puppy, and it took everything inside him, years of putting on a straight face and not showing the world what was inside him, not to explode. 75

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“I certainly did not order in. I was too worried. You disappeared without telling me where you were going. Anything could have happened to you.” If she’d only say the words with an emotion other than anger. She hadn’t been worried about him, she was ticked off he didn’t inform her of his whereabouts. As Mary turned to follow Angel, he took the pizza box from her white-knuckled hands. He wanted to touch her again. This time to draw strength from her. Her calm. Mary looked up into his eyes, and he saw sadness in her. The glow from a day in the fresh air and sunshine was gone. All the happy laughter and teasing he’d reveled in all afternoon. “What are you wearing,” Eunice snapped. “My God, you look like a street person.” Jacob closed his eyes for a moment. The pain at the base of his skull returned. It’d been gone since the moment he’d held Mary’s hand in the store. Looked into her beautiful eyes and vowed to do the best he could by his daughter. His daughter. Angel. When he opened his eyes, Mary was gone. He turned toward Eunice and held out the pizza box. “Maybe I enjoy dressing like a street person, Mother.” His voice calm, he took in a slow, deep breath. “If you wish to have dinner, here it is.” Her pale blue eyes widened in what could only be described as horror. “I spent the day with Angel and Mary. We had a lovely time.” He dropped the box onto the coffee table. “We went shopping and bought play clothes. Then had a lazy afternoon in Central Park. Ate hotdogs from a vendor. Ice cream out of cones. Then shared a pizza for supper.” Eunice gasped and grabbed her chest as if his words would send her into apoplexy. He clenched his jaw to keep from shouting at her. “It was the most relaxing, freeing day I’ve had in years.” “You disgrace the family name of Stone.” “How?” Digging his hands into his pockets, he widened his stance, ready for battle. “Look at you,” she hissed. “Just look at how you’re dressed. In public, no less.” “And there were photographers, too,” he added. “Should be in the paper, or maybe even the Inquisitor by morning. Shame on me for looking like a normal, everyday man. It’s a crime against my good breeding, isn’t it, Mother?” “How dare you speak to me in such a disrespectful manner.” She crossed her arms over her waist and glared. “If your father was alive...” He’d heard it before, though not for many years. Ten years ago when his father died, she’d thrown that comment around daily. Perhaps he’d needed it then. Not now. He’d done everything he could for her over the years since his father passed. 76

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“If my father was alive, I wouldn’t be running Stone alone. I wouldn’t feel sucked under by the pressures of running a billion dollar corporation and having to take care of my--” He stopped himself before he went too far. She didn’t deserve to hear what he’d almost said. No one needed to hear that they’d become a burden. He ran his hand over his neck and turned away. God, what to do? What to do? Fifteen years ago he would have told her what he thought in no uncertain terms. That’s what he’d done when he married Jacquelyn. Told both his parents that his life was his own. He was an adult and they couldn’t interfere. How would he feel, twenty or thirty years from now, if Angel looked at him and said he was an unwanted burden? “I need a favor of you,” he said after a long moment. “After the way you spoke to me, you’re lucky I don’t leave and never come back.” Wishful thinking. Then mentally kicked himself for the horrible thought. She was his mother, and it shamed him that he felt nothing but animosity toward her at the moment. “I’m sorry, Mother.” She huffed, which usually meant she was listening, though not happy about it. “Something has come up. Something very important, and I can’t make the London exhibit opening next weekend. I’d like for you to go in my stead. Represent Stone’s commitment to the arts.” “What is more important than showing the world that you not only are the best at making money, but your philanthropic endeavors, also? It’s a media event that will bring to light all the things you do for the less fortunate.” “William Braxton is not less fortunate, he’s an artist.” She waved her hand in dismissal of his comment. “Anyone who must beg for money is less fortunate. He came to you and asked you to fund him.” “He’s a talented young man and he didn’t beg. He applied for the Sarington and won.” After his wife died, Jacob had started a grant in her name for struggling artists. Braxton was by far the most talented artist to have won it. His first exhibit in London could be the start of a stunning career for the man, and Braxton had asked Jacob or a representative of Stone to attend. He didn’t want to let the young man down. But he’d promised his daughter a day at the museum. Angel must come first. Forcing his shoulders to relax, Jacob met his mother’s gaze. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t very important. Besides, it’s been years since you were in London. You could stay with the Walcombs. They sent you an invitation to visit just last fall, didn’t they?” 77

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Eunice’s face slowly softened. The hard edge in her eyes warmed a bit. “Yes. It has been a long time. Not since your father and I...” She waved her hand again. “That’s neither here nor there. What is so important that you cannot go yourself?” Jacob thought about telling her the truth, but knew it wouldn’t work. His mother would harp on him about it. Children were not a priority to her. And definitely not a child she never wanted brought into the family. “I have a very important meeting with a prospective buyer from L.A. flying in on Friday.” Knowing that his mother had absolutely no knowledge of what he did at the office, she bought the lie easily. As far as he could remember, he’d never deceived her before. Guilt ran through him until he squashed it. Nothing had been quite this important to him before. “Well,” she said imperiously. “I suppose, for the sake of the company, I’ll go.” Relief. His shoulders nearly sagged with it. “Thank you, Mother. I appreciate it. Of course, you will fly over on the Stone jet. She was already heading for the door, not listening to him. “I must go shopping. And my hair. I wonder what the weather is like right now in London.” And then she was gone. Jacob sank down on the sofa and buried his face in his hands. God, he wanted out. Away. Or perhaps a vacation. That’s it. Just he and Angel. Thanksgiving was only two weeks away. He gave most of his staff the holiday off, but more years than not, he spent it at the office. Not this year. This year he and Angel would go somewhere. Skiing. It’s something he could teach her, a fun activity they could share, something that could bring them closer together. He hadn’t been skiing in ages. With a lift of his spirits, he headed toward the den and picked up the phone. He hit the speed dial for his property management executive. “Good evening, Marta,” He said into the phone, feeling another smile building. “I need the cabin in Aspen aired and stocked for Thanksgiving weekend. My daughter and I are going on vacation.” **** The week flew by and Mary hadn’t ever been happier. Neither, so it seemed, had Angel. After a rough Monday night supper with Eunice, in which the old biddy had harped unendingly on Jacob about his day in the park, she left Tuesday morning on one of Jacob’s private jets to spend two weeks in London with friends. Tuesday afternoon, Jacob also went out of town for a couple days. Up to Toronto to look at a building site. 78

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Thursday afternoon Mary sat on the couch in the corner of the studio, sketching on a pad with Angel’s Crayola’s while Angel worked on her oil painting at the easel in front of the huge wall of windows. Tonight was the big unveiling. Angel hadn’t let Mary see what she was painting, said it was going to be a surprise for both Mary and Jacob. Glancing up, Mary smiled at Angel. She’d loaned the girl one of her huge sweatshirts to paint in so her clothes wouldn’t get splattered. The deep green shirt fell almost to the child’s knees, and the arms were rolled up past her elbows. “I should be practicing the piano right now,” Angel said, but made no motion to move away from the easel. “I know. We’re breaking the rules.” Angel giggled. “It’s fun.” Mary grinned and looked back to her sketch. This one of the New York skyline as seen out the window...without getting too close to it, that is. She’d had so much fun these past few days teaching Angel how to use a brush and paint knife. Watching Angel blossom while out from under Eunice’s bitching. The girl was so bright it was almost scary. And she talked. And talked. About everything. Mary leaned back on the cushion and blinked back a tear. She’d fallen helplessly in love with the little girl over the past few days. Angel was everything Mary had ever dreamed about in a child of her own. Smart, sassy, teasing, laughing. And so artistically talented Mary couldn’t stand to see it go to waste. Though breaking Jacob’s rules and not making Angel practice her piano was probably going too far. “Extra half hour tomorrow night on the piano,” Mary said. Angel groaned. Mary laughed. “Meanie,” Angel pouted. Mary raised her eyebrows. “What did you just say?” Angel playfully stuck out her tongue. “I said you’re a big Meanie.” “One hour.” But Mary couldn’t hide the grin on her face, and Angel knew she was teasing. After a few more minutes and a few carefully placed brush strokes, Angel looked over at her. “Can I tell you somethin’, Mary?” “Anything, Angel.” Angel dipped the brush she’d been using in turpentine and then wiped it off on a paper towel, the way Mary had shown her to do. “I like you.” 79

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Mary’s heart melted into a little puddle in her chest. “Ah, sweetheart, I like you, too.” Angel came across the big room toward her, then sat down next to her. “I don’t ever want you to leave like all the other nannies.” Blinking back the stinging tears, Mary pulled Angel into her arms. “Well, sweetheart,” Mary said carefully. “I just work for your daddy. Even though I care about you very, very much, that doesn’t mean I can be here forever.” Angel settled against her. “I wish...” “What do you wish?” Mary asked when Angel didn’t say anything more. “I wish I knew what my mother was like. ’Cause I want her to be like you.” Mary bit the inside of her lip to keep the pain that shot through her silent. When she could speak, she said, “Sweetie, if I ever had a little girl, I’d want her to be just like you.” But she couldn’t have a little girl. Couldn’t have a child at all. She’d tried. For almost twelve years she’d tried. “Father doesn’t like to talk about her.” It took Mary a few seconds to understand what Angel was saying. How could he not tell his child about her mother? Every little girl deserved to know about her mom. “Maybe,” she said carefully, “it hurts too much to talk about her.” Angel shrugged. “All he ever says is that I look just like her.” “Well, you see, he told you something.” “Grandmother says that because I look just like her, I’ll be just like her.” Angel sighed. “Grandmother thinks my mother was useless.” Mary took Angel by the shoulders and held her away so she could see the girl’s face. “You listen to me, Angelina Stone. There are things you should never listen to, and anything your Grandmother says about your mother is definitely one of them.” “Father says I have to listen to her. It’s disrespectful not to listen to adults.” My God, Mary thought, how do you make a child understand these things? And the fact that she’d heard Eunice disparage the girl’s poor mother right to Jacob’s face and he hadn’t said anything... “Okay,” Mary said, trying to maintain her calm façade. “You can listen, but that doesn’t mean you have to believe.” A tiny smile flickered on Angel’s lips. “Really?” Mary nodded. The smile grew, and then Angel threw her arms around Mary’s neck and hugged her hard before jumping off the couch. “I gotta finish my picture before Father gets home.” 80

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Mary picked up the sketchpad and black pencil and placed the finishing touches on the Empire State Building, which could just be seen out of the corner of the wall of windows. “Anyone home?” “It’s your dad,” Mary said in a loud whisper. Angel’s eyes widened and she grinned. “In the studio,” Mary called as she stood up and laid the sketchpad face down on the couch. Though she’d love to show Jacob her own work, tonight was Angel’s big unveiling. “Turn the easel toward the door,” Mary whispered when she heard Jacob’s footsteps coming down the long, hardwood-floored hallway. Angel scrambled to carefully turn the easel and then stood next to it, standing proud and grinning like a little fool. Mary’s heart beat a little faster for the girl. She prayed Jacob would tell Angel he was proud of her. Mary glanced across the room at the painting and tears stung her eyes. It was a painting of the three of them sitting around a table with a big pizza in the middle. Jacob was looking at Angel and smiling. Jacob stopped in the doorway, his face unreadable at first, then it changed. Twisted into a mask of outrage. “Would you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing in here?” His voice was low, but it shook. His hands were balled in fists at his side. He glared at Mary. “Answer me, damn it.” Mary opened her mouth but only a squeak came out. She clamped her teeth over her tongue and took a step back. The back of her knees hit the couch and she fell, landing on her butt. “You have no business in here.” Angel dashed across the room and threw herself against Mary’s chest, burying her face in Mary’s shoulder. She couldn’t take her eyes off Jacob. Rage burned in his blue eyes like flames. Hot and dangerous. Jacob stalked over to the easel and ripped Angel’s painting off of it, glared at it. “Where’s Jacquelyn’s painting?” he demanded, his voice rising. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. JS wasn’t Jacob Stone it was Jacquelyn Stone. His dead wife.

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Angel sobbed against her neck and the girl’s arms were so tight around her Mary could hardly breathe. She raised her hand and pointed to the opposite wall where she’d carefully placed the half-finished painting. “Get out!” Jacob bellowed. “Get the hell out of here and don’t you ever step foot in here again!” Mary scrambled to her feet, clutching Angel against her, and headed for the door. “Who did this?” he demanded just as she cleared the doorway. Mary turned back, adjusted Angel in her arms. Her throat was tight with fury and tears when she answered, “Your daughter painted that for you.” Couldn’t the man see what he was doing to his child? “How dare you,” he growled. “You had no right.” She quickly nodded and turned away, carrying Angel all the way to her own rooms before sitting down on her white loveseat and rocking the girl back and forth. “Shh, baby.” Tears streamed down her face but she wouldn’t let go of Angel long enough to wipe them away. “Shh. Everything will be okay.” “He hates me,” Angel sobbed. “He hates me because I’m like my mother.” “No honey. No.” But Angel wasn’t listening to anything. Her own father had just crushed her tiny heart to pieces. Damn you Jacob Stone.

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Chapter Eight

Jacob paced the length of Jacquelyn’s studio. Fury and pain warred inside him. He still held the slightly damp painting he’d taken off the easel in one hand, and the book he’d purchased for Angel in the other. The painting was done with a child’s hand, but even with his limited knowledge of art, it showed promise. Maybe more than her mother had ever possessed. He silently cursed himself. He should have told Mary this room was off-limits. As far as he knew, Angel had never stepped foot here until Mary came. Mary. “God dammit,” he said under his breath. Everything had been so ordered, so tidy before she showed up. He set the painting on the couch and picked up the sketchpad lying there. It was open to a page showing a remarkably good etching of the New York skyline. He turned around and faced the windows. Then he sat down on the couch and knew that she’d drawn it from this perspective. And this one, he knew, hadn’t been drawn by Angel. And definitely not Jacquelyn. Mary again. He flipped through the pad. There were more sketches, and some looked like Angel’s work. Rougher, the people, though recognizable, were drawn in bright colors a child would choose. Mary’s, sprinkled here and there between Angel’s drawings were either done in black or gray pencil. The skyline, one of Central Park with its leaf-strewn paths and nearly bare trees, another of Angel. His chest squeezed tight. God, his baby was beautiful. And he’d sent her into Mary’s arms in tears. I’m such an asshole. He got up and went to the cabinet in the middle of the room and pulled open the drawer. The picture was still there. He took it out and ran his fingers over the glass, over Jacquelyn’s face. She’d been so happy that day. Their wedding day. “I’ve failed you again, Jackie,” he whispered to the picture. The one he kept hidden away. The only picture he still had of the two of them. After she died he’d given all the 83

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pictures to her parents. Two people who couldn’t stand the sight of him. They said he’d ruined their daughter’s life. He had. Horribly. And now he was hurting his baby. He clenched his teeth together and willed the pain away. He didn’t want to feel anything. For so long he’d been able to keep all his emotions in a tidy little box, buried somewhere deep in his soul. He didn’t want to feel the anger, the resentment, the pain. He took the picture and grabbed Angel’s painting off the couch, then headed for his bedroom. He had to think. His life was changing, and it scared the crap out of him. Mary served spaghetti and meatballs for supper, with a half loaf of crispy French bread and freshly grated Parmesan cheese. For dessert she’d made a sinful chocolate mousse. Jacob and Angel sat in their usual chairs, but there was no talking tonight. Angel’s eyes were still red-rimmed and she avoided even a glance in her father’s direction. Jacob’s jaw ticked rhythmically and he stared at the white lace tablecloth. Mary had the urge to smack him upside the head, but she refrained, sure she’d lose her job if she did that. But he was acting like a jerk. It’d taken Mary over twenty minutes to calm Angel down, and then the poor girl had begged not to have to eat supper with her father. But with Jacob’s rage, Mary wasn’t about to let Angel be anywhere but at the table at precisely six o’clock. Mary took her seat at the kitchen table and listened intently for any sound from the next room. So help her if Jacob said anything more to upset his daughter tonight... He hadn’t said a word to Mary, either. Wouldn’t make eye contact. At times like these she wished she could read minds. She surely wanted to know what was going on in his. He’d kept his wife’s studio blocked off from Angel. Why? When Mary had taken Angel in there last Friday night, the girl had been amazed. She’d never known the room was there. She’d never snooped, never took a peak behind doors. She’d probably never even seen her father’s room, for that matter. And that was just sad. Mary cut her meatballs into bite-sized pieces and pushed them around her plate. Her gut hurt like hell. Nausea rode low in her belly. Belle had always been such a curious child. She’d even admitted to snooping through her friends’ parents’ medicine cabinets, just to see what they had. Mary had a hard time comprehending that a child could live in a house for seven plus years and never know what was on the other side of the door at the end of the hallway. Mary stuck a quarter of a meatball in her mouth and chewed methodically. What she really wanted was a mounding plate of spaghetti. But she wouldn’t go there. Not tonight. 84

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Not when she was feeling low and depressed. She knew what that led to, and she had no intention of ever going there again. She ate another piece of meat. Tomorrow was her birthday, and she’d promised herself a night out. Tomorrow she’d eat whatever the hell hit her fancy and enjoy every naughty bite. Once a year wouldn’t hurt. Mrs. Brocton had agreed to take Angel for the night, so Mary was free until Saturday afternoon. But after what happened today, she didn’t feel much like celebrating. No, she felt more like snatching Angel up and taking her away. Taking her where she’d be happy and could paint to her heart’s content. But Mary had no right to do that. She was just a babysitter. Hired help. A tear slipped from her right eye and she swiped it away. God help her, she was a wreck. Wrapping her arms over her middle she stared down at her plate and willed the pain in her stomach to go away. The pain in her heart. “May I be excused?” she heard Angel say from the dining room. Jacob’s reply couldn’t be heard, but Angel came into the kitchen, glanced at Mary, then came to her side. “Are you sick?” Mary forced a smile. “Tummy hurts a bit. I’ll be okay.” Angel’s little eyebrows drew together. “It’s ’cause of Father, isn’t it?” she whispered. “Sometimes my tummy hurts when Grandma is here.” “No, baby,” Mary lied. “I just don’t feel very good.” She pulled her arms away from her stomach and sat up straighter, trying not to wince at the pain. Angel looked worried. “Really, I’m fine.” Mary pushed a loose lock of Angel’s hair from her forehead. “What are you going to do tonight?” Angel shrugged. “I should go practice the piano, so he doesn’t get even madder.” Mary really wanted to smack Jacob. “That’s probably a good idea.” Angel nodded, but didn’t move away from her side. “What is it?” Mary asked. “You’re not going to leave, are you?” Angel whispered, glancing at the dining room door. Mary put her arm around Angel and hugged her. “Sweetie, you have to remember that I just work here. If I made a big enough mistake, then...” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “Then yeah, I’ll have to leave.” “I hate him,” Angel whispered in her ear. A sob slipped out of Mary before she could stop it. “No. No, Angel. Please don’t say that. He’s your daddy and he loves you so much.” 85

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Angel shook her head. “Remember Sunday. Remember how good it was.” Tears streaked down Angel’s cheeks when she leaned away from Mary. “Sunday was good,” she agreed. “That’s right. You have to remember those times. The good times. Sometimes parents get angry and hurt their children’s feelings, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you with all his heart.” Angel mulled that over for a long moment. “Did your parents say mean things? Get angry?” Mary nodded. “Yep. They sure did.” Angel took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m going to go practice now. Maybe that will make him happy.” Then she turned and went through the door to the sitting room. Mary couldn’t finish her food, and took her plate to the sink. When she peered into the dining room, Jacob was gone, his plate nearly untouched. She gathered up the dishes and rinsed them, stuck them in the dishwasher, then scrubbed down the counters. Deciding that hiding out in her room was probably the wisest decision at this point, she went into her sitting room and glanced at the picture she’d tacked up on the wall. Jacob and Angel, in the park, feeding the pigeons. Both of them grinning. Both so happy. And she’d blown it for them. They were going to have to start from scratch all because she’d made a stupid, impulsive decision without checking with Jacob first. Her gut clenched and she lowered herself onto the loveseat and stared at the array of silk flowers she’d put in a pretty crystal vase on the little table by the door. God, she’d screwed up.

**** Mary jumped at the sound of a sharp rap on the door. She’d dozed off after letting herself finally shed the tears she’d been holding in since Jacob came home. She’d envisioned his eyes alight with pride as he looked at Angel’s painting. Maybe he’d even pick Angel up and hug her and tell her how proud he was. Instead, it had turned into a nightmare. The knocking sounded again and she pushed up from the little couch and pulled the door open. Jacob stood there, one hand resting on the doorjamb, a glass of amber liquid in the other. Uh oh, Mary thought as she backed away from the door. The look in his eyes was enough to bring powerful men to their knees. She had to remain strong. For Angel. Hell, for herself. 86

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Jacob stalked into the room and set his glass on the coffee table, his hard gaze never leaving her. Her stomach pinched but she forced herself not to put her hand over the ache. “Mr. Stone,” she said softly. “You had absolutely no right going in there.” Mary swallowed. His voice was so quiet, so deadly, she took another step back. She wasn’t afraid he’d actually do bodily harm to her, but he was frightening her. Glad that she hadn’t promised Angel she would be there in the morning, she figured she was about to be fired. “You’re a smart woman, Mary O’Toole. You can’t tell me you couldn’t figure out that that room hasn’t been touched in years.” Her nod was jerky. “That was my wife’s room. Hers and hers alone. No one belongs in there. Ever.” The fear subsided, replaced by a quick shot of anger. She took a step toward him. “Not even your own daughter?” “Especially my daughter. Do you think I want to see--” He stopped talking as if he just realized he’d almost said too much, revealed too much, and slashed his hand through his hair. Well, screw it, Mary thought. She was going to be tossed out tonight, so why the hell should she hold back? “You loved your wife so much you can’t stand for your daughter to use her things? That’s just sick.” “I didn’t love her!” Suddenly the anger fizzled from him and his shoulders drooped. His face showed his anguish. His pain. “Dear God, I didn’t love her.” He sank down onto the loveseat and buried his face in his hands. Mary was too stunned to move, to say anything. She didn’t know how to respond to such a dark admission. “I’d just come back from the Gulf War.” He spoke to the floor, his head propped on his hands as if it were too heavy to lift. “I was young and stupid and sowing my oats. I was rebelling against my parents. That’s all it was. Stupid-ass rebellion.” Mary sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of him and touched his shoulder. He jerked back as if her touch had scalded him. When his gaze met hers, tears stung her eyes to see the sorrow in him. “She was so young, so clean and beautiful,” he said, his voice expressionless. “I’d seen things in the Gulf that were so dark, so horrible, all I wanted was a bit of her innocence. My parents hated her. She wasn’t our kind,” he said with a sneer. “Her father was new money. Struck it rich with Internet startups.” 87

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He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “She got pregnant after our first night together.” Anguish twisted his face into a mask. “She’d been a virgin. “I proposed, and against both our parents’ wishes, we were married within weeks. She was too afraid to tell her father she’d gotten pregnant.” Mary didn’t know how to respond, so she folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to continue. “She lost the baby on our wedding night. Something inside her broke.” Jacob leaned forward a bit and met Mary’s gaze fully. “I wouldn’t let her go. Couldn’t admit to failure.” Tears glistened in his eyes and it broke Mary’s heart. “If she left me...” He shook his head. “My mother would have been the first to say ‘I told you so.’” “Jacob,” Mary whispered. She wanted him to stop. She couldn’t handle his pain. It hurt her too much. “We lived like strangers,” he said, his voice raspy. “For years we simply coexisted. I went on to turn Stone Enterprises into a multi-billion dollar company and she...painted.” His head fell forward again and Mary clenched her hands together to keep herself from reaching for him. “After my father died and my mother had her breakdown, Jacquelyn came to me. She was there for me even when I didn’t deserve it. She loved me, but I had no feelings for her. None. She was just...just a body.” A deep, heart-wrenching sound tore from his throat. “And she knew there were other women. God, so many.” His shoulders shook with his grief and Mary couldn’t stand it any longer. She reached out to him, lightly placed her hands on his head. He didn’t move away this time. She ran her fingers through his soft hair as she would a child. “She wanted to try again. She wanted a child. She wanted our marriage to work. “I promised not to stray. I told her that I’d be the husband she deserved. That I’d make up for everything I’d ever done wrong.” He swiped at his face. “But I never loved her. I couldn’t. Something’s wrong inside of me because I don’t feel...” “Shhh,” Mary whispered. “Shhh.” Jacob’s arms circled her waist and he buried his face against her neck. She felt his hot tears on her throat and she bit her lip to keep from crying. She wondered if anyone had ever been there for him, to help him past his grief. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Jacob. You feel. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have the anger. The guilt.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight. Even though she knew it was wrong. Even though he’d just confessed to doing horrible 88

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things, she wanted to comfort him. But most of all, guilt ate at her, too, because she enjoyed the feel of him in her arms. “She died giving birth to Angel,” he whispered against her throat. “She died and there was nothing I or the doctors could do for her. Just when things were looking better, when she was happy again, she was gone.” Seven years, Mary thought. For seven years he’d been living with the burden of his guilt. “It’s time to let it go, Jacob. Keeping her studio a shrine to her isn’t doing any good. Keeping Angel from knowing who her mother was doesn’t help anything.” “I can’t...” “You have to. Angel needs it. She needs to know about her mother. Needs to know what kind of woman she was.” Mary placed a soft kiss on the top of his head, just because she could. “She needs to see the other side of her dad. The side you’ve just shown me. The side that feels and hurts. And somewhere in there is the man who can laugh and love.” He shook his head. “Yes. You can. You love Angel. I know you do. I see it in your eyes when you look at her. But your heart is so clouded with guilt you aren’t letting anything else in. Let the guilt go. You need to start living.” Jacob took a deep breath and slowly pulled away from her. His hands skimmed her sides as he sat back and fiery tingles shot through her. Damn her traitorous body. Now was not the time to get turned on by his touch. Never was a good time. He wiped the back of his hand over his damp eyes. A pained chuckle came out his mouth. “I can’t believe I just cried in front of the nanny.” Oh, how words could hurt, she thought. Still just the nanny. “Yeah,” she said with a forced smile. “I’m sorry.” I’m not, Mary thought. I got to feel your arms around me. “It’s okay. What’s a nanny for?” She stood up and turned away before he could get a good look at her face and know she was hurting too. “Mary?” “Hm,?” she said, pretending to rearrange a vase of silk flowers. “You’re...a true friend.” Twist the knife just a little harder, Mr. Stone. “Will you tell Angel I’m sorry for tonight?” She whirled away from the flowers and planted her hands on her hips. “Hell, no.” 89

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Jacob came to his feet, his brow furrowed into a frown, his eyes red. “Why not? I didn’t mean to scare her. I didn’t mean to shout. It was just such a shock to see her there, where her mother used to work. I--I lost it.” Mary shook her head. Let out a sigh of frustration. “You need to apologize to her. And you need to sit and talk to her. She doesn’t have any problems with me. You are the one who needs to smooth things over with her. And you’re going to do it alone. Without me to play buffer for you. It’s time you stand up and start acting like a dad.” His mouth opened as if he was going to say something, but then he snapped it shut and his eyes grew hard once again. Glassy. His jaw ticked. “I don’t know the first thing about being a dad. I didn’t know my father until I was old enough to start working at Stone. Until then he was just this man who ate supper with us occasionally.” “And look how well you turned out,” Mary snapped. “You want Angel to be like you? Cold? Afraid to let anyone into her heart? Or better yet, she’ll end up being just like your mother. Bitchy and discontented with...everything.” He took a step toward her, but she didn’t back down. “Don’t talk about my mother that way. She can’t help it.” Mary snorted. “Give me a break. Eunice is like a spoiled kid. You let her get away with it. You coddle her. If you’d set down a few rules for that woman, she might shape up.” His hands went to his hips. “She’s my mother. I don’t set rules for her.” “Then she’s going to be meddling in your life forever. And she’s not good for Angel. Even you know that. You sent her to Europe to get her away from the girl for a while.” Jacob ran his hands through his hair, pausing to tug at it as if pain would cure what ailed him. “So just what the hell am I supposed to do?” “Put a leash on your mother and loosen the noose around Angel’s neck. Let her be a little girl and keep Eunice away from her until Angel is strong enough to deal with her grandmother.” Though Mary thought it might not be for a good ten years or so, she didn’t add that. Jacob shook his head and glared at her. She wanted to tell him it was time to be a man but doubted that would go over very well. “Your daughter must come first if you want a relationship with her. The love of a child is warmer and sweeter than anything else in the world. Don’t miss out on it.” “I need to think,” Jacob said, then turned toward the door. Mary was halfway through a sigh of relief when he turned back toward her. He pointed to the pencil sketch on the wall she’d done of Jacob and Angel in the park feeding pigeons. “That’s very nice.” 90

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“Thank you,” she said politely, but frowned. “Angel’s got real talent, too, doesn’t she?” Mary nodded. His jaw ticked a few times as he stared at the sketch. “She can use Jacquelyn’s things. And let me know if she needs anything else.” He turned away again, but Mary called his name. “She hates the piano.” His head thumped against the wall and he sighed. “Fine. She doesn’t have to take lessons anymore.” He reached for the doorknob. “One more thing?” “What?” There was no mistaking the annoyance in his tone. “Dance class.” “Do what you think is best,” he said on another sigh. He was tired and she should let him go. She smiled and added the final thing she’d been aching to ask him. “I’d like to find some art classes for her to take. I’m not very good at teaching.” He tipped his head and looked at her. A look that warmed her from the tips of her toes. “You’re better at teaching than you think.” And then he walked out of the room, leaving her standing there, tingling under his praise.

**** Jacob stepped out of the steamy shower and briskly dried himself. He was running late, and the hell of it was, he was terrified of seeing Angel this morning. He’d lain awake most of the night, staring out the window at the lights of the city, and tried to figure out exactly how he was supposed to apologize and make her understand it wasn’t her fault. That she’d done nothing wrong. For that matter, Mary hadn’t done anything wrong, either. He’d treated her like garbage last night. He’d yelled at her and then grabbed her like a lifeline and cried. Cried. And then he’d had the audacity to fantasize about her. Stone men didn’t cry. Ever. If his mother had seen him last night, she would have been ashamed. Totally ashamed. Probably would have disowned him. He quickly dressed, then grabbed the book he’d bought in Toronto for Angel and headed toward the kitchen. Mary was at the stove and Angel was sitting in her seat at the kitchen table, her nose buried in a book he was sure she’d already read. He silently pulled out his chair and sat down. Mary set a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. The “I’m sorry” stuck in his throat. He glanced at Angel, but she’d raised the book higher, blocking her face with it. 91

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He cleared his throat. Mary brought a plate of fried eggs and ham to the table and set it down. He finally looked up, and she gave him a little smile and nod. “It’s okay,” she whispered, then turned and disappeared into her rooms. Jacob’s heartbeat quickened. Alone with Angel. Mary had abandoned him. After clearing his throat again, he said, “Angel.” After a few long moments, she lowered the book to the table. She stared at his tie. Self-consciously he ran his hand down the blue silk. “Angel,” he said again, this time with a little strength. But then he ran out of words. He shoved the book in its plastic bag across the table toward her. “I got this for you.” Angel’s gaze darted from his tie to the white plastic bag. “Go ahead, you can open it.” She carefully reached for the bag, but her gaze kept darting back at him, as if she expected him to yell at her...or worse. His breath whooshed out of him as a deep ache settled in his chest. He loved her so much. Mary was right. He loved his baby and he had the urge to grab her up and squeeze her hard. To hold her and never let go. He let the words come from his heart, opening himself to his baby as he had to only one other person. Mary. “Angel, I’m sorry.” She’d just been pulling the book from the bag when she dropped it and her eyes went wide, finally focusing on his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you yesterday, and I’m sorry I...” His throat closed up on him. He reached over and took her hand in his. That she didn’t pull away eased a bit of the pain in his chest. “Your painting was beautiful. I’d like to get it framed and hang it in the den, if that’s okay with you.” A small smile flitted over her little mouth and she nodded. Her hand opened under his, turned so they were palm-to-palm. His heart felt so full he thought it might bust out of his chest. He was afraid, but thought it was time to push the limits of his comfort zone. “Angel?” She raised her eyebrows and looked at him, the wariness sneaking back into her face. “I’d really like something from you, but only if you want to do it.” She didn’t move, but he felt her hand tense under his, as if she was preparing to bolt. “Your dad could really use a hug,” he said, his voice a little raw. Angel jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him. He shut his eyes and breathed in her little girl scent of strawberry shampoo. Drawing her up onto his lap he rocked back and forth. “I love you, Angelina. I promise I 92

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do.” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I want to be a good dad. It’s what I want most in the world. I just don’t really know how.” “You are a good dad,” Angel whispered in his ear. Even though he knew she spoke the words she thought he wanted to hear, that he hadn’t been a good father at all to her, he took comfort in the tight hug. “Thank you.” Jacob glanced up to see Mary standing in her doorway, tears shining in her eyes. She gave him a sweet smile and a thumbs up. He nodded. “Thank you,” he mouthed. Mary turned around and went back into her room.

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Chapter Nine

Jacob stayed a little later than usual with Angel and finished his breakfast, chatting with her about her new book--it was the new one in the Harry Potter series--and she was so excited about it, she wanted to start reading it right then and there. After he left, Mary helped Angel gather up some clothes for her overnight with Mrs. Brocton, and put them in a little carryall. As they rode down to the lobby in the elevator, Angel grinned up at her. “I told you,” Mary said with a big smile, so happy that things were going to be all right between Angel and Jacob. Angel nodded. “He said he loves me.” “Of course he does, sweetie, he’s your daddy.” “He never said it before.” Angel’s happy face never wavered. “But he said it today. And he hugged me,” she added in an awed whisper. “Maybe he just didn’t know how before,” Mary said as the elevator door silently opened and they stepped into the marble and mirror lobby. “He says we’re going to Aspen next weekend.” Mary kept the smile plastered on her lips, but disappointment shot through her with the speed of a bullet. Next weekend was Thanksgiving. If Jacob and Angel were leaving town, then she’d be spending the holiday alone. “That sounds like fun. Do you like to ski?” “I dunno. Never did it before. But Father said he’d teach me.” Sam waited by the glass double doors. He tipped his hat to her. “Ms. O’Toole.” “Good morning, Sam,” she said. It was the same every morning. He was so polite, so... She shook her head. “Did Mr. Stone tell you that Angel is to be dropped off with him after school?” “Yes, ma’am. Will you be needing the car today?” “No, thank you.” “Very well. Come along Ms. Stone.” He pushed the door open and stood to the side, waiting for Angel to precede him. 94

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Mary turned back toward the elevator. She smiled at Brent as she passed the security desk, and he gave her a solicitous smile. “Good morning, Ms. O’Toole.” She stopped and turned toward the desk. The old guy, she could never remember his name, stood when he saw her coming toward them. “Is there something we can do for you, Ms. O’Toole?” She let out a quick breath. “Yes. Please, call me Mary.” Brent grinned. The old guy, not wearing a nametag, that’s why she couldn’t remember his name, gave a sharp nod. “Thank you,” she said and pushed the button to call the elevator. She hated all this Ms. O’Toole stuff. It made her nuts. She worked for Jacob just like the rest of these people, but they treated her like she was special. She wasn’t. She was just another employee of Stone Enterprises. Maybe she was a bit closer to the family than the rest of them, but she was still just an employee. When she entered the penthouse, the phone was ringing. Strange, it hadn’t even occurred to her that the phone never rang when Jacob wasn’t home. She strode to the small table behind the big leather sofa and lifted the receiver. “Stone residence.” “You didn’t tell me you were his nanny!” Belle’s girl-like squeal had Mary pulling the phone away from her ear. “Um. How did you find out?” Mary asked. Belle laughed. “A little bird told me. Anyway, why did you let me think you were his secretary?” Because she hadn’t wanted Belle to know she’d failed so badly at her job search. “What difference does it make? I work for him, that’s all that matters.” “And you live in his house? Is it amazing? Is it huge?” Mary swallowed and glanced around the room, at the expensive furniture, at the wall of windows. “It’s an apartment,” she said. “Is it like Donald Trump’s? I saw his penthouse on TV. Wow, it was amazing.” “I wouldn’t know,” Mary said as she sank down onto the sofa. “I’ve never seen Donald Trump’s apartment.” Once again, Belle had forgotten her birthday. She’d called to talk about Jacob’s apartment. Her job as nanny. Sadness washed through her. She was going to spend her birthday alone, not even having Angel around this evening, and she’d spend Thanksgiving alone next weekend. While Belle chirped on about things she knew nothing about, Mary idly wondered if Jacob would take Angel away for Christmas, too. She supposed she could go visit her sister if Jacob was gone, but...Mary really didn’t care to do that, either. 95

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“So?” Belle said, obviously waiting for an answer to some question or another. “So...?” “Ugh, you never listen to me, do you? I asked how much he was paying you.” Mary’s lips pressed together. So that’s why she really called. To ask for money. “Not much,” she lied. “Oh.” Mary swallowed back the pain in her throat. That’s all Belle cared about. “Well, I could use a little loan. Not much,” she rushed to say. “Just a couple hundred until payday.” “Where are you working?” “Mr. Anderson hired me at the grocery. Your old job.” Mary let out a slow breath. It was time the girl learned to deal with things on her own. Grow up. Stop relying on Mary for everything. “I’m sorry, Belle. I don’t have a couple hundred lying around.” “You work for a rich guy. Couldn’t you ask him for an advance or something? I mean,” she laughed and the sound was rather odd, “you two are close.” Mary clenched her teeth to keep from shouting at her sister. When she was sure she wouldn’t explode, Mary quietly said, “I gave you almost every penny from the sale of the house. You blew it. I am not giving you any more.” Belle’s gasp was loud in her ear. “I did not blow it! I told you, Bobby needed it--” “Yeah. You told me. The point is...” Mary closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “The point is, I can’t support you anymore, Belle. It’s time for you to figure all that out on your own.” If she didn’t put her foot down now, she’d forever be paying the woman’s bills, and she could kiss art school goodbye forever. Mary realized she was taking her own advice. Hadn’t she told Jacob to stop letting his mother control his life? A smile flitted over her lips. Yes, this was definitely the right thing to do. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” Belle wailed. “After I said all those nice things about you to that reporter, you go and kick me in the teeth.” Mary latched on to the confusing part. “What reporter?” “You don’t love me. You’ve never loved me. I’ve always been a burden to you and you don’t care.” Mary ignored the childish diatribe she’d heard thousands of times over the past sixteen years. “What reporter?” she demanded. “I should have given him Sheldon’s phone number. But I covered for you. I knew he’d only be rude and nasty, but now I wish I had.” 96

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Mary rubbed her fingers against her forehead. She could only imagine what her exhusband might say about her. “What reporter?” she said again, desperate. There was a confidentiality clause in her contract with Stone. If Belle said something to a reporter... God, she wished she could remember the wording of the contract. She might lose not only her job, but now she wondered if Jacob could sue her for something Belle said. The phone went dead and Mary pulled it away from her ear and stared at it. “Happy birthday to me,” she said, letting the self-pity flow through her. She should have never left Vermont. She should have found a nice quiet office to work at in Burlington. The money wouldn’t be as good, but eventually she’d save enough to go art school. She set the phone in the cradle and lay back on the soft leather. Now, because she’d come to New York, she had two people she cared about. Deeply. One was a child she wished was her own, and the other... The other was a man she wished was her own, too. Silly girl, she chided herself as she shoved up from the sofa. Silly Mary, always dreaming about things you’ll never have. There were no children in her future, and surely no Jacob Stones. Jacob strode into the inner office, feeling good. Terrific, in fact. He’d talked with Angel. Actually talked. And they’d...connected. Not as much as he’d have liked, but there was a beginning. Next weekend should seal the deal. He grinned at Mrs. Brocton behind her desk. “Good morning,” he said. She came out of her chair like a shot. “Mr. Stone. I need to speak with you.” Her expression was serious, upset. “What is it? Don’t tell me that Houser is reneging on the deal.” Mrs. Brocton shook her white head, picked up a newspaper from her desk and preceded him into his office. “No, the papers are here for you to sign. They came in yesterday morning.” “What’s wrong, then?” he asked as he hung his coat in the closet and slipped out of his suit jacket. “Are you having second thoughts about taking Angel tonight? That’s okay. I don’t have any meetings lined up for tomorrow. I can—” “Jacob, sit down, please.” Jacob froze in the process of sliding his suit jacket onto a hanger. When Mrs. Brocton called him Jacob, something was seriously wrong. He went to his desk and sat down. Waited. She spread out the newspaper on his desk. It wasn’t the New York Times, it was one of those rag sheets from a newsstand. The ones he avoided like the plague. He glanced 97

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down at the pictures and his stomach clenched. The headline read: NEW NANNY…OR SOMETHING MORE? Three pictures of him, Angel and Mary. One as the three of them sat on a park bench tossing breadcrumbs to a hoard of pigeons. Another one as they sat in Geraldo’s. But the third one was the one the sleazy photographers based their assumptions on. Angel had her face pressed to the window of a bookstore, while Jacob leaned down close to Mary, their heads almost touching as he listened to her tell him about the books she thought Angel enjoyed reading the most. The assholes had been stalking them all day Sunday and he hadn’t even realized it. How could he have been so stupid? “Read the article,” Mrs. Brocton said. As he scanned the article, his blood began to boil. Someone inside Stone had leaked her name. And then they’d tracked down her sister, who gave a scattered report of Mary working very closely with him, and basically told the world about Mary’s past. Her failed marriage. Her two years at college. It was all conjecture. They twisted it to sound like he was having an illicit affair with his daughter’s nanny. A nanny who didn’t have the credentials to be a nanny. He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Jacob.” When he looked back at Mrs. Brocton, she sat in the chair opposite him, her face ghostly white. “What’s her degree in?” he asked quietly. “Office administration.” He swallowed, his stomach churning, the ham and eggs he’d eaten less than an hour ago threatening to return. “And the resume that landed on my desk? The one that prompted me to hire her? The one you vouched for, said you’d done all the follow ups on her references?” Mrs. Brocton’s gaze fell away from his. “I never thought...” The back of his skull throbbed. “Why? Why did you do this? After all these years of working for my family, you put my reputation, not to mention Mary’s, on the line. And you put Angel in the hands of someone totally unqualified to be a nanny. That’s even worse than the rest of it.” Her gaze rose to his and he saw tears shimmering in her deep brown eyes. “You needed her,” she said softly. “Angel needed her.” Jacob slashed his hands through his hair and grabbed the back of his head, willing the pain away. “Explain.” 98

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Mrs. Brocton’s eyes closed for a scant second. When she looked back at him, the tears were gone, but she looked close to falling apart. His strong, competent assistant, who’d never once looked the least bit perturbed by anything that had been thrown at her, looked like she were about to burst out in tears. “When Mary came here, she...she needed a job, badly. I began the interview but it only took seconds to know she’s much too softhearted to work here. Then I began putting the questions to her that I asked the prospective nannies, and she answered each of them the way... She was perfect for the position. She’s sweet and kind, but she’s got some starch to her. I figured she could handle you, even if she couldn’t handle corporate life.” “She has no experience with children. My God, I’d asked her to help me—” He cut off, not wanting to reveal that much of himself, even to a trusted friend. Or she had been trusted before this. She only had another month working for him. She was almost seventy and finally decided to retire. Never in almost fifty years working for the Stones had she done anything this irresponsible. “I didn’t think about things like this,” she admitted, waving her hand toward the paper. “I never thought...” “You say she’s sweet and kind. Do you know what it’s going to do to her when she sees this? Do you?” he nearly shouted. He came out of his chair, too anxious to sit still. The shocker of it all, to him at least, was the fact that he wanted Mary to be more than just the nanny. He wanted her. His heart had been torn in two last night when she was holding him, offering him her strength and support, but once he was in his bed, flashes came to him of how she’d felt. So soft, so warm. She could chew him out, yell at him, but then she turned into a nurturer. And goddamnit, he’d wanted to climb out of his own bed and go to her, beg for more of that comfort. “She does have some experience with children,” Mrs. Brocton said softly. “She has three nephews she’s taken care of.” Jacob turned away from the window and focused on the woman. “So she’s a babysitter? You had me turn over my daughter to a woman who’s babysat a few times?” “I did a thorough check on her, Mr. Stone. You know I would never put Angelina in danger.” He knew that. He sank into his chair. “I’m sorry. I know you love Angel.” “Did you know that Mary married a friend of her father’s when she was only sixteen? The man was twenty-five years her senior, but she did it so she could raise her younger sister, not lose her to foster care.” 99

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Jacob’s head came up. “Sixteen?” Mrs. Brocton nodded. “Her sister was only fourteen at the time.” “How do you know this? I can’t imagine Mary told you.” “No. I spoke with her last employer. A Calvin Anderson. Her only employer, really. She’d been working for him since she was fourteen.” Mrs. Brocton folded her hands in her lap, met his gaze levelly. “Her parents were killed in an auto accident just before her sixteenth birthday. There was no other family, but her parents had made a man named Sheldon Douglass their legal guardian. He was over forty. Not much better than the town drunk. He was going to turn them over to child protective services, but then decided he wanted a wife.” “My God.” Jacob felt truly ill. “What happened?” “She turned sixteen and filed for emancipation from Douglass, hoping to get custody of her sister, but the local judge wouldn’t agree to it. She was too young to care for a minor. When Douglass offered her marriage, and the chance of keeping her sister with her, she took him up on it.” Jacob’s hands fisted. Sixteen. He couldn’t fathom it. When he was sixteen he was an obnoxious sophomore, trying his best to get into Shelly Efferson’s pants behind the bleachers at the high school football game. At that age, he couldn’t imagine being responsible enough to care for another child. Yet, Mary had married and raised her sister. “What do you know about her divorce?” “Not much. Mr. Anderson said Mary became more reserved over the years. Didn’t say much about her home life, except to talk about her frustrations with her sister. Apparently the woman’s been married several times and has three kids. Mr. Anderson said every time the sister wound up without a husband, Mary was the one to jump right back in and support her.” Mrs. Brocton’s eyes looked sad. “Mr. Anderson said Mary wound up with some health problems. One day she came into his store and turned in a two-week notice. She’d walked out on the Douglass fellow, told Mr. Anderson she was starting a new life for herself, and left for college before the ink was dry on the divorce papers.” Jacob just shook his head, unable to believe that sweet Mary had been through such hell. “Anything else?” “Well.” Mrs. Brocton adjusted herself in her seat. “Mr. Anderson was very talkative, and it was obvious he cared very much for Mary. He said Mary’s dream was to go to some fancy art school. His words. But she needed a job that would pay more than he 100

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could ever afford. That’s why she got the office admin degree. She’d been keeping the store’s books for him for years.” Jacob leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on the desk. Glanced down at the damning photos. “And now her face is splashed across this garbage. They accuse her of sleeping with the boss because she’s a money-grubbing gold digger.” “Right.” He scanned the article again, taking in all the hurtful things her sister said about her. How she’d never had any money, so working for someone like Jacob Stone was a coup. That she probably had to lie to get the job because she’d gone on a dozen or more interviews before being hired. And then, as the article changed tone, he could tell that the sister hadn’t had a clue she was a nanny, for it was as if she got nastier. Saying Mary had no experience with children. That she must have really lied to get that job. “Her sister sounds like a bitch.” Jacob’s gaze snapped back to Mrs. Brocton’s. He’d never heard her use one bad word in all the years he’d known her. “I agree,” he said. “One other thing,” Mrs. Brocton said softly as she stood up. “Today is Mary’s birthday. I seriously doubt she’ll be getting any warm wishes from a woman who could say those things about her.” She pointed at the paper as if the evil sister was right there. “It might be nice if you...you don’t tell her about this today.” Her eyes were pleading. “This wasn’t her fault, Jacob. It was my doing. All of it. I forged the resume I gave you.” Jacob shook his head in disbelief. “She never said a word.” “Of course not. From what she told me, working for you was her last hope of finding work in New York before she gave up and went home. It was after I talked to Mr. Anderson that I realized she had nothing to go back to.” She shifted slightly. “I felt sorry for her, Jacob. I didn’t want her to feel she’d failed. But she didn’t have even close to the skills needed to work in the office.” “She’s good with Angel,” he said, but could only remember how it had felt to be in her arms last night. “I knew she would be. She’s good for you, too.” Jacob raised an eyebrow at her. “You were smiling when you came in this morning. I haven’t seen you smile—really smile—in years. You can’t tell me she didn’t have something to do with it.” Ignoring the grandmotherly look of satisfaction she was sending him, he folded the paper and shoved it in the top drawer of his desk. “I won’t say anything to her. Hopefully she won’t get wind of it. She hardly leaves the apartment. With any luck this will all die down and she’ll never know what her sister did.” He could only imagine how her 101

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sparkling green eyes would dim, how they’d cloud with tears. She had a soft heart, and he didn’t think she could take that much hurt. “Jacob?” He looked back at the petite Mrs. Brocton. “I...” “It’s okay, Greta,” he said softly. “What’s done is done, and I know you had everyone’s best interest in mind.” A small smile flitted over her mouth. “Thank you, sir.” She was halfway to the door when he called to her. She turned back toward him. “I need the phone number to the florist we use.” She smiled in earnest this time. “I’ll get that for you now, Mr. Stone.”

**** Jacob had left Mary’s paycheck on the kitchen counter. Her eyes nearly bugged at the amount. Even after Government and state taxes were deducted, and all the other odds and end deductions the IRS wanted, her two week’s worth of pay was more than she made in a month working for Mr. Anderson at minimum wage. And there weren’t any bills to pay. No property taxes, no electric and gas, which had always wiped her out every month. “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. Today was her birthday, and damn it, she was going to go out and enjoy herself. She was in New York, for goodness sake. She could find something entertaining to keep herself occupied. With that thought, she smiled. No more feeling sorry for yourself, Mary Katherine. Time to have some fun. Mary straightened up the kitchen, then headed first to the bank a block from Stone Tower. The weather was still warm, and she smiled as she passed the people on the sidewalk. They scowled back, of course, because in New York, no one smiled at anyone. Wasn’t anyone happy here? Car horns blared from the street, ricocheting off the high buildings, the sound nearly deafening. She scrunched up her face and pushed on. Nothing was going to ruin her day, she decided as she pulled open the enormous glass door of the First National Bank. She had money in her pocket for the first time in as long as she could remember, and she was bound and determined to have fun. An hour later, after opening a checking account and receiving her very first ATM card, she wandered Fifth Avenue, peering in the shop windows. She should have had Sam take her to an outlet mall somewhere. The prices here were astronomical. Oh well, she thought, one outfit wouldn’t break the bank.

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She found a shop called Carolyn’s Plus and wandered in. Bright colors lined the racks of the size 14+ store. Perfect. Something bright and cheery would do well to spice up her day. She wore her standard jeans and drab sweatshirt, two-year old running shoes. She headed for the wall racks where dresses of eye-popping colors hung. She reached for the size eighteen. “Can I help you?” Mary swung around at the voice to encounter a man. A man working in a woman’s store? That never happened where she was from. Self-consciousness flooded her, but she forced it back. “I’m looking for a dress.” She pointed to the rack. “Something bright...different.” The man tsked at her and shook his head. “Honey, you are much too young to be wearing those dowdy things. No one as pretty as you, with that gorgeous hair of yours, should look like you’ve been in a paintball war.” He motioned to her. “Come with me. I think we have just the thing.” Mary glanced back at the dresses and realized he was right. They did look a bit...odd. She tried not to let his words get to her, but she grinned. No one in a very long time had said she was pretty. Even though she knew the guy probably worked on commission, and he made his living complimenting the women he sold clothes to, it still warmed her. She followed him across the store to a rack. The hangers zinged as he flipped through them. “Here.” He pulled off a black skirt and an emerald green blouse. “This will match your eyes perfectly.” He held them out to her. “What do you think?” “I think they’re too small,” she said softly. “I’m a size eighteen.” Her cheeks heated and she looked away. “Oh, I don’t think so, honey. Try them on. Let’s have a look-see.” Mary shook her head and reached for another blouse. “Maybe this one...” “Honey,” the man said as he cocked out a hip and stuck a long-fingered hand on it. “If you’re an eighteen, I’ll eat my shoes.” Mary giggled as she glanced down at his expensive Italian loafers. “I’ve been an eighteen for over a year. I think I’d know.” His smile was sweet, almost boyish. “Come on. Trust me. Try these on.” Mary sighed and then nodded. She followed him to the dressing room where he hung the skirt and blouse on the wall, then shut the door, leaving her alone with clothes she knew were way too small. But they fit.

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“Oh, my goodness.” She grinned at her reflection. The skirt was way too short, but the blouse was...stunning. The green was dark and rich, and the sales guy had been right. It matched her eyes and made them sparkle. “Do I get to see?” the man called from the other side of the door. The skirt rode just above her knees, and she never wore anything that short. She tried tugging it down a bit, but it seemed permanently glued in place. With a huff, she pulled open the dressing room door. “Oh, honey, that is...” He clasped his hands and smiled. “Stunning.” “The skirt’s too short,” she said, even as her insides did a little happy-dance at his words. He’s just a salesman, she reminded herself. He’s getting paid to make a sale. “I have customers that would kill for legs like yours.” He motioned for her to turn around. She turned slowly, holding her hands out to her sides. “Oh, yes. Lovely. Just perfect. Now to find you some shoes.” And he was off. Mary went back into the dressing room and examined herself in the mirror. She couldn’t believe what she saw. She’d lost a whole dress size since leaving Vermont? She actually had a waistline? The skirt’s size was sixteen. Not since high school had she worn a sixteen. The man came back with three boxes of shoes. “Size eight and a half, right?” Mary nodded. The guy was amazing. “Now, where are you going to wear this outfit?” “Uh... Just going out to dinner.” “Well, then.” He pulled a pair of black pumps out of the first box. The spiky heel had to be three inches tall. “These would be perfect.” Mary shook her head. “I don’t wear heels.” She had never worn heels. Would likely kill herself if she tried. Tennis shoes or low-heeled dress shoes had always been her choice for comfort. Besides, if she put on those heels, she’d be too close to six feet tall. Anyone her size shouldn’t be that much of an Amazon. The man shook his head. “Pity. These would make your calves gorgeous.” She frowned, not knowing what the heck that meant. He pulled the next pair of shoes from the box. “How about these? They’re low, and I’m told are verrrry comfortable. They looked like granny shoes. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She wasn’t about to wear something that the old ladies from church wore. The man sighed. “All right.” He pulled the last pair out of the box. “How about these? Classic and elegant. Can’t go wrong. 104

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They looked like slippers. Mary smiled. No heel at all. She sat down on the bench in the dressing room and slipped off her socks. The man gently placed the slipper on her foot. They were even a little cushioned on the sides. “I’ll take them.”

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Chapter Ten

Mary was in heaven. The skirt flared at her thighs just a bit, the slippers were the most comfortable shoes she’d ever worn outside her sneakers, and the blouse absolutely shimmered in the sunshine. She’d asked the salesman to have her old clothes returned to Jacob’s building--the way Jacob had done the past weekend. Feeling as if she were floating, Mary went through dozens of little shops, browsing for the most part, until she came upon a salon. She checked out her reflection in the window and frowned. Her hair was getting too long, and looked dry and frizzled. She went in to see if she could get a trim. Two hours later and her new bank account much lighter, she gazed at her reflection. “Wow,” she whispered. “The madam is pleased?” Roberto, the stylist with an incredibly strong French accent, asked. “Oh, yeah. Very pleased.” He’d trimmed her hair to shoulder length, toned down the brassy highlights into a rich auburn, and styled her hair into an early Katharine Hepburn. He removed the black cape from around her with a flourish and gave a slight bow. Then he held his hand out to her to help her from the seat. “Such a beauty,” he commented. Her heart pitter-pattered and she couldn’t keep from grinning. “Thank you so much.” Mary withdrew a ten-dollar bill and gave it to him for a tip. She hoped it was enough. He smiled and tucked it away in his pocket. Mary left the salon. Evening was closing in, the sky darkening. Her stomach rumbled. Ah, yes. Now to enjoy a big, sinful birthday dinner. She couldn’t keep from glancing at her reflection in the shop windows as she passed. She looked so different. She looked almost...pretty. Like someone else. Standing on a street corner a few blocks from Stone Tower, she checked out all the restaurants. Italian, Mexican, French, Chinese... Her stomach grumbled again. Mexican, she decided. She hadn’t had a flaming hot fajita slathered in sour cream and spicy salsa in...well, in over two years. She waited for the signal and walked across the street with a group of businessmen, all in suits, each of them with a cell phone plastered to his ear. 106

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Mary almost giggled at how silly they all looked, but she kept it inside. She pulled open the door of LaMex and inhaled the spicy scent of garlic and tomatoes. Oh, yeah. She was going to enjoy this meal. The hostess greeted her. “I hope I don’t need a reservation,” Mary said, glancing at the full tables. The hostess shook her head. “We have a few tables left. For how many?” “Just one.” The woman looked Mary up and down, and some of the happiness filtered out of her. She knew that look. Why are you eating alone, poor woman can’t get a date? It was a look she was used to, but she didn’t want it tonight. She swallowed a little lump in her throat as she followed the hostess across the room and sat at a table meant for two against the wall. A menu was laid in front of her. “Have you been in here before? You look familiar.” Mary glanced up at the young hostess and shook her head. “Hmm. I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.” She gave a slight shrug and wandered back toward the front of the restaurant. The waitress came to take her drink order, and, trying to get back into her good mood, Mary ordered a strawberry margarita. Mary had decided to get the chicken fajitas by the time the waitress came back with her drink. She set the bowl-sized margarita glass in front of her, then held out a paper. “We’ve all been trying to figure it out, and Sue finally realized who you were. Would you autograph this for us? We get a few famous people in here, but not often.” Mary frowned at the paper, one of those rag sheets from the grocery store lineups. “I’m not whoever you think I am,” Mary said, then grinned. “I’m definitely not famous.” The waitress flipped open to the middle and laid it on the table. “You’re not Mary O’Toole, Jacob Stone’s nanny? You look just like her.” She waved a hand toward Mary’s head. “Except for the hair.” Mary’s heart nearly stopped beating. That was her, all right. With Jacob and Angel. Taken last Sunday. The accusing headline jumped out at her. Her stomach clenched and pain shot out from her gut as she remembered the reporter Belle had been talking about. Mary jumped up from the chair so fast it crashed to the floor. “I have to go.” She dropped a few bills onto the table, not even looking at what they were, then dashed for the front door. 107

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Tears streaked her cheeks and she collapsed against the cold brick wall outside. Her job. Her future. It was gone. And Jacob. Poor Jacob... Backhanding the tears from her cheeks, she headed toward the newspaper stand on the next corner. She had to see what the paper said. She bought the paper and headed back toward Stone Tower, but then stopped. She didn’t want to go back there yet. She couldn’t. Not until she knew what the article said, how much her sister had told, could she face Jacob. And then it would be to say goodbye, because he sure as hell wouldn’t want her working for him anymore. She passed Geraldo’s, the little Italian place where she, Jacob and Angel had dined on Sunday. Then slipped in the door and looked around. Only a few tables were occupied, and those with couples who looked too engrossed with each other to notice her. “Ms. O’Toole. So lovely to see you again.” Mary swung her head around. Geraldo was standing by the hostess podium. He knew her name. Of course he knew her name, Jacob had introduced them on Sunday. But he was wearing a handsome black suit tonight, not a sauce-splattered apron. “Ms. O’Toole, is everything all right?” Geraldo asked in that thickly accented voice. She gave a jerky nod. “I was wondering if I could...” She bit her lip, blinked back more tears as her hand clutched the horrible paper. “Why don’t you let me seat you, and then I’ll bring you a glass of wine. Would that help?” Mary nodded again. Geraldo smiled and took her arm. “Right this way.”

**** Jacob greeted Angel with a hug when Sam dropped her off at the office just after four that afternoon. She grinned at him and he felt a hundred feet tall. “You have everything you need for your overnight with Mrs. Brocton?” Angel nodded. “We’ll be fine, Mr. Stone,” Mrs. Brocton said with a smile when Angel rushed into her arms. “Have Sam pick her up around six tomorrow evening.” “Why don’t you two head off, then?” Jacob said. “I have a bit of shopping to do.” Mrs. Brocton raised an eyebrow at him and grinned. “Well, I’ll be.” Jacob chuckled. “I have an idea for Mary’s birthday gift, but would like to pick it out myself.” “It’s Mary’s birthday?” Angel asked. Jacob nodded. “What do you think, would she like some art supplies?” 108

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Angel’s eyes widened and a huge smile split her face. “Yeah.” Then her gaze skittered away. “She said it wouldn’t be right for her to use my mother’s.” “Excuse us for a minute, would you, Mrs. Brocton?” When they were alone, Jacob took Angel’s hand and led her to the leather sofa against the wall and sat down next to her. “Angel. I need to talk to you about last night.” Angel shifted away from him a bit and his heart clenched. He took her hand in his. “I’m sorry for the way I acted when I found you in the studio. It was...a surprise. I...” His throat constricted. “I won’t go back there,” she said quickly. “I promise.” He shook his head. “It’s not that. In fact, Mary says you... I want you to use the studio. And—and you don’t have to take piano lessons or dance anymore if you don’t want to. Mary thought you might like some art lessons.” Angel’s bright blue eyes widened. “Really?” He nodded. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. “Thank you, Daddy.” Jacob wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. His baby hadn’t called him Daddy in so long. “I love you, Angel.” She buried her face against his neck. Jacob grinned even as his eyes burned with tears. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Mary deserved something special, something to say thank you for all she’d done for him and Angel. Had she been with them less than two weeks? It seemed almost a lifetime. Slowly easing away from Angel, though loath to do so, he smiled at his beautiful little girl. “Why don’t you go on now with Mrs. Brocton. I want to get to the store before it closes.” Angel bounced up off the couch with the energy only children possess. “Do you know what Mary uses for her artwork?” Thoughtful for a moment, Angel finally said, “She uses pencils, but she said she’d like pastels. And she said watercolors, too.” “Thanks, Angel.” He stood and walked her to the door after grabbing his jacket and briefcase. “Maybe when you get home tomorrow, we’ll have a little birthday party for Mary. Does that sound good?” Angel’s grin was brilliant. “Can I get her something?” Jacob glanced at Mrs. Brocton who was just slipping into her coat. She nodded. “We’ll look for something tomorrow.” 109

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He walked the ladies out of the building, sending Sam to take Mrs. Brocton and Angel, while he headed down the street toward a high end art supply store. Once inside, he glanced around, at a total loss. Jacquelyn had been the artist, not him. He’d taken art history in college. Beyond that, he knew only what Jacquelyn had taught him, or what he’d picked up through the years since he’d started the Sarington Grant. Even then, he had a small group of people—art experts and gallery owners—who made the decisions on who was worthy of the money he doled out. “Can I help you, sir?” a tall, thin blonde sales clerk asked. Her nametag read, Becky. “Yeah, I need some art supplies. Watercolors and pastels.” “Any brand in particular you prefer, sir?” Jacob ran his hand over the back of his neck, more out of habit than actual pain tonight. “They’re a gift, and I must admit to being at a loss.” Becky’s chuckle was low, husky, and sexy. But it didn’t do anything for him. She was the type of woman he usually went for. High maintenance, classically pretty, bedroom voice. Someone who’d be up for a quick romp if the price were right. Usually a diamond bauble of some kind. But there was only one woman on his mind right now. A flame-haired sweetheart. And she was the only woman he wanted to romp with. Even though he knew it was an impossibility, that hadn’t hampered his fantasies last night. “Well, sir.” Becky headed toward the wall lined with brushes. “Do you want the best, or are you afraid to spend a little money?” She purred the words, and he couldn’t miss the come-get-me sway of her hips as she walked in front of him. “Money’s not a problem. I want only the best.” Becky glanced at him over her shoulder with a Cheshire cat grin. “I love a man who knows what he wants.”

**** Geraldo brought Mary a glass of rich, dark red wine and set it on the table in front of her. “Would the signora care for something to eat?” Mary’s stomach clenched painfully and she laid her hand over the sore spot. “No. Thank you, Geraldo. I’m not feeling...” Her breath whooshed out of her as another throbbing pain took over. Geraldo twisted his hands together and a frown puckered his high forehead. “Are you ill? Shall I call Mr. Stone?” She shook her head. Let out a slow breath. “I just need to sit for a while, if that’s okay?” “Of course, signora.” He hesitated a moment before turning away. 110

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Mary unclenched her hand from around the rolled up paper and spread it out on the table in front of her. In the corner on the front was a small picture of Jacob. The caption read: Stone’s New Nanny. She flipped past pages of big named celebrities and their love lives until she reached the middle of the paper. There, a full two-page spread on Jacob Stone’s nanny. “Oh, dear God,” she said on a breath as pain radiated from her stomach. She grabbed the glass of wine and downed it in a few long swallows. She wasn’t a drinker. After living with an alcoholic husband for nearly fourteen years, she knew what alcohol could do to a person, but right now she had nothing else to help soothe her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she prayed the paper would disappear, that all of this was a bad dream. Mary was a nobody. Didn’t want to be anybody. Sure as hell didn’t want her picture plastered all over a horrible paper like this one. To think, she’d actually told Jacob she’d always wondered what it would be like... But when she opened her eyes, the pictures were still there. The article was still there. She began to read, and as the words took shape, tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. A “source” at Stone gave out her name to the reporter. They also gave out her sister’s name, which meant that whoever talked to the reporter had seen her resume. Belle had been vicious in her accusations of Mary lying to get the job. That she had no experience as a nanny. Belle said that she had tried to get a job as an assistant, but had failed miserably. Belle went on to tell the reporter about Mary’s marriage, but thankfully hadn’t divulged her ex-husband’s name. Geraldo returned to the table with the bottle of wine. “Would the signora care for another?” She contemplated the bottle for a moment before nodding. “Thank you, Geraldo.” Her voice was soft, hitched. As he poured the wine, he glanced at the paper. “Bah, do not pay attention to that spazzatura, that garbage.” Looking up at Geraldo, Mary tried to blink back the tears. “Ah, sweet bambina, do not look so sad.” He set the bottle on the table and sat down next to her. “It is but a...a...” He shook his head as if he couldn’t find the correct word, then laid his big, beefy hand over hers. “It’s true,” she whispered. “It’s all true.” Geraldo shook his head again and looked sad. “These reporters, they do not care about people. They do not care who is injured, as long as they get a story. Mr. Stone has been in them before. He will be again, I am sure. He will understand.” 111

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Mary bit the inside of her lip. “I lied to him. Or...” she hadn’t actually lied--Mrs. Brocton had done the falsifying. But would Jacob see the difference? She’d been in his home for almost two weeks. At any time she could have come clean and told him the truth. But she’d wanted the job. The money. The security. Now all of it was over. Tears sprang from her eyes and she bowed her head. She was such a fool. Too good to be true--just like she’d thought at the beginning. “Ah, mia bambina, do not cry.” Mary swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. “I’m okay,” she said, but sounded pathetic even to herself. She grabbed for the glass of wine and drank it down. The warmth of it slowly wound its way from her tongue, down her throat and into her stomach where the burn was most welcome. At least the throbbing had subsided. “I think you should eat, signora.” Geraldo patted her hand then stood. “No, thank you. I don’t think I can.” He pressed his lips together and frowned. “It is not good for you to drink on an empty stomach.” “I have to go.” After stuffing the newspaper into her purse, she pulled out the last bit of her cash, hoping it was enough to pay for the wine. He waved her money away. “No money, signora. You are welcome here anytime.” She bit her lip again and nodded her thanks, sure her vocal cords wouldn’t work at all. As she stepped out into the brisk evening air, she chided herself for not having a jacket. Just two blocks to Stone Tower, she’d survive, she decided. Her head felt a little funny, her eyelids too heavy. Damn. She shouldn’t have drunk the wine. She knew better. As she headed toward Jacob’s building, she wondered what she’d find there. Chances were he wouldn’t be home. It was Friday night, after all, and Angel was at Mrs. Brocton’s. Maybe he hadn’t seen the paper. Perhaps she’d have one more night in her temporary bed before he threw her out on her ear. Damn Belle, Mary thought as she stomped down the sidewalk. Damn her for opening her mouth. Damn her for being so spoiled that she had to say those things. Damn her! Mary jerked open the door to Stone Tower and glared at the security guards. It was after seven and Brent wasn’t there. He was dayshift. She didn’t recognize these two guards, but they simply smiled at her as she approached the desk. “I had some clothes delivered earlier.” “Mr. Stone picked them up when he arrived this evening.” Shit. He was home. 112

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She swallowed back the tears and the anger. Heat rode up her cheeks. “Thank you.” Pulling the penthouse key from her purse, she pressed the call button for the elevator. As she rode the fifty floors up, she tried desperately to figure out what to say to him. Should she simply apologize and see what he did about it all? Should she try to explain herself? What good would it do? He was nothing but her employer, and she’d lied to him. The elevator opened on the foyer and Mary stared at the door of the penthouse. “Please let him be in his room,” she whispered. “Please let me get through this night before I have to see him.” She ran her fingers over her forehead, wishing again she hadn’t had the wine. She wasn’t drunk, just a little...off kilter. She stuck the key into the door and silently turned the knob. “Hey, Mary. How was your date?” Mary stumbled a bit and dropped her purse with a loud thud onto the hardwood floor. “Date?” Jacob levered himself off the sofa and hit the mute button on the remote. He’d been disappointed when he returned home to find her gone. “I just assumed you were out on a date,” he said softly. Jealousy coursed through him at the thought of her in another man’s arms, but she was home now. Where she belonged. And it was still early. Mary shook her head, her gaze lowered to somewhere in the area of his knees. “I wasn’t on a date. I was just...out.” Jacob’s back teeth ground together. Something was very wrong. She wouldn’t look at him. “Did something happen?” She licked her lips and the sight of her little pink tongue nearly knocked the wind out of him. Gorgeous. That was the only word for her. Her hair was tamed into a beautiful, old-fashioned style. He’d liked it longer, but...but she looked so good. The black skirt came to just above her knees, showing off shapely calves. And the blouse was a shimmering emerald. Like her eyes. Only, she wouldn’t look at him with those gorgeous eyes. “Mary.” He stepped toward her. “Is something wrong?” Her lips rolled in, but she didn’t move. “Are you all right?” She gave a jerky nod. “I need...” She picked her purse off the floor and fiddled with the zipper for a moment. “I need to go to sleep,” she blurted out as she rushed past him, heading for the kitchen. 113

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Jacob sighed and followed at a slower pace. This was definitely not how’d he pictured tonight. First, he thought she’d be home when he got there. Though, it was her night off because Angel wasn’t home, so he shouldn’t have expected it. And it was her birthday, so he’d assumed she was on a date. She deserved to be on a date on her birthday. He’d intended to ask her to supper if she’d been home. When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, Mary was standing in front of the bouquet of pink roses he’d brought home for her. She leaned heavily on the counter, her head bowed. When a tortured sob ripped from her throat, he strode over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, his gut churning uneasily. “Mary. What’s wrong? Talk to me.” She shook her head. “Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?” Again with the shaking head. Her shoulders were stiff, and he let his hands fall away from her warmth, to keep from wrapping his arms around her and tucking her against his body. Whatever ailed her, he wanted to help. To see her bright smiling eyes. “Mary,” he said softly. “You are the only one who remembered,” she choked out. “My boss. My own sister didn’t even...” She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders hunched forward and she sobbed. The sound tore at him, made him bleed. No one but he had remembered her birthday, and he couldn’t even take the credit for it. If Mrs. Brocton hadn’t told him... He reached for her, turned her toward him, and wrapped his arms around her. Oh, God she was so warm. So soft. Her head fit perfectly against his shoulder, her soft hair tickling his chin. “Shhh. Mary, it’s okay.” “Nothing’s okay,” she said between sniffles. But she leaned against him, the soft weight of her breasts pressing against his chest. Her hot breath tickled his throat where his collar parted. Running his hands up and down her back, he wanted to press her closer. Hold her tighter. He didn’t know what to say to her. Birthdays had never been very important to him. But almost always there was a party...a stuffy party filled with people he didn’t know, didn’t care to know, and associates. He couldn’t remember a time when no one remembered his. She’d stood up against him and his anger, but she cried over a forgotten birthday. That soft, squishy place in his chest just about overflowed. “I got you a gift.” 114

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“They’re beautiful,” she said, then sniffled. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.” Her face pressed against his neck, and heat spiked through his veins. His groin tightened and it took supreme effort not to press himself against her. He swallowed. “No one? Not even your husband?” She was silent for a long time. He thought he’d said the wrong thing, but he couldn’t imagine a woman never receiving flowers at some point in her life. “You know I was married.” It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation. He realized she’d never told him that she’d been married. In fact, she hadn’t told him much about herself at all. He only knew what he’d read earlier in that damned paper. “You know about the article in the Inquisitor.” He let out a breath and rubbed his hand up and down her back. Touching her was a treat. He’d wanted her in his arms since that first night when he’d awakened her in his easy chair. And then last night when she’d held him, he’d realized how wonderful she felt. Smelled. God, would she taste as good? She started to pull away. “I’ll go pack my things.” His hands tightened on her and he pulled her back against him. “Why would you pack?” “I’m fired, aren’t I? I’m not a nanny. I don’t know anything about kids. I lied. I...I...” He heard her swallow. Her hands fisted the front of his shirt and she pressed her face against his throat. It was the scalding tears he felt against his skin that made him melt. “Shh. You’re not fired, Mary.” He ran his fingers through her silky hair. “You’re the best nanny Angel’s ever had.” Her body slowly relaxed against his, the grip she held on his shirt eased. “That’s right, sweetheart. Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right.” His body said otherwise. God, he wanted her. All of her. Right here. It took all his willpower not to press his burgeoning erection against her soft body. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s not your fault,” he said, trying to pull his brain back from thoughts of her sprawled out on his bed, under him. Calling out his name as he thrust into her. She shifted slightly and her hip rubbed against him. Her breath sucked in and she pulled her head back, raising her gaze to his. “Jacob,” she said on a gusty breath. Yeah, he thought, that’s what she’d sound like when she came. Soft and sweet. He gazed into her emerald eyes and knew he could lose himself there. She placed her hands on his shoulders, but didn’t push him away. 115

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“I...You...” Her brow puckered into a confused frown. “What’s happening here?” Her cheeks flushed pink and the freckles across the bridge of her nose nearly disappeared. Jacob’s brain went blank. This was all so wrong. She worked for him. An employee. He couldn’t... “Happy Birthday, Mary,” he whispered a second before he cradled her head between his hands and touched his lips to hers. A tortured little sound slipped out her mouth and he touched her lips with his tongue. She tasted of rich Bordeaux and summer clover. Sucking in a breath, he took in her sweet scent. When her mouth opened under his, he sank into her, pulling her tight against him, tasting and feeling all of her. Mary’s hands slipped around his shoulders and her fingers touched the back of his neck, sending shockwaves of pure lust scorching through him. He growled and pressed against her, letting her know what he wanted. She whimpered and clung to him. Her hot tongue danced with his. Her full breasts pressed against him as he trailed his hands down her body, over her back, to cup her ample behind. She was soft all over. He wanted to feel her heat. Taste every part of her. Trailing kisses across her jaw, down her throat, he pulled her against his aching hard-on. He hadn’t wanted a woman this bad...maybe ever. Mary was so different than any woman he’d ever been with. She was real. Didn’t want him because he was Jacob Stone. Wanted him because... “What are you doing to me?” Her head was thrown back so he could nibble on her neck. “I can’t breathe.” Her hands forked through his hair. Why did she want him? Did she want him? She didn’t even like him. As if ice water had been thrown over him, he froze. Fuck. Jacob forced his hands to loosen their grip on her. He slowly stood up straight. Her eyelids were heavy as she gazed up at him with a slight smile tilting her swollen, red lips. His cock jumped back to life. Oh yeah, she wanted him. But he couldn’t do it. Not with Mary. She worked for him. He never got involved with his employees. Their relationship had to stay professional. Or at least as professional as it could be after they’d taken turns crying on each other’s shoulders. And now he’d tasted her and knew how hot and welcoming she could be. “I’m sorry, Mary,” he said, taking a step back, breaking the full-body contact between them. “That kiss was a mistake.” 116

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Chapter Eleven

Mary stared up into Jacob’s blazing blue eyes and inwardly cringed. A mistake. Kissing her was a mistake. Sucking in a deep breath, all she could smell was Jacob. His expensive, spicy cologne, his heat, his masculinity. She stepped back, banging her lower back into the countertop. A mistake. Her hands shook. Damn him. He’d kissed her like no one had ever kissed her. Their embrace was hot. Carnal. His body was hard...all over. A quick glance at his groin proved he was still turned on. So what had happened? What had she done wrong to lead him to retreat and say it was a mistake? “Mary, I--” Holding up a shaky hand to ward off any more words, she shook her head. “Don’t.” “It’s just that--” “Please,” she nearly cried. She couldn’t take it. This day had been such a roller coaster of emotions. She didn’t want to hear his regrets. Not right now. Not while her body was still tingling and throbbing from his kisses, his touch. Oh, God, how was she to block the feel of him from her brain? She’d only been kissed by one other man. Her husband. And never, in nearly twelve years of marriage, had the drunken fool ever made her feel so unsettled. So... Electrified. She’d thought, for just a moment, that Jacob would show her what it felt like to truly be...a woman. She closed her eyes and turned away from him. A mistake. She took in another deep breath to hold back her quavering emotions. The sweet scent of roses filled her nostrils and tears tried to force their way past her eyelids. Roses and a kiss to remember for the rest of her life. The feel of his hands on her body, holding her, arousing her. It was more than she’d expected. Yet so much less than she needed. “I’m sorry.” “Stop saying that!” She turned on him and clenched her fists to keep from shoving him. “Just forget it. You’ve made your point.” His brow furrowed. “I don’t think you understand.” 117

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She pushed past him then and rounded the counter, heading for her room. “I understand perfectly well, Mr. Stone. A mistake. I get it.” She turned back with her hand on the doorknob. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to go around trying to seduce you. I know I’m not the type of woman to provoke lust from a man.” When he opened his mouth to say something, she cut him off. “Can we just forget this night ever happened?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at her. Anger practically rolled off him in waves. “No, Ms. O’Toole,” he stressed her name, “I seriously doubt I’ll be forgetting tonight in the near future.” What the hell was that supposed to mean? She stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what, exactly, he was getting all riled about. But when he opened his mouth to speak again, she didn’t want to hear it. She slipped into the sitting room and shut the door behind her. Leaning on the door, she took a steadying breath and automatically reached for her stomach, but there was no pain. It had fled when he touched her, when he wrapped his arms around her and told her everything would be all right. She stepped away from the door and headed into the bedroom. Had he read the article? Had he seen what was said about her? What her sister had said about her? That she’d lied about her credentials to get the job as Angel’s nanny? As she stood by her closet and removed her new clothes, hanging them up, she wondered why he hadn’t been angry. If someone had come into her house under false pretenses, cared for her child when they had no business doing such, she’d be furious. Instead he’d been understanding. Sweet, even. Something she wouldn’t have thought him capable of just a week earlier. And then he’d kissed her. Her body zinged with a shiver of longing at the memory. My God, she thought, could the man ever kiss. But realizing all the things she’d missed out on in her life--the touch of a man that made her body sing--wasn’t going to do her any good. After pulling on the oversized t-shirt and flannel shorts she usually slept in, she went to the bathroom to wash her face. Jacob made it clear he regretted kissing her. She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink and tears rushed to her eyes. No wonder, she thought as a deep emptiness opened inside her. Just look at yourself. What the hell would someone who looked like a Greek god, who had more money than Midas, ever see in a fat, frumpy, almost middle-aged nobody? No wonder he’d been pissed off. Mary scrubbed her face and patted it dry. He’d been angry with himself for kissing her. When he realized what he’d been doing, he’d stopped so fast she may as well have been a burning coal. 118

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She climbed into bed and shut off the bedside light. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Jacob Stone obviously needed a woman. And Mary O’Toole wasn’t exactly his type. Hunkering down under the cover she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she wasn’t the type to instill lust into anyone. Not her stupid ex-husband, and certainly not one of America’s sexiest bachelors. Jacob paced his bedroom like a caged panther. Fury bubbled through him and he thought he might break out and roar with frustration at any second. Not even the view of New York’s sparkling skyline could calm him tonight. His cock throbbed with unrequited lust. His head pounded, her words echoing in his ears. I know I’m not the type of woman to provoke lust from a man. My God, he thought as he spiked his fingers through his hair, how could she ever think such a thing? Never in all his years had he been so provoked. So damned turned on. So fucking needy for a woman’s touch, her taste, her scent. He had half a mind to barge into her room and prove to her how much he lusted after her. No, he thought as he threw himself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn’t. He wanted to, almost needed to, but he was the one who’d put a stop to the kiss. He knew, in his head, he’d made the right decision. Together they could work past the kiss and remain professional. For Angel’s sake, if nothing else. If they’d gone farther, if he’d taken her the way he’d wanted to, there’d be no turning back. Mary was too important to his daughter for him to go and mess it all up because he hadn’t been with a woman for ages. His body warred with his head. Mary wasn’t just some woman. She was…Mary. After a brief thought of calling one of his usual standbys for a quick tumble, just to take the edge off, he felt almost ill. He didn’t want a quick tumble with one of the few society women he normally spent time with. Sweet, warm Mary was what he wanted. Not some plastic, cold woman who cared more about the gift he’d leave in the morning than the fact he needed someone to hold. Jacob scrubbed his hand over his face. Such a damned fool. He should have never touched Mary. Now he was supposed to keep his hands off her after he’d tasted her? After he’d felt all her soft curves and heard her sweet little moan when he kissed her? Now that he had visions of her in his bed, sighing his name as he took her, delved deep within her and lost himself? “Hell,” he muttered as he kicked off his shoes and headed for the bathroom. Why couldn’t he have met her under different circumstances? He turned the knob on the 119

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shower and stripped out of his clothes, dropping them to the floor. If she didn’t work for him, if he didn’t have such a strict policy of not ever getting involved with an employee, everything would be different. He stepped into the hot stinging spray and prayed for his sanity to return. He couldn’t have Mary. That was that. He couldn’t risk losing her as Angel’s nanny. Couldn’t take the chance that if they got involved, something would go wrong and she’d leave. He needed her there for his daughter. Yeah. Right. Truth be told, he realized as he leaned against the shower wall and slowly soaped himself, he didn’t want to mess things up with her because she might leave him. He needed her. Even if he couldn’t physically have her. No one had ever done as much for him on a personal basis as Mary. No one had ever stood up to him and told him he was wrong. No one had ever lent him their shoulder, their unquestioning support. Jacob gritted his teeth as he touched himself, seeking a bit of relief. God, how he wanted her. And not just for the sexual release her body would surely give him. Having her in his apartment, her sweet scent floating around him when he walked into a room she’d been in, the sparkle in those emerald eyes when she smiled at him… With a low growl he shuddered, the memory of his name on her lips as he kissed her floating around him. How would he deal with it when she did leave? And she would, he thought as he rinsed off. All the nannies left once his true colors came out. “Face it, Stone, you’re an ass.” He lost his temper too quickly, snapping at the women when they pushed him over the edge. They were never on time for anything, didn’t follow rules, didn’t… With a harsh laugh, he realized that Mary never gave in to his temper. She stood her ground, met him eye-to-eye and told him how things were going to be. Just one more thing to admire about her. That, and the fact she was usually right when she knocked him off his soapbox. Maybe she’d stick around. Maybe, if she stayed long enough, something personal could develop between them. Angel needed the steady influence of a good woman…and Mary was most definitely a good woman. Turning off the shower and stepping onto the fuzzy mat on the marble floor, he decided the best course to follow with Mary was to give them time to adjust. Mary had only been there two weeks. He needed to give it more time, and then he’d see where things might go with her. Maybe somewhere around Christmas he’d… 120

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He shook his head at his wandering thoughts. Christmas was a month away. He had no idea if she’d still be around by then. None of the other nannies had lasted more than a month. But the picture in his head of a sleep-warmed Mary waking up next to him on Christmas morning was the best present he could imagine.

**** Mary rolled over and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Nine-twenty. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, almost to the point of making her feel ill. But she couldn’t face Jacob. It was Saturday, and he should be gone to the office--he always went to the office on Saturday--but around eight that morning she’d gone to the kitchen and he’d been in his sitting room, reading the newspaper, wearing a dark blue silky-looking robe. Not dressed for work as he normally was by that time of the day. She’d silently scurried back to her bed and dove under the covers. After last night, she wondered how she’d ever face him again. She pulled open the little drawer on the nightstand and withdrew a protein bar. They tasted like nuts and straw, but it would keep her in the bedroom for another few hours. Going into the bathroom to draw a glass of water, she glanced at herself in the mirror and cringed. Yikes, she looked like she’d been run through a wringer. Her hair stood out all over her head, her eyes were puffy and still a little red from fighting back tears half the night. The thought of a shower was a good one, but she had no energy. Climbing back into bed, she ripped open the foil wrapper on the protein bar. Just as she was about to take that first yucky bite, a brisk knock sounded on the door in the sitting room. Her stomach jumped and she dropped the bar. No, she thought. Not now. Even as she threw the bar back into the nightstand and tried to tame her hair with her hands, she hoped he would go away if she didn’t answer. It was her day off, after all. “Mary,” Jacob called through the door. “I know you’re awake.” No he didn’t. He had no clue. The apartment was practically soundproof from one room to another when the doors were closed. She scooted down in the bed and closed her eyes, as if faking it would convince him from the other side of the door. She almost laughed at her foolishness. “I’m coming in.” The outer door swung open with a soft thud against the wall. Mary rolled to her side, away from the open bedroom door, and feigned sleep. A soft chuckle preceded Jacob into her bedroom. He had no business being there, she thought angrily. Her room. Her day off. She did not want to see him. “I heard the water running, Mary. I know you’re awake.” “I am not.” 121

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He chuckled again and a powerful zing went through her at the low sound. The bed dipped. My God, he’s sitting on my bed! She almost turned over to shove him off. Why the hell couldn’t he leave her alone? Wasn’t her humiliation from last night enough for him? Now he had to come in here when she looked like something the cat dragged in? The scent of bacon and fried peppers hit her hard and her stomach growled loud. “You didn’t eat supper last night, I would wager,” Jacob said in that low, sexy voice that made her want to beg him for things she had no business wanting. “You never eat much, but when you’re upset you don’t touch food.” He’d been watching her food intake? “Come on, Mary. Stop hiding from me. We need to talk and you need to eat something.” She groaned. Couldn’t help it. Now he wanted to talk about last night. Maybe after he’d had time to think about it all, he’d decided to fire her. So why the hell was he feeding her first? The condemned’s last meal? He chuckled again. “I need to explain myself.” Mary finally rolled over, making sure the thick comforter was pulled up high, and opened her eyes. The man was just too damned good looking for her sanity. His hair was still damp from the shower, she could smell his enticing cologne over the even more tantalizing aroma of eggs, bacon and peppers. Jacob Stone, Entrepreneur in a black suit and silk tie was devastating enough to her senses. Jacob Stone, everyday man in jeans and bare feet was catastrophic. One knee was hiked up on the bed. A tray of food, tea and juice sat next to him. “I thought we agreed to forget about last night,” she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound like she was a forty-year smoker. Jacob’s eyelids narrowed just a bit. “And I said I wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.” She tucked the blanket under her chin. “I said I was sorry.” He gave one slow nod. “The problem is, Mary, you didn’t do anything to be sorry for.” Her jaw dropped slightly as she stared at him. He didn’t look mad. He’d come in chuckling at her, as if he found the situation humorous rather than pathetic. But she felt pathetic, wanting someone she couldn’t have. Feeling needy for his touch, his kisses. God, she felt so alone...a feeling she thought she’d become accustomed to over the years. Apparently she’d been wrong. “Sit up. Eat. Let me talk.” “I--” 122

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He quirked an eyebrow at her, a small smile tipping his lips. “You don’t take orders well, do you?” She frowned and scooted up in the bed, pushed the blanket down to her waist and reached for the tray. She was starving, so why waste a perfectly good meal that he’d prepared for her? She glanced back at Jacob and his smile had grown. She’d never had a meal cooked for her by a man before. Coming into Mary’s room had been a colossal mistake. Jacob stood up and paced away from the bed. Ran his hand over the back of his neck. While he prepared breakfast for her, he’d gone over his words a dozen times. After seeing her practically run for her room after spotting him reading the morning newspaper, he knew he was going to have to make the first move to smooth things over. When she didn’t come back out, he figured if he didn’t go to her, she’d stay hidden away until Angel returned. And this wasn’t a conversation to have with Angel in the house. “Oh, this is good,” Mary said around a bite of food. The breathy tone in her sleeprich voice shot fire through him and his body reacted with amazing speed to the vision she made. Sexy, sleepy and rumpled. And God help him when she’d pushed the blanket down to reveal her full breasts, nipples poking against the soft cotton t-shirt she wore. “Glad you like it,” he said, still facing the wall. “Look, Mary,” he turned back toward her, but stayed well across the room, “I think you misunderstood what I said last night.” She slowly ate, cutting her food into tiny bites before raising the fork to her lips. Her full, warm, moist lips. He stifled the groan clawing its way up his throat and flopped down into a wing chair in the corner of the room, bringing one ankle up to the opposite knee in hopes of shielding her view of his arousal. She stared at her food and he continued. “I didn’t mean that kissing you--the act itself--was a mistake.” Her hand stopped halfway to her mouth, a piece of bacon between her fingers, but she didn’t look up. He saw her swallow. Her hand covered her belly, something he’d seen her do before, and he wondered if she had a weak stomach, if that’s why she barely ate anything. “You’re my employee,” he said softly, watching her face for any reaction, but she simply stared at the crisp piece of bacon. “I’ve always made it a hard and fast rule that there’s no...uh...fraternization between me and my female employees.” She set the food back down on the tray and reached for the cup of tea. She sipped, then finally raised her eyes. “I understand.” 123

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“I don’t think you do.” He shifted a bit. This conversation was a bitch and he’d never been this uncomfortable dealing with an employee. “I’ve never had an employee who tempted me to forego my own set of rules.” The teacup clattered to the tray. Her big, sparkling eyes widened as she glanced up at him. “Excuse me?” she asked, then licked those lips. “Finish eating.” “I’m full.” “You’ve barely touched the food.” She stuffed the bacon in her mouth and chewed quickly. “What did you say?” she asked the second she’d swallowed. She looked so young, so damned innocent. Even though he knew the basics of her past because of the newspaper article, he wondered how she’d ever made it to the ripe age of thirty-two and maintained such a fresh appearance. So unlike all the women he’d ever known. Women raised in Manhattan, London, Paris. Rich. Snobbish. Looking out for number one. He’d bet the entire Stone fortune she’d give everything she had to help someone else. It was just her way. “You’re very special, Mary. And extremely alluring to a man whose had very little comfort in his life. You exude this sense of calm. When I touch you I want to keep touching you. To discover if you are as--” He stopped, realizing he’d said too much. He was here to tell her why he couldn’t let himself get involved with her, not convince himself why he should. “You can’t be too careful,” she said, her voice softly floating to him across the room. “Women could take advantage of your position, your...money.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. Yes, that’s why his self-imposed policy stood, but Mary wouldn’t do that. Would she? He’d wondered the same thing last night as he kissed her. As sweet as she seemed, if they took the kissing farther, made love, would she use it against him for financial gain if all went to hell? He couldn’t see it happening. But was she giving him a warning? “Yes. Exactly,” he said, his voice harsher than he intended. “So you see why there can’t be anything...” He let out a breath. “We can’t have sex.” She didn’t even flinch. With a nod, she said, “I never thought we would.” Well, why the hell not? Thank God he was smart enough to keep that thought to himself. Why didn’t she want him? Did she truly dislike him that much? And since when did he start caring what his employees thought of him as long as they did their jobs? Had 124

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her response to his kiss last night been only because she’d been upset about the prospect of losing her job? Sad because of what had been said about her in that paper? So much for a warm snuggle and hot sex Christmas morning. He came to his feet feeling edgy and angry. This little talk hadn’t gone as he planned. Hell, nothing with this woman went as planned. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want you.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Her bottom lip tucked between her teeth and she shook her head, her gaze once again on the breakfast tray. “Mr. Stone--” “Jacob.” “--you don’t have to say things like that. I work for you, and will never again do anything to...” Her gaze flickered around the room, landing everywhere but on him. “I will make sure our relationship is kept perfectly professional from now on, and I thank you for not firing me.” Slashing his hands through his hair, Jacob paced to the bed, then away again. She had to be the most infuriating woman on the whole goddamned earth. How could she misinterpret what happened last night? How could she think he didn’t want her? Half of him was tempted to throw that breakfast tray to the floor and show her right now that he wasn’t just “saying it.” That he meant it. The sane half of his brain told him that he should be thankful she wasn’t some cutthroat woman who would toss his lapse of judgment in his face. That she wasn’t going to file a harassment suit against him and walk out the door. “We pretend last night never happened?” he asked. “Yes, sir.” The Mr. Stone and sir stuff was going to push him over the edge if the slight pout of her lips and the fact that she wouldn’t look at him didn’t do it first. Besides, he knew damned good and well he wasn’t about to forget that incredible kiss. The feel of her body. Her scent. Had he been that forgettable to her? “Fine,” he said, hearing the nastiness in his tone and silently kicking himself for it. “Forgotten,” he added, his voice softer. “Thank you...Jacob.” He shook his head and walked toward the door. “Finish eating. Can’t have my kid’s nanny passing out from malnutrition.”

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Chapter Twelve

The only thing worse than having Jacob flat out tell her there would never be any more of those amazing kisses was the fact that he was so damned nice about it all. He tried to make her believe it was his policy, not the fact that he just didn’t want her. Diplomacy must come with his position, she decided. Again, she was thankful he hadn’t just shoved her out the door. Because she had nowhere left to go. The thought of facing her sister right now was not a good one. She was too furious at Belle for the things she’d said in that damned newspaper article. How could her own sister have turned on her like that? What had she ever done to Belle to make her so vindictive? Mary pulled a sizzling roast from the oven and poured the juices into a small pot to make gravy. When she’d finally emerged from her room around two that afternoon, Jacob had told her she was still off the clock and he could fend for himself and Angel for supper. But she needed something to do. Staring at the walls of her sterile bedroom was going to send her right off to the loony bin. And the very last thing she wanted to do was go anywhere in public. Since then, she’d baked two pies, a batch of cookies and prepared a traditional pot roast, potatoes, carrots and all. Angel had arrived home almost two hours earlier, gave her a hug, snagged a warm chocolate chip cookie, then disappeared somewhere into their private rooms with Jacob. Mary couldn’t be happier for the two of them, how easily it seemed they had moved on and grown closer. Though, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel even more alone now. She didn’t have Angel hanging around watching her cook, asking questions. Not that she didn’t think there would be more problems between Jacob and Angel. In fact, she was sure things would be tough for the two of them at times, but Jacob was loosening up, and Angel didn’t seem frightened of her father any longer. With the gravy softly bubbling on the stove, Mary set the dining room table for Jacob and Angel. She put the roses Jacob had given her the previous day on the dining table. She’d finally taken off the little card and read it. The card was printed with Happy 126

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Birthday, and then in Jacob’s clean scrawl, said, Thank you for everything. You’re a very special woman. Of course, he’d thanked her for helping him with Angel, which was her pleasure. She just wasn’t special enough for him to... She let the thought trail off as she carefully placed the silverware beside the plates. There was absolutely no point in dredging up last night. She needed to forget all about it. Yeah, like that was going to happen any time this century. They were from totally different worlds, money being the biggest difference. She was a poor girl from a poor town. Jacob Stone owned half of New York. Glancing down at herself she huffed out a breath. Baggy jeans and an even baggier sweatshirt to cover up everything about her body. She didn’t even want to compare their looks. She checked the clock on the stove and it read exactly six o’clock. Jacob’s sitting room was empty. She went down the hallway. The bedrooms were empty, but at the end of the hall she heard voices coming from the studio. “Do you think she’ll like it?” Jacob asked. “Dad! That’s so great!” Angel replied. Mary’s heart warmed even more. Angel was calling Jacob “Dad” now instead of “Father.” “I got you one, too,” Jacob said, his voice dropping a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t know exactly what you wanted. And after I bought it, I thought maybe next time we could go to the store together.” Mary peeked into the open door of the studio to see Jacob and Angel hugging. “It’s okay, Dad. I love it.” Angel giggled. “I’ll have to paint a lot to use it all up.” Jacob chuckled. “You better paint a lot. I need some pictures for the den.” “Your present is way better than mine. Mary will think mine’s dumb after she sees yours.” Mary stepped away from the door, feeling guilty for eavesdropping, especially when she was the topic of discussion. “Dinner’s ready,” she called. “Be there in a few minutes,” Jacob said, then his voice dropped to a whisper and she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Mary served up dinner on their plates and as she turned to leave the dining room with the platters of food, Jacob and Angel came in with big grins on their faces. Jacob glanced at the table, then back at Mary. “Grab a plate and join us.” Mary’s mind and heart warred. After that first horrible night with Eunice, she hadn’t even thought of sitting with anyone during a meal. To keep that professional air she’d 127

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promised Jacob, she knew she couldn’t break the rules, no matter how badly she wanted to. She shook her head. “No. Thank you. I’ll just...” She motioned toward the kitchen. “Come on, Mary,” Angel said as she scooted onto her chair. Mary glanced at Angel, her bright blue eyes sparkling with happiness, then back at Jacob, who blocked the doorway to the kitchen. He nodded at her. “You belong in here with us, not alone in the kitchen.” She let out a slow breath. “Oo-kay,” she said around the hitch in her throat. Jacob gave a nod, as if he’d expected her to give in to his command without blinking an eye, and took his seat. Was he even in her room that morning? Wasn’t he the one who said they had to remain professional? Why were the rules changing all of a sudden? Mary grabbed a plate and put a thin slice of roast on it, a few carrots and a little gravy. She told herself not to get so excited because she was invited to the big people’s table, but she couldn’t help it. She pulled cutlery out of the drawer and then headed into the dining room. Jacob watched Angel bounce happily in her chair. He’d never seen her smile so much. Especially at him. That thought hurt to no end, but he had to take what he could get. He grinned at her and spread his napkin over his lap. Mary took the seat to his right, the one his mother normally occupied, and he realized how relaxed he felt without the harping presence of Eunice at the table. What the hell was he going to do about that when she returned from London? Once again Mary had been right. He didn’t know how much of Angel’s happiness stemmed from the fact that he was acting like a real dad, and how much of it was her grandmother’s absence. Damn it all to hell, he thought, what was he going to do? His first thought was to see if his mother would wish to stay in London, but he doubted that would work. He could set her up in a flat somewhere, or hell, buy her a house in the countryside. Yeah, right, he thought. “What’s wrong?” Mary asked. Jacob realized he’d been scowling at his plate. “Nothing. Sorry. My mind was wandering.” “Someplace not so good,” Mary observed. He pinched his lips together and nodded. When had Eunice become such a pain in his backside? No, that wasn’t right, she’d always been a pain, for as long as he could 128

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remember he resented the way she was, almost everything about her. God, he was a horrible son. How could he think such things about the woman who gave him life? Glancing at Angel he knew exactly the hows of it. He’d never lived up to her expectations. And because of that, the woman who’d birthed him never let him forget his mistakes. Mainly the mistake of marrying the wrong woman and having the wrong child. Angel wasn’t the wrong child. She was a bright, beautiful little girl that he thanked God everyday for giving to him. And now was his chance to be the father she needed, deserved. With Mary’s help, he’d get there. He picked up his knife and fork and sliced a bite of the tender, moist roast. Thick, dark gravy swam around the plate and he dipped the meat in it before bringing it to his lips. “Mmm. Mary,” he said after he’d swallowed the perfectly seasoned tender beef. “You’ve outdone yourself.” Mary grinned at him and her green eyes sparkled at his compliment. The amount of food on her plate wouldn’t feed a squirrel, and watching her slice the meat, then the carrots, into tiny bits, he wondered what--exactly--her stomach ailment was. She carefully dipped a slice of meat in the less than tablespoon-sized blob of gravy, then put it in her mouth. She closed her eyes and chewed. And chewed. After she swallowed, she opened her eyes and looked at him, as if she’d felt his stare. “What?” she asked, self-consciously wiping her lips with her napkin. “Is that all you’re going to eat?” She glanced down at her plate, then at his, which held a substantial sized chunk of roast, a big potato and a few carrot spears. “Yes.” He frowned. She smiled. “Trust me, this is plenty of food for me.” But he couldn’t see how it was. The woman barely ate anything. Unless she was a closet eater and had a ton of junk food stashed away in her bedroom. That was a possibility. Maybe she didn’t like regular food. Maybe she was a Twinkie and potato chip hound. That would explain it. He winked at her and cut himself another bite of roast. He’d take her home cooking over pre-packaged, preserved garbage any day. “What are you going to do when me and Dad go to Aspen?” Angel piped in a few minutes later, after she’d nearly cleaned her plate. She’d always been a good eater, but Mary’s food seemed to go down a lot easier for her than any of the fancy bistro food his mother usually ordered.

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Mary gave a little one-shoulder shrug. She looked up at him. “I meant to ask you about that, Jacob. Can I stay here while you’re gone, or do I need to find somewhere else to stay?” “This is your home,” he said, before he thought the words through. Once out of his mouth, he realized how good it sounded. She did belong here. He gave his head a little shake and a grin tipped his lips as he realized how fanciful he was becoming where Mary was concerned. “No, you don’t have to go anywhere else. I trust you not to steal the silver while we’re away.” “Jenny Brandon is going to Aspen next weekend, too,” Angel said, referring to one of her classmates. “She said her nanny is going with them. Can’t we take Mary?” Mary let out a little laugh, and Jacob shook his head. Angel made it sound like taking along the family pet. “What do you say?” he asked, watching Mary for any sign that she did or didn’t want to go. “Ever been to Aspen?” Her eyes widened a bit, but then she looked down at her plate and forked up another tiny bit of food. “No. And--and this is a time for you and Angel.” “But we want you to go,” Angel said, her voice almost a whine. “Don’t we, Dad?” “Yes,” he said honestly. “We do.” He hadn’t thought of it before, but now that Angel had thrown the idea out there, why not? Mary obviously had no place to go for Thanksgiving, and as upset as she became over a forgotten birthday, he could only imagine what spending a holiday alone would do to her. He didn’t want her to be sad and lonely when she could be with them having fun. Who are you kidding, Stone? he silently chided. You want her there for you, not Angel. Especially if some of Angel’s friends from school were going to be in Aspen, too. She’d want to be off with them, not hanging around her dad all weekend. “Come on-n-n Mary,” Angel said. “If you go, then Dad will let me stay with Jenny.” Mary was staring at Angel across the table, a frown wrinkling her forehead. “You’re supposed to spend time with your dad this weekend, not run off with your friends.” Angel huffed and threw her napkin on the table, crossed her skinny arms over her middle and frowned. The look she shot at Mary over the table was something a teenager would give their mom, not a sweet little girl to the nanny. “Jenny stays in one of the big hotels and has her very own room. She said I could stay overnight with her and go swimming.” She looked over at him and her hard little glare turned into something else. Something that he was sure was supposed to soften him and make him give in. “Please, Daddy?” 130

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He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing like an idiot. If this wasn’t a sign he was succeeding as a father, he didn’t know what was. His little girl turned on the charm and called him daddy...when she wanted something from him. If Angel were frightened of him, he was sure she’d never do anything quite so manipulative. Ah, the resiliency of children. “Who can say no to a swimming pool? It’s a lot more fun than the hot tub at the cabin.” Mary’s eyes went wide with obvious disbelief. “But I thought you wanted--” “Come with us, Mary,” he said softly. “I’ll need someone to keep me company in my boring old cabin while Angel’s off having fun with her friend in a big hotel with a swimming pool.” Mary’s cheeks flushed slightly and she glanced back at Angel. “You have to promise to spend at least one day with your dad.” Jacob nearly choked on the laugh he tried to stifle. Yes, he wanted time with his baby girl. He wanted to teach her how to ski. But he also knew that if one or more of her friends were going to be in Aspen, Angel wouldn’t want to spend a full four days with her dumb old dad. He might be out of touch, but not that far. And Angel may only be seven, but she obviously had a mind of her own. If she got it in her head that she wanted to spend time with her friend, and he tried to trap her at his side and force her to enjoy herself with him, he didn’t know what he might be up against. Oh, he didn’t doubt she’d do whatever he demanded of her, but she wouldn’t be happy about it, and it would do nothing to bring them closer together. He’d let her have her fun, as long as she still spent a little time with him. “I’ll spend time with Dad,” Angel said defensively. “But I want to stay with Jenny in the hotel.” Jacob cut in before Mary could disagree. “It’s all right with me. What do you think, Mary? Will you come?” Her face went a little deeper pink. The memory of the way she’d looked, the way she’d tasted last night flashed through his mind. Oh, yeah, if he had the chance, he’d make sure she came. In every sense of the word. “I don’t know,” Mary hedged. “What’s to know?” But he knew what she was thinking. She’d be alone with him at night. And damn it, if he got her alone in front of the big stone fireplace in the cabin, he didn’t think he’d be able to keep his hands to himself. In fact, who needed policies and 131

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rules? He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted another woman. Screw everything he’d worked so hard to say to her that morning. He would never believe she had it in her to go after his financials because a romance didn’t work out. As long as he was careful with her, made sure she didn’t get hurt, why not? “I haven’t been skiing in like...since high school.” “You can relearn with Angel. She’s never been on skis.” Mary squirmed a bit in her chair. “I’ve never been in a plane, either.” “The Stone Boeing 707 is definitely the way to go for a first flight, then. It’s been said that my plane is more comfortable than Air Force One.” “Planes are fun,” Angel piped in. “Dad’s is like a house.” Mary’s lips tilted with the beginnings of a smile. “Bedroom, bathroom, living room,” Jacob said. “Office?” Mary asked. “Kind of.” She had him there. He usually only used the 707 for work related flights, but since his mother had the Learjet in London... “Okay. I’ll go.” Mary let out a slow breath and pressed her hand to her diaphragm. Was the thought of flying so bad it messed with her stomach? He almost told her she didn’t have to go, but he was selfish. And damn it, he wanted her there. “Angel, why don’t you go get the...stuff from the studio?” Angel bounded out of her chair and shot out of the room. “Hey,” Jacob said when Mary finally looked at him. “Flying isn’t scary. I promise. And in the Stone Jet it’ll feel like you’re sitting in a living room.” She nodded, gave a shaky smile. Angel came back into the dining room and brought the two brightly wrapped gifts to the table. The box was heavy and she grunted with relief when he took it from her. “You ran off so fast last night,” Jacob said as he set the big rectangular box in front of her, “that I didn’t get a chance to give you your birthday present.” He laid Angel’s flat package on top of the box. “And Angel wanted to get you something, too.” Mary’s deep green eyes sparkled and she smiled, her stomach problems obviously forgotten. She scooted her chair away from the table and held her arms out to Angel, who went into them easily. “Thank you,” Mary said into Angel’s hair. “You’ll never know how much this means to me.” Angel pulled out of her arms and grinned. “You haven’t even opened them yet.” “Doesn’t matter,” Mary said, her face so bright and happy. “Just...It means so much to me.” 132

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Angel obviously didn’t grasp what Mary was trying not to say. But Jacob understood that it was the thought that counted. He wondered how often Mary hadn’t been thought about at all. The phone rang, and Jacob pushed back from the table. “I’ll get it. You open your gifts.” He winked at Mary and her face flushed pink again, which made him grin. Yeah, he wanted her with them in Aspen. He wanted her in his bed, and damn the consequences. Jacob strode into the social room and picked up the phone. “Stone here.” “Hey Jakey,” came the sultry voice over the line. “Melanie, sweetheart, where are you?” “Just got back to New York last night. Thought I’d call and touch base with you. God, it was one hell of a tour.” “How’d the shoot go?” Melanie was a cover model he’d had a brief affair with nearly five years ago. They weren’t very compatible as lovers, but they’d become friends. Besides Zander Grey, the CFO of Stone Enterprises, Melanie was his closest friend. “Oh, you know, lots of hunky men oiled to a shine, and,” she sighed dramatically, “most of them gay.” She gave a throaty laugh. “Now I’m home and eating everything in sight.” He chuckled and sat down on the sofa. “How long are you in town? We should get together.” Mary heard the unmistakable softening in Jacob’s voice as he spoke to the Melanie person on the phone. Her heart clenched even as she told herself she had no right. She had no claim. She was an employee. Just the nanny. She forced a smile and picked up the flat present. “This one’s from you?” she asked Angel. Angel nodded and grinned. “It’s not as good as Dad’s, but...” She shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to get you.” Mary carefully unwrapped the gift. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly as she admired the ornate silver eight by ten picture frame. “I thought you could put your favorite picture in it.” “I will.” Mary smiled and pulled Angel in for another hug. “I want that drawing you did of you and me.” Angel’s eyes went wide. “Really?” “Yeah. So I can keep you with me always.” Forever, she thought sadly, but held her smile in place for Angel’s benefit. When her time here was up, she wanted something 133

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Angel had made. Something to keep her from ever forgetting the very special little girl who would forever be the child of her heart. She just wished there was something of Jacob to keep, to hold onto, but she knew that wasn’t a possibility. It didn’t matter that her heart was already intrinsically woven in with these two people. She had to remember, above all else, that she was nothing more than an employee, and that status could change at any moment. In the blink of the eye she could be removed from this apartment and sent on her way. “Open Dad’s present now,” Angel urged. From the other room she could still hear Jacob’s low, gentle voice, a soft chuckle now and then, even if she couldn’t make out the words. Just the nanny, she thought, like a litany to herself not to let herself feel anymore than she already did.

**** Mary spent Sunday afternoon trying to figure out what to pack for the trip to Aspen. They’d be leaving Thursday morning, and her choices of clothing were dismally miniscule. She’d sent Jacob and Angel off after breakfast to the Museum of Natural History. Against their protests, she’d opted out of the field trip because she was terrified of more write-ups in the tabloids. She’d had more than enough of the paparazzi and horrible things being said to the nation about her. She still hadn’t called Belle and dealt with her. She couldn’t. Not yet. Fury still bubbled through her every time she remembered what her dear little sister had said about her. It hurt so bad. Mary had done so much for that girl. Everything she’d ever done, up until two years ago when she left Sheldon, had been because of Belle. And this was the thanks she got? Being torn to shreds in a national rag sheet? Mary still didn’t know what to do about her. It would be easiest to pretend it never happened. That was her normal course of action when Belle did something hurtful. They were sisters after all. Belle was her only living relative. But Belle had gone too far this time. The painful cut into her soul was just too much to ignore. With a sigh, Mary examined her meager supply of clothing. Jeans, sweatshirts, a couple t-shirts, the suit she’d been wearing for the interview with Jacob, and the green dress she’d bought the other day. She supposed, since everything fit in her small suitcase, she should just take all of it. She couldn’t really wear ratty old jeans and an even rattier old sweatshirt if Jacob wanted to go out to a nice dinner or something. 134

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The phone rang, pulling her away from her depressing array of clothing and her even more depressing thoughts of her sister. She went into the kitchen and took the handset from the wall. “Hello?” “Um, hi, who’s this?” came a feminine voice from the other end. Mary stifled the urge to tell whoever this was that it was none of her business. Instead, she said sweetly, “This is Mary O’Toole, and may I ask whose calling?” “Yeah, this is Melanie, I’m looking for Jake.” Jake? Mary had never heard Jacob called Jake before. Melanie. The woman who’d called last night. Mary gritted her teeth to keep back the sting of disappointment. This woman’s sultry, sexy voice was enough to send a grown man into orbit. She could only imagine what the body looked like that went with it. “I’m sorry, Jake’s not home right now, but I’ll let him know you called.” “Thanks, I appreciate it. Could you let him know I’ve got to go to Cabo tomorrow, but I’ll be back just after Thanksgiving, so I need to postpone our date until then?” Mary swallowed hard. “Yeah, sure. No problem.” “Thanks, you’re a sweetie.” Mary hung up the phone and let out a slow breath. Jeez, this was hard. Jacob had made it clear that there would be no personal relationship between the two of them, but answering phone calls from his women was not something she could do. The memory of that one amazing kiss...of his hands roaming over her body...was enough to inflame her. But that’s all there ever would be. He’d never touch her again. He’d made that clear. She couldn’t go to Aspen with him. She was sure that left completely alone with him, he’d know she had feelings for him, and she couldn’t take that chance. This job was too important to her. Without it, she’d be forced to go back to Vergennes. Facing her sister with one more big failure under her belt wasn’t something she could do right now. Not with the way she was feeling toward Belle. When she’d packed up and left that little town, she’d thought it was for good. Or at least for a long time. “Okay,” she said to herself as she pulled out a small notepad and pen from a drawer near the phone. She scribbled out the message to Jacob about Melanie being in “Cabo” and took it into his sitting room, leaving it on the end table near his chair. Then she went back to her room to figure out how to tell Jacob, and especially Angel, that she wouldn’t be going with them.

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Chapter Thirteen

Mary never told Jacob and Angel she wasn’t going. Deep in her heart she desperately wanted to go, wanted to spend the holiday with Jacob and Angel, so she’d kept her mouth shut and prayed she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life. Four days later, as Jacob pulled the rental car into the long, curving driveway of a log mansion, Mary’s eyes grew wide. “This is what you’ve been calling a cabin?” Jacob chuckled. Angel bounced in the back seat. “It’s our cabin. Daddy said he brought me here when I was little, but I don’t remember it. I was a baby.” She pressed her nose to the window as the car came to a standstill. “I’m not a baby anymore.” “You sure aren’t, babe,” Jacob said, then laughed aloud when Angel guffawed at the pet name. Warmth spread through Mary as she opened the door, even though the temperature was frigid and her unlined wool jacket did little to stop the wind from sinking into her bones. The sun was bright, reflecting off the snow-laced pine and fir trees. An unmistakable ache of homesickness snuck through her as Jacob unloaded the suitcases from the trunk. She missed Vermont. She missed her sister. This was the first Thanksgiving since Belle was born that they wouldn’t be together. Even after the mean thing she’d done with giving misinformation to the newspaper reporter, Mary missed her badly. They were blood, after all. The only relation Mary still had. She needed to call her and wish her well. It was the right thing to do. Jacob carried their bags up the wide wooden stairs to the front door of the two-story, gabled log house. Tall windows faced the glorious landscape of the Rocky Mountains. Her heart clenched again as she spun a slow circle, taking in the breathtaking view. It wasn’t the rolling hills of Vermont, that was for sure. These were mountains with rocky, jagged peaks. The air was so crisp her breath froze and swept away on the breeze. She felt a little lightheaded when she thought of just how high they were. On top of the world. “You coming?” Jacob called from the doorway. 136

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She hurried up the stairs, stopped to take one more look at the mountains, then pushed open the door. The smell of roasting turkey stopped her in her tracks. The open construction of the entire first floor showed a kitchen that equaled the size and beauty of the one back in New York. A dining area was set with a lace cloth-covered table, candles, and place settings for three in fine bone china. The living room was the centerpiece, though, with more of those expansive windows facing away from the front door, overlooking a deep gorge between the slope the house sat on and the next one. A softly crackling fire lay in the stone fireplace to one side, and the cushions on the long sofa, loveseat and easy chair looked as fluffy and soft as marshmallows. From the top of a balcony that came out over the kitchen, Jacob grinned down at her. “What do you think?” Mary could only shake her head. The place was...stunning. Gorgeous. And very masculine. From the rich wood of the walls to the brown and navy plaid upholstery, it screamed bachelor pad. The kind a man like Jacob Stone would bring his ski bunnies to on cold winter nights. To seduce and have his way with on that soft white rug in front of the fireplace. Her heart died a little bit. She stripped off her jacket as she headed into the kitchen to see if there really was a turkey cooking in the oven. There was. A big one. They were only going to be there for four days, but this turkey would feed the three of them for a solid week. And who the heck had started it? Jacob rounded the counter and came up behind her. “Is it ready yet?” Mary nodded as she wiggled the leg to check tenderness. “Where’d Angel run off to?” “She’s upstairs washing up. What’s wrong?” She shut the oven door. The heat was already set to warm. There was nothing for her to do. A pot of bubbling gravy sat on the back burner, a pan of steaming mashed potatoes on another. The fridge revealed a bowl of cranberry sauce and a pumpkin pie big enough to feed a small army. With nothing else to occupy her, she had to turn and face Jacob. “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied. Everything was wrong. Someone else cooked Thanksgiving dinner. She wasn’t with her family for the holiday. The family she was with didn’t belong to her. And worst of all...she really, really wanted them to be hers. “Why?” Jacob moved toward her, stopping just inches in front of her. He reached out and moved a curl of hair from her cheek, softly tucking it behind her ear. Tingles raced down her arms, punching her in the gut. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, hoping he would touch her again, praying he wouldn’t. 137

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“You look...a little lost.” Her eyes snapped open and she met his gaze. Yes, that’s exactly how she felt. Very lost. “I’ve always cooked the turkey.” His finger trailed along her jaw line. More tingles. She pressed her thighs together to stifle the slow ache building between them. “Always?” “Since my parents died, yes,” she rushed to say, then took a step to the side, so he’d stop touching her. She couldn’t handle the touching. It was too much. Not enough. Everything she’d dreaded about this trip. She wanted to jump his bones and screw the consequences. Would it be so bad if she once, just once in her lonely little life, knew what it was like to have someone like Jacob show her what it was to truly be made love to? Something other than the rushed, drunken couplings she’d forced herself to endure for so many years of her miserable marriage? “I have a friend who owns a deli. He set this up for us. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.” He let out a gust of breath and turned away, back to the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of wine. “I’d hoped this would be a vacation for you, too.” Great, she’d hurt his feelings. “I’m not disappointed,” she said slowly, carefully. “In fact, it was very...considerate of you to think of me.” As he twisted the screw into the cork, he cast her a scowl. “I want you to have a good time this weekend, Mary. Is that hard for you to believe? I get the impression vacations and time to do whatever you want to do isn’t something that has been in great supply in your life.” He pulled the cork from the bottle and poured two sparkling glasses. He handed one to her and she decided she probably shouldn’t say no. Not after that lovely little speech, which nearly made her heart tumble right out of her chest. It was as if he really cared about her. Cared more than employer to employee. As if she meant something to him. She clenched her teeth and silently chided herself for her stupidity. Of course she was a bit more than an employee. She’d helped him reestablish a relationship with his daughter. That didn’t mean anything in the greater spectrum of life. Not his life, anyway, not where she was concerned. She was the one with romantic feelings, not him. Lord, she was losing it! “To a relaxing weekend,” he said as he held his glass up for a toast. “And to...possibilities.” Her breath lodged in her lungs and she coughed, splashing wine from her glass over the back of her hand. What the hell had he meant by possibilities, and why was he 138

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looking at her in a way that she’d only seen in movies? His eyes had darkened, like that night they’d kissed. His voice had gone deep and rough. Jacob grabbed the glass from Mary’s hand and set it on the counter. “Hey, you okay?” She swiped at her watery eyes. Jeez, she was a ditz. Getting choked up--literally-over a damn toast. One that she was reading way too much into. Jacob smiled at her as she tried to catch her breath. “You said you didn’t drink, but I didn’t know you’d go to such lengths to avoid it. You could have simply said ‘no thanks.’” Mary grinned and reached for the glass. She could use it today. She raised the crystal and said, “To relaxation,” and then took a deep sip. The explosion of sweet and tart made her taste buds dance. “Mmm. That’s good.” Maybe a glass of wine now and then wasn’t such a bad thing. Forget the calories. Jacob sipped his own wine, the little laugh lines at the corner of his eyes crinkled a bit more than usual. “Yes, Mary,” he said in that sultry bedroom voice she desperately tried not to read too much into. “Very good.” Angel came barreling down the stairs. “Is it turkey time?” she chirped as she rushed into the kitchen. “Turkey’s my favorite. And gravy. I love lots of gravy. And tatoes. Lots of tatoes and gravy.” The tension between her and Jacob broken, she took another sip of her wine, then set the glass aside. “Yes, Angel, there’s lots of tatoes and gravy. Why don’t you help me put everything on the table while Daddy carves the bird?” Jacob dried the dishes after Mary rinsed them. He blatantly stared at her, trying to get a feel for where her mind was, but she was closed up tighter than a pill bug under duress. During dinner, the three of them had talked and laughed and felt like a real family. But as soon as the Brandons had come to pick Angel up to go to the hotel, Mary had clammed up on him. Placing the last platter in the cupboard above him, Jacob laid down the drying cloth and turned toward Mary, taking her hand. In the other hand, he grabbed up the half empty bottle of wine and fresh glasses. “Come on, let’s go sit in front of the fire for a while.” Mary gently tried to disengage her hand from his, but he held firm, pretending not to notice, and headed to the loveseat facing the crackling fire. “I think I should head to bed,” Mary said, even as he pulled her down next to him. Their thighs touched and his groin tightened. God, he wanted her, but she was too unsettled. Tonight, they would talk. 139

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She moved as far away from him on the small sofa as she could, which wasn’t far. Their bodies weren’t physically touching, but he could feel her warmth, smell her sweet scent. He poured a glass of wine for each of them and handed her one. “How’s your stomach?” he asked. “Fine, why?” She frowned at him over the rim of her glass as she sipped. “You hardly had any supper. You don’t like turkey?” “I love turkey.” She set her glass on the coffee table and leaned back into the fluffy cushions, staring into the fire. “Then why didn’t you eat more than a few bites?” “I ate enough.” She fidgeted with her sleeve cuff. “You don’t like pumpkin pie?” Mary pressed her lips firm and turned her head to scowl at him. “No.” But he knew she was lying. Why? He turned sideways a bit, laid his arm along the back of the loveseat. With just his fingertips, he moved a lock of wavy curls behind her shoulder. She flinched. That warm mushy spot in his chest grew just a little bit. “Are you a junk food hound or something?” he teased. Her mouth fell open and a look of pain registered in her eyes. “No. I don’t eat junk food.” She moved, as if to stand up, but he caught her hand and held her to her seat. “I’m sorry. I just thought that since you barely ever eat the wonderful food you cook for us, that you might have a sweet tooth or something you indulge when no one’s around.” “My eating habits are really none of your concern, Mr. Stone.” She pulled her hand from his and he could plainly see that she wanted to leave. “So, we’re back to Mr. Stone, are we?” He sighed and leaned back into the corner of the sofa. “I didn’t realize your eating habits were such a touchy subject. I’m sorry.” She stared into the fire and blinked rapidly. He hoped she wasn’t blinking back tears. He tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. Oh, dear God, what if she had an eating disorder? Anorexia or something. She barely ate at all. How could a grown woman survive on the tiny amount he’d seen her consume over the past few weeks? She ate less than Melanie did before a big photo shoot. Jacob set his glass on the coffee table next to Mary’s, then leaned closer to her. “Hey,” he said softly, placing his palm against her cheek to turn her head so she’d look at him. Damn it, her eyes were sparkly with tears. “I’m sorry.” She gave a jerky little nod. “Can I ask you something?” 140

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She looked down at her hands and he let his fingers slip away from her silky cheek, even though what he wanted was to pull her into his arms and cuddle her close, let her know that he’d do anything he could for her. A change of subject was needed here. “I heard you on the phone with your sister earlier. I was just wondering how you could be so nice, so...sisterly with her after those things she said to the reporter.” A slight smile flitted across her mouth as she raised her gaze back to his. She had the most stunning eyes. So green, so shiny, so full of life. “The same way you are so...sonly after your mother says mean things. We’re family.” Jacob thought about that for a moment. He didn’t have any siblings, but he doubted he’d be so forgiving of a brother or sister who would disparage his character in a national tabloid. His mother, on the other hand, was a different story. She was his mother. The woman he’d promised his dying father he’d take care of. It was his duty. “Do you feel responsible for her?” he asked before he realized the words were even forming. Mary’s eyebrows shot up. She opened her mouth as if to deny it, but then looked back toward the fire. In the soft golden light her skin looked ethereal, as if it glowed. He laid his arm along the back of the sofa again and softly rubbed a feathery, fiery red curl between his fingers. “I’ve always felt responsible for her,” Mary said softly after a long while. “She was so young when our parents died.” “How young?” “Just thirteen.” “But you were only sixteen, right?” She turned to look at him with questioning eyes. “How’d you know that?” He brushed a bit more hair from her cheek, letting his fingers touch her skin again. “When Mrs. Brocton called your last boss, she got the whole story from him.” “So,” she said slowly. “You know all the sordid details of my life.” “No, not all. Just that you married very young in order to give your sister a home. And that your husband wasn’t much to talk about.” She shook her head. “The town drunk.” “It must have been hard on you, living like that.” She shrugged. “I didn’t know any different. I mean...” she let out a gusty breath and turned back toward the fire. “I was the big sister. Belle was the pampered baby of the family. I always had to look out for her, make sure she didn’t get hurt, didn’t do 141

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anything...stupid.” Another little shrug, then Mary pulled her knees up and hugged her legs, as if shielding herself from her memories. “So I did what I had to.” Jacob scooted closer to her, until her arm brushed his chest, and then he put his arm around her shoulder and gently nudged her until she rested her head against his shoulder. She let out a soft sound and squeezed her eyes shut. He didn’t know what that meant, but she was in his arms so it didn’t really matter at the moment. “Why did you stay with that man for so long? Once she was old enough, you could have left.” “Vergennes is a very small town. Everyone knows everyone’s business. For a long time I saw divorce as equivalent to failure. I didn’t want to be a failure in the eyes of everyone I knew.” He heard more in her words than she was saying. She still feared failure. Control issues? Wasn’t that the basis behind eating disorders? She couldn’t control her fate, so she controlled her eating? Or was he just reading a lot into nothing? “Is that why you took the job as Angel’s nanny? Because you thought if you couldn’t make it in New York you would be a failure?” She nodded, then buried her face against his neck. God, he hurt for her. She was still so young, had been through so much, and she felt like a failure. Even after raising her sister, providing for her over the years and picking up the pieces of her sister’s disastrous marriages, from what Mrs. Brocton said. “I think you’re about the bravest woman I’ve ever met, Mary.” Against his chest, she gave a small snort. “I’m not brave. I’m terrified of everything. I was afraid to leave Sheldon, even though he was probably one of the worst husbands in the world. I was afraid to go to college because I’d struggled so hard just to graduate high school. And then I was afraid to go to New York, just to realize I shouldn’t have bothered. Nothing I’ve ever done for Belle has done any good. She’s just doing it all over again, attached herself to the wrong man who’s going to use up all her money and then probably walk away. I just pray she’s smart enough not to have another child this time.” Jacob sat there for a long time holding Mary against him, running his fingers through her soft hair. She was brave, no matter what she thought. No single woman should have to carry these burdens. No one should feel so totally responsible for another grown person. When his thoughts registered, he couldn’t help but feel foolish, because what did he feel toward his mother? Responsibility for her well-being. But his mother was old, unstable. She needed someone to take care of her. Hadn’t the dozen or more phone calls in the past two weeks shown that? She was in London, half a world away, having a 142

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wonderful time, but still called on a regular schedule. As if she needed him like an anchor. “Hey, Mary?” he said softly, and placed a finger under her chin to turn her head so he could look into her beautiful face. “You know what I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving Day?” “Hmm?” She shifted a bit, which brought her right breast against his chest, the softness of it, combined with her warm, sweet scent had his muscles clenching with need to taste her. “I’m thankful you did go to New York, and that you wound up in my office. And that Mrs. Brocton saw what was inside you. Because of you, I have my daughter back.” He cupped her cheek again, his fingers brushing the hair at her temple. His other arm wound around her back, soaking in her warmth. “I’m thankful you came here this weekend,” he whispered as he slowly lowered his head toward hers. When his lips touched hers, Mary’s breath sucked in and he felt her entire body tremble, as if the touch was as shocking to her senses as it was to his. His slacks grew tight with his arousal and he pulled her against him, taking her mouth and feasting on her. She tasted better than the turkey dinner had, better than the expensive wine. Her mouth opened under his and when he touched her tongue with his, she moaned and clutched the front of his shirt in her fist. “Ah, baby,” he said on a harsh breath, trying to suck air into his lungs. “I want you.” “No.” The word was a drawn out groan that he ignored as a protest. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said between nibbling bites on her jaw line, her throat. “No. Jacob. No.” When he realized she was pushing at his chest, not gripping his shirt and pulling him closer, he let go of her so fast she nearly tumbled off the sofa. He grabbed for her, but she scrambled to her feet and backed away from him. Her eyes were so bright, glistening with tears once again. “Oh, God, Mary, I’m sorry.” She shook her head and bit her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean...” “Shut up, Jacob,” she said quickly as she ran her hand over her face, then pushed her hair back from her forehead. “We’ve been down this road before. We’re not going there again. I can’t handle it. You want to know about me? Is that where all those questions were coming from? Okay, here it is.” Her hands shook as she fidgeted with her cuffs again. “I got married at sixteen. I’ve only been with one man my entire life and let me tell you, it was nothing to write home about. I’m attracted to you, and that’s not a good thing 143

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because I’m not in your league. I never will be. And I don’t believe in casual affairs. Not that there have ever been any presented to me, but that’s how I feel. So, whatever it is that made you kiss me, well, stop it.” Only been with one man? A drunk? He stood up and took a step toward her, but she held up her hands to stop him. “No. Don’t. You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice was a pitch too high, panicked. “I’m your employee. You don’t...fraternize...with your employees. You said so. So don’t look at me like that. And for God’s sake, don’t touch me again.” Her voice shook and a tear tracked down her cheek, glistening in the soft firelight. His gut clenched and that blasted warm smooshy spot in his chest threatened to consume him. But anger flared, too. She made it sound dirty. “I wasn’t planning on fucking you.” He wanted to make love to her, hold her, kiss her, worship her body with his hands, his mouth, his entire being. He wanted to know if she could fill that cold, dark void inside him. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. “Oh.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “Damn it, Mary.” He plopped back down on the sofa. “I don’t give a damn that you’re my employee. It was an excuse. True, I’ve never slept with an employee of mine, and it has always been my policy to keep my distance, but you’re different.” “You just said you didn’t want to...you weren’t planning on...” She chuffed a breath and turned away from him, folding her arms across her stomach. “I don’t want to fuck you, Mary,” he said, his voice softer now that he realized she didn’t understand what he’d meant. “That’s what I do with women I don’t give a damn about, women who are nothing more than a means to a physical release.” “You care about me.” It wasn’t a question, but he grunted a “yeah.” She shook her head, her back still facing him. He didn’t know if she was denying that he cared, or that she didn’t feel the same way, which was entirely possible. There were times she looked at him with frustration, and he wondered if she could even stand him. Though, those looks had been coming less and less. And this past week, since he’d made the decision that he really did want her, and that he’d do everything he could to get her, he thought he’d seen a spark of real attraction in her eyes when she looked at him. “I don’t need your gratitude,” she said softly, her shoulders hunching a bit. “What I’ve done for you is just my job as Angel’s nanny. I’m not a pity case.” Before he could say anything, she dashed up the stairs and disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. Jacob growled with frustration, both 144

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physical and mental. He rose off the couch to go after her, but then dropped back down. She made it pretty clear she didn’t want anything to do with him right now. How the hell did she go from him telling her he wanted her to thinking he was taking pity on her? He scrubbed his hands over his face, grabbed the wine bottle and filled his glass. Looked like alcohol would be his only companion tonight. Mary shed her clothes and pulled on her fluffy pajamas, a purchase made just the day before when she realized she had nothing respectable to wear to bed. Especially if they were in a cabin sharing a bathroom. Ha, what a laugh. She had her own private bath off her bedroom, as did the three other bedrooms. She shouldn’t have thought they’d be roughing it, but she had. Once again showing her foolishness where Jacob and his money were concerned. What was roughing it about a full turkey dinner awaiting their arrival? After scrubbing her face, she crawled into the big bed and pulled the fluffy down comforter to her chin. She hadn’t noticed the skylight above her bed before. Heck, the whole slanted ceiling was a window that looked up into the starry night sky. She tried and tried and tried not to think about her conversation with Jacob, but it didn’t work. She couldn’t block his words, or the gentleness with which he’d touched her. He did care about her. There was no doubt about it now. But, she hadn’t been playing coy when she said she figured it was because she’d helped him with Angel. He even said he was thankful for her help. She didn’t want gratitude from him. God, that was the last thing she wanted. She wanted him to want her. Want Mary O’Toole because...because... She rolled to her side and hugged her pillow. What was there to like about her? What did she have that someone like Jacob would want? Nothing. She couldn’t think of one thing, but she had a list of dislikes. Especially the physical. God, she didn’t look anything like the women she was sure he dated. Model Melanie in Cabo. Mary could just imagine what she looked like. How many times over the years had Sheldon called her a cow? How many times had he blamed her for his inability to become aroused by her? How many times in the years she’d been married to him had he told her that no man but him would ever want her? And Sheldon was no door prize! He was fat, too. And drank constantly. Yet, he managed to find other women who’d wanted him. Several that Mary knew of. How embarrassing that’d been, to find out that her lazy, good-for-nothing husband had been running around town--a couple of towns--with other women. 145

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That’s when she’d finally grown her backbone and changed the locks on the doors. The house was hers, left to her by her parents, and she made sure he never set foot in it again. Mary could tolerate a lot of things, but a cheating man was not one of them. She swiped a hand over her face and rolled onto her back to stare up at the sparkling stars. So, if she couldn’t even turn on a drunken philanderer, how could she ever hope of keeping someone like Jacob interested? She knew he’d been aroused last week when they kissed. The hard length of his penis against her belly had been all the proof she’d needed. And tonight, she hadn’t touched that part of him, but his face had been flushed, his eyes so dark, his voice like gravel when he said, “I want you.” She didn’t doubt he had wanted her in that instant. But what would happen when he saw her body without any clothing on? When he saw the stretch marks from when she weighed so much more than she did now? When he saw the fat that still remained on her stomach and thighs and upper arms. Her stomach turned over and her dinner threatened to return. Pain gripped her hard. No, she couldn’t let that happen. She could never let Jacob see her body. She wanted to feel him, to touch him, to have him make love to her in ways she’d only fantasized about, but it wasn’t even a possibility. Two years ago, when she locked Sheldon out of the house, she determined to live her life alone and on her own terms. She’d just have to stand by that now. She had to. Because she knew she wasn’t strong enough to handle the kind of heartbreak Jacob could give her.

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Chapter Fourteen

The muffled ringing of the phone brought Mary out of a fitful sleep. The night had seemed endless as she lay there staring up at the stars, wondering what she was doing here, and wishing she weren’t alone. Near dawn, she’d finally drifted off, only to dream of Jacob’s hands and mouth. His kisses and his touch. “Mary! Hey, sweetheart, it’s time to get up. Angel’s ready to hit the slopes.” With a groan, she pulled a pillow over her head. “I thought I was on vacation.” He chuckled and she heard the doorknob turn. “Come on. It’s time to go. I made breakfast, and Angel’s waiting for us.” Mary threw off the pillow and came up on her elbow, facing Jacob, and shoved the hair out of her eyes. “What do you mean, waiting for us? I’m not skiing.” “Sure you are.” Jacob grinned and came toward the bed. “We’ll spend the morning on the bunny hill. It’ll be fun.” Mary shook her head. “I have nothing to wear to go skiing in. I thought I was just coming along for the scenery.” Afraid to make a complete fool of herself in front of Jacob, she was surprised to realize her own disappointment. But the truth was, all she had to wear were jeans and that thin wool jacket, which would be horrible to ski in. Jacob frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. God, that chest. It had felt so good last night when he held her against it. “If you had something to wear, would you want to ski? I mean, we can rent the boots and skis, but you’ll need ski pants and a good jacket. It’s pretty cold out.” Mary thought of the small amount of money she had in her bank account. He’d paid her again, but at this rate, if she didn’t start saving, she wouldn’t get anywhere. No way could she afford a good pair of ski pants and jacket, especially since this trip would be a one-time thing. “I--I don’t know.” “Come on,” he said, as if he’d made a decision. “Grab a quick shower and I’ll keep breakfast warm. I’ll take care of everything.” He winked and then walked out of her room. 147

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Excitement bubbled through Mary as she threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom. She didn’t know what he’d planned, but she loved how her heart fluttered when he grinned at her all wicked like. Jacob wove his way through the shops, quickly scanning each one in hopes of glimpsing Mary. She hadn’t met Jacob at the spot they’d designated. Angel was on her way back to the Brandons’ hotel with Jenny and the nanny. The sun was setting, and worry gnawed at Jacob’s gut. Around ten a.m., they’d parted ways in the main shopping area. He’d given her his credit card and a couple hundred in cash. She was to get herself some ski clothes, goggles, gloves and whatnot. They’d planned to meet at the rental shop and then spend the afternoon skiing with Angel. Mary hadn’t shown. After all the shops, he took a turn around each of the restaurants. He couldn’t spot her. Hell, in a place as big as this, she could be anywhere. Finally, he got in the rental car and headed to the cabin, praying she’d be there. Relief flooded through him as he pulled up in front of the cabin and saw smoke rising from the chimney. She had to be here. The fire had been out that morning before they left. He jumped from the car and sprinted up the front steps, threw the door open. “Mary,” he sighed with relief, spotting her sitting on the rug in front of the blazing fireplace. “Damn, woman, you scared the hell out of me.” He shut the door behind him and went toward her, peeling off his gloves, hat and jacket as he went. “Why didn’t you meet us?” Mary stared silently into the fire, her back toward him. She was wearing those fuzzy pajamas she’d had on that morning. She looked like an adult playing reverse dress up. The pajamas looked like they belonged on a five year old, not a grown woman, but they were rather cute with the little white bunnies all over them. It dawned on him she hadn’t turned toward him, hadn’t even acknowledged his presence. He knelt down next to her. “Sweetheart?” He leaned around to see her face. Her eyelids flickered and she glanced at him, then back at the fire. “Babe, what’s wrong?” She blinked once. Slow, like an owl. Then she reached down next to her and picked something up, held it out toward him. When he took it, he realized it was his credit card and every bit of the cash he’d given her to go shopping with. “I didn’t meet you because I didn’t get any clothes.” Her voice was flat, dead. His heart clenched. Something was very wrong here. “Okay. What happened? Are you hurt?” She shook her head. 148

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He laid his hand on her back, but she flinched as if his touch had hurt. “Mary. Talk to me. What happened today?” “As soon as we get back to New York, you need to find a new nanny.” “What?” She stared into the fire, didn’t say a word. “Damn it, talk to me. Don’t you dare do this. What the hell happened today?” His voice shook and he took a deep breath to calm himself. “Is it more shit about that article? Did someone give you a hard time? You know that doesn’t matter to me.” “I don’t fit,” she finally said. “I made such a mistake thinking I could, but I don’t.” Losing the control over his patience, he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “What do you mean, you don’t fit?” He wanted to shake this mood out of her. Her expression was passive and she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Staring somewhere over his left shoulder, she did that slow blink again, but this time he saw the slight sheen of tears that glistened in her eyes. “I don’t fit. I’m not one of the pretty people. I never will be. Your mother was right. I don’t belong. It’s time I stop pretending.” Stunned by the pain her voice held, all Jacob could do was pull her into his arms. “Sweetheart. Oh, God, what happened today?” He ran his hands up and down her back, trying to comfort her, but she was limp against him, her arms hanging at her sides. “What the hell happened to make you say my mother was right?” “I want to go home where no one cares what size I am. Where I can walk down the street and not get those looks. Where I can walk into a store and,” she choked on a soft sob and her shoulders shook. “And find clothes that fit me.” Jacob held her close, at a complete loss. She couldn’t find clothes to fit her? She got looks? “You can’t leave us,” was what came out of his mouth. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Angel and me. We need you.” Mary planted her hands on his chest and shoved away, rushing to her feet. “You don’t get it! What’s wrong with you?” She paced away then turned back. “Why do you act like you don’t see it? Why do you...” Her face twisted into a mask of disgust. “Is it some kind of sick game to you? Tease the little fat girl? Make her think she’s got some hope, then you’ll take it away?” Fury bursting through him, Jacob shoved to his feet and grabbed her by the shoulders before she could retreat. “What in God’s name are you talking about?” he shouted. “I have never teased you, and you’re not fat!” She twisted, trying to free herself from his grasp, but he held tight. “Yes I am! I’m fat. I’ve always been fat, I’ll always be fat, no matter what I do.” 149

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Holding her as she tried wriggling out of his grasp, pieces started falling into place. The not eating. The baggy clothes she always wore, clothes that held no shape that covered her from neck to ankle. Okay, so she wasn’t like the skinny women he was used to, she had curves and softness where others had bony hips and pointy elbows. Maybe she wasn’t the classic, model perfect Nicole Kidman type, but she had something so much more. Besides the fact that he liked her, her mind, her capacity to give, her sweetness, her motherly attitude toward Angel, he loved the way her body felt against him. Ever since that first kiss, thoughts of her naked, in his bed, under him had haunted him every night. “Let go!” Instead, he pulled her against him, wrapped his arms around her, trapping her arms at her sides, and brought his mouth down on hers. She fought at first, and he didn’t want to hurt her, but how else did one reason with an irrational woman? Slowly, she began to calm. She still stood rigid in his arms, but she wasn’t fighting, her breathing evened out. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Loosening his hold he shifted slightly, bringing her body flush with his so she could feel his reaction to her, the instant hard-on that touching her, tasting her, caused. “Don’t,” she whispered against his lips. “Please, I can’t take it anymore.” Running his hands up her back, over the soft pajamas, he cupped her face and pulled back just enough to see into her eyes. “I don’t know what happened today, Mary. Something hurt you awfully bad, didn’t it?” She nodded. He pushed her hair over her shoulders, then laid his palms against her cheeks again, reveling in the softness of her skin. Her beautiful green eyes, so full of pain and hunger, stared up at him. Hunger for him. “I want you to tell me everything, sweetheart.” She opened her mouth, but he stopped her words with a gentle kiss. “Not yet.” He pulled back and smiled down at her. Her hands had found their way to his waist, resting lightly against his insulated shirt. “Right now, Mary, I want to make love to you.” She shook her head and fear overtook the glaze of passion in her eyes. He slowly nodded. “Yes, sweetheart.” He moved against her, letting her feel his unmistakable hardness. “I want you. And I am definitely not teasing you.” He kissed her again and her hands fisted in his shirt. “Unless you tell me,” he said, trying to catch his breath, “that you absolutely do not want to be with me,” he kissed her again, hardly able to believe what she did to him, “I’m taking you up to my bedroom,” he ran his tongue 150

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along her upper lip and she sighed, “and I’m going to have my way with you,” he nipped her jaw, “all night,” he nibbled on her throat, “long.” Mary whimpered and finally leaned against him, her breasts against his chest, her belly pressing against his now painful erection. And when he captured her lips for another kiss, her tongue danced with his, her hands clutched at his shoulders, pulling him closer. When he was finally able to gather his senses back together, he slowly pulled away and gazed down into her face, a face he’d come to cherish. “Come on,” he said, his voice low and rough. He took her hand and headed toward the stairs to the bedrooms. “Wait.” She tugged away from him, and he stopped, turning back. “What is it?” “I can’t. We can’t.” She backed away with a look of regret in her warm green eyes. She shook her head. “Jacob, I just...can’t.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and twisted her hands together in front of her. He heard her swallow. “What are you afraid of, Mary?” He lowered himself down on the stairs and clasped his hands together between his knees to keep from reaching for her again. He wasn’t about to force her into something she truly didn’t want, but when she was in his arms, his mouth on hers, she became willing. As if, as long as her mind was occupied with the feelings of lust and arousal, she didn’t have time to think of all the reasons not to be with him. Mary’s hands were shaking, her stomach slightly nauseous, and that damn pain was spiking through her gut. On the other hand, a pulse had set up between her thighs and she ached to feel completion. God, she wanted to follow him up those stairs. After the day she’d had, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in his arms, in his comfort, but she knew what would happen as soon as she got naked. She glanced down at her childish pajamas and cringed. Stupid, stupid, stupid Mary. “Are you going to answer or are we just going to sit here all night?” “I work for you.” “I told you last night that didn’t matter to me.” She nibbled on the inside of her bottom lip. She figured he was an honorable enough man that no matter what happened between them, she probably wouldn’t be fired...as long as their working relationship didn’t suffer. But how could it not suffer? How could she face him after... If he saw... God, she wanted him, and that wanting made her ache. Her chin started that wobbly thing as she fought back the tears. She’d made it through all that crap this morning and hadn’t cried. She didn’t want to blubber now. 151

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Having never been a crier, it seemed every time she turned around she was crying lately. Ever since she met Jacob Stone. Lifting her chin and expelling a tightly pent-up breath, she met his gaze. Mistake. He was looking at her with those dark, dark eyes, waiting for some kind of explanation from her. Okay, time for the truth. “You and I are not compatible.” She swallowed back the pain her words caused her. “I really don’t know what you think you will get from me, but I’m sure you’ll be disappointed.” He just stared at her. Didn’t say a word. “I don’t have any experience with men, only my husband and well...um...” she shrugged. She knew more than anybody what little experience she’d gotten during sex with Sheldon. He was the epitome of wham, bam, thanks for nothing, ma’am. “Anyway, I have the feeling you’re much more...sophisticated than I am and...I wouldn’t want you to be dissatisfied.” “Cut the bullshit.” Mary stiffened at his harsh tone and the words he’d uttered. When he lunged to his feet and stalked toward her she took a few steps back, but he kept coming until the back of her thighs pressed against the back of the sofa. He didn’t make a grab for her, just crowded and towered as he glowered down at her. “Why don’t you try telling me the truth? I don’t give a good goddamn if you’ve only had one lousy partner. I don’t give a shit about your lack of experience. And I sure as hell don’t think we’re incompatible.” He raised his hands, making her flinch. But he tenderly cupped her face between his palms. “Mary, honey.” He gazed into her eyes and she felt all her fears melting away. He was so tender, so sweet she physically ached to be pulled into his arms. “At least be honest with me. Why don’t you want to sleep with me?” “I do.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. His lips kicked up on one side, his blue eyes darkened a bit more. “Then what’s stopping you?” “The truth?” she asked, stalling. He nodded. “I don’t want you to see me.” His thumbs rubbed lightly over her cheeks and his gaze never wavered. He moistened his lips with his tongue, but her nipples responded as if he’d licked them instead. “You know, sweetheart, I think that ex-husband of yours should be strung up by his balls.” 152

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A gusty giggle broke free, releasing some of the tension inside her, relaxing her ragged nerves. “Look at me,” Jacob said, his voice gravelly. Mary slowly raised her gaze from his lips to his eyes. God, he was gorgeous. And he wanted to have sex with her. Why, oh why was she denying herself this? Just once? Just once, take a chance and see what it feels like to be held in strong arms against his big, beautiful body. To know what having someone like Jacob, who’d be tender and sweet and probably wouldn’t even let her know what he thought of her body no matter how disgusted he was by it, buried deep inside her. “Trust me,” he whispered, then touched his lips to hers. So soft, so sweet. “Trust me.” She slowly nodded, never taking her eyes off him. “Okay,” she said on a soft sigh. He smiled and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. A hug. Tears prickled her eyes as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. My God, she thought, how long had it been since someone hugged her? Really just held her? She couldn’t remember. Maybe not since her parents died. Jacob held her snug and warm, his hands slowly coasting up and down her back in a calming, comforting gesture. She sighed and leaned into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder, letting her eyes drift shut and keeping the purr of warmth and satisfaction to herself. What would he think of her if he had any clue just how needy for touch she was? What would he think if he knew just how lonely her world had always been? Trust me. Trust me. Trust me. Am I the biggest asshole on earth? Jacob held Mary’s pliant body against his and fought the demons running through him. Trust him? Hell, hadn’t he set out to seduce her this weekend? Seduce. Have sex. Mutually satisfying copulation. How had it turned into something so much more? She was hurting. Someone, something, had torn her up today, and that nearly killed him. He wanted to make her happy, make her feel better about herself, and God help him, he didn’t know what else to do. So why did he feel guilty about wanting her? Why did he feel guilty that he just told the sweetest, warmest woman he’d ever met to trust him, when all he’d originally wanted to do was have sex with her? Because suddenly he wanted to be a man--the man--she could trust. For the first time in possibly his entire life, he wanted to be something more to a woman than a good fuck and a nice present left on the bedside table in the morning. Jacob buried his face in her feather soft hair and inhaled her sweet, flowery scent. Would making love to her prove that she was special? God, he didn’t know. He just 153

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didn’t know. The very last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She’d been through so much. Hell, her entire adult life had been crap. Leaning back slightly, he lifted her chin with his finger to see into her eyes. The green of emeralds--of rainforests--moist with tears she tried so valiantly to keep inside. He leaned down and kissed her once, gently. “Let me make you forget all your pain, Mary. Let me do this for you. Even if it’s only for tonight.” Her breath caught and one tear slipped down her cheek. He kissed it away. She gazed into his eyes for what seemed an eternity before she gave a slow nod. The smile couldn’t be stopped as it spread over his face. He put his arm around her and moved with her up the stairs, afraid to let go of her or she’d have the opportunity to change her mind again. Hell, he wished he had a lock on his bedroom door so he could make sure she couldn’t get away. The thought almost made him chuckle. At the top of the stairs he turned into his bedroom, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her long and deep. After an instant of hesitation, she gave in and joined him, her tongue probing and playful, her sweet taste now so familiar to him it was like coming home. Jacob went after the buttons on the front of her pajamas, and she shoved her hands under his shirt, running her fingers over his skin, making him burn. “God, Mary, I want you,” he panted as he kissed her cheek, her jaw. When he grazed her throat with his teeth she gave the tiniest, sweetest mewling sound. He repeated the motion, just to hear her again. Her palms pressed against his chest, but she wasn’t pushing him away. It was as if she needed to feel his skin as much as he needed to touch hers. The buttons only half undone, he shoved her top down and cupped her full breasts while he tasted her shoulder, nipping and licking her creamy skin. He had an unbearable urge to pull her so close, to squeeze her tight, to meld their bodies so they could never be separated. He backed her toward the bed, wondering if he’d make it. He’d always prided himself on his control, his patience where sex was concerned. Not tonight. Right now all he could think about was getting her on that bed, her legs spread wide. “Jacob,” Mary cried when they went tumbling onto the bed, her body so soft and warm and welcoming under his. “I’m right here,” he murmured as he slid his hands into her pajama bottoms and cupped her ass, grinding himself against her. Damn, she felt good. Realizing what he was doing, that he was acting no better than a horny teenager, he slowly released her and eased to her side. “Sorry.” 154

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Her face was flushed dark pink, her breathing as ragged as his. Her hand shook as she touched his cheek. She smiled so shyly, that warm gooey spot inside his chest opened up enough to swallow him. Hell, he thought, this woman deserved so much more than him. She deserved home and hearth, love and happily ever after. A house in the country with a white picket fence. “Ah, Mary, you drive me nuts.” She giggled and snuggled against him, burying her face against his throat, her hot breath sending burning chills through his body. He would swear he could feel the heat flaming off her cheeks. She’d been married for years, yet she acted like a shy virgin. “Mary,” he whispered, so touched. “Sweet Mary.” He kissed her throat, her shoulder, between her breasts, worked his way down her body. When he paused to kiss her belly, she tensed. Her hands fisted into the bedspread. “You’re beautiful.” Her head rolled from side-to-side, he couldn’t see her face clearly in the darkness, but he thought her eyes were squeezed shut. She denied her beauty. “Mary.” He dipped his fingers into her waistband and slowly pulled her pajama bottoms down. When he moved back up next to her, she still lay there with her eyes tightly closed. “Mary,” he said again, softly cupping her breast in his hand. Her nipple instantly puckered beneath his palm. “Please.” Her voice trembled. I don’t want you to see me. She hadn’t said the words again, but they were there between them. Jacob had never hurt so badly for anyone before. Mary was the epitome of Rubenesque perfection. She could be hung on the wall of the Louvre. Full, heavy breasts with big, dusky areolas. A waist that dipped in a bit and hips that flared out, a slightly rounded belly. Her legs were long, shapely. Her skin shone milky white in the moon glow filtering through the window. The only word for her was feminine. How, he wondered as he leaned over her and planted a tender kiss on her breast, could he convince her? Slowly, gently, he let his hands explore her body. Every swell, every dip. Then he followed with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. Her body slowly relaxed beneath his touch. Then it began to quiver, as did his own. Her breaths grew harsh once again and her skin heated. He groaned aloud when he urged her thighs apart and ran his fingertips over her damp downy curls. “Jake?” she said on a long, drawn-out sigh. Her hands loosened on the quilt and found their way to his hair. Her body moved and writhed so damn sensuously Jacob couldn’t help but watch as he eased a finger between her hot folds. 155

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Her hips lifted ever so slightly and that tiny, erotic whimper escaped her throat. Reaching up, he cupped her breast, lightly squeezed her nipple. Unable to deny himself any longer, he dipped his head and tasted her. Sweetness everywhere, he thought. He could lose himself in her scent, her taste. Her heat. Mary’s body jerked and she mewled like a kitten. Her fingers fisted in his hair almost painfully. And just when he was sure he couldn’t take any more, she gave a soft cry and thrust her hips. He rode her orgasm with her, urging her along. Making it last until her body went limp and her hands fell to her sides. He chuckled as he hurriedly shucked his insulated ski pants, grabbed a condom from the bedside table and lowered himself over her, stopping poised at her heated center. “Hey,” he said softly when her eyelids fluttered. A Cheshire cat grin spread over her gorgeous face. Moving his hips just slightly, he pressed against her. “Can I come in?” Mary laughed, the sound throaty, husky, sensual as all hell. She shifted her legs slightly and he settled more firmly against her. “Open your eyes, sweet Mary. I want to see you.” Her eyelids slowly lifted and his breath caught. Never in his life had any woman looked at him that way. With so much tenderness, yet so much desire. She raised her hands to his cheeks. “That was the most...incredible...” She sighed, smiled. “Come in,” she whispered.” Jacob slid into her with a deep groan of satisfaction. She was hotter, wetter, tighter than he could have ever imagined. “Oh. Ohh, my,” she said, her eyes widening as he began moving within her. “You’re so...wow.” He wanted her to climax again. Needed her to. Needed to show her he wasn’t just another ass who took and took and took everything from her. He reached down and guided her legs up around his hips. She made that little sound again, and he nearly lost it. Her breaths grew short, her brow puckered up all cute. She gripped his shoulders. “Mary, baby, I can’t hang on much longer.” And then she shifted, and he sunk even deeper into her. Her body bowed, she met him thrust for thrust. Then her muscles contracted around him and he threw himself off the edge into oblivion.

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Chapter Fifteen

Something tickled her nose. Mary tried lifting her hand to brush the itch away, but it was pinned between her waist and something warm and solid. Her eyes flew open to see a wall of male chest. The tickles came from the light dusting of black, springy hair. Ohmygosh! It wasn’t a dream! “You awake, sweetheart?” Jacob’s voice was low, rough, rumbly against her chest. Her bare chest. Pressed against his. Her nipples hardened in excitement even as she silently begged them not to. Then Jacob shifted slightly and she realized her nipples weren’t the only things hard between them. He was. Really hard. Again. “Mary?” His fingertips skittered over her shoulder, down her arm, followed by a wave of gooseflesh. He chuckled, shifted again, bringing her even closer to his body, and wrapped both arms around her and buried his nose in her hair and sighed. “God, you feel good.” So do you. His body was everything she’d imagined and more. He was solid muscle from shoulders to toes and so damned perfect, she didn’t know if she should beg for more, run screaming from the room, or burst into tears that he only wanted tonight with her. Just tonight, he’d said. How was she ever going to live in the same apartment as he and not touch him again? Not drool over him as he walked into the room. Not remember how he’d touched her, kissed her--dear God, her husband of over a decade had never put his mouth there. “You warm enough?” he asked as he adjusted the fluffy down comforter over them. But only the lower part of them. The top part was sticking out, melded together, and his hands...ohhh his hands were touching again. Her back, her shoulder, her hip, her--her breath caught--butt. So lightly he skimmed his hand, just a whisper of a touch. “Mar-ry,” he said in a singsong. “I know you’re in there. I know you’re awake.” He chuckled and nipped her earlobe. “Your breathing is ragged and your body went tense.” He slid his thigh over hers, his erection settling against her mound, and she quit breathing all together. 157

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He really wanted her again. How could he? Her own husband hadn’t ever, ever, wanted a second round in one night. It was still night, wasn’t it? She took a quick peek toward the window. Yes, still night. The ambient glow from Aspen lit up a dark orange sky. Fat snowflakes fell against the icy pane. A fire, which hadn’t been lit earlier, crackled softly behind her, keeping her backside warm while Jacob heated her front. And her insides. His hand slid between them and he cupped her right breast. As his slightly rough palm rubbed over her nipple, she felt the tingle all the way to her womb. Her hips jerked in reaction, causing his solid length to rub deliciously at her apex. “Mmm,” he murmured. “I’ve never touched a woman as responsive as you.” He dipped his head and kissed her nose, then her cheek. Unless she tipped her head back, he couldn’t reach her mouth, but tipping her head meant making eye contact. She wasn’t ready for that yet. “Even half asleep your body responds to me.” She wasn’t half asleep. Wide awake, her body was humming, buzzing, begging for him, but she didn’t have it in her to say so. Dear God, she wasn’t one of those sophisticated women who walked up to a man and said fuck me. She’d been raised by a real lady. Her mother had taught her that the boy should make the first move. The boy should make the first call. And when it came to matters of the bedroom, a woman was simply there to satisfy a man. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as tears stung her eyes. She was not going to cry while she lay in Jacob’s arms. She wouldn’t! For fourteen years she’d endured Sheldon’s bed. Fourteen years. And now, with her employer, her boss, she found out what it could be like to be touched by someone who honestly cared. Someone who made her body sing, and made fireworks shoot through her veins. “Hey,” Jacob whispered as his hold on her changed from exciting to soothing. He pulled his leg off of hers and settled her against his chest. “Sweetie, shhh. What’s wrong? You are awake, aren’t you?” She nodded against his chest, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. “You’re shaking.” He pulled the cover up to her chin and held her close, his body now slowly rocking her like a child. “Mary, talk to me, please.” His voice sounded almost panicked. “Why do you have calluses on your hands?” she blurted out, the first thing that popped into her head as his hand soothed over her shoulder blades. He stopped rocking her for a moment, then he chuckled. “Do they bother you?” She shook her head, and he began the slow rocking motion again. Even though the hard length of his arousal pressed against her belly, he made no move to thrust against 158

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her. Mary’s mind spun with confusion. She didn’t understand this. None of it. Not even how she got here. This wasn’t Mary O’Toole’s life. It absolutely couldn’t be. After taking a slow breath and releasing it, idly wondering if she had bad breath, she said, “I went on eleven interviews before meeting you. You aren’t the youngest or oldest man I met, though you are probably the richest. Every one of them had very well manicured hands. Soft. Perfectly buffed nails. Your hands feel like...” She shrugged. Like a normal man, not a multi-multimillionaire. Jacob’s hand coasted over her hair, pushed it away from her face, then tangled in it. He kissed her forehead. Such sweet, tender gestures. So...so what other women got on a regular basis from the men they loved, and who loved them. Tears threatened again and she took a couple quick breaths to chase them away. She might have fallen madly head-over-running shoes in love with Jacob Stone, but the feeling wasn’t mutual. Jacob Stone was never going to fall in love with her. How can I be so damned stupid? “Well, as you know,” Jacob said in that low, gravelly voice that made her tingle from toes to scalp, “most of Stone Enterprises is buying, developing and selling property.” She nodded when he paused. His chest hair was fascinating. In the low firelight, the black strands shown with bits of gold. Sneaking her hand up his belly, she twined her fingers through it and smiled at his quick intake of breath. “Anyway,” he continued, after placing his hand over hers, holding her palm flat against his chest. She peeked up at him, and a slight smile curled his lips. “When my father ran the company, it was much smaller. When I was sixteen he put me to work with one of the construction crews, and I loved it. I nailed sheetrock, helped lay concrete floor. The next summer I got to learn blueprints and even work with the architect a bit.” His thumb ran over the back of her hand. Her body relaxed once again, and she sighed. His low voice vibrated from his chest, and she thought she could lay here forever just listening to him talk. “Once I started college things snowballed until a few years later, I find myself married and taking over Stone. I never picked up another hammer or nail gun.” He shifted onto his back, still holding her hand against his chest. His other arm pillowed her head as his fingers idly rubbed her shoulder. “About two years ago I got a tip on some property in Kennebunkport, Maine. Six acres of beach access, sitting on a bluff. The perfect spot for a resort.” He turned his head and looked at her, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Or a spa. “So I flew out there, anxious to close the deal and start planning a monstrously expensive luxury hotel, but...” he grinned, “I fell in love.” 159

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Mary’s mouth fell open and her gaze slid from his. He fell in love? An icy chill settled in her heart. He loved another woman? “She’s a hundred-year-old Victorian with eight gables, a turret, humongous bay windows and a wraparound porch.” He chuckled when her cheeks flushed and she raised her gaze back to his. “The ten room house had been abandoned for almost twenty years. The plan was to demolish the place and build the resort right over the spot she occupies, but I couldn’t do it. It was love at first sight. Peeling powder blue paint, sagging porch, broken windows and all.” Jacob let out a deep sigh and kissed her gently. “I bought her with my own money, not the company’s. I spent a month with a crew that summer, getting my hands dirty,” he smirked and rubbed his palm over her hand, “building extremely painful calluses. There was a lot that had to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch. Between the salt, humidity and bugs, she was in pretty bad shape, but we reframed her, keeping the original floor plan. “I have one guy working on her, living there to keep an eye on the property while he slowly puts her back together. I go up for a weekend every couple of months and put in a little muscle.” Mary sighed wistfully. “It sounds absolutely beautiful. I love Maine. I’ve dreamt of living there since I was a little girl and my parents took us there on vacation one summer.” Her finger idly circled Jacob’s flat nipple and she felt him shiver. She grinned. “I love the smell of the air. The sea. One morning, Dad took me up on this bluff to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” He turned again, pulling her against his chest, but this time she met his gaze and smiled. He ran his warm, rough palms down her back to cup her behind. “Sitting on the patio just off the sun room, you get a one hundred-eighty degree view of the ocean. The sunrises are spectacular.” He kissed her softly, lingering for a long moment as his tongue traced the bow of her top lip. “She’s the only thing I’ve ever owned that means something to me.” He shook his head, his brow puckered into a frown. “I could give it all away, walk away, and it wouldn’t matter as long as I could take Angel and go home to her.” Mary raised her hand to Jacob’s cheek, the stubble tickling her fingers. He meant it, she realized as she gazed into his dark, dark eyes. She just wished she could be included. She wanted to be swept away to a beautiful house in Maine and live happily ever after with the man of her dreams. 160

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“Let’s go there,” he said softly, as if he’d read her mind. “The three of us. Maybe while Angel’s out of school during spring break.” Spring break sounded so far away. Afraid she was overstepping her bounds with him, she carefully asked, “Are you going away for Christmas?” A smile broke free and his perfect white teeth flashed in the darkness. “That’s perfect. It’d be beautiful up there at Christmas, with a huge tree in the front room. Bill, my carpenter up there, he’s newly widowed, would you mind him joining us?” Before she could answer, he continued. “I don’t think my mother will want to go. She says Maine is too wet and cold.” He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Like New York is any better in January. “What do you think? Are you up for it?” His smile fell, his brow pulled again. “Or did you have plans to go see your sister?” She shook her head, her heart pounding with excitement. He wanted to spend Christmas with her. In his Victorian in Maine. With a big tree in the front room. It had been fifteen years since she had a Christmas tree. Sheldon never allowed it. “No, you don’t want to go to Maine with us, or no you aren’t going to see your sister?” “I want to go to Maine,” Mary said, her voice raspy. “I want to spend Christmas with you and Angel and...and Bob.” “Bill,” he corrected, then laughed and hugged her tight. “This’ll be great.” He sounded as excited as a kid. “I’ll get Bill to make sure a couple rooms upstairs are finished off, at least the walls up. It’s not even painted yet, but...” He kissed her hard, then his tongue delved between her teeth to dance with hers. He rolled again, and then he was above her, his body nestled between her thighs. He groaned as he rubbed himself against her, and she sighed. Nothing in her life had ever felt as perfect as being in his arms. She prayed this wasn’t a one-night thing. If it was, she needed to take full advantage of every second. “Jacob,” she whispered when he trailed hot, damp kisses along her jaw, down her throat to that really, really sensitive spot on her neck. “Hmm?” I love you. But she held the declaration back. “Don’t stop,” she said instead. “I don’t think that’s an option,” he murmured as he nuzzled between her breasts. “Definitely not.” And then he sucked her nipple between his teeth and swirled his tongue around the hardened tip. Warm tingles traveled through her body, heating every nerve ending. 161

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Mary closed her eyes and floated on a sea of wonderfully exciting sensations. Jacob’s hands, his mouth, the scent of musky sex and his deliciously unique maleness. I love you, she thought again, over and over as he tenderly brought her body to greater heights, an awareness she never knew existed. I’ll always love you. When the bright sunshine hit her eyes, Mary pulled the fluffy quilt over her head and turned to wrap her arms around Jacob. She was met by cold, empty sheet instead. Deflation quickly eked its way into her soul. Her one night of Cinderella romance was over. “Back to scrubbing floors and slaving over a hot stove,” she grumbled as she threw back the cover and squinted at the too-bright room. “No glass slippers in your future, lady.” Outside the nearly two-story tall windows, the world had turned completely white. The trees held a thick new coating of snow that sparkled in the morning sunshine. She sat up in the enormous bed and looked around Jacob’s room. My goodness, she thought, still amazed at the beauty of the “cabin”. The pine dresser and headboard matched the glossed, knotty log walls. The fireplace was a duplicate of the one downstairs, made from gray and brown river stones in varying shades, shapes and sizes. But the most impressive by far was the two-person, cream-colored marble whirlpool tub in the corner. As she stretched, she thought how lovely it would feel to sink into the hot bubbly water. She ached in places she never knew existed, but it was a pleasant, languid ache that brought back memories of Jacob’s skillful touch. The tub was empty, though, not hot and bubbly, and since he was AWOL, she’d probably already overstayed her welcome in his bedroom. Climbing off the bed, she searched around until she found both pieces of her pajamas and pulled them on. Unsure of what she was going to do today, she decided a shower was the first order of business. She could still smell Jacob’s cologne on her skin, in her hair, and that was a bit too distracting. With one last wistful glance at Jacob’s room, she walked out. She didn’t regret her night with him. She regretted that it would only be one night. And then she wondered, as she went through her bedroom into the attached bathroom, what her mother would think of her wanton thoughts. Good girls didn’t lust after men, they didn’t think about sex, they sure as hell didn’t wish for another night of hot, passionate lovemaking by firelight. She peeled off her pajamas and stepped under the stinging spray of the shower. As she soaped herself, she wondered if her mother had been full of it. Her parents had been a very close couple. They always held hands, snuck kisses when they thought the kids 162

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weren’t looking, made a little too much noise in the bedroom every once in a while-though at the time Mary had been too young--and way too innocent--to realize what passion sounded like. Thank God. She giggled and rinsed her hair. Until last night, Mary had never in her life made any of those sounds. It’d been liberating. And the low growls and sexy murmurs that came from Jacob as he kissed, nuzzled and... Oh my, she thought as her body responded to just the thought of him. She really needed to change her train of thought. That night was over and done with. There was no chance of a repeat performance. So, get over it. She turned off the tap, pushed back the shower curtain, then screeched. She grabbed the curtain and tried in vain to cover herself with the almost clear plastic. A low, sexy rumble of laughter came out of Jacob as he stood there holding a towel for her. He was leaned back on the vanity, his ankles crossed, looking relaxed and sexier than any man had a right to. Then he winked. “Good morning, sweetheart.” She snatched the towel from his hand, her face flaming with embarrassment. It’d been bad enough in the dark where only shadows could be seen, but here, under several one hundred watt bulbs? No, she silently cried. He can’t see me like this. The towel barely covered her from breast to hip, leaving way too much skin bare. Her flabby arms, her pudgy thighs. Dear God, her stomach pushing out against the towel. “Don’t,” Jacob whispered as he pushed away from the counter and stepped toward the tub. “Babe, don’t.” He cupped her cheeks between his palms and leaned over, kissed her softly. “Don’t hide from me.” Tears stung the back of her eyes and she tried blinking them back. He gazed down at her, pushed her hair away from her face, then kissed her again. “I was disappointed when I got back and you were already up. I’d planned to climb back into bed and wake you up nice and slow.” He nibbled on her throat, magically dispelling her embarrassment and replacing it with arousal. Maybe it wasn’t over? Maybe, just maybe he did want her more? Was this a vacation thing? Would it continue once they got back to New York? What about Melanie? Ice water through her veins. Model Melanie. Jacob definitely wouldn’t need plain ol’ fat Mary once they returned to New York and Model Mel got back from Cabo. Gripping the towel, she pulled back from his gentle touch. “Well,” she said, forcing a smile and wondering if it looked convincing. “I’m up now, so...”

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Jacob waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “You’re not the only one.” She glanced at the fly of his jeans--the pair she’d talked him into purchasing--and sure enough, he was “up.” Her smile turned genuine and stepped from the tub. “Mr. Stone,” she said primly. “I do believe you have some fresh powder to do...ski...whatever.” He laughed and pulled her into her arms before she could sidestep him to the door. “Yes, sweet Mary, I have some fresh powder to do, and you’re going to do it with me.” He went right to that spot on the side of her neck that made her bones melt. “Mmm, you smell so good.” He did too, she thought absently as she leaned against him. He’d showered, shaved, put on that pricey cologne. But now she knew his elemental scent and it was more wicked and more enticing than anything else she’d ever smelled. “I still don’t have any ski gear,” she reminded him, trying to force her brain back in line. “All taken care of,” he murmured against the top slope of her right breast. “I borrowed some clothes from a friend’s wife. They might be a bit big, but I think they’ll do.” He nipped her breast, then nuzzled the towel down until her nipple showed. “Mmmm. Pretty.” He swirled his tongue around her painfully tight nipple, then suckled it until she thought she’d explode right there, standing in the bathroom, him fully dressed. “Jacob.” She speared her hands into his hair, pulling him away from her before she collapsed onto the cold tile floor. “What about Angel? Aren’t you skiing with her today?” “After lunch. The morning is all ours.” He kissed her then, deep and long and sweet. When he finally raised his head from hers, he was grinning. “And if you don’t get dressed quickly, I’m not going to share you with the mountain.” He turned her toward the door and swatted her barely covered butt. Did she imagine it, or did his hand caress her at the very end? “Damn, babe, you are fine.” Mary dashed out of the room, her cheeks heating once again, but this time with much more than embarrassment. In broad daylight he liked her. Liked her body enough to get turned on by it. She grabbed a pair of loose jeans and a sweatshirt from the open suitcase at the foot of her bed. How was she ever going to deal with it when he changed his mind? Jacob’s hands seem to have a mind of their own, because they wouldn’t stop touching her. Not that she minded. Not at all. But it was strange. No one had ever...petted, patted or caressed her so much in her life. The biggest problem she could see with all the touching was the fear of becoming addicted to it. 164

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“Hungry?” Jacob asked as he took her gloved hand in his and led her toward the main lodge. “I’m starving, and I have it on great authority that Ricky’s serves the best steak burger in the Rockies.” Mary grinned. Jacob was as playful as a kid today. “Yes, I’m hungry.” He turned toward her, his eyes wide. “Really? You mean,” he said, affecting shock, “you’re actually going to eat?” She bumped her shoulder into his and laughed. “Don’t be a jerk.” After pulling open the heavy wooden door to the lodge, he teased, “You wound me, sweet Mary.” She turned and stuck her tongue out at him. In response, he grabbed her around the waist and kissed her. Right there in the lobby of the ski lodge. Out in the middle of everything and everyone. And it wasn’t a quick peck on the cheek, nose or lips like he’d been doing all morning. Nope, this was a tongue thrusting, lust inducing, foreplay kiss that made her knees go weak and her brain turn to mush. “Better watch what you do with that tongue, sweetheart,” he murmured when he pulled back a bit. “It’ll get you into trouble one day.” Her head bobbed in agreement. She didn’t mind the kind of trouble he was bringing. In fact, she never wanted it to end. “Stop looking at me that way,” he said in that low, sexy voice, “or we’re going to go back to the cabin and you can forget lunch, maybe even dinner.” A slow smile spread over her lips. That didn’t sound so bad at all. Then she remembered. “You’re supposed to ski with Angel this afternoon.” One eyebrow went up, then he shook his head. “You make me forget everything.” His voice was gentle, almost as if the concept of forgetting everything awed him. Stepping away from her, he took her hand and led her into Ricky’s, a pub with threestory tall windows that looked out on the mountain. Mary peeled off her gloves and hat, and wondered how frizzy her hair might be from the stocking cap. The ski boots were rubbing the wrong way on the side of her right heel, but she didn’t say anything. She’d been having way too much fun to complain about a little blister. The ski outfit he’d borrowed from his friend’s wife was indeed a few sizes too big around the middle, and a couple inches too short in the arms and legs, but all in all, it kept her warm. And she was glad she had the time alone with him. She wouldn’t trade it for anything. “Good afternoon, Mr. Stone,” the pretty Native American waitress said with a bright smile. Everyone seemed to know him. “Can I get you anything to drink for starters?” 165

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He turned toward her. “Water is fine, thanks,” she said. Jacob ordered coffee, and the waitress left. “So, what’s it going to be?” he asked, leaning toward her, placing his arm along the back of her chair in order to share her menu. “You’d like the grilled chicken. And the chef salad is good if you like rabbit food as a staple, which you seem to.” He chuckled at her scowl, then twined a lock of her hair around his finger. His other hand settled on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze. God, she loved how he touched her. “Clam chowder,” she decided, then set the menu aside. “Soup? That’s it?” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Soup.” He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then clamped his teeth together. His smile faded and he gazed into her eyes with a serious expression. “I worry about your eating habits.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Why? I eat.” His hand came up and he brushed the frizzy flyaway hair away from her cheek. “Did you eat anything besides breakfast yesterday?” She fiddled with the cloth napkin on the table and stared out at the snowy mountain. No, she hadn’t eaten anything other than the breakfast he’d cooked for her. She’d been too upset, her stomach hurt too much. “It can’t be healthy, sweetheart. I know you have stomach problems of some kind. I’ve seen you holding your hand over your middle and the color drain from your face. Have you seen a doctor?” She shook her head. “I was waiting for the medical insurance to kick in from...from my job.” How strange it seemed to discuss her job with her employer, while she was discussing personal matters. Jacob laid a finger under her chin and turned her head to look at him. “As soon as we get back to New York, I’m going to set up an appointment for you with my internist.” “But I can’t afford it right now,” she said softly. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it. Your health is way more important to me than a doctor’s bill.” She opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out. She knew she needed to see a doctor about the pains. She’d had them for the past four or five years, but never had enough money to have it checked out. For all she knew she could have a giant cancerous tumor in her stomach that was slowly killing her. “Daddy!” Jacob jerked his hands away from her so quick she felt adrift and disoriented for a moment. 166

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“Hey, Angel,” he said with a big grin for his little girl. He even stood up and lifted her into his arms for a hug. “How’s it going? Did you have fun this morning?” “Can I go to the movies with Jenny, her mom and Briana?” “When?” he asked, sitting back down. Angel settled on his knee, and Mary couldn’t help but be so proud of both of them for having come so far together, so quickly. “Now. Well, after lunch.” “Jacob,” a well-dressed woman with perfect hair, perfect nails and perfect makeup said in a perfectly cool voice. “Nice to see you again.” “Mrs. Brandon,” Jacob said in a solicitous tone. “Please join us.” Mrs. Brandon, Jenny’s mother, Mary assumed, shook her head. “No, thank you, we’re having lunch in the club room, but wanted to let you know that Angel’s invited to spend the rest of the day with us, if that suits you.” “Well, is that what you want?” he asked Angel, who had one arm around his shoulder. “Yes.” Her smile was big and bright. “Please? We can ski tomorrow. Please?” Jacob chuckled. “All right.” He kissed her cheek. “Have fun and be good.” “Thanks, Dad.” Angel hopped off his lap after one final hug, then rounded the table and hugged Mary, which sent warm fuzzy feelings through her. Then Angel was off with Mrs. Brandon. Their drinks finally arrived with apologies from the waitress about the wait, then she took their orders. “So,” Jacob said after taking a sip of his coffee. “Looks like we have the rest of the day to ourselves.” Mary nodded, but when her mind took a detour as to how they could spend the rest of the day, she felt her cheeks heat. She truly had turned into a wanton, hadn’t she? After just one night, she wanted more and more and more of Jacob Stone’s exceptional lovemaking. He chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were having lascivious thoughts about me.” He touched the tip of his finger to her nose as he waggled his eyebrows at her. “How about two runs down the mountain, and then we’ll head back to the cabin and, um, figure out how to warm each other up.” His hand had found its way back to her thigh and was slowly, tantalizingly moving upwards. She quickly nodded in agreement. It would be better if they could skip the two runs, but who was she to argue? She’d have Jacob in bed again. The vacation wasn’t over yet, and she wanted to take full advantage of that. Of him. She giggled when his fingers 167

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skimmed a little too close to home base. Pushing his hand away, she whispered, “We’re in public, behave.” Jacob chuckled, then kissed her cheek softly, lingering a little too long. “Okay, but when I get you alone, all bets are off.” Her body throbbed and tingled at the suggestive tone he used. Oh, yeah. She looked forward to getting him alone again. “Howdy, Jacob.” This time Jacob didn’t jerk away from Mary, but slowly slid his hand from her thigh. She smiled, realizing it was only in front of his daughter that he got self-conscious. “Blaine,” Jacob said, extending his hand to shake with a burly, white-haired man. “How are you doing?” Mary noted that Jacob sounded all business with this guy who wore a bright red snowsuit, which looked at least two sizes too small. “Thought I saw ya’ll sitting over here,” the man said in a thick Texas drawl. “The wife and grandkids insisted on coming up here for the holiday weekend. So who’s this cutie you got with you?” Jacob glanced at her, then back at the man. “Blaine, this is my daughter’s nanny, Mary O’Toole. Mary, this is Blaine Houser, an associate of mine.” Mary’s stomach twisted as she glanced up into Jacob’s neutral gaze. So she was back to being the nanny now. He was ashamed of her, after all.

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Chapter Sixteen

Mary thought she might be sick all over the table. “How do, Ms. O’Toole?” Blaine said, tipping an imaginary hat in her direction. “This here’s one fine young man.” He gave a hearty laugh, as if he and Jacob shared some inside joke. Mary forced a smile in Blaine’s direction, but her face felt as if it might crack. She had to get out of there. This is my daughter’s nanny. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. As she pushed her chair back, her bulky ski boots tangled with the table leg and she almost wound up on her face before she could make her escape to the ladies room. Throwing open the door to the women’s restroom, she clomped on the tile floor to the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Oh, God, it was worse than she thought. Her hair was frizzed out all over her head, making her look like she’d had a close call with a light socket. Her cheeks and nose were bright red, a horrible combination of sun and windburn. Mary blinked back the threatening tears and drew in deep breaths to keep from crumbling. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face. How could I have been so stupid? With the touching and playful kissing all morning, and then that incredible lip lock right there in the middle of the lobby, she’d thought that maybe, just maybe she was more than a nanny now. But it wasn’t until he’d said the words that the reality sank home. Mary O’Toole was Angel’s nanny. It didn’t matter that she’d spent the most incredible night of her life in his arms, or that she was so deep in love with the man and his daughter that her heart would never mend. All that mattered was that she was not his type. Not the kind of woman he would introduce as his woman to his associates. Grow up! One tear escaped down her cheek and she brushed it away. Why, oh why did she let herself believe there was more between them? She’d known it going in. She’d known it last night before she meekly followed him up to his bedroom and joined him in that big, 169

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wonderful bed. Even this morning when she woke up alone, she was prepared to go back to their employer/employee relationship. But not after he’d kissed her in the shower, told her she was “fine,” and then...and then... A sob escaped before she could stop it. Stupid, stupid, stupid me. “I want to go back to the cabin.” Jacob studied Mary’s red-rimmed eyes and frowned. What in the hell happened? One second they’d been laughing and having a great time, the next she was running off to the bathroom, taking forever to return. Now she didn’t want to ski with him. And damned if she didn’t look like she’d been crying, or trying not to cry. Had looked that way all the while she barely touched her soup. “You promised me two runs.” He handed her skis to her and picked up his own from the rack outside the lodge. “I don’t feel like it,” she said between clenched teeth. When she tried stomping off, not an easy feat in ski boots, he grabbed her arm and practically dragged her toward the ski lift. “You promised me two runs, damn it. You’re going to give them to me.” She glared at him and jerked from his grasp. “Fine. Two runs. Then I want to go back to the cabin.” She snapped her feet into her skis and headed toward the lift. An hour ago he would have thought she was anxious to be alone with him, but the look in her eyes now was anything but warm and welcoming. She looked as if she were ready to take his head off. As they got into the line for the chair lift, he put his arm around her shoulder and tried to kiss her cheek. She jerked away from him and almost toppled over. “Don’t,” she hissed, then glanced at the people standing behind them. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “what’s going on?” She shook her head while staring at the tips of her skis. Their turn came and they sat down on the chair. Mary gripped the bar with both hands and stared off into the distance. The seat swayed gently from side to side, the low rumble of the cables vibrating through the seat. “Is your stomach bothering you again? You barely touched your lunch.” She was doing her best to ignore him. “Okay, if it’s not your stomach, then you’re upset with me, and I’d like to know why.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. 170

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Leaning toward her, he cupped her chin in his palm and physically turned her face toward him. “Don’t play this game with me, Mary. I don’t like the silent treatment.” A tiny whimper escaped and he realized how pale her face was beneath the deep pink windburn in her cheeks and nose. Her freckles stood out dramatically against her alabaster skin. Frightened eyes stared past his shoulder. “Mary?” A tear trickled down her cheek, then another and another. She started to double over, gripping the seat in one hand, the bar and her ski poles in the other. “What the hell?” He grabbed for her and wrapped his arms around her, anchoring her to the back of the chair. “Mary, talk to me!” She jerked and her poles dropped the fifty or so feet to the ground as she grabbed his jacket like a lifeline and buried her face against the front of it. He took a quick glance to make sure she hadn’t impaled any skiers with the poles, then hauled her close to him. Her entire body shook and she kept trying to double over. A sound like a wounded cat came out of her. “What’s wrong with you, sweetie? What’s wrong?” Panic set in deep and hard in his gut. Another three hundred feet to the top of the lift. A sob broke free from Mary’s throat, along with a muffled sound that was something like “I can’t breathe.” “Hang on, baby. Just hang on. We’re almost to the top.” “Down.” She gripped his jacket so tight it nearly strangled him. “Down. Please. Now. Down,” she said between pants. As they neared the top of the run, he couldn’t figure out how to get her off the lift. “Do you want to ride the chair back down?” “No,” she screeched in a high, panicked voice. “Okay. We have to get off then.” He tried prying her thickly gloved fingers from his jacket. “Babe. Please. Sit up. You have to sit up to get off.” She shook her head against his chest. A long, low groan came out of her then and she let go of his jacket to grab her gut. Shit. Whatever that stomach problem was picked a hell of a time to get worse. The top of the hill approached too quickly. There was only one thing left to do...and Mary wasn’t exactly a small woman. He tossed his ski poles toward some trees where no skiers were, shoved his forearm under her thighs, wound his other arm around her shoulders, and as soon as his skis hit the ground, he lifted her and shoved away from the chair. 171

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Mary let out a scream of either pain or terror, or possibly both, and clung to him like a frightened child. He made it out of the path of the next person getting off the lift and tumbled to the ground, turning his body at the last second so he didn’t land on top of her. She rolled to the side, clutching her stomach and sobbing between harsh breaths. “Sir? Do you need help?” Jacob looked up at the young man standing over them in a bright red ski patrol jacket with a white cross on the chest. “Yes,” he said, trying to keep his panic firmly in check. “She needs to get to a doctor immediately.” Mary stayed curled in a tight ball, her eyes firmly shut, and listened to Jacob’s thicksoled hiking boots thump on the tile floor as he paced her private room in the Aspen Valley Hospital. She’d never be able to look at him again. Not after that horrible, childish display she’d put on. How stupid could she be? It was a chair lift. Thousands of people ride the thing every day, yet she went into a panic so bad her stomach started hurting until she couldn’t breathe. Poor Jacob had to drag her off like a rag doll, and then the ski patrol hauled her down the mountain on a stretcher. Even hours later, after being poked, prodded, x-rayed, ultra sounded, stuck with needles, and CT scanned, she still hadn’t looked at him. Even though, through it all, he never left her side. Hot tears of shame burned behind her closed eyelids. She’d been so mad at him before they got on the lift, but all he cared about was making sure she got the best possible care. By the time they’d been in the ambulance her pain had subsided and she remembered him holding her hand, touching her cheek, and telling her she’d be all right. He’d find her the best doctors in the world so she could get better. She sniffled and Jacob rushed to her side, took her hand in his. “Are you awake?” he whispered, and gently pushed her hair from her forehead. She nodded, but kept her eyes closed. She’d drowsed off and on since the last test was run and didn’t know how long she’d been there. Now they awaited the doctor with all the results, to find out exactly what caused her pain. Besides panicking, of course. “How’re you feeling?” She shrugged and drew her hand out of his, tucking it beneath her chin. Her gut hurt, but a different hurt now. More like the end result of being kicked in the stomach rather than the sharp, mind-numbing, breath-stealing pain she’d had on the lift. A dull ache when she moved. If she lay perfectly still, she was fine. He touched her hair again, then leaned over and kissed her forehead. “The doctor should be here soon.” 172

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Before he’d finished the sentence, a light knock sounded on the door before it opened. Mary opened her eyes to see the balding, middle-aged doctor step in. He smiled at her and she tried to smile back, but truth be told, she was terrified of what she might have. Was she dying? A tumor? Cancer? Oh, God, she thought, please don’t let it be cancer. “We finally have all your test results in,” Doctor Spalding said in his gentle, everything-will-be-fine voice. “You’ll be happy to know that you have a spastic colon.” She frowned. The doctor chuckled. “Also called irritable bowl syndrome. It’s not life threatening, though it can be rather painful.” “No kidding,” Mary said on a sigh as she tried sitting up a bit. Jacob was right there, with his arm around her, helping her. She pulled away as soon as her legs hung over the side of the bed, even though what she really wanted was to lean against him and soak in his warmth, his strength. “Is there anything I can do to...fix it?” Doctor Spalding sat down on a wheeled stool and looked up at her. “Yes. There’s medication. And also a thorough change of diet.” “Change her diet?” Jacob piped in. “The woman doesn’t eat.” Doctor Spalding’s eyebrows rose up. “I eat.” “Hardly,” Jacob retorted. Go to hell, she wanted to say, but bit her tongue. What the heck was with him and her eating habits? “Well, on to other problems we found with your test results,” the doctor said. “You have hypothyroidism. Your thyroid isn’t producing enough hormone. Have you had any weight gain?” She shook her head, no. Once again Jacob jumped in. “She’s lost weight in the last month, I think. Like I said, she hardly eats anything.” “Stop it,” she whispered. Doctor Spalding’s brows furrowed. “Your levels of iron and potassium are rather low, also. We can give you some pills for that, but it’s preferable if you can get the needed supplements in your food. Are you following a certain diet?” She shook her head again. “I’m telling you, there is no diet,” Jacob said, and rounded the bed toward the doctor. “This morning she ate one egg and one strip of bacon. For lunch she ate less than half a bowl of soup. She hasn’t had anything since. And this is typical for her. She just doesn’t eat. I thought it was because of a stomach disorder or something. Now I’m just worried.” 173

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“I eat enough,” Mary said firmly, even as she blinked back tears. Why couldn’t they understand? If she ate more, she’d stay fat. “Mary, have you lost weight recently?” Doctor Spalding asked. She hesitated and glanced up at Jacob. Then she nodded. “How much?” She shrugged. “Well, you weigh one-eighty-two right now. Do you know how much you weighed before?” Mary’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe it. She had no idea she’d gone under two hundred pounds. She’d been two-ten before she left Vermont. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. She wasn’t eating, was she? She’d dropped nearly thirty pounds in less than two months. “Mary?” Jacob reached for her, but she pulled away. “Mr. Stone,” Doctor Spalding said in that gentle voice. “Would you please step outside and give me a few minutes alone with Mary?” At first he just stood there as if he wasn’t going to leave, but then he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. “Mary,” the doctor said as he stood up from the stool. “You seem surprised to find out your weight.” She nodded. Surprised was an awful mild word for what was running through her brain. “How much weight have you lost?” She swallowed. “Too much these last couple of months. I’ve been dieting, eating low calorie, low fat for almost two years. I weighed almost three hundred pounds when I started.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I had no idea I’d lost so much weight in the last couple of months. I know that’s not healthy.” Feeling foolish, she silently wondered if she was trying to kill herself. “Have you been under stress lately? Stress can be a direct contributor to spastic colon, which could explain your severe bout of it this afternoon.” She nodded slowly. “I left home. Moved to New York. Had to find work. But I’ve had the stomach pains for several years.” The doctor gave a soft sound of agreement. “It’s often carried over from childhood. There’s no real known cause of it. Some people have it, others don’t. But you’ll need to cut some of the stress out of your life. And as for the iron and potassium deficiency, I’ll give you a prescription. In about two weeks you should have your family physician retest you.” 174

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She nodded. “Now, about the eating...” “Honest, I didn’t realize,” she rushed to say. She didn’t want this guy thinking she was starving herself on purpose. That she was one of those women who quit eating just to be thin. She wasn’t sick in the head. “Jacob would say things about my eating habits, but I thought he just didn’t understand. I don’t know how I got this bad. It wasn’t intentional.” The doctor studied her for a long minute. “Perhaps it would help if you saw a nutrition specialist and worked out a diet to follow, so you can keep the weight off and be healthy.” Letting out a big breath, she smiled. “That sounds like a good idea.” Doctor Spalding smiled back. “Good. Your discharge papers are ready at the front desk. Since you’re still having some discomfort, take it easy for a couple of days.” He pulled three prescription sheets off his pad. “The medicine to help the spastic colon,” he pointed out. “Iron and potassium. Follow the dosages carefully, and this one is for the thyroid. You’ll most likely have to take them for the rest of your life. Please get in to see your doctor in two weeks. Your thyroid will need to be checked again after thirty days.” She swallowed back the lump in her throat, unsure why it was even there. “Thank you, Doctor.” “My pleasure, Mary. Just take care of yourself.” She smiled again, and he left the room. Jacob came in within seconds. “Well?” he asked. “I have some prescriptions I need to get.” She held up the sheets of paper. “And I really want a shower.” The smell of the hospital, the astringent cleaner, even the scent of latex gloves, made her feel a little ill. “What did he say?” She sucked in a deep breath and then, as gently as possible, said, “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” “But...” “Please, Jacob. Just give me some time.” He gave an obviously reluctant nod, then went to the closet and pulled out her clothes. “Need help?” he asked. Holding out the prescriptions, she said, “Would you take these to the pharmacy? I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” He took the papers from her, then helped her down from the high bed. “You sure you don’t need help? You still look unsteady.” 175

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“I’m fine. A little achy, but fine. Please stop worrying.” With infinite gentleness, he cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’ve never worried so much in my life.” Tears blurred her vision, so she shut her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “Go.” He kissed her temple before leaving the room. Sagging back against the bed, she ran a shaky hand over her face. She didn’t want to cry. At the moment, she didn’t understand what her emotions were doing. The jittery, giddy feelings rushing through her were foreign, unwanted, like her hormones were going nuts all over the place. And questions. She had so many questions that only she could answer. But did she have the courage to face them?

**** The ride back to the cabin had been filled with an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of snow crunching under the rented SUV’s tires, and the soft fwap fwap of the wipers as they pushed heavily falling snow from the windshield. Having to drive slowly because of the near blizzard-like weather, the trip seemed to last forever. The phone was ringing as they entered the cabin, so when Jacob grabbed it, Mary pretended not to see his hand motion for her to stay. She made a hasty retreat to her room, shutting the door behind her. Grateful that Jacob hadn’t pressed her to talk, she let out a sigh as she headed for the bathroom. The unmistakable scent of rubbing alcohol lingered on her skin, and her stomach felt slightly sticky from where the ultrasound gel had been glopped on. After stripping out of her clothes, she pushed back the shower curtain and turned on the spray. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror over the sink. Slowly turning to face herself in the unforgiving light of several one hundred watt bulbs, she forced herself to really look at her body. One hundred eighty-two pounds, the doctor had said. She hadn’t been at this weight since her junior year in high school, nearly sixteen years ago. The year her parents had died. The year she’d married Sheldon. The year her whole world came crashing down on her and she needed to pick up the pieces and try to hold it together for Belle. Had she spent so many years worrying over her sister that she’d totally forgotten about herself? Or was that an excuse? With steam billowing out of the tub, Mary opened the bathroom door, went into the bedroom and pulled her purse from the nightstand. From inside her wallet she extracted a well-worn three by five photo of herself and Belle, taken just a month before she started 176

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her classes at UVM. She weighed two hundred ninety-six pounds at the time. It was this picture that forced her to realize she was on a quick road to a heart attack, or stroke, or diabetes, or any number of weight-related problems. She took the picture back into the bathroom with her and tucked it into the mirror frame at eye level. In the picture, her face is round, she had at least two chins, and her body... But she hadn’t been thinking about her looks when she decided to make major changes in her life. Sure, Sheldon had called her a fat cow on a regular basis, chided her for every piece of food she stuck in her mouth, made her feel very small and insignificant inside a body that was slowly falling apart. It was the back pain, the knee pain, and not being able to walk up a single flight of stairs without stopping at the top to catch her breath that had prompted her to go to the library and check out a stack of books on nutrition and diets. In the beginning she’d counted every calorie that passed between her lips. Kept a journal of everything she ate, and carried a thick calorie counter around with her wherever she went. And she’d been obsessive about weighing in every morning. Praying she’d lost another half pound each day. While at the University she took the stairs whenever possible, took long walks up the steep hills around the campus housing, and at night, at home, she had a stationary bicycle she’d picked up at a secondhand store. While she read her textbooks, she put in hours on that bike. After almost a year and a half, she’d plateaued at two-thirty. She knew that plateauing was normal, she’d read about it in all the books, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t lose any more weight. And she felt like a failure. Once again. She failed her sister by not bringing her up right. Belle couldn’t last in a relationship more than a year or two at the most. She hadn’t instilled a strong work ethic in her sister, either. The girl always wanted either a man to take care of her, or came begging money from her big sister. And she’d failed at her own marriage. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep, calming breaths, fighting back the slight pain that had returned to her gut. “No,” she said aloud. “You are not a failure.” Another deep breath in, then out. “Belle is almost thirty years old. You did all you could for her. It’s time for her to stand on her own.” In. Out. “And the only mistake you made in your marriage was marrying him in the first place. He failed you.”

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Her eyelids slowly opened and she looked at her reflection. Standing naked in front of the mirror, something she never did, she forced herself to see what was there, not what her mind told her she saw. Her red hair was messed from the stocking cap, and then lying in the hospital bed, but the color was kind of pretty, a rich, deep red, with strands of gold interwoven in it. It was thick, and, due to good genes from both her parents, not a hint of gray. She touched her cheek. Her face had shape to it, defined high cheekbones, an almost pointy chin. She smiled, realizing for the first time she had only one chin now. She touched her throat, then her collarbone. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her collarbone before. Her gaze flicked to the picture stuck on the mirror, then back at her reflection. A reflection of a different person, both physically and emotionally, from the sad woman she’d been when the picture was taken. She was stronger now. Not only could she walk up a flight of stairs without pausing, she could stand up to Belle and tell her she needed to fend for herself. She forced her gaze to track lower, over her breasts. Okay, those weren’t anything to write home about. They were smaller than they used to be, not that she had any idea how much smaller since she mostly wore generic sports bras good for A, B and C cups. They kind of just...hung there. Well, nothing she could do about that besides a boob lift. She snorted and grinned. Like that was ever going to happen. Lower still, she stared at her stomach. It was definitely still there. She pressed her fingers into the soft flesh, thinking it felt like a partially deflated balloon. Soft, squishy. She could cup it in her hands, which in itself was kind of amazing, since before, she couldn’t even span it with her hands. She had indents at her waistline, too. Something else she’d never had. When she was young, she never had a figure. She mostly wore boy’s jeans growing up because she never filled out the hips and butt of women’s pants. Now she had a figure. Not exactly an hourglass, but maybe close. The bottom was quite a bit heavier than the top, like an hourglass that most of the sand had already run through. A grin turned up her lips and she stared at her face in the mirror. Her eyes looked bigger and brighter than she ever remembered seeing before. With the windburn on her cheeks, she looked... She wasn’t sure what it did to her, but something had happened. Something wonderful. Happiness unfurled inside her chest and spread out to her fingers and toes. She turned sideways, to look at her profile in the mirror. Her belly still stuck out, but not bad. She sucked in a breath and pressed her hand against her middle. Maybe if she did some 178

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sit-ups...worked on firming things up. Even her arms, which she’d always hidden beneath the baggy t-shirts and sweatshirts, didn’t look that bad. She had some flabby batwing things, but hey, she could deal with that. One eighty-two. That was less than thirty pounds from what the charts said her ideal weight should be. Suddenly she didn’t care what some stupid charts said. She was healthy! She’d done it. How had she never seen this before? When had losing weight become an obsession with size rather than what it had started out as? All she’d wanted was to be able to keep up. To take a stroll along Lake Champlain and not need a nap afterwards. To take her nephews to the park and be able to run with them, push them on the swing, get down in the sandbox without feeling like a beached whale, floundering when it was time to get back up. She’d done it. So the hell what if she had a stomach? She could bend over and tie her shoes now without squishing her guts to her throat, a feat nearly impossible two years ago. Tears sparkled in her eyes even as she smiled at herself. “Stay healthy,” she told herself. “And start enjoying life. You’re too young to live the way you have.” Thirty hadn’t been a death sentence for her, it’d been a renewal. It had just taken her a long time to see it. All the guilt, all the pain and anger of the past decade and a half rolled away. In that one amazing moment, she realized that the only person she needed to make happy was herself. Not a lousy ex-husband. Not a sister who needed to grow up. She let out one more slow breath. Mary needed to take care of Mary for once. And darn it anyhow, she was going to start right this second.

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Chapter Seventeen

Jacob sat on the sofa, staring at the crackling fire and sipping hot buttered rum. He needed something to help him relax. Mary had scurried up the stairs before he could stop her, and when he’d gone up after her, she hadn’t answered his knock on the door. He’d heard the water running and supposed she was in the shower and hadn’t heard his knock. He wasn’t sure if he should push her to talk to him or not. She’d asked for time, whatever that meant. What did she need time for? What she needed was a good meal and her medication, which was still sitting in the pharmacy bag on the kitchen counter where he’d dropped it when they came in. He took a sip of his steaming drink and let the alcohol warm his insides. God, he’d been scared today. All he could think about as she laid there in the snow, moaning in pain while waiting for the ski patrol to arrive and take her down the mountain, was that he couldn’t lose her. She meant so much to him. And Angel. She’d changed their lives so much in the short time she’d been with them, the thought of not having her around terrified him. If something happened to her, how would he and Angel cope? Would they go back to where they’d been before, simply co-existing in the same house? Would he lose his daughter as well? She’d changed him. Somehow, without him even realizing it, she’d taught him to relax. That he didn’t have to be so rigid all the time. Or maybe he’d just never had anyone in his life he wanted to relax with. He wished she could loosen up, too. Let go of whatever demons were in her that kept her a little sad all the time. A lot reserved. After last night and the magic they’d shared, he couldn’t let her go. But today, after her bout of stomach pain, she wouldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to touch her. For some reason he felt guilty, like he’d done something wrong, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what. The top stair creaked and he swung around to see Mary coming down the stairs. She wore those silly bunny pajamas, her feet bare, her hair damp and curly, hanging about her shoulders. But what caught him off guard was the bright smile on her lips. And a sparkle in her eyes, he realized as she neared the bottom of the stairs that he’d never seen before. 180

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She practically hopped off the bottom step, leaned over the back of the sofa and smacked a kiss on his lips, then flounced toward the kitchen. Flounced. That was the only word he could think of to fit her bouncy, fluid, sexy motions. What the hell had she been doing up in her room? “Ahh, Mary?” “Hmm?” She opened the refrigerator and started pulling out leftovers. “Hungry? I’m starving.” “Uh. Yeah.” He pushed off the sofa and slowly made his way to the kitchen. “You okay?” After setting the tray of turkey on the counter she looked up at him and flashed a small grin. “I’m great. You want a cold sandwich, a hot sandwich, or a re-warmed dinner with all the fixin’s?” His mind raced with confusion over her change in attitude from just an hour ago. She hadn’t spoken to him after thanking him for picking up her prescriptions. She hadn’t let him touch her, even when he tried to help her into the car. “Hot sounds good,” he finally answered, as she turned back to the fridge and pulled out more plastic containers holding stuffing, gravy and mashed potatoes. He wondered if she was really going to eat a full meal. She grabbed two dinner plates from the cupboard, and a loaf of whole wheat from the breadbox on the counter. “Was that Angel on the phone?” He set his mostly full mug of buttered rum on the counter and lowered himself to one of the bar stools next to it. “Uh huh. We made plans to ski together tomorrow, since it’s our last day here. She’s going swimming tonight. She wanted to talk to you,” he added, “but when I knocked on your door, you didn’t answer.” She sliced the bread like a pro, placing two slices on one plate, a single slice on the other. As far as he could remember, she hadn’t eaten a single piece of bread since she moved into his apartment. Salad and meat, some cooked veggies, that’s all she ever ate. “Sorry. I was in the shower, I didn’t hear you.” She pulled slices of turkey from the platter and put a fair amount on each slice of bread. “I’ll call her after we eat.” Should he let it go, or should he question her? “What are you drinking?” She picked up his mug and sniffed it. “Buttered rum. Want one?” She raised an eyebrow, then took a small sip. “Mmm. That’s good. Maybe just a half a cup?” She licked her lips and he felt her tongue as if she’d licked his lips.

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“Sure.” His brows pulled together as he got off the stool and headed for the small bar at the other end of the living room. She was going to drink something with alcohol and butter in it? Did she know it had butter in it? Maybe he should warn her? “Want stuffing and mashed potatoes?” she called. “Sure.” With the bottle of rum in one hand, he headed back to the kitchen. Her plate wasn’t as full as his, but it was more food than he’d ever seen her dish up for herself. This was a good thing, he reassured himself. But again, what had happened to her upstairs? He put the teakettle on to heat, then sat down across the counter from her. She put his plate in the microwave first, covering it with a serving bowl to keep the food from splattering, then turned back to him. Again with the grin. He smiled in return. “I think I’ll do some shopping tomorrow while you ski. My stomach muscles hurt a bit, and I don’t want to push it.” Her lips turned down a bit at the corners. “Besides, I don’t really like chair lifts.” He chuckled at that and reached across the counter, taking her hand in his, then pulled her around to stand between his knees. “You are afraid of heights, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Terrified.” “You could have told me, you know. Maybe the enclosed quad cars would have been better.” She shook her head and wrapped her arms around his neck, fiddled with the hairs there, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Her gaze remained steady on his. “I doubt it. I would still know we were dangling fifty feet off the ground, held on by one little cable. I thought I could handle it. I guess I couldn’t.” He brushed her slightly damp hair over her shoulder, loving how it shone in the soft overhead lights. “I thought you said you skied when you were younger.” “The little ski hill near where I grew up only had a T bar type lift. My feet never had to leave the ground.” A thought struck him. “Is that why you never walk near the windows in the apartment?” She nodded, and her smile was a bit self-deprecating. “Ah, sweetheart,” he said softly, then chuckled. “I’ll get thick drapes to put on all the windows.” “I think it’s something I need to learn to deal with. At least in the apartment I know I’m not going to fall to my death.” She giggled and leaned against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. “You never can tell about a ski lift, though.”

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She was so warm and soft against him. Her breasts, obviously without the restraints of a bra under her pajama top, pressed against his chest and made the memory of their night together return to his mind in a blinding rush. He wanted her. Badly. Now. He pulled his head back and was just lifting her face to kiss her when the teakettle whistled and the microwave beeped. “Hold that thought,” she said with an impish smirk. “You make the drinks, I’ll get the food.” A few minutes later, after they’d put away all the cold leftovers and she’d pulled the last two slices of pumpkin pie from the fridge, they settled down side-by-side at the counter, a plate of food in front of each of them. He dug in, realizing just how hungry he was, but watched her from the corner of his eye. At first she picked up her knife and fork and began cutting her food up into small pieces, as he’d seen her do before. But then she paused, as if rethinking her attack on the food, and set her knife to the side. She stared at the plate for a few long moments, then dug the fork into the small pile of mashed potatoes, doused them in a small moat of gravy and lifted it to her lips. Her eyes closed, she slowly slid the potatoes into her mouth then stopped, inhaled slowly, as if savoring the very essence of the food. When a tiny moan escaped her, Jacob nearly fell off the stool. My God, he thought as his body reacted irrationally to the simple sight of her eating. She could make such an ordinary food look sexy. “Mary!” Her eyes popped open and she swallowed. “What? What’s wrong? Is your food still cold?” He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to grab her and take her on the kitchen counter. Shaking his head, he reached for his drink, suddenly wishing it were something stronger. Hundred proof vodka might do the trick. After he swallowed a couple good sized gulps, he asked, “How long has it been since you ate real food?” She speared a piece of turkey with her fork, soaked it in gravy and then ate it. After she chewed and swallowed, she smiled a slightly sad, sweet smile at him. “I’ve been eating real food. I just haven’t been enjoying any of it.” He touched her cheek, hoping she’d explain. Needing to know what was going on in her head. She set her fork down and turned on the stool to face him. He did the same, taking her hands in his. 183

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“Tell me, babe. I don’t understand.” “I’m causing myself problems that I never realized. I’d been so focused on losing weight for so long, I lost sight of why I started.” She blew out a quick breath. “This is hard to talk about,” she said, but smiled at him. He returned the smile, silently encouraging her to continue. “Before I lost weight, I felt horrible all the time. Achy joints, back pain. But I spent the entire morning skiing with you, and I never had to stop even once because I was out of breath. My muscles don’t ache.” She gave a little laugh and her beautiful green eyes sparkled at him. “Well, my thighs are a little sore.” He pulled his hands out of hers and laid them over her thighs, lightly massaging the muscles. “That’s normal.” She nodded and her eyelids drooped a bit, obviously enjoying his touch. “I realized that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. The only person I need to impress is myself, and I’ve been so caught up in the process of losing the weight, I forgot to look in the mirror. To see what I’ve done and how much I’ve already succeeded.” She grinned and laid her hands over his, stilling them. “I actually like what I see, when I look at it the right way. And I feel good, Jacob. Really good. I honestly hadn’t realized that until today.” “What changed today?” he asked softly, his gaze never wavering from hers. How could severe stomach cramps and a trip to the ER make her realize she felt good? “It sounds stupid even to me.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting. “The number. Hearing the doctor say my weight. I hadn’t been this weight since high school. You see, I’d always been on the...uh...chunky side, but in high school it wasn’t that bad.” She shook her head and glanced down at her plate of turkey. “I don’t even know how to explain it, Jacob. I just know that I’m not anorexic. I don’t want to starve myself to death. In fact, I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed eating certain foods.” “So, you’ll start eating healthier now? Real meals?” Her smile dazzled him. “Oh, yeah.” Then she shook her head. “I mean, I’ll always have to watch what I eat. Especially now that I know I have a thyroid problem and the colon thing, but I’m not going to avoid food anymore. I--I want to enjoy life to the fullest.” “Then eat your dinner, babe,” he said, his heartbeat finally settling back to a calm, non-panic, non-confused state. “And I’m very proud of you. And you have every right to be proud of yourself. But I want you healthy, not skinny.” 184

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Her eyes glistened and her lips tilted into a soft smile. “Thank you.” Placing her hands against his chest, she leaned into him and kissed him. Just a slow, soft meeting of lips. “Thank you so much.” Legs intertwined with Mary’s, his right arm slightly numb from being used as her pillow, Jacob watched her sleep. God, he thought, was there a more beautiful woman in this world? The dull light from a heavily overcast sky lit the bedroom in a lazy morning glow. The windburn pink of her cheeks was fading a bit, giving way to a soft alabaster glow. Slight smudges of purple underlined her eyes, making him realize how little sleep she’d gotten the past couple of days. Even so, a smile of masculine triumph spread over his face as he remembered last night. She’d been uninhibited, adventurous. Several times. And each time he brought her pleasure, each time she made those soft, sexy sounds that let him know he’d touched her just the right way, he’d felt like he could rule the world. Whatever realization she’d come to yesterday had changed her. Deeply. After supper, where they’d talked about everything and nothing, and she’d called Angel to wish her a goodnight, it was Mary who’d been the aggressor. She’d taken him by the hand and silently led him to his bedroom. Then she’d undressed him, kissing every piece of flesh she exposed. His body sprang to life at the memory and he wanted nothing more than to roll over on top of her and bury himself deep inside her once again. But he held back, watching her sleep so peacefully. All through the night she’d stayed curled against him, and when he couldn’t take the contact without needing her, she was there, willing, smiling. Sweet one minute, teasing and naughty the next. He lifted his hand from her side and skimmed the back of his knuckles against her dusky nipple. The peak hardened at his touch and a soft moan floated from her slightly parted lips. Her hips gently thrust against his. Even in sleep she responded to him. Wanted him as no woman ever had. With a sudden rush of emotion he couldn’t, wouldn’t, try to define, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her silky hair. Mine, he thought. Mine. Mary squirmed against him and mumbled something. He loosened his hold on her and pulled his head back to see her face. “What?” “Are you trying to smother me?” she asked around a giggle. 185

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He chuckled. “Sorry.” She covered a lusty yawn with her hand. “Is it morning already?” “Yes. Almost nine. But you don’t have to get up.” He brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. She rolled onto her back and stretched her arms over her head, then winced and groaned. “Oh, man, I’m feeling it today.” Her breasts lifted and their peaks looked pebble hard. Unable to stop himself, he cupped one and ran his thumb over her nipple. “Mmm. Feels pretty good to me.” She laughed and swatted his shoulder. “My thighs hurt. From skiing,” she added with an impish narrowing of her eyes. “Maybe I need to start working out or something.” Leaning over her, he kissed the soft, sweetly scented spot between her breasts. “There’s a weight gym in Stone Tower. In the basement.” He licked the curve under that same breast. “Along with an Olympic-sized pool, a sauna in each of the dressing rooms, and I can give you the number of my masseuse.” Mary’s eyes drifted shut as she arched into him. He captured her nipple between his lips, and she moaned again, this time from pleasure, not pain. “A masseuse, hm?” she said, her voice low, husky, sexy. “Maybe I’d prefer a masseur.” No way, he thought as he moved over her, bracing himself on his elbows, his face near hers. “I don’t want some guy touching my woman. You take Matilda, or nothing.” Mary chuckled and squirmed underneath him until he was pressed against her just right. Then she rocked her hips, rubbing herself against him, and sighed. “Matilda, huh? Is she ugly?” “Disgustingly disfigured,” he murmured as he nuzzled her throat. At this moment, if his life depended on it, he couldn’t describe Matilda. She was an employee, that’s all. She raised her hands and laid them on his cheeks. “Good. Don’t want any pretty women touching my man.” That big warm spot in his chest opened up on him, threatening to choke him. Hearing Mary call him her man made him feel like he could do anything. Be anything she needed. He raised his head and kissed her hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, taking in her breath and giving her his. When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. Her eyelids were at halfmast, her cheeks flushed. “Wow,” she said on a sigh. “I could get used to waking up to this.”

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“I’m already addicted,” he admitted. “You’re like a drug. I can’t get enough. And every time I touch you, taste you, I have to have more and more.” He kissed her again to prove his point. “Slight problem,” she panted when he came up for air. “Hm?” He nipped her chin. “Can’t start round three right now.” “I think this would be round four, if you count the shower in the middle of the night.” He licked her throat, reveling in the slightly salty taste of her skin. She laughed. “Oh, yeah, the shower definitely counts.” Her fingers played over his cheeks, her nails toying with his whisker stubble. “So what’s the problem?” He pressed against her again, showing her that he sure didn’t have a problem. And if the heat and dampness he could feel was any indication, she was more than ready. “We used the last condom, remember?” He stilled. Dropped his head to her shoulder. “Shit.” She giggled. “You think this is funny?” “So, tell me,” she said in a serious tone, “is there such a thing as blue balls?” Then she burst out laughing when he groaned and rolled off of her. “You’re a cruel woman.” Rising over him on her elbow, her breast pressed against his side, she reached under the sheet and ran her hand over his aching erection. “There are other ways, aren’t there?” she asked softly, as if she really didn’t know, even after they’d had quite a bit of nonintercourse type fun in the shower. How she’d made it to her age, how she’d been married for so many years and still knew so little about men amazed him. Made him feel fortunate that he was the man to teach her. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her down to kiss her. A gentle kiss, a thank you kiss. “Yeah, babe. There’s lots of other ways.” She touched his cheek again, ran her fingertips over his whiskers. He wondered if he’d scratched her with them. Her eyes were a smoky gray-green this morning. Her pupils dilated. “What are you thinking?” he whispered. She studied his face for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer, but then slowly her words formed. “I love...” His heart thudded in his throat. No, she wasn’t going to say it, was she? “...your beard stubble.” Her nails lightly raked over his whiskers, she smiled, but something dimmed in her eyes. That shine, the sparkle. 187

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That wasn’t what she’d planned on saying. He knew it wasn’t. She was going to say she loved him. That was bad. Very bad. She couldn’t love him. Because he couldn’t return that love, he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t know how. He’d warned her. He’d told her about Jacquelyn. About how he’d betrayed her, hurt her. He’d never loved a woman. He wasn’t capable of it. Mary rolled to her back. “What time do you have to pick Angel up?” she asked, as she pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. She crossed her hands behind her head as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Ten.” “What time are we heading back to New York?” She turned her head and looked at him, smiled, but it looked forced. “Around five.” He sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “I guess I should shower.” “Guess so.” Her tone was wistful. Did she know what just happened here? That he’d just had a panic attack to equal hers from the day before? Why had she not said the words? Maybe he read too much into the look in her eyes. Perhaps she didn’t feel that way and he was making things up in his head. He rolled back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her. If there were one woman in the world that he wished he could love, it was Mary. “Shower with me?” She nodded and kissed his cheek. “You get started, I’ll be in in a couple minutes.” He touched his lips to hers, inhaled her scent. “Don’t take too long.” Jacob headed toward the bathroom, but in the doorway, he turned back to see her sitting on the far side of the bed, her back toward him, her head hanging as she took deep breaths. He wondered if there’d be tears in her eyes if he went back to her and lifted her chin to look at him. As he turned on the shower, he wondered how he’d ever become such a bastard. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t hurt her, but he had. She knew he couldn’t return her feelings, and that’s why she hadn’t said the words. But he’d seen them in her eyes. Felt them in the way she’d touched him, held him, made love to him all night. Now, he wondered, how did he make things right with her? Mary gripped the edge of the mattress and prayed she could hold back the tears. After last night, and all the wonderful things he’d done to her body, he didn’t feel the connection between them. She’d been about to tell him how much she loved him, but it didn’t take a genius to see the fear building in his eyes when the word “love” came out of her mouth. 188

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Live life to the fullest, she told herself now. That’s what she’d done last night. Taken it all in. The flavor, the smell, the feel of Jacob and all the amazing things he led her to experience. She’d never known anything could be so utterly mind shattering. And, even though she’d thought she loved him before, last night was the true turning point for her. There was no going back now. She loved him with all her heart and soul. Not because the sex had been spectacular, but because he was sweet and caring. And he liked her just the way she was. He cared. She knew he did. But that’s all it’d ever be. He wouldn’t love her. And she wasn’t one of those people who thought love would grow with time. Either he did or he didn’t. And he obviously didn’t. The fear in his eyes was proof enough of that. She pushed up from the edge of the bed and wiped her hands over her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry over this. Going in, she knew it wouldn’t last. She was a new Mary today. One with confidence in herself. And she knew if he didn't love her, it wasn’t her fault. Heading for the bathroom where she could hear the shower running, she gave herself a little pep talk. This shower could be the end of it. Once they got home, they were employee/employer again. So, take what you can, enjoy it, and keep the memory tucked away for later. Jacob’s long, sleek body stood behind the frosted glass shower door, his arms above him, braced on the wall, his head against his forearm. He looked...defeated. Her heart went out to him. He’d just wanted a vacation fling. One night miraculously had turned into two. It was wrong of her to lay her emotions on him. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t feel more for her, either. Love couldn’t be forced, or made to happen. She knew that from fourteen years of experience with Sheldon. As much as she’d tried to love him, she never could. But there were no rules against them enjoying each other. She pulled open the door and he turned toward her. “Hey,” he said, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the water. “Hey.” And then he held out his arms to her and she tucked up against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He did care, and that’s all that mattered.

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Chapter Eighteen

The following week went by in a whir for Mary. Monday morning Angel was off to school, and Jacob was on his way to Chicago for a meeting. But he didn’t stay the night, as she’d assumed, and arrived home around three in the morning. He came directly to her room, where he stood next to her bed and stripped off every stitch of clothing before sliding between the sheets next to her. Which had stunned and amazed her, since she’d assumed their tryst ended when the Stone jet took off from Aspen. As the week went on, the two of them spent every spare moment together, though there weren’t many moments to be had. Jacob was working long hours, Angel had started art classes at a small private studio on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and Mary did her best to keep reminding herself this still wasn’t her family. They were always very careful when Angel was around to not let their...attraction show. Mary understood, but it didn’t make it any easier. She wanted to wake up with him in the mornings, to kiss him goodbye before he left for work, to join him and Angel in their sitting room in the evenings. But he always left her bed before six a.m. He kissed Angel’s cheek before he left for work, not hers, though she knew she was being childish for feeling jealous of his own daughter. And she realized that father and daughter still needed their private time together. And all the while her love for him grew exponentially each day. She waited anxiously for him to come to her every night after Angel was in bed and he’d finished whatever work he’d brought home with him. When he held her, he was tender, sweet. Sometimes they made love, other times not. Sometimes they talked and shared parts of their private secrets with each other, other times they slept. It didn’t matter, as long as she could snuggle up against his big, warm body, his arms around her, and pretend that things were different between them. That he loved her. “The bacon’s burning.” The fork dropped from her fingers at Jacob’s low voice in her ear. Grabbing the smoking fry pan from the stove she moved it to the sink, feeling foolish for letting her thoughts drift so much she ruined breakfast. 190

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“Sorry. How about an omelet?” “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, lifting her chin with a finger. “You were about a million miles away.” She shook her head. She’d made her decision not to tell him of her feelings and, even if it killed her, she’d stick by it. “Just thinking about all the things I have to do today, that’s all.” She smiled, hoping it looked sincere. He leaned over and kissed her softly. She pulled back and glanced at the door to his private rooms. “Angel,” she whispered. He grinned. “She’s getting her things together to spend the weekend with Mrs. Brocton.” He moved in closer, placed one hand on her hip while cupping her cheek with his other. “All weekend.” A shiver ran through her. And when he kissed her oh so sweetly, she thought she just might die. When he pulled back, she asked, “I thought you had a thing tonight.” His fingers traced her cheek, her jaw. “I do. I have a dinner meeting with Zander Gray, my CFO, and then I have a charity function that is expecting my appearance, but I’ll be home by midnight.” She waited, gazing into those amazingly blue eyes of his. “All weekend, sweetheart,” he whispered, his warm breath an intoxicating mixture of minty toothpaste and coffee, as he touched her cheek. “To indulge.” “Oh?” He nodded. His fingers flexed on her hip, then slipped around to her bottom. “I have a request.” Anything, she almost said, but remained silent. “I’d love to come home to a tray of those chocolate covered strawberries you make so well.” He leaned forward, his lips rubbing against her ear as he spoke. “And a bottle of Cristal.” He licked the shell of her ear, and she shivered as she grasped the front of his shirt to keep from falling at his feet. “And you. Naked. In my bed.” “You want a bottle of crystal?” she asked, her brain not functioning with him touching her the way he was. His chuckle was deep and raspy and tickled her ear. “Cristal. Champagne. It’s in the bar in the social room.” “Oh.” Well, didn’t she feel stupid? “Are we celebrating something?” His hand skimmed over her shoulder, down her arm, then wound around her back as he pulled her tight against his body. “If the meeting goes well, we will be.” 191

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And then he kissed her. The kind of kiss that sucked all the oxygen from her lungs, made her head swim, and caused all her secret parts to come to life and tingle. She felt his arousal against her belly and couldn’t keep from rubbing herself against him. Last night had been a cuddle only night. Until this second, that fact hadn’t bothered her. When Jacob broke the kiss, both of them sucked in deep breaths. “Damn, woman. If I didn’t have to be at work...” Her lungs felt too small, her skin too tight. Never in her thirty-two years had anyone been able to do these things to her. Make her forget her own name with just one little touch. Cause her entire body to sizzle with a kiss. “What’s your meeting about?” she asked, trying to set her world back on its axis. “I’ll tell you tonight.” He flexed his hands against her bottom, and heat raced up her spine, spread down her arms to her fingertips. She pressed against the ridge behind his zipper. “Tell me now.” “Imp.” He kissed her again, though this time it was too quick. “Tonight. Right now, I need sustenance.” He stepped away from her and using her shoulders, turned her toward the stove. Mary laughed at his playfulness. Especially when his hand found her butt again and gave it a quick squeeze. As she prepared omelets for breakfast, paying much more attention to what she was doing this time, she wondered why this wasn’t enough for her. He was sweet, tender, funny when he let himself go, kind, gentle, generous. Everything a woman could possibly want. Yet, something fundamental was missing. Something that left a big hole in her heart. After breakfast, Jacob was slipping his suit jacket on when he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a check. “Here ya go,” he said, pushing it across the table toward her. It was Friday, payday, and Mary had expected it, but when she saw the amount on the check she shoved it back at him. “We had a deal,” she said fiercely. He raised that one silky eyebrow at her. “We did?” “You know darned well we did. We talked about it the other night.” While they were in bed. After he’d made love to her. She glanced at Angel seated next to her. The little girl watched her with open interest. Mary turned back to Jacob. “You’re supposed to take twenty-five percent out of my pay until the doctor bill is paid off.” “Ah, that deal,” he said with a smug grin. “We didn’t talk. You talked. I listened. But I never agreed to anything.” 192

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After giving Angel a kiss on top of the head, he picked his briefcase off the counter where he’d left it and headed out of the kitchen. Mary ran after him. “Wait a second,” she said, catching his sleeve as he reached for the doorknob to leave. “I won’t be indebted to you.” He turned toward her and frowned. “Consider it workman’s compensation, then. You were with your employer. He’ll take care of the bill.” She huffed out an annoyed breath. “I wasn’t on the clock, and it had nothing to do with being injured on the job. Besides, this is a condition I’ve had for years.” She waved the check under his nose but he wouldn’t bite. “I’m not going to argue over this with you, sweetheart. I’m not taking your money.” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me, I’ve got the paperwork for you to fill out for medical benefits at the office.” “Jacob. I’ve never owed anyone anything, I’m not going to start now with my boss.” My lover, she thought. No, my boss. Keep the two separate. She frowned. He gave her a quick kiss. “Let me tell you a little secret, Ms. Mary,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone. “I’m stinking rich. Your medical bills won’t even faze me. Let me do this for you.” “No.” “Stubborn.” “Pot. Kettle.” She waved her hand between them. Jacob chuckled. “True enough. Don’t forget the strawberries.” He kissed the tip of her nose then went through the door. “This discussion isn’t over,” she called through the closed door. She heard his laugh. The jerk, she thought as she looked at her paycheck. He wouldn’t be paying her bills if she weren’t sleeping with him. Of that she was sure. Part of her felt good that he wanted to take care of her, help her out. But the bigger part of her felt very, very uncomfortable with the idea of being a kept woman. She turned to go back to the kitchen, only to see Angel standing in the doorway to the dining room. She had a huge grin on her face, and when Mary saw her, she scurried out of sight. Oh, no. This was bad. Jacob hadn’t actually vocalized it, but it had been more than obvious he didn't want Angel knowing about the two of them. He never touched her when Angel was around, never even gave her one of those looks. The one that said I’m going to eat you alive as soon as we’re alone. 193

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Mary made her way back to the kitchen to find Angel sitting in her chair, reading her book. Mary sat down at her usual spot and lifted her tea to her lips. Maybe Angel hadn’t seen anything. Maybe-“You love Dad, don’t you?” Mary choked on her tea. “What?” The girl set her book down and grinned. “You look at him like Jenny’s nanny looked at a picture of her boyfriend.” Her face heating with embarrassment, Mary pretended calm. “And how is that?” “All gooey.” Angel giggled. She looked at Jacob all gooey. Well, yeah, she probably did. “So do you love him?” What was the use in lying to the child? Mary nodded. “Yes. I love him.” Angel jumped off her chair and threw her arms around Mary’s neck. “I knew it! I just knew it. Are you going to marry him? Will you be my mom then?” “Whoa, there, Angel. Slow down.” Mary lifted Angel onto her lap and hugged her. “Just because I love your dad, doesn’t mean that we’re getting married or anything. I just work for him, honey.” Angel’s little brow furrowed into a deep frown. “But I saw him kiss you.” Not knowing how to deal with this, Mary’s stomach started to ache a bit. She let out a slow breath and tried to calm down. Jacob was going to be so angry when he heard about this conversation. “Just because I love your dad, doesn’t mean he loves me. And just because two adults kiss, doesn’t mean that they’re going to get married.” “He doesn’t love you?” The words hurt more than she’d expected, but Mary shook her head. “No, sweetie. He doesn’t.” “Oh. Then why’d you kiss him?” Good question. Because it feels good didn’t seem like something to say to a child. “Because we care about each other and kissing is a sign of affection. Just like how your daddy kisses you before he leaves for work.” “Dad never kissed Mrs. Brocton.” Mary couldn’t stop her smile of amusement. “Come on, you’re going to be late meeting Sam if you don’t finish your orange juice and get your shoes on.” “Mary,” Angel said as she stood next to her. “I’d like it if you did marry Dad someday.” 194

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Me too, she almost said, but held the thought to herself. “Not likely, but it makes me happy that you feel that way.” As Angel skipped off to her room to retrieve her shoes, Mary let out a breath of relief. Bullet dodged, she thought. But that hole in her heart seemed to open up even more. Jacob sat in a quiet corner in Geraldo’s sipping his merlot and waiting for his friend. He wanted to be away from work when he approached Zander with his ideas, and since the fiasco with Mary and the paparazzi, Geraldo was extra attentive and promised him complete privacy for his meeting. His mind drifted back to Mary. He’d called home this afternoon, but she hadn’t answered the phone. He’d thought about inviting her to the charity function, but had ultimately decided not to, because he assumed she’d say no. He wanted her by his side, though. He missed her when she wasn’t with him. And Lord knows, she’d make the boring cocktail party a lot more fun. She felt she didn’t fit in with his lifestyle, which is one of the major reasons this meeting with Zander needed to go smoothly, but he knew in his heart that she could fit in anywhere she wanted to. He checked his watch. It was only a few minutes after six. If he could talk her into going to the party with him, he could call in a favor and have a gown delivered before seven. Smiling to himself, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He glanced up and saw Zander come through the front door. Before Jacob could dial his apartment, the phone buzzed. With a sigh of frustration, he hit the Talk button. “Hey, Melanie,” he said into the phone. “Thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth.” Melanie’s laugh was just as sexy as the woman herself. “Hi Jakey. Sorry about canceling on you last week, but I got called to do a spread for Vogue and just couldn’t pass it up.” “Not even for me, huh?” he teased. “Sorry, babe. You know how it is.” Zander slid his lanky six-foot-five frame into the chair across from him, and Jacob nodded toward the wine list. “The merlot is wonderful,” he told his friend. “I’ll just be a minute.” Zander nodded and picked up the wine list. “You on a date?” Melanie asked. “Nope. Dinner meeting. What’s on your mind?” 195

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“I know this is last minute and everything, but are you going to the Carrington fund raiser tonight?” “Yes. I’ll be heading over after dinner.” “Um. Do you have a date for it?” He thought about Mary. Chances are she’d find every excuse in the book not to go with him. Should he even bother asking? What was the point? “Do you need one?” “Kind of. I was wondering if you could escort me. I gave my RSVP weeks ago, so I need to make an appearance, but you know I hate going to these things alone.” “I’m single tonight, but I’m going to be leaving early. I have plans afterwards.” “That’s fine. Perfect in fact. I’ll meet you there.” “I can pick you up on the way.” “I’m not at home.” “Okay, whichever is easiest for you.” “Thanks, Jakey, you’re the best.” “See you in a while.” He disconnected the call, puzzling a bit over her strange tone. She sounded subdued compared to her normal flair. And for her not to have a dozen men vying to be her escort, well, that was very strange. “I didn’t know the dinner was formal,” Zander said with a grin. Jacob looked down at his Armani tux. “Carrington’s shindig tonight,” he said, then dismissed it from his mind. He tucked his cell back into his pocket and picked up his glass of wine. “So, what’s this secret meeting about?” Zander asked. “Are you in trouble?” Zander had been his friend for more years than he could count, and knew him almost as well as he knew himself. They were the same age, had grown up together, had gone to the same schools. Zander took his job at Stone very seriously, knew the company as well as he did, and that was the reason Jacob picked him. He knew Zander would take Stone Enterprises by the horns and keep it growing. “I suppose that’s all in how you look at it.” Geraldo came and took Zander’s drink order and their dinner order, then left them alone. “Okay, I’m on pins and needles here, old boy.” He tapped a long, pointy finger on the tabletop. “Spill it. What’s going on with you?” Jacob frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His friend sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. Scowled. “You. Something’s up. You went on vacation last weekend. You never go on vacation. And 196

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there’s been rumors, too.” Zander grinned. “About you smiling, laughing. I heard you were caught walking down the hall whistling the other day.” Jacob laughed, and it felt good. My God, he thought, how many years had it been? So long that his employees were talking about him, that’s how long. “Yes, Zander, I even whistled in the hallway.” “What’s her name? I saw the articles in the tabloids. Is it the nanny?” Jacob nodded. Why deny it? “Her name’s Mary. She’s--she’s wonderful.” “Holy shit, Jake. That’s great.” Zander’s smile showed his sincerity. He wasn’t the most handsome of men, but he always had a lady on his arm when he wanted one there. “Do I hear wedding bells?” “Whoa, there, Zan. You know better than anyone I’m not walking down the aisle again. We’re just...having some fun.” But even as he said the words, they didn’t feel right. In fact, saying the words made him a little ill. “That’s not what I mean. Yes, she’s special,” he amended. “But I’m not the marriage type. Not after...” He waved his hand. “You know.” “Jacquelyn never made you whistle.” Jacob took a sip of wine, wondering what it meant that Mary made him feel things he’d never felt before. He wanted to protect her and keep her close. And she made him happy. Grin on the face twenty-four hours a day happy. “I didn’t ask you here to discuss my love life,” Jacob said, needing more time to decipher his own feelings before sharing them with anyone. What he did know, though, was that Mary deserved more than he could give her, because he wasn’t sure he could give her himself. Not completely. Not the way that would matter to her. But that didn’t mean he was ever going to give her up. He needed her. Geraldo delivered Zander’s wine and discreetly left. After sipping his chardonnay, Zander asked, “So, why did you ask me here? Are you firing me?” he joked. “Actually, I’m offering you a promotion.” Zander set his drink aside. “I’m CFO of Stone Enterprises. There is no next rung on this ladder.” Jacob sat still, waiting for Zander to clue in. It didn’t take long. “No way. You’re not leaving Stone. It’s your baby. Your company. It has your name on it!” “Shh.” Jacob looked around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned over the table. “I want out, Zan. But I need to have someone take over who loves the company as much as I once did. The only person in the world for this is you.” 197

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Sitting back in his chair, Zander shook his head. “I don’t believe this. You’ve spent your whole life on this company. How can you just walk away? What will you do? Where will you go?” Jacob leaned against the cushioned back of his chair. Shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it?” Truth was, he didn’t want to tell anyone his plans until he could talk to Mary about them. She was the only one who might understand, who would undoubtedly support him, no questions asked. He needed that. And in the process he hoped that his plans, which included her, would make her happy. But right now, he needed Zander to agree to his idea. “Hell yes, it matters. What are you going to tell the board of directors? The public, for Christ’s sake. The press is going to have a field day over this. Jacob Stone retires at age forty. Is he sick? Is he dying? Has he lost his ever-loving mind?” “Calm down, Zan. Jeez, you act like no CEO has ever stepped down before.” “Not at your age, and not unless they’ve been caught embezzling millions, which is something you don’t need to do.” “You want the truth, Zan? I’m sick of the rat race. I’m sick of meetings lasting until three a.m. I’m sick of not being able to spend weekends with my daughter.” He spun the stem of his wine glass between his fingers and watched the rich burgundy liquid slosh around. “This isn’t something I’ve come up with off the top of my head, I’ve been considering it for a while. But I’ll tell you,” he said, looking back at Zander, “last weekend was amazing. I want more of that. I want a normal life. I want to be home for supper every night. I need to spend more time with my daughter.” “Did you see the Inquisitor this week?” Zander asked, reaching for his glass once again. “According to the pictures and the articles, you weren’t spending much time with your daughter, but a hell of a lot of time with the nanny.” “Sonofabitch.” Jacob scraped a hand across his jaw. “You see? This is what I mean. I want to walk out my front door and not have to worry about looking over my shoulder for some guy with a camera all the time. I want to hug and kiss my girlfriend on the street, and no one cares.” “Don’t see that happening any time soon, buddy,” Zander said with sympathy in his eyes. “Are you sure the nanny doesn’t have something to do with this decision? I’m all for you getting laid and all, I just don’t want to see you make a colossal mistake for a piece of tail.” Jacob sent his friend a fierce scowl. “She’s not a piece of tail.” Though, he did stop to wonder if she was part of the decision. Not really. He’d been thinking about this for 198

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months before she came into his life. Maybe he wanted it even more now, knowing he’d have more time with her, too. He shrugged. “No. She doesn’t change anything. I want to resign, and I want you to take my place.” “The board has to agree.” Jacob shook his head. “That won’t be a problem. You’ve been working at Stone as long as I have.” Geraldo delivered their dinners and refilled Jacob’s glass. “I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Jake. I can’t imagine giving it all up.” Picking up his fork and knife, Jacob grinned and breathed in the spicy aroma of his veal. “That’s what makes you the perfect replacement for me.” Zander shrugged. “Okay.” He cut a slice of his chicken Parmesan and popped it into his mouth. “So, tell me, how’s this all going to work?” “Got any plans Sunday morning?” Jacob took a bite of his veal. Perfect as always, it practically melted on his tongue. “Other than sleeping in and reading the paper? Nothing.” “Meet me at the office around ten. We’ll go over some things and prepare what we’re going to say at the board meeting on Monday.” “Monday?” Zander gulped his wine to keep from choking on his food. “Damn it, Jake, give yourself some time to really think about this. Like a couple of months, at least.” “Sorry. I want you to be sitting in the CEO office by January first.” “Unbelievable,” Zander mumbled, and Jacob laughed. “Believe it, old buddy.” “What about your mother?” Jacob’s food suddenly lost all appeal. He set his fork down and took a sip of his wine. He hadn’t even considered what her reaction to this news would be. “Good question. She’s probably going to have a coronary.” “Might not be a bad thing,” Zander said under his breath. Jacob hated himself for almost agreeing with the thought. Melanie was waiting for him outside the Cotillion room on the first floor of The Pierre Hotel. Soft piano music emanated from within the room, and as he passed the doorway, Jacob saw an already impressive crowd of men in tuxedoes and women in their finest. “Hey, Mel,” he said as he took her hands in his and kissed her cheek. 199

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She gave him a wan smile, and he realized how pale she looked. Her hands were cool and slightly clammy. “Are you all right?” “I think I might puke,” she said, her voice whisper soft. “Come on.” He put his arm around her shoulder and led her down the hall to a restroom. He knocked first, and when there was no response, he ushered her inside and locked the door. He was surprised an attendant wasn’t around, but thought it lucky they might have caught her on a break. “I know how you are about your image. Can’t have America’s sweetheart losing her dinner in public, now can we?” He led her to the sink and turned on the cold water. “Put your wrists under the water.” “My image doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, and then sniffled as if she’d been crying. He’d never seen her cry before. “What’s happened?” he asked, taking up a washcloth from a small stack on the counter and running it under the water, then gently wiped her cheeks and throat with it. “I’m pregnant, Jakey,” she said, then let out a heart-wrenching sob. He wrapped his arms around her. “Ah, sweetheart.” “No. It’s not that,” she said quickly. “I want the baby. I do. More than anything.” She wrapped her arms around him and he felt her fists clench on the back of his jacket. “I’m just scared to death.” “Shh. Hey.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, over her silky barely-there dress. He had no idea how to deal with this situation. “What are you scared about?” “Everything. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Oh, God, Jakey, what if I’m a terrible mother?” He chuckled. “You won’t be a terrible mother. Terrible mothers don’t worry about how bad they are. Besides, if I can make it as a single dad, you’ve got no worries at all.” She sniffled against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jakey.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m here for you, sweetie. You know that. Whatever you need.” “Would you take me home? I can’t face anyone looking like this.” She pulled away and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red but other than that she still looked fantastic. “Sure.” He pulled his cell from his jacket and pushed the speed dial to call Sam. “I need you back here. We’re going to take Melanie home.” “I haven’t even made it out of the parking lot yet, Mr. Stone.” “Good. Bring the car around to the staff entrance, please.” 200

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He hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Melanie leaned against him again. “You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, Jakey.” Jacob chuckled. “Thanks. Now let’s get you home before you collapse.” As they walked down a long hallway to the staff entrance, Melanie asked, “How do you know how to escape this hotel without being seen?” He pushed open the door and put his arm around her shoulders before ushering her out into the chilly evening. “I once dated a woman who stayed here. Neither of us wanted to be seen coming and going.” Melanie laughed and clicked her tongue. “What a bad boy you are.” Sam was there, waiting with the door held open for them to get into the car. Before Melanie slid inside she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him squarely on the lips. “Thank you, Jakey. You really are a true friend. Donna Carrington’s going to be disappointed you didn’t show.” Jacob hugged her quickly then disengaged himself from her. “Get in the car, honey. Let’s get you home.” He climbed in after her, and Sam shut the door. “I’ll send Carrington an extra big check on Monday to smooth things over. I didn’t really want to go, anyway.” Melanie leaned against him, dropping her head to his shoulder. “Who said money couldn’t buy happiness?” Jacob knew damn well money couldn’t buy him happiness. That’s why he was going to give up most of it and take his daughter and Mary to Maine, where they could be a normal family.

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Chapter Nineteen

The clock on Jacob’s nightstand said eleven forty-five. He’d be home soon. Mary looked around the bedroom and hoped she hadn’t gone overboard. A dozen candles glowed from the dresser and nightstands. She’d picked them up in a little shop that afternoon--the same place she’d gotten her red and black lace nightie. Nervousness made her stomach a little queasy, but at least there was no pain. She looked down at herself and hoped to God Jacob liked the thing. She’d never owned a negligee in her life, and this thing made out of some frothy, nearly transparent material that was as soft as silk, was the prettiest thing she could find in her size. It’d cost a small fortune, way more than she would have imagined so little material was worth. She had to admit she felt sexy in it. It cupped her breasts, making them look fuller and younger than they had in many, many years. And its cut hid her stomach. The scrap of material that was supposed to be underwear was not something she’d wear on a daily basis, but it was...interesting to say the least. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and breathed in the gentle scent of the burning candles. Their name was Sensual, and she had to agree, they made her think of everything naughty. Made her imagine Jacob doing things to her she’d only fantasized about. She checked the ice in the bucket where the champagne sat next to the bed. Not having a clue how to open a champagne bottle, she figured she’d let Jacob deal with that. The strawberries, half of them coated in dark chocolate, the other half plain, sat on a small serving tray next to the champagne. The sparkle of the New York skyline was pretty, too, outside those monstrous windows. As long as she stayed far away from them and took in the view from the other side of the room. She stood up and pulled back the covers on the huge bed, then slipped between the cool sheets and rested her head on the pillow. After only a few minutes she changed her mind, jumped out of the bed and straightened the covers, then stretched out on top, striking a pose like they did in magazine ads.

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No. She couldn’t do that. Jacob would laugh. Hell, she felt like laughing at herself as it was. They’d slept together a half dozen times in the past week, so why was she as nervous as she’d been on her wedding night so many years ago? Because this was Jacob, and he’d wanted tonight to be special for some reason. After scrambling back under the covers, she laid back and breathed slowly, trying to bring the adrenaline under control. Her insides seemed to vibrate, as if she were on a tencup caffeine high. It’s just Jacob, she silently told herself. He’ll like the negligee. He likes me. She threw back the cover and stood up, fixed the bed again, and then picked up the strawberries and set them on the bed. He’d probably be hungry when he got home. She was just about to climb back onto the bed when a movement near the door caught her eye. When she turned her head and saw Jacob standing there leaning against the doorjamb wearing a black tuxedo, his arms crossed over that amazing chest, she thought she might die of embarrassment. “How long have you been standing there?” She grabbed up a pillow and held it in front of her, trying to shield herself from his intense stare. A slow smile tilted his lips. “A little while.” Now would be a good time for the floor to open and swallow her whole. She pointed at the plate on the bed. “There’s your strawberries. And the champagne,” she added, pointing to the ice bucket. He gave a slight nod, but other than that, didn’t move. Only in magazines like GQ had she ever seen a man in a tuxedo like Jacob wore. And boy, oh boy, the magazines didn’t do them any justice. How could one man look so good? “Why are you just standing there?” His smile grew a bit. He unfolded his arms and then crooked a finger for her to come to him. Hugging the pillow--thank goodness it was king sized and covered her front from neck to thighs--she rounded the bed and walked toward him. How had she ever thought she could play a seductress? That she could strike a pose on the bed and have him fall to his knees when he saw her? The soft candlelight flickered across his face, making his cheekbones stand out, his eyes darker than ever. Oh my goodness, she thought, he was the sexiest man alive. Forget one of fifty that People had named him. He was number one. The top of the list. His gaze was intense, so dark and sensual her thighs quivered. 203

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He reached out and wrapped those long, lean fingers over the top of the pillow. Fingers that knew just how to touch her to make her melt. She clutched it to her middle. The corner of his mouth kicked up on one side. “Let go,” he commanded in a gravelly voice that sent a wave of warmth rushing through her. She dropped her arms to her side, unable to disobey him. He tossed the pillow behind her. Slowly, he raised his hand and ran one finger under the spaghetti strap of the negligee. She shivered at the light touch against her shoulder. Then he trailed his finger down over the thin lace that barely covered her breasts. A sound she barely recognized as her own slipped from her lips. “All night,” he said in that rough, sexy voice, “all I could think about was getting home to you.” He finally moved away from the doorjamb, moving into her personal space. “But I never expected anything like this.” He leaned over and placed a kiss between the swells of her breasts. His lips, cool and slightly damp felt like a brand on her skin. Both hands came up to palm her breasts and her nipples tightened in response. She gasped. “Jacob,” she whimpered when his teeth raked along the column of her throat. “You smell like springtime. You taste like sugar.” She gripped his shoulders, sure her legs were about to give way. His lips exploring her throat, her jaw, her ear, he slowly maneuvered her backwards toward the bed. “You make me so hot, baby. You’re so damned beautiful.” Hot, quick tears stung the back of her eyes and she squeezed them shut. His words were so sweet they made her heart ache. “Kiss me,” he said in a hoarse whisper an instant before his mouth came down on hers, crushing her lips. His arms wound around her so tight she could barely breathe. Swept away by wanting him, she opened her mouth to his demanding exploration and moaned when his tongue swept into her mouth. She gripped his shoulders and pressed against him. He was so hard. Solid. Perfect. He growled when she rubbed her belly against his erection. For the first time in her life she felt powerful. Beautiful. A woman a man like Jacob could love. “Please,” she panted when he tore his mouth from hers. In a few smooth motions, he pushed the straps down her arms and the nightgown fell to the floor. His mouth found her nipple with no hesitation, and she cried out as she felt the pull of his lips all the way to her womb. “Do it again,” he commanded when he switched to her other breast. “Let me hear you.” 204

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She couldn’t have kept it inside if she wanted to. With his hands kneading her bottom and his hot, wet mouth suckling her breasts, she could only hang on and let herself be swept away by him. Breathing hard, Jacob released her breast and went down on his knees before her. “Oh, God, babe,” he said when he saw the red scrap of underwear she wore. He pressed his face against the silky material, and she could feel his hot breath against her sensitive flesh. She arched into him and her fingers found their way to his hair to keep herself steady. He slowly peeled the g-string down her thighs, his fingers trailing along her skin. Fireworks exploded in her veins. “Please,” she begged. She couldn’t take much more. Her entire body was on fire and she needed him to put it out. He pressed her back and she fell onto the bed. He spread her thighs with his hands and tasted her. Her hips bucked and she cried out. Needing more. His tongue explored, teased, tantalized. She begged him for more. And then he was gone. Her eyes popped open in time to see him wrestling with his zipper. He threw open the nightstand drawer and donned a condom in record time. And then he was over her, still wearing his tux. Tie, jacket and all. “I can’t wait, babe. Don’t make me wait.” All she could do was shake her head and wind her legs around his hips. He slid home in one hard, smooth motion. His groan made her feel like the only woman in the world. The only woman who could satisfy him. He gathered her tight into his arms and kissed her hard, almost desperately. Then he began to move inside her and all thought vanished as he took her to a place of magic. “Mmm. I like that,” Mary murmured. Laying over him, her head on his shoulder, Jacob lightly ran his fingers over her bare back. “I like it too. Your skin is so soft.” He sighed in contentment and kissed the top of her head. Late morning sunlight streamed in the window, warming her skin under his hands. The room smelled of strawberries, incense and the essence of their lovemaking. Her fingers lightly stroked his shoulder and he loved the feel of her touch. “Are we really staying in bed all day?” she asked, her voice husky, sexy as all hell. “Is there somewhere else you’d rather be?” She chuckled, and he took that as a no. They’d made love several times throughout night. Slept a little. Showered together. Slept a little more. And then to his utter surprise, she’d awakened him with the shy touch of her hand. A wicked look in her emerald eyes. 205

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And then she’d climbed on top and brought him to sexual heights he hadn’t experienced before. “It’s a bright sunny day,” he said lazily. “We could go to the park. Feed the ducks.” “Quack, quack.” He laughed and wrapped his arms around her. “Hmm. What could we do today?” Even though he was more satisfied than he’d ever been, he knew a few more rounds with Mary wouldn’t be a hardship. Excuse the pun, he thought with a chuckle. “How about we shower again? I truly enjoyed the last one.” Mary giggled and snuggled her face against his throat. “And then we could order lunch in.” She made a sound of agreement. “Then head back here for dessert.” He palmed her behind, squeezing and kneading her soft flesh. “Ahh,” she moaned. “Sounds like a good plan.” She covered a lusty yawn with her hand. “After a nap, though.” He rolled to the side, keeping her in his arms. “Did I wear you out?” he teased. Their heads sharing a pillow, faces just inches apart, he couldn’t get enough of looking into her sparkling eyes. “Just a tad.” Her eyelids drifted shut. She tucked her arms between them, snuggled against him. “Are you ever going to tell me what it was we were celebrating last night?” “Ah, that.” Brushing her hair off her cheek, he said, “Well, I’ve been making some plans.” She gave a little sound of encouragement. “I told you about that house I have in Kennebunkport?” She nodded. “Well, I’ve been thinking--” “Jacob? Where are you, son?” Mary’s eyes popped open. “Your mother?” “Shit.” Talk about ruining the moment! “Jacob. Are you home?” “Just a minute!” He jumped from the bed and scrambled around looking for his pants. “I’ll be out in a minute, Mother. I’m not dressed.” He could hear her heels clicking down the hallway toward his room. The door was open. Damn. He hopped on one foot, trying to get his other one into his pants. “Mary,” he whispered. “Get in the bathroom.” 206

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Mary scurried from the bed, dashed into the bathroom and quietly closed the door. He picked up his tuxedo shirt and pulled it on just as his mother appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing in bed at ten in the morning?” “Hello, Mother.” His heart beat a rapid tattoo in his chest. “I didn’t know you were home.” Her gaze jumped around the room, settling on the guttered out candles, the champagne bottle on the nightstand. “Who do you have in here? What are you up to?” “Mother.” He held up his hand in a not so subtle gesture for her to leave his room. “Is this what you do when I’m away? Isn’t it bad enough you’ve been in the papers constantly since I left?” She walked into the room and lifted Mary’s sexy red teddy off the footboard, a look of disgust twisting her face. “You are a shame to the name Stone.” Jacob closed his eyes for a moment, prayed for patience. “Mother.” “Don’t “mother” me, young man. You’re disgraceful. What little trollop do you have hidden in here? Hmm?” She walked over to the closet and opened the door, peered in. Then she reached for the bathroom doorknob. “Mother. Don’t.” Before she could turn the knob, the door swung open and there stood Mary, wearing his blue silk robe. “Good morning, Mrs. Stone. So glad you’re back.” Her tone was icy cold, but she glared at him, not his mother. Eunice gasped and raised a hand to her throat. “I suppose I would be the little trollop of which you speak. Care for some breakfast?” Mary edged past his mother and headed for the door. He reached for her, but she sidestepped him. “Mar--” “Half a grapefruit and a bowl of oatmeal, isn’t it, Mrs. Stone?” “Well, I never.” Never, he thought, watching Mary stomp from the room. I must have been an immaculate conception. “How dare you,” Eunice said, turning on him with a pointed finger. “The hired help?” She gave a visible shudder. “I’d assumed all those stories in the papers were false, but I see they weren’t. How much are you paying her? Do you pay her extra for afterhours work?” “Oh, for God’s sake, Mother. We’re two consenting adults.” “You are a Stone. You have a reputation to uphold. Your father would have never disgraced himself with...with...with someone like her.” His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. How dare she speak of Mary that way. He wanted to blast her with the knowledge that his own father, her husband, had had several 207

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affairs during their marriage. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. She never knew. What was the point of bringing it up now? Jacob wasn’t married, had no one to answer to, and the fact that she was treating him like some kind of a criminal irked the hell out of him. “What do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded. “What I do in my private time is no concern of yours, mother.” “Private?” she screeched. “You have no private time. You are a public figure and you are watched constantly.” Her lip curled in obvious disgust. “I’ve seen pictures of the two of you. The world has seen pictures of the two of you. I came home to talk to you, hoping it was nothing but rumor, and what do I find?” She shook her head, showing her contempt. “On a day you should be at work, no less.” “It’s Saturday,” he said, keeping his voice level, not letting the anger out. “Most people don’t work on Saturdays. Normal people.” “You are not a normal person, Jacob Anthony Stone. You are the head of a multibillion dollar company.” He shoved his hand through his hair in frustration. “Which is something I plan to remedy very soon!” He hadn’t meant to shout, and the look on his mother’s face showed that she hadn’t expected it either. “What do you mean?” He hadn’t figured out how he was going to tell her this, and having a shouting match in the middle of his bedroom was about as bad as the situation could have gotten. Sinking down on the edge of the bed he sighed. “Mother, I’m leaving Stone.” “You are not.” “Yes, I am.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and prayed this was all a nightmare. That his mother hadn’t interrupted his morning with Mary. That she was still in England. But when he lowered his hands and opened his eyes she still stood there in her beige suit and matching shoes, shaking with fury. “This is because of her, isn’t it? What has she done to you? Are you insane?” “It has nothing to do with Mary, and I’m not crazy.” “If your father were alive right now he’d--” “He’d what?” He came up off the bed and moved toward her. “What? What would he do? Disown me? That’s exactly what I want.” 208

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“It’s always what you want, isn’t it? You were always a selfish, spoiled boy. It’s my own fault, I suppose. I always let you have everything you wanted when you were young. But this is your father’s company we’re talking about. How could you drag his good name through the mud like this?” Okay, now she’d just gone too far. “Mother. Please.” “Answer me.” He took her by the arm and as gently as possible led her from the room, down the hall toward the kitchen. “We’ll discuss this later.” “We’ll discuss this now!” He wanted to slam his fist into the wall. He wanted to shout out his frustrations. Years and years of frustrations at his mother’s highhandedness. This was his life and he’d damn well do whatever the hell he wanted with it. And that was to get away from Stone Enterprises before he turned into someone he couldn’t stand. Someone who had absolutely nothing left but a lot of money, and contempt for the world. “You need to go now, Mother.” He led her through the kitchen and dining room to the front door. “We’ll talk about this later.” She jerked from his grasp and stalked toward the door. “She’ll ruin you, Jacob.” She opened the door and stood there for a long moment glaring at him. “That little slut will ruin you.” Before he could respond, she went out the door, slamming it behind her. How dare she call Mary a slut! He turned on his heel and marched through the house to Mary’s suite. The door was closed, and when he tried the knob it was locked. He knocked. “Honey. Let me in.” No response. He knocked harder. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like this.” The door swung open so fast he almost lost his balance. Mary shoved passed him, fully clothed in her baggy jeans and sweatshirt, carrying her purse. “Where are you going?” “Out,” she said, her stride never faltering. He went after her and near the leather sofa in the social room, grabbed her arm, swinging her around. “Mary. We need to talk.” She yanked her arm from his grip. Her eyes flashed fire and she snarled. “Your trollop doesn’t wish to speak to you right now.” “Mary, you know she says things--”

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“You let her!” Mary poked him in the chest, hard, with a pointy finger. “You didn’t even bother to say anything. You just stood there. First that guy at the ski lodge, now that old bat!” She poked him again, and her voice shook. “I’m not a slut!” “I know you’re not.” He gripped her shoulders, but she twisted away. “Mary, please. Hear me out.” “I’ve heard enough.” She swung the front door open. “Better yet, I heard what you didn’t say.” The door thundered shut with a boom. Jacob collapsed onto the sofa and covered his face with his hands. How had such a great morning turned into this? He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his fingers. What the hell did she mean, first the guy at the ski lodge? He laid his head back on the cushion. He’d hurt her. Damn it, he’d hurt her. Now he had to figure out a way to make it up to her. Part of him wanted to confront his mother, lay it all out and tell her everything. Tell her he planned on making a life with Mary. Away from New York. But he couldn’t just yet. He needed to get the ball in motion with the board of directors before he told his mother. She was friends with a couple of the older members and might make things difficult for him if he gave her too much of a head’s up too soon. He got to his feet and headed into the kitchen. He had to figure out a way to fix the damage his mother had caused. He needed Mary to know what she meant to him. Eight hours later Mary’s feet were killing her. She’d walked all over Manhattan. She’d seen the famous Brooklyn Bridge, rode the elevator to the top of the Empire State Building--three times--but never built up the nerve to step onto the viewing platform. Had coffee in a place that reminded her of Central Perk from Friends, and watched the polar bears in the Central Park Zoo. After grabbing a hamburger at a little place just down the street, she finally climbed the front steps to Stone Tower. “Good evening, Ms. O’Toole,” Brent said as she passed the security desk. She smiled and gave him a polite nod, unable to bring herself to speak to anyone. She didn’t want to speak. She feared what might come out if she opened her mouth. Though she didn’t feel like throwing anything at Jacob’s head any longer, she was still mad. And hurt. And sad. She desperately hoped he wasn’t home. That hope shattered when she opened the door to the penthouse and heard the low music coming from the stereo. Perhaps she could make it to her bedroom without being seen. She headed through the social room, into the dining room. Mistake. The dining room table was set for two, with candles, flowers and a bottle of wine. 210

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“I’m glad you’re back,” Jacob said from the doorway to the kitchen. “I was getting worried.” She bit the inside of her lip. Emotions churned like a hurricane inside her head and she wanted to run. Instead she stood still and gripped her purse in her hand. “I made dinner.” He stepped toward her. “Nothing fancy, just some grilled steaks and baked potatoes.” He moved into her space and she looked him in the eye. “I had a burger less than a half hour ago. Thank you for the thought though, it was kind of you.” He winced as if she’d slapped him. “Mary.” His voice was soft, pleading almost. “Sit with me. Let’s talk.” She moved around him, careful not to let her body brush against his, and sat in her usual chair. Well, what had been her usual chair while Eunice was away. That would all be changing back, she was sure. Still gripping her purse, because it was the only solid, tangible thing within grasp, she stared at the flickering candle. Jacob slid into his chair next to her. He moved a flat blue box from beside his plate toward hers. “I got you something to say I’m sorry.” Oh my goodness, she thought. She’d seen these boxes on television. Light blue, white ribbon, Tiffany & Co. printed on the lid. She reached for the box, pulled off the ribbon, and lifted the lid. Wow. A bracelet. Unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Clusters of diamonds and rubies, set in white gold, or perhaps even platinum. Unable to help herself, she touched the cool stones, enjoying the way they sparkled in the candlelight. Her disappointment in Jacob grew tenfold. Replacing the lid, she set the box in the center of the table. After taking in a slow, deep breath she met his gaze. “What are you sorry for?” Little furrows appeared on his brow as he frowned. He glanced at the jewelry box, then back at her. “For my mother. For the things she said to you. She had no right.” After spending all day going over his conversation with Eunice, Mary came to one conclusion. He would never stand up to the woman. And maybe, just maybe, if he’d been willing to apologize for his own actions, not his mother’s, she could forgive him. As it stood, she just felt empty inside. “How much did that bracelet cost you?” “I don’t think--” “Come on, Jacob. How much does it cost to assuage your guilt?” He leaned back in his chair and studied her for a long time. His jaw ticked and she knew he was angry, but she didn’t care. Finally he shrugged. “Fifty.” 211

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She nearly choked. “Thousand?” He gave a quick nod. “You need something bigger? The matching necklace? They have earrings, too.” Her house she sold in Vergennes only cost fifty-eight thousand. Yet he dropped that much in an afternoon as an “I’m sorry” gift. And he wasn’t even sorry for what he should be sorry for. She stood up, gripping her purse to her chest, wishing it could shield her from the pain. “I don’t want anything,” she said, fighting her constricting throat. “Mary--” “All it would have taken was for you to stand up to her. But you let her call me horrible things, never once defending me.” Blinking back tears of disappointment and anger, she shook her head. “That’s all I wanted from you. No amount of fancy jewelry can buy that. And if that’s what you think of me--” He came out of his chair and gripped her shoulders. “I don’t think of you that way, honey. Never. You are sweet and wonderful and--” “Then why?” she shouted as tears ran down her cheeks. “How could you let her? And now you’re trying to buy me off with gifts?” Twisting out of his grasp, she backed toward the kitchen door. “You can’t buy me, Jacob,” she said, her voice lowered. “I’m not for sale.” Mary rushed into her room and locked the door behind her. Tears coursed down her cheeks unchecked, blurring her vision as she stumbled into her bedroom. She collapsed on to the bed and sobbed. She knew he didn’t love her. She knew that. But she’d never expected him to treat her like a whore. What Jacob just did was so much worse than anything her ex-husband had ever done. At least Sheldon had been honest about his feelings toward her. Jacob didn’t even have the courage to call it like it was.

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Chapter Twenty

Mary startled so bad at the knock on her door she nearly fell off the bed. Heart beating too hard, she sat up and looked around the murky-colored room. Heavy steel gray clouds hung low in the sky outside. The clock on the nightstand said it was just past nine. The knock came again, but she tried to ignore it. She wasn’t ready to face Jacob just yet. Even though she’d been awake most of the night, thinking about what needed to be said to him, what she needed to do, she hadn’t been able to make any decisions. Her heart and mind fought a battle with each other. Neither had been the winner by the time she’d drifted off to sleep sometime in the early morning hours. “Mary?” She bit her lip to keep from responding. Let him think she was still asleep. Better yet, let him think he was getting the silent treatment. Either way, he deserved it. The one thing she had decided on was that she wasn’t going to let him walk all over her. She still didn’t understand the attraction he had for her. Even with the realization that she wasn’t that obscenely overweight woman any longer, she still was so far removed from the type of person Jacob would normally go for. She was still overweight, and most likely always would be--and that was okay with her--but she held no illusions that eventually Jacob’s attention would stray to someone closer to his type. Not just in the looks department, but everything. Money, power, beauty. She, no matter what she originally thought about coming to New York and entering the world of business, would never fit into the lifestyle. She didn’t want to. Just because Jacob Stone had stolen her heart didn’t mean she had to go all starryeyed and goo-goo over him. They were too different. From two different worlds, and she wasn’t talking Venus and Mars here, it was way more drastic than that. Him trying to give her a fifty thousand dollar bauble as an apology spelled that out clearer than anything else could have. Now, she had a decision to make. Did she carry on an affair with him or break it off? She realized sometime in the middle of the night that he wouldn’t fire her if she did end the affair. He wasn’t like that, and it shamed her that she’d been thinking that way. He 213

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did truly care for her, her well being, and knew she needed the money this job provided. He wouldn’t be likely to take that away because she wouldn’t sleep with him. On the other hand... On the other hand, never being held in his arms again... Never being kissed and touched by him... To never hear those sweet whispered endearments in her ear... “You are such a lamebrain,” she said in a harsh whisper as she threw back the covers and made her way to the bathroom. Never would she have thought she’d be in this kind of position. Never. When she left Sheldon, she’d thought the part of her life that included a male was over and done with. She’d gladly washed her hands of the lying, philandering drunk. Realizing that a lot of her thoughts regarding men were directly related to the way Sheldon had treated her and talked to her for so many years, didn’t help improve her mood, either. She took her pills, brushed her teeth, then crawled back into bed. She’d eventually have to go out there and get food, but not yet. Not yet. Sheldon had convinced her, even though her conscious mind had rejected it, that no other man would ever want her. “Well, pffft on you, Sheldon O’Toole. Pffft on you!” She had a man who wanted her, just not the way she wanted--needed--to be wanted. For her love. For her heart and soul. And that really hurt. Even though Jacob was hurting her, she knew it wasn’t intentional. He didn’t know any better. She shrugged and scrunched down into her pillows. Had Jacob ever had unconditional love? Other than Angel, of course. He showed his daughter affection, love, adoration, but sometimes Mary could see what a struggle it was for him. Like he didn’t know exactly what to say or do when a simple gesture, something as little as a hug or a kiss on the cheek, would do. With a sigh, Mary closed her eyes and wondered what to do. With no illusions of happily ever after with Jacob, she didn’t know if her poor battered heart could take a longer affair. How deeply did she have to fall before she broke something vital? Another knock came and she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone, but she remained silent. “Mary, sweetheart,” came Jacob’s low rumbly voice. “I am meeting with Zander this morning. I’m heading out. I’ll be back around noon. Um...I’d like to take you out to lunch,” his voice dropped a bit, “or something. I think we need to talk.” Mary rolled her eyes at that stupid statement. 214

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“I uh...” She heard paper rustling and got out of bed to see what he was doing. A folded sheet of notebook paper, looking like it was taken from one of Angel’s school spirals, sat on the floor just inside the door to her sitting room. “Be back in a bit,” he said softly, and then she heard his shoes on the kitchen tiles as he walked away. She snatched up the note and unfolded it. She read it once, then sat down hard on the loveseat. What did this mean? My Dearest Mary, I know I messed up yesterday, and all I can do is humbly apologize for my stupidity. You were right. I shouldn’t have tried to hide you from my mother. I should have stood up for you, for us. And I should have known you better than to give you that bracelet. You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known. You have a pure heart and deserve better than I’ve given you. Never again will I allow my mother to hurt you. Never again will I try to buy your forgiveness. If you’ll give me another chance, we need to discuss the future. From the bottom of my soul, I’m sorry. Yours, Jacob The apology was simple and elegant, and she had no doubt he meant every word of it. He’d stood up to his mother where Angel was concerned, he would do the same for her. But he wanted to discuss a future with her? He never mentioned love. How could he discuss a future with her when he couldn’t even sign the note, Love, Jacob? Or maybe he meant a working future. That could be it. He didn’t want to lose her as an employee. Perhaps he’d decided that it would be best to end the affair now. But... Mary folded the note and set it on the coffee table. Her best course of action would be to get over her little snit and sit down with him, hear him out. Then she could decide what to do. Right now she was so confused her head hurt. “Okay,” she said to herself. “Wait and see.” After a quick shower, she pulled on a pair of baggy jeans, thought about going shopping for something that fit, then decided not to bother today. She didn’t feel like going out. She’d prepare a nice lunch for her and Jacob to eat at home, where they could talk in private. Another thing she hated about having a relationship of any kind with him...the damned tabloids. When she’d been out shopping the previous week she’d seen her picture on the Inquisitor again. This time she and Jacob were on the bunny hill in Aspen. She’d 215

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taken a tumble, grabbed Jacob as she fell, and they’d wound up on the ground, him partially over her, and then he’d kissed her. Of course that was the picture in the paper. The only good thing about it was that the photo was grainy and Jacob’s head mostly obscured her face. This time the caption had said something about the Stones’ family holiday. As much as she hated the fact that she, a nobody, wound up in the tabloid, she felt so sorry for Jacob. The paparazzi were leeches. Slimy, bloodsucking leeches. She wondered how he’d ever get any peace. Going to the fridge and pulling out some ingredients, she decided to make one of her favorite dishes, something her mother had made all the time. It was quick, simple, and best of all, made her remember how good things had been before her parents died. With a giggle, she wondered what Jacob would think of her Chili Mac casserole. Ah, heck, she thought, he’d been in the military. Surely they didn’t feed the rich soldiers anything better than the others. Her father, who’d been in the Army during Nam, had said that Chili Mac was a staple in the mess hall. After putting the crumbled hamburger on to cook, she looked around for the Sunday edition of the newspaper, but didn’t see it anywhere. Usually Jacob had read the whole thing by breakfast. She found it, still rubber banded, sitting on the sofa in the sitting room where Jacob had apparently tossed it on his way out the door. He must be more upset about their conversation the night before than she thought he would be, if he didn’t read the paper first thing in the morning. Her heart softened even more. An itty-bitty tingling of hope surged to life that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for them. “Don’t do that,” she warned herself. “Don’t be stupid about him.” She set the paper on the kitchen table, stirred the beef and seasoned it, made a fresh pot of tea, then sat down to read the comics. The paper had to weigh close to three pounds, what with all the extra sections and sales ads in the Sunday edition. She scanned the front-page news. The Carrington Foundation fundraiser on Friday night was touted as a success, having raised over two million for their charitable causes. Mary hadn’t even thought to ask Jacob how it’d been. Sighing as she remembered how he’d taken her when he arrived home that night, she hadn’t cared one way or another about the thing. The mayor was in trouble, something about illegal campaign moneys. And then some stuff about the New York Nicks.

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She flipped through the first section, scanning the news articles. Nothing caught her attention long enough to read the whole thing. Then she turned to the next section and her heart stopped cold. Her gut twisted so painfully the breath squeezed from her lungs. There, on page six, was a half page picture of Jacob kissing some woman. “Oh, God,” Mary whimpered as pain shot through her middle. When she managed to focus her eyes, she read the headline. STONE’S THE DADDY? WHERE’S THE NANNY? The name jumped off the page like a slap in the face. Supermodel Melanie Hart. Sucking in deep breaths, willing the pain to recede in her stomach, she quickly read the article. He hadn’t even gone into the fundraiser. He was seen in the ladies restroom with Melanie, who was sick to her stomach. She told him she was pregnant, and he said he’d be there for her. Then they were caught slipping away through a service entrance, where they exchanged a steamy kiss before getting into Stone’s chauffeured car. She glanced back at the picture and sure enough, Sam was standing there, holding the car door for them. “You son of a bitch!” she screamed and swiped the paper from the table. “How could you?” Nausea rolled in her stomach and tears streamed down her face. He’d been with Model Mel, kissed her, did who knows what with her, then came home and-Mary dashed for the kitchen sink, afraid she’d lose the contents of her stomach. The scent of frying meat made her gag. “Oh, God,” she cried as she leaned against sink, running her hands under icy cold water. “How could you?” “So, what do you think?” Jacob asked Zander as he leaned over his desk, expectantly waiting for his friend’s opinion. Zander looked up from the papers in his hand. “The plan is sound, but there’s no way you’re going to pull this off in a matter of weeks.” He shook his head. “If the board approves, I can take over by January first, but all this financial stuff will take time.” Jacob waved his hand. “I know. But I want to be out of here. Once you’re in place, I’ll be free to come and go as I want. Or at least as needed.” “Where are you going? What’s got you all fired up all of a sudden?” Jacob sighed and leaned back in his chair. “That property I bought in Maine. I want to live there. I want to get Angel out of the city, raise her someplace more homey and safe. I want to let her go outside and play, maybe even get her a dog, or a cat, or whatever she wants. I want to spend time with her.” “And the nanny is going with you?” Zander asked, a smirk on his face. 217

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Jacob shrugged. He was going to convince her to go with them, once he got her to talk to him. He hated leaving this morning without talking to her first, but the faster he could get things settled here, the faster they could leave New York. “I see,” Zander said, setting the papers down on the desk. “You sure you’re not going to marry her?” Again Jacob shrugged. He’d spent most of last night throwing around the idea. He’d be happy married to her, of that he had no doubt. But would she, could she, be happy with him? “So, you might marry her?” Zander pressed. “I don’t know, Zan. We had a huge fight last night.” Zander’s smile faded as he stared across the desk at Jacob. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Jake. We both know your past with women, and Jacquelyn. I also know that in the past few years, you’ve practically become celibate.” Jacob scoffed at that. At least his few affairs had been kept on the QT and not even his friend had gotten wind of them. Zander’s lips kicked up into a grin. “Okay, well, maybe not celibate, but you’ve not gone public with any of your, ah, relationships. What I’m saying is, you don’t seem too upset that the tabloids are putting you and the nanny together all the time. That they’ve made you out as a couple.” “The only thing that ticks me off about the tabloids is the way they affect Mary. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud with me.” Jacob picked up a silver pen from the desk and tapped it against the armrest of his chair. “Another reason to get the hell out of here and start over.” Zander’s face split into a wide grin. “I swear, I never thought I’d see the day. Jacob “Stoneman” Stone has gone and fallen in love.” Jacob scowled at his friend. “Don’t push it. I like her, I care about her, that’s all.” “Wake up, man.” There were things he couldn’t share, even with his best friend. The fact that he didn’t know how to love was one of them. Look at the mess he’d made with Mary last night. How had he not known that giving her that bracelet would be totally the wrong thing to do? Every other woman he’d ever ticked off would have turned to putty if he’d given her such an extravagant gift. What had Mary done? Practically threw it back in his face, accused him of buying her. And damn it all to hell, she’d been right. Because he didn’t know how else to say he was sorry. He didn’t know any other way to relate to a woman. He hadn’t even realized what he was trying to apologize for! 218

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“You’re hopeless,” Zander said on a sigh. “Anyway, back to your proposal to the board.” He waved a hand at the papers Jacob had printed out, a plan for a quick, smooth transition, moving Zander into position as CEO by the first of the year. “What do you think Cartwin is going to think of—” Jacob’s cell phone rang. Hoping it was Mary, he snatched it off his belt. When the caller ID read Melanie Hart, his spirits sank. “Give me a sec, would you?” he said to Zander before he pressed the Talk button. Zander got up and walked across the room to pour himself a drink from the small bar there. Jacob answered the phone. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” “Oh, God, Jacob, I’m so sorry,” Melanie sobbed. “I can’t believe that there was someone in the bathroom. I can’t believe they think you’re the father.” “Whoa, there.” Jacob sat forward, his heart rate speeding at what he thought she was saying. “Slow down. What are you talking about?” “You didn’t see it? Page six. New York Times. They think you’re my baby’s father.” “What?” “There must have been a reporter or someone in that bathroom on Friday. They heard our conversation and think you’re the father. They got a picture of me kissing you,” she wailed. “A big picture. Half a page. I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry, Jakey.” “It’s in today’s paper?” Jacob came out of his seat so fast, his chair rolled back and smacked into the window behind his desk. “This morning’s?” “Uh huh.” She sniffled. “Crap.” Jacob rounded the desk and headed for the door. He had to get home before Mary saw it. Hopefully she was still hiding in her room. Maybe he could get to her and tell her what happened before she saw the article. “Hey,” Zander called. “I’ve got to get home,” Jacob said around the phone. “I’ll call you later.” Zander held up his drink in a silent salute. “Good luck, man.” “What do you want me to do? Should I call a press conference?” Melanie sniffled again, then he heard her blow her nose. “I’ve got to clear your name. Oh, God, I haven’t even told the real father yet.” “Mel, honey,” Jacob said as he rode the elevator down to the parking garage where Sam would be waiting with the car, “I’m sorry, but I don’t care how you handle this one. I’ve got something—someone—Shit!” How was he going to explain this to Mary? A picture of him kissing Melanie. No, of Mel kissing him. Like Mary would care one way or another. 219

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“You’ve got someone?” Melanie asked, just as the elevator dinged open. “I’ll call you later. I’ve got to go.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call and hit speed dial to call his apartment. “Get me home, Sam, fast,” he said as he slid into the front seat next to his driver. “Yes, sir.”

**** As Mary balled up another sweatshirt and stuffed it into her suitcase, she heard Jacob call her name from the kitchen. Good, he was home, she wouldn’t have to wait around to tell him she was leaving. “Mary,” he said, with what almost sounded like relief in his voice. “God, Mary, I’m sorry.” “Screw you, Jacob.” She was through with this. Through with New York. And completely through with men. “Listen to me. Please.” He took hold of her arm to stop her from stuffing another item of clothing in the suitcase, but she jerked from his grasp, turned on him, and gripped the pair of jeans in her hand to keep from lashing out and slapping his perfect face. “My resignation is on the counter,” she said, her voice little more than a low growl. “Now get the hell out of my way so I can finish packing.” He tried to take her by the shoulders, but she stepped out of his reach. “Let me explain. It’s not what it looks like. I swear it’s not.” She threw the jeans into the suitcase and grabbed up more shirts from the dresser drawer. “Oh, sure. Now I suppose the paparazzi are doctoring photos? Give me a damn break. You kissed that woman then came home and fucked me.” The bag’s zipper sounded loud in the room when she forced it closed. “You didn’t even go to the fundraiser. You didn’t bother to mention that to me when you got home. And she was with you! You make me sick.” Literally she thought, remembering how her stomach had turned at the sight of the picture and the realization that he’d had sex with her the same night he’d been kissing someone else. Probably doing more than kissing. She shoved the bathroom door open, picked up her smaller suitcase and started throwing her toiletries in it. “Mary. Nothing happened between Melanie and me. I swear it. We’re old friends. She was upset--” “I’ll bet. An unplanned pregnancy can do that to a person.” When her shampoo bottle lid fell off and goop went everywhere she huffed out a harsh breath and grabbed a 220

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wad of toilet paper to clean it up. “I hope the two of you are very happy together,” she added between clenched teeth. “It’s not mine! I haven’t slept with Mel in over five years! My God, Mary, would you stop and listen to me?” “So you have slept with her? That makes the case for me right there.” Mary shoved the rest of her personal items into the bag and then shoulder-shoved Jacob out of the bathroom doorway so she could get the other bag off her bed. Jacob grabbed hold of both bags in her hands and tried wrestling them from her grasp. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and damn it, Mary, you can’t leave!” She clenched her fists around the bag handles and glared. The sickening pain she’d felt just a half hour earlier had disappeared, replaced by burning rage that she’d let another man treat her like garbage. She’d let someone else grind her self worth into the ground. Never again! Jerking the bags from his hands she stomped her foot. “You are worse than my exhusband ever was. At least with him I always knew where I stood.” His eyes widened for an instant. “Mary, I’ve always been honest with you.” “Ha!” She turned toward the door, her bigger bag jumbling into the dresser, knocking over the beautiful silver frame Angel had given her for her birthday. Was that only weeks ago? Stifling a sob, Mary grabbed it before it fell and tucked it under her arm. “Hear me out,” Jacob said, following her through the sitting room, where she glanced at the etching she’d done of him and Angel. She left it right where it was on the wall. She wasn’t likely to forget how either of them looked any time soon. She grabbed her purse and jacket from the sofa. “She kissed me, to thank me for being there for her. She’s a friend.” Mary stomped through the kitchen and dining room, headed for the door. “With friends like those...” Jacob blocked the front door with his body, even grabbed the doorknob so she couldn’t get it. Rage and adrenaline spiked through her system until she wanted to break something. She growled instead. “Move.” “Don’t go. Don’t leave like this.” Gritting her teeth, her entire body shaking, she stared at him. “You can’t keep me prisoner. Even the illustrious Jacob Stone can’t get away with something like that. “I want you to marry me,” he said quickly, and to Mary’s overtaxed brain, she was sure she was hearing things. 221

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“Stay. Marry me. Be Angel’s mother. Angel needs you. She’ll be devastated if you leave. She’ll blame me. I might lose her again.” Mary’s stomach did that flip again, and for a second she thought she might puke on his shoes. She swallowed hard. Her lip curled in a snarl as the words formed on her tongue. “If you can offer me marriage because your daughter needs me, and honestly think I’d take you up on it, you don’t know me at all. You never listened to a word I said. You never cared one bit. You’re one hell of an actor, Jacob. You had me fooled for a while there.” “No, Mary, that’s not what I mean.” He stepped toward her, away from the door, held out his hands imploringly. Nausea churned in her gut. “I need you, too.” “Yeah, well,” she said, glancing at the door, waiting just a second before she could go for it and get out. “Go need someone who cares what you can buy them.” She ducked around him and pulled the door open. “Like I said last night. I’m not for sale. Not for all the diamonds and gold in the world. I only wanted one thing,” she said as the elevator door slid open. She stepped in and turned to face him, let him see the anger and pain in her eyes. “And you just didn’t have it to give.” “Where will you go?” He moved toward the elevator. She pushed the Door Close button. “Home. Back to Vergennes.”

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Chapter Twenty-One

Jacob couldn’t breathe. He felt as if when those elevator doors closed, Mary had sucked the very life from him. He ran for the phone, thinking he’d get security to detain her, but as he punched in the code for the front desk, he realized she’d been right. He couldn’t keep her prisoner. He cradled the phone and sank down on the sofa. He’d lost her. He’d lost the only woman he’d ever loved. His heart clenched as if squeezed by a huge, unseen hand. He loved her. And now she was gone. Because he was an idiot. Because he’d been fighting the feelings, refusing to see them. Even Zander had known. Why hadn’t he? The front door burst open and for a heart-stopping moment he thought Mary had come back, but instead it was his mother standing in the doorway, a huge smile beaming across her face. “I’m so happy,” she proclaimed as she came toward him, a newspaper clutched to her chest. “She’s perfect for you. And this time it’ll be the son you wanted.” The raw wound of losing Mary too fresh, confusion swamped him. “What?” Eunice waved the paper in front of his nose. “Melanie Hart. From such an outstanding Boston family. She’ll make the perfect wife for you. And a baby. Finally a baby from one hundred percent the right stock.” Jacob glanced at the picture in the paper as he grabbed it from his mother and read the headlines. “Oh, God,” he said, his stomach roiling. No wonder she’d run so fast. The picture made that friendly kiss look illicit. Clandestine. And with the memory of what they’d done when he got home that night... “I’ll call the decorator first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll turn one of those guest rooms into a nursery. When is the wedding? It’ll have to be soon, what with this in the papers already. And here, I thought you were only diddling the nanny.” Jacob came off the sofa in a rush of anger. “Get out!” His mother stepped back, a hand going to her throat in shock. 223

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“I said, get out! Get out!” He opened the front door and pointed a finger at her. “It’s not my baby. My baby is Angel. I love her. And I love Mary. And I don’t give a good goddamn what you think, mother. She’s the woman I plan to marry.” “How dare you,” Eunice said, her cheeks flushing scarlet as anger blazed in the deep blue depths of her eyes. “How dare you speak to your mother this way.” “Screw it. I’m sick of living like this. Look at me, Mother. Look at your son and think for just one minute in the past ten years when I haven’t bent over backwards to make sure you’re happy. I’m through with it, and unless you change your ways, I’m through with you.” Tears welled in his mother’s eyes, but he felt no compassion. How had he let his life deteriorate like this? How had he let everything good slip through his fingers because he tried to please his mother. His mother! A woman who should care about him, not what she thought society wanted from him. “So you’ll cast me out on the street, will you?” “Cut the crap.” He slammed the door closed and stalked to the bar. “You know damn good and well I’m not throwing you out on the street.” When she sniffled, he glared at her and poured himself a Stoli. “Things are going to change right now. Right this second.” He threw back the drink for fortification then met his mother’s watery gaze. “From this day forward, I’m living my own life. I’m going to do what I need to do to make myself happy. Not you. There’s a bank account at First National in your name, which you damn well know about, and you’re going to use that money to take care of yourself. The apartment in this building is yours, the house in the Hamptons is still yours. Or you can go back to London. Whatever you choose is fine with me.” He ran his hand through his hair and let out a deep breath, feeling years and years worth of weight lifting from his shoulders. “I’m leaving Stone. Will be leaving New York as early as midJanuary. Angel and I, and Mary, if I can talk her into forgiving me for being the biggest jerk on earth, will be moving to Maine.” “Why are you doing this to me?” his mother wailed. Jacob shook his head. “No Mother, I’m not doing anything to you. This is for my baby and me. My little girl. The little girl I love with all my heart. And the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” His mother’s tears didn’t fall, they never did, and he wondered why that was. After a long silent moment, she slowly turned and left his apartment. Mary was five blocks down Fifth Avenue before she realized what she’d done. She couldn’t walk the thirty blocks to the Greyhound station. And she had to say goodbye to 224

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Angel. The little girl wouldn’t understand if she just disappeared. Angel and she meant too much to each other for her to just up and leave without an explanation. She didn’t even know where Mrs. Brocton lived. Spotting a phone booth on the next block, Mary crossed another busy intersection and crammed into the booth with her bags. She dug through her purse until she found the business card Mrs. Brocton had given her that very first day. She dialed, and Mrs. Brocton picked up on the third ring, gave her the address without question, and when Mary told her she’d be there shortly, didn’t ask why. Mary hailed a cab and gave the driver the address in Brooklyn Heights. After paying the small fortune for the fare, Mary got out of the car in front of a beautiful brownstone. Angel and Mrs. Brocton were sitting on the front steps waiting for her. Tears rushed to her eyes as the only real regret in leaving New York came rushing down the stairs toward her. Mary dropped her bags on the sidewalk, and Angel threw herself against her and hugged her hard. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” the little girl sobbed. Tears ran unchecked down Mary’s cheeks as she hugged Angel. “Yeah, sweetheart, I am.” “No. You can’t. You can’t. You love us. You said so.” With a death grip on Mary’s shirt, Angel shook her head against Mary’s breast, making Mary ache like nothing else in the world ever had. The child of her heart needed her. “I do love you,” Mary said around a painfully tight throat. “I love you so much.” “Then don’t go!” Mrs. Brocton placed her hands on Angel’s shoulders. “Angelina. Come on. Let’s invite Mary to come in and tell us what’s happened.” Several hours later, after both she and Angel had calmed and talked, Mary was on her way to the bus station with Mr. Brocton. He’d volunteered to drive her, mentioning something about the ridiculous rates taxi companies charged these days. Mary had gladly accepted the generous offer. In explanation to Angel, Mary had simply said it was time for her to move on. To go back home. That New York wasn’t for her. Angel, the overly perceptive little girl, had accused her father of making her leave, and even though Mary was so angry at Jacob she could spit, she couldn’t let his daughter know that he had anything to do with it. They had such a tender, breakable bond forming between them there was no way she’d hurt either of them in a way that would tear them apart again. Mary shouldered one hundred percent of the responsibility for her leaving.

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Mary gave Angel Belle’s address in Vergennes, and told her to please write. Mary promised to write Angel once a week, and would tell her all about Vergennes, and maybe someday Angel could visit, even though Mary seriously doubted that would ever happen. Mrs. Brocton, while Angel was out of the room, admitted to having seen the newspaper and asked if that had anything to do with why she was leaving. Mary had only been able to nod. Mr. Brocton pulled into the loading zone outside the Greyhound station. He was a gruff-voiced man in his late seventies, with a shock of white hair and a full white beard. His golden eyes were gentle when he turned toward her after unloading her bags from the trunk of the compact car. “Angel has never had anything but wonderful things to say about you, Ms. O’Toole. I saw all those pictures in the papers these past few weeks, and I’ve known Jake since he was just a boy.” He shook his head and looked infinitely sad. “The wife and I had high hopes for the two of you.” “Thank you, Mr. Brocton.” She shrugged, not knowing what to say. “Just remember one thing. Those reporters only print what they see and hear, and what they need to sell a paper. It’s not always the truth.” “I know,” Mary said, glancing down at her bags. “But can’t you also say that a picture is worth a thousand words?” Mr. Brocton pressed his lips tight. Nodded. “Do you need anything?” “No. Thank you.” “The wife and I would like to know how you’re doing once you’re settled.” He pulled a card from his jacket pocket. “The missus asked me to give this to you before you left.” It was an index card with the Broctons’ address on it. “I’ll write. I promise. And thank Mrs. Brocton for…everything.” In a gesture that brought tears to her eyes, Mr. Brocton, a man she’d only known for a couple hours, pulled her into a bear hug. “You take care of yourself, missy.” “Thank you.” Then she lifted her bags and headed into the station, once again fighting back tears. As she approached the ticket counter, she picked up a schedule booklet. Flipping through it, trying to figure out how soon she could get out of New York, it fell open to the middle. The top of the page read, Bar Harbor, Maine. She shuffled up in line, pushing her bags with her feet. Could she do it? Could she really do what she’d always wanted to do? She loved Maine. Had dreamt so long of living there on the ocean. If she’d had the guts to move all the way to New York, why couldn’t she try someplace small and much simpler than the Big Apple? 226

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“Burlington, Vermont,” she said when the cashier asked where she wanted to go. The young female clerk snapped her gum. “Some sports thing going on up there. Next two busses are full. You won’t be able to leave ’til tomorrow afternoon.” Mary glanced down at the schedule in her hand. “When’s the next bus to Bar Harbor, Maine?” “Leaves in about half an hour.” She tapped the keyboard in front of her. “Practically empty.” Mary took a deep breath and found the first smile of the day. It had to be fate. “One way to Bar Harbor, Maine, please.”

**** Christmas Eve Mary stood in the freezing winter rain and stared at the Help Wanted poster in the window of the Two Moon Bay Motel. The parking lot was practically empty. Two pickups that had seen better days sat in front of the restaurant, which was attached to the motel office. She shivered and idly wondered if she’d ever been this desperate, or this cold, in her life. She hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Two Moon Bay Motel was her last chance to make it. For almost three weeks she’d been going from one place to the next, looking for any kind of work that might be available. There hadn’t been any. She was flat broke. Had about sixty-four cents to her name. She needed a place to sleep tonight, and a hot meal. Or at least a phone to call her sister and ask for a bus ticket home. She pulled open the office door and dropped her bags to the side. An icy trail of water dripped down her back from her sodden hair. She’d tried, she told herself. She’d really tried. It wasn’t her fault no one was hiring right now. Maine’s coast thrived on tourism, and at this time of the year, with the frigid nor’easters blowing through, there weren’t any jobs that the locals didn’t hold. The smell of hot grease and coffee wafted from the opening that led to the restaurant. Her stomach growled in need. “Hep you?” a little bald man asked as he came into the office from a door behind the counter. She clenched her teeth for an instant to keep them from chattering. Her body nearly convulsed from the cold. “You have a help wanted sign in the window. Do you still have a job available?” The man slid a pair of black-rimmed glasses from his shirt pocket, slipped them on his beak-like nose and examined her for a long moment in silence. “Nope. That there 227

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sign’s been there since last summer. Now if’n you come back around May, we might haf somethin’.” Damn. Her stomach howled for food and her body trembled from cold. And her mind berated her for being such a fool. She should have gone home, taken her verbal beatings from Belle. At least she’d have a warm bed tonight and a hot Christmas dinner tomorrow. Tears sprang to her eyes. She’d stayed strong and determined since she left New York, but this was it. The end of the line. She was homeless and starving and freezing to death. “Would you have a phone I could use?” she asked. “It’s long distance, and I can’t pay you--” Mary’s words cut off as a woman came in from the restaurant. She was close to six feet tall, plump, with rosy cheeks and a pretty smile. She must have been near seventy, if her white hair and wrinkles meant anything. “Is old Willy givin’ you a hard time, honey?” the woman asked as she came right up to Mary and put her arm around her shoulders. “Come on, you poor thing, you’re dripping water all over my clean tiles. Shame on you Willy for letting this girl freeze. She could catch her death.” Mary let the woman lead her around the corner into what were obviously private quarters. “I’ll get you a couple towels, so you can dry off. Take off that soggy coat, it’s not doing you any good.” Mary shrugged out of her wool jacket as she looked around the small living area. The bookshelves were crammed with knick-knacks, the coffee table stacked with magazines and supermarket tabloids. An old television set flickered the black and white It’s a Wonderful Life, while lights blinked cheerily on a squat Christmas tree in the corner. Old Willy grumbled something under his breath as he sat down in a well-worn recliner in front of the television set. Mary took in a deep breath and rubbed her hands together. God, she was cold. “Here you go, honey,” the woman said as she laid a towel across Mary’s shoulders, and then used a second one to blot her hair. Mary stood shivering while the woman took care of her. When the lady pulled the towel from her head, Mary was mortified to realize she was crying like a baby. And just like that, the kind woman pulled Mary into her arms and patted her back. “You’re okay now, honey. You’re safe and we’ll get you warm and dry. Are you hungry?” 228

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Mary nodded against the woman’s shoulder, feeling stupid and childish, but also so grateful to have found a friendly person. Until tonight, she’d never felt so alone in her life. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see. Everything looks the worst right before it gets better.” The woman, her arm around Mary’s shoulders, led Mary down a short hallway to a bathroom. “You go right in there and get those wet clothes off. I’ll get you something warm and soft to wear, and when you come out, there’ll be a big hot meal for you.” “I...My name’s Mary,” she said lamely. The woman smiled with such tenderness tears threatened again. “I’m Deirdre. And you met my husband Old Willy.” She leaned forward and whispered theatrically. “His bark is worse than his bite.” Mary attempted a smile. “Go on. I’ll put some clothes on the counter for you. Come on out whenever you’re ready.” Mary’s bottom lip trembled as she turned toward the tub and unbuttoned her jeans. Jacob sat on the floor in front of a crackling fire, sipping hot buttered rum, and stared at the Christmas tree. Outside the wind howled and sleet slashed at the windows. He’d planned to bring Mary here for Christmas. She should be sitting here with him, snuggled against his side as they kept toasty warm in front of the fire, listening to the storm rage outside. Instead, it was just he, Angel, and Bill. He’d invited the retired widower, who’d done such an outstanding job with the reconstruction of the old Victorian, to stay on with them. He didn’t have any family of his own. He and Angel hadn’t officially moved to Maine yet, but he’d decided to follow through on his original plans for Christmas. And also to let Angel get a feel of the place before they made the final break from New York. But now Bill and Angel were in bed and he was left with his thoughts, his memories, his...hopes. Mary told Angel she’d write, and she had, but Angel hadn’t received a letter in almost two weeks. And that one letter had been sent just two days after she left New York. Sent from Bar Harbor. She’d said in the letter that she was looking for work there. Since then, not a word. Knowing Mary was just a couple hundred miles away nearly killed him. What was she doing? Was she working? Was she alone on Christmas Eve? Was she all right? That, most of all, worried him. How was her stomach? Was she taking her medication? 229

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Did she need him? With a shake of his head, he finished off his drink and lay back on the soft rug, his extremities feeling heavy from the alcohol and the warm fire. He had to find her. He had to tell her he was sorry, to beg her forgiveness. How could he go on like this? He’d never felt so empty or alone in his life. Three times a week since Mary left, he’d called her sister in Vergennes, but the stubborn woman refused to tell him where Mary was. Kept telling him that Mary had decided to start a new life. If Mary wanted to contact him, she would have. He didn’t get it. After all that woman had told the reporter, why was she now keeping Mary’s whereabouts secret? It didn’t make sense. And it wasn’t like he was out to hurt her. Not at all. He wanted to beg her to come home. To him. Where she belonged. His next step, if they didn’t hear from her in the next two weeks, would be to hire a private investigator to hunt her down. He couldn’t last much longer without knowing how she was faring. If she was truly okay. And he’d get down on his belly and crawl, if that’s what it took to get her forgiveness. “Daddy?” Jacob turned his head to see Angel at the base of the stairs wearing her warm fuzzy pajamas, not unlike the ones Mary had worn while they were in Aspen. He held out his hand to his daughter. “Come here, sweetheart.” Angel came to his side, stretched out next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. “Can’t sleep?” “I miss Mary. Why hasn’t she wrote me?” “Written,” Jacob automatically corrected. “I don’t know, baby. But she will. She said she would.” “What if she can’t find us because we’re here? What if she went back to New York and nobody’s home?” “Shh. If she wanted to find us, she could. Mrs. Brocton knows where we are.” Angel sniffled and buried her face against his shoulder. “I want Mary back.” The ache of unshed tears clogged his throat. He held his daughter close and rocked her gently, for her comfort and his own. “I do to, sweetheart. I do to.”

**** Mary stepped from the shower to find a fluffy blue towel, a sickly yellow sweat suit, and a white pair of tube socks on the bathroom counter. She dried off and pulled on the warm fleece. She’d doubted she’d ever be warm again, but she was well on her way to thawing. 230

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Exhaustion dragged at her, while hunger made her feel almost ill. After finger combing her hair, she looked in the mirror and cringed. Her nose was bright red, and so were her eyes. She looked like a hung over Rudolph. Picking up her wet clothes from the floor, she tentatively opened the door and headed down the hallway toward the living room. Deirdre was just setting a plate heaping with food on the table next to a tall glass of milk. “There you are,” Deirdre said. “Come eat.” She sat down across the table from the food, picked up a mug, and sipped. Mary draped her wet clothes over the back of a chair where she’d put her jacket and slid into the seat. A big hamburger with crispy French fries, a bowl of soup and a salad sat in front of her. Her stomach growled again, and Deirdre smiled. “Go on,” Deirdre said. “You look like you need it.” Mary almost smiled at that. She’d lost a bit more weight over the last few weeks, trying to conserve what little money she had. “I really appreciate this,” Mary said as she lifted the glass of milk. “But I can’t pay you. I’m out of money.” “You don’t worry about it.” She tilted her head to the side and studied Mary. “You look very familiar to me. Have you been here before?” Mary shook her head and bit into a steaming hot French fry. Her mouth watered and she forced herself to chew slowly, not scarf down the food, as she wanted to. “I’ve never been here before. I’ve been looking for work for a few weeks. Came up from Bar Harbor. But nobody’s hiring.” “Where did you live before that?” Mary thought of the pile of tabloids on the coffee table just a few feet behind her. A copy of the Inquisitor sat right on top. If this woman was an avid reader of that garbage... “I lived in New York for a couple of months. Vermont before that.” Deirdre watched her eat, then her eyes widened for an instant, as if she’d figured it out. Mary waited for her to say something. When a full minute had passed and Deirdre made no comment, Mary picked up the juicy hamburger and took a healthy bite. “Well. Now.” Deirdre set her coffee cup down on the table and stood up. “Can you cook? I can always use a good cook for the restaurant. If you’re still looking for a job, and a place to live, you’ve got one right here.” Mary almost choked on the hamburger. She grabbed the glass of milk and gulped. “You’re giving me a job?”

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“Damn right, I am,” Deirdre said firmly. “And room number twenty comes as part of the salary. It’s all the way down on the end, beautiful view of the ocean. When there’s not a squall, that is.” Tears came to Mary’s eyes again. “Thank you. Oh, Deirdre, thank you. You don’t know how much--” “You just eat up,” Deirdre commanded with an affectionate smile. “And tomorrow you’re coming to Christmas dinner with me and Old Willy and our kids.” She knew exhaustion was making her even more emotional than normal, but she couldn’t seem to stem the flow of tears. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” The next morning Mary called Belle to give her sister her address, phone number, and let her know she was still alive. She hadn’t spoken to her in almost two weeks. They wished each other a Merry Christmas, and Belle made Mary cry when her sister told her she hoped she’d found something that made her happy. Maybe Belle was finally growing up. A layer of white covered the empty parking lot. Sometime during the night the temperature had dropped and the sleet had turned to snow. Mary stepped out of her room-a lovely little room with a king sized bed, kitchenette and an oversized whirlpool tub-into the crisp morning air. She took a deep breath of frigid sea air and turned toward the beach, just a short walk from her front door. The waves crashed against the rocky shore and Mary sighed in contentment. She had a job, her boss was a sweetheart, and she was going to be able to look at the ocean every single day. This is what she’d been looking for. Now, if she could just remove that ache from her heart, that spot that hadn’t quit hurting since the day she walked away from Jacob and Angel. Here and there in her travels the past three weeks she’d seen tabloid reports about Model Mel clearing Jacob’s name. He wasn’t the father of her child. The real father was some photographer’s assistant who lived in Rome, Italy. It still didn’t make everything else Jacob had done any easier to deal with, but she was glad he wasn’t the father of Model Mel’s kid. The picture of that kiss still lingered in her mind from time to time, and she sometimes wondered what Jacob would have said that day if she’d let him explain. Or if it would have mattered. Probably not. They were still from two completely different worlds. He was hand-tailored suits, and she was jeans. He was six hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets, she was Wal-Mart special. There wasn’t anything that could bridge a gap that big. Not even the love she felt for him. A love he didn’t return. 232

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Mary turned back into the room and went to the phone. Deirdre said she could make long distance calls, the cost would simply be pulled from her paychecks. It was Christmas, after all. Maybe Jacob wouldn’t mind if she called to speak to Angel. She hadn’t been able to send her a gift, but would make up for that with her first paycheck. With a trembling hand, she lifted the receiver and dialed Jacob’s apartment in New York. After three rings, voice mail picked up. Hearing Jacob’s voice, even recorded, made her tummy flutter and her heart rate speed up. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Hi,” she said, trying to sound cheery even as disappointment flooded her. “It’s Mary. Just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas.” She bit down on her lip. “I got a job and will write soon.” Her mind raced with everything she wanted to say, all the longings she had to talk to them, but what came out was, “I hope you are both well. I miss you.” Then she hung up the phone and stared at it, wondering if she’d said the right thing or if she’d sounded like an idiot. She had been the one to walk away, she probably didn’t have any right to miss him--them. Oh, God, she missed Jacob.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

Angel ducked behind a boulder in the backyard as Jacob launched a fluffy snowball at her. It splatted against the rock and she giggled. “Come on out, you chicken,” Jacob called around a chuckle. Angel popped out from behind the rock like a ground squirrel, launched a snowball that went several yards wide of making contact, then ducked down again. Jacob scooped up another glove of damp snow and snuck up to the boulder, jumped up on top of it, and dropped the bomb right on her little blonde head. Angel squealed as melting snow ran down her jacket, then dove to the side, grabbed more snow and haphazardly chucked it at him, while he grabbed her around the middle and they both rolled in the snow laughing. “No fair!” Angel cried. She grabbed another mitten of snow and shoved it in her dad’s face. “That’s cheating!” Jacob shouted even as he laughed. Exhausted and out of breath, they lay back and stared up at the low clouds. Angel’s giggles warmed him like nothing ever had. This was the life he’d longed to have for so long. Never before had he had a snowball fight with his daughter. She’d never been comfortable enough to hug him. Hell, he’d never been comfortable to hug her, either. Everything was different now. “The phone’s ringing,” Angel said as she pushed herself up next to him. He shrugged. “I’m not working today, sweetheart.” Her grin was big and the best reward he could imagine. “I like it when you don’t work. It’s fun.” He closed his hand around a clump of snow, and held it up, teasing her. “Even if you get cold and wet?” She laughed and scooted away. Growing serious, he dropped the snow and sat up, held his arms out to her. Without one bit of hesitation, she crawled into his lap and laid her soggy head against his shoulder. “Do you like it here?” he asked. 234

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She nodded, the top of her head bumping his chin. He ran his hand down her hair, then kissed her temple. “What would you think if we moved here for good?” After a long pause, Angel asked. “Not live in New York anymore?” “That’s right. We’d live here.” “Could I go to a normal school?” Jacob’s heart clenched. “You don’t like your school?” She shrugged. “I dunno. What would you do if you’re not by your office?” “Well,” he said slowly. Sometimes her maturity stunned him. “I thought about getting a different job. There’s a company I’ve been thinking of buying that rebuilds old buildings like our house.” He pointed toward the big Victorian he loved so much. “That would mean that I could be home with you more. We could do stuff together.” “Like snowball fights?” He smiled and hugged her close. “Yeah. Like snowball fights.” “I’d like that,” she whispered as she settled more comfortably in his lap. “Yeah.” “Jake,” Bill called from the back door. “Turkey’s just about ready. You said you’d make the gravy.” Jacob scooped Angel up as he stood and she laughed when he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the house. Bill shuffled ahead of them. “Best get that little girl in a warm bath before she catches her death.” “Angel’s tougher than that, aren’t you, sweetheart?” “I wanna bath!” she squealed when he set her on her feet, then took off up the wide staircase to the second floor. Jacob caught himself before he told her to take off her boots so she didn’t get water on the floor. He shook his head at himself. This house was built to last. He’d made sure the carpets and flooring were sturdy and would hold out against anything short of a herd of elephants. But most of all, he wanted his kid to be a kid. Snowballs, mud on the floor and all. “Why don’t you take a shower,” he called instead. “Don’t want to be late for the turkey.” “Okay, Dad!” The bathroom door slammed, and he grinned. Jacob pulled off his gloves, shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of the easy chair, and glanced around the spacious living room, once again admiring the beautiful job Bill had done on the reconstruction of the house. Through the swinging 235

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doors into the kitchen the scent of roasting turkey and hot pumpkin pie filled his senses and brought back memories of the last turkey he’d eaten. Thanksgiving. With Mary. “You got that look about you again,” Bill said as he shook a spoon at Jacob. “You get that look an awful lot.” Playing dumb, Jacob grabbed a copper bottom pot and opened the oven to pull out the turkey to drain the juice for gravy. “What do you mean? What look?” Bill scoffed. “That one that says you’re thinking about your lady friend. Why don’t you call her up?” “Would if I could, old friend.” Jacob tipped the roasting pan and the juice ran into the pot. “Not right a young man like you living alone.” Jacob turned toward Bill and studied the older man. Near sixty-five, he was tall and lean with salt and pepper hair that fell well below his collar. He’d lost his wife just a year ago, had no other family, and had a gentle sadness about him, even when he teased and smiled. “I’m not alone. I’ve got Angel.” Bill shook his head. “Not good enough. A man needs a woman to keep him warm at night. To keep him in line. To make him smile. My Ellie, now there was a woman who could light up a whole room when she walked in. I bet that’s the kind of woman who’s got you tied up in knots, isn’t it, boy?” Jacob thought of Mary for a moment, not that she was ever far from his mind. “More of a low wattage glow that never fades. Long lasting.” Bill stuck the beaters into the blender and shoved them in the potatoes. “Ah, the best kind. The long, slow burn.” Then he turned on the electric mixer and Jacob turned back to the stove and his gravy. Angel came hopping down the stairs wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a fuzzy sweatshirt. She didn’t want to wear the fancy dresses and “icky” blouses anymore. She wanted “comfy” clothes, like Mary’s. Hell, even he was wearing his comfy clothes, even if his butt was soggy from sitting in the snow. “Gravy’s done,” he announced. “I’m going to go throw on a dry pair of pants.” He ruffled Angel’s hair as he passed her. She laughed and ducked away. “I just brushed it!” “Set the table, Brat.” “Not a brat,” she said, then stuck her tongue out. Jacob laughed and took the stairs two at a time. As he pulled a fresh pair of jeans out of the dresser—he’d purchased six more in the past couple of weeks—he picked up the 236

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phone to check for messages. He was having his home phone and his cell phone forwarded to the house because even though he was officially off duty for another three days, he needed to stay available for Zander who was in a bit of a panic over the big announcement about Jacob’s retirement, which would take place on January second. When he heard the message from Mary, his heart stalled. He punched in the code to listen to it again. She’d called. She said she missed them. Them. Both of them. Hope surged through him. He jerked on his jeans and punched the code once again for the message, this time listening to the recording of the number that had called. He hung up the phone, then dialed the number, recognizing the 207 area code as a Maine number. He buttoned his jeans as the phone rang. Five...six...seven times. “Two Moon Bay Motel,” a gruff male voice answered. “Mary O’Toole’s room, please,” Jacob said. “She ain’t in her room,” the man said. “But she is staying there?” “Yup. So the wife says.” “Where are you located?” Jacob frantically searched the room for a pen, but it was too new, too clean. “In Two Moon Bay,” the man said. Jacob stopped his search, frowned. “Where are you close to? What bigger town?” The man grumbled something about idiot tourists. “’Bout thirty miles north of Bar Harbor on Alternative Route One. Can’t miss it. Right across the street from the Two Moon Exxon station” “Thank you. Thank you. And don’t let Mary leave.” “If’n the wife says she’s stayin’, she’s stayin’.” Jacob hung up the phone and rushed down the stairs. “Angel. Angel, honey,” he said, his heart pounding in his chest. Bar Harbor was about two hundred miles away, on the windy coastal highway. “Mary called.” Angel looked up from where she’d been carefully arranging silverware. “She did?” Jacob nodded, couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “She’s in Maine.” Angel’s eyes got wide. “Is she coming here?” Jacob shook his head. “But I know where she is. If we leave now, we could be there in about five hours.” Angel turned toward the clock on the wall and he saw her mentally counting the time. 237

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Jacob looked toward Bill who had come into the dining room from the kitchen, then back at Angel. “Babe. We need to talk about this.” “I want to see Mary. Please can we go?” Angel gripped the napkins in her fist, her brow puckered into a worried frown. “Please?” “I’ll make you some sandwiches for the road,” Bill said, then turned back toward the kitchen. “Can’t drive on an empty stomach.” Angel came toward him, looking a little tentative. “Please?” Jacob nodded. His breathing was unsteady, he felt a little lightheaded. He knelt down in front of Angel. “Babe. I want Mary back as much as you do.” Much more so, he added silently. He took her hands in his. “I don’t want her to come back to be your nanny, though.” Angel opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. “If I can talk her into it, I want Mary to come back to be part of our family.” Angel stared at him for a long moment, as if she didn’t understand. “I want to marry her. I want her to be my wife.” Angel’s grin was sudden and stunning. “She’d be my mom.” Jacob nodded. “But she’s really mad at me right now. I did something very bad, and that’s why she left. I don’t know if she’ll want to come back.” “She will.” Angel nodded with confidence. “She will. She loves us.” “She does, huh?” “Yeah. She told me so.” Angel pulled her hands from his. “Let’s go, let’s go!” She headed for the stairs. “Gotta get the present I made for her. And my coat.” Jacob hadn’t known Angel made a present for Mary, though he shouldn’t be surprised. Not a day went by that Angel didn’t talk about her. Bill came out of the kitchen with a paper sack and two thermoses. “Milk for Angel. Coffee for you,” Bill said. “You go get that lady of yours and bring her back, so I can meet her.” Jacob took the food and drink from Bill. “I’m going to try.”

**** Mary leaned back in her chair, the wide slice of pumpkin pie in front of her only half eaten, and sighed in contentment as boisterous conversation carried on around her. Deirdre and Old Willy’s family was huge. The ten children and the nearly twenty-five grandchildren, even a couple great-grandchildren, filled the small restaurant of the Two Moon Motel to capacity. Family history, stories and camaraderie abounded throughout the long afternoon of great food and happy chatter. Along with the turkey and basic American holiday fare, 238

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Deirdre made sure their Polish heritage hadn’t been forgotten by serving cabbage rolls, Christmas borsch and plum filled pierogil. Though she missed her sister and her nephews terribly, and thoughts of Jacob and Angel were never far, Mary had never had a more entertaining Christmas supper. “Mom says you’re going to be the new cook for Two Moon,” a pretty woman in her mid-thirties said as she slid into the empty seat next to Mary. For the life of her Mary couldn’t keep all the names straight. Mary rubbed her too-full belly and laughed. “I can’t imagine anyone would want to eat my cooking if they’ve tasted Deirdre’s.” The woman laughed. “Yeah, she’s got the magic touch in the kitchen, but she’s slowing down some, as much as she hates to admit it. For almost ten years she’s run this place by herself. She did all the cooking and waiting tables on her own. It’s not a busy place, but she needs a rest. We’re very happy you’ve come.” Mary smiled. All of the family had made her feel so welcome. “Thank you. But what about your father? Doesn’t he help out?” The woman scoffed. “Not likely. He says he’s retired now, and fusses that Mom won’t sell this place. His dream is to get a motor home and travel the country.” Mary looked over toward Deirdre who was holding a tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms--one of the great-grandchildren--and crooning to the baby. She didn’t look like the type to want to retire and do nothing. “Anyway, we’re really glad you’re here now. All of us have our own careers to look after, though we help out when we can. But most of us live too far away to do much for her.” Mary nodded. Smiled. It felt so good to be appreciated. She picked up her mug of lukewarm tea and took a sip. Then sighed again. Tiredness slowly seeping into her bones, Mary stood up and began gathering empty plates from the tables. If she didn’t move, she’d probably fall asleep right there in her chair. With an armload of plates, she went into the kitchen and set them by the sink, then started to scrape the food scraps into a big rubber trash barrel. Lost in her thoughts of her sister, and wondering if Belle was finally maturing, at first the silence from the dining room didn’t register. But when she heard Deirdre’s voice, usually so kind and loving, sounding harsh and angry, Mary stopped her plate scraping and listened. “I know who you are,” Deirdre said. “How dare you come here to upset that poor girl any more than she already is?” 239

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Mary set the plate down and wiped her hands on a white kitchen towel draped over the edge of the sink. Instinctively she knew Deirdre was talking about her. “I didn’t come here to upset her. I’d just like to speak with her for a few moments.” Mary’s heart took a tumble into her stomach. Jacob. She’d know that low sexy voice anywhere. “Go on now,” Deirdre said. “You can’t toss the girl out on the street practically penniless and expect that she’d want to see you.” “No,” Mary whispered, panic setting in. Jacob hadn’t tossed her out. In fact, he’d been begging her to stay when she left. “Daddy?” Angel’s voice sounded so small and scared. “Where’s Mary?” Mary rushed through the open kitchen door to see Jacob standing by the entryway to the motel office. Angel stood next to him gripping his hand. Mary’s stomach clenched a bit, and the big dinner she’d eaten threatened to return on her. The fifty some odd family members stared at Jacob with contempt. Dear God, what had Deirdre told them about her? The woman hadn’t asked a single question, and Mary wondered what the tabloids had been saying about her and Jacob. Jacob looked over Deirdre’s shoulder and his gaze snagged Mary’s. “I came here to tell her how much I love her.” Unable to catch her breath, Mary leaned heavily against the counter. He loved her? “You’ve got a lousy way of showing it, young man,” Deirdre scolded. “The poor girl showed up here last night soaking wet, practically freezing to death, looking for a job and a place to sleep.” Jacob’s electric blue gaze kept Mary mesmerized until Angel broke away from her father and ran toward her. At the last second, Mary bent down and caught Angel in a tight hug as tears sprang to her eyes. Burying her face against Angel’s winter-fresh scented hair, she couldn’t keep the sob of relief inside. Until that very moment, she hadn’t realized just how much she missed this little girl. “I missed you,” Angel whispered and her little arms held Mary like a vise. “I missed you so much.” “Oh, sweetheart. I missed you, too.” Mary looked up toward Jacob again, just in time to see Deirdre’s two oldest sons step in front of him. Paul, the bigger one, said, “If Mary wants to talk to you, that’s up to her. Not you.” Jacob gave a slight nod and stepped back. 240

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Mary’s heart filled with love for these people who were trying to protect her. A family who’d taken her in as one of their own, no questions asked. “It’s okay,” Mary said, and then kissed Angel on the forehead. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to him.” Deirdre came toward them then, and held her hand out to Angel. “Come on, little one, let’s get you some pie while your dad talks to Mary.” One of the grandchildren, a little boy about Angel’s age, shyly came up to Angel. “Gramma makes the bestest punkin’ pie.” Mary smiled around the tears she fought and squeezed Angel’s hand. “It’s okay. Have some pie, and then we’ll visit after I talk to your dad.” Angel gave Deirdre a wary glance, then tugged Mary down to whisper in her ear. “Please come home with us. Daddy got us a new house and everything. He says we’re going to live there forever, and he won’t work so much.” Mary glanced over at Jacob who stood tall and proud behind the barricade of Deirdre’s sons, his gaze firmly locked on her. “I don’t know, baby,” Mary whispered back. “I have to see what he says first.” “He says he’s sorry,” Angel said, a twinge of panic in her voice. “He misses you like I do.” Mary hugged Angel against her and prayed for strength. She couldn’t let Angel’s words persuade her. There were too many things wrong between her and Jacob for her to return with them. “Just give us a few minutes, okay? Deirdre will take good care of you, and we’ll just be right through that door.” Mary pointed toward the motel office. Angel glanced at Deirdre then slowly released Mary. She looked over at Jacob and he gave her a nod of approval. As Mary made her way across the restaurant, which suddenly seemed cavernous rather than too small and too crowded, conversation among the family slowly began to pick up. She walked past Jacob, careful not to touch him, and led him into the motel lobby. Jacob shut the door to the restaurant, throwing the small, dimly lit room into near silence. She walked to the far side before turning toward him. He stood across the ten or so feet from her, his hands at his sides, his gaze traveling over her, heating her with its intensity. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked when the silence between them became unbearable. Without saying a word, Jacob moved across the space between them, stopping just inches from her. Her heart sped to an incredible rate when he lifted his hands and gently 241

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cupped her cheeks with hands that shook. His gaze searched hers, his eyes so dark and intense. Her heart silently begged for him to kiss her, while her mind rebelled. She shouldn’t want his touch, his kiss. He’d hurt her, lied to her, treated her like garbage. “I love you,” he said softly, his voice a bit shaky. “I love you, and I didn’t realize how much until you were gone.” When he leaned down, and she was sure he was going to kiss her, she pulled away from him and turned toward the window, turning her back on him even though it nearly killed her to do so. A small sound, like a wounded animal, came from Jacob, slashing into her already shredded heart. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty, isn’t it?” Mary asked, doing her best to keep her emotions under control and her voice steady. “Mary, please.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before she faced him again. “Please what? Please come back so that you can rip my heart out again? Please come back so in a few months I can see a picture in some paper of you kissing another woman? So that you can-” “I never cheated on you. Never. The kiss was innocent. I swear it.” “Why should I believe you after all the things you told me about your marriage?” Jacob flinched, but never looked away. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he said softly. “Maybe you can’t.” He pushed a hand through his hair, then squeezed the back of his neck. “I love you, Mary. I have no idea how to prove that to you. I don’t know what you need from me to make you believe it. All I know is I’ve spent the last three weeks going crazy without you.” So much inside Mary wanted to throw herself into his arms, but common sense held her firmly in check. “When I left you were offering me marriage so Angel would have a mother.” Again Jacob flinched, this time his gaze slid away, and then he dropped into one of the two waiting chairs. “I was an idiot.” She couldn’t argue with that. “Please sit down,” he said quietly. She sat in the chair next to him, an armrest separating them, but that didn’t stop the spicy, familiar scent of his cologne from invading her senses, or the heat from his thigh touching hers. 242

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He turned in the seat and gathered both her hands into his. Warmth seeped through her. A struggle ensued inside her. Throw all caution to the wind and take whatever he was offering. Throw him out and hope she never sees him again. “Mary, sweetheart,” he swallowed, shut his eyes briefly, “I’m begging you to forgive me. I can’t promise to never do or say the wrong thing in the future. I’m an idiot where you’re concerned. But please, Mary, if you love me, if you ever loved me, find the courage to believe in me and give us another chance.” Those damned tears threatened to choke her. As the battle between saying yes and no raged on inside her, she gazed into his earnest eyes knowing he meant every word he said. But he had fooled her before. He had the power to crush her. Again. “Angel and I are moving to the house in Kennebunkport. We were there today when you called. We want you there with us. No more New York. No more paparazzi. I need you to...” his grip tightened on her hand, “...to stand beside me and help me be the man I know I can be.” Mary felt her defenses crumbling, but that terrified part of her kept up a good fight. “What about your mother? She’ll never accept...” Mary wasn’t sure what he was asking, really. Was the marriage proposal still on the table, or would she return to being the nanny? Jacob shook his head, then released one of her hands and touched her cheek with his fingertips. “I’m so ashamed of myself for not standing up to her sooner. The day you left, I told her I was going to find you and I was going to marry you if you’d have me.” A sad smile flitted over his lips. “At first she said I wasn’t her son, but over the past couple of weeks she’s mellowed. Mellowed more than I ever thought possible. She’s moving out to the house in the Hamptons. You’ll not have to see her but a few occasional holidays.” When his fingers found her hair, her eyelids drifted closed and she lost herself in his gentle touch. “Please,” he whispered, his breath warm, scented by coffee and mint. “Please come home with us.” The fighter in her reared up one last time. “Is this because you want a mother for Angel?” Jacob touched his forehead to hers and held her face between his hands. “This is because I can’t imagine my life for the next fifty or sixty years without you. Yes, Angel loves you, too. She wants you to be her mother, but I’m here for me. For you and me. I want to share the rest of my life with you and hope that you’ll allow me to share yours.” Mary slowly raised her hands to his shoulders, then wound her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat. The battle was lost. Or won. Or both. It didn’t 243

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matter. She knew she’d never love anyone as much as she loved Jacob. There were no illusions in her head that this relationship would be easy, but what was? All she needed was the courage to believe in him as much as she’d come to believe in herself. Only time would tell the rest. “I love you, Jacob,” she whispered. His arms slid around her and pulled her tight against him. “Oh, thank God.” He kissed her ear, her cheek, then nuzzled his way to her lips. “Thank God. I love you.” He kissed her with a tender sweetness that brought more tears to her eyes. “Have patience with me,” he whispered against her lips, “and I swear I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.” She smiled and leaned into him, kissing him deeply. And as her heartbeat melded with his, she realized she already believed in him and their future, she just needed the courage to face it. With him by her side, she knew that battle was already won.

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About the Author

Leanne strives to gift her readers with heroes and heroines they can fall madly in love with, and a storyline that brings them together under the best - and often most impossible - circumstances. Leanne loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at www.leannekarella.com or email her at [email protected]

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