Harlequin Shorts Online Part 06

212 onwards…

1^ 2* 3* 4* 5^ 6* 7* 8* 9* 10* 11* 12* 13* 14 15^ 16* 17^ 18* 19* 20* 21* 22* 23* 24* 25* 26* 27* 28^ 29* 30* 31* 32^ 33* 34* 35* 36*

Will Of Her Own His American Duchess His Perfect Match Countdown The Boss Favourite Blackmailed into the Prince's Bed The Journey to Welbourne Manor Bravo Tango Take a Chance on Me Cowboy Lover Single Doctor, Single Dad! Hot and Wild What Happens in Texas The Prince's Mistress Game Plan of the Heart Fireworks Rules of Engagement Hot off the Presses Caught by Surprise Deadly Reunion Man of Fame The Playboy's Baby The Road Back Naughty All Night A Father's Sins Bad Boy Blues Yuletide Peril The Story of Us Hunter And Hope Wishful Thinking Shattered Trust Degree of Innocence Voyage of an Irish Warrior Seducing the Vampire Forever, Actually A Daddy for Christmas

By Darlene Gardner By Anna Schmidt By Beth Andrews By Marie Ferrarella By Susan Meier By Olivia Gates By Deb Marlowe By Julie Miller By Ann Roth By Tina Leonard By Janice Lynn By Jodi Lynn Copeland By Cathy Gillen Thacker By Sandra Marton By Cara Colter By Valerie Hansen By Catherine Mann By Rebecca York By Samantha Hunter By Elle Kennedy By Rochelle Alers By Crystal Green By Samantha Hunter By Leslie Kelly By Hannah Alexander By Pamela Yaye By Terri Reed By Susan Wiggs By Lenora Worth By Mindy Klasky By Margaret Daley By Kate Donovan By Michelle Willingham By Bonnie Vanak By Karen Templeton By Laura Bradford

2 31 59 84 106 128 158 175 205 226 250 279 298 323 346 370 395 412 433 463 494 521 550 576 597 620 639 662 684 704 726 748 764 789 813 835

37* 38* 39* 40* 41^ 42* 43*//

Doubly Dangerous Her Boss's Private Affair His Cowgirl Valentine The Inn at Hope Springs Love Never Dies In Love and War Yield to Me

By Rebecca York By Emily Mckay By Myrna Mackenzie By Patricia Davids By Rita Herron By Ingrid Weaver By Saskia Walker

863 892 912 930 951 962 985

Till 254…

* eHarlequin, US

^eHarlequin, Aus

** others

rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

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Will Of Her Own by Darlene Gardner

Sexy Will Sandusky has earned his reputation as a ladies’ man. So when Shea Sullivan, the “older woman” he had a crush on in high school, moves back to town just before Thanksgiving, he wastes no time in asking her out. But Will is no home wrecker, and quickly backs off when he learns Shea is pregnant with another man’s child. But Will doesn’t know that Shea recently made good on a promise to herself to be artificially inseminated if she wasn’t in a relationship by the time she turned thirty. Yet while this mom-to-be is still very single, she’s not about to get involved with a player like Will the Thrill….

Chapter 1: Shea Sullivan might have interpreted the goose bumps skipping down her arms as a sign of attraction rather than a warning if Will Sandusky's reputation hadn't preceded him. Will expertly pointed out the attributes of the three-bedroom colonial they were walking through in a confident, low-throated voice. Exactly like the good Realtor he was. He also smoothly took every opportunity to chip away at her personal space. Precisely like the player he was. This wasn't the first house Shea had looked to buy in McIntosh, but it was the first Will had shown her. He was in business with his almost-as-charming uncle, whom she'd dealt with previously, in the small Ohio town at the aptly named Sandusky Real Estate. Will sidled up beside her when she stopped to admire the railing at the foot of the wooden staircase. He was so close that she could almost feel the warmth of his skin. She could smell him: a hint of soap, the outdoors and man. "See this scrollwork on the wood." One of his nicely shaped, long-fingered hands stroked the railing with the same care as he might caress a woman. "You won't see any finer. The previous owner commissioned a local carpenter, name of Jim James, who's a genius in his field." His breath smelled fresh, which she wouldn't have noticed if he'd been standing more than a few inches away. Heeding the dancing goose bumps, she climbed the first two steps to put some distance between them. "The carpenter's name is really Jim James?" “Jim-Jim for short." Will grinned, his white teeth flashing and blue eyes sparkling against his tanned skin. He had strong features -- a broad forehead, angled cheekbones, a long nose and a square chin. They were set off by a flattop that might have looked severe on another man. On Will, the hairstyle appeared sexy. But then the man had a body that would make a sculptor drool, a fact evident despite the khakis and knit sweater he wore in deference to the early November chill. Shea had no difficulty understanding why the girls at McIntosh High had nicknamed him Will the Thrill. "I remember you from high school," he announced. Her brows raised. "Somehow, I doubt that. I graduated twelve years ago." "You used to wear your hair long, straight and parted in the middle." He climbed a single step so they were at eye level. "Sometimes you'd pull the front strands back in two braids to keep them

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out of your eyes. Not thick braids, but tiny ones that you'd pin at the back of your head. In the cafeteria your senior year, you sat at the table nearest the door. And you ate with the same crowd. That girl who always had the lead in the school plays and some guys who ran track. Bobby Blake was one of them. Am I right?" She nodded, stunned that he'd remembered any of that. "One lunch early in your senior year, the two biggest jerks in school, who also happened to be the largest, deliberately tripped one of the band kids. You helped him clean up, invited him to sit with you and gave those two creeps a talking to. For the rest of the school year, I tried to get up the courage to ask you out." The goose bumps popped up again. "Why didn't you?" "Are you kidding? I was a freshman. You were a beautiful, gutsy senior. I was afraid you'd laugh me out of school." "It's hard to imagine you ever lacking confidence." "Where you were concerned, believe me, I lacked it." She didn't believe a word he said. Even though he'd proved he had a remarkable memory, she could hardly believe he was hitting on her. Considering the circumstances. "Don't you know who my sister is?" She didn't wait for his reply. "Jessie Sullivan. Remember her?" "Sure do." The wattage of his smile didn't dim. "How is Jessie?" "She's fine, now that she's over the broken heart you gave her."

Shea gaped at Will as he threw back his head and laughed, a soft rumble as appealing as his low voice. Annoyed both at him and at herself for noticing he had a likeable laugh, she snapped, "There's nothing funny about you having broken my sister's heart." He held up a hand. "Whoa. I'm laughing because you've got it wrong. Jessie and I went out a couple times in high school, but I didn't break her heart. That's not my style. I can't believe she'd say that." Shea thought back to what Jessie had told her. Because Shea was three years older than both Will and her sister, she'd heard about the romance via telephone while at Ohio State. She didn't precisely recall Jessie mentioning a broken heart, but she remembered the aftermath almost to the word. He was dating Rachel until Sally found out. Would you believe they're mad at each other and not at him? You should have seen the blonde he brought to the prom. She looked like she'd come straight from Hugh Hefner's mansion.

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He's going to Michigan State on a football scholarship. Somebody should warn the coeds that he plays at more than football. "Seems to me I heard Jessie got married," Will said. "She's living in Dayton, right?" "That's right," Shea said. Jessie had met her future husband during her first year in college. They'd been happily married for the past four years; her sister hadn't mentioned Will Sandusky in maybe twice that long. "When you talk to her, tell her I said hello," Will said. She nodded before she walked up the stairs, squashing an urge to smooth her skirt against the backs of her legs. Will Sandusky didn't have to peer up skirts to get a look at female flesh. She was sure plenty of women bared themselves voluntarily. Despite his denial about breaking hearts, he'd been a player in high school who'd had years to perfect his craft. "There are three bedrooms up here," he said when he joined her on the second floor. "But if you don't mind my saying, it seems like an awful lot of house for one person." "I don't mind you saying," she said evasively. She entered the first room, careful to clear the doorway by a wide margin so Will's body wouldn't make contact with hers. From its size, it was obviously the master bedroom. She wandered through the room, stopping at the window to admire the view. Beyond the spacious backyard, a row of evergreens made her think of Christmas. "What happened to you, Shea?" Will asked softly from behind her. "Where have you been all these years?" She swallowed. "New York City." "Oh, yeah? Doing what?" "Public relations," she said. "I was director at an all-service firm in downtown Manhattan." "And now you're moving back to McIntosh for good?" "That's right. I'm going to do consulting work from home." "Let me be the first to welcome you back." He moved closer and his voice lowered. "Let me take you out to dinner, celebrate your return." Surprised that she was tempted to accept, she stiffened her resolve. "That's not a good idea." "Why not?" He traced the line of her jaw with a fingertip. She stepped out of touching range. "I haven't told you why I need such a big house." That made him pause. "Why?" She pressed her lips together. She hadn't meant to tell anyone the reason before informing her family, but these were special circumstances.

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"The house isn't only for me." She put her ringless hand on her still-flat stomach, then said the one truth designed to send him running for the McIntosh hills. "I'm moving back to McIntosh because I'm having a baby."

Will banged through the door at Sandusky Real Estate, yanked out a chair and sat down heavily at his desk. His head jerked up when he heard his uncle approaching from the back of the office. Everybody said that Will was his spitting image, but Will didn't see it. Their coloring was similar, although Uncle Johnny's sideburns had turned gray. But Will's uncle was a little shorter, a little heavier and a lot louder. "How'd it go with Shea Sullivan?" he bellowed. "Not so great," Will answered. When he'd seen her again, all his long-ago fantasies had come rushing back along with the startling realization of why he'd always preferred long-limbed brunettes with dark eyes. Shea, once the unattainable older woman, was his prototype. Grasping that the age difference was no longer an obstacle now that he was twenty-seven and Shea thirty, he'd seized the moment and asked her out. Her pregnancy, however, rendered her as unattainable as ever. Uncle Johnny scratched his head. "Shea didn't like that house? I could have sworn she'd go for it." Too late, Will realized his mistake and brazenly tried to cover. "She did like it. I'm writing up an offer right now." "Then what…” His uncle's voice trailed off, and a smile creased his still-handsome face. "She shut you down, didn't she? Will the Thrill, the hound dog of McIntosh, struck out." "You're the one they call the hound dog of McIntosh," Will said grumpily. "And you're way off base. Shea's pregnant." "You're kidding. I'm in a golf league with her dad, and he never said anything about that. Where's her husband?" "I don't know. Maybe she's not married," Will said. Shea hadn't been wearing a ring, but that didn't mean much nowadays. Besides, even if there was no husband, her baby had a father. "That's a surprise, with a family as conservative as hers. If Shea went and got herself preg--" "Uncle Johnny, I'm working here," Will interrupted. "It's almost six o'clock. Don't you have a date or something?" “Always," Uncle Johnny said. A lifelong bachelor, he'd moved from dating the single girls of McIntosh to the divorcees and widows.

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His uncle wasn't the only one with a date. After presenting Shea's offer and giving the seller twenty-four hours to respond, Will took the hour-long drive to Columbus to hook up with a woman named Bunny he'd met the week before at a Columbus nightclub. Though undeniably attractive, Bunny no longer held the same allure. A scant hour into the date, he made up a fib about not feeling well and cut short an interlude that surely would have ended in her bed. To soften his abrupt departure, he suggested she drop in on him if she was ever in McIntosh. Then he spent the drive home unfavorably comparing Bunny's clinging clothes and aggressive sexuality to the unattainable, pregnant Shea Sullivan's understated class.

Chapter 2: "The inspector said he can meet you at the house this afternoon." Will's deep voice rumbled over the phone line, but it felt to Shea like it reverberated inside her. "We can have the closing as soon as tomorrow at noon." "Tomorrow at noon's fine," Shea said. "It was great of you to arrange everything so quickly. You're very good at your job." "Thank you," he said simply. She wondered if he would have silkily informed her that he was also good at other things had he not known she was pregnant. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Will." Shea rang off, then noticed her mother standing at the kitchen sink. Marie Sullivan had put on weight recently and her hair had started to gray, but she'd still be an attractive woman if not for the frown marring her features. "Why didn't you tell me your Realtor was Will Sandusky?" "I didn't think it was important. Why? Don't you like him?" "Everybody likes Will. What I don't like is him hanging around another one of my daughters." "He's my Realtor, Mom. That hardly qualifies as hanging around me. Besides, he's not interested in me that way." "Will's interested in every female that way." "You don't have to worry about Will making a play for me." Her mother put her hands on her rounded hips. "Why not?" Shea squared her shoulders. She'd been living in her parents' house for a week but hadn't yet mustered the courage to reveal the real reason she'd returned to McIntosh. She supposed it was past time. "I'm three months pregnant, Mom." ***

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Marie Sullivan felt her blood rush south and her head grow light. She sank into a kitchen chair and placed both hands to her head. Although part of her thrilled at the thought of a grandchild, her instinct was to ensure Shea's well-being. "If you're pregnant," she said, "you have to get married." Shea started shaking her head before Marie finished her sentence. "I came back to McIntosh because this is a great place to raise a child, which I'm going to do. Alone." "But what about the father? What does he say about this?" "My baby doesn't have a father." She paused, and Marie braced herself. "I was artificially inseminated." The bottom of Marie's stomach seemed to thud to the floor. "Why would you do such a thing?" "Because I've always wanted to be a mother. You know that, Mom. I started babysitting when I was twelve." "When you were twelve, you also drew pictures of the dress you'd wear at your wedding." "I'd get married in a heartbeat if I found somebody as perfect for me as dad is for you." Shea's voice pleaded for understanding. "But it would have to be a sure thing. In the meantime, I won't let motherhood pass me by." Marie could have shot down her daughter's notion of a sure thing, but they had more pressing things to discuss. "What about your baby? Don't you think your baby needs a father?" “Not necessarily. I know plenty of single mothers doing bang-up jobs. And plenty of women in bad marriages whose children would be better off if they were single moms. I'm emotionally secure, financially stable and buying a house in McIntosh. What more do I need?” She needed a husband. Doubtless there were wonderful single mothers everywhere, but it was best for a child to live with two parents. Marie could understand why Shea hadn't married any of those big-city men she'd dated. The chances that they shared the old-fashioned values that went hand-in-hand with a small-town upbringing were slim. The men of McIntosh were a different matter altogether. Shea was a beautiful woman who'd never lacked for dates when she was a teenager. Once the local men heard she was in the market for a husband, they'd come calling. Shea could break it to them later that she also needed a father for her baby. Marie had a call of her own to make. To Edie Markowitz, a waitress at the local Italian restaurant and the biggest gossip in all of McIntosh.

Every morning on his way to work, Will swung into a 7-Eleven that proclaimed itself the "luckiest place in Ohio."

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The slogan must be working, because Will had never been in the store without seeing someone play the lottery. After his buddy Tony Donatelli's stepmother Sofia had struck it rich with a onedollar ticket she'd bought at the very counter where Will now stood, the consensus seemed to be that history would repeat itself. "Morning, Miss Billie Jean." Will smiled at the tiny, gray-haired woman at the cash register. "That new haircut makes you look even prettier than usual." "Anyone ever tell you you're a silver-tongued devil?" Billie Jean asked, but her blush told him she'd appreciated the compliment. "I see you got the usual." "One black coffee," he said while he removed his wallet from his back pocket. He occasionally tried his luck at the lottery, but he came to the 7-Eleven for the caffeine fix. "You look more awake this morning than usual," Billie Jean observed. "No date last night?" "Nope. Got a closing this morning." "It's not for Dan and Marie Sullivan's girl Shea, is it?" Will became even more alert. "How'd you know that?" "Everybody knows Shea's buying that place over on Locust Lane that's been sitting empty since the Langleys got divorced." Billie Jean leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. "I also hear she's back in McIntosh to find a husband." Will let out a disbelieving snort. "She is not." "Sure is. Heard it from two people already this morning. The men in New York were too big-city for her. She wants a husband with small-town values, same as hers." He shook his head wordlessly. As soon as he got Shea alone, he'd tell her about the rumor so she could put a stop to it. Although he'd yet to meet the father of Shea's baby, the man was out there somewhere. Billie Jean reached over the counter and patted his hand. "Don't look so worried, Will. With the way you cat around, Shea would be crazy to look your way when she's husband hunting." *** The longer the closing lasted, the more Shea understood how Will Sandusky had thrilled the females of McIntosh. His allure had less to do with his undeniable physical appeal than his uncanny understanding of how women liked to be treated. He opened doors, pulled back chairs and dispensed extravagant compliments that somehow sounded sincere. But, most of all, he gave his undivided attention, as though nothing was more important than what a woman had to say. "Of course I understand how hard it is for you to leave McIntosh," he told Betsy Langley, the seller of the house Shea was buying. "The town won't be the same without you."

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Betsy, who was easily twice as old as Will, blushed. Shea decided on the spot not to linger after the closing. Being around Will was too dangerous. Clutching the keys to her new house in a right hand cramped from signing so many papers, she'd almost reached the door when Will's voice called her back. "Shea, can you spare a moment?" She slowly turned, coming face to handsome face with him. He placed a hand under her elbow and gently steered her away from the door. His eyes fastened on hers, and she understood what magnetism was. "I don't know how to say this, so I'll come right out with it. There's a rumor going around town that you're searching for a husband." Shea's mouth dropped open. "That's ridiculous." He put up a hand. "That's what I said. Knowing the kind of family you come from, if you did get married, you'd marry your baby's father." She thought of the unknown donor who'd held a cup and supplied a specimen. "I'd never do that," she blurted out. "Why not?" He looked so puzzled that there was only one answer he'd understand: the truth. Incredibly, she wanted to share it. "Because I was artificially inseminated." He didn't say anything for a long moment, then smiled. "In that case, will you have that dinner with me?"

Shea shook her head in wonder. Just when she thought she had Will Sandusky figured out, he surprised her again. "Didn't you hear what I said? I was artificially inseminated." "Loud and clear," he said. "Listening between the lines, I also heard you're not involved with anybody. So there's no reason you shouldn't have dinner with me." "But why do you want to go out with me? Aren't you afraid what you heard is true? That I really am back in McIntosh to find a husband?" "You said it wasn't true." His grin was patently charming, drawing her in. "So how about that date?" Her pulse jumped, her breathing grew shallow and her very blood seemed to heat, all obvious signs of an attraction she tried hard to fight. He gently stroked the side of her face, heightening her reactions. "Don't even think about saying no." She slapped his hand away. "No. Going out with somebody like you at a time like this is a bad idea."

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"I fail to see why." "Because if I got involved with anyone right now, it would be someone who was the marrying type." "But you claim you're not looking for a husband." "I'm also not looking for a short fling, which I hear is your specialty." "You're making a lot of assumptions," he said. "If it's because of your sister, that's not fair. That was all the way back in high school. And we parted on good terms." "Jessie's not the only one who warned me about you. Mention your name in McIntosh and somebody will talk about what a player you are." He stared at her, his eyes stricken. "I thought people liked me." "They do like you." She touched his freshly shaven cheek and said gently, "They just know not to take you seriously." Before he could utter a smoothly worded protest that might tempt her to change her mind about dating him, Shea turned and walked out of the real estate office. *** "Have you gone crazy, Will?" Will had been so focused on persuading Shea to date him that he hadn't realized his uncle was still in the office. Johnny reclined in a chair at a desk not ten feet from where Shea had rejected Will, obviously having eavesdropped on the entire exchange. "You heard what she said," Johnny continued. "You're a player. Why would you want to date a pregnant woman looking for a husband?" Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Shea's not looking for a husband. And if she was, why would I be such a bad choice?" Johnny threw back his head and laughed. "You're serious, huh? Okay. Let me take a shot at the answer. Because you like the freedom of doing whatever you want when you want with whoever you want. Just like me." "That may be true," Will said slowly, "but you're a confirmed bachelor. I'm open to marriage and family if the right woman comes along." Johnny's laugh deepened, further irritating Will. "Yeah, right," Johnny said.

Chapter 3:

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I don't understand why you're calling me for advice." Tony Donatelli's voice was so clear, it sounded to Will as though he was across town rather than in a distant state to celebrate Thanksgiving. "Are you joking? After what you went through last summer with your stepmother winning the lottery and all those women claiming to be her birth daughter, you're the perfect person to give advice." "On life, maybe. But women are your specialty." "Then maybe I shouldn't have started out by telling you about Shea, because this is more about me." Will took a deep breath, released it slowly. "You know me better than anybody else. Tell me something, do you take me seriously?" The pause at the other end of the line was telling. "As seriously as you take yourself. Don't take this the wrong way, buddy, because we've been through a lot together. But most of the time, you're all about having a good time. So I understand why a pregnant woman, who's entering a whole different phase of life than you're in, thinks dating a guy like you is a bad idea." Will ran a hand over his face, finding Tony's portrayal of him hard to accept. "I don't want to be that guy, Tony." "Hey, I like that guy. That guy's my best friend." "The first woman I've ever thought I could get serious about won't give that guy a chance." "Then turn on that charm of yours and get her to change her mind about going out with you. Once she gets to know you better, she'll see that you have a different side." Will stroked his chin, thinking that wasn't a bad plan. "Maybe I'll send her flowers. Not something obvious, like roses. But something more thoughtful, more seasonal. Like poinsettias." "Sounds good to me," Tony said. "In my experience, you can't go wrong with flowers." *** The poinsettias arrived at the house on Locust Lane barely an hour after the movers left, with showy red flowers that reminded Shea Christmas was a month away. "Just tell me where to put them." The freckled teenage boy making the delivery stood on the doorstep, one of the plants tucked under each arm. "Shea, who's that at the door?" Her mother appeared from the kitchen, where she'd been helping Shea unpack boxes of dishes. She took one look at the plants and gasped. "Is this somebody's idea of a joke?" "I'm sure whoever sent them doesn't know I'm allergic, Mom," Shea said, then explained to the boy. "I'll get a rash if my skin comes in contact with them." "Gosh, that's too bad. Will really thought you'd like 'em. I got four more in the truck.” "Those poinsettias are from Will Sandusky?" Her mother sounded horrified.

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"He helped me buy the house," Shea pointed out. "It's not unusual for Realtors to send gifts after the deal is done." “Realtors send bottles of champagne or plants or a single bouquet of flowers. They do not send a half-dozen poinsettias. I was right before. He's making a play for you." The delivery boy snorted. "It's Will Sandusky. What do you expect?" Shea smiled sweetly at the teenager, asked him to please take the flowers back to the store and closed the door. At about the same time, her father, who had been busy hooking up her television, came to see what the commotion was about. "Isn't that interesting?" he said after his wife filled him in. He stroked his chin, then remarked to his wife, "Guess that rumor you've been spreading around town about Shea needing a husband hasn't reached Will yet." "It was you." Shea turned horrified eyes to her mother. "Why would you do something like that?" "To keep the Will Sanduskys of the world away from you, for one thing," she answered. Since Shea knew for a fact that Will was aware of the rumor, the question was: Why wasn't it working?

Shea spent the next few days unpacking, dodging Will Sandusky's phone calls and arriving at the realization that she could use a part-time job. Money wasn't the issue. She could get along quite nicely on her savings and the long-distance public relations jobs she'd lined up. But spending her time chained to a computer and phone wouldn't help her get reintegrated into the community. The ideal solution occurred to her as she passed the McIntosh Weekly after buying groceries in town. She impulsively swung into a parking spot in front of the newspaper office, got out of the car and froze when a tall, familiar figure emerged from the building. "Just the woman I've been wanting to see." The November day was bright. The smile creasing Will's face was brighter. "I've been meaning to give you a call." "You call me all the time," Shea pointed out. "Yeah, but this time I've been meaning for you to answer the phone." He said it so good-naturedly that she couldn't help smiling back. She liked him, she realized. "I've been thinking that someone as fair-minded as you must have decided by now to throw out your preconceived notions about me," Will continued. "The only way to do that is to date me so you can form new opinions." "Nice try," Shea said, even as her conscience twinged. Nearly every belief she had about Will was, in fact, based on hearsay. "But I'm still not going out with you."

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The wind gusted, blowing a strand of hair into her face. He tucked it behind her ear, his fingertips gently brushing her skin. "We're both going to live in McIntosh a long time. Any time you change your mind, just let me know." He smiled and left her there, so gracious in the face of her continued rejection that she was already tempted to reverse her decision. Trying to put him out of her mind, she entered the spartan headquarters of the McIntosh Weekly. The small newsroom was deserted except for the sole man who occupied the glass-enclosed office behind the empty reception desk. Charlie Marinovich, the newspaper editor who had been a grade behind her in high school. He glanced up from his computer screen, smiling when he recognized her. Gangly and studious, with sharp features, tiny wire-rimmed glasses and a shock of dark hair, he'd always looked to Shea as though he would have been at home in the nineteenth century. He stood up. "Shea Sullivan, I heard you'd moved back to McIntosh. It's good to see you." "You, too, Charlie. How have you been?" she asked, exchanging pleasantries with him until he suddenly proclaimed that he was dating somebody. "That's nice," she replied slowly, then sighed when she realized the reason for his abrupt announcement. "If you've heard I'm looking for a husband, it's not true. I came here because I'm looking for a job. I'd love to write some stories for you." "A job. Of course," he said, as though he'd known as much all along. But the flush staining his face told her otherwise. He listened while she explained how much writing was involved in public relations work and how she'd occasionally sold a freelance story to one of the New York newspapers. After spelling out her qualifications, she asked, "What do you say?" "Sounds good. I could use somebody like you, but understand I can't just hand you a job. Tell you what. I'll assign you a story and if I'm satisfied with what you write, we have a deal." "Fair enough," she said. "What's the story?" "I just heard a real-estate firm in town is sponsoring a Christmas toy and food drive. They'll give the local food bank ten dollars for every toy donated at their office between now and Christmas. I'd love to put the story in the next edition." "Then I'm your reporter. Which firm?" she asked, but suspected she already knew the answer from the way her heart rate sped up. "Sandusky Real Estate. Your contact there is Will Sandusky. It was his idea."

Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings at his sister Susan's made Will appreciate how good he'd had it all these years when his parents had been the holiday hosts. Susan was a better cook than their mother, but she dished Will up a hard time in addition to homemade cornbread stuffing, succulent turkey and delicious pecan pie.

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"You know I love you, little brother," she said, looking up at him as he helped her clear the table. "But what were you thinking when you asked Shea Sullivan out?" "Uncle Johnny shouldn't have made my social life dinner conversation. And where are Johnny and Paul, anyway?" he asked, referring to Susan's husband of seven years. From the living room, he heard the sounds of a TV football game. "I'm the only man in the family who's helping." "I'm he'ping, Uncle Will." Paul Jr., his five-year-old nephew, removed an empty glass from the table and tromped into the kitchen on his short legs. "Good going, sport," Will said, looking wildly about for an ally old enough to stick up for him. His mother always supported him, but she and his father were wintering in Florida to be near his younger sister's newborn twins. "Uncle Johnny told me that Shea's pregnant, Will. I already heard the rumor that she's looking for a husband. You'd be doing her a huge favor to stay away from her." "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." He managed to smile even though her comment stung. "I'm starting to think nobody in this family loves me anymore." He felt little fingers tug at his pants leg and looked down to find Paul Jr. gazing up at him with adoring, brown eyes. "I love you, Uncle Will." "Not half as much as I love you." Will bent down, swooped his nephew into his arms and tossed him in the air. The little boy's giggles filled the air, reminding Will of one of the things well worth giving thanks for. Will managed to avoid talking to Susan about Shea through a marathon session of football watching and nibbling on leftovers, but feared his sister had called to continue the one-sided conversation when his phone rang later that night. The number that appeared on his caller ID wasn't familiar, but he recognized Shea's melodic, apologetic voice before she identified herself. "No need to apologize for calling on Thanksgiving," he said. Forcing himself not to jump to conclusions about why she was calling, he asked about her holiday. Pleased with his patience, he finally got to the point. "What's on your mind?" "It's the most ironic thing. Remember when we ran into each other yesterday at the newspaper office?" How could he forget telling her to let him know if she ever changed her mind about dating him? "Sure do." "I was on my way to ask Charlie if he'd give me occasional freelance work," she said. "He assigned me to write about the Christmas project you'd just told him about." He swallowed his disappointment and tried to be pleased for her. "Congratulations. I'm happy you got the job." "I didn't get it yet. I have to write the story, and Charlie has to like it. So can we come up with a time to talk?"

14

Will hesitated, then decided to give blackmail a shot. "What if I told you I wouldn't talk unless you agreed to go out with me?" "I'd say you're bluffing. It's a charitable cause. You want the information published as much as I want to write about it." "You got me," he said, the mental wheels still turning. "Okay, then, how about if we talk about the story tomorrow night at Nunzio's? I'll pick you up at seven-thirty." "Will Sandusky, that sounds suspiciously like a date," she said, her voice sounding more teasing than angry. "Your word," he said. "Not mine." Her musical laugh filled his ear. "You win. I'll see you tomorrow at Nunzio's."

Shea thought the only thing better than the mouth-watering lasagna at Nunzio's was the company. "So I'm telling my client about the house while we're driving over to see it, hitting all the high points and explaining how it's a good buy. We go over a rise and the house comes into view, sitting on three acres, pretty as a picture. And the client says, 'I'll take it.'" Will took a breath and leaned toward her to finish the story, his open features filled with good humor. "I say, 'Whoa. You haven't seen the interior yet.' The client says, ‘That's not necessary; the vibe is right,’ and buys the house. And that story explains why I like real estate." His eyes twinkled. "You never know who's going to walk through the front door." He threw back his head and laughed, his even white teeth flashing. She laughed with him, enjoying his stories, enjoying him. "Was this client male or female?" she asked. "Male." He tilted his head. "Why?" "I knew females couldn't resist you. Just wondering if males were susceptible, too." "You can't resist me?" He grinned. "That's great news." "Females in general, big guy. Not me, specifically. Considering my condition, I'm more cautious than most." His expression grew serious. "Speaking of that, what made you do it?" He lowered his voice. "Why would you deliberately arrange it so your baby doesn't have a father?" Shea frowned. "That's not what I did. I decided on in vitro after not meeting anybody I wanted as a husband." "But why now? You're only thirty years old. You have lots of time to meet someone."

15

"Meeting someone isn't a priority. Having a baby and becoming a mother is. I'm not a romantic, Will. I may never be a wife, but I won't let that stop me from being a mother." He covered her hand with his. "You'll be a great mother." She smiled into his eyes and the moment lengthened until it felt like they were alone in the restaurant. "You watch yourself with this one, Shea." Edie Markowitz, Nunzio's longtime waitress, broke the spell by depositing the check in front of Will. "He's with a different woman every time I see him." Will placed one large hand over his chest. "But you know my heart belongs to you, Edie.” "Rascal," she said, but she chuckled as she walked away. Shea reached into her purse and took out her wallet. "How much is my share?" "Oh, no. This is my treat. I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you pay." "But this is a business dinner, not a date." She wrinkled her nose. "Which reminds me that we need to get around to business. We've talked about everything but the story." "There's plenty of time for that." He threw down some bills, stood up and offered her his hand. "The night's still young." "Said the spider to the fly," she said, but went with him.

Will kept her hand firmly in his as they left the restaurant, which chased away some of the November night chill. He steered her not toward his car, but down the street. "Mind telling me where we're going?" she asked. "It's a surprise," he said, his breath frosty against the night air. "Besides, you'll figure it out soon enough." "How could I…" She lost her train of thought when a multicolored glow emanating from the grassy square in the center of town caught her eye. Of course. The Christmas tree. She should have remembered the McIntosh tradition to display a lighted tree starting the day after Thanksgiving. Will squeezed her hand. "What do you think?" "I think the mayor's missing an opportunity." They were nearer now. The tree was a beauty, at least twenty-five feet tall with strings of brightly colored lights. "There should be a tree-lighting ceremony with a speech, the high school band playing Christmas carols, a fat man dressed up as Santa Claus." He chuckled. "Spoken like a true PR person. You should stop by City Hall and propose a festival for next year."

16

"I think I will. It would bring people into the downtown, which could only be good for the economy." They crossed the street to the square and Shea gaped at the tree. "Beautiful." "Yes," he said, his eyes on her and not the tree. "You are." The compliment traveled through her like a swallow of hot chocolate, probably the effect he was shooting for. "Oh, no, you don't. You've distracted me all night." She dug into her purse, pulled out a tape recorder and switched it on. "This time I mean business. So you might as well start telling me about your Christmas project." "I meant to," he said. "I was simply setting the scene." "Uh huh," she said, not entirely believing him even though the foot of the tree was the ideal location. "So talk, starting with where the idea came from." "Not until we're comfortable." He captured her hand again, tugged and led her to a park bench. Then he talked, telling her about the disadvantaged family Sandusky Real Estate had sponsored the year before. "You should have seen how happy those little kids were to get the bikes we bought them. It made me realize that Christmas was really about the children, and I tried to think of a way we could help more of them." He'd slipped his arm around her while he was talking, but the warmth of it felt so good around her shoulders that she let it stay there. "You're a good man, Will Sandusky," she told him after she'd shut off the tape recorder. He smiled at the compliment, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to lift her lips when he dipped his head to kiss her. His lips felt cool, but his breath was warm, fueling something inside her that had been dormant. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste of him, luxuriating in the feel of him and recognizing the restraint it took him not to deepen the kiss when it was obviously what they both wanted. She also dimly realized she was doing exactly what she promised herself she wouldn't -- falling under the potent Will Sandusky spell. He lifted his head at the exact moment she would have jerked backward. His hand gently stroked her now-warm cheek. "Will you go out with me for real next time?" She took a deep breath, gathered her resolve and gave the only answer she could: "No."

Chapter 4: Will spent the drive back to Shea's house on Locust Lane in uncharacteristic silence, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. "I don't get it," he said as he walked her up the sidewalk to the porch, where a light shone. "The date went great, so why won't you go out with me again?"

17

"Same reason," she said. "I'm pregnant. I'm hardly showing now, but I will be in another month or so. How will you feel about me then?" "I'll feel that you're the most gorgeous pregnant woman I've ever seen." She put her hands on her hips, her exasperation evident. "See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. I'll be in real trouble if I start believing the things you say. I need to protect myself from you." "But why? Everything I tell you is the truth." "You live in the moment, Will. But the moment changes. What's true today won't be true tomorrow. I wish I'd run into you a few years ago when I didn't need to think too seriously about the future. Then I wouldn't have had a reason to resist you." "You don't have a reason now. I'm not the guy everybody says I am, Shea." He must have read her disbelief, because he paused. "Okay, maybe I am. But since I've met you again, I'm changing. I can feel it." "Maybe you are changing, but I can't risk it." He let out a breath of pure frustration. "The gutsy girl I fell for in high school would have risked it." "She wasn't pregnant," Shea retorted, but then her expression softened. "I'm sorry, Will." Rising on tiptoes, she kissed him gently on the lips. The magic hummed, the same as it had at the town square. The contact was brief, but they were both breathing hard when it ended. He grabbed her hand and placed it over his wildly beating heart. Then he took their conjoined hands and covered her heart, which thrummed just as quickly. "How are you going to resist that?" he asked softly. "I don't know," she said. "But I'll find a way, because I have to." She pulled her hand from his and ran lightly up the porch steps before she disappeared into the house, leaving him in the dark. He got in his car, pulled out his phone and dialed his friend Tony's cell number. "I have a problem. I'm nuts about a woman who doesn't want anything to do with me," he said when his friend answered. Tony's sigh was long-suffering. "Women have dumped you before, Will. Let her go. You'll get over it. You always do." After Tony rang off, Will sat in the darkness, thinking that his friend's advice was wrong. He couldn't let Shea go. She was different from all the other women who'd passed through his life. For the very first time, he felt as though he'd met a woman he wanted to hang on to. He decided on the spot to prove to Shea and everyone else in town that they were wrong about him. Once he convinced Shea to date him, he'd prove that he wasn't any more of a risk than the next guy.

18

Suppose you explain why Will the Thrill called me last night." Shea scrambled to a sitting position in bed, her head fuzzy. The time on the bedside alarm read eight o'clock. In the morning. On a Saturday. "Jessie. Is that you? What are you talking about?" "Will Sandusky, the thriller of McIntosh High," her sister answered. "He called me last night, quite late I might add, to ask about you." "Why would he do that?" Shea's voice sounded rusty from sleep, even to her own ears. "That's what I'm asking you. Why would he want to know if you're allergic to anything besides poinsettias? And whether you have any favorite hobbies or favorite foods?" Shea closed her eyes, not quite able to prevent a little thrill from traveling up her spine. "I'm sorry he annoyed you." "Annoyed me? I didn't say he annoyed me. It was actually nice to talk to him again. He's always a lot of fun." "Then he didn't break your heart?" "Where'd you get that idea? I was too smart, even in high school, to let a guy like Will break my heart. Which is why I'm wondering what you're doing with him." Her sister paused. "Will's not the father of your baby, is he?" "You know I was artificially inseminated, Jessie." "I know that's what you claim. But maybe it's a cover story so we won't know you were gullible enough to get involved with Will the Thrill." "It's not a cover story. Before I moved back to McIntosh, I hadn't seen Will since high school. Have you?" "Only once or twice when I was in McIntosh for a visit." "Then how do you know Will hasn't changed?" Jessie's laugh was instantaneous. "Men like Will are like leopards. They don't lose their spots. If you don't believe me, look at his uncle. They're exactly alike. Just be careful, Shea. Don't let Will get past your defenses." "I guess that means you didn't tell him what any of my favorite things were?" "Are you kidding? You know how irresistible Will is. I told him everything he wanted to know. That's why I'm warning you." *** Shea sat with her laptop in the sunny living room of her new house, putting the finishing touches on her story for the McIntosh Weekly. The story was heartwarming, as was the man who had told it to her. At the sound of a vehicle pulling into her driveway, she went to the window and looked out to see the florist delivery van, which she'd been half expecting since Jessie's call. Smiling to herself, she walked to the door and opened it.

19

She'd expected the carnations, too. She didn't anticipate that the delivery man would be Will Sandusky, looking all the more masculine because of the flowers he carried. "Since when do you work for McIntosh Florist?" she asked him. "Since I convinced the owner to let me deliver bouquets of your favorite flower, which I have on good authority you're not allergic to." "Jessie's your authority. She called me this morning." "Did she confirm I didn't break her heart?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I thought so. Can I come in?" He entered the house, depositing a vase full of red carnations on her kitchen table and another vase of pink ones in her living room. "Wait right here," he said, then made three more trips to the van and back until carnations in white, pink, red, orange, yellow and purple covered nearly all the available surfaces in her house. Her insides started to melt, but she tried to fight the sensation. "You're nuts, you know that?" "Nuts about you," he said. "Will, I -- " "I know, I know," he said. "I'm going." "You are?" She heard the surprise in her voice. "But I thought you were trying to be irresistible." "You think I'm hard to resist now? Wait 'til you see what I have in store for you." He winked and left her there, surrounded by carnations and, despite herself, filled with anticipation of what he'd do next.

Tell me again why I'm helping you." Bobby Blake leaned against the counter in the country kitchen of his four-bedroom ranch house, a beer in hand while Will tried to decipher a recipe for chicken cordon bleu. Flatten chicken breasts, the directions said. O-kay. "You got a hammer, Bobby?" Bobby raised his pale eyebrows, moved with the grace of a longtime runner to a utility drawer a few feet away, took out a hammer and handed it to Will. "Thanks." Will ran hot water over the metal hammer head before answering Bobby's question. "You're helping because you and Shea were friends in high school and you want what's best for her." "Then why am I helping you?" Another doubter, Will thought in frustration. But without this one's cooperation, he couldn't go through with his plan. "Don't forget the great deal I got you on this house. And the way I keep you company on those long runs you take."

20

"You peel off at my halfway point," Bobby accused. Will ignored the comment, which was true. But the halfway point for Bobby was five miles. Will had already spread the boneless breasts on a cutting board. He reared back the hammer. "You've told me a hundred times to let you know if I ever needed anything," he pointed out as he pounded. "Geez, do you have to hit 'em so hard?" Bobby asked. "And are you sure you're supposed to use a hammer?" "I can't roll up the ham and swiss cheese until these babies look like pancakes. Besides, what else would I use?" Chicken juice sprayed on the counter. The once-spotless kitchen was a mess, with various pots and pans, measuring cups and ingredients strewn over the various surfaces. "Fran is going to kill me for talking her into letting you use the kitchen," Bobby said, referring to his wife. "And Shea is going to kill me for inviting her over to dinner without telling her you'll be here." "Leave it up to me and you'll live through the night," Will said while he wondered how much more pounding the chicken could stand. "Men aren't the only ones who like to eat. I happen to think you can get to a woman's heart through her stomach, too." *** If Shea was the murderous type, she'd have a hard time deciding on a primary target. Bobby, for luring her to dinner under false circumstances. Jessie, for giving Will ammunition in the form of her favorite foods. Or Will, for being harder and harder to resist. He'd overcooked a dinner of her favorites -- chicken cordon bleu, oven-roasted red potatoes and summer squash -- and then followed it up with a barely edible chocolate mousse. "That was quite an, er, interesting meal," Fran said when the four of them had finished. A petite blonde with a robust laugh, she'd immediately endeared herself to Shea. "Yes." Shea searched for something nice to say about the meal. "I've never had chicken breasts this thin before." Will took a healthy drink of apple juice, Shea's favorite nonalcoholic drink, possibly to drown out the taste of the meal. "That had to be one of the worst meals I've ever eaten." Shea looked from Will to Bobby to Fran before all four of them simultaneously broke into laughter. "I wasn't sure you'd noticed how bad the food was," Bobby said. "I've got taste buds," Will said. "I thought it was sweet," Fran said. "Not many men would go to all this trouble to impress a woman. If he asks you out, Shea, you should say yes." "Well," Shea said later when she and Will were leaving the Blakes after an enjoyable evening of conversation and laughter, "Aren't you going to ask me out again?"

21

They'd reached her car and stood beside it. As usual, he was standing too close. The lamplight illuminated his strong features and sinfully sensuous mouth. He dipped his head, and her heart skipped a beat while she waited for his kiss. "Nah," he said, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "Jessie told me you don't like being pressured. So I'll pretend patience is one of my virtues."

Chapter 5: The grand, romantic gesture has always worked for me in the past, but I'm not getting anywhere with Shea," Will told his companion after he parked curbside at the edge of the park. "I'll admit the dinner I cooked last weekend was lousy, but I should get points for trying, don't you think, bud?" His nephew reached across the seat, patted him on the cheek and said, "Can we play now?" Will laughed, ruffled the boy's hair and hit the button that automatically unlocked the passengerside door. "Let's go." Once they were out of the car, the boy ran ahead to the playground, comically swinging his elbows in a pumping motion. Will was coming off a frustrating week in which he'd dealt with impossible-to-please clients, a seller trying to back out of selling and no word from Shea. Last night, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he'd stayed home on a Friday. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, since he'd probably need extra energy after promising his sister he'd babysit today. Paul had reached the playground. A toddler swing hung suspended from the bar on the swing set, impossible for the little guy to reach without a lift. He practically danced as he waited, calling in a high-pitched, excited voice, "Hurry up, Uncle Will." The day was unseasonably warm for November, probably in the low fifties. Paul needed to make the most of this playground opportunity before the cold weather arrived in earnest. That was Will's motto, too: make the most of the opportunities life presented. Forgetting his troubles, he broke into a trot, yelling, "Wait up, sport. Your uncle's coming to the rescue." *** Shea stamped down hard on the car brakes, fortunate there was no traffic behind her. She blinked, but there was no mistaking Will Sandusky's tall, strong form as he pushed a little boy in a toddler swing. The boy's legs kicked gleefully back and forth. Shea hesitated only slightly before parking and walking toward the park, reassuring herself that it wasn't a case of the moth being attracted to the flame. She'd yet to thank Will for the boxes of coconut clusters, her favorite candy, which had arrived a few days ago. And to tell him to stop sending her things. The boy's giggles and the man's answering laugh carried on the slight breeze as she walked, warming her. "Higher, Uncle Will," the boy demanded in a breathless voice. "Higher."

22

So the boy was Will's nephew. Catching sight of her, Will's smile broadened and he waved. "Say hello to Miss Shea," he told the boy. "She's the pretty lady coming toward us." "Hello, Miss Shea," the boy said between giggles. "This is my buddy Paul," Will said. "He's my sister's son." She greeted Paul, who was a cutie, all chubby cheeks and windblown hair. He also bore a striking resemblance to his uncle in both coloring and the shape of his features. Shea imagined Will would have looked much the same when he was a child, innocence and impishness mixed in one delightful package. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" Will asked as he continued to propel the laughing boy higher and higher. "I wanted to thank you for the chocolates and ask you to stop sending me things." "The chocolates were partly in appreciation for the good job you did on the article. We've gotten lots more donations since the story ran. But why are you thanking me in person? You usually wait until you're pretty sure I won't be home and leave a message on my answering machine." She grimaced. "Is it that obvious?" "Yeah." His voice didn't have any bite, but then Will was almost always in good spirits. "So why seek me out now?" "I guess I stopped because I was shocked to see you in the park. I was curious to find out what you were doing." "Babysitting. My sister and her husband drove to Pittsburgh for a friend's wedding." He said it matter-of-factly, pleasure in the task evident on his face and in his voice. Before she consciously realized what she was going to say, she'd said it. "I'm not doing anything special today. Want some help?"

Will collapsed next to Shea on the sofa in his sister's living room and leaned his head back against the cushions. "I think Paul's down for the night, but I thought the same thing before that last glass of water, so don't count on it." "He's a spitfire, that's for sure," Shea said. "It's amazing how much energy he has." After leaving the park, they'd taken in a matinee movie featuring dancing cartoon emus, played tag in Will's sister's backyard, munched on a dinner of burgers and fries at the McIntosh deli and finished up the evening with hide and seek and bedtime stories. Paul hadn't seemed to notice his parents were gone, not even after they called halfway through the day and asked Will if he'd mind if they stayed overnight in Pittsburgh. "He adores you, you know," Shea commented.

23

Will turned his head, a small smile playing about his lips. "Not half as much as I adore him. But right now, the kid's cramping my style. I finally have you alone and I can't even kiss you because Paul might come running into the living room." "What makes you think I'd let you kiss me?" she asked, raising her eyebrows as though the point was in doubt. It wasn't. Her defenses had been crumbling all day as she watched him with his nephew. When he'd put Paul's needs above his own wants just now, they'd shattered. He'd make a great father. "I'm nothing if not optimistic." Will brushed her hair back from her face, leaving tendrils of sensation wherever his fingers touched. "And have I mentioned patient? Very patient. I'm not even going to ask you out again, just to show how patient I am." She could resist a man who sent her flowers and chocolates. A man who was wonderful with children, she couldn't resist. "That's too bad, because the answer would be yes." "Then I take it back," he said with alacrity. "Will you go out with me?" She laughed. "When? Where?" "My sources tell me you like to bowl so how about tomorrow night at seven at McIntosh Lanes?" "I'll be there." She ran her fingers across his jaw, which felt faintly bristly. "As for now, are you sure about that kiss? Paul must be asleep by now." "Uncle Will." The very awake boy stood at the mouth of the room. "I have to go to the baffroom." *** Will wasn't sure why Shea had changed her mind about dating him, but he was too busy enjoying his good fortune to analyze the reason. It was enough that she was here, at a bowling alley empty of everyone except himself. He'd even convinced the manager, one of his teammates in the local men's basketball league, to trust him to lock up when they were done. "Don't tell me you rented the entire alley," she said after she came through the swinging glass door in blue jeans, a pale-pink shirt and a ponytail. If not for the hint of roundness around her belly, she would have looked like a pretty, young girl. "Jessie said you liked privacy. So I got you some." Shea shook her head, but seemed amused. "Somehow I doubt you can bowl as well as you can charm, but let's give it a shot." Will was more of an athlete than a bowler. He didn't embarrass himself but had no real chance of winning against an opponent whose norm was a strike or a spare. "I'm glad you're not a sore loser," she said after she'd won the third game in a row. He took her hand, pulled her to her feet, gazed into her eyes and said, "I don't feel like a loser. I feel like I just won the lottery." Her reaction wasn't what he expected. She shook her head, released a long breath and said, "What are you doing, Will?"

24

"Excuse me?" "This was great fun. You're great fun. But after I accepted this date with you, I started having second thoughts. I need to know what you want from me before this goes any further. Because everything we talked about before still applies. I'm pregnant. I can't afford to have you string me along, only to drop me when I'm heavily pregnant or the baby's born." "I wouldn't do that," Will said. "How can you be so sure?" She gazed at him, her eyes troubled, and he finally realized what was happening to him. It had probably started happening back in high school when she'd stood up to those bullies, but he'd been too young to recognize it for what it was. He took a deep breath and blurted out the truth buried in his heart. "Because I'm in love with you."

She gaped at him, an open-mouthed, slack-jawed expression of utter disbelief. With his reputation, Will couldn't blame her for being suspicious. But now that he'd owned up to his feelings, Will had no doubt. He loved her. "I bet you say that to all your women," she said, but sounded anything but flippant. "I've never said it to any woman before, because it's never been true before." He touched her cheek. "I love you, Shea. Only you." Her lower lip trembled as she gazed up at him, some unnamed emotion playing about her face. "I wish I could trust you, Will. But you've got a terrible track record." She covered her stomach with one hand. "And I have somebody besides myself to think about. I can't take a gamble on you, not when I don't know what the future will bring." "Then live with me. I know you just bought a house. I did, too. Last year. We'll decide which one we like the best and rent the other." She shook her head. "I won't be another in the long string of women you've lived with." "You'll be the first," Will said, staring deep into her eyes. "And the only." He took her face in his hands and kissed her, gently at first, then with increasing pressure until she moaned into his mouth. Finally he lifted his head. "At least say you'll think about it." "I'll think about it," she said softly. *** Shea could think of nothing over the next few days except Will's declaration of love and his suggestion that they live together. The part of her containing her heart wanted to accept but was at odds with the part housing her brain. By midweek, she couldn't stand being alone with her thoughts for another day and coaxed her mother into a Christmas shopping trip to Columbus. Gesturing to a tie covered with golf balls, she asked, "What do you think, Mom? Would Dad like this?"

25

Her mother gazed at her blankly. "Did you say something?" Shea put a hand on her arm, the tie forgotten. "You've been awfully quiet today. Is it because your friend at the bowling alley told you I was there with Will?" "I'm not happy about that, but you're old enough to make your own mistakes," she said. "Then what is it?" Shea prodded. "Nothing to worry about," her mother said, waving her off. When Shea continued to stare at her, she added. "Just a tiff your dad and I had this morning. I must be brooding about it." Shea was stunned. "But you and Dad never argue." Her mother let out a short breath. "We never argue in front of you and Jessie, but we've argued plenty over the years. Before you were born, we had such a hard time settling our differences that we separated and almost divorced." Shea gasped. "Why did I never know this? I always thought you and Dad had the perfect relationship." "There is no such thing, honey," her mother said. "There are only couples who take a chance on building something lasting because they love each other. That's what your father and I did." She smiled. "Even if he's not perfect." Like Will, who'd dated so many women he probably couldn't remember their names. A peace settled over her. She'd been giving herself a headache for days, trying to figure out whether to accept Will's offer. And now, with her mother's unwitting help, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Chapter 6: Will needed to get rid of the woman in his bed fast, before Shea or any of the other townspeople realized she'd spent the night. He sat up on his sofa amidst the rumpled sheets, futilely wishing he'd set up a guest room. Then he swung his legs to the floor and kneaded his brow. He supposed he could always use the truth as a defense, but with his reputation, nobody would believe him. He had to admit the story sounded suspicious. Half-drunk woman from Columbus named Bunny shows up at his door with a partially empty wine bottle, reminding him of his offer to visit if she's ever in McIntosh. She's in no shape to drive and proceeds to get even more sloshed until he's forced to offer his bed so she can sleep it off. He checked the time. Eight o'clock. A fine time to wake Bunny and get her out of his house and his life. She proved to be as stubborn as she was troublesome, resisting his efforts to get her up and going, then insisting on a shower and breakfast before finally heading to her car. "You're no fun, Will," she complained as he followed her to the driveway. She wore her clothes from the night before, a short black skirt, stacked heels and a leather bomber jacket. "I wouldn't have driven all this way if I'd known you wouldn't party with me."

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"I tried to tell you, darlin'. Between the time I met you and now, I fell in love." He opened the car door for her, the way his father had taught him. In minutes, he'd be rid of her. But instead of climbing into the car, she snaked her arms around his neck and pressed her ample curves against him. "Just so you know what you're missing," she breathed against his mouth and kissed him. It took Will a moment to recover from his surprise, another moment to push her gently away and yet another to realize he'd felt absolutely nothing. She gave him a sassy grin, got in the car and finally drove away. Only then did he notice the car that had just pulled up to the curb and the ashen pallor of the driver's face. The driver was Shea.

*** Every warning Shea had been issued about Will Sandusky came echoing back at her. He's a player, a ladies' man. Getting involved with him would be hazardous to your heart. Stay away. Far, far away. The evidence that she shouldn't trust him had played out in front of her eyes. Will sprinted from the driveway to her car, looking as though he assumed she'd concluded the worst. "I can explain," he said when she rolled her window down. His hair looked like a woman had run her fingers through it, but his eyes pleaded his innocence. "It's not how it looked. I met her months ago, before you. I didn't expect her to drive down here. Or to be drunk. Understand, I couldn't let her leave, but nothing happened. I swear it." "I believe you," Shea said. "She kissed me. I didn't…" His voice trailed off. His head cocked. "Did you just say you believed me?" She nodded. It was the truth. The tableau in front of her had surprised her but hadn't had the power to hurt, because she'd known there was an explanation. But before relief could overtake him, there was something else she had to say. "I also can't see you anymore."

"I don't understand." Will shook his head. "If you believe me, why can't you see me anymore?" She bit her trembling bottom lip as the realization of what she had to do struck her. The backs of her eyes burned with her effort to hold back tears. It seemed surreal that she was having one of the most important discussions of her life through her car window. "Because loving you is too big of a risk," she explained. "You resisted temptation this time, but what about next time? I'd always be afraid you'd go back to your old ways. Maybe not this year, but next. After the baby's born and grows to love you." "That's not fair. How can I defend myself against something that hasn't happened? What am I supposed to do to get you to trust me?" "Why should I trust you when you don't even trust yourself?" she retorted. "You asked me to live with you, not to marry you. That way, after the baby comes, you'll have an easy out. If you don't like having a baby in the house, you can just move out."

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From the tortured look on his face, she saw that she'd hurt him. A car passed, swinging wide to go around him. "This is the wrong place to discuss this. Come inside, Shea, so we can work this out." She shook her head. If she went inside, her resolve would dissolve. A tear escaped her eye and ran unchecked down her face. "I can't, Will. You have to accept that it's over." He didn't say anything for a moment, then asked softly, "Where's the gutsy girl I fell in love with?" "We've been over this before, Will. She's protecting herself." She placed a hand over her stomach. "And she's protecting her baby." Not opening herself to second guesses, she rolled up the car window and drove away. *** Nunzio's signature lasagna, made from a recipe concocted by Sofia Donatelli, sat untouched on the plate in front of Shea. It was hardly past noon, her blood pressure was rocketing and she was starting to think lunch with her mother and two of her friends had been a very bad idea. "Your mother told me you dumped Will Sandusky," said Mrs. Ferguson, a stern-faced woman who had been her Sunday school teacher growing up. "What I'm wondering is why you ever got involved with him in the first place." Mrs. Papadakis, the local dry cleaner, nodded. "He's such a ladies' man, that Will." "Shea's well rid of him," added Shea's mother with a pleased air. "He's not the right kind of young man." Shea had had enough. She put down her fork with a clank and glared at her mother and her friends. "How dare you talk about him that way. Will is decent and caring and one of the finest men I have ever met." "We all know that, honey." Mrs. Ferguson reached across the table to pat her hand. "Everybody 'round here adores Will to pieces, but he's not somebody a woman should get serious about." "No offense meant, Mrs. Ferguson, but you don't know what you're talking about," Shea retorted with heat. "A woman would be privileged to have Will in her life any way she could get him. Did you know that the Christmas project Sandusky Real Estate is running was his idea? And have you ever seen how great he is with his nephew? Or how considerate he is with everyone else? He's the best man I know." "But his past -- " her mother began. "Is over," Shea finished. "The only thing that's important is the present, and Will's done nothing since I met him to make me doubt him." Her mother narrowed her eyes, peering at her with interest. "It sounds to me like you're in love with him." Shea got ready to deny her mother's statement, then realized she couldn't. "Maybe I am," she said. "If that's the case, and if he's that great of a guy," her mother continued, "why in the world did you dump him?" Why, indeed? Shea put her hands to her suddenly hot face. What on earth had she done?

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Will hadn't had a drop of alcohol in weeks, but had been sleeping so poorly he felt like he was hungover when he went into the office Monday morning. He stopped short at the sight of his uncle, who looked even worse than Will felt. "Whoa," Will said. "What happened to you this weekend?" "A woman named Marlene." Uncle Johnny scratched his head. "Or maybe it was Charlene. I can't remember exactly. We partied until so late that I stayed over and drove back from Cincinnati this morning." "Don't you ever get tired of being a bachelor?" "It's all I know. Why would I get tired of it?" Will pulled up a chair next to his uncle, feeling as though he was seeing him clearly for the first time. Johnny looked old, tired and not entirely happy. "Tell me something, Uncle Johnny. Have you ever been in love?" His uncle's eyes got a faraway look, and he didn't say anything for a moment. "Once. A long time ago. But I never told her. And I sure as hell never proposed. I didn't trust myself. How did I know I wouldn't love the next woman or the next?" Was that what was going on with him? Will wondered. Had he asked Shea to live with him instead of marry him because he'd started to believe his reputation that he was a bad bet to marry any woman? "Do you ever regret not proposing?" he asked his uncle. "Every day of my life," he said. He wouldn't have the same regret, Will decided. His impulse was to rush to Shea, but he squashed it. Getting her to marry him would take some major convincing. He needed a plan, complete with a romantic setting and the right words. He needed to think. "Funny thing happened right before you walked in. A potential client called and wants to meet you at ten o'clock at that house that just went up for sale over on Wayside Drive," Johnny said, bringing Will's attention back to the business day. "What's the client's name?" Will asked. "That's what's funny about it. She wouldn't give her name." A little later, as Will drove over to the four-bedroom Cape Cod house to meet the mysterious client, he hoped her name was anything but Bunny. He'd had enough encounters with women like Bunny to last a lifetime. Keys in hand, he jogged up the sidewalk, his mind turning over ways in which he could propose to Shea. He was so lost in thought, it took him a moment to realize that the door was unlocked. Frowning, he walked into the house and saw candles. Dozens of them, on every available surface. He heard a noise from the kitchen that sounded like the clink of glasses. Puzzled, he followed the sound. And stopped short. Shea stood at the island holding two glasses, one filled with red wine and the other with milk. Her eyes were filled with apprehension. "If you'll forgive me for being such an idiot," she said, "I was hoping we could drink to moving in together." Her palms, she realized, were damp. Her heart pounded so hard she thought he might see it moving under her shirt. Her nerves propelled her to keep talking. "My mother knows the couple selling this house. That's how I got the key. It's bigger than my house and much bigger than yours. If you think my house is too small for the three of us, I thought we could move into this one and rent the other two."

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He started shaking his head before she finished her sentence. He hadn't made any move to take the glass of wine. Her throat hurt when she swallowed. "You've changed your mind about living together, haven't you?" He nodded. She put down the glasses, trying to hide the sudden, shooting pain. Tears pushed at the backs of her eyes. "I think we should get married," he announced. For the first time since she met him, he looked unsure of himself. "That is, if you'll have me." Joy replaced the pain. "Of course I will," she said before rushing across the room and into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like a woman who never intended to let him go. But his eyes were serious when he finally drew back. "Are you sure you want to risk marriage to me?" "It isn't much of a risk," she said. "I was wrong about what I said before. Your past doesn't matter to me. Only the future does." "You were right, too. I asked you to live with me to give both of us an out. But I'm in love with you, Shea. And I already love the baby growing inside you. I'll be a good husband and a good father, because you're all I've ever wanted. Please believe me." "I do believe you," she said as happiness bubbled up in her. Will, however, was frowning. "What's wrong?" she asked. "This isn't the way I wanted to ask you to marry me. I wanted to be the one to make the grand, romantic gesture." "Silly man. I don't need grand gestures. All I need is you," she said and pulled his mouth down to hers.

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His American Duchess by Anna Schmidt After her father lost the family fortune, and after she ended her loveless engagement to a Boston business tycoon, Jeanne Witherspoon escaped to Paris, intent on painting and socializing with only kindred spirits. When she makes the acquaintance of a British duke who shares her love for art, she is content with friendship, despite her growing attraction to the man himself. But a tragic secret has followed August Groton-Hames to Paris, and the rumors only intensify when he commissions amateur artist Jeanne to paint his portrait. Could his intentions toward Jeanne be anything less than honorable?

Chapter One Paris, September, 1895 Jeanne Witherspoon swept a pale yellow stroke of pastel chalk across the outline of a face in her sketchbook. “I can’t get your hair right, Yves.” In the year she had been in Paris, Yves LeClercq had become her closest friend. Others assumed she had come to Europe to heal a heart broken when her fiancé, Gabriel Hunter, had chosen another woman to marry. Only Yves knew that her father had lost the family’s fortune through poor business decisions, changing Jeanne’s lifestyle dramatically, and that it had been Jeanne who had ended the engagement to the Boston tycoon. “You are frowning, chérie.” Yves sipped his espresso and observed her. “I want to go to the ballet on Friday,” she admitted. “That would be nice.” “I have nothing to wear,” she grumbled. Yves cocked an eyebrow. “You also have no ticket.” “Even if I did, I still have nothing to wear.” “Very well. You find tickets for us both and I will loan you a gown from last season’s collection.” Yves was a popular couturier, whose gowns demanded enormous prices. “The peach satin?” “I think something in blue—sapphire, to match your eyes. Speaking of that, how are my eyes coming?” He leaned forward to see her sketch then suddenly leaped to his feet as he murmured, “Your grace. Forgive me, I was…” “So entranced by this gifted artist. May I?” The tall stranger held out his hand for the sketchbook.

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“You have studied the masters.” It was not a question. “Quite extraordinary,” he murmured, more to himself. “The eyes…” He glanced at Yves and then back at the sketch. “She’s captured your mischief, LeClercq.” He returned the sketchbook. “Mademoiselle Jeanne Witherspoon, may I present Lord Groton-Hames, Duke of Thirndale.” Yves hastened to make introductions. Jeanne took the measure of the man as if evaluating him for a possible portrait. Eyes obsidian in color and deep-set under thick black brows. Hair a rich ebony with traces of silver at the temples and sideburns. Complexion seasoned by the elements and his years, which she estimated to be mid to late thirties. The physique of a much younger man. Tall and erect without appearing pompous. She smiled up at him. “A pleasure, your grace.” “You are American?” “I am, and your title is British but do I detect a connection to the Hapsburgs of AustriaHungary?” Yves sucked in an audible breath and Jeanne wondered how such an innocent question could be a problem. The duke smiled. “You have an excellent ear for accents as well as an exceptional eye for portraiture, Miss Witherspoon.” “And you, sir, avoided my question.” Jeanne gave him a coy smile. It was in Jeanne’s nature to flirt a bit. “Are you hiding something, your grace?” This time Yves made no pretense of his distress. He placed a restraining hand over Jeanne’s as he cast the duke an apologetic look. “Your grace, will you be attending tonight’s opening of the ballet?” “Will you be attending, Miss Witherspoon?” Again he had avoided answering the question. “Actually, I…” “Alas, the performance is sold out,” Yves interrupted. The duke smiled. “Then I insist you be my guests for the evening.” “You are too kind, sir,” Yves said. “We’d be delighted.” “Excellent. I shall leave tickets for you at the door.” He bowed to Jeanne and walked back to his waiting carriage. Jeanne watched him go. A free ticket to the most sought-after social occasion of the season had almost literally just dropped into her lap. “I’m going to need shoes and jewelry to accessorize that sapphire gown, Yves.”

Chapter Two

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While Yves directed his seamstress in fitting the gown to Jeanne’s slender frame, he chastised her for her flippant attitude toward the duke. “Do you have any idea who this man is? His history? More to the point, his fortune?” “Oh, Yves, one should never measure people by their fortunes or titles.” “August Groton-Hames is possibly the wealthiest man in all of Europe. His art collection alone is worth a significant fortune. And it’s an excellent collection—not like some.” “How do you know him?” “I designed some gowns for his sister and the woman he was to marry. He took a personal interest and we became acquainted. He’s really quite curious about people of all classes.” “And his history?” “A bit mysterious. He was betrothed to a distant cousin on his mother’s side—the Hapsburg connection you hear in his accent. The young woman died under circumstances that have never quite been clear—a sailing accident. Gossip has it that he failed to save her when he might have. Shortly after that he came here to live. He returns to England only when business or politics require.” “That’s so very sad. Did he love her?” “In those circles, love is rarely the most important factor, Jeanne. She was titled, beautiful and young enough to produce at least one heir. An elaborate wedding was in the offing. Everyone was vying for an invitation.” Jeanne had a sudden vision of the duke’s eyes—sad and lonely in spite of his smile. “I think he must have loved her. He seemed very nice.” “He was certainly impressed by your talent. He looked at those sketches with the eye of a collector, of someone who might very well become a patron.” “My work is not for sale,” Jeanne said flatly, craning her neck to see how the gown fit in the back. “Perhaps it should be,” Yves suggested as he reset the bow. “Then you might be able to afford one of my gowns.” There had been a time when Jeanne could have afforded half a dozen of the gowns. But no longer. Perhaps Yves was on to something. “You can’t honestly believe that anyone—let alone a renowned collector—would actually pay for my work.” “You are quite gifted, Jeanne, and you know it. Your problem is that you have been raised to believe trading on that gift would be crass. But I ask you, what would a man with your talent do?” He would charge for the work. So why shouldn’t a woman do the same? ***

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As soon as Yves and Jeanne arrived at the theater, she knew that the gown was perfect— heavy blue satin that Yves had expertly draped into tiny little pleats on the bodice with large flat bows at each shoulder. The skirt was lifted in a swag to one side and held there with a third bow. White kid opera gloves covered her elbows to her fingertips and the shoes were matching silk offset with shimmering beads that caught the light with every step. She felt like a princess and was well aware that heads turned as she followed the usher to the duke’s private box. It was impossible not to notice the way Lord Groton-Hames’s eyes widened at the sight of her. It was a look Jeanne knew well. The one lesson she had learned was that men as wealthy and powerful as the duke had a bad habit of assuming that such wealth came with certain privileges. At some point she would have to make it clear that she was in Paris for two reasons—to paint and to escape the cloying life she would have to endure if she had remained with her parents. She was not interested in romance. On the other hand, it was a festive occasion and a bit of innocent flirtation was surely within reason when the man had been so generous. Jeanne extended her gloved fingertips. “Your grace,” she murmured, lowering her lashes. From his position behind the duke, Jeanne saw Yves roll his eyes.

Chapter Three “Miss Witherspoon, that color is perfect for you.” The duke guided her to one of two unoccupied chairs, then gestured to the remaining chair for Yves. “Enjoy the performance,” he said. “Are you not joining us?” Jeanne blurted. “I made other arrangements. I will stop by during the intermission.” “You have given us your tickets,” Jeanne guessed. “But…” He smiled at her. “Until intermission,” he said, and disappeared through the heavy velvet drapes the usher was closing over the exit. “You are a hopeless flirt,” Yves chided her. “It’s harmless and you have to admit that he is quite attractive.” Yves took her hand in his. “Just be careful, chérie. Lord Groton-Hames is no one’s fool. You cannot charm him into whatever web that delicious mind of yours may be spinning for him.” “You make me sound so insincere. I am simply—” “Doing what you do best when it comes to interacting with an attractive male. He admires you for more than your beauty, Jeanne. Perhaps you should take that as the greater compliment.” In spite of her love of the dance, Jeanne could not concentrate. She watched the duke walk down the aisle of the main floor of the theater drawing glances and whispered comments as he took a seat on the aisle. The house lights lowered and the curtain rose, but Jeanne was barely aware of the performance unfolding onstage. She was far more conscious of the fact

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that every time she glanced across the theater, the duke was looking not at the stage but up at her. She thought of what Yves had suggested. It was ridiculous to even imagine that this man might become her benefactor. On what basis? A compliment on a sketch she had done? Hardly. She could not deny that she was flattered by his attention. But in the world she had known such attention was usually romantic in nature. And wasn’t such an encounter the very circumstances she had vowed to avoid when she had fled to Paris in the first place? The duke was watching her and she turned so that there could be no doubt that she was studying him in return. They were two contestants for some unnamed prize taking the measure of their opponent. She did not know how or why, but she was quite sure that Lord Groton-Hames was destined to become a part of her life. As the lights came up and the audience rose as one to mingle in the aisles and lobby, Jeanne saw that the duke was not the only one looking up at her. Several people in adjoining boxes were clearly speculating about who she was and why the duke would give up his box to her for such a gala performance. Jeanne hated being the object of gossip and scandal. She’d had quite a large dose of that when her father had ruined them. She stood abruptly and brushed past Yves. “I have to…I must…” “Are you ill?” Yves was on his feet at once. “Not at all. I need some air. Please excuse me.” She bolted for the exit and ran straight into the starched white piqué vest of Lord Groton-Hames.

Chapter Four “Miss Witherspoon, are you all right?” The duke gently touched her bare shoulder as Jeanne found her balance. “Quite,” she assured him, although she was anything but. In spite of her determination not to be seduced by him, she was quite flustered by his genuine concern, not to mention his touch. “I just needed some air…water…” He led her to a tufted bench. “Wait here and I’ll bring you some. You’re looking quite pale.” If only Yves had followed her, but he’d gotten caught up in a throng of admiring women anxious to show off the gowns he had designed for them. Almost before she could think of her next move, the duke returned and handed her a cup of water. He waited for her to take a sip and then sat next to her. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Jeanne forced herself to focus on her surroundings—the grand theater, the well-dressed patrons, the thrill of the music and the dance. There had been a time when she’d thought she might never be a part of such an event again, yet here she was. And it was thanks to the man sitting next to her. “It’s quite wonderful, don’t you think? The ballet?” “I do. As a painter, I would imagine you view such things differently than others. Tell me what strikes you first.” He sat next to her and Jeanne noticed that others were watching them with interest.

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“I see color,” she replied. “Ah, the costuming and sets are magnificent.” “Not just actual color. There’s also color in the movement and the music.” He leaned closer. “I never considered that, but you’re right. There are certain…” “Strokes,” she offered as he fumbled for the proper word. “Exactly.” He smiled and in that smile Jeanne saw that they were not to be the opponents in some contest as she might have imagined. They were of the same mind when it came to the arts. They had found a connection, a mating of artistic souls. What Lord Groton-Hames saw in her was a kindred spirit, one with whom he might share his love and appreciation for art. The lights blinked, signaling the end of the intermission. The duke took her glass. “Miss Witherspoon, I am hosting a concert at my estate on Sunday. Would you do me the honor of attending?” She took note that he did not include Yves in the invitation. If she said yes it would be understood that she was accepting an engagement with him. “I will admit an ulterior motive. I would like you to see my art collection,” he added. “And with dozens of guests around, I thought that you might be more comfortable…” Jeanne smiled. “You saw my hesitation and have now made it impossible for me to refuse your kind invitation. Do you mind if Yves comes with me?” A slight frown skittered across his handsome features but he recovered immediately. “Of course. I’ll send my carriage for you on Sunday at three.” He walked with her to the entrance to his box. “Enjoy the final act.” “Thank you, your grace, and thank you for giving me such a wonderful evening.” “The first of many, I hope.” So, there it was. He was no different than any other man. Jeanne returned to her seat but could not have said what happened onstage.

Chapter Five Yves begged off attending the concert at the duke’s home. “Not my cup of tea.” “But how can I go unaccompanied?” “You are not unaccompanied. You are the duke’s guest. Do not tell me you would stand on ceremony when you have the opportunity for a personally guided tour of his collection?”

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“I thought you wanted to see his collection,” Jeanne pointed out. Yves smiled. “I do, but two hours of fugues and dirges is far too dear a price to pay. Another time.” The duke’s carriage arrived pulled by a perfectly matched team of horses. Inside she was surrounded by luxury and it was difficult not to reflect on the decision that had driven her to Paris in the first place. Gabriel Hunter had been a wealthy man. Perhaps not as wealthy as the duke and certainly with no title, but nevertheless if Jeanne had married Gabriel she would have wanted for nothing. Except true love. Her youth and the growing evidence that her father was about to lose everything had made the decision to break her engagement to Gabe all the more difficult. But Jeanne had seen the way Gabe looked at his parents’ housekeeper, Lucie. The man was so smitten that he could not hide his feelings. And Lucie had accomplished the one thing that Jeanne had never thought possible. She had brought Gabe back to God. Gabe had forgiven her father his transgressions and established a trust that would permit Jeanne’s parents to maintain a lifestyle that at least approximated their life before the downfall. Jeanne was well aware that he had done this because of their plan to marry, but even after she had relieved him of that commitment, he had not withdrawn the trust. His generosity and kindness touched her. After he and Lucie married and Jeanne had sent her best wishes to them both, Gabe had responded that indeed it was she who had given the greater gift and he had wished her every happiness. Every happiness, she thought as she felt the carriage turn off the cobbled street onto a graveled drive. She had come to Paris full of grand ideas. She would paint and frequent the famous salons where she would meet kindred souls. She had no plans to marry. If it happened, fine, but she would marry only for love. But now she had been in the city for nearly a year and money was tight. Each day brought more worry that she might soon have to return to the States and take up residence with her parents. This month her usual stipend had not yet arrived and she feared her father had fallen into old habits of borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. Or in this case, borrowing from his daughter to pay some creditor. “Whoa!” The carriage rolled to a smooth stop and within seconds the door opened. Expecting to see a footman or butler, Jeanne was speechless to see the duke himself waiting to assist her down from the carriage. “Welcome, Miss Witherspoon.” His smile was boyish and charming. After the shadowed coach the sun seemed inordinately bright and Jeanne blinked rapidly to adjust her vision, then realized that the duke might take the action as coyness or outright flirting. “Good afternoon, your grace.” She forced a modicum of reserve into her tone. “Such a lovely day.”

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“Frankly, I’m so relieved. My staff had their doubts about holding the concert outside in the courtyard but God has clearly favored us with a perfect afternoon. Your friend is not with you?” “He… No.” “Would it be unfair of me to say that I am not that disappointed?” “I find that it is never wrong to state your true feelings, your grace. It saves so much time.”

Chapter Six The afternoon flew by in a whirl of faces—surprised and even stunned faces. “Why, Jeanne Witherspoon, I didn’t know you knew the duke.” A dowager that Jeanne had met on several occasions when she had traveled to Europe with her parents had taken the seat next to her as the musicians were tuning their instruments. Jeanne saw the woman scan her costume and was glad she had worn her yellow silk organza for the occasion. “He’s a bit older than you are, my dear,” her mother’s friend continued. “Quite a bit.” Was the woman offering a warning or simply stating the fact? And what of it? So he was older. Could a woman not have male friends who were older? But she knew the answer. The answer was yes, as long as those males were attached to wives who were also Jeanne’s friend. Jeanne gave the woman a tight smile and turned her attention to her program while staff and guests alike sought the duke’s counsel. Jeanne could not help noticing that he treated everyone the same—from the stage manager who had encountered some problem to a man he had introduced as his cousin, Archduke something-or-other from Austria-Hungary. The concert was both uplifting and thought-provoking. Jeanne found herself following each movement closely, her spirits rising and falling with each change in tempo. Toward the end, a violin solo brought her to tears and the duke quietly offered his handkerchief to her. Embarrassed, she dabbed at her tears, then tucked the monogrammed linen into her drawstring purse. She would have it professionally laundered and returned. “Did you enjoy the concert?” the duke asked as he and Jeanne made their way up the aisle and into the vast reception hall following two encores. “Oh, so very much,” she gushed. “I really can’t thank you enough for including me today. I…” He was smiling at her, his gaze moving slowly over her face. She suddenly felt quite breathless and found herself unable to continue. He did not seem to notice. Instead he took her elbow and guided her toward an exit. “Come and see the collection.” Jeanne was well aware that once again heads turned as he ushered her into a spacious room lit with stained-glass skylights. A few other guests were walking the length of the gallery, stopping to admire the framed pieces that lined both walls from floor to ceiling. “It’s overwhelming,” she whispered.

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“Isn’t it? There’s far too much. I’m thinking of taking out that wall and expanding into the reception hall. At least then each work can have its proper place.” “That’s a brilliant idea. It’s so difficult to really see every piece when they are… Forgive me, your grace. I have no grounds to offer advice or criticism.” “But you do. You are an artist. What if this were a portrait you had done and you came here and saw it cheek to jowl with these other portraits?” He pointed to a portrait and Jeanne gasped. “That’s Renoir’s work.” “Indeed.” “And over there, is that—oh my, it is. Is it real?” She approached another painting as if she were in the presence of royalty. “If you’re asking if it’s an original, then yes, it’s quite real.” He waited for her to study the painting more closely, then added, “I would like to offer you a proposition, Miss Witherspoon.”

Chapter Seven Jeanne stiffened. In the year she had been in Paris she had met several men who seemed to believe that after a brief acquaintance they might take liberties. She was disappointed that Lord Groton-Hames might be such a man. “Perhaps we should return to the reception,” she suggested, noticing that they were now alone in the gallery. “If you like, but…” Jeanne was so infuriated that this man might actually think that because she was American or because her family had suffered some setbacks or… “I wanted to ask if you might consider allowing me to sit for a portrait,” he said. “There was something in your sketches of Mr. LeClercq that struck me as unique.” “Now you are teasing me, your grace. There must be any number of professionally trained artists that you know.” “Yes, but their work is pedestrian. They are bound by the latest trends in style. I want this portrait to be unique.” She was curious in spite of her reservations. “And why is it important for this portrait to be something uncommon?” “I have my reasons. Will you do me the honor?” “I suppose I could do a few sketches and then…” “Splendid. We can start tomorrow.” He motioned for his butler. “Charles, this is Miss Witherspoon and she is going to paint my portrait. You must see that she has everything she needs for the work.” “I’m doing a few sketches,” Jeanne corrected. “Where shall we work? Do you have a studio? I could come there.”

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“Perhaps I could come here, your grace, if that would not inconvenience you.” “Not at all. Charles, she will need space to work and supplies.” Charles nodded and glanced toward the front hallway. The duke took his cue. “I see some of my guests are preparing to depart so I’ll leave it to the two of you to work things out.” And he was gone. “Is he always so…” Jeanne searched for a word. “Decisive?” Charles suggested. He watched his employer with obvious fondness. “His lordship is a man of action. These past two years have been difficult for him.” Jeanne was tempted to ask how so, but she would never stoop to gossiping with a servant. “Is there a solarium, Charles?” “Yes, mademoiselle. Would you care to see it?” “Please. I expect the light will be best there.” She followed Charles through a side door into a veritable paradise. “Oh, my,” she whispered as she turned slowly to take in the glass-enclosed room filled with orchids and palms and ferns. “Will this do?” “It’s perfect, and for the sketches I have the materials I need. Thank you so much, Charles.” “My pleasure, mademoiselle.” Charles stopped short of clicking the heels of his polished shoes together and saluting before leaving the room. Jeanne took advantage of the opportunity to position one small chair in such a way that it caught the best light. Of course, if they worked in the morning… “Are you pleased?” The duke was leaning against the doorway watching her. The day had been a complete success and yet Jeanne could not help noticing the same sadness she had observed when they first met. Jeanne had to resist the urge to touch his cheek and then she realized they were staring at each other, a hundred unanswered questions flashing between them as if riding some electric current. Yes, your grace, I am most pleased. And although she had not spoken aloud, he seemed to understand. His smile broadened and touched those sad eyes. “As am I.”

Chapter Eight “Are you honestly suggesting that I charge the duke for these sketches, Yves?” They were in his salon where Yves was draping a heavy brocade fabric on a dress dummy. “I mean, what would that make me?” “Someone who knows the true value of her talent.” “Surely there are measures that are not so…” “Boorish?” Yves shrugged. “Possibly.” He wrestled with the stiff fabric, then threw it aside. “Chérie, you have a gift and now that talent has garnered the attention of one of Europe’s most renowned art collectors. Do you not understand what this could mean for your future? For your fortune?”

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“I hardly see how making a few quick charcoal sketches…” “The sketches are but a means to an end. It will be the portrait that will establish your reputation. If the duke is pleased then others will scurry around wanting first claim to having their portraits painted by the same artist as the duke. You’ll make thousands. Certainly enough to establish your independence for the foreseeable future.” It was so very tempting. But outward appearances aside, Jeanne Witherspoon was devoutly religious and even the hint of temptation sent her into a flurry of self-examination. “Times are changing, ma chérie. Many women today are finding their own way in the world, working, building personal fortunes—either inherited or earned—and using those funds for the greater good.” Jeanne fingered the silk brocade, lost in thought. “It would be nice to be the giver instead of always the recipient,” she ventured. “Do you really think I might build a career painting portraits?” Yves shrugged. “Ask yourself what would be the worst thing that could happen here. The duke does not like the sketches and decides not to choose you to do his portrait. There’s nothing lost in that, is there?” “No, but…” “And if he does like the sketches and chooses you? Voilà! Your future is launched.” Jeanne smiled as the full impact of what could come of all this rushed over her. “Oh, Yves, I always believed God brought me to Paris for a purpose. Perhaps this is that purpose?” “One cannot say for sure unless one gives it a try.” Jeanne picked up her sketchpad and waved to her friend as she left the salon. Outside she dodged carts and carriages as she crossed the busy Rue Royale on her way back to the small room she had rented mostly for its good light and tiny balcony. “I must work,” she told herself again and again as she ran up the three flights of stairs. In her room, she swept the contents littering the one small table onto the unmade bed and dragged the table closer to the window. She would begin by trying to draw the duke from memory. Her fingers flew across the sketchpad. Sometimes she pressed so hard on the charcoal that it crumbled and she threw the piece aside and rummaged through her cloth bag for another. It was his eyes that came back to her first. That incredible sadness that seemed to lurk there even when he was smiling. She used broad strokes to create the forehead, the ridge of dark brows that sheltered the eyes. And then the eyes themselves—deep-set, piercing, shadowed by a fan of lashes. Page after page she filled with her attempts to capture that unique expressive feature. The light softened into dusk. The street below quieted, the traffic reduced to only the occasional passing carriage. And now she worked in the dark, blindly, each stroke of the charcoal

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accompanied by a prayer that she might indeed be gifted enough to succeed in this. That the duke would see her work as worthy.

Chapter Nine Jeanne arrived at the duke’s home armed with her sketchbook and a more than ample supply of charcoal. She followed Charles to the solarium where the butler assisted her in positioning the wrought-iron garden chair in the best light. And then she waited. And waited. After half an hour she began to lose patience. Charles arrived with a tea tray and the duke’s apologies for the delay. Three quarters of an hour after that Jeanne was considering whether or not she should simply pack up and leave. “A bit of common courtesy, surely,” she fumed as she threw supplies into her canvas satchel and ripped off the smock she always wore to protect her clothing from smudges of pastel or charcoal. “You’re quite right, Miss Witherspoon.” She whirled around. He was wearing riding clothes, his hair wind-tousled, his skin rouged by the elements. “You were riding?” She could not control her temper. Duke or no duke, he had taken her time and he had taken her for granted. “I ride every morning,” he said, moving closer as if to prevent her from leaving. In these casual clothes he was even more handsome than he’d been in formal wear. He really was the most attractive man she’d ever met. “Well, perhaps you might keep your riding engagement in mind before making another appointment,” she grumbled. “And if I told you the horse of my companion broke away and I had to take chase?” His companion. He had a companion? “We can do this another time, your grace,” she said. “Clearly your morning has taken an unexpected turn. I’ll just see myself out.” “Do you have another engagement before lunch?” “No, but…” “Nor do I.” He sat down in the chair. “It appears, Miss Witherspoon, that we have the rest of the morning. How shall we begin?” Jeanne was speechless. Were all men so self-assured? So oblivious to the fact that a woman’s time had value regardless of whether or not she had formal plans? Gabriel Hunter had made such assumptions and now here was this man—this duke… He arched an eyebrow and smiled. “I’ve upset you and I apologize.” Jeanne weighed her options. She could leave in a fit of pique and never know if she might have made her name as a true artist. Or she could stay, make the sketches and hope he saw enough in them to assign her the task of painting his portrait. “Not at all,” she said sweetly as she opened her sketchpad to a fresh sheet and laid it aside while she put on her smock. “What are these?” He had picked up the sketchbook and turned the pages back to the beginning—to the sketches she had done the evening before. “When did you do these?” he asked as he slowly turned the pages.

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“I did them from memory. It’s an exercise I use before a session. Please, they aren’t meant for others. Just something I do, like a musician practicing scales.” “And yet they are quite remarkable. It’s a bit like looking in a mirror.” “Oh, no, your grace. They are all wrong.” She leaned over his shoulder and pointed. “See, the forehead is too pronounced and the…” He turned and looked up at her and she realized that their faces were but a breath apart. She stepped away and finished buttoning her smock. “They are not right,” she said. “Do not belittle your talent, Jeanne. God has blessed you with a very special gift and there is nothing to be gained by denigrating that blessing.” Jeanne. She thought no one had ever uttered her name with more respect or more genuine admiration than he had. “You are very kind to say so, your grace.” “August,” he corrected. “We seem destined to spend a great many hours together, Jeanne, and I do hope those hours will evolve into a deep friendship. I would prefer not to stand on ceremony, if that is all right with you.” “Yes. That would be lovely—August.”

Chapter Ten August. The name suited him. Like the calendar month, he was in the fullness of his life. There was a power and certainty in his movements, a confidence without arrogance in the way he spoke with others regardless of their station in life, and a sense that he understood all too well that life was fleeting. Jeanne’s charcoal seemed to move with a mind of its own. Her strokes had never been so sure. She felt a sense of exhilaration and had to restrain herself from pouring out her pure joy by laughing. “What is it?” August asked, his own mouth twitching with amusement. “You look as if you have just learned the most delicious secret.” “It’s coming so freely—the work. It doesn’t always happen that way. And you really must stop watching me so intently, your—August. You would hardly want your portrait to appear as if you were boring holes into the viewer.” She caught herself and added, “If I am fortunate enough to paint you, of course.” He waved a hand and shifted in the small chair. “The decision to accept my commission for a portrait is already in your hands.” For the first time since she’d begun sketching, Jeanne’s hand paused. “You are offering me a commission?” “Assuming I can meet your price,” August replied. “What is your fee, Jeanne?” Jeanne hesitated. Regardless of what Yves had said, the idea of charging for her work was still so foreign to her. And where was she to work? Once the sketches were done, surely the duke would expect her to work from those. He was a busy man and could hardly afford to spend hours sitting for a portrait. Besides, if August became a paying customer then could they still be friends? Her father had always advised against doing business with friends. “Now I have insulted you,” August said. “I apologize.”

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“Not at all. It’s just that my accommodations are quite cramped. I’ll need to find studio space in which to work and supplies and…” “You could work here. There are any number of spaces on the property that might fill the bill. As for supplies, give Charles a list and he will make sure they are at your disposal.” “You are too generous, August.” “I enjoy encouraging talented people, Jeanne. Will you indulge me?” Somehow he had taken a potentially awkward moment and turned it into a situation where she appeared to be doing him the favor. “Very well, but…” “No. You have agreed and that’s the end of it.” He crossed and then uncrossed and stretched his long legs encased in fitted riding boots and jodhpurs. Jeanne set her charcoal and pad down and flexed her cramped fingers. “Are you uncomfortable? Well, of course you are. That chair is meant for a momentary respite, not posing for over an hour—dear me, where has the morning gone?” She began gathering her supplies and preparing to leave. “Someone should paint you, Jeanne.” He was standing quite close to her. So close that she felt his breath stir a tendril of her hair when he spoke. Then he took her hand and started for the door. “Come, I want to show you something.”

Chapter Eleven The painting August showed her took her breath away. A young girl gathering firewood with her grandfather looked up and directly into the eyes of any observer. It was mesmerizing. “Not a portrait in the formal sense,” August said, “and yet I feel as if I could tell you whole tales of this girl and the life she’s led.” “Exactly,” Jeanne whispered as she moved closer to the work to study the artist’s brush stroke, learn how such clarity was possible. “Oh, August, it’s so wonderful. I could happily spend the day here studying it in every light.” “It reminds me of your work, Jeanne. You have that same ability to capture the inner light of your subject. How do you do that? You know very little of me and yet in your sketches—even those you did from memory—it’s as if you have seen into the very core of my thoughts and fears.” Jeanne laughed to stem her embarrassment at his compliments. “Oh, August, what have you to fear? Look around you. You are surrounded by beauty and people who admire you and…” “Things are not always as they seem.” Jeanne sobered. She knew all too well how life could have all the outward appearances of everything being all right while underneath… “No, they are not.” She turned her attention back to the painting. “Do you mind if I stay here for a bit and study the work?” “Stay as long as you wish. Unfortunately I have another engagement.”

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Ah, yes, the companion whose horse had bolted. Jeanne quelled a sudden rush of jealousy. “Of course. Shall I…shall we…” He spoke at the same moment. “Hopefully my niece has recovered from the fright of her runaway horse. I promised to take her to lunch. Tomorrow, then? At the same time? And I promise not to be late.” His smile had the power to make any woman’s heart skip a beat. He was the kind of man who would turn heads if he were a dockworker or farmer. And yet it was not his outward appearance that drew Jeanne to him. It was his innate kindness and the aura of loneliness and isolation that seemed to surround him. She could empathize with that because despite her bravado, Jeanne felt keenly that something was missing in her life. “Jeanne?” She realized that she had not responded to his question. “Tomorrow. Yes.” “And we can begin the painting?” “Oh, surely you’ll need more sketches. You’ll want to consider the work of others. You’ll…” He frowned. “I want you, Jeanne. I thought we were decided on that.” “Yes, but…” Unable to find the words she needed, she fanned the air with one hand as if clearing a space so she could illustrate her concerns. August caught her hand and stilled it. “Never be afraid of the talent God has given you, Jeanne. It is His gift to you and He expects you to make use of it to the fullest.” The parable of the man given one talent and the man given ten flashed through Jeanne’s brain. One of them had wasted his gift while the other… She smiled up at the duke who was still observing her closely. “I shall not waste my talent, August. I only hope that you—and God—will be pleased with the effort.” He was still holding her hand, his thumb tracing a pattern over her fingers. Suddenly and without warning he raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Tomorrow, then,” he murmured and hurried away. Jeanne stood riveted to the spot where he had left her, her hand still throbbing with the warmth of his touch, the unexpected pleasure of his kiss. “Tomorrow,” she murmured as she watched him go.

Chapter Twelve For the next two weeks Jeanne settled happily into a routine that involved appearing at the duke’s home every morning, working on the portrait until noon and sharing lunch in the studio or solarium. Afterward August always left to attend some business matter or the other while Jeanne returned to the studio. By the time she returned home, she was pleasantly exhausted and eager to tell Yves about her day with the duke. “Did you know that he once sailed around the world?” she gushed one evening. “Can you imagine?”

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“Has he spoken at all about his late fiancée?” “Not really.” Jeanne’s defenses went on alert. It was the one area the duke refused to discuss even though Jeanne had told him all about her relationship with Gabriel Hunter. Whenever she broached the subject, he would dismiss it with some platitude like, “She was troubled.” Or, “She led a difficult life.” “Do you want to know what is said about the betrothal and the lady’s unfortunate demise?” “I won’t stoop to gossip,” she replied archly. “Hardly gossip. There was a court inquiry. The details were widely reported.” Jeanne hesitated, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Well, in that case…” Yves grinned. “Admit it. The man has charmed you and you want to know everything about him.” “I will admit that I may have misjudged him in the beginning. I am so used to men who are interested in me only as an attractive partner with whom to impress their friends. August is different.” “If you say so.” “All right, tell me the facts as you know them.” Yves leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The duke and his bride-to-be went for a sail on the Rhine. As I mentioned before, she and her family were related on the Austrian-Hungarian side of the duke’s lineage.” “They went for a sail and what happened?” “She drowned.” “How? Surely there were precautions taken—the crew? August?” “There was no crew and she jumped when August wasn’t looking. At least that was his report to the authorities.” Yves shrugged. “Perhaps she simply fell.” “Her body was recovered with bags of stones tied to her waist and in her pockets.” “You cannot possibly think that August would deliberately…” “Ah, now we come to the gossip. Do you want to hear it or not?” Jeanne squeezed her eyes closed. In her youth she had been guilty of spreading gossip about others. It was only when her father’s business failed and she found herself and her family the objects of that nasty practice that she realized how devastatingly wrong she had been to ever think the practice innocent fun. Yves apparently took her silence for agreement and continued. “Just a few days before the outing, it is said the young woman had learned she would never be able to conceive. The duke is known to be extraordinarily fond of children. His nieces and nephews clearly occupy a large place in his heart. Rumor had it that he was quite anxious to start a family of his own—a fact he had no doubt relayed to his beloved.” “And so she killed herself? But why? August would have loved her regardless.”

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“And how can you know such a thing?” “I know August,” she declared and her look dared Yves to contradict her. He sighed heavily. “Chérie, you must be careful. In the last few months rumor has it that his lordship has begun the search for a new bride. Someone young and vibrant who might give him the heirs he so desperately wants.” Yves chewed on his lower lip for several seconds. It was clear he was considering his next statement carefully. “Gossip has it that he has set his sights on you as the perfect candidate to bear his children.”

Chapter Thirteen The very idea that August might think of her as anything other than a friend and the artist he had selected to paint his portrait was so ludicrous that Jeanne could not help herself, she burst out laughing. “Oh, Yves, don’t be ridiculous. August and I have known each other for less than a month. I doubt very much that he’s so desperate for female companionship that he would settle on the first woman to cross his path. And besides, he would never choose someone like me. He has a title and when he marries he will choose someone of his own class.” Yves arched an eyebrow. “Nevertheless you and August appear to have become quite close quite quickly.” “I am painting his portrait and he is a patron of the arts. He has…encouraged me as he might any new artist he viewed as gifted.” “But you are beginning to care for him, ma chérie.” He paid the waiter and stood. “I must go, but I urge you to think about what I have said. There is always a grain of truth to any rumor, Jeanne. Just be careful.” *** Jeanne was awake most of the night. Could Yves be right? Had she misread the situation so completely? August had shown nothing but respect and admiration for her work. But was it possible that he was attracted to her romantically? And was it true that she had come to care for him as more than a subject for her work? After she had broken off her engagement to Gabriel she had told herself she would never marry. But these past weeks with the duke had made her reconsider. She was attracted to his kindness, his sincerity and, yes, his virility. “Oh, this is maddening,” she screamed, muffling her voice with a pillow. “Why would he choose me—a commoner—with no fortune or social standing?” Jeanne studied the dozens of sketches she’d made of August. Details of his hands, his mouth, his eyes. Could she have romanticized her view of the man? She could not deny that she was drawn to him, more and more as the days went by. Earlier that day while working on his portrait, she had dropped her palette and splotches of paint had spattered onto his trouser leg. She had been mortified at her clumsiness, kneeling to dab at the spots with a rag soaked in

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the solution she used to clean her brushes. Her action had only made matters worse, but he had not reprimanded her. He had laughed while she had been mortified. “Oh, August, I’ve made such a mess.” He had leaned down and gently taken her by the elbows to draw her to her feet. When she was standing he did not release her and they were near enough to embrace—to kiss. “It’s a piece of fabric, Jeanne,” he’d said, cupping her cheek with his palm. He certainly could have kissed her then and she would not have refused him, but he had not. They were friends, fellow art lovers. “An expensive piece of fabric,” she’d replied, stepping away as she’d tried to steady herself in the wake of the flood of emotions she had felt being so near to him. “Ah, but you’ve told me that you don’t care about money. If you did you would have stayed with that man you almost married in America.” “No, I would not have—even for money.” He had looked away then, stepped over to an orchid as if to admire its bloom. “Would you have stayed for love?” So there it was. She had told him the story of her father’s downfall, told him of her choice to come to Paris to paint rather than marry her father’s wealthy business partner. He knew everything about her. But what did she really know of him? Tomorrow, first thing, she would insist that he tell her everything.

Chapter Fourteen The following morning Jeanne arrived early and bypassed the garden path that led to the little studio August had set up for her in the greenhouse. Instead she walked straight to the front door and banged the ornately cast knocker several times. “Miss Witherspoon.” Charles was as implacable as ever but clearly curious as to her sudden appearance at the front door. “I’m afraid his lordship is otherwise engaged. Did he not mention that he would be unable to pose for you this morning?” She had forgotten. “Yes…no…I’ll wait.” She placed her canvas bag and sketchbook on one of two tufted leather benches in the foyer and then sat down. Now Charles seemed to unravel a bit. “It could be some time before his lordship…” “I’ll wait,” Jeanne repeated. “Thank you, Charles.” “Very well, miss.” Charles cast an eye toward the closed doors of August’s library. “Perhaps a cup of tea while you wait?” “Thank you. That would be very nice.”

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Clearly relieved to have some mission to accomplish, Charles glided down the narrow corridor that led to the kitchen. A large clock ticked off the seconds and at the top of the double spiral staircase Jeanne saw two housemaids polishing the furnishings and brass candelabra on the landing. “She’s quite pretty,” one of them said. Jeanne strained to hear their conversation and was grateful that August’s household staff was mostly English. “Do you think he’ll marry her?” “Well, I heard that her family fortune is gone and she came to Paris to find a rich husband. The duke would certainly be the perfect candidate.” Jeanne bristled. Could it be true? Did people actually believe she was trying to seduce the duke into marrying her? She was on her feet and at the foot of the stairway instantly, but the servants had moved on to another floor. From the library came a thud followed by childish giggles followed by a crash and a shout. She edged toward the door and eased it open a crack. Three children huddled under the large heavy table in the center of the room. The stand that normally held an enormous dictionary had toppled over. Piles of maps and books were scattered across the floor. Surely she should intercede. These children were destroying valuable property. She stepped into the room, banging the door back and startling the giggling children. “Now see here,” she began, but the words were barely out before she was grabbed from behind and lifted off her feet. “Put me down this instant,” she ordered, twisting in the arms of her captor so she could face him directly. “August?” His shirtsleeves were rolled back and he wore no collar, his hair tousled, a blindfold shielding his eyes. His arms tightened around her as he set her down and then pushed the blindfold onto his forehead. “Uncle Augie, you look like a pirate,” one of the children exclaimed. “She’s quite right,” Jeanne said, trying hard to stem the tide of her own giggles. “Have you come to play?” Another of the children tugged at her skirt. Jeanne looked down and into the eyes of a boy of six or seven. “What is the game?” “Blindman’s Bluff,” the older child, a girl, declared. “Now that Uncle has captured you, that makes you ‘it.’” August grinned as he held out the silk blindfold, and Jeanne could not help herself. She grinned back and donned the blindfold. The children squealed with delight and scampered away while August held her shoulders and turned her around several times to disorient her. When she felt him let her go she whirled around, certain he would still be there and she could tag him. But her hands grabbed only air. Slowly she made her way around the grand room, bumping into furniture and knocking over things as she went. She could easily have followed the children’s giggles and tagged one of them, but she had larger prey in mind. Her hand closed around something solid that felt like a muscular arm. “Aha,” she cried and ripped off the blindfold to discover she had tagged a suit of armor.

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Chapter Fifteen The children collapsed in peals of laughter. Jeanne curtsied to the suit of armor. “Sir, while I have not had the pleasure, I do believe you are now officially ‘it.’” She tied the blindfold over the headpiece of the armor then turned to the children who were now watching her with fascination. “What? You don’t believe he can play?” “He’s not real,” the six-year-old whispered. “Truly?” Jeanne knocked on the metal forehead. “Hello? Anyone at home?” The children giggled, then took up the new game tapping on the armored legs and arms and calling for someone to come out. “Leave me alone,” a deep voice intoned, and both the children and Jeanne leaped away with a shriek. August stepped out from behind the armored statue and smiled. “I believe introductions are in order,” he said. “Miss Witherspoon, this is my niece, Samantha, and those two rowdies are my nephews, Frederick and Otto.” The children bowed and curtsied then studied Jeanne more closely. “You’re American,” Samantha guessed. “And pretty,” the youngest, Otto, added. “And fun.” Frederick grinned. “Do you play other sports?” “Miss Witherspoon is an artist,” August explained. “She paints pictures of people like me.” “I have my sketchbook with me,” Jeanne said. “Shall I sketch the three of you?” “Yes, please!” all three children shouted. “Then while I get my things and have a word with your uncle, you should put this library back in order, don’t you think?” The children looked disappointed and glanced at August. But he just shrugged. “It sounds like a fair trade to me.” With dramatic sighs, the children set to work. Jeanne went into the foyer to retrieve her bag and sketchbook. “I thought we had agreed not to work today, but I’m so glad you came anyway.” She hadn’t realized that August had followed her, and closed the doors to the library behind him. So here it was, the moment she had imagined throughout the long, sleepless night. She handed him the roll of sketches. “To give you these.” “I don’t understand.”

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“I cannot finish the painting, your grace.” “Jeanne…” “I had thought—hoped—that you had chosen me on the basis of my talent. I have recently learned that there were other motives.” He laid the sketches aside and ran his hand through his hair. “What motives? What…” A light dawned somewhere in the depths of those eyes she had come to cherish. He frowned. “I would never have thought that you of all people would be swayed by idle gossip, Jeanne.” “People say you wish to marry and have children—heirs. Is that gossip?” “Of course I wish to have a family, but not just any family…not just any wife.” “But a younger wife and one with a certain amount of social grace would suit your purposes.” “Stop this,” he ordered as he took her by the shoulders and forced her to face him. “You know me.” Jeanne refused to struggle against his hold. “I have spent hours painting you, telling you tales of my life. I know very little of yours.” “But you do know me,” he argued. “It is there in your work. You have seen…” “What?” she challenged, just as the library door opened. “Will you draw us now, Miss Witherspoon?”

Chapter Sixteen At the same moment the children appeared, so did Charles. “Your sister and her guests are waiting for you to join them, your lordship. I’ve made arrangements for the children to have their lunch in the garden.” “We’re having our portrait done,” Otto informed Charles. “Perhaps Miss Witherspoon would like her lunch served in the garden as well, then?” Charles directed this to his employer. “I’m not sure Miss Witherspoon will be staying.” All eyes swung to Jeanne. How could she disappoint these dear children? Surely she and August could resolve their problem later. “Lunch in the garden would be lovely.” Once they had devoured their lunch and Jeanne had made a couple of sketches, both boys lost interest in having their portrait done and went off to search for slugs and snails. But Samantha was clearly fascinated by the way a few quick strokes could evolve into a recognizable likeness. “It’s amazing,” she said as she watched Jeanne work. Jeanne handed her the sketchbook and charcoal. “Try it.” “What shall I draw?”

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“Draw me.” Jeanne struck a pose designed to make the girl smile. In moments, the two of them were lost in the exercise, until Jeanne saw August coming their way. “Perhaps we should stop for today,” she suggested. “But could we practice again tomorrow?” “Miss Witherspoon is quite busy, Samantha. Perhaps…” “I’ll see what I can do,” Jeanne said at the same moment. The look she gave August pleaded with him not to draw his niece into their problem. “Go,” August told Samantha. “Your mother wants you to meet her friends.” They watched the girl run toward the mansion. Jeanne found it difficult to look at August. Her feelings for the man were in such turmoil. “Could we walk together for a bit, Jeanne?” She nodded and he clasped his hands behind his back as if to keep them under control. He had changed into business attire and once again looked every inch the powerful man that he was. Had it been only that morning that he had seemed so boyish and approachable? “If you like I could come tomorrow and give Samantha another lesson, your grace,” Jeanne said, her voice as stiff and formal as her posture. “Please stop that, Jeanne. You claim not to know me at all, even after these hours we have spent together. What is it that you want to know?” “Oh, August, what does it matter?” His eyes darkened. “You want to know what everyone wants to know—what happened the day of the sailing accident.” “It’s none of my business,” she protested. “You want to know how she died.” His tone was that of a man devoid of feelings. “No. I want you to tell me why this portrait is so important to you and why you have selected me as the artist.” “And if I tell you, will you stay? Will you finish the work? And after that, will you…” “All right, I will complete the portrait—whether you choose to answer me or not.” “Why?” “Because I gave you my word and I am a woman who honors her promises.” “And I am a man who honors his,” he replied. “Walk with me and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Chapter Seventeen August led her to an arbor bench and waited for her to sit. He drew in a deep breath and watched a squirrel scurry away. “Where to begin,” he murmured.

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“Begin with the painting,” Jeanne replied, realizing that for reasons she did not fully understand she wanted to make this as easy as possible for him. “The portrait is to hang in a gallery in the Musée d’Orsay planned for the exhibition at the turn of the century. I am donating my collection to the museum.” “Oh, August, that’s so incredibly generous of you and all the more reason you should have some renowned artist doing your portrait.” “Which brings us to my choice of you. That day at the café I saw how you had captured LeClercq’s inner spirit as well as his outward features. He has a certain elfin quality and it was right there in your simple sketch.” “And what inner trait is it that you so need for total strangers seeing your portrait to recognize?” “Innocence,” he replied and took a seat on the small bench so that they were facing each other. “Jeanne, I want people to know when they look at that portrait that I had nothing to do with Gerta’s death.” “But Yves said there was an inquiry and you were exonerated.” “Officially, perhaps, but in the minds of others? So many believe that it was my social position and wealth that swayed the decision.” Jeanne cupped his face in her palms and forced him to meet her gaze. She stared into his eyes for several long seconds. “Tell me what happened that day.” “Gerta proposed a sailing trip. She had packed a picnic and asked me not to take a crew because she wanted me all to herself. I told her the weather was predicted to turn by the afternoon, but she insisted.” “Was this unusual behavior?” “In hindsight, yes. Gerta was given to moods of sadness and depression and she was especially gay on this particular day. I think I was so happy to see her looking so radiant and contented I would have done anything she asked.” “So you went sailing.” “It was quite calm at first but then the wind picked up and the sky started to darken. I told her I thought we must go back but she begged to continue. Looking back, I can see everything I missed that day.” His eyes filled with tears and Jeanne brushed them away with her thumbs. “Go on.” “She went forward to set up the picnic. I called to her to be careful, that I would find a cove where we could picnic and wait out the storm. She looked back at me and lifted her hand—I thought in agreement, but I now know it was in farewell.” “She jumped?” “Yes, while I was bringing the boat about. I didn’t hear the splash and didn’t realize she was gone. Then I thought she had been knocked overboard. I was frantic. I anchored the boat as quickly as possible and jumped in to find her. I dove and dove, but the wind had stirred up the silt in the water and it was impossible to see. Some fishermen in the area helped, but it was of no use.” “How do you know she didn’t fall overboard, that it wasn’t all a terrible accident?”

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“Because…” His voice broke. “Because when I climbed back aboard and saw the picnic basket, it was open and empty. I looked around but there were no signs of a picnic. I had carried that basket aboard and it had been quite heavy. I had teased her about it. Then when her body was finally found there were sacks of stones tied around her waist and inside her pockets." Jeanne acted purely from instinct as she pulled August into her arms and held him. “You must have loved her very much.” “That’s the point, Jeanne. I didn’t love her at all.”

Chapter Eighteen “But you felt affection that might have someday…” “The marriage was arranged—political and financial in nature. Complicated, but suffice it to say that Gerta and I were strangers in so many ways, just beginning to get acquainted.” He stood and paced back and forth before her, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Might I have come to love her? Who can say? I prayed nightly that we might forge a union that would be strong and offer our children the opportunities we had both known.” “And what of those children? She could not conceive and…” “That was gossip. No one ever knew—how could they? There had been no doctor’s report, no accident or illness that might have proven such a thing. And yet in their search for motives, that is what the gossips settled upon. That because she could not give me an heir…” “And yet you love children,” Jeanne reminded him. “It’s so obvious in the way you are with your sister’s children.” “Of course. What man doesn’t long for a wife and family? A true home—not some…” He waved a hand in the direction of his mansion. “Not some mausoleum devoid of activity and laughter and life.” “Why did you settle here in Paris instead of returning to London?” “The people here did not know me and the French are more forgiving in some ways. Of course, I had no idea that the rumors would haunt me, follow me no matter where I settled.” Jeanne took several moments to digest everything he had told her. Did she believe him? Yes. Why? She could not say, but there was not a doubt in her mind that he had told her the truth. “August?” “Yes.” He sounded distracted, his voice clipped and impatient. “Could we go to the studio? I’d like to work on the portrait.” His surprise was almost comical. “Right now?” “If you have the time. Otherwise I can work alone—from memory.” “Memory of what?” Jeanne stood and touched his cheek. “Of the truth I now see in your eyes.” He captured her hand in his. “You believe me,” he whispered, and it was not a question. “Oh, Jeanne, if only our paths had crossed sooner. If only…”

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She gently pulled her hand free. “It would not have been the same, August. Each of us in our way had to endure certain trials. It was those challenges that led us to where we are today. It is your trust that gives me the confidence to complete the work we have begun.” She laughed and tugged at his sleeve. “Now come along before we lose the light.” But he did not move. Instead he touched her hair with the tips of his fingers, then traced one finger down her cheek to her lips. “We have become quite a team, Miss Witherspoon.” Her fingers tightened around his sleeve and when he bent to kiss her she did not step away.

Chapter Nineteen For the next several weeks Jeanne and August were inseparable. When they weren’t working together on the portrait, they were walking in the garden, bundled now against an autumn chill, their heads bent close as they discussed events of the day and family news and art. They dined together every evening and accepted every invitation as a couple. Yves reported that they were quite the talk of Paris. “I don’t care,” she told him. “Let the old gossipmongers think what they will.” “Has he proposed yet?” “Not yet.” “Do you think he will?” “Yes, because I know that he loves me as I love him.” “And if he doesn’t propose?” “Oh, Yves, why must you spoil my happiness by speculating about how it will all end?” “Don’t you wish to marry?” “I wish to be happy and content and spend my time with people who respect me and love me for exactly who I am. People like you.” “And his lordship?” “Yes.” “You are in love with him.” Yves sighed heavily as if this were the worst possible news. Jeanne smiled. “And I believe that he loves me in return. I thought I had learned from Gabriel what it meant to be loved. But all he had to offer were the trappings of love—betrothal, a grand wedding and such. With August I feel as if I am in the midst of something so precious that I must treasure every minute we share." “And if he breaks your heart?” “Then I must count on you to be here to help mend it,” she said as she gave her friend a quick peck on the cheek. “I must go.”

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August was waiting for her at the bridge. He was staring down into the Seine and she could not help but wonder if he was thinking about another river, another day when tragedy had struck. But then he glanced up as if by some signal he had become aware that she was in the area. In his smile she saw that he had not been mourning the past. In his smile she saw that he was thinking only of her—of them. “You’re late but because you are so beautiful and I am mad about you, I forgive you.” He signaled a hackney and gave the driver an address. “You’re being very mysterious, August. Where are we going?” “Patience.” But he was the one leaning forward as if in doing so he might shorten the journey. “Ah, here we are.” While August paid the driver, Jeanne stepped out of the carriage and saw that they were at the base of the Eiffel Tower. “August?” “Come or we shall lose the light,” he said. The elevator lifted them through the scaffolding past the first level and on to the second. When Jeanne hesitated August held out his hand to her. “I’m here,” he said. “I’ll always be here for you, darling.” Jeanne grasped his hand and tentatively made her way to the railing that surrounded the landing. What she saw took her breath away. To the west the sun was a scarlet orb surrounded by vermilion clouds as it slid into the horizon. To the east lights began to twinkle across the city breaking through the dusk like fireflies in a garden. “Oh, August, it’s perfect.” “Jeanne, there are a thousand lights out there and at least as many reasons why I should never dare ask you this, but I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love another human being. Will you do me the incredible honor of becoming my wife?” “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, a thousand times yes. I will marry you, Lord Groton-Hames.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Take some time,” he said. “Think of the years…” “Yes, the years we have already missed and those we can now share. The answer is yes, my darling. Let’s not waste a moment.”

Chapter Twenty To Jeanne’s delight, several of her friends from America accepted the invitation to her spring wedding. She was especially delighted when Gabriel and his wife, Lucie, were among those who came to Paris. “I could not be happier for you, Jeanne,” Gabe told her. “I thank God every day that you had the courage to see things as they were between us and send us both on our way to discover true happiness.” In the flurry of activity that preceded the wedding, Lucie and Jeanne became fast friends. The two women spent hours together as Lucie sewed on the tiny pearls that lined the yards of taffeta for Jeanne’s gown. And it was Lucie who first noticed that Jeanne’s bubbly demeanor had changed from natural to forced just two days before the ceremony. “Nerves,” Jeanne assured her, but Lucie was not fooled. “What did the doctor say?”

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August had insisted on calling a doctor after Jeanne complained of a slight fever and some stomach cramping. “He…” Suddenly Jeanne began to sob. “I can’t…I must…but I love him…” “Sh-h-h.” Lucie cradled her like a child. “Are you seriously ill?” “He did a full examination and he says…he found…” The horror Jeanne had felt when she’d heard the news washed over her. “I cannot have children. Oh, Lucie, August has dreamed of a family for so long and…” “It’s one opinion,” Lucie reasoned. “My mother confirmed the news. When I was a child I had a riding accident—I barely remember. She has known all along. I’ve written this note explaining everything. Will you give it to August for me?” “No. You can’t solve things by running away, Jeanne. This man loves you. I know that as surely as I know Gabe loves me. You owe him the opportunity to hear the news and work through a solution together.” “But it’s because I love him that—” “Then stop protecting him. I am going to send him to you. You have time to run if that’s your plan.” And she was gone. A moment later there was a light tap at the door and August entered the room. “Lucie said…oh, my darling, what is it?” In the shelter of August’s embrace Jeanne poured out the story of the childhood riding accident, the secret her mother had kept from her, the doctor’s confirmation, and all the while August held her. “I am so sorry, love,” he murmured. “I know how you love children, how much you looked forward to…” “Not for me,” she protested. “For you, August. If you marry me, there will be no heir, no one to carry on the title, treasure the estate you will leave…” “Do you think I care at all about that, Jeanne? I love you—you are what I treasure, the life we will share together, the adventures we will have. I am marrying you for one reason—the right reason—for love.” It was what she had always longed to hear—that she was loved unconditionally whatever the future might bring. “Oh, August, are you so very sure of the future?” He grinned. “No, but with you at my side I know that I can face anything. Now, we have guests and I believe there is a certain painting to be unveiled.” He wiped away the remnants of her tears. “Your ladyship,” he said with a bow. Together they descended the staircase and to a throng of smiling faces gathered around the portrait covered with a satin cloth. August nodded and Charles pulled the covering away as everyone gasped, then applauded. “What do you see?” Jeanne asked. “Innocence?” “No, my love. You did not paint the past.”

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And Jeanne realized for the first time that the sadness she had always seen in August’s dark eyes had been replaced in her portrait of him. Those eyes looked out at the world now with joy even as the man himself looked at her with abiding love.

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His Perfect Match by Beth Andrews

Rachel Martin has kept one doozy of a secret for more than 10 years: she’s in love with her brother’s best friend, Seth Valentine. After watching her big brother marry his own true love, Rachel is finally ready to reveal her feelings to Seth, and convince him what she’s known all along: that they belong together. Seth Valentine can’t deny he’s attracted to Rachel Martin, but she’s been like a sister to him, so there’s no way he’d ever pursue a relationship with her. After all, he’s not the type of guy to settle down—he’d only break her heart, just like his father broke his mother’s….

Chapter One Rachel Martin sipped from her glass and shut her eyes on a soft moan. Champagne was the best-tasting, most fabulous drink ever. And after consuming four glasses of the bubbly, delicious stuff within the past two hours, she considered herself quite the expert. As a matter of fact, she decided, taking yet another sip, it was so good she was never going to drink anything else. She hiccuped loudly, the force of it causing her to bounce in her seat. She slapped her hand over her mouth and glanced around the room. Luckily, only a few wedding guests remained, and other than Mr. Sampson—her eighth-grade math teacher—who sat at the next table over, no one seemed to notice. A second hiccup popped out, so she held her breath and started counting silently. At thirty, she lowered her hand and exhaled so hard, her breath ruffled her bangs. Then she hiccuped again. She snorted out a laugh. Mr. Sampson frowned disapprovingly at her as he stood and helped his wife into her coat. Rachel grinned, raised her glass toward him in a silent toast and drained it. He shook his head and ushered Mrs. Sampson out of the ski lodge’s dining room. Sighing dreamily, Rachel laid her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand as she watched her brother, Jack, and his bride sway to the slow music. They were the only two people on the dance floor, which added to the sweetness of seeing them totally wrapped up in each other. Jack and Kelsey were obviously crazy about each other. Better yet, Emma, Jack’s young daughter, and Kelsey had already formed a tight bond. Who would have thought her by-the-book, small-town-cop brother would find true love with a bona fide, big-city bad girl? God, it was so romantic.

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Rachel poured more of the best-tasting, most fabulous drink ever into her glass with her free hand, but since her head felt unusually heavy, she didn’t raise it to drink. Just guided the glass to her mouth and leaned forward until she could slurp some liquid into her mouth. She wasn’t the only one affected by the romance of the day. Earlier she’d noticed Kelsey’s brother, Dillon, dancing with Nina Carlson, a friend of Rachel’s from high school. They must’ve decided to do something about the sparks that had sizzled in the air between them because a short time later, Rachel spied them getting into Dillon’s truck. From the way they’d acted like two teens sneaking off together, Rachel guessed they didn’t want anyone to know they were…well…sneaking off together. That was fine with her. She knew how to be dis… She wrinkled her nose and searched for the right word. She knew how to be…discombobulated? Discredited. Dis…dis… She knew how to keep a secret. She’d kept a doozy for more than ten years, hadn’t she? She scanned the room again, searching out the one, the only, man to ever make her heart skip. Seth Valentine, with his shaggy blond hair, dark eyes, lopsided grin and quick wit, was her soul mate. She smiled. And there he was, looking sexy as hell in his dark suit standing by the bar and—Rachel narrowed her eyes—flirting with her glamazon cousin, Mara? Rachel drummed her fingers on the side of her glass. She’d kept her love for Seth a secret all these years. No one else knew; no one even had a clue that she and Seth were destined to be together. Not even Seth. But all that was about to change, she decided, as she slapped her free hand on the table and rose to her feet. The room spun slightly but she held her ground until things righted themselves again. She grabbed the champagne bottle in one hand, her glass in the other, held both arms out slightly for balance and took a careful, wobbly step toward the bar. She was going to get her man. *** Seth Valentine tried to focus on what the woman in front of him was saying. But though Mara was a built, blond babe—three of his favorite traits—he couldn’t summon more than a passing interest. Mara stopped droning on about her job as a legal assistant and looked up at him expectantly. What the hell had she said? Having no clue, he worked up a half smile and nodded. Which did the trick because she squeezed his arm and went right back to talking. Seth sipped his beer. There must be something wrong with him. Why else would he be left cold by her flirting? “Excuse me,” a husky female voice said from behind him. A tingle of awareness, of anticipation, climbed his spine…

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And died a ruthless, deliberate death when he turned and met a pair of familiar gray eyes. “Hey, brainiac,” he said, ignoring the way his stomach did a slow pitch and roll. “What’s going on?” The look Rachel sent him at the mention of her old nickname—a name he and Jack had bestowed upon her when she’d been eight and had been moved up a grade—should have chilled his blood. Except he was suddenly suffused with heat. He surreptitiously placed the back of his hand against his forehead to check for fever. First his noninterest in Mara and now a completely insane reaction to Rachel? He must be coming down with something. “I hate to interrupt,” Rachel said, “but Aunt Kay is looking for you, Mara.” Seth frowned. He couldn’t help but think she was lying—both about not wanting to interrupt and about Mara’s mother looking for her. Hey, he was a cop, it was his job to spot lies. “I’ll be right back,” Mara told him as she trailed her fingers across the back of his hand. “Then maybe we can find somewhere a bit more—” she shot a narrow look at Rachel, who rolled her eyes “—private, to talk.” She sauntered off and Rachel took her place. He stepped back. Because he didn’t want to crowd her. Not because the sight of her in that curve-hugging black dress made his pulse race. Rachel leaned against the bar, which was unusual in itself as she wasn’t the leaning type. She was more the stand straight, shoulders back, perfect posture type. “You’re welcome,” she said. He blinked. “Should I be thankful for something?” Something other than her wearing that dress and…God help him…those sexy, open-toed, high-heeled shoes. Interest stirred inside him. He brutally squashed it. Just thinking about how good she looked was all kinds of wrong, seeing as how she was his best friend’s little sister. Not only that, but Helen and Larry Martin, Jack’s parents, had treated Seth as one of their own after his father took off. They’d allowed him to bunk on their couch more times than he could count, join them on family outings and made it clear Seth always had a place at their home. When Seth had gone through a rough patch during his early teens and his mom couldn’t get through to him, it’d been Larry who’d straightened him out. When Seth wanted to ask a girl out for the first time, he’d gone to Larry for advice. Hell, he admired Larry so much he’d followed his footsteps—and his best friend—straight to the police academy. He respected and loved the Martins, but more than that, he owed them.

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And the last way he’d ever repay them would be to have inappropriate thoughts about the youngest Martin. She tucked a strand of dark, chin-length hair behind her ear. “You should thank me for getting rid of Mara.” “Did I give the impression I wanted her gone?” “No,” she admitted, waving the bottle in her hand wildly. He leaned back to avoid being knocked upside the head with the damn thing. “But I know you. She’s not right for you at all. She’s boring.” Rachel leaned forward, affording him a view of her lush breasts. His stomach tightened. She lowered her voice and spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing her words. “Besides, you belong with me.”

Chapter Two “What?” Seth asked. And, yeah, his voice cracked, so what? He was freaking out here. Not only was he experiencing a sudden attraction to Rachel, a woman he considered a good friend, but he could’ve sworn he’d just heard her say they belonged together. He stepped back and quickly looked around to make sure no one else was witnessing this bizarre conversation. Even as the realization that he wouldn’t mind exploring the idea of him and Rachel slid through him. He tipped his head back and blew out a heavy breath. Oh, hell. He was in so much trouble here. Rachel waved her glass between them. Had champagne sloshing over the side. “You. Me. Together.” She looked at him as if he was the one who’d lost his ever-loving mind instead of the other way around. “Am I not speaking English?” She tipped the bottle to top off her glass. When nothing came out, she held it up and even looked into it. When she met his eyes this time, he was able to see past the punch of attraction that had shocked him a minute ago. Able to notice her eyes were glassy. A bit unfocused. “I need another bottle of champagne,” she said, her words slurred slightly. “You’re drunk,” he said, half amused, half horrified. And a hell of a lot relieved. She hadn’t meant what he’d thought she’d meant about them being together. Thank you, God. “I am?” And damn if she didn’t look adorably confused. Seth set his unfinished beer down. Hell, maybe his half a beer had gone to his head. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t stop these unwanted, unusual thoughts from forming. Except he wasn’t even slightly buzzed, seeing as how that half a beer was the only alcohol he’d had all day.

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“I’ve never been drunk before,” Rachel admitted in an undertone. “Don’t tell me you actually spent all those years in college studying.” “Only because I hadn’t realized how much I’d like being inebria…indebt…tipsy.” God, but she was something. “Better not let your patients hear you say that.” Her eyes widened. “Are they here? Is someone going into labor? ’Cause I’m a doctor, you know.” “That’s the rumor I heard. Which was why I got you that fancy pen with your name on it.” Her expression warmed. “It was my favorite gift.” “Your parents gave you a two-week, all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii so you could relax before you started your residency,” he pointed out. “I still liked the pen better,” she insisted, “because it was from you.” And there she went again with the crazy drunk talk. Since her parents had gone home and her sister, Allie, was nowhere to be found, it looked like it was up to Seth to take care of Rachel. Must be his night for handling boozed-up women. He’d already had to take his mother home after she’d downed one too many Fuzzy Navels. “I’m cutting you off.” He grabbed the bottle but when he tried to snatch her glass, she turned away and quickly finished it off. Then thrust it at him with a sloppy grin. He shook his head. “Did you drink all of this by yourself?” “Of course not,” she said as indignantly as if he’d just accused her of cheating on her medical exams. “Allie had a glass of it when we toasted the happy couple.” Her face was flushed and her body looked relaxed. “How many toasts did you do?” “Just the one but then Allie left to dance so I finished her glass.” She blinked at him innocently. “I couldn’t let it go to waste.” He grinned. “Of course not. That would be all sorts of wrong.” Smiling back at him, she tilted her head to the side, her hair sliding across her cheek. His fingers twitched with the urge to smooth the silky strands behind her ear. To see if her skin was as soft as it looked. He curled his fingers into his palms. And speaking of wrong…wanting to touch Rachel Martin was at the top of that list. Too bad she hadn’t read that list because if she had, she never would’ve sidled up to him, her hips swaying seductively in that damn dress. His breath caught. Held when she stood close

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enough for him to feel the warmth emanating from her body. He exhaled on a soft woosh only to inhale the sweet scent of her perfume. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. If he hadn’t known her better, he’d say she wasn’t so much drunk as…flirting with him. And if that was true, someone should really just kill him now. “Do you want to dance?” she asked. Put his hands on her, hold her soft, generous curves against his body? Definitely. After all, he’d always been a sucker for self-inflicted torture. “No.” She winced and he regretted his brusque tone. But not enough to apologize for it. “Oh. Well.” She inhaled deeply and he gritted his back teeth as her breasts rose and fell. Then she laid her hand on his chest and he froze. All except his heartbeat, which raced under her fingers. “Since it looks like Mara’s not coming back and most everyone else has left, do you want to go get a cup of coffee with me? Maybe something to eat?” Since they both lived in New York and got together a few times a month for coffee or lunch, her inviting him out now was nothing new. So why did it feel different? Why did it feel dangerous? Like if he agreed, he’d be risking something he couldn’t afford to lose. “No. Thanks,” he added, fighting to remain motionless when what he really wanted was to take a few large steps back. Or pull her into his arms. Impatience flared in the depths of her gray eyes. “So what do you want?” He wanted her to stop touching him. To stop this game she was playing before things changed between them. Things they couldn’t change back. “What do I want?” he asked, unable to stop the huskiness of his voice. And when he looked into her eyes he told her the truth. “I want to take you home.” He wanted to drop her off at her parents’ so she could sober up. So they could forget this conversation ever happened. Unfortunately, she must’ve mistook his meaning because her fingers curled into his chest. Then she smiled. Slowly. Beautifully. Triumphantly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Three Rachel groaned and jerked her shoulder but whoever was shaking her didn’t let go.

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It was annoying as hell. “Hey, come on,” a familiar deep voice said, the words doing more to pull her out of sleep than the shaking—which was just making her dizzy. And nauseous. “Wake up, Rach.” “Can’t,” she said, barely above a whisper. The shaking stopped. Thank goodness. “Why not?” Seth asked. She attempted to swallow but her mouth felt as if she’d been sucking on cotton balls. “Eyelids too heavy.” “I got you something to help with that.” Did he really think that coaxing, sexy tone was going to change her mind? “What is it?” she asked. “Open your eyes and see.” She rolled her head to the side and pried her eyes open but all she saw was darkness. “Oh, great. I’m blind.” Seth’s low chuckle filled the interior of his SUV. She heard a click and then the dome light flicked on. She shrank back as if she were a vampire getting hit by a sunbeam. “Better?” he asked. She grunted. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “Here, try this.” His hand brushed her arm as he held something under her nose. She inhaled the scent of fresh coffee and blinked several times, finally managing to focus on the To-Go cup through narrowed slits. “You got me coffee?” And look, he’d even pulled back the little tab on the lid for her. “Thought you could use some.” Was it any wonder she loved him? She straightened and took the cup into her gloved hands. “Thank you.” He buckled his seat belt. “It was either that or listen to you snore the entire drive.” About to take a sip, her head snapped up. “I don’t snore,” she sputtered.

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He raised his eyebrows. “Could’ve fooled me.” He flicked off the light, put his vehicle into Drive and pulled out into the street. It was then that she noticed they’d been in the local convenience store’s parking lot. She stared out the window as she drank her coffee. Great. She’d finally gotten Seth to take her seriously, to see her as a grown woman instead of just his best friend’s little sister and she’d passed out as soon as he’d helped her into his SUV. Oh, and in case that hadn’t been humiliating enough, she’d also snored. Heck, she’d probably drooled, too. Just to top off the evening. She was never drinking champagne again. And that, she thought with a heavy sigh, was just a complete shame. “You’d better not be crying over there. I’ve already had one drunk woman bawl all over me tonight. I’d just as soon skip the encore presentation.” Rachel whipped her head around to stare at him. The world spun on its axis and for a brief moment, she feared the SUV would roll over from the impact but then she realized the world wasn’t off its rocker. Just she was. She was definitely never drinking champagne again. “Why on earth would I be crying?” “If I knew what went on in a woman’s head, I’d be a rich man. And I wouldn’t have wasted all that time in high school trying to figure out why Lauren Jacobs chose to go to the prom with Evan McKnight instead of me.” “Poor baby,” she said drily, taking another fortifying sip of coffee. She remembered the rest of his statement about already having a woman cry all over him tonight. “Didn’t you take your mother home earlier?” “Yep.” He turned left onto Constitution Avenue, his driving skills confident even on the slippery, snow-covered roads. “Half a block from home, she started gushing like a waterfall.” “Why? When I spoke with her at the reception, she was having a great time. And she’d told me how happy she was with her promotion and her new apartment, and she’s thrilled you’re going to be in town for the entire week to help her move.” Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Did you say something stupid and upset her?” “Just that it looked like she’d put on a few pounds. And then I offered to pay for a few Botox injections to help her get rid of those crow’s feet.” Rachel sat back. “Well, you can’t blame me for wondering. You did get her a membership to Weight Watcher’s for her last birthday.” “I thought that’s what she wanted,” he said with a groan.

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Ooh…sore subject. And knowing Mrs. Valentine’s strong personality, one that had probably been well hashed out many times between mother and son. “Look,” he continued, pulling to a stop in front of her parents’ house, “all I know is one minute she was babbling about how wonderful the wedding was. Then she’s crying so hard she can barely breathe. Sobbing about her own wedding and how happy she’d been. How hopeful for her and Dad’s future and later, when he left, how heartbroken.” Rachel’s own heart broke hearing the tightness in Seth’s voice. She laid her hand over his on the steering wheel. “It was hard on you, too.” He slid his hand out from under hers. “I was just a kid. Kids bounce back fast.” She tried not to take his rejection of her sympathy personally. “Kids can be hurt, too. Especially when their family is suddenly ripped apart. I remember overhearing my parents talking about what happened. How worried they were for you and your mom.” “Mom never got over him leaving. You ask me, she loved him too much. But a guy like that, one who lives for the next challenge, the next adventure…” Seth shook his head. “She never should’ve married him in the first place.” “We all make mistakes. It’s just…harder for some people to learn from those mistakes and move on.” “Which is why it’s easier, and smarter, not to make the mistake in the first place.” He flashed her a shallow version of his trademark grin. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the door.” As they walked up the snow-covered sidewalk, Rachel placed her hand over her jittery stomach. So far, things were not going according to her plans. Not that she’d really had a plan when she’d decided tonight was the night she’d make her move. But if she had planned it, there would’ve been no falling asleep, no talk of snoring or worse, brokenhearted mothers, to ruin the mood. Oh, yeah, and “taking her home” would’ve meant something else entirely than driving her to her parents’ house. She really should’ve thought this through better. She glanced at Seth from the corner of her eye. He was everything she’d ever wanted. And she was so far over her head she couldn’t even see the surface. Under the glow of the porch light, she dug into her clutch for her key. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she’d rushed things. The breeze blew her hair into her face. Seth gently tucked it behind her ear. Her breath backed up in her lungs. She looked up and the heat in his eyes made her mouth go dry. He trailed a finger down her cheek before curling his hand into a fist and tapping it against his thigh.

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He took her key, unlocked the door, pushed it open then dropped the key back into her palm. “Good night, Rachel.” She frowned. That was it? No, there had to be more. Seth was interested in her. Attracted to her. She saw it in his dark eyes, knew it in her soul. And she was way too smart to let an opportunity like this pass her by. “Good night, Seth,” she said, closing the distance between them. “Thanks for seeing me home.” And then she rose onto her toes and pressed her mouth against his.

Chapter Four Seth couldn’t move. Not when Rachel’s warm mouth was moving softly, hesitantly over his. So he just stood there, his hands fisted at his sides as he struggled against the need to pull her close and lose himself in her kiss. He’d always wondered what hell was like. Now he knew. Hell was having a beautiful woman pressed against him, her lush curves molding to his body while she did her best to coax a response from him. Hell was being unable to take what he’d just discovered he desperately wanted. She eased back enough to whisper, “Kiss me back.” Her words vibrated against his lips and their breath mingled. His body hardened. Cursing his weakness, he pushed aside the inner warning screaming through his head and did the only thing he could do. He kissed her back. Maybe kiss was too tame a word. What he did was devour her. With his mouth on hers, he pressed her back against the door frame. Slid his tongue against the seam of her lips until she opened for him. When the tip of his tongue touched hers, he groaned and wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, her soft curves molding against him. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. More of Rachel. His eyes flew opened and he yanked away from her, his breathing ragged, his pulse drumming. And because he couldn’t look at her without wanting to take her back into his arms, he turned his back to her. Scrubbed a shaky hand over his face. What the hell was wrong with him?

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How could he kiss her like that with no thought, no care to the fact that they were on her parents’ front porch, or that she was his best friend’s sister? One kiss and he’d lost his mind and his willpower. If he wasn’t careful, sweet Rachel Martin could be his downfall. “Are you okay?” she asked, laying her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off as he faced her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…we shouldn’t…” He shut his eyes and inhaled for a count of ten. Opened his eyes and met her gaze. “We can’t do this. It’s not right.” “We’re single adults,” she said, in that low, sexy tone he was coming to both love and hate. “What’s wrong about it?” He had no answer. How the hell was he supposed to think when she stood there looking so sexy with her kiss-swollen mouth and mussed hair? He took a half step toward her but stopped before he touched her. He could do this. He could resist. Okay, so he’d never resisted a gorgeous, willing woman before, but there was a first time for everything. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, just to be on the safe side. At his prolonged silence, hurt filled her gray eyes. “Don’t you…don’t you want me?” He opened his mouth to tell her he didn’t. That they were friends and nothing more. For a moment, panic hit him because he couldn’t form the words he needed to say. Not because he knew his words would hurt her—although he’d rather have his fingernails pulled off than do that—in this instance the pain would be better for her in the long run. He couldn’t speak because he didn’t want to lie to her. Too bad he had to. “I don’t want you.” He somehow forced the words out past the tightness in his throat. “Not in that way.” “So you’re not attracted to me at all?” It killed him to hear the pain and embarrassment in her voice. To know that his words would hurt her. Were hurting her. But it had to be done. He couldn’t allow her to think things that weren’t true. To get her hopes up about something that wasn’t going to happen. That he’d never allow to happen. He sighed, his breath coming out in bursts of frost. “Listen,” he said, keeping his tone soft so as not to twist the knife any deeper—or to alert anyone in the dark house about what was

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going on outside. “You’re a beautiful woman. You have so much going for you. And someday you’re going to meet the guy who’s perfect for you.” Yeah, some perfect, college-educated, nameless, faceless guy who would make her laugh. Who’d get to watch her eyes light up when she talked about a delivering a healthy newborn. Who’d hold her and dry her tears when a delivery went wrong. Seth ground his back teeth together. Damn it, being there for Rachel was his job. But it shouldn’t be. That was the whole point. They were friends. Period. And once she found this perfect guy, Seth could forget about meeting Rachel for coffee or lunch. And all those times he “just happened to be in the neighborhood” and dropped by the hospital where she worked? All over. She’d be with her new perfect guy. Seth hated the asshole already. But it was for the best. Rachel was the type of woman a man married, and he wasn’t ready to settle down. Didn’t know if he’d ever be ready. Didn’t want to take a chance that he was just like his father. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression, but you have to know I think of you as a friend.” When she snorted he added, “A good friend. Almost a…surrogate little sister. I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely. “Oh, you’re sorry, all right,” she said, and to his amazement she smiled at him. Smiled as if he’d just told her the best joke in the world. “You’re also a liar.” *** Rachel couldn’t hold back a laugh at the expressions crossing Seth’s face. Confusion. Indignation. And just enough fear to have her feeling pretty damn good about herself as a woman. Oh, yeah. He was scared of her. In the best possible way. Which she proved by edging closer to him so that he backed up until he hit the door. “Knock it off,” he ordered, his brows lowered. “This isn’t a game. I know your mother taught you better than to play with men this way.” “That’s right, you do know. You know me, probably better than anyone else. Which is why you should know I’m not playing a game.” She closed the distance between them but didn’t touch him. He stiffened as though she’d come at him with a machete. She wanted to tell him the truth. To admit her feelings, but she knew that would scare him even more. Possibly scare him off for good. So she kept it light. Simple. And in terms even an incredibly obstinate man could understand. “There’s always been a…connection between us. One that’s grown over the past few years. I’m attracted to you and despite your declarations to the contrary, I believe you’re attracted to me. I think we should explore this…” She gestured between them. “Whatever it is between us. See where it leads.”

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He edged to the side, toward the stairs. “Please, Rachel, don’t do this.” The pleading in his voice had her stepping back. “Anything between us would be a mistake. Once you get some sleep—and the alcohol out of your system—you’ll agree. If anything were to happen between us, it would end our friendship,” he said softly, and with such conviction, she almost believed him. “Is that really what you want?” Doubt filled her. Told her she’d been wrong all these years and this could blow up in her face. That maybe her feelings for him were nothing more than leftover feelings of a childhood crush. “No, I don’t want our friendship to end,” she admitted softly and prayed he couldn’t hear the worry in her voice. Prayed she wasn’t making a mistake by finally admitting the truth. “What I want, Seth, is you.”

Chapter Five The next day, Seth stumbled bleary-eyed into his mother’s kitchen and headed for the coffeepot on the counter. “Good morning,” his mother chirped from her seat at the table. He grunted, poured himself a cup and shut his eyes as he drank. He’d spent the night alternating between wanting to go back to the Martins’ house to finish what he and Rachel started, and drowning in guilt over his response to Rachel’s kiss. In other words, he didn’t get much sleep. “He’s not much for talking when he wakes up,” Judith said. “So I see.” Seth froze at the sound of Rachel’s voice, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. His fingers tightened on the handle and he mentally cursed up a storm. He didn’t dare voice any of the words out loud or he’d be paying his mother’s curse jar. And he’d sworn not to give that thing one more cent after his mother had collected enough from him to buy a laptop. He turned and spotted Rachel sitting in the corner. With her hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail and her face free of makeup, she shouldn’t have had the power to make him feel as if he’d just been kicked in the gut. But she did. “What are you doing here?” he asked. His mother gasped. “Is that any way to greet a pretty girl who’s come to see you?” Rachel ducked her head but he noticed the smile she was fighting. Great. Now he had to face two obstinate women. And all before he’d finished his first cup of coffee.

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“Sorry,” he mumbled, not sure—or even really caring—which woman he was supposed to be apologizing to. He crossed to his mom and kissed her cheek. “Good morning.” “That’s better.” Judith tapped his arm. “Rachel came over to help us pack. Isn’t that sweet?” “Yeah,” he grumbled. “Sweet.” Judith pushed her chair back and stood. “After you eat, we’ll—” The phone rang, cutting her off. “That must be the Realtor. She wanted to set up a time for that last couple to come look at the house again. I’ll take it in the office.” He crossed his arms. “You don’t have to help,” he told Rachel when they were alone. “Oh, but I’m happy to.” She looked mighty pleased with herself as she took a bite of one of his mother’s homemade waffles. “When Judith mentioned at the reception that you two were going to start packing today, I figured I’d give you a hand.” His stomach growled. Rachel looked up, her eyebrows raised. “Would you like some waffles?” “I’ll get them.” As soon as he figured out where they were. She waved her hands at him as she got to her feet. “I’ll get them. It’s the least I can do to thank you for seeing me home last night.” And the last thing he wanted to think about was last night. So he sat and tried not to stare at her round ass as she pulled a plate of waffles out of the oven. Using a towel as a pot holder, she set his food in front of him. “Thanks,” he said. Instead of going on her merry way, she bent and offered him her cheek. “What?” She turned so that their faces were just inches apart. “Don’t I get a kiss, too?” His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there. “Not a good idea.” She shrugged. He held his breath but she didn’t touch him or try to give him another one of her amazing kisses. Just went over and poured herself more coffee. He stabbed his waffle with his fork. And if he told himself he wasn’t disappointed enough times, maybe he’d believe it. “I’d really hate for you to waste your day hanging around here.” Almost as much as he’d hate the torture of seeing her all day. “I want to be here for you.”

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He polished off his second waffle. Added syrup to a third. “I think I can handle my mom without any backup.” “I’m sure you can, but…I just keep thinking of how this must be for you. Moving out of the house where you grew up.” He shrugged. “I spent more time at your place than here anyway.” But that didn’t stop him from remembering all the times he sat at this same table eating waffles while his mother bustled around the kitchen. How he used to race down the stairs on Christmas morning, busting out of his skin to see what presents were under the tree. And later, after his dad left, how he’d sit on those same stairs waiting for him to come back. Or the nights he spent lying in the hallway outside his mother’s bedroom door listening to her cry herself to sleep. He’d been terrified she would leave him, too. The last bite he took stuck in his throat. He took a drink of coffee in an attempt to dislodge it. “So you feel no connection to the home you grew up in?” she asked, disbelief clear in her tone. “It’s just a house.” He carried his plate to the sink, rinsed it and set it in the dishwasher before pouring himself more coffee. He turned only to find Rachel standing in front of him. “You’re in my way.” “That’s the plan. Or did you really think you could avoid me for the next week?” “I’m not avoiding you.” “No? Then why did you drop my car off in the middle of the night?” “I have too much to do to worry about getting your car to you at your convenience,” he muttered, sipping his coffee. “Right. So you’re trying to tell me you’re not freaked out about what happened between us?” “What do you expect?” he burst out. He glanced at the doorway and though his mother was nowhere in sight, he lowered his voice. “After what happened, I figured we both needed a bit of time to…sort things through. And to be honest, I figured you’d be embarrassed—” “Why would I be embarrassed?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Because you were drunk and because of the…you know…the kiss. And then you said all that stuff—” “You think I said I want to be with you because I was drunk?”

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“Yes.” Please, God, let it be true. “And because you were drunk, you said some things you didn’t mean.” Amusement lit her eyes. “Oh, did I?” Sweat formed on his upper lip. “What else could it be? I just want you to know I’m not holding anything you said against you and I hope you’re not going to hold that kiss against me.” She lightly patted his cheek. Kept her hand there. “No. I won’t hold it against you.” His shoulders sagged in relief. “Good. Now maybe we can get back to normal.” “Oh, we’re not going back to normal.” She laid her hand flat against his chest. “Because I meant every word I said last night.” “Rachel—” “You feel it, too.” She held his gaze. “Your heart is racing. Is that the way you react when you’re this close to someone who’s just a friend?” “Sorry, sorry,” Judith said as she rushed back into the room. Rachel smoothly stepped to the side and picked up her coffee. “Shall we get started?” “I’m ready,” Rachel said with a sidelong look at him. Then she linked her arm with his mother’s and in a slow, hip-swaying move designed to make grown men cry, sashayed out of the room. Seth dug a twenty out of his wallet and tossed it into the empty curse jar. He had a feeling he was going to need the credit.

Chapter Six You’d think that after having two very stubborn men in her life already—her father and brother—she would’ve fallen for a more compliant man. Instead, she had to fall for Seth Valentine. Rachel set a bottle of red wine onto the table. She’d spent the past three days helping Seth and Judith box up a lifetime’s accumulation of stuff and still hadn’t gotten very far in her Get Seth campaign. Although she had caught Seth watching her when he didn’t think she’d notice. And, during those times, she’d clearly seen desire in his eyes. Not that she expected him to go all caveman on her and drag her off by the hair to have his wild way with her or anything. She pursed her lips. Okay, so maybe she did—but only so that when he was done, she could then have her wild way with him. Fair was fair, after all. But he certainly wasn’t going to make a move in front of his mother.

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And he knew Rachel wouldn’t make a move in front of her, either. He was using Judith as a buffer. But not tonight. Tonight she was taking a bold step—she had to. She was running out of time. She’d meant what she’d said to Seth the other day in the kitchen. This was all or nothing for her. And she couldn’t help but think it was also now or never. Once they were back in New York, it’d be much easier for him to avoid her. This could be her last chance. The front door opened and she straightened. Smoothed an unsteady hand down the front of her jeans. Seth entered the kitchen, stopping when he saw her. “Hey.” He glanced at the table set with the last of his mother’s plates that hadn’t been packed up yet. His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?” She curled her fingers into her palms. She hated that, ever since their kiss, whenever he spoke to her, there was hesitation in his voice. Suspicion in his eyes. Jeez, she wasn’t trying to sell him life insurance. She forced a smile. “It’s dinner.” He tossed his keys on the counter and then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Where’s Mom?” Rachel pulled two bottles of beer out of the refrigerator and handed one to him. “The board meeting at the library. Remember? She told us about it over lunch.” Judith had also said the meetings only ran a few hours, which meant Rachel’s time alone with Seth was limited. “Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not going to attack you.” She dropped into her chair. “I just thought we could relax and enjoy a bit of time together like we used to. You know,” she added drily, “before you were afraid to stay in the same room with me.” He still didn’t seem convinced. “Did you cook?” “No. It’s pasta night at The Summit and I remember how much you love Allie’s red sauce…” She shrugged. When he just stood there, she rolled her eyes. “I’m starving so I’m going to eat. You can join me…or not.” And she dug into her food. Seth sat down with all the enthusiasm of a man facing his last meal.

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It took a while, but while they ate she was able to get him to relax by keeping to neutral topics. She kept her hands to herself—no touching, no flirting. Just two friends sharing a meal. And if he didn’t realize they were meant for each other soon, she might just stab him with her fork. After clearing the table, they took their dessert and coffee into the living room. Rachel had made sure both armchairs and one end of the couch held boxes, forcing Seth to sit next to her. “Is it hard knowing that in two days this won’t be…well…home any longer?” she asked, taking a bite of the double fudge brownies she’d made earlier. “I haven’t lived here in over ten years.” “It’s still the house you grew up in.” She licked chocolate from her thumb, smiled inwardly as his gaze followed the movement. “I know it’s part of life but I can’t imagine someone else living in my parents’ house.” “It’s just a house.” She leaned forward. “What’s your favorite memory about this place? Opening presents Christmas morning or the smell of Thanksgiving dinner cooking?” He set his half-eaten brownie on top of a box. “Christmas mornings were usually spent trying to coax Mom out of bed. Holidays were…tough on her.” She set her empty plate aside. “I hadn’t realized your mom had such a tough time. She always seemed so strong.” “She was…is. But there were times, right after Dad left, that she wouldn’t even get out of bed. As the years went by, she got better, but I never knew what would set her off again. Could be a certain song or time of the year. Their wedding anniversary and holidays were toughest.” He gave an irritated shrug. “It just became easier to spend time at your house.” A lump formed in her throat. “That must’ve been hard on you.” “I got through it. Your family helped me get through it. I wouldn’t have known what it was like to have a normal family if not for your parents treating me like one of their own.” “They love you.” “And I love them back. Which is why I’d never do anything to ruin that relationship.” She winced. In other words, he’d never do anything like have a real relationship with her. She ducked her head and blinked back tears. They were over. Oh, Seth didn’t realize it yet but she knew. Once she went back to New York she needed to distance herself from him. Needed to go on with her life and work toward a future that didn’t involve Seth Valentine.

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But that didn’t mean she couldn’t have one night with him, did it? “It’s not too late,” she said softly, telling them both. Hoping it was the truth. “For what?” She faced him and linked her fingers with his. “To make one really good memory here.” A muscle jumped in his jaw but he didn’t attempt to pull away from her. “Mom’s moving out tomorrow.” She swallowed, could barely breathe. “But you still have tonight,” she whispered. *** Seth knew what she meant and his conscience told him to say no. To push her out the door and end whatever was between them before it went too far. But her eyes were filled with hope and her hand was soft and warm in his, her thumb stroking his palm. Touching her was a mistake, even something as innocent as holding hands. Damn it, he was going to pay for this. He just hoped the cost wasn’t too high. He shoved his free hand in the hair at the nape of her neck, cupped her cheek. Noticed her eyes widened, felt her gasp as he closed his mouth over hers. She tasted like coffee and chocolate. Felt like heaven. And she was his. At least for the moment. He pushed that thought away as he deepened the kiss. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to analyze. Didn’t want to talk himself into changing his mind. He slid his hand from hers and lightly nudged her head back. Kissed the smoothness of her cheek, the line of her jaw. He placed openmouthed kisses down her neck. She gripped his upper arms, her nails biting into his skin. He flicked his tongue over her rapidly beating pulse. He pulled back far enough to look at her. Her hair was mussed from his fingers, her eyes dark, her cheeks flushed. Crimson stained the side of her mouth and he realized it was her lipstick. He wiped the pad of his thumb across it and over her bottom lip. She grabbed his hand to hold it steady and sucked his thumb into her mouth. Scraped her teeth across it. His breath shuddered out of him and he thanked God he had this one time. This one perfect time with her. He was sure as hell going to make the most of it.

Chapter Seven

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Nerves danced in Rachel’s stomach. Seth had taken her by the hand and led her upstairs to his childhood bedroom but now he wasn’t kissing her. Wasn’t touching her. Instead, though his dark eyes were glittering and he was breathing heavily, he seemed to be rethinking this whole thing. She couldn’t let that happen. Grabbing the hem of her long-sleeved T-shirt, she pulled it over her head and tossed it at his feet before shimmying out of her jeans. Only when she stood in just in her cream-colored bra and matching, high-cut panties, did she meet his gaze. What she saw there had her breath backing up in her lungs. “You’re beautiful,” he said, edging toward her. She stepped back, her thighs hitting the edge of the bed. The predatory look in his eyes made her knees turn to jelly. He stalked toward her and heated anticipation flowed through her. He slowly, tantalizingly skimmed the tip of his finger over the lace of her bra from one side to the other before scraping his thumbnail over her nipple. She jerked. He settled his free hand on her waist as if to hold her still and did it again. “I never told you that before, did I?” he murmured. “That I think you’re beautiful.” She opened her mouth but couldn’t speak. Not when he continued the sweet torture of her nipple, causing it to bead and press against her bra. Not when he’d slipped his hand under the waist of her panties, his fingers brushing the curls at the apex of her thighs. She shook her head in answer to his question even as she pressed her hips toward him in silent plea. “I’ve always thought you were gorgeous. I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he said, as if he wasn’t just admitting it to her for the first time, but also to himself. “I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.” She swallowed. “And now?” He gently tucked her hair behind her ear. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.” Her heart soared. “I want you that much, too.” “I need to see you.” He reached around her and flicked open her bra. She shrugged the garment down her arms, over her wrists and onto the floor. His dark eyes raked over her, leaving a trail of heat across her skin. He bent his head and sucked one tight nipple deep into his mouth while he rolled her other nipple between his fingers. Her head fell back on a soft moan. “God, you’re sweet,” he murmured, moving to the other breast. “Sweet to touch.” He skimmed his fingers over her breasts. Her pelvis contracted and she squirmed. “Sweet to taste.” He swirled his tongue over her nipple.

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Her hips bucked. He pushed her panties down, nudged her thighs apart and eased a finger inside her. Rachel bit her lower lip but couldn’t stop a soft, mewling sound from escaping. He moved his finger, in and out, and she grabbed his shoulders, arched toward him. He kissed her, his tongue’s lazy strokes mimicking the movement of his fingers. Heat speared her, spiraled through her until he reached down with his other hand and sent her over the edge. Seth eased her back onto the bed. Breathing hard, eyelids heavy, she collapsed but didn’t take her eyes off of him as he undressed. After putting on a condom, he settled between her legs, his erection pressing against her inner thigh. He felt so good, better than she’d ever imagined. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, down his arms. He kissed her, a heated meeting of tongues and teeth and with their mouths fused, he shifted and slid inside her. Tears stung her eyes. Sometimes dreams did come true. She met him thrust for frenzied thrust. Pleasure rolled over in waves, drowning her in sensation, taking her breath. And when he buried his face in her neck and shuddered from his own release, she murmured the words she’d always wanted to say to him. “I love you, Seth.” *** No. No, no…hell no. Still trying to catch his breath from the most powerful experience he’d ever had, Seth leaped to his feet. Panic raced through him, settled in his chest like a fist squeezing his heart. Damn it, he never should’ve touched her. Now everything between them was ruined. “What’s wrong?” Rachel asked. Pulling his jeans up over his hips, he froze. Was she kidding? He whirled around. She held the sheet over her breasts with one hand, her lips were swollen from his kisses and she still had that “just had fantastic sex” glow. He turned his back to her again but the damage had already been done. Hell, the image of her in his bed would probably torture him for years. A fitting punishment for his crime. “What isn’t wrong?” He tugged on his shirt. “You got what you wanted, so don’t even think of pulling any of that emotional crap on me.” He scooped up her clothes and tossed them onto the foot of the bed. “Are you mad because we made love or because I told you I’m in love with you?” He clenched and flexed his hands. “Just get dressed. We can talk about this later.” “No.” She climbed out of bed, wrapped the sheet around her. “I’ve waited so long for this and now that it’s happened I won’t let you and your stupid fears ruin it.” She reached for him but he stepped back, hardened his heart to the hurt in her eyes. “We belong together, it’s what I’ve always wanted.”

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“What you want. What about what I want?” he asked fiercely. “I never wanted this. Why did you have to say those things to me when I drove you home? Why did you have to kiss me? Why did you have to change everything?” “Because I love you.” “Quit saying that!” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Look, even though this was a mistake, we can move on. We’ll just pretend it didn’t happen and—” “No. I…I can’t go back to the way we were,” she said tightly. Dread filled him, made his head spin. “What are you saying?” “I’m sorry, I thought I could but…” She inhaled shakily. “I can’t pretend to be just your friend, not when I want to be so much more to you. Either you want to be with me or you don’t. You need to choose.” His stomach churned. “You can’t be serious?” “I’ve never been more serious.” Rage filled him, replaced the fear that moments ago had been threatening to suffocate him. Who the hell did she think she was, giving him an ultimatum after messing up his life? After messing up their friendship and possibly putting his relationship with her family in jeopardy? “So if I don’t toe the line and do what you want…that’s the end of it? Of our friendship?” A tear slid down her cheek. “I can’t keep loving you if you don’t love me back,” she said quietly. “It’s not fair to me. Do you love me? Do you want to be with me?” “Damn it, Rachel, you know I care—” “Don’t patronize me. I told you before, I wanted all or nothing. What’s it going to be?” Pain squeezed his heart but he ignored it. “If that’s the way you want it,” he said slowly, “then it has to be nothing.”

Chapter Eight At the fourth-floor landing of her apartment building’s stairwell, Rachel stopped and set her two heavy grocery-filled bags on the floor while she gulped in a few deep breaths. She stared up at the next stairway; only one more to go before reaching her apartment. She looked longingly at the double doors that led to the hallway and the elevator. If only she hadn’t eaten that piece of double-chocolate cake in the break room between shifts. Or the second piece while going over charts. She sighed, hefted her bags again and climbed the stairs. She couldn’t even blame the person who’d brought in the cake. Not when it was much more satisfying to blame Seth. If he hadn’t texted her this morning, asking her to meet him, she never would’ve eaten that cake. Well, she never would’ve eaten that second piece, anyway.

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It’d been three weeks since she’d last seen him yet he continued to try to get in touch with her. The other day he’d even gone so far as to have her paged at work. Luckily, she’d spotted him before he’d seen her and asked hospital security to escort him out. Her lips twitched. Yeah, it’d been petty and mean but he’d broken her heart. She deserved a little payback. Not that Seth had taken the hint that she didn’t want to see or speak to him. At the top of the stairs, she pushed open the doors, turned the corner and stopped short, her heart lodging itself in her throat. Well, damn. “What are you doing here?” she asked Seth, not caring if she sounded bitchy. All she wanted was to move on with her life. Was that so much to freaking ask for? He shifted the bouquet of red roses from one hand to the other as she approached him. “You keep avoiding me so I figured I’d just wait here. You have to come home at some point, right?” “You shouldn’t be here.” She pulled her key out of her purse and unlocked the door. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want to see you.” He winced but she wasn’t about to feel guilty over setting him straight. Not when he’d hurt her so badly. “And in case you didn’t get the message, I don’t want you to call or text me again. And the next time you show up at the hospital, I’m going to file a report with the police.” “I am the police.” “Then I’ll file it with Homeland Security!” She slammed the door but it stopped short of hitting him on his slightly crooked nose. Mainly because his foot was blocking it. “Just hear me out,” he said. “I swear, if you still want me gone when I’m done, I’ll go. And you’ll never hear from me again.” She blinked back stupid, unwanted tears. She’d cried enough over him, damn it. “Nothing you say concerns me.” Turning on her heel, she stormed inside. Slammed her bags onto the table. She didn’t care if he followed her not. She’d just ignore him. He held the flowers out to her. “These are for you.” She just glared and he slowly lowered his arm back to his side. “I’ll just set them here.” He laid them on the tiny counter then shoved his hands into his pockets. “I miss you,” he blurted. Her heart stuttered but she forced her expression to remain impassive. Met his eyes briefly. “You’ll get over it.” “No. That’s just it, I don’t think I will.” It hurt too much to look at him so she just shrugged and turned away to put her milk in the refrigerator. “That’s not my problem, Seth.”

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She needed him gone. Needed him to let her get over him once and for all. “How about I’m making it your problem?” he muttered, then he grabbed her arm, spun her around and kissed her. *** Her lips softened under his and for a moment, Seth thought everything would be all right. That the past few weeks of hell were finally over. He wrapped his arms around Rachel and held her tight. She shoved at his chest. He let go and stepped back. Guess he still had a bit of hell to go through. “Don’t do this,” Rachel said, her hand to her mouth, her eyes shiny with unshed tears that tore at his gut. “Please. Just leave.” “I can’t.” His stomach churned. His palms grew damp. “I love you, Rachel.” “Right,” she said coldly, “like a little sister. I get it. I got it the last time you told me that so why don’t you—” “No, that’s not what I meant.” “What are you trying to say, then?” “That I’m in love with you, okay?” He shoved a hand through his hair and began to pace in her tiny kitchen, her eyes wide as they followed his movements. “That I was wrong, totally wrong not to tell you this before. That I shouldn’t have let you go. That I was a scared idiot.” He tossed a glance at her over his shoulder. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?” Her mouth was open and she blinked. Shut her mouth. “Actually, I’m kind of liking where you’re going with all of this. So don’t let me stop you.” He should’ve known she’d make him pay. But if that’s what it took to have her back in his life, that’s what he’d do. He crossed to her and grabbed her hands. “All of my life I thought I was just like my dad, someone who couldn’t stick. Who didn’t want to stick. That I was better off not loving anyone because I might hurt them the way he hurt my mom. But after you left that day, I realized I’ve been lying to myself. I thought I was protecting you from me but I figured out I’m the one who was scared of being left alone. Of loving you so much and then losing you. Rachel, it would kill me. It almost did kill me these past few weeks being without you.” “Because you miss your friend?” she asked, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. He gently wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb. Cupped her face in his hand. “No,” he said softly, “because I missed the woman I love. I’ve had feelings for you for years, but I didn’t want to admit them. Didn’t want to think that you could have those same feelings for me. And I didn’t want things to change between us. Didn’t want things to change between me and your family. Especially with your dad.” “And now?” “Now, I don’t care. I used that as an excuse to keep my true feelings for you under wraps. To tell myself there was no way we could be together. What do you say?”

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He held his breath while she deliberated. Finally she asked, “Do you want to stay for dinner?” He exhaled. That was it? Disappointment settled heavily in his stomach but he pushed it aside. At least it was a start. “I’d love to.” She nodded and then threw herself into his arms with enough force to knock him back a step. “I love you, too, Seth. I always have and I always will. And while I can’t give you any guarantees, I promise I’ll never choose to leave you. Ever.” He shut his eyes and held on tight. “I’m going to hold you to that for the next fifty or so years.” When she kissed him he knew she was worth the risk to his heart. Knew she was his perfect match.

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Countdown by Marie Ferrarella Nikki Alexander knows trouble when she sees it, and the gorgeous blond intruder in the Janus casino’s surveillance room is definitely it. She may only be the temporary head of security, but Nikki takes her job very seriously—and no thief is going to get past her, or the state-of-the-art system set up to guard the precious gems. No matter how sexy he is….

Chapter One Nikki Alexander knew trouble when she saw it. It was a gift, a meticulously well-honed ability that, in her case, had been passed down from father to daughter. The ability, lucky for her, transcended such distractions as handsome features and a charismatic smile that would have been able to reduce the Wicked Witch of the West to maidenly shy, self-conscious giggles. Someone else might not have been able to see past the fascinating window dressing, but Nikki always could, which was what made her so good at her job. And the tall, well-dressed, drop-dead-gorgeous man standing on the wrong side of the security room door was just that: trouble. With a capital T. Not because, with his dark blond hair and clear-water blue eyes, he was quite possibly the best-looking man she’d ever seen, but because there was something about the man that made the hairs at the back of her neck stand up at attention, even as her breath decreased and her heart rate increased. There wasn’t a single part of her being that wasn’t on high alert. He wasn’t supposed to be in here. He wasn’t part of the security team and anyone who wasn’t part of the team couldn’t just waltz into the security room, with its scads of surveillance monitors, at will. And yet, there he was, acting as if he belonged. As the head of the Janus’s security team—or at least the head of the team until Matthew Schaffer, the casino owner’s handpicked choice for the job got in from Los Angeles—Nikki was on the lookout for any potential threat-in-the-making on the casino grounds. In search of acceptance and attention, Luke Montgomery, the casino’s flamboyant owner, was planning to hold a huge charity event at the Janus beginning in three days’ time. An event in which some of the world’s most priceless pieces of jewelry would be on display to either be auctioned off, or simply drooled over. Nikki was acutely aware of the fact that the temptation for professional thieves to pit themselves against the casino’s state-of-the-art security system had to be almost irresistible. Which was why she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours a night ever since Montgomery had taken her aside to award her this temporary position. Nikki knew the Janus’s security system was top-notch, but she still wished she could, for the duration of the preparations, sprout a pair of eyes in the back of her head—just in case. All she had to do was keep everything running smoothly until just before the actual event. By then, Schaffer would be in Vegas to take over and this would be his headache. But for now, it was hers. So who the hell was this blond guy and how had he gotten in? No one in security had asked permission to bring in a visitor.

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It was lunchtime and thus their full complement of people was on the low side. None of the three people at their desks, monitoring the various activities on the casino floor, seemed to know the man. Because of his easygoing manner, each probably assumed that someone else in the room knew him. Nice trick, Nikki thought wryly. She lost no time in striding across the floor to reach him and demand to know what he was doing here. The intruder was pausing to exchange a few words with Melinda Ellis. As she recalled, Melinda was the security team’s latest hire. Nikki made a mental note to go over Melinda’s background check again. Just in case. Reaching the stranger, Nikki caught just the faintest whiff of the man’s cologne. It was almost disarmingly sexy, just like the man himself. Blocking out the scent’s effect, Nikki tapped the stranger on the shoulder. “Can I help you?” she asked crisply. The object of her query turned around. There was no indication in his countenance that she’d taken him by surprise. On the contrary, he looked as if he’d been expecting her. “Yes,” he replied smoothly after a long, pregnant pause. “I’d like a personal tour.” Because his eyes languidly strolled over the length of her body before he made the request, Nikki felt as if she was being propositioned rather than asked for what he might have assumed to be a legitimate service. His unabashed gaze made her feel naked and definitely blurred her ability to focus. For a minute. “Of what?” she wanted to know. The smile on his lips was at once intimate, sexy and, oddly enough, innocent. It was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and how unsettling his blatant assessment of her was. He continued to smile, as if he was sharing a moment that only one of them was privy to. With a nod toward Melinda, the stranger moved away from her desk before saying, “Of the security system, of course.” “Of course,” Nikki echoed. Definitely trouble, she thought. And brazen. “And just why would you want that?” she challenged, her tone growing deadly serious. Nikki made eye contact with Richard, the security expert on the far end of the room. No words were needed. Her meaning was clear: Watch this one. “I would think the answer to that would be obvious,” the stranger replied. “So it would seem,” she allowed. God, they were making thieves more and more audacious these days. “But tell me anyway. Humor me,” she coaxed with only the slightest hint of sarcasm. This time, the smile that unfurled on the man’s near-perfect mouth shot straight to her gut as if it had been fired at point-blank range. Whatever else he had, the man certainly had style, she thought. Style and bravado. Good thing she’d had her shots against both. “With pleasure,” the stranger replied good-naturedly. “I want a personal tour so that I can feel confident that my great-grandmother’s beloved necklace will be safe on display here.” The answer took some of the fire out of Nikki’s veins. If the man was on the level, she was walking on thin ice here, she realized. It was a touchy situation. She ran the risk of insulting a genuine contributor if she

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acted as if she didn’t believe him and pressed him for more information. Conversely, she ran the equal risk of leaving herself at the mercy of a possible jewel thief if she was too honest and open in her response. Better to err on the side of caution. It was one of her father’s rules. “And just who would your grandmother be?” she asked politely. “Great-grandmother,” the stranger corrected smoothly. “And she was—” he emphasized the last word, letting her know without saying so that the woman had passed on to her reward “—Evelyn Howard.” His eyes warm and friendly, the man put out his hand to her. “Great-grandmother was very partial to that necklace, and very partial to me,” he added without a trace of hubris. “And my mother’s passing has made me the current guardian of—” “—the Island Star,” Nikki concluded, her voice echoing just half a beat after his. Damn, she thought, that made him one of the New York Howards, a family that was rumored to be richer than God. Nikki caught her breath. Had she just made her first temporary-head-of-security blunder and offended not just a contributor but the contributor of the centerpiece of the entire event?

Chapter Two The hairs at the back of her neck were still at attention. Conflicting emotions were simultaneously rampaging throughout her body. She definitely needed more input. Starting with a name. “And you are?” He continued to hold her hand just tightly enough to telegraph a connection. And his interest. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if there was no one else in the room. “Intrigued.” He was certainly brash enough to be one of the legendary Howards. Or a thief, a small voice whispered in her head. Which was it? Nikki took in a breath and plunged in. She had no idea what anyone in the Howard family looked like, and that included this supposed envoy. “Well Mr. ‘Intrigued,’ I’m afraid I’m going to have to see some I.D.” He nodded, reaching into his back pocket. “I’d expect nothing less.” “Good, then I assume that you’ve come with some.” Because of the way the overhead lighting hit the glass doors surrounding the security room, the people inside could see faint images of their reflections. The self-proclaimed member of the Howard family glanced toward the door through which he’d come and looked at his reflection. He grinned. “Yes, that’s definitely me.” He was either incredibly sure of himself, or an idiot. Either way, he wasn’t taking a step further in any direction until she had more. “You’ll forgive me but I’m going to have to have something more substantial than that to go on.”

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The man laughed. “You’re forgiven, Ms. Alexander.” He took out his wallet and, opening it, held it up for her examination. “I know this is serious stuff and my great-grandmother would appreciate your dedication, but for your own sake, maybe you should lighten up just a little. All work and no play…” His voice trailed off as he closed his wallet. Nikki caught his hand and stopped him from tucking the wallet back into his pocket. “I’m not being paid not to be dull, Mr. Howard,” she told him, extrapolating on the old adage. “I’m being paid to be thorough. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a closer look—at your I.D.,” she clarified when he looked at her in a completely knowing, familiar way. Obligingly, he removed his driver’s license from behind its retaining plastic and handed it to her. “I don’t mind you taking a closer look at all. Look all you want, Ms. Alexander.” She could have sworn someone had turned up the heat in the security room. The watermark embedded in the laminated plastic looked in order. If it was a forgery, it was at the top of its class. She held the license out to him. “How do you know my name, Mr. Howard?” “Simon,” he corrected her. “Calling me ‘Mr. Howard’ makes me feel like my father and I don’t want to feel like my father.” He tucked the license back into his wallet and the wallet back into his pocket. “And I know a lot more about you than just your name.” “Really.” “Really,” he responded. “The rich are not always idle,” he assured her. “Otherwise, they wouldn’t stay rich for very long. I know that you’ve just been promoted to head of security and that the promotion is only temporary—I’d protest that if I were you—until Matt Schaffer’s plane touches down from L.A. two days from now. I know your father was a decorated NYPD detective who died in the line of duty when you were twentytwo and that you idolized him. I know that you’ve spent your whole adult life trying to make him proud of you just in case there’s a hole in some cloud and he’s looking down on you from heaven. I also know that this event means a lot to Luke Montgomery and that he hopes to put himself on the map with it. Did I leave anything out?” he asked, mildly amused. Rich or not, he had more than a touch of wise guy in him. “What color underwear am I wearing?” “Black.” And then he grinned, his blue eyes dancing. “But that’s purely a guess,” he added. “Am I right?” She drew in a breath. “Why have you done this much research?” she wanted to know. “Because while we are a very philanthropic family, we do not take handing over our jewels lightly, no matter for how short a duration of time. And you didn’t answer my question. Am I right?” She could feel her cheeks beginning to burn. “That isn’t important.” “You were the one to bring up the question,” he pointed out innocently. “And I’m the one terminating that line of discussion,” she informed him. “Now, if you want a tour of our security measures—” “Among other things,” he interjected. Okay, it was time to nip this in the bud. She couldn’t focus if he kept sashaying in front of her like this, saying things and giving her looks that were guaranteed to raise her body temperature. “Do you always come on this strong?” A slight, careless shrug accompanied his words. “Only when I’m interested.”

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Even if he wasn’t gold-tipped, he was the kind of man who only needed to look in a woman’s direction to draw her to him. What did he want with her? “I thought you said you were interested in our security measures.” “That, too.” And then she saw him grow just a tad more serious. “Your Mr. Montgomery talked my father, Sebastian, into agreeing to put Great-grandmother’s necklace on display—smooth talker, Mr. Montgomery— but the family would like a few more reassurances before we allow the necklace to be put out there to tempt every would-be thief without a retirement plan into trying to make off with it. It’s nothing against your competence,” he assured her, “but we tend to be a little overly cautious after the last attempt.” “The last attempt?” He nodded. “It happened a couple of years ago. A thief broke in, somehow managed to bypass all our security systems. Systems the family paid a great deal of money for.” “You kept the necklace on the premises?” she asked incredulously. “Why wasn’t it in a safety-deposit box locked away in a bank?” The question brought back his smile. And took away her breath. “Exactly what my father kept insisting. But technically, the necklace belonged to my mother at the time and she never saw the good in having things if she couldn’t touch them whenever she wanted to.” “So what happened?” “The thief, a man named McAllister—oddly enough we share a first name—made off with it. The break-in was sheer poetry, really.” He shook his head in wonder. “In and out without leaving a single trace.” He was being very charitable in his assessment, she thought. “I never read or heard anything about the robbery.” “Don’t see why you should have. Not the kind of thing we liked to see publicized.” But there was obviously a happy reunion because the piece was going to be put on display. “What did you do to get the necklace back?” “You mean did we hire someone to hunt the thief down?” “Yes.” “No.” She didn’t understand. “But you have the necklace.” “Yes.” “How?” “Turns out the thief had a heart. He found out my mother was dying and that she was particularly connected to the necklace. He brought it back to her. Gave it to her personally.” “And got caught?” she guessed. He smiled. “Seems that breaking in to return something turned out to be a little trickier than breaking in to steal it.”

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“What happened to the thief?” “He’s still around somewhere, I hear. My mother refused to let my father press charges. My father was so in love with her he always did everything she asked him to.” “How is he now? Your father,” she clarified. Simon took a breath before answering. “Learning to deal with his grief. Part of that is throwing himself into all the charity work she used to do.” “And putting the necklace on display for Mr. Montgomery’s charity gala is part of that.” It was a statement, not a guess. “Absolutely.” And then he laughed, his mood lightening. “All this talking has made my throat dry. Join me for a drink?” he asked. “I’m on duty,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t have to be alcoholic, just liquid. You do drink liquids, don’t you, Ms. Alexander?” “On occasion.” His eyes were melting away any barriers she thought she had safely in place. “Would this be one of those occasions?” “Well, seeing as how for the next two days you’re Mr. Montgomery’s most important guest—” “Maybe longer,” he interjected, his eyes holding hers. “—I can’t see how I can say no.” “Neither can I.” He extended his elbow to her. “Lead the way, Nikki.” They’d gone from Ms. Alexander to Nikki in the space of less than ten minutes. The man was a smooth, smooth operator, Nikki thought, slipping her arm through his. She had yet to decide if that was a good thing, or a bad one.

Chapter Three The Starlight Room was the smallest of the bars and restaurants located inside the Janus. It was also Nikki’s personal favorite. Occasionally she went there after hours to be alone. Other times, she went with friends. The bar was small enough to generate an intimate aura, yet public enough so that someone could feel safe no matter what the situation. Nikki didn’t know why she needed the latter assurance while in the company of Simon Howard, but she did. Signaling a hostess as they walked in, Nikki waited until they were seated to ask for a diet cream soda. She was surprised when Simon asked for the same thing. “I would have taken you for a scotch-and-soda man.” “And you would have been right.” “Then…?” She tilted her head as her sentence trailed off, waiting for him to fill it in.

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“As you pointed out, it’s early.” “No, I pointed out that I’m on duty.” “Same thing. We can have something stronger later,” Simon told her, lowering his voice seductively and leaning in closer as he added, “when you’re off duty.” “We?” Just when had they become a set? Or was he just accustomed to women falling all over themselves to accommodate him? That had never been her style, to follow the herd. “I’m counting on you to keep me company, Nikki.” On anyone else’s lips, that would have sounded like a trite line. Simon Howard made it sound like a sincerely voiced wish. “I know that diamonds are supposed to be a girl’s best friend, but the necklace isn’t much of a conversationalist and I don’t know anyone in this town.” He smiled at her as the hostess returned with their carbonated drinks. Taking his, he raised it slightly as if he was silently toasting her. “Here’s to a new…friendship,” he declared, his eyes saying far more than that. “Mr. Howard—” “Simon, please.” “All right, ‘Simon Please,’” she obliged. “As Mr. Montgomery’s honored guest, I am to show you every courtesy. Emphasis on courtesy, not on every.” “Understood,” he told her warmly. “All I want is a friendly face next to me. I never force myself on a lady.” He wouldn’t have to, she thought. The man was smooth enough to make a woman gratefully believe that whatever happened was her idea. “I find the men that do to be absolutely reprehensible.” “Nice to know chivalry isn’t dead. Tell me, what made your father agree to this gala?” she asked. “Word has it that your family is usually a no-show to these kinds of events.” He took a slow, languid sip of his soda before replying. Nikki had the impression he was studying her as he framed his answer. Why? Why bother to second-guess what a lowly head-of-security wanted to hear when you were thought to be one of the richest men in the country? “I did a little soul searching,” Simon told her. “My mother was very big on charities, very big on ‘giving back,’ so to speak. I decided that maybe it was time that I stop thinking only of myself and follow the path that she would have wanted to see me take. The path she would have continued taking if only she’d been given the chance. My father feels the same way.” “You were close to your mother?” A bittersweet smile played on his lips. There were traces of regret evident. “Not as close as I should have been,” he admitted. “But then, I always thought there would be enough time to make up for it later. Only it turned out that there was no later. Hindsight is a bear.” It wasn’t often that she felt her heartstrings tugged these days. She liked to keep her professional life and her private one separate. But every so often, they collided. This was one of those times and she could feel her professional barriers disappearing. Maybe it was because she felt the same way about her mother. She and Fiona Alexander had been at that awkward impasse where she’d known everything and her mother had known nothing—otherwise known as the teen years—when her mother had died, her life snuffed out by microbes that couldn’t even be seen by the naked eye. Deadly microbes that didn’t care that Fiona was a wife and a mother whose husband and daughter needed her badly. They just took her.

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“I never got a chance to be decent to my mother, either,” she heard herself admitting, and it was almost as if she was sitting on the sidelines, watching someone with her face have this conversation with Mr. Rich-andGorgeous. Simon opened his mouth and she knew he was about to protest the words she’d just used. But then he closed it again and shrugged those broad shoulders good-naturedly. “Sorry to hear that. Maybe they’re right. Maybe teenagers should be put to sleep for the duration of their teen years.” “Then they’d only wake up to be know-it-all idiots in their twenties instead of in their teens. People can’t change their ways if they don’t learn how myopic they really are.” “Well put,” he agreed. He studied his near-empty glass for a moment, then raised his eyes to hers. Nikki felt her stomach quivering just a touch. Hunger pangs, she told herself. She was just having hunger pangs. Ah, but for what? a small voice in her head taunted. She shut it down. “Tell me, what made you choose this line of work?” he wanted to know. As he asked his question, he lightly placed his hand on hers, his fingers grazing her wrist. She could feel her temperature rising. Despite the soda, her mouth was dry. So dry that it was hard to speak. “My father was a cop,” she reminded him. He nodded, as if fully aware and sympathetic of the things that traditions made people do. “So why aren’t you one, too?” She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was telling him things he already knew. She answered anyway. “I was. For a while. I had the misfortune of being shot in the line of duty.” “And that scared you,” he concluded, his eyes never leaving her face. “No,” she contradicted, “that scared my father.” His was the first face she saw when she opened her eyes at the hospital some ten hours later. It was completely gray, as if he’d died in her place. “I hated seeing him like that, hated making him live with the same kind of fear my mother always had, so I went into security work after I mended.” “Mended,” Simon repeated. “From the gunshot,” she explained, wondering if he was even paying attention to what she was saying. A man like Simon Howard had a lot of things on his mind. There was no room for the life story of a woman he would never see again after the gala was over. “Did it leave a scar?” he asked out of the blue. “The bullet,” he added for clarity. “Not anywhere where someone can see it.” The intrigued look that came into Simon’s eyes threw her off balance. It also upped her body temperature by several degrees. Again. So did hearing him murmur, “We’ll see,” under his breath.

Chapter Four

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The next moment, Simon took one last sip and set his empty glass down on the table. “You still owe me a tour,” he reminded her. “Right.” Nikki was used to pulling herself together at a moment’s notice. Working for Luke Montgomery was a little like boot camp. She had to be ready to jump into action at any hour of the day or night. Montgomery both valued that and required it from all his employees. Or at least the ones who intended to remain in his employ. She watched Simon take out his wallet and put her hand on his to stop him. “Your money’s no good here.” All the contributors to the event were to be comped, from their suites down to their drinks. Simon inclined his head and after a beat, put his wallet away. “Ironic, isn’t it?” “What is?” “When you’re rich, no one asks you to pay for anything. It’s only when you can’t that they want to see the color of your money.” He had a point, Nikki thought. “Mine is not to reason why,” she told him. “I’m just supposed to follow orders.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” His electric grin hummed right through her. “You realize that while I can take you on a tour of where the jewelry is to be displayed, I can’t really go into any kind of detail about what security measures will be put into motion.” “Then how will I know that the Island Star will be safe?” “Mr. Howard—Simon,” she corrected before he had a chance to, “Mr. Montgomery has taken every precaution to make sure that not only your great-grandmother’s precious necklace, but every piece in the show will be safe. I can promise you that the security system is state of the art, fresh off the drawing board. The bad guys haven’t even gotten wind of it.” He surprised her by taking her hand in his and looking into her eyes. “Nikki, no matter how fantastic a system the good guys come up with, I can guarantee you that the bad guys will find a way around it. The only question is, how long will it take them to do it?” “That’s a little cynical,” she observed. As if suddenly aware that he was holding her hand, he released it. “No, that’s pragmatic,” he countered. “The bad guys like the challenge of outwitting the good guys.” “And the money?” He laughed. “They like that, too. But the best thieves are in it foremost for the challenge. That’s what makes it so difficult to stay one step ahead of them.” “Don’t worry. We’re two steps ahead,” she assured him. Her gut told her that if she faltered in any way, Simon Howard might decide to pull the Island Star out of the gala, and while there were many other stunning pieces that were going to be on display, the Island Star was

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to be the center of the entire show. She knew that Montgomery was counting on it. That he had been overjoyed to get the Howards to agree to put the necklace on display in the first place. “Two steps?” Simon asked. “Two,” she repeated. “At least.” “You seem very sure of yourself.” “I am.” “That makes me feel better,” he admitted. “I’m glad to hear that. Let me take you to the ballroom where the jewels are going to be displayed.” “I’m all yours,” he told her. Why did that sound so intimate? They both knew he was only being accommodating, not literal. Despite all logic, a warm shiver danced along her spine before she could steel herself off. It wasn’t as if she was a novice at this. Granted, she’d never been head of security before, temporarily or otherwise, but she had dealt with rich patrons before. For the most part, they were either distant, snobbish or incredibly naive. Simon Howard was none of the above. He was too damn sexy for her own good. And she knew that he knew it, which only made things even more difficult. Her kingdom for a pushy rich guy, she thought. That, at least, she could handle. Her walls would be up again, instead of crumbling each time her hand—or soul—was touched. And yet, throughout it all, something was nagging at her like the refrain of a song she once knew but had since forgotten—all but the melody, which refused to go quietly into that good night. “There are going to be guards at all the entrances during the gala,” she went on to tell him as they entered the Janus’s largest ballroom. “And before and after?” “They’ll be there, too, until the last of the pieces leaves the premises with its proper owner.” “What precautions have you taken just before the gala starts? It’s going to take time to get all the jewels into the display cases.” “We’ve got that covered.” “No offense, but the insurance company that my father sends incredibly high premiums to is going to require a little more detail than that, or they won’t allow the Island Star to be part of your gala.” Fair enough, she thought. “Each piece that is set apart will be lovingly surrounded with beams invisible to the naked eye but sensitive enough to go off if so much as a gnat crosses them. I can give you a demonstration.” He gestured toward an empty case that had just been placed on a stand. “Please.” “Give me a second.” She took off her ring and placed it on the empty pedestal, then backed away. Taking out her cell phone, she called someone in the security room. “Alice, I need a quick demonstration. Turn on

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the system over display area nineteen.” Waiting a beat, Nikki nodded, then turned toward Simon. “If you would get my ring for me, Mr. Howard.” Obligingly, Simon reached toward the ring, only to have all sorts of alarms, high-pitched and low, go off. He quickly withdrew his hand, but the noise continued. The noise also summoned a squadron of security guards flooding the ballroom through all the entrances, hands on their weapons. “Just a trial run, people,” Nikki announced, waving them back. “Good to see everyone’s on their toes. You can shut it off now, Alice,” she said into the cell. “Nice job,” she added just before she flipped her cell closed again. She looked at Simon. “Satisfied?” His eyes swept over her slowly, intimately touching her body before he finally answered her question. “Getting there.”

Chapter Five Nikki cleared her throat. “Anything else I can show you?” He said nothing in reply, but his eyes spoke volumes. “Maybe I should rephrase that—” “No,” he told her, placing his hand on her arm as if to physically stop her from continuing. “Let me savor the image for a moment.” Her intuition kept telling her that something was off. Simon Howard appeared to have everything—looks, money, charm, any one of which would garner him more than enough female companionship. All he needed to do was snap his fingers. Why, then, was he coming on to what in his world would be described as “the help”? Part of her said to just enjoy it. Another part, the part that had been so carefully trained from an early age by her father, said to tread carefully—for a number of reasons, some of which she hadn’t had the time to figure out. “While you’re savoring, let me make sure that your suite is ready for you. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.” “I like to do the unexpected.” Her eyes met his. “I’m sure.” “It keeps people guessing.” Just the mere presence of you would do that. Mercifully, she kept that thought to herself. The suite reserved for Simon Howard—at no charge—was palatial. Thinking back, Nikki was fairly certain that the first house she lived in with her parents could have easily fit into the suite with room to spare. It must be nice, being rich. “It isn’t always, you know,” Simon told her. Startled, she swung completely around to face him. “You read minds as a hobby or a vocation?” she asked, managing to sound blasé rather than the way she actually felt—rattled. “No, but I can read faces and yours was opened just then. Not hard to figure out what you’re thinking.”

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“Why isn’t it?” she asked. “Nice to be rich,” she added, in case he’d lost the thread of the conversation. She knew she almost had. Looking into those cloudless blue eyes of his had her all but falling into them, head over heels. “Well, for one thing, you never know if people are being nice to you because you’re you—or because you’re wealthy. Makes it very hard to relax and be yourself. For another, people are always trying to find ways to hit you up, subtly or otherwise. You have no idea how many requests for money the family gets every day. Hard to separate the genuine causes from the ones sent in by people who just believe they deserve a piece of the pie by virtue of their existence.” “Don’t you have people for that?” “My mother used to read every piece of mail herself. I try to honor her memory by doing some of that myself.” He moved closer to her. Or maybe it just felt that way. All she knew was that suddenly, her pulse was racing around in circles because it had nowhere to go. “What time are you off duty?” “If there’s no emergency, six.” He placed his hand against the small of her back as he leaned in a tad closer. “Think there’ll be any emergencies?” “God, I hope not.” That wasn’t supposed to come out, but it did. She held her breath. “Could we get together at six? If there are no emergencies,” he qualified. She thought of the security system she wanted to review one last time before the display items began arriving. But she had a decent staff and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t already done it three times over. She was just being incredibly cautious. “All right, I don’t see why not.” “Good.” He nodded. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” His smile isolated her from her thoughts and seemed to tug her into his personal space. “Come hungry,” he told her. “I don’t like to eat alone.” *** “He could have any one of a legion of women, why me?” Nikki asked, bouncing her thoughts off Kelly Anderson, her coworker and possibly her oldest friend in Vegas. “Because somewhere, in some life, you must have done something awfully good,” Kelly pronounced with a toss of her short, dark hair. “I don’t know, Kelly. I’m getting vibes off him.” Kelly sighed and closed her eyes for a second. “So am I.” “Not those kinds of vibes,” Nikki said impatiently. The ambivalent feelings racing through her, tugging her one way, then another, were driving her crazy. Kelly wrapped her slender fingers around Nikki’s wrist, obviously feeling for a pulse. “Strange, you seem to be alive, and yet, odd things are coming out of your mouth.” She released her grasp. “How can you not melt when that man looks at you?” “I’m not paid to melt.”

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“You’re not being paid to be a plaster saint, either.” “There’s something off, Kelly. I can’t put my finger on it, but there is.” “Tell you where my fingers would go…” There was no misreading Kelly’s grin, or her meaning. “You don’t have to tell me where they’d go. I know.” “Good, then I don’t have to hit you upside your head to jump-start your brain—which has obviously gone into a coma. If the man wants to ‘see’ you, why don’t you just take off early? Hell, Montgomery told you this position was just temporary. Day after tomorrow, Cinderella, you go back to the ashes and the drudgery. Why not enjoy your time with the prince while you can?” “If you can get your brain back to reality for a minute, I want you to look up everything you can about a Simon McAllister—” It was clear the name meant nothing to Kelly, either. “Who’s that?” Nikki was playing a hunch but there was no point in going into that until she had something more to go on. “That’s what I intend to find out. And get me Sebastian Howard’s private line.” “Why?” “Because I want to ask him a few questions about his son.” “Why don’t you just go straight to the horse’s mouth yourself?” “Because I’m not sure I’ll get the right answers. Don’t look at me like that. We’re being paid to keep things safe, not necessarily to make nice.” Kelly laughed. “Make nice? Honey, I’d make more than ‘nice’ if I got the chance. Okay, I’ll get you what you asked for—on one condition.” Nikki stared at her. “Condition?” “Yeah.” Kelly winked. “Promise you’ll do it once for me.” Kelly was obviously letting her imagination run off with her. “I don’t have any intentions of ‘doing it’ at all.” Kelly sighed deeply. “Where have I failed you?” Hands on her friend’s back, Nikki gave her a slight push toward the security room. “Just go get me that information, Kelly.” Shaking her head, Kelly left the room. “Wouldn’t know a golden opportunity if it bit her,” she mumbled under her breath—just loud enough for Nikki to hear.

Chapter Six Well, that was that, Nikki thought as she left her office several hours later. The quick background check on McAllister had led nowhere. The phone call to Sebastian Howard had given her pat answers. The family patriarch had assured her that yes, his son had been dispatched to Las Vegas to go over the security system at the Janus before he would send his necklace to the casino via his private jet. His

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description of his son had matched the man who’d introduced himself as Simon Howard to a tee. The senior Howard had gone so far as to e-mail her a photograph of his son. That alone should have set her mind at ease and returned the hairs at the back of her neck to their original position. So why was she still feeling uneasy? Maybe because you’re attracted to him and you don’t trust men you’re attracted to. There was that nagging voice again, saying things she didn’t want to hear. Just because she’d been taken in by a con man several years ago and had lost her heart, not to mention several other things, was no reason to distrust the male species as a whole. There were some good men left in the world. Her father had been a good man, she reminded herself. “It’s after six. You didn’t call me.” She turned around and found herself looking into Simon’s eyes. And nearly drowning in a blue pool. It took her a second to pull herself together. “A few of the display pieces arrived early. I was making sure that they were properly secured.” He nodded. “You know, your team seems to be very capable.” “They are,” she assured him. “Then why didn’t you delegate your responsibilities to them?” Several excuses rose to her lips, but she dismissed them in favor of the simple truth. “Never learned how,” she admitted. “You should. It’s liberating,” he told her. “But I know what you mean. I never felt things were taken care of unless I saw to them personally.” He smiled into her eyes. “I guess we both have trust issues.” “I guess we do,” Nikki agreed. “So why don’t you join me for dinner?” he suggested, smiling into her eyes. “And build up some trust?” She was about to offer what sounded like a lame excuse even to her own ears when she saw Kelly coming toward her. The other woman nodded at her as she approached. “Just wanted you to know that I’ve assigned Wallace to the Von Braun diamond collection and Peterman to the Steins.” Simon looked delighted at the news. She should have realized that the names would mean something to him and that he’d put two and two together, getting the obligatory four. He took her hand and laced his fingers through it, even as he nodded his thanks toward Kelly. “You see, everything’s covered. So now you have no excuse not to have dinner with me.” “None at all,” Kelly guaranteed, punctuating her words with a quick wink in her direction. “You two crazy kids go, have fun. The ‘fort’ is officially being held down, ‘boss.’” Simon gently guided her away from Kelly and toward the bank of elevators that would take them to his luxurious tower suite. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to have dinner with me.”

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“No, I do.” Did that come out sounding too eager? “I mean—” Nikki paused, then tried again. “It’s just that I’m worried. This is the biggest event of its kind. Certainly the biggest the Janus has ever seen. If anything goes wrong—” “All the diamonds are insured, Nikki. The worst thing that can happen is that several high-profile insurance companies will be flooded with paperwork.” He lightly ran his fingertip over the furrow between her eyes, smoothing it out. “Stop worrying.” “You seemed rather concerned about the level of security this morning,” she pointed out. “That was before I had a chance to talk things over with you. Now I’m not concerned at all. I have faith in you and your team.” His smile was warm and the inside of her stomach tightened. Hard. “Any thief would have to be crazy to try to steal a single gem, much less an entire collection from the Janus.” The elevator doors opened. Simon ushered her into the elevator car and brought her knuckles up to his lips. “Now relax,” he coaxed, his breath caressing her skin just before he brushed his lips against it. She felt her insides lighting up like a Roman candle about to go off. Relaxing wasn’t possible. “Easy for you to say,” she breathed. “Actually,” he replied, sinking his hands into her soft, light blond hair as he brought his mouth down to hers, “not easy at all.” It never even occurred to Nikki to protest, not with her heart hammering so hard and every single fiber of her being holding its breath until his lips touched hers. She did, however, have the presence of mind to shift into the opposite corner, where the security camera couldn’t see them. Fireworks went off at first contact and she knew she was in trouble. A lot of trouble. Because, without a single drop of alcohol having passed her lips, the man made her feel utterly intoxicated. With effort, Nikki pulled her head back, even though all she wanted to do was get lost in his embrace, in his kiss. The elevator doors were opening. “I think we’re here,” she managed to get out. Blinking, she glanced beyond the parted doors. “On your floor.” “God, I hope so.” Weaving his fingers through hers again, Simon quickly walked out of the elevator car and headed to his suite. He slid his card key across the slot and unlocked the door to his suite. The moment she crossed the threshold, he closed it in a fluid movement, his hand just above her head. “I thought you said we were going to dinner,” she said with effort. “I’m thinking room service.” “I’m not,” she breathed. The smile on his lips was incredibly sensual as it unfurled by inches. “A lady after my own heart.” Her breath was coming in smaller and smaller snatches. “I’m not after anything.” “I am,” he told her, slowly beginning to undo the three buttons on her jacket. He slid the jacket off her shoulders as he kissed her for a second time. Harder and deeper than the first time. Her head was spinning badly. This was not the way to maintain customer relations, at least, not the way Luke Montgomery would approve of. But right now, she didn’t want approval. What she wanted was

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something completely out of bounds. Completely wanton. It had been a very long time since she had felt this vibrant, this alive. No, she silently corrected herself as the inferno within her grew, she was wrong. She had never felt this vibrant, this alive. She had never felt like this at all. Her heart was swiftly turning to the consistency of a marshmallow and her brain was getting very close to being fried. And she didn’t care. All she wanted was for this to continue, to blossom and swallow her whole. Simon laughed as she all but ripped the clothes off his body. “I take it you’re beginning to enjoy yourself.” “We’re way past beginning,” she said huskily, her lips grazing his. “Good. I was starting to think maybe I wasn’t your type.” He had to be kidding. He was every woman’s type, every woman’s fantasy. He didn’t disappoint her. Simon Howard took her to places she hadn’t even dreamed existed, raising her to heights she hadn’t thought achievable without an oxygen mask strapped over her face. And just when she thought they’d reached the limit and it was over—it wasn’t. Sometimes, she thought, just before she was consumed by another, even more overwhelming wave of rapture, she really loved her job.

Chapter Seven Nikki felt ravenous. But she wasn’t really sure if her hunger was due to a sudden, acute need for food, or because she craved yet another go-round with Simon. Since Las Vegas was a betting town and there’d been times when she’d pitted herself against the odds, she would have confidently gone with the latter. But her stomach decided to take part in the silent tug of war and rumbled, putting in its two cents. As luck would have it, Simon’s ear was very close to the source of the sound. His breath grazed her stomach, making it quiver just before he raised his head. A hot shiver raced along the length of her just as a smile that was nothing short of tantalizingly sinful played along his lips. “Would you like to take a break and have something to eat?” A break. That meant that there was yet more to come. Was this man even human? Making a quick assessment, she realized that she was very close to being exhausted. Thrilled, but exhausted. Maybe he needed to refuel, she thought. Cupping her hand against his cheek, she nodded. “Sounds like a plan to me.” She began to turn in order to reach for the phone on the nightstand. “I can call room service and—” Simon pulled her back to him, sliding her body against his. “Already done,” he informed her. She looked at him, puzzled. “When? You haven’t left my side—or other parts—since we walked into the suite.” “I called ahead.” He looked at his watch. “They should be arriving right about—” there was a knock on the door “—now.”

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“You called ahead,” she repeated as the full import of his words sank in. “You were that certain?” She wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. Reaching for the robe that he’d slung over the foot of his bed, Simon slipped it on and got up. “That I’d be hungry? Yes.” He went into the other room and she heard him opening the door just as her cell phone rang. Reluctantly she answered it. When she heard the “click” as Simon closed the door, Nikki went to join him wearing the complimentary hotel robe she’d found hanging in the closet. “So then there’s only one serving,” she said. One glance at the table that room service had rolled in told her otherwise. There were two settings. She raised a quizzical eyebrow as she fixed him with a look. “I’m an optimist,” he told her as he removed the metal cover from each dish. Setting the covers aside, he aimed yet another bone-melting smile at her. “I was hopeful you’d join me.” “I see.” For a moment, Nikki weighed her options. Had he been hopeful, or just confident that she wouldn’t say no? “You’re used to women saying yes to you.” “You make me sound like a womanizer. I’m not,” he protested. He gestured toward the table, making it a metaphor for the entire situation. “This sort of thing happens a lot less frequently than you’d imagine.” Amusement curved her mouth. “What, every other day instead of every day?” He laughed and shook his head. “Not even close.” Deftly, he changed the subject. “They tell me your chef’s the best in the business. It would be a shame to let all this go to waste.” “I didn’t say I was leaving,” she told him. “I was just gathering information.” Nikki noticed that the champagne was already poured. After a bat, she took the glass that was closest to her and raised it in a toast. “To the Island Star and the charity event that brought her—and you—here.” “To the Island Star,” he echoed, raising his glass to his lips. Having taken a long sip, she set her glass down then reached for her fork. The utensil slipped from her fingers to the floor. “I’ll get it,” Simon volunteered, bending down to retrieve her fork. “Ever gallant,” she murmured, taking it from him. She ran her napkin over the fork, but when she finished, instead of starting to eat, an odd expression slipped over her face. “What’s the matter?” he asked, concerned. “I don’t think I feel very good, Simon. Maybe I should lie down for a—” She never finished the sentence as her eyes closed and her head began to fall forward. Simon was instantly on his feet, catching her before her face met the plate. “Sorry, Nikki,” he apologized in a soft whisper, whisking her away from the table. He carried her back into the bedroom and gently laid her down on the bed. “I wish there was another way,” he told her, tucking the blanket around her, “but there isn’t.”

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Very quickly, Simon pulled a suitcase out from beneath the bed and swiftly put on the clothes that were packed inside. Within seconds, he was cocooned in black from his neck to his toes, allowing him to fade that much more readily into the shadows. He slipped a black backpack over his shoulder. For one moment, a moment he knew he didn’t have, Simon paused for one last look at the woman in his bed. A small sigh escaped his lips. “Sorry,” he said again. And then he left. *** Borrowing a few tricks he’d learned along the way and some things he’d picked up, oddly enough, by watching movies that glorified heists and the people who committed them, Simon managed to bypass the Janus’s so-called state-of-the-art security system. It involved fooling cameras, using endless film loops and ultimately, dropping down into the ballroom via a crawl space directly above the display he’d selected. His weightless entry was enabled by a harness. He had on a pair of goggles that could see the “invisible” beams as easily as if they were actual thin, red strings. He was aware of all of the beams, aware of all the precautionary measures he had to take to successfully circumvent the system—and most of all, he was acutely aware that the high he usually sustained in besting the system was conspicuously absent this time around. And he knew why. But this was his job and he was committed to it. Still, he couldn’t help wishing that things could have gone a different route. Holding his breath, Simon slowly removed the ruby necklace he’d targeted from its stand, inching the paste imitation he’d brought into its place so that the shift in weight didn’t register and set off yet another alarm system. All told, he managed to disarm or circumvent four different security systems. The necklace safely in the pouch strapped to his waist, Simon turned his attention to raising himself up through the ceiling. He knew there were only eight minutes left before the guards made their rounds again. He glanced briefly at the emerald-and-diamond tiara in the next display. He was tempted, but that would be overkill and he knew better than to press his luck. Lady Luck only dallied so long and she was a fickle mistress at best. He’d already learned that firsthand several years ago. The ruby necklace was enough. And then, just as he began his ascent, he heard it. Heard the unnerving, very distinct sound of a gun being cocked. How had someone gotten in behind him without his hearing them? Turning his head, expecting to see one of the security guards rushing toward him, Simon found himself being surprised for perhaps the third time in his long career as a international jewel thief. “Stop right there if you don’t want me to shoot you,” Nikki ordered. The gun in her hands that was aimed straight at him reinforced her command.

Chapter Eight

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Nikki expected Simon to be angry and show his true colors, assaulting her with a barrage of curses. She expected him to try to talk his way out of it with that silver tongue of his. She expected him to offer her a percentage of his take. Or various combinations of all three. She did not expect him to start to laugh. When her eyes narrowed and she shifted her weapon so that it was pointed directly at his chest, he said, “I knew I shouldn’t have underestimated you.” “Too late.” For a cornered man, he certainly didn’t look worried. “Not really.” “Oh, yes, really,” she assured him crisply. “It’s all over, Mr. Howard. Or should I say, Mr. McAllister? Lower yourself back to the ground. Slowly.” He did as he was told. Looking truly impressed, Simon had to ask, “How did you find out?” “I have friends in high places—and some in low,” she added. His feet were firmly on the ground. She motioned for him to raise his hands. After a moment, he reluctantly obeyed. “Obviously not enough friends. Or at least, not enough to give you the full story.” She needed to call the police, Nikki thought, still keeping her weapon trained on Simon. She should have known he was just too good to be true. “I have all the story I need, McAllister—” “Either way, it’s still Simon. Simon McAllister,” he told her with a little bow. Nikki shook her head. “From where I’m standing, your name’s mud, ‘Simon.’” Still pointing her gun at him, she reached into her pocket with her left hand to get her cell phone. “You’re planning to call the police.” Nikki inclined her head as she withdrew her cell phone. “Good guess.” “I wouldn’t if I were you.” “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” She flipped open the phone. “But, fortunately for the jewels, you’re not me.” “Think,” he cautioned her. “You’ve got five pieces on early display. Why didn’t I take all of them?” Because he wasn’t stupid, she thought. Every minute spent in the ballroom would have meant a minute closer to being caught. “Because you know that greed is the undoing of even the best thief and you made your choice ahead of time.” “I took the least expensive piece,” he pointed out. That had stirred her curiosity, too. “Are you waiting for me to applaud you?” “I’m waiting for you to reason it out,” he told her calmly. He nodded toward the weapon she was holding. “Preferably without having your gun aimed at any of my vital parts while you do it.”

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He was asking her to lower her weapon. “Not going to happen,” she told him tersely. “Before you call in the cavalry, why don’t you place another call to Sebastian Howard?” he suggested. Another. That meant he was aware of the first call. Did he have her line tapped? “How did you know I called him?” Simon’s smile widened. For a man whose jig was up, he looked unbelievably laid-back. “Because he told me.” “He told you.” She repeated each word slowly, incredulously. “He thought I should know that things were going according to my plan. He gave you my description, didn’t he? Sent you my photograph?” Simon obviously knew the answer to that, she thought. “Yes,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I could show you another photograph,” he volunteered. “The real Simon Howard isn’t nearly as goodlooking as I am.” “Or modest, I’m sure.” She tried to wrap her mind around this puzzle. Something was still off. “So what is it you have on Sebastian Howard? Are you holding his son somewhere, threatening to kill him if he doesn’t go along with this scheme of yours?” Simon shook his head. “You’ve been watching way too many movies,” he assured her. “And, for the record, you’re not even close. Currently, Sebastian Howard is my employer.” How stupid did he think she was? “Right. And I’m Peter Pan.” “Much too pretty to be Peter Pan.” His eyes swept over her, creating that aura of intimacy again. “Although you’re definitely agile enough.” Nikki felt her cheeks growing hot. She focused on the situation, not her reaction to the man. That had almost been her undoing. He’d used her, damn him! “Your employer?” she scoffed. Surely he could come up with something better than that. “Why would Sebastian Howard employ you?” “To see if I could break your security system—and if I could, to tell you what to do in order to fix it. He might be an incredibly charitable man these days, but that doesn’t mean he wants to risk the Island Star being stolen.” “So this is all some complicated preventive security measure?” Like she'd actually believe that. “Absolutely. Who better to test the system than me? I was the most successful jewel thief around before I retired.” “Retired,” she echoed. What she’d read was that he hadn’t surfaced for a while. That was very different from retiring. “Yes, retired. Remember that story I told you about the necklace being stolen?” “Yes.”

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“Well, in case you have any doubts, that was me. Since I had a change of heart and returned the necklace to Mrs. Howard, no charges were brought against me. Instead, because his wife insisted, Sebastian Howard introduced me to his insurer. Technically, I work for them.” “Testing systems?” she asked incredulously. “Among other things, yes. You can call Mr. Howard or Anthony Wayne at Lloyd’s if you need verification.” She stared at him. “Lloyd’s. Of London?” His smile answered her question before he did. “That would be the one.” The next moment, she surprised him by quickly moving forward and slapping a pair of handcuffs on him. “You don’t mind if I keep you in cuffs until I check out your story.” His surprise melted into a seductive expression. It went right under her skin, burrowing to the very core of her. She couldn’t keep her body from tingling. “You can keep them on afterward if you like. As long as we go back to my suite.” She tried to steel herself off. “You don’t have a suite,” she reminded him. “Simon Howard has a suite.” “Sebastian Howard will pay for my accommodations,” he told her. “All you need to do is make a call to him. Use the same number you used,” he urged. “That way, you’ll know it’s on the level and you can’t suspect me of doing something underhanded. By the way, I’m really curious. I put enough sedatives into your drink to knock you out for the duration of the night. How are you still standing?” It was her turn to smile triumphantly. “Remember when I dropped the fork?” “I picked it up, yes.” “I spit the sip of the drink I’d taken into my napkin.” Simon recalled that she had it pressed to her lips when he got back up. He just assumed she was using the napkin to wipe her mouth. Touché, he thought. He had a weakness for smart women with killer curves. “What gave me away?” “The champagne was already poured. Most men like to make a production out of removing the cork and pouring the champagne into glasses.” Simon inclined his head. “I’m not most men.” “No,” she agreed, “you certainly aren’t.” Instead of calling the police, she put a call in to Kelly. “Kelly, get me Sebastian Howard on the line. Yes, I know what time it is. I’m sure he’ll appreciate getting the call, though. Thanks.” The way Simon whatever-his-last-name-was kept smiling at her warned her of the outcome of her call before it even began. Nikki flipped her phone closed. “Okay, so your story holds up and you’re in the clear.” She put away her weapon. “You can go.”

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“My job’s not over yet. I get to hang around while the Island Star is on display. It arrives by courier tomorrow. I also get to give you pointers.” Her back went up. “I don’t need pointers.” He begged to differ. “My stealing the ruby necklace says you do.” He held his cuffed hands up before her. Nikki opened the cuffs and removed them. “My stopping your getaway says I don’t.” She pressed her lips together and relented. “Lucky for you, I’m open to suggestions.” He smiled at her as they walked down the hall together. “Lucky for me, I’ve got some pretty good suggestions,” he told her. She had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the casino’s security system. “I’m sure you do, Simon,” Nikki replied, hooking her arm through his. “I’m sure you do.”

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The Boss Favourite by Susan Meier When Kelsey Cramer Delaney returned to her hometown of Portage, Pennsylvania, after the death of her husband, the last thing she expected was to be living next door to her first love. But Eric wasn't thrilled to see her or to be living in the blue-collar neighborhood either. He's only back home because his ex-wife cheated on him, then brazenly took him for half of his successful manufacturing company. The last thing he wants is to become involved with Kelsey, especially after she starts working for him.

Chapter 1: Surely, despite the fact that her life was a mess, she hadn't become a newspaper thief? In only one short year, her life had become a financial nightmare. After her husband had died, she discovered his business hadn't been as successful as everyone had thought and they'd been living the high life on borrowed money. Not only were she and her children forced to move from California to Portage, Pennsylvania, to live with her parents but her good name had gone to hell in a handbasket. She didn't know how the gossip of her near bankruptcy and mismanaged credit had traveled nearly 3,000 miles, but it had. And now, on her very first day back in town — the day she wanted to begin rebuilding her reputation — she and her father both held a newspaper, which could only mean she had stolen the neighbor's. "It's ours," Dan Cramer said, chuckling. "What did you think I did, swipe Eric's?" "No, but I'm guessing that since you have yours," Kelsey said, just barely keeping the panic out of her voice. "I stole Eric's." "Oh, dear." Her mother grimaced as she looked at the wrinkled newspaper her daughter quickly refolded. Kelsey rose from her seat. She didn't like Eric Sponsky, not one bit. She liked even less the fact that he lived next door to her family home. He was just another nuisance she would have to endure until she got a job and found her own place. "It's not a big deal. I'll just put it back." Even as she said the words, she turned toward the screen door and saw Eric standing on the grass strip between the side-by-side driveways, searching for his paper. Though she didn't want her breath to catch, it did. Another man would look ridiculous in the gaudy gold velour robe he wore, but not Eric. He was spectacular. The unexpectedly bright attire intensified the hues of his black hair and brilliant green eyes, and the shapemolding material accented his tall, muscular build. Because his eyes narrowed as he glanced about in frustration, he resembled an angry Greek god. Eric had been Kelsey's first love. He was the boy she had dated all through high school. Unfortunately he was also the boy who had stood her up for their senior prom. And he never told her why. He skipped town, leaving her wondering what had happened. And now a stupid, inconsequential newspaper had turned the tables in their squabble. Because she had taken his paper, she wouldn't be able to assume the high ground and ignore him, as she had planned to do while she lived here. Seeing his growing anger, Kelsey knew there was no way she could walk out and hand his paper to him. Besides, she didn't really want to talk to him. She certainly didn't have anything to say to him. What woman really wanted to face her first love wearing oversize purple flannel pajamas? No woman in her right mind would look forward to encountering her Eric Sponsky. Most women would refuse. Kelsey refused, too.

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She waited until Eric gave up hunting for his paper, then sneaked outside, and slid it between the two rhododendron bushes hiding the tank of gas for his stove. Just as she had the newspaper positioned to appear as if an overzealous paperboy had thrown it there, she heard a deep, masculine voice. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Kelsey just barely stopped herself from screaming. Hand pressed to her heart, she spun around. "Geez, Eric, you scared the life out of me." "A guilty conscience will do that to you," Eric said, folding his arms across his chest as he glared at her. "The Dispatch is still only 50 cents, Kelsey. You don't have to steal mine." It surprised her that he recognized her. He hadn't seen her since she was 18, and she knew she wasn't the perky cheerleader she had been when they dated. But more than that, the past year of worries and pain had taken an additional toll on her appearance. Even the color of her hair seemed off. "I didn't steal your paper...." "Only because I caught you before you could." "I was putting it back." "Yeah, right," Eric said. His gaze slid from her face down to her purple plaid pajamas and his eyebrows rose. "Why don't you simply admit you took the paper, give it back to me, and go home and put on something that doesn't quite blind the neighborhood." "People wearing glass houses shouldn't throw stones, Eric," Kelsey countered, waving a hand in the direction of his luminous velour sleepwear, though she'd already admitted to herself that even in his gaudy gold robe Eric looked fabulous. Like Kelsey, he had added some weight since high school, but where hers was extra padding hopefully hidden by clothes a size too large, his was muscle. His shoulders had broadened, his chest had filled out, and he had a perfectly flat stomach. Right then and there, Kelsey knew there was no justice in life. By all accounts, he shouldn't look this good. Just as she'd lost her home to her husband's debts, he'd lost his in his divorce. He'd lost half of his company to his ex-wife, as well. He should be as tired and stressed out as she was. Yet he looked great. Couldn't he at least have had the good grace to go bald? "I didn't steal your paper. I took it thinking it was my parents'. But when I saw my dad already had a paper, I brought this one back." "Yeah, that's why you were hiding it." "I was hiding it because¼ Oh, shoot, forget it. Think what you like," she said, slapping the paper into Eric's perfect belly and storming away. "I wish the whole damned world would lighten up already." "Yeah, well," Eric called after her, "I think the whole damned world has gone too soft. Maybe if people would pay attention to what they're doing and have a little more courtesy, everybody would get along well enough that no one would have to lighten up."

It was on the tip of Kelsey's tongue to tell him that those were fancy words from a guy who had to sell his big house and mortgage his company because his ex-wife couldn't stand living with him anymore. But she reeled in her temper and continued up the steps of her parents' home.

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"You always were an uptight snob," she mumbled, but not nearly loud enough for him to hear. To hell with him. He was the least of her worries.…

After two cups of coffee and four strips of bacon, Kelsey had forgotten all about her encounter with Eric Sponsky. Going over the single page of want ads in the Dispatch with a fine-tooth comb, she'd found exactly four jobs she was vaguely qualified for. Unfortunately, after spending the afternoon visiting each of the businesses, Kelsey still wasn't employed. She returned to her parents' home, discouraged by the shortage of opportunities for a motivated, organized woman lacking any job experience. Her mother looked at her father, then suggested that there was one very open, very doable job for her: assistant to Eric Sponsky. He had never replaced his ex-wife in his business when she filed for divorce. Rumor had it that he worried that another woman would steal his heart, then use the job as a springboard to again steal half his company, her mother explained. After a few minutes of thinking it over, Kelsey's choice was made. Given that she really needed a job and didn't want Eric's heart, and he needed an assistant but certainly didn't want anything to do with her, she decided she was perfect. When he arrived home at seven that evening, Kelsey marched to his back porch and climbed the steps. She drew a long breath for courage, then rang the bell. Eric answered the door wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and reading glasses. Thank God. The glasses made him seem different, older, maybe…kinder. "All finished with the paper, so you've come browsing for magazines?" "Uh, no," Kelsey said, laughing slightly at his worthless attempt at humor, and realizing the glasses didn't help him one bit. But she wasn't here to critique his jokes or his behavior. She needed a job from this man. "Actually, I want to talk with you." He started to close the door. "This isn't a good time for me." She stuck her foot between the door frame and the heavy wooden door, and took advantage of the element of surprise to elbow her way into his all white, newly remodeled kitchen. "I won't stay long, but I do want to apologize for accidentally taking your paper this morning." He removed his glasses. Then, in the same way he had when he caught her with her hand between his rhododendrons, he crossed his arms on his wide chest. "Apology accepted." Inching her way into the sparkling room, she ran her fingers along the shiny white countertop. "That was such an unfortunate way to meet after all these years." She glanced up at him and smiled. "So, what have you been up to since high school?" "Nothing worth printing in the Dispatch," he said curtly. "And, really, Kelsey, I'm very busy. If you'd cut to the chase, I would appreciate it." "All right," she said, exasperated because he couldn't give her an inch. Just like in high school. Nitpick, nitpick, nitpick. With 10 years' distance to give her perspective, she couldn't remember why she'd put up with him.

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"I need a job." Refusing to beg, Kelsey nonetheless hauled in her temper via a swift intake of air. "I heard that you never replaced your ex-wife, and since you stood me up for the prom, you owe me. I think you should hire me." "There's a darned good reason I never replaced my ex-wife," Eric replied angrily. "Having her as an assistant opened the door for her to say she was instrumental in the development of the business and steal half my company. I'm not going to make that mistake again." "I didn't ask you to marry me. I asked you to give me a job. Since we're not going to get married, there'll be no divorce, and there'll be no settlement. Your company is very safe." She looked him right in the eyes. "You're very safe with me."

"No. I won't hire you to be my assistant." "Come on, Eric! I need a job." "Yeah, well, I would like to keep my sanity for the rest of my life." He held her gaze for several seconds, then quickly turned away. His eyes lingered a little longer than Kelsey would have expected. If she didn't know better, she would guess the guy didn't want to work with her because he still found her attractive. But that couldn't be it. First, he had dumped her 10 years ago. A man doesn't strand a woman to whom he's attracted, without a good reason — and he had never given her any explanation. Second, she no longer looked young and pretty; she'd put on some weight. Her hair was lackluster. Her shoulders drooped. Life had beaten her up and it showed. There was no way he was attracted to her. "Eric, if I weren't desperate, I wouldn't be here. And I'm not going to make your life miserable. I'm not the kind of person who makes anybody's life miserable. You know me. I'm the same person I was 10 years ago." He faced her again. His eyes seemed to glitter but not with anger or frustration, as when she'd accidentally taken his paper. This time they glittered with something a little more personal…a little more dangerous. Nerves fluttered in Kelsey's stomach. She wished she could pull back everything she had said because she'd just reminded him that they had been lovers. Teenage lovers. Young, hungry lovers, as eager and joyful as two crazy puppies. Great. Now she remembered why she put up with his fussiness. At the time it had seemed worth it. If she remembered correctly — and she was having some very vivid recollections right now — it had been. Fearing the worst, she again caught his gaze. As some of the more memorable scenarios raced through her head, the expression in his smoldering green eyes nearly buckled her knees. Dear God. What had she done? But before she could formulate the words to get herself out of this mess, Eric asked, "How could creating a multimillion dollar company and losing it when your husband died not change you?" Momentarily confused by his response, Kelsey only stared at him until she realized he had not been remembering the same things she was. If he had a strange expression on his face it was because she puzzled him, not because he was attracted to her.

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She should have been relieved that his mind obviously hadn't been where she'd thought it was, but instead, his not remembering their shared passion was an insult. It was a demeaning snub, considering that what they'd shared was incredibly memorable to her. And, irrationally, that didn't make her as much mad as it did hurt her feelings. "Aren't you bitter? Aren't you angry? How could you possibly be the same? And how could you possibly feel that the past 10 years haven't changed you?" "You're right, Eric. I am bitter. I am angry. And the past 10 years have made me downright mean." With that she swept through his kitchen and out his door with all the flair of a beleaguered, yet somehow still spunky, Bette Davis heroine. Of course he didn't remember what they had shared. He was a man. Men didn't remember things like kisses in the park or making love under a crescent moon. They might remember sex, but they didn't remember passion...or love.…

Chapter 2: Walking toward his car Saturday morning, Eric inadvertently glanced into the yard beside his house and saw the kids. Two blond beauties. From the gossip, he knew Kelsey had a son and a daughter. He knew the son, Leland, was older, and the daughter, Lucy, was little more than a toddler. But looking at them across the distance, all he really noticed was that they were adorable and his heart clenched. Gossip had further confirmed that Kelsey still hadn't found a job. He knew why. She had fallen in love with a college senior her freshman year and dropped out to marry him. Eric heard that on his first trip home. So she didn't have a degree. She probably didn't have a marketable skill. And, darn it, he knew he owed her. Later that evening, it was Eric marching up the back steps of Kelsey's temporary home. He knocked once, lightly, hoping no one would hear so he could reconcile in his conscience that he had at least tried to offer her a job without actually giving her one. But the little blond boy opened the door. When Eric looked down, a pair of big blue eyes stared up at him from an angelic porcelain-skinned face. "Is your mom home?" "Uh-huh." Eric guessed the kid's age to be about eight, which would mean Kelsey had not only married just shortly after they'd split but she hadn't wasted any time getting pregnant. His heart twisted again, but he ignored it. "Could you get her?" The kid turned and screamed, "MOM!" Eric winced, but within a few seconds Kelsey was in the kitchen, looking ready to strangle her son. "Leland Delaney, you know better than to… Oh." "Hi." "Hi." "Look, I'm going to make this short and sweet. You're right. I owe you. I'm going to give you a job." Because she appeared about ready to faint, Eric didn't turn and scramble out the door as he had originally planned. "Are you okay?"

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"Yeah," she said, staring at him as if she were completely baffled. "I just didn't expect this." "Well, I thought it over and you're right." He didn't tell her that he had seen her kids, worried about how she would support them, and then worried about her. He kept the explanation as close to professional as he possibly could. "I need somebody. And I do know you. If you say we'll keep the relationship strictly business, I know I can trust you." She nodded. "Yes, you can." The certainty in her voice hit him right in the heart. Of course, she would want nothing to do with him. He had hurt her. He'd embarrassed her. She would be a fool to want to have anything to do with him again. "Okay," he said, deciding it was a very good thing for both of them to remember that he had dumped her. This way she wouldn't worry that he would take advantage of her. And he wouldn't worry that she would take advantage of him. "I'll see you Monday, then." She nodded. "Monday." He left her house and jogged down the steps. A little voice in his brain reminded him that he had had very good reason for not taking her to the prom, but he ignored it. It was better for both of them if she didn't know….

Kelsey dressed carefully for her first day as Eric's assistant. She still had church suits left over from her days as Larry Delaney's socialite wife, and she chose a red one that brought out the best in her coloring and hid the worst of her excess weight.

Actually, the extra pounds were no longer a problem. Now that she had a job, the food fests that comforted her in her misery no longer seemed necessary. She'd avoided the refrigerator all weekend. Before the end of the month she predicted those pounds would be gone. She kissed her kids, borrowed her father's car, and rushed to the large prefabricated building that housed Eric's machine shop. After a deep breath for courage, she pushed open the glass door and entered the reception area. "Can I help you?" Kelsey smiled at the young blond woman. The receptionist was petite and dressed in a trim blue suit very much like Kelsey's, but whose color also complemented the decor of the room. Pretty sapphire carpeting covered the floors of the relatively new building. The white walls looked freshly painted. Though Kelsey had chosen her outfit to suit working with an executive and to impress her co-workers on her first day, she hadn't expected a manufacturing environment to be so clean or so quiet. "Yes, thank you. Mr. Sponsky hired me to…" "Kelsey?" Kelsey turned at the sound of Eric's voice and her breath caught. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and red tie, and with his dark coloring, he looked spectacular. When her wits returned, she realized that he was gaping at her as if her appearance had taken him aback just as much. Apparently, he didn't expect her to clean up so well. She worked to conceal a smirk. Thank God for church suits.

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"Hi, Eric," she said, gaining hold of her bearings before he could because it was fun to have him on the defensive for a change. "Are you ready to put me to work?" "Uh, yeah," he said, then ran his hand along his neck. "Candy, this is Kelsey. I hired her last week to be my new assistant. If anybody calls for her she'll be in Human Resources this morning going through orientation." "Okay," Candy said amicably, but as they turned to leave, Kelsey noticed that the young woman gave her a curious once-over. "Right this way," Eric said, leading her down a hall. When they reached the human resources department, he unceremoniously dumped her in the hands of the director. Sabrina Johnson finished Kelsey's tour of the plant, helped her fill out the paperwork necessary for her employment at Sponsky Metals, then returned her to Eric just after lunch. He immediately put her to work sorting through three stacks of what he called nuisance correspondence and, grateful for the opportunity, Kelsey didn't protest. But at 4:30, when it was time to straighten the conference table and get ready to go home, she looked up from her task to discover Eric staring at her.…

Seeing Eric staring at her, Kelsey fought a wave of panic. "What?" "Nothing," he said, drew a long breath, and went back to his work. "You can leave that filing for tomorrow. Right now, you should to check in with Sabrina to see if she has any paperwork you need to fill out at home." "Okay," Kelsey agreed, dropping the two file folders of general correspondence she had segregated from the huge stacks he had given her. She turned and walked out of the room, but on her way to the human resources office she wouldn't let herself dodge the truth. He still liked her. She almost couldn't believe it, but from the way he was looking at her she could tell he did. And she hated him. She would never forgive Eric because she knew she only married Larry Delaney on the rebound. Then, because they had two children together, she'd spent almost nine years tied to a man who didn't really love her. But when she returned to her parents' home, and her beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed son and daughter were waiting for her, she decided that though she hadn't had the best marriage in the world, at least something good had come from it. Her children. If she hadn't married Larry, she wouldn't have her kids. But that still didn't mean she had to forgive Eric. The man had embarrassed her. Humiliated her in a closeknit small town when she was a fragile 18-year-old. Kelsey spent the next day in Eric's office again. This time she purged old files, created hanging folders for new projects, and in general familiarized herself with the business by wading through correspondence, financial reports, and marketing statistics that hadn't been filed in the two years since his wife left him. The day went more easily than the one before because Eric was in meetings. Kelsey ate lunch with Sabrina, who related that she handled most of the employee problems, benefits, and hiring and firing. She also explained that Ronnie Portzer was the head of manufacturing because he knew everything there was to know about machined parts and assembly. But Eric was the genius marketer. "He could be pulling down six figures anywhere he went," Sabrina told Kelsey, then she took a bite of her sandwich. "What are you saying?"

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"I'm saying he's crazy to put up with the aggravation of owning his own company." "No," Kelsey surmised after having spent the morning being filled in on the gossip of Eric's office romance by almost everybody on the administrative staff. "You're saying he should have closed it rather than pay his wife the huge settlement.…" "Or let her buy it," Sabrina said logically. "Since she thought she was such a hotshot and such an important piece of the company's puzzle, he should have signed the darned thing over to her and gotten on with the rest of his life." Kelsey licked her suddenly dry lips. "So why didn't he?" "I think he didn't want to see her run it into the ground." "Sounds as if you didn't like her very much." Sabrina sighed. "None of us did. It was clear to all of us early on that she was only out for what she could get from Eric, but he didn't seem to see any of it coming." "She hurt him?" "Tremendously." "Oh." Hearing that, Kelsey felt incredibly guilty. It seemed fate had paid him back in spades for everything he had done to her....

When Kelsey entered the office the next morning, Eric was already there and working. He didn't even look up. "Good morning, Kelsey." "Good morning," she said, then swallowed. Knowing he wasn't the wicked warlock of the West anymore, recognizing fate had paid him back for everything he had done to her, Kelsey was reconsidering her feelings. She remembered him as the brilliant, but nitpicky boy she dated, but she also remembered that in the more personal realm of their relationship, Eric was a sweet guy. A nice person. She hoped his ex-wife hadn't stolen that from him, too. "I typed a bunch of letters last night," he said, then finally glanced up when he handed her a disk. "Take this to your workstation and fix all the typos, fill in the addresses from the Rolodex on my ex-wife's old desk, and then print them for my signature." "Okay," she said, taking the disk, but she noticed that his eyes were sort of dull and listless, and she started to understand why there was no love lost between his former wife and all his employees. It seemed his exwife really had done a number on him. She got the house, half the business, and she'd deadened his spirit. It took Kelsey four hours to read and fix the "bunch" of letters Eric had written. Not because they were riddled with typos, but because there were 37 of them. By the time she stepped away from the desk, she was not only thanking God that she had attended a class on running word processing software, but she was also thanking God for the search-and-replace features and spelling checker. When she walked the letters into Eric's office, she found that he wasn't at his desk. She rounded the corner to set the letters on the blotter in front of his chair so that he would see them when he returned. However, as she came around the side, she discovered that Eric wasn't out of his office, but kneeling on the floor, searching under his credenza.

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Though Kelsey sternly told herself not to, she peeked at his tight butt, eventually allowing her gaze to roam up his broad back to his shiny hair. Then she squeezed her eyes shut in disbelief. Why the hell had she done that! She cleared her throat. "Eric," she said, but his name came out very husky, almost smoky, and Kelsey wished she could just disappear. She cleared her throat again. "I have your letters." "Good, great, wonderful," he said, apparently having missed the odd tone of her voice. He turned as if to give her a polite smile but because he was close to the floor, his gaze collided with her legs first. She watched it travel up her calves, to her knees, and up the length of her straight navy blue skirt. By the time his gaze met hers, his eyes no longer bore the lethargy she had seen that morning. They virtually glowed, the same way they had the night he refused to hire her. And this time she knew that he was remembering their years together as teenagers. He couldn't pretend he wasn't. Everything he was thinking was right there in his eyes for her to read.…

Chapter 3: "Have a seat," Eric said, pushing himself up from the floor and sitting on the tall-backed chair behind his desk. "You might as well wait while I read these and sign them, so they can go out in the mail today." "Okay," Kelsey said, but where her voice had been hoarse and husky a few minutes before, this time it came out as a squeak. "I'm not going to attack you," Eric said, angry now. For Pete's sake. What was it about this woman? Why the heck did he find her so damned attractive? She didn't even care to be in the same room with him…which was good, he reminded himself. He did not want another relationship, and after the rumors he'd heard about her husband he was just about certain Kelsey wouldn't either. So why the hell did he care what she thought? How she looked? How she smelled? He was over her. She was over him. "They" were over. But the next day, when Kelsey was seated at her desk and Eric was bent toward her, showing her something on the monitor, she turned her head at the wrong time and their faces were less than four inches apart. He looked into her startled brown eyes and remembered things that would have been best forgotten — like the first time he kissed her, the first time he touched her, the first time they made love. He remembered the way her skin felt like satin against his palm and the way she tasted. And in the same way he had heard it the first time they made love, something inside him whispered that this was his woman. No matter how much time or distance or trouble stood between them, he would always want her because she was his. "You were showing me how you like your expense reports typed," Kelsey said, her voice quavering slightly, her gaze shifting to the computer screen. Eric jerked upright. "I'll tell you what. I'll email you an example and you can just use that as a template until you get accustomed to the format." *** It wasn't until he strode away that Kelsey let out the breath she was holding. He was the most attractive man on the face of the earth. She didn't hate him anymore for standing her up for the prom. She was over feeling sorry for him because his ex-wife had hurt him. She had even moved beyond liking him and into being intrigued by him. She was squarely at the stage where she wanted to kiss him.

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And he wanted to kiss her. But both of them knew it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She needed her job. He needed his sanity. Neither of them was stupid enough to forget the reality of this situation. But, she thought, it was tempting.…

Tension tightened the air in the small suite of executive offices. Though Eric pretended nothing was wrong, he knew that after the almost-kiss the day before, Kelsey was now afraid of him. Oh, she didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. The way she looked away or ran away from him every chance she got spoke volumes. He scheduled most of his meetings out of the office, but that didn't stop him thinking about her. If they accidentally ran into each other between appointments, she all but hyperventilated in his presence. He hated the fact that she didn't like him, though he knew it was an unhappy inevitability of their pasts. He wished he could explain things to her — especially why he hadn't shown up to take her to the prom, and why he never contacted her to apologize. But he also didn't want to open old wounds. And maybe he didn't want to risk that she would pity him. Eric sneaked into his office early the next Friday, knowing she would be in the cafeteria getting her morning coffee. But he unexpectedly caught sight of her as she walked up the hall to the executive suite and he stopped, mesmerized by her. She looked adorable in her little pink suit, but that didn't surprise him. Every day she seemed to look better. Brighter. More vivacious. Coming home definitely agreed with her. She was as beautiful as the day he left her, but more than that, she was happy. He stepped into his office and closed the door. Seeing her brilliant smile confirmed his suspicions. She shouldn't want to get involved in his life any more than he should want to jeopardize his own fragile peace. But, oh, it was tempting. *** For three days Eric arrived early and left late and, in general, avoided Kelsey. However, because she was his assistant, he knew that system couldn't go on forever, and he decided that rather than tiptoe around each other, they should push through this. "Okay," he said, handing Kelsey another disk. "Same deal as the last time. I need you to clean up these letters I wrote, add addresses, and print them for my signature." "All right," Kelsey said, but she snatched for the disk so quickly that she sent it flying. It took a quantum bounce, made three flips, then landed on the floor with a thud. "Oh, I'm sorry," she groaned, scrambling around the side of his desk. "It's no problem, Kelsey," he assured her as he bent to retrieve the blue square. But because Kelsey had the same idea, she stooped to get the disk at the same time Eric bent. They avoided an unpleasant collision because their hands brushed before their heads could bump. Each glanced up. Their gazes met, and when Kelsey didn't look away Eric realized the strangest thing. She wanted him to kiss her. She hadn't been

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avoiding him for the past three days out of fear. She had been stepping out of his way and preventing herself from even being in the same room with him because she was as attracted to him as he was to her. If he were a betting man, he would guess the fire that seemed to ignite inside him every time he saw her was also igniting inside her. The little voice came again, whispering in his ear. She's your woman. Your woman. The two words became a hypnotizing litany as Eric bent forward and Kelsey stretched to meet him.…

The first brush of their lips was tentative. Like two souls at the gates of heaven, each unable to believe his good fortune, neither took inappropriate liberties for fear of losing the unexpected gift. Still, Kelsey suppressed a shiver. She couldn't believe this was happening, then she couldn't believe 10 long years had passed since the last time she'd kissed him. Ten long, lonely years since she had kissed the man she loved. Her mouth softened at the thought, and Eric pressed in, taking the advantage. From his position slightly above her, on his chair, he gripped her shoulders and drew her closer, all the while deepening the kiss. He took them from an experimental brush of lips to a confident press that resulted in her gentle yielding to a soft nudge that requested she yield one more time and open her mouth to him. She did so. With a quiver that was part nervousness, part fear, part passion, she surrendered and let him kiss her the way she wanted to be kissed. Desperately, hungrily, greedily — until Sabrina knocked on the door. "Eric?" Though he didn't bolt upright in his chair, Eric immediately pulled away and Kelsey froze. Hidden by his desk, Kelsey knew she couldn't be seen. Though she knew Sabrina could probably tell that Eric was in his seat, leaning toward the floor. Embarrassment flooded Kelsey and she shifted away from Eric, averting her eyes. Waving the fallen disk, he straightened in his chair. "Just getting this," he said, not sounding a bit ill-at-ease or nervous at having been caught kissing passionately beneath his desk. "Oh," Sabrina said and from the increased volume of her voice, Kelsey could tell she had walked into the room. "I have the workers' compensation report that you asked me to generate.…" "Good. Great. Wonderful," Eric said. Sitting immediately beside his chair, Kelsey saw the movement of his body as he reached forward to get the document and she realized that if Sabrina got too close, she only had to look down and she would see Kelsey. "But I'm really busy right now, so I don't have time to discuss it. How about if we set something up for tomorrow?" "Okay," Sabrina said. About 20 seconds of silence ensued, indicating to Kelsey that Sabrina had walked out of the room. Then Eric sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about that."

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Kelsey swallowed hard. Not able to meet his gaze, she rose and dusted off the back of her skirt. "Don't worry about it." "Kelsey," Eric began softly, as if about to make a more detailed apology. Kelsey's cheeks reddened. "I said don't worry about it," she snapped, not even sure herself why she felt so angry, so betrayed. But she did. "I told you that you didn't have anything to fear from me and you don't."

The next day, Eric sat staring at Kelsey as she typed at her workstation. If her back got any stiffer or any straighter, he worried that she would injure herself. But he couldn't say anything. He didn't dare say anything. She was so furious with him for kissing her that he knew it was only the fear of poverty that kept her in her job right now. She finished a few final keystrokes, then shifted and adjusted something in her printer. Baffled, irritated, Eric continued to watch her. He didn't want to like her, but he did. He always had. She was his first love and he knew he would never forget her. He convinced himself that was why he hated the fact that she obviously disliked him. Not because he wanted her to like him now, in the present, but because the trouble between them, the past that probably caused all her bad feelings could actually be explained away. If he told her, though, she would pity him. And he already had enough people in this town who felt sorry for him. He didn't want another one. So what do you want? The little voice in his head nagged. What do you want? He didn't know. He absolutely did not know. He only knew he didn't want her to hate him anymore. Kelsey rose from her desk, and Eric concluded that the document over which she had been fussing must have finished printing. To preclude her from seeing he had been staring at her, he busied himself with reading the workers' compensation report for his afternoon meeting with Sabrina. "This is last month's expense sheet," Kelsey said, entering the room. "Thank you." "You're welcome." She dropped the two sheets on his desk and fled again. Eric decided not to let it bother him. Maybe it was good that she hated him. But watching her walk back to her desk, his gaze dropped to her legs and he smiled at the irony. He had to be the first man in recorded history to be glad a pretty girl didn't like him. His lunch with the public relations group that had won the bid to create Sponsky Metals's yearly promotional video ran late and Eric found himself scrambling to get back to the office in time for his meeting with Sabrina. When he arrived in the executive suite, walking past Kelsey's workstation, he found Sabrina seated on Kelsey's chair, reviewing her documents. "Hey." "Hey," he said, glancing at his human resources manager. "Where's Kelsey?" "She told me one of her children was sick and she needed to go home. In fact," Sabrina said, grimacing, "she didn't look well herself, and I'm worried that she's probably got the same bug that her child has."

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"Oh," Eric said, motioning for Sabrina to join him in his office. "Let's hope not," he said, but he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with the flu. From the way she had been behaving all day, he knew Kelsey regretted working with him. And now he had to wonder if her child really was sick, or if Kelsey simply hadn't gone home to try to figure out a polite way to leave the job she'd begged for only a few weeks ago. Before he'd kissed her.

Kelsey didn't even have to answer the back door to know it was Eric knocking. First, aside from family, he was the only person who ever came to the kitchen entrance. Second, she was just about certain he realized she was uncomfortable around him. Knowing that two nervous people wouldn't make a good team, he was probably here to fire her. She opened the door and he stood before her, his paisley tie loosened, his suit coat askew, his briefcase still in his hand, as if he had just left the office. For reasons known only to God and fate, he still looked delicious to her. "Hi." "Hi. Can I come in?" She shrugged. "Sure. I guess you're here to fire me." "Fire you?" he gasped. "I'm not going to fire you. But I do think I deserve an explanation." That baffled her. "For what?" "Leaving early today is probably the best place to start. But I also wouldn't mind hearing why you won't let me apologize for kissing you." "Probably because it's insulting and demeaning." It had only cost a night's sleep to figure that out. "I know I put us in a compromising position. I know you probably felt you didn't have any choice but to kiss me. But you didn't have to be such a jerk about it. I know you don't like me. I promised you we wouldn't get involved. I feel idiotic enough, Eric. You didn't have to make it worse by apologizing." To her great surprise Eric burst out laughing. "Is that what you thought happened?" Feeling a hot blush on her cheeks, Kelsey nonetheless held her head high. "Yes." "Well, then my version of the story should thrill you." Confused, she peeked at him. "Because my version goes something like this. I thought I made you feel as if you had to kiss me. I was sorry because bosses are supposed to be more controlled, but I wasn't. Frankly," he said, rubbing his hand along the back of her neck. "You took me by surprise. And what I wanted to tell you tonight and every other time I tried to apologize was that you had nothing to fear from me." "Oh." Red-faced, Kelsey stood frozen. "So, now we both know we have nothing to fear." For some reason or another that struck her as funny and she giggled. "I guess we do." She drew a long breath to quell her laughter and added, "So why do you think it happened?" Eric only looked at her. "The kiss?"

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She nodded. "Well, I'm guessing that we still have a residual attraction." "That makes sense. You're still a pretty attractive guy." He smiled ruefully. "Thank you. You're still a very attractive woman." "Thanks," she said, but the tip of her toe suddenly became very interesting because she was afraid to look at him. She hadn't complimented him to get him to return the favor, but now that he had, she admitted it felt good. Really, really good. She couldn't remember the last time anybody told her she was attractive. God knew, Larry hadn't said it in years. "You are, you know?" Eric said, his voice light, whispery. She swallowed back tears. Why him? Why now? Why did she have to be attracted to a man who had already broken her heart? Eric placed his forefinger under her chin and lifted her face until she was looking at him. "You don't believe me."

Chapter 4: Kelsey's breath lodged in her throat. If the look in Eric's eyes was anything to go by, she could believe him. He did find her attractive. He found her very attractive. But she also knew that too many problems stood in the way of their pursuing this relationship. Not the least of which was that she needed her job. "I believe that you think I'm attractive, but I also know that we said we would keep our relationship strictly business. I made a promise to you." She paused, met his gaze. "And you made a promise to me." "I did," he said and, and though his expression was full of regret, he stepped away. "I'll see you tomorrow." *** Kelsey knew she should have been happy with their renewed commitment to keep their personal distance, but she wasn't. The next day, and every day, when Eric came to work, she felt as if he were shutting her out. Worse, at the oddest times she saw him looking out his kitchen window, watching her and her children play in the yard, yet he continued to ignore her. He never as much as said hello, even if they met on the driveways between their two homes. She was almost ready to steal his newspaper just so he would yell at her again. Finally, after about two weeks, Kelsey couldn't take it anymore and she stormed into Eric's office and slammed the door. "All right. That's it." "That's what?" he asked, sliding his chair away from his desk, and giving her a wary look. "That's enough of this!" she said, and waved her hand around his office for emphasis. "I'm supposed to be your assistant. If you don't talk to me, how the hell am I supposed to assist you?" "Kelsey, you can't have everything your way. You wanted me to keep my distance — I am." "But not like this!" He shook his head. "You're going to have to tell me what you want. Because I'm not understanding you."

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Tired, defeated, Kelsey felt her shoulders droop. She didn't know how to explain to him that she wanted him to talk to her, when she also knew as well as he did that every step they took toward a friendship would also strengthen the attraction. Eric sighed. "Kelsey," he said kindly, rising from his seat and walking toward her. "I know what you're saying. I'm having the same problems myself." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Do you think I don't remember how good it was to have you as a friend all those years ago?" She licked her suddenly dry lips. "I didn't think you remembered any of it." "I remember all of it." For that she peered up and grimaced. "All of it?" "Every delicious moment." The air tightened. Kelsey found it difficult to breathe. When she said, "So do I," it came out as a hoarse whisper. "That's what makes this so hard." Kelsey smiled miserably. "So what you're saying is that if we could have our memories erased, we would both be fine." "I wouldn't erase those memories for anything." It wasn't what he said, but how he said it that got to her. The intensity in his voice warmed her all over. This time when she smiled at him, there was no regret in her expression. "Neither would I." And then he kissed her again. Without hesitation, without waiting for her to grant him permission, he kissed her long and hard and as if he had been starving for the taste of her.

When Eric finally stopped kissing her, Kelsey could only stare at him. From the expression on his face, she could see the kiss didn't merely signal a point of no return for their relationship, it also forced him to make some decisions. "Do you know why I didn't take you to the prom?" he asked quietly. "No," Kelsey said. "My father," he said, slowly, cautiously, "had beaten the hell out of me." "Oh, my God." "He had hit me the whole way through the first eight grades, but when I started training to play high school football, he quit." Eric smiled ruefully. "I think he realized that if he pushed me too far, I would and could push back. So for four years I was relatively safe." "What happened?" "That day he got drunk. He called me a tough boy or some such thing. Made fun of me playing football. Made fun of my scholarship and just started hitting me around."

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"And you hit back." Eric shook his head. "No. It was the oddest thing. I felt sorry for him, because I realized that that scholarship was going to give me chances he didn't have. Unfortunately, he beat me so badly that I needed medical attention. My mother was embarrassed by what people might say so she didn't take me to a local hospital. She drove me to Pittsburgh." "Which is why your secret stayed a secret." He nodded. "I'm sorry, Eric." He caught her gaze. "No, Kelsey, I'm sorry. For 10 years I've wanted to tell you this. But I couldn't." "Because you were embarrassed?" He shook his head. "Because I didn't want you to pity me. I had spent four wonderful years being somebody, not just the kid everybody worried about. I didn't want to go back to being pitied." "Eric, what I feel for you is not pity." "But it's not love, either." "How do you know?" "Because I haven't told you everything, and once I tell you everything you're going to feel completely different." "Tell me everything and let me be the judge of that?" "Kelsey, before I do, I'm going to make two stipulations. One is that you don't pity me. I'm so sick of being the kid that everybody felt sorry for, and then the jilted husband that everybody whispered about." "I can handle that. What's the other stipulation?" "That you'll agree to forget we ever had a relationship and stop pursuing one now." "And if I can't?" "Then you'll agree to quit your job."

Kelsey's heart raced in her chest. On the one hand, she knew she needed to hear the rest of Eric's secret. Whatever his problem was, she knew she could help him work through it, if he would let her. If he didn't force her to quit her job. If he was willing to give them another chance. Unfortunately, she also knew that if she didn't agree to his conditions, he would never tell her. She licked her lips. "I agree. I'll control myself, behave myself, whatever. You can tell me." He picked up a yellow number-two pencil and stared at it as he tapped it against his desk. Then he drew a long breath and said, "I can't have kids."

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"What?" "I can't have children." "Oh, my God," she whispered, as many things about Eric's life began to make more sense to her. If their disagreement would have been something as simple as his stranding her on prom night he would have apologized her and then pursued her the way his kisses indicated he wanted to. But his not being able to have children changed everything. And not just in his relationship with her. "That's really why you gave your wife half the value of this company, isn't it? You didn't want anyone to know." "I still don't." "Eric, there's no crime.…" Though his face registered his anguish, his voice was deceptively quiet. "All my life I was the object of this town's pity. And I'm done with it. If you can't keep my secrets, Kelsey, there's the door." "Okay. Fine," she said and strode out of his office in a huff, knowing there was no talking to him when he made up his mind. But at her desk, a wave of guilt and frustration washed over her and she remembered what had brought them together in high school. He'd been wary and shy. A nitpicky perfectionist who couldn't seem to deviate from the rules unless she taunted him or dared him. When she had taken the time to get to know him he proved himself to be nothing short of wonderful. Having been pursued by every octopus-handed jerk in the popular crowd, Kelsey finding Eric had been a welcome change. She'd known the gossip about his father hitting him when he was a kid. She'd known he was embarrassed by his past. But they had such a good time together, it had been easy to forget that his life had been difficult. It had been easy to ignore his past. But because they ignored his past, when his father had hurt him again, he didn't tell her. If she ignored what Eric had told her, if she did as he asked, they would suffer the same fate as they had 10 years ago. He would shut her out of his life for good. But if she forced him to admit he liked her, he wouldn't just shut her out of his life, and she wouldn't just lose him. She would lose her job and her children's security.

"Mrs. Cramer, it's very nice of you to invite me to dinner," Eric said, grimacing into the receiver of the phone because he was about to lie. "But I can't come tonight, I have…work to do." "No, you don't, Eric Sponsky," Janice Cramer said with a laugh. "Kelsey told me your calendar is clear. You just bring yourself to supper tonight." "Yes, ma'am," Eric said, not wanting to insult his neighbor, but not exactly sure dinner with the happy Cramer family was what he needed right now. Particularly since he was just about positive Kelsey set this up. Still, he bought a bottle of wine, then on inspiration also purchased candy for the kids. They greeted him at the door with a whoop of joy when they saw the candy. This was the reason he couldn't get involved with Kelsey. Every time he saw her kids, he would be reminded of everything he couldn't have.

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"Why don't you help Kelsey set the picnic table," Janice said, as she took the bottle of wine from Eric's hands. "Plates are there," she said, pointing to the stack on the counter by the back door. "Silver's in that basket." Eric drew a quick breath, again wondering about the wisdom of accepting this invitation. In his heart he knew that if Kelsey had set this up, she had done it with good intentions. But it was himself he was worried about. He couldn't seem to be within two feet of her without wanting her. "Hi!" she said, greeting him as he walked down the steps to the picnic table in her parents' backyard. "Hi." She propped her hands on her hips. "That's not a picnic voice." "That's the best I can do." "No, it isn't and if you don't chipper up, my mother's going to think there's something seriously wrong with you, and making you happy is going to become her mission in life." He grimaced. "Point taken." "Wise move on your part." The simple dinner of hot dogs, hamburgers, and macaroni salad really did lift Eric's spirits. He knew it wasn't the food but the company that cheered him. He hadn't seen his own family in years. His father didn't care to have him around and his mother sided with his father. Later, when Kelsey's parents had taken her kids inside for bath time and Kelsey questioned him about his family, the wine had made Eric mellow enough that he didn't hide that. "Your mother doesn't want to see you?" "My mother wants to see me, just not when my dad is around, so I'm careful." "Well, you know you're welcome here for breakfast, lunch, dinner…even just to watch TV." Eric squeezed his eyes shut. "Kelsey, don't pity me." "I'm not pitying you," she said with a gasp. "I'm being kind to you. Why do you always jump to the conclusion that I'm pitying you?" "I don't know. I'm sorry." For a few seconds Kelsey was silent, then she said. "You know what? I know why you always jump to that conclusion. You're using that excuse to push me away." "Don't be absurd." "Then kiss me."

Chapter 5:

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A kiss that started off as a dare, as a way for Eric to make the point that he wasn't afraid of her, blossomed into something hot and furious. Every time Eric got his hands on Kelsey, the fever got worse, the need more intense. He wanted to strip her naked and make love to her in the cool April grass, and make her his again, but he couldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't give her the one thing he wanted more than his next breath of air. A child. He pushed away and for the next 30 seconds simply breathed, trying to get his bearings. Kelsey walked her fingers up his chest, then looped her hands around his neck. "I think you have a quandary." No kidding. "If not wanting pity isn't your excuse for pushing me away, I'm not exactly sure you have an excuse, because you certainly can't say you don't want me." He swallowed. "So what do you say we put aside the pretense and start all over again?" She punctuated her statement with a light brush of her lips across his, as her fingers trailed down the buttons of his shirtfront. He caught her hand. "Don't." She shook her head. "No. I don't have to take orders from you out of the office. If I have to push you," she said, sounding exactly as she had when they were 17. "Then I'm going to push." Knowing exactly how their relationship had turned out 10 years ago, Eric took another sharp breath. "You made me a promise." "Okay, then, I quit." "Kelsey, don't." "Eric, you said that if I couldn't promise you that I would stop pursuing a relationship, you wanted me to quit. Well, I can't make that promise…so I quit. And do you know why? So we can work this out. I want the relationship because I love you." "You don't love me!" Because his words came out a little sharper than he intended, she stepped back as if he'd slapped her. "The hell I don't. I never stopped loving you and you never stopped loving me. I want you in my life forever, whatever way I can get you. So that means I have to quit." "Fine," he said. "Do whatever you like but you're making a big mistake. Any man is going to want any woman who turns him on sexually. You're not that special. You're not going to change my mind." She recoiled again, but Eric turned away and walked across the yards.

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It was better to break off with her now, before they became more involved and she realized she had made a big mistake.

Though Kelsey didn't come in Monday morning, Eric convinced himself that she was bluffing because she couldn't afford to lose her job. Tuesday, he worried that she was strong enough to keep the bluff going and she would waste the nest egg she had begun to acquire. Wednesday, he called her mother, who confirmed that Kelsey had quit her job. Thursday, he decided just to let her go. He couldn't deal with the fact that she wanted him. He couldn't deal with looking at her kids. Saturday afternoon, mired down in the very peace and quiet, a baseball crashed through his kitchen window. Glass flew everywhere and he jumped from his seat to get out of the way. Thirty seconds later there was a knock on his door. That would be the owner of the baseball. "Don't come in. There's glass everywhere." "I'm sorry, Mr. Eric." Hearing the voice, Eric recognized it as belonging to Kelsey's son, Leland. He swallowed. "That's okay, kid. No harm done. I can fix this." To his great surprise, the little boy opened the door and peered inside. "My mom said when I break something I have to clean it up." "You can't clean this!" Eric said, looking at the shards of glass sprinkled everywhere. "You could get hurt. I'll do it." "My mom is going to be mad!" the little boy insisted. "I'll clear it with her." Leland Delaney's eyes filled with tears and he looked down at the floor. "You can't. She doesn't like you." Well, that was certainly telling it like it was. "I'm sure I can figure out a way to make her understand." The little boy turned his tear-filled eyes up at Eric. "I don't think so. She really, really doesn't like you. She said you're the reason we've got to move." Eric stooped to eye level with the little boy. "You're moving?" He nodded. "My mom says she has to find another job." He looked Eric in the eyes. "Please let me clean up the glass."

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Eric glanced down. The mess was too dangerous for a child. "I think you're too young for this but if you want, I could let you help me replace the window and then you could explain to your mom that you did something." Leland's eyes brightened. "Okay." "Okay," Eric agreed. "You clear it with your grandparents while I clean up, then we'll drive to the lumberyard together." Leland did as Eric asked. He even brought his piggy bank to pay for the new pane of glass. He was not only a well-behaved child who listened to Eric's directions and offered to pay for the glass, but he also asked a hundred questions. By the time they returned from their trip they were talking like old friends. More than that, though, Eric realized the strangest thing. Leland Delaney didn't make him feel defective. He made him feel like a dad. Because the kid needed a dad. And Eric suddenly saw that though separating him and Kelsey might have been the worst thing his father had ever done, fate had intended it for good. Because now they had kids. Two kids… That is if he could get Kelsey to agree to let him back into her life.

Kelsey only needed one warm Saturday and both of her parents to pack her belongings into the van she had rented to move across town. On a return trip to the convenience store, she had actually won the assistant manager job, so things were looking up. Except for Eric. She hated that he was so miserable that he wouldn't even try, but she understood and she wasn't going to push him. This decision had to be his. Waving goodbye to her kids, who would be riding to their new house with her parents later, she jumped onto the bench seat of the truck. "Hi." Hand pressed to her chest, Kelsey suppressed a scream, but when she saw it was Eric on the seat next to her, she gaped at him. "What are you doing?" "You wouldn't see me.…" "Eric, what's the saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. I can take a hint — you don't want me." "I do want you." "Yeah, right." "I do," he said, scrambling to sit beside her. "Kelsey, look at me." She sighed heavily and deliberately turned her head in the opposite direction. He put his fingers on her chin and forced her to face him. "I took Leland shopping the other day."

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She frowned. "He didn't tell you he broke my window?" "No! That little conniver…" "Don't be too hard on him. He was worried about you." "Oh, I get it. Now, you feel sorry for me. He told you I was upset so you're playing knight in shining armor.…" Apparently losing patience, Eric grabbed her upper arms and yanked her against him for a long openmouthed kiss. By the time the kiss ended they were not only breathing heavily, but Kelsey had completely lost her train of thought. But Eric hadn't. "I don't feel sorry for you and I don't feel sorry for myself anymore." She peered at him. "Your son gave me the greatest gift." He paused, took a shallow breath. "He made me feel like a dad." "Oh, Eric," Kelsey said, as tears welled in her eyes. "I could have told you he would do that. He needs someone.…" "And I needed to see it myself." He paused again, but this time he reached into his jacket pocket. "I've loved you for 14 years. I know it sounds absurd to say I'm glad you were married to someone else for a while…but I am. I think everything happened the way it was supposed to," he said, pulling out a small black velvet ring box, "and I think we could be the happiest two people in the world." The tears in Kelsey's eyes spilled over. "The whole time I was married to Larry, I comforted myself with the knowledge that without him I wouldn't have had my kids." "Now, they're our kids." She smiled and accepted the diamond he slipped on her finger. "Now, they're our kids."

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Blackmailed into the Prince's Bed by Olivia Gates As both a Manhattan billionaire and a prince of Castaldini, Eduardo D’Agostino is used to getting his way—in business and in matters of love! So when his newest employee, IT expert Jade Mitchell, is unimpressed by his wealth and stature, he’s intrigued enough to woo her, and to wait. After a whirlwind romance, Eduardo is certain that Jade is his future princess. But then he learns the devastating truth behind her hesitation to take their relationship to the next level. Eduardo is soon turning the tables on his would-be lover, and insisting on taking his revenge—in the bedroom!

Chapter One Eduardo Guillermo D’Agostino felt every cell in his body vibrate. With urgency. With need. Need to haul the woman walking toward him with those hesitant yet eager steps over his shoulder, storm up to her apartment, rip away the barriers and sink into her, assuaging the hunger that had been consuming them both for eight weeks now. He clamped down on the urge, savored its bittersweet abrasion as she neared. Everything inside him surged as her jade eyes, the embodiment of her name, radiated the purity of her pleasure at seeing him, even as her dimpled smile trembled a reflection of his rioting emotions. It was always the same. They excited the hell out of each other. In every way. He handed her into his limo and followed her before she could move away. His hand cradled her head through the layers of mahogany silk she now kept loose to please him, to send him further out of his mind, and brought her over his body. He felt her flesh buzz with mortification, melt with hunger. “Eduardo…your driver…” “Can’t see or hear us.” His lips latched on her frantic pulse. “But I wouldn’t care if the whole world could. I missed you.” She wriggled, to get away, to press closer, inflaming him more. “It’s just been six hours…” Since he’d driven her home. “Too long.” Eduardo crushed her trembling lips beneath his, swallowed her red-hot moan, feasting on her taste, her surrender. This. This woman. This flesh. This connection. All that mattered. Time and place fell away at a touch, giving way to new realms… A discreet yet insistent knock on the barrier between driver and passenger compartments seeped through the delirium. He raised his head, found himself on top of Jade, his hardness grinding against her core through his pants and the panties damp with her desire, her nipples taut where he’d been suckling them through the lace of her bra. She looked…the way he always wanted her looking. Intoxicated with pleasure, helpless with need. But—maledizione—they’d arrived at work. They’d now go in separately. That had been her condition for agreeing to let him pick her up, take her there with him every morning.

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It was what fueled her unease, her reluctance. That he was her boss. And a billionaire. And a prince of Castaldini. Who would have thought any of that would be strikes against him in any woman’s eyes? They were in hers. He’d been struggling to make her see him as only a man since she’d recoiled from his advances during that mandatory meeting he’d had with all newly recruited key personnel. The business meeting he’d turned personal. Something he’d never done. But he hadn’t been able to help it. He’d been bowled over from the first glance, by her beauty, which answered his every taste, by the evidence of her genius and proficiency. He’d been stumbling deeper as he discovered the woman who combined strength and vulnerability, candor with shyness, who shared his beliefs and ethics and preferences. The precedent of her being put off by his status had only poured fuel on the blaze. He groaned as he severed their intimate embrace. “Tonight, Jade. No more waiting.” Her eyes jerked wide as he helped her up, straightened her clothes, the drugged cast evaporating. Was it agitation that flooded in its wake? Anticipation? Before he could probe, she silenced all thought in a compulsive kiss, then bolted out. He sat back, wrestling his senses under control, watched her stumble away. He waited until she disappeared into the D’Agostino Digital Development skyscraper, then followed, taking his private elevator. He entered his top-floor office, headed to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. He saw nothing but her face. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. It had to be uncertainty that was holding her back. Over where this was going, that it might end badly. But he’d pulverize every doubt. He had none. She was the one. And tonight, he’d ask her… “Mr. Steele is here to see you, Principe. Urgently.” Eduardo swung around. Ciro, his right-hand man, was letting in Brandon Steele. It must be beyond urgent for them to bypass his permission. Still unable to drag his thoughts away from Jade, he blinked at the grim man who zeroed in on him. Steele thrust a dossier into his hand. “The evidence is conclusive. Jade Mitchell is a spy.”

Chapter Two Eduardo stared at the tall, pantherlike man as if he’d started talking in a language he didn’t understand. “It was your uncharacteristically sudden and intense interest in her that made me watch her. I had to make sure she had no hidden agenda since you were giving her leeway enough to implement a takeover.” Brandon’s black eyes held his like an inexorable magnet as he thrust his hands in his pocket, exhaled heavily. “She was clean.”

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A breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding rushed out, emptying Eduardo’s lungs as if under the force of a gut punch. “Of course she’s clean…” “She was too clean,” Brandon cut across his indignation. “No connection with the outside world in the eight weeks since she’s joined your Programming Division, not a single record of any operation accessing anything, even the systems she was supposed to be accessing. Her private computers were better protected than the CIA’s. It made me more suspicious. So I dug deeper. I was about to chalk up my gut instinct to paranoia when I uncovered the first chink. It led me to more. Then more. Until I compiled this—” He tapped the dossier Eduardo still gripped in his spastic fingers “—every shred of evidence that she’s been hacking into every last nook and cranny of your systems since day one.” Eduardo felt his brain expanding, his skull shrinking. He struggled to shake his head, to rasp out the denial. “You’re wrong…” Brandon slammed him with a scowl, at once apologetic and exasperated. “When have you ever known me to be wrong?” Never. Not once in the six years since he’d hired Steele Security—the most effective financial undercover agency in the country—to protect his businesses against sabotage and intellectual property theft. Brandon held a spotless track record, had uncovered over a dozen masterful infiltrations and conspiracies, saved Eduardo untold millions and smoothed the course of his rise to the top of the IT world. “But this has made me realize I need to overhaul my methods,” Brandon said. “If I’d followed my current standards, which everyone ironically thinks are over-the-top, I would have never found her out. It was only her unsettling closeness to you that made me go to lengths I never had. Even then, I found that first flaw in the ingenious cover-up by absolute chance. She’s the best I’ve ever seen. If there are others out there with her efficiency, then this espionage game has just entered a whole new level.” Eduardo felt he was suspended in a void, registering Brandon through senses he didn’t feel were his anymore. He noted in detachment that the man was mad as hell, for coming so close to being conned. Brandon’s scowl darkened as he went on. “I’ve since reconstructed how this all happened. She suddenly accepted the position you’d headhunted her for, only to be where she could implement her plans. Based on the info she went for first, she’s been planted here to access the critical technical and bidding analysis data of the AkonTech deal you’re involved in, no doubt so that her recruiters can underbid you and secure it themselves. But then, with all the authority you’ve given her, she realized what an unprecedented opportunity she had here, that it would be stupid to settle for so little. So she branched out to gather enough strategic material to bring every one of your companies down.” Eduardo stumbled back as if under a barrage of bullets. He stared up at the associate and friend who’d protected him so many times. He couldn’t bear the sight of him now, the sound of his voice. He wanted to roar, for him to stop, to get out of here. He was wrong. Insane. This was Jade. His Jade. His one and only… Brandon’s relentless onslaught continued. “I’m certain she hasn’t transmitted any info yet. The logical progression of her actions so far says that she’s working on securing information that would destroy you completely, rather than merely cause you a minor injury but leave you capable of retaliating with excessive power. When she reaches her target—and I do believe she’s very close—she probably intends to start a bidding war for your secrets rather than sell it to those who’ve recruited her. She probably plans to blackmail you.”

Chapter Three

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Eduardo flinched at the terrible noises that screeched inside his head. Of existence grinding to a violent halt. Of his being moaning under the insupportable pressure that felt would rupture it. “Seems this is a bigger shock than even I thought it would be…” Brandon stopped, bit off an unintelligible curse as he cast frustrated eyes heavenward. Then he leveled bleak eyes back on him. “I’m sorry, Eduardo, but you don’t have time for shock or denial. Read the dossier. Now. You have to take action before this wo— before Ms. Mitchell does you some serious damage.” Serious damage. The words ricocheted in his head, tearing his mind to pieces. Brandon would do anything to protect him, in equal parts from personal involvement and professional commitment. He’d just carved Eduardo’s heart out, demolished his world, to save him. And he was worried he’d suffer “serious damage”? Brandon bent, gave his shoulder one hard squeeze, then straightened. He seemed to recede without moving, until he blipped off Eduardo’s distorting awareness. Time ceased, everything disappeared in a vortex of nothingness. Only one thing existed now. The dossier. For long moments, he couldn’t bring his fingers to release their clutches. He felt they would break off the moment they did. He at last let it go. It hit the coffee table in front of him with the crack of a whip. He sat forward, as if nearing a bomb that would go off at the slightest move. He opened it. His eyes lost focus. Lines merged, words jumbled, their meanings unattainable. Then the streaking incoherence started to lose momentum until word after word bludgeoned his awareness in monstrous slow motion. Page after page. Inescapable. The evidence. Insupportable. The picture it painted. Inexplicable. By anything but by Brandon’s explanations and projections. Jade. She wasn’t the woman he’d thought her. She was something far worse than the worst cheat and manipulator he’d ever known. She’d totally fooled him, blinded him heart and soul to her nature and intentions. His slowed-down heart started to thud, each clang that of a wrecking ball inside his chest. No. He had to cling to the paralysis. The anesthesia. He couldn’t survive it if they deserted him now. He needed their protection. But it was too late. A meteor of agony crashed in his core. “Principe, my deepest apologies, but Duca Amadeo D’Agostino is here as per your appointment.”

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Eduardo’s burning eyes rose to Ciro. He was once again letting another man in without permission. Or maybe he’d tried to obtain it to no avail. The whole building could have crashed down around his ears and Eduardo wouldn’t have noticed, lost in this nightmare he’d plummeted into. This time the man who approached him was a duke of Castaldini, its ambassador to the U.S. The man was looking at him as if he were coming within slashing distance of an enraged predator. So Eduardo looked as crazed as he felt. Wordlessly, the duke placed what he’d come to deliver on the table in front of Eduardo, then with a tight bow acknowledging Eduardo’s higher royal status, he turned on his heel and strode out as if fearing a sleeping monster would wake up and take pursuit. Eduardo stared down at the square crimson velvet box. It felt like hours later when he could bring himself to touch it. He ran fingers discharging with sick electricity over its softness; felt he was bloodying them over thorns. His heart thundered as he at last flicked it open. And there it was. The set he’d commissioned from the D’Agostino royal family’s foremost jewelers. A collaboration they’d been working on for three weeks now. They’d gotten it right this time. Perfect. Inimitable. Like her. Like the woman he’d thought her. The woman he’d been about to offer his heart and honor and future into her safekeeping. The heartless traitor who’d come here to destroy him. In every way. He rose from the couch he’d collapsed onto with the first blow of betrayal, every inch aching with anguish, stiff steps taking him to his desk. He speed-dialed her extension number. He waited for the melody of her voice to wash over him, to pour the acid of raw emotion on his freshly gouged wounds. “Eduardo…” He didn’t recognize the thick, inhuman purr that exited his lips. “I changed my mind, Jade.” In every way he’d thought impossible. “I’m not waiting for tonight. I want you…now.”

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Chapter Four Jade opened her lips, to gasp a protest, an excuse. Anything. Nothing came out but another moaning, “Eduardo…” Then it was pointless to grope for anything else, anyway. Eduardo had hung up. He wasn’t taking not yet for an answer anymore. He had every right not to. To demand that they progress to the next level, that she deliver on the promises every inch of her body deluged him with every second they were together. He’d abided by her hesitancies so far. He’d leashed his need to sweep her into intimacies, when he knew he could have done so at any point during the past eight weeks. Instead, he’d given her all the time and opportunity to explore and savor him, and what kept growing between them. He’d gifted her with one magical evening after another of nerve-wracking, senses-inflaming romantic leisure and sensual torment. He knew how much she wanted him. Craved him. With such unremitting intensity, it had become agony holding back. She’d told him. But he’d conceded her confessed hunger hadn’t meant she could handle succumbing to it. But by now it must baffle him why she still held back. She sometimes wondered how he didn’t consider her a tease. What she was, was a mess. And to think she’d gone to that first one-on-one meeting quaking, but determined to paste on her professional persona and survive his inspection. She’d thought of him only as a boss who put all his newly hired key personnel through his own quality testing. That he was one of the most potent playboys in creation hadn’t even been a consideration. He had a spotless track record for never muddying business with anything else. Not that she’d thought anything beyond business would be considered where she was concerned. Then she’d entered his office, his field of influence, and all her misgivings had vanished. Along with the ground from beneath her feet, leaving her to plummet into a free fall of turmoil. She might have stood a chance if he hadn’t swept business aside and demanded everything else. But he had. And her world had been spiraling in a tailspin ever since. She’d at first attempted to escape the unknown hunger he’d ignited inside her. She’d told herself she would have under any circumstances, let alone her current chaos. This caliber of man just didn’t happen to a woman like her. And if he did, then the outcome was bound to be catastrophic. But Eduardo had besieged her. With so much temptation, so much consideration, so much affection-laced passion she sometimes thought she’d stop breathing with it all. She’d tried resisting his spell. But he’d overwhelmed her resistance and reason. He’d swept aside all her objections and fears, showed her with each passing hour more and yet more of the incredible man, the kindred spirit that he was beyond the trappings of power and affluence and royalty. And how she loved every breath he took, everything he touched, every moment of every day just because she now knew he existed. Not that it made any difference how she felt. She had a mission she had to see through. Her goal was as yet unattained. Once it was, he wouldn’t want her, anyway. He’d despise her.

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It was what kept her from giving herself up to his possession. Because it would make the reckoning, when it came, much harder, would make his judgment of her far harsher. But mainly because it would make living after she’d lost him—as she was bound to, one way or another—impossible. But she’d thought she didn’t have to worry about that for a while. She’d been dragging her feet carrying out her mission to buy herself more time of wallowing in the forbidden pleasure of him, of being blazingly alive for the first time in her life. Before she had to poison it all. Even a few hours ago when he’d demanded that the waiting end tonight, she’d still had hope she’d escape a confrontation. But it was clear he was done waiting, that there was no escape. He was forcing her hand. She had to tell him she couldn’t be his, that she hoped he forgave her for leading him to believe otherwise. Then she’d walk out of his life. She only hoped she could convince him to leave her in her position. All her plans depended upon remaining where she was.

Chapter Five Jade rose from her desk on wobbling legs. She smoothed sweaty hands down her skirt, grimaced at the creases where it had ridden up as she’d wrapped her thighs around Eduardo’s hips in his limo. It never failed. She lost discretion, inhibition at the merest touch of his hunger. They hadn’t become lovers weeks ago only because she’d substituted public rendezvous for her nonexistent restraint. That and his own self-control and his unspoken promise to let her surrender her conviction. Now she could no longer count on him to arouse her out of her mind then hold back. Which meant that in an hour from now—less, far less—she could be in his office, being taken by him, invaded, dominated, pleasured, in the throes of ecstasy…. She swayed under the brunt of the need that corkscrewed through her, lodging into her womb. How she wanted him. Oh, God…couldn’t she just take this to him? Maybe she could confess how it all started and he wouldn’t despise her for not coming clean earlier. Yes…yes, he wouldn’t. He respected her, trusted her. He would understand. And then? She’d have a few more weeks with him. Then it would be over. And she’d be unable to go back to the mercy of relative ignorance. No. She wouldn’t be dealing him any damage ending it now, just disappointment. She’d be saving herself. She felt as if every eye followed her on her way to him. By the time she’d reached his PA’s office, she felt exposed. Not that it mattered. Ciro just nodded to her from his desk. His standing orders were that she was to be let into Eduardo’s inner sanctum, no matter what, unannounced and unescorted.

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The moment she entered the spacious chamber, her gaze was yanked to where Eduardo reclined in his desk’s black leather armchair like a helpless pin to a giant magnet. The sun slanted through his floor-to-ceiling windows, worshipping the slashes and hollows of his bonestructure perfection. One of his eyes flared hypnotic turquoise, the other smoldering blue-hot in shadow. His body, encased in expertly tailored power shirt and suit jacket, was that of a deceptively idle god. Her heartbeats scattered all over the mirror-polished hardwood floor. Her guts twisted over a red-hot skewer of longing and regret. God, how she loved him. And she had to give him up. Now, not later. “Come here, Jade.” Her core contracted with a stab of need. A whimper spilled from her lips. His voice. Fathomless, vibrating with his vitality, his virility, darkened with his depths, and those of his desire. She felt her knees turning semisolid as he rose, in a slow motion that echoed her own impeded approach. It intensified the impact of the action, of his size and height. He remained behind his desk as she came to stand before it. Then he leaned forward, propping himself on flat palms, bringing his six-foot-four gaze level with her five-foot-five one. Her upheaval spiked. She escaped his gaze, only for her own to get trapped by a splash of color in the grays and blacks of her surroundings. What he was leaning on? A crimson velvet jewelry box. “Caught your eye, didn’t it? Having all the senses prime at the proximity of jewelry must be embedded in a woman’s genes.” The tone of his voice, the condescension in his words, sent a frisson of unease zigzagging through her. “Want to take a look?” Before she could refute his uncharacteristic generalization, he straightened, flicked the box open. She stared. She had to. It had nothing to do with genes or with personal inclinations. The jewelry set nestling against the velvet was literally breathtaking. She never knew anything could be so…astounding in beauty and detail. Nothing made by human hands, anyway. “I wrote a ten-page description of everything the design should encompass and express. I went through half a dozen redesigns and refinements to reach this result. Want to know who it’s for?” She gaped at him. “It’s for my future bride.” Everything screeched to a halt. God, he…he couldn’t mean…? “Someone worthy of my being a—what did you call me when you were resisting me?—oh, yes, a sentient bank and fairy tale wrapped in one. Preferably someone of Castaldinian birth. Definitely someone of known parentage.”

Chapter Six The blow severed all thought and sensation.

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An abyss yawned beneath Jade, black and greedy. She swayed back as if away from its edge, to escape being dragged into its endless maw. “You don’t approve of my…taste, Jade?” The taunting slashed through her equilibrium, almost tipping her over. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t be saying this. Not Eduardo. He wouldn’t be showing her the jewelry he’d had designed for the woman he intended to marry. The woman who was anyone but her. Anyone whose father hadn’t denied her. It shouldn’t end like this. It was she who should have told him he was out of her league, that she had to walk away before it hurt any worse. Before it crippled. He should have told her he didn’t care, that he wanted her no matter who she was, or wasn’t. But because it could never work, for so many reasons, she would have still…still… “Now that’s a masterful act of shock. Academy Award–worthy.” He was baiting her. He knew he was hurting her, was doing it on purpose. Why? Suddenly the suspicion detonated inside her mind. She felt as if her eyes were being pulled out of their sockets and dragged to where his other flat-open palm supported his challenging pose. He was leaning on a dossier. “I see you’re turning your attention to the relevant article.” His drawl was like a pitiless, freezing wind. “Can you guess what this dossier contains?” Her heart gave one blast that almost knocked her off her feet. Before it rocketed into erratic thunder. She raised her eyes to his. They were no longer his. He was no longer the Eduardo she’d stumbled ever more deeply in love with over the past weeks. This was a stranger. An icy, vicious stranger. Could he…was it possible he…? His painstakingly sculpted lips lifted at one corner, the snarling smile of a predator circling its trapped prey. “I should have been ready with a video cam. I bet your expression would have been admissible in court as an outright confession.” Terrible suspicion congealed into bloodcurdling conviction. He knew. But how? She’d been so careful— No. She’d only thought she had been. When she hadn’t been thinking straight, or at all, since she’d laid eyes on him. She’d messed up, left her tracks clear for his undercover security people to trace.

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Defenses mushroomed inside her with such speed and force she felt her head would explode. Everything jammed in her throat, suffocated her. “Wise of you not to insult my intelligence—any more than you already have, anyway—with protestations of baffled innocence. Or worse, of how you had to do it, against your will, no doubt. I don’t think I could have stomached a sob story now.” Futility reverberated through her, snapped the tethers of her heart. She rocked on her feet as she felt it plummet through her chest, land in her gut like a brick impacting ground from this office’s height. “I don’t know about a sob story,” she choked. “But I do have an explanation. Will you hear it, or have you already judged and condemned me?” He gave her a look that had her heart imploding in her chest. A look that said he hadn’t only done so, but that he’d like to carry out maximum sentence personally. His fingers lifted off the dossier, swirled it on the glasslike smoothness of his mahogany desk. It ended up facing her. Then in a cruelly deliberate move, he opened it. “This is evidence of your every mouse click through my systems since you’ve set foot here, every kilobyte of information you’ve accessed. This is all I need to get you judged and condemned to five to ten years in prison.”

Chapter Seven Prison. Eduardo was going to send her to prison. It was in his eyes. Buffeting her from his vibe. The lust for inflicting pain and damage. And she couldn’t even blame him…. No—she could. After all they’d shared for the two months that felt were the sum total of her life, how could he treat her as if she were a stranger—worse, an enemy who didn’t warrant a second’s benefit of the doubt? There could be one reason. The one he’d hinted at when he’d shown her the jewelry. She might have come truly alive that first moment he’d wanted her, but to him, she’d only been another conquest. She’d only stimulated his interest because of the precedent of her reluctance, held his focus because it had grown into a challenge. He would have probably cast her aside with the same callousness once his purpose of acquiring and demystifying her had been achieved. But…no. She still couldn’t blame him. Not for harboring those intentions, or for turning on her now far more harshly than he would have on anyone he hadn’t let his guard down around. It had all been her fault. She’d had no excuse for disregarding the insistent voice of sanity and the brutal lesson behind the reason she’d grown up fatherless. The thing he’d taunted her about. Her own mother had fallen for a man way out of her league. After a short affair, he’d shunned her, hadn’t acknowledged Jade, the child she’d born him. She’d lived her life believing it wasn’t possible for her to repeat her mother’s mistake.

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She hadn’t. She’d made a more terrible one. She’d risked far more than her heart and future to be with Eduardo, a man many more light years out of her league than her biological father had been out of her mother’s. She’d risked the futures of so many others. Now she would pay for her stupidity. They all would. And she wouldn’t even have the memories. She’d shared nothing with him. The beauty had all been in her mind. This…ugliness…was the reality. She raised her eyes to Eduardo’s. The eyes of a predator begging her to give him an excuse to gouge out her neck. “I must say I’m deeply disappointed,” he hissed. “No sobbing tirades about how it isn’t as damning as it looks? No swooning pleas for mercy? No promises to do anything, anything at all, if I’ll look the other way this time, give you a second chance?” Deadness crept up her body like fast-growing vines. She welcomed its suffocation, its inescapability, the stability it infused her with to answer him without collapsing in a mass of misery. “I see no reason for any of that. I don’t think anything I say now can make a difference. So I’d rather say nothing.” He barked a laugh that felt like the slash of claws. “Being stoic in an attempt at reverse psychology? To intrigue me into wondering why the hell you’re not freaking out and trying to get yourself out of this any way you can? To give you the opening to ply me with your prepared alibi, while making it look like I’m the one who asked for it?” He shook his head. She watched in morbid fascination how his hair and face captured sun rays into brushstrokes of divine art, enhancing every gleam, emphasizing every jut and hollow, energizing the brilliance of his gaze into lethal beams. “I have to give it to you. You’re more of a pro than even I gave you credit for. And I already thought you top of the line. Seems you’re in a league of your own. But really, this isn’t working. Think of another approach. Let me see what else you can come up with in your efforts to stave off a prison sentence.” She took the brunt of his cruelty to the last word. Then she slowly closed the dossier. She felt any sudden moves would send the jagged pieces she felt she’d shattered into scattering on the ground. She drew in a breath that felt like a hurricane stirring those pieces, sending them ricocheting in her chest like shrapnel. “Anything I say now will be to my attorney. I have nothing more to say to you. At least, to the real you. So you can stop wasting both of our time and call the authorities.”

Chapter Eight Eduardo stared back into Jade’s unwavering gaze. She looked like she had that first day she’d come to this office, all stilted professionalism and distant decorum. Only a dangerously whitened face and reddened eyes filled with shallow silver pools that shuddered with her every breath betrayed any emotional response. It wasn’t enough. Not by a damn long shot. He wanted—needed—far more. Her sobs and pleas. Her urgency and mortification. He wanted anything but this certainty of her betrayal gnawing him hollow, leaving nothing but an enraged shell bent on destruction. He wanted her to slap him and act wronged and innocent. He wanted her to be innocent. But she wasn’t. And it didn’t make a hairbreadth of a difference. Her hold on him was as inescapable as ever. She was swaying him, making him doubt his own eyes and logic, making him want to erase the record of his own memory. And she was doing it by withholding any attempt to exonerate herself.

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What would she make him want to do, what would she have him believe, if she actually hit him with the full force of her defenses and distress? He knew what. She’d make him willingly smash himself and all he’d worked for at the rocks of her treachery. Give anything for the illusion of having her back, of believing he’d never lost her. But he had lost her. He’d never had her. The “her” he loved was the illusion. But that wasn’t what his heart and senses still insisted upon. They roared for him to listen to them. They believed in her against all evidence. Could they be right? Was there possibly some explanation…? No. There wasn’t one. They were wrong. He was done believing their verdict as he had her every word and breath and glance. Her every smile and gasp and touch. He moved from behind the safety and sanity of his desk, circumvented it, approached her where she stood rooted to the spot, agony and anger riding him, lashing him to exact revenge, to ameliorate their intensity before it consumed him. He stopped a breath away, felt her inundate him with her essence, that charisma that accessed his every response, unlocked the combination of his physical and spiritual code. He wanted to crush her to him. But that would be giving her power. She held enough of that over him already. He wasn’t giving her more. Never again. He inclined his head at her, heard that unknown, deadly tone slide from his throat. “Isn’t it funny how timing is everything? You probably needed a few more days, maybe even hours, to implement your master plan. Tell me, Jade, all the time you’ve been with me, what were you thinking? Were you laughing your head off thinking you had me so blinded by lust, that even if I found out about your plan to sell me in pieces or wholesale to my rivals, I would have forgiven you?” “I think the past is irrelevant now.” Her voice dipped an octave lower, as if she was a decelerated tape. “Irrelevant. Period. I’m not interested in what you were thinking. Not anymore. Not then. Let’s concentrate on what you’re thinking now. What you’re intending. You want to hand me over to the authorities…” “What if I told you I don’t want to hand you over to the authorities?” Her stillness deepened. Then the lifelessness pouring from her lips seemed to follow suit. “I’d say you’d thought of something even worse to do to me.” Her indifference made him want to demolish everything around him. He channeled the violence of frustration into calm cruelty. “Worse? That depends on your point of view. From mine, I call it…fair. I’ve been playing by your rules so far, abiding by your game as you kept jumping one step ahead to inflame me until I was ready to pay any price, to have you. Now in return for not turning you over to the authorities, it’ll be you who’ll pay my price.” She blinked, sluggishly, before her empty gaze resumed pinning his. And he smashed the last fragment of the dream. “My price is you, Jade. In my bed and at my disposal. Until I’ve had enough of you.”

Chapter Nine Jade’s heart gave one violent shudder. Then it splintered.

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She’d still been hoping that he’d had feelings for her. That he was just incensed, was justified in striking back at her perceived betrayal. He was incensed, all right. But only his pride as a male and a businessman were smarting at thinking she’d gotten away with spying on him, while she led him on. His emotions were untouched. If they had been, he would have wanted to lash back, but would have wanted her out of his sight, forever. But what he’d demanded, his “price,” meant one thing. He’d only ever wanted her sexually. In his bed and at his disposal. Just like her father had wanted her mother. He’d only been courting her when he’d thought nothing else would work. Now that he’d found another means of achieving his objective, he relished the freedom of taking off the mask of consideration, of using coercion to force her into the position he’d wanted her in all along. Shock waves of anguish and disillusion expanded from her gut, threatened to burst her arteries, her heart, before they splashed through her system in torrents of scorching agony. Then they drained, leaving nothing behind but chilling resignation. She cocked her head at him, a nothing-to-lose serenity descending on her, coating her in its icy armor, spreading bitter irony on her lips. “Thanks for letting me know your price, Your Highness. Very revealing to learn what you’d resort to, to attain your ends. Pulverizes the image of nobility and morality you went to such pains to construct. Proves I was right about your from the start. But then you probably justify your blackmail as ‘royal retribution’ and ‘business opportunity.’” She straightened, the steel of defiance entering her stance, her glance. “And there’s no way in hell I’m succumbing to it. I couldn’t care less what you do with your evidence. You want to take it to the authorities, go ahead.” His eyes narrowed, the azure menace intensifying. “You’re bluffing and we both know it. There’s no way in hell a woman like you—young, beautiful, successful, who’s managed to keep her reputation pristine— wouldn’t be terrified of being exposed and having your life ruined.” “Try me. There’s the phone. In fact, it would be a great way out for me.” “Great way out of what? Maledizione!” He shredded together a string of vicious Italian expletives between grinding teeth. “You’re not making me play your game again. You’re not turning me into the seeker once more. You’re the one who’s dancing to my tune now, Jade.” A mirthless huff escaped her. “Oh, I’ve been playing your game all along. Not that I realized it until now. And I didn’t fall in with your plans and schedule out of any wisdom or conscious cautiousness, but out of blind survival. But now my arrest, even my imprisonment, would put an end to everything, rob everyone of power over me.” “Dio, siete incredibile—you are incredible.” His laugh, his eyes burned her with the fury of his aggravation, the ferociousness of his lust. “You’d confound and manipulate the very devil, wouldn’t you? You keep implying there’s more to this than your being an undetectable manipulator and saboteur. Bene, I’ll bite. Let’s hear this alternate universe story where you’re an unwilling pawn in this sordid mess.” “So you can mock and dismiss it and use it to find worse ways to torment me?” She tilted her chin up at him, noted how he followed her every move, his expanding pupils and filling lips explicit with her effect on him. Just hours ago his desire had made her soar with delight. It now deepened her despair. “I have nothing to tell you. You’ll be forced to believe sooner or later that I really don’t care what you do to me.” “Are you challenging me, Jade? You might be brave now, since I haven’t done a thing yet, or maybe you believe you’ll get me to relent, or…” “I’m not being brave.” Her hushed monotone drowned the intensity of his growl. “I’m being businesslike. I refuse your deal in exchange for my freedom and future. But I will come to your bed, be at your disposal. Until you’ve had enough of me. For a price of my own.”

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Chapter Ten For a price of my own. Eduardo felt the red-hot spear embedded in his heart twist, finally stilling its fluttering attempts to keep on beating. Everything went silent and rock solid inside him. He’d kept poking and prodding her, needing her to give him something, proof that she wasn’t without dignity and ethics, that she wouldn’t do anything to self-serve and self-preserve. He wanted a sign that no matter what, there had been something real on her side. He’d wanted her to resist succumbing to his coercion to honor whatever that had been, even if she ended up doing so out of desperation. He’d thought her implacable resistance was just that proof, that sign. But her refusal to succumb had nothing to do with what he’d so feverishly hoped for. She only did because, while it turned out he knew nothing about her, she knew everything about him. She knew that he wouldn’t harm her, even mistreat or humiliate her. Even if she was mired in depravity and used to all sorts of abuse, he wouldn’t be able to bear desecrating the image he’d had of her and the memory of what they’d shared. But she hadn’t only called his bluff, she’d turned the tables on him. She was using his weakness for her, the need that still ate through him, to extract her own ends. She thought nothing of trading her body in return for what she’d wanted all along. Disappointment and disillusion crashed through him, demolishing what was left of his reason. He no longer knew what his next action would be, if he’d be able to control it. There was no next action. All he did was stare down on her, feeling as if he was letting go of every beautiful thing in the world, saying goodbye to every belief, every dream of happiness. “So you have a price.” He knew defeat must be hanging over him like a charred shroud. He couldn’t bring himself to hide it, to hate her for witnessing it. Not that she seemed to even see him anymore, when just this morning those now-inanimate jewels had made him feel they saw nothing but him, that he filled her world. Was her world. “Before you name it, are you certain you know what you’re offering in return?” Her lashes swept down then up in one of those decelerated-time blinks. “I’m agreeing to give you what you made it abundantly clear you want. But only if you pay my price.” Her impassiveness as she negotiated this macabre sale—of herself—deepened the deadness inside him. “And I’m supposed to suspend disbelief now and consider this make-believe scenario you’ve invented, that you’re not the supplicant here, that you have any form of leverage?” “It’s not a make-believe scenario. It’s the only one on the table. You can either report me, or if you do want me in your bed and at your disposal badly enough—and considering all the time and effort you’ve sunk into your quest to have me there, you do—then you’ll pay my price.” Black bile rose, filled him up to his eyes. It poured into an attempt at mockery. “Not that I’m saying I’ll even consider it, but I am definitely curious. To know the price you’ve put on yourself. And on your…services.” This time her answer was immediate, unblinking. “Eight million six hundred thousand dollars.” Everything vanished. Again. Dio, was there no end to his gullibility where she was concerned? He had still believed she wouldn’t name a price. Not in hard cash, anyway. But she had. When he finally found his voice, he rasped, “Don’t you think that’s too steep a price?”

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She held his gaze unwaveringly. “Do you?” She knew. That he’d be willing to pay anything for just a taste of her. But…no. It didn’t seem she did know. Or she wouldn’t have settled for so little. It seemed she had no idea he’d pay of his very life to have her back. The “her” he’d loved. And then, the figure she’d specified made even less sense. “Why eight million six hundred thousand? Why not just eight and a half million? Why not nine million? Ten?” “Because that’s the exact amount I need to pay off the debts that landed me in this mess in the first place.”

Chapter Eleven Jade’s last words, spoken in that subdued softness, boomed in Eduardo’s ears like a string of nearby detonations. The amount of money she’d set as her price, the reason she’d asked for it, sank through the viscous layers of sorrow and stupefaction his mind had become, thudded at the bottom, kicking up the murkiness of a dozen appalling projections. “How on earth did you accumulate that much debt?” he finally growled. “Are you a gambler?” Or worse, stuck in his throat, went unvoiced. Those sooty, lush lashes that made her eyes look adorned in perpetual kohl, fluttered down, obscuring the now-opaque depths of her jades. “I didn’t say it’s my debt.” His heart felt as if it were twisting one way, then the other with the confusion of each word out of her mouth, until it got tangled up in his chest, cut off all blood supply to his vitals. “Then whose is it?” he grated. “I’m not telling you whose it is,” she muttered. “I won’t have…them dragged into this mess.” “You mean there could be a bigger mess than being indebted for that much money?” She looked up then, eyes spitting emerald fire. “If and probably when you report this, if not to the authorities, then to your board of directors and shareholders or even your consultants and friends, I won’t have…their reputations tarnished any more than it has already been, or have any more repercussions hit…them.” And he erupted. “Maledizione—just who the hell is them?” Their furious gazes clashed. After what felt like an endless, breath-bating moment, hers lost its edge, relinquished the showdown. An exhalation seemed to deflate her. “Just let it go. You heard my price, Eduardo. Take it or leave it.” A tight step drove him deeper into her aura. Her essence deluged him, sent longing roaring in his system. He almost snarled with the pain of it all. “An ultimatum, Jade? You don’t know much about me, do you?” Her shoulders rose and dropped on what looked like dejection. “I didn’t up until an hour ago, but my knowledge of you is being updated at an alarming rate. And it’s not an ultimatum. It’s my terms. You only have those two options.”

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“I make my own options. And here’s the one on the top of my list. Leave it and take you.” She opened her mouth to protest, and he injected more harshness in his tone, more ruthlessness in his conviction. “And I will find out who it is you’re so dutifully protecting. So your only option is to save ‘them’ the… unpleasantness of being dragged through the mud and tell me ‘their’ identity.” She cast her gaze downward, thwarting his intention to reignite their visual duel. Only a tremor in her lower lip confessed the impact of his threat on her. She attempted to suppress its betrayal in the sharp perfection of her teeth. But it was too late. He felt her armor distorting, fracturing. The ice encasing him started to melt, crack under the force of her agitation. She finally raised her eyes to his, drowned jades beseeching him from the depths of turbulent pools and desperation. They almost drove him to his knees begging her forgiveness. Even if he had nothing to be forgiven for. Even if she was playing him like the virtuoso that she was. She had him ready for anything so he’d never see this look in her eyes again. That was until her choking words hit him. “It’s someone I…love.” The word love shredded through him. When he’d thought there was nothing more inside him to be ripped apart. For he didn’t have the least doubt. This was no act. This was real. What poured from her in waves pummeled him, pulverized his heart. Real fear. Real love. Selfless and limitless. So she was capable of love. And that much of it. But it was love for someone else. Never for him? Not for a second? Dio…she’d been with him, enchanting and addicting him, while all the time her thoughts and emotions had been with someone else? Her smiles and eagerness faked for someone else’s sake, her body melting with hunger only when she closed her eyes and evoked someone else’s memory, someone else’s touch and taste and passion? And the agony bled out of him. “Is he your lover?”

Chapter Twelve Jade lurched as if he’d slapped her. “What…? No.” Eduardo’s heart screeched to a standstill. “He’s not your lover?” “You think I would have been with you, this way, if I had a lover?” She squeezed her eyes briefly, before she opened them again, a cast of cynicism descending over the delicacy and harmony of her features. “Of course you’d think that and far worse. On one hand you’re a player who expects everyone else believes the ends justify the means, just as you do. On the other, you think me a slut.” He wanted to roar that he wasn’t, that he didn’t think her any such thing. But he no longer knew what he was or thought anymore. He groaned his turmoil. “Who else do you love that much? It can’t be a family member…” “Because I am of ‘unknown parentage’?” Something scalding splashed through his system. Something he’d never felt before.

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Shame. He prided himself on being just, even in vengeance. He’d been anything but with her when he’d thrown that in her face, lashing out with the worst thing he could think of, to stop the chain reaction of damage inside him. It had only made him hurt worse. Now he wanted to snatch her in his arms, cover her face with remorse and pleas for her to exact retribution. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t his beloved. Not anymore. Not ever. He gritted his teeth. “I meant because you have no close blood relatives.” “I’ll tell you who it is if you give me your word not to involve him. He doesn’t know I’m here, doesn’t know what I’m doing. He has nothing to do with any of this.” “Again, Jade, I remind you, you’re in no position to dictate any terms.” She pinned him with an adamant glare. “Your word, Eduardo.” He huffed. “And you’d believe it?” Her eyes jerked wider. As if he’d asked her something ludicrous. He followed the spasm in her smooth neck as she swallowed. “Yes.” His own throat worked on elation and confusion. “Then you have it.” She nodded as if she’d received a binding oath. “H-he was my mother’s best friend. When I was eight, she died in a car accident, a-and even though he was a newlywed, he took me in, raised me as his own.” She’d never talked about her family beyond saying that her mother was dead and she didn’t know her father. He’d felt bringing up the past had disturbed her, and he’d cared only about the future, so he hadn’t probed. Now he wanted to know everything. “What’s his name?” “Richard Donnelly.” “So he didn’t adopt you.” “He wanted to, but I wanted to keep my mother’s name. And though I continued to call him uncle, as I did when my mother was alive, he is my father in every way that counts.” She drew in a wavering breath. “It was years before his wife had children, but they have five now, two under ten. He built a midsize yet successful software company. I worked with him until I came here.” “But you worked at DigiPrime. I’ve never heard of a Richard Donnelly there.” “DigiPrime absorbed his company two years ago. I remained in my position, trying to gain our independence back.” He frowned. “So how did he lose his company? And get into so much debt?” Her eyes brimmed. “H-he discovered he had cancer three years ago, and though we were promised he had an excellent chance of making a full recovery, h-he panicked. In his desperation to leave his family secure if he died, he made disastrous financial moves. To plug the deficits he got hefty loans at increasingly insupportable terms until he was writing heftier bad checks and things spiraled out of control. Then four months ago, rival businessmen ‘bought’ his debts, threatened to take legal action. And h-he had a heart attack.”

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Oppressive silence reverberated after her last choking word died away. He finally inhaled. “So you spied on me to help your benefactor, planned to sell my secrets to the highest bidder. Was I going to be that bidder, Jade? Were you going to give me the ‘chance’ to ransom my corporation’s survival?” “It—it wasn’t like that. This wasn’t my idea. And I never intended to sell your secrets. I—I was going to…to…” He gripped her arm, a need burgeoning to unbearable levels, to believe anything she’d say. “Going to what, Jade?” Urgencies mushroomed in her eyes. Then suddenly, it all drained. “Nothing. It would only be my word, anyway. Which means nothing to you.”

Chapter Thirteen “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what your word means to me?” She gave a jerky shake of her head. “I told you why I need the money. Anything else would sound like a sob story. And I wouldn’t want to upset your…stomach.” His lips twitched at her caustic reminder. “I lied. I can stomach anything. You’ve come so far. Tell me the rest.” She opened her mouth. But nothing came out. She closed her lips, resignation settling on her face. Just as he thought she’d give him what he wanted, she staggered around. She was walking away. No. He wouldn’t let her go. Dio santo…he couldn’t. He found himself across the room, his fingers molded to her firmness. It was as if he’d electrocuted her. And vice versa. She stiffened, her flesh zapping a charge up his arms. With a long, pained groan, he dragged her back into him. She melted against him, all the missing parts of him fitting back. He crossed his arms around her, melded her to his aching body, his hungry lips worshipping a path up her neck until they closed over her ear lobe. She cried out with the first hot, hard pull, arched back into his arousal, her head rolling over his shoulder, giving him license to take, to own. He scooped her up, clamped his lips over her petal-soft ones, groaned inside her delicious depths, drawing more of her whimpers of surrender as he carried her to the nearest couch. He took her down on top of him, everything inside him roaring for him to let go, take her now, brand her, bind her. Whatever else had been fake, her desire was real. He could feel it, scent it. And if her story checked out, then she had good reason for what she’d done. He could forgive, forget. He could love her again… “No.” She started pushing out of his hold, gasping. “This isn’t how it is between us anymore. You want your story, you’ll get it. You pay my price, you’ll get me. But that’s it.” He let her go, bracing against the blow of cold, ugly reality, struggling to subdue his body, watched her wrestling with hers.

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“My uncle was in intensive care…” she began haltingly “…when those who put him there approached me. They knew I’d been headhunted by your corporation but had turned down the offer in order to remain where I was, to try to get my uncle’s company back. They told me they’d let him off the hook if I accepted the position, got them the information they need to underbid you in the AkonTech deal. They called it ‘competitive intelligence.’” “A.k.a. corporate espionage,” he bit off. She nodded. “I refused. But my uncle’s wife begged me. She said prosecution would kill my uncle, that such practices were the norm in big business, that it’s just a contract among a thousand to you. That I’d save my uncle. My whole family.” “So you agreed.” Negation filled her eyes. It didn’t get past her lips. But how could she even attempt to deny it when she’d been gathering not only enough information to sabotage the AkonTech deal, but his very business? She exhaled. “Now you know. So…will you give me the money?” “If you thought money could solve your problems, why didn’t you just ask me for it?” Her lush lips twisted. “Yeah, sure. I can just picture it. You’re almost making love to me and I stop you and gasp, ‘I just remembered, I need to make a long-distance phone call. To the next galaxy. Can I have a few million dollars?’” And he did the last thing he thought he’d ever do again. He laughed. She looked as if he’d stabbed her. His laughter died. “If your story is true, ‘your price’ won’t solve anything. Those people were never after your uncle, they were after you. They don’t want their money back, they want to make a hundred times more. They won’t take their choke holds off your family’s collective throat until they do.” She looked as if he’d twisted the knife in her chest. “Oh, God.” One drop of moisture trembled a line of silver down her peach-flushed cheek. “So only giving them the info they asked for, losing you that deal, won’t be enough. And since there’s no way I’d warrant more money to you, I have no way out of this.”

Chapter Fourteen Eduardo pulled Jade back to him, twisted his hands into her gleaming waterfall of mahogany satin. “You don’t think you’re worth a few hundred million to me?” He scooped her beneath her thigh, tugged, brought her straddling him. One hand dragged her head down so he could latch openmouthed suckles on her neck, the other grinding her down on his beyond-painful erection. “Just this…” her cry harmonized with his groan at the excruciating sharpness of stimulation “…is worth that and more, Giada mia.” She cried out again at hearing him call her his favorite endearment, my jade in Italian. She wriggled out of his embrace, spilled on the couch beside him, panting, reproach filling her eyes. He gritted his teeth against the mindless need to haul her back. “Not that money is needed to solve this problem.”

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“What—” she gulped a fractured breath “—do you mean?” “I mean there’s no way in hell I’m going to pay off your…recruiters.” Silver surged in her eyes again, eclipsing the vividness that had—until this morning—filled his world, his very being with vibrancy and visions of forever, dissolving more of his restraint. “Then you won’t get them off my uncle’s back?” she choked. He groaned as he wiped that mind-messing moisture with an urgent thumb. “There are other…ways to do that, ways that don’t include them walking away with more money in the bank. In fact, I’ll decide after I investigate them if I’ll let them walk away at all, in one piece and with the clothes on their backs.” Her tears froze with the chill of alarm. “Just what will you do to them?” He growled a vicious laugh. “Nothing they haven’t diligently earned.” Anxiety spiked in her eyes. He shook his head. “Nothing illegal, though, rest assured. I don’t hit back at criminals by committing crimes myself. But you’d be surprised how much harsher legal methods can be, when used right.” He pulled her back into his arms. “Now, give me details, your uncle’s and theirs.” She tried to pull back, but he tightened his hold. After a suspended moment, she relented, relaxed against him, molded to his every contour. She started her account, her heart hammering against his side, her breathing becoming more labored, her lips trembling more out of control with each word. If he were in any condition to process more than her feel, her nearness, he would have already had a strategy mapped out about how to deal with the situation. As it was, he barely grasped the rudiments of the information she bombarded him with. He’d later take it all in, chart an airtight battle plan. But for now, she was filling his arms. And that was all that mattered. The moment she fell silent, he stilled those lips under his no longer containable passion. He nibbled and suckled their dewy softness, nudged them apart, absorbed her fragrant gasps and plunged, drove inside the intoxication of her craving and capitulation. Her flesh surged beneath his hands and hunger, needing his possession. Suddenly she was fighting against him as if she were drowning, as if he were dragging her under. He loosened his hold, but didn’t let her go. “Giada mia, ti voglio—I’m going crazy wanting you.” “No, Eduardo…” she panted “…let me go.” “You mean you’re not going crazy wanting me? Wanting this?” He dragged a nail across her nipple through her blouse and bra. A scorching sound of pleasure gusted from her lips. He took it and her breath with it inside him, fed her his tongue, his other hand slipping beneath her skirt, running a finger along the lips of her femininity through her damp panties. She pushed into him, against him, filled him with her moans. He cupped her, ground the heel of his palm against her trigger. “And this?” She clamped his hand between her thighs, keened, shuddering all over. “No…no, I don’t want this. Not like this. I told you…it’s n-no longer what it was between us.” He took his hand away, glowered down on her. “It’s business now, eh? Give and take?” She closed her eyes, whispered, “Yes.” He let her go then, watched her stagger up and away.

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Before she disappeared through the door he growled, “Remember, Jade. I give, then I take.” He thought he heard a sob tear through her before the door clicked closed.

Chapter Fifteen “You’re a fool.” Eduardo stared up at his cousin—Durante Benedetto D’Agostino, the oldest son of the king of Castaldini, and therefore, by Castaldinian law, the only prince in the kingdom ineligible to run for the crown. He was scowling down on him like a disapproving eagle would on an exasperatingly uneducable fledgling. “Not only did she play you from the moment you laid eyes on her, she’s still playing you.” Eduardo exhaled. “You’ve been telling me that since I introduced her to you.” Durante grimaced. “You mean since you bounded all over me like an overexcited dog and foisted your oncein-a-lifetime find in my face and expected me to chorus your oohs and aahs over her?” Eduardo’s lips twisted, in bitter humor, in searing regret, over those blissfully oblivious times. “You just resented the hell out of her because she didn’t simper and swoon all over you, wasn’t even the least bit intimidated by you. Because she volleyed your mother-in-law-like interrogation with her own candid barrage.” “In fact, that was exactly what made me think her too good to be true.” Durante’s spectacular scowl darkened. “And I was right.” Eduardo winced. “And here I was certain you were not a man to relish ‘I told you so.’” “I can’t regret being proved right more.” Eduardo held Durante’s eyes, so much like his own, so full of sympathy and antipathy. Durante was torn between hating to see pain and disillusion preying on him and being enraged at him for letting them. For the past weeks, Durante had been with him as he’d torn through Richard Donnelly’s enemies, had intervened where his influence had dealt strikes with surgical precision, to save Eduardo from the fallout of his indiscriminating rampage. He’d let his reservations go unspoken. Not anymore. Durante had demanded this meeting now that Eduardo’s purpose had been achieved because he suspected what would come next. He wanted to stop him before he compounded appalling business decisions with a catastrophic personal one. So he was attempting to mentally slap him out of it. “Open you eyes, Eduardo. See her for who she is, not who you dreamed her to be.” Eduardo knew he should keep silent. But the need to defend her overwhelmed his sense. Again. “Her story checked out, Durante. It was her devotion to her uncle that got her tangled up in this mess.” “Certamente. And it was your lovesickness and out-of-control libido that gave said uncle’s fortune and reputation back, at the cost of untold millions and many enemies, not only to yourself, but to me, too. And let’s not mention the disgruntled friends, who’ve taken exception to the lengths you’ve gone to in wiping the man’s slate clean. But what I’m concerned about now is that you’re letting your ‘Giada’ get away with the far bigger crime she intended to commit against you. That she still might.”

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Eduardo cast his eyes away, wrestling with the breaker of grief and futility. Durante was right. Jade’s story had checked out only as far as her uncle was concerned. But she’d accessed far more information than needed to see her mission through. He couldn’t find reasons for that. None but damning ones. That her espionage and subsequent opportunistic emotional manipulation had only been partly about her uncle, and mainly about self-interest. He exhaled in resignation, looked up at Durante. “Bene. You’ve made your point. Will you sit down now? Everyone in the restaurant has spoons hanging in midair watching Your Highness’s display of royal wrath.” Durante harrumphed, sat down heavily, snatched the menu off the table and gave him one last scowl above its edge before he determinedly dismissed him. Eduardo mimicked his action, already losing focus on anything but his inner turmoil. He’d been trying to convince Durante he’d been dealing his enemies the punishment they deserved, installing fail-safes to guarantee they’d never be able to plot against him again. But Durante, contrary to what he truly was, was no fool. He’d seen through Eduardo’s pretenses. It had all been for Jade. He’d told himself a million times he must close his heart to her before she pulverized it. He couldn’t. But he could do one thing. Would do it. He would take what she was offering. Maybe having her, if only once, would purge this madness. Maybe he’d feel her cold-blooded premeditation during intimacy and it would be what would put him off. What would finally set him free.

Chapter Sixteen Jade walked into her uncle’s bedroom. He was sitting up in bed, home after a five-month hospitalization, surrounded by his family, smiling for the first time in more than three years. And she realized something. Desolation had a taste and texture. She almost gagged on its decay with every breath, almost cried out at its abrasion with every move. It had been four weeks since she’d struck her deal with Eduardo. She’d seen him every day of those weeks. Many times a day. Everywhere she turned. At work where he’d insisted she didn’t miss a day. At her uncle’s hospital, or at his bedside. No doubt stressing that there was no escaping him. If only… “Jade, my dearest!” She stared at the woman closing in on her with open arms. Deanna, her uncle’s wife. She stood there motionless as the woman wrapped her in agitated excitement. “You gave us Richard back, Jade. You gave us all our lives back.” Jade pushed out of Deanna’s arms, pretending it was a natural ending to the embrace, not that she couldn’t stand to be touched, to be thanked. She might not love Deanna, but she was endlessly grateful to her. She’d let her husband take Jade in, had treated the sudden strain on her marriage, the incalculable burden of an

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unrelated child, with as much grace as humanly expected. She’d asked Jade to endanger herself for her family. But Jade thought it less than fair price for what Richard Donnelly’s family had given her. She didn’t want gratitude from Deanna. From any of them. Couldn’t bear it. “I’m so happy you didn’t go through with…it.” Deanna bit her lip. Jade’s eyes stung. So Deanna had thought there had been a possibility she could have. Eduardo had believed she would have. Without hesitation. Did no one know her at all? “I’m so relieved you told Prince D’Agostino and that instead of being mad, he was good enough to help your family.” Deanna wiped at her tears and tugged at Jade’s arm. “Come give Richard a hug. You’re more entitled to be here than any of us.” “Deanna, please, I didn’t…” Deanna’s urgency drowned her words. “I mean because you’re his ‘first-born.’ To him you really are, y’know?” Jade fought down the tide of sobs that kept hitting the back of her throat, reached her uncle’s side. He opened his arms and she surged into their haven. She’d been so afraid…so afraid… He enfolded her in the embrace of the only father she’d known, kissed the top of her head. A drop of moisture fell over her cheek, mingled into the tracks of her own tears. “Oh, Uncle, I’m s-so relieved, so h-happy you’re okay.” He hugged her tighter, smiled shakily down on her. “My relief at being okay is nothing to my happiness for you, my sweet. You deserve nothing less than this. Eduardo is a real prince of a man. In every way.” He thought Eduardo had done all this for her? Because he…loved her? Jade couldn’t take one more word. She kissed her uncle’s cheek, mumbled something about talking for days when he was stronger, but that she had to leave. He insisted, said that he was feeling great, until she told him Eduardo was waiting for her. He couldn’t push her out of the room fast enough then. It hadn’t been an excuse to leave. Eduardo was waiting for her. He’d given. And then some. It was now time for him to take. Would anything remain of her when he’d finished taking? In minutes she was in the limo he’d sent her, staring at the city through tears that skewed its nocturnal splendor into distorted ruins. Just like those of the beauty and magic she’d believed they’d shared. On arriving at another of Eduardo’s skyscrapers, Jade was escorted up to his penthouse, a place she’d never been, by Ciro. He let her into a gigantic foyer and left. Her heels clicked an uneven beat across acres of polished pearl-black granite, the base of an ultramodern setting of grays and crimsons adorned by flashes of bronze. Soaring windows painted a stunning panorama of the blazing-with-lights city and the full-mooned heavens. It all amalgamated into the ultimate in taste and affluence, the domain of the prince and tycoon that was Eduardo. Yet another proof of just how far out of her league he was. Not that it required equality for her to provide his…entertainment. “So you’re finally here.”

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Chapter Seventeen Jade teetered around at the dark caress of Eduardo’s voice, awareness forking down her body like a jagged bolt of lightning. He was prowling toward her, daunting in beauty, in size and influence, deceptively relaxed in immaculate, specially-molded-on-him black pants and white shirt. The top buttons were undone, tantalizing her with glimpses of raven silk and bronze power. Her palms and lips itched with the memory of losing themselves in the tactile nirvana of exploring his beauty. Her heart stuttered at the thought that soon, no matter why, she’d do that again, and more. And everything. He stopped half a breath away, his eyes raking down her beige skirt suit. His lips gave a sardonic tug. “If this outfit is an attempt to put me off, then you’ve forgotten I have X-ray vision where you’re concerned. I see right through all your shapeless clothes to the body that turns me incoherent with desire.” She stared up into his eyes. She believed they did have that power of penetration. And of heat generation. They singed her everywhere they landed. She’d once felt their insight, their brand all the way through to her heart and spirit. But he didn’t see anything beyond her body. He never had. The agony of this realization, of what would follow, what would pulverize what remained intact inside her, turned her reckless. She cocked her head to one side, letting the hair he’d forbidden her to imprison thud lushly over one shoulder. “I can’t say I see through your clothes.” She closed the whisper that stood between them, ending up against him from calf to breast. “But I can…feel through them. And I can’t wait until I feel it all…without them.” Eduardo’s senses rioted at the feel of Jade pressing against him. His arousal expanded, digging into the firmness of her belly. His heart shriveled. So she was taking off the mask of hesitancy and demureness. Something he’d thought inherent, something she’d lost only under the combined force of their need. Why? Why did he keep getting shocked that the Jade he’d loved had been a fabricated entity, created by a master manipulator and played seamlessly for the sole purpose of entrapping him? His body roared. So what? Drag her to the floor, assuage the need gnawing you hollow. He looked into the translucent jewels of her eyes and everything else that he was rebelled. No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He pushed away from her, watched the brazenness in her eyes drain, mortification rushing in its wake. This only made him want to drag her in his arms, kiss it away. He turned on his heel before he succumbed, strode with steps loaded with the violence of his emotions, to the windows. He saw nothing but her reflection, felt nothing but her presence encompassing him. He began to turn, to tell her to go, that he could never take what she couldn’t live without giving him, and her velvet voice poured over his chaos, stifling it.

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“You could have just pressured my uncle’s creditors to drop his debts. But you put right everything he’s done wrong, made it look as if he did it himself. Why?” She wanted a confession? Of all his motivations and weaknesses? A surrender? Well, she wasn’t getting one. He muttered the part of the truth he could stand baring to her. “Your uncle is a good man and his business was solid and filled a vital area in the market. They both deserved a second chance.” She only persisted, her voice darkening, each syllable thrumming behind his ribs. “You could have granted that without going as far as backing him up with your own clout and finances. You didn’t just put him back on his feet, you put him a dozen levels higher than before.” “It cost me nothing to do it,” he lied. “Don’t blow it out of proportion.” “Even if it took a flick of a finger to you, you didn’t have to do it. But you did it.” He turned on her, enraged, expecting to see gloating in her eyes, the knowledge that he was so in her power he’d do anything for her. He saw only her tears streaming. Then her voice and face crumpled. “Thank you.” He could swear he heard the last pillar of his resistance shriek as it shattered. He hurtled back to her, snatched her into his arms.

Chapter Eighteen Eduardo crushed Jade to him, crashed his lips down on hers. Her cry tore through him as he ground himself against her, no finesse, no restraint. Moans and groans filled his head, high and deep, the sounds of suffering. He was in agony. Her flesh burned him with its own torment. “Ti voglio tanto…tanto, Giada mia.” “I want you, too…I want you…please, Eduardo…” She sank her teeth into his neck. He roared, his frenzy spiking under the pressure to obey her demand, fill her need. He snatched her off her feet, hurtled her to his bedroom. He threw her down on his bed, and she arched up on a cry of passion, twisted on the burgundy sheets as he tore at both their clothes until only their last barriers remained. He came over her and her fingers dug into his shoulders, speeding his descent into oblivion, her breasts a desperate offering. He opened his mouth on her engorged flesh, feasting on her feel and taste, her cries of pleasure amplifying in his inflamed brain as he dragged her panties down her silky legs. They spread eagerly for him. He opened her folds, shuddered, on the brink, gliding his fingers along her molten heat, smelling her arousal. He drew harder on her nipple as he gave her two fingers to suckle, while another two rubbed shaking circles over the knot of flesh where her nerves converged. She writhed, moaned, undulated her hips, demanding more, all, until she bowed up, stiffened for an endless moment. Then she came apart.

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He watched her take her fill of pleasure, riding his fingers, magnificent, abandoned, her shrieks of release sharp talons lodging in his erection. Then he started stimulating her again until she couldn’t breathe, until she begged for him. He freed himself, his grip on consciousness softening. He came over her and she opened wide for him. He nudged her entrance and her heavy-with-need eyes singed him as her core did his erection. He gripped her buttocks, tilted her, bore down on her. Her breasts heaved, her hardened nipples scraping his raw flesh. Her swollen lips quivered. “Please, Eduardo, fill me…” He plunged inside her, incoherent, invading her living honey. She engulfed him back on a piercing scream, consumed him in a velvet inferno. At last. He rested his forehead on hers, overcome, transfigured. She arched beneath him, taking him all the way to her womb, her streaming eyes making him feel she’d taken him all the way to her heart. On fervent wish that it was true, that she’d never let him go, he withdrew all the way out of her then thrust back, fierce and full, riding her wild cry. He rode her every satin scream, echoed them with frenzied rumbles until he felt her almost unbearable tightness clamp down on his length, pour a surplus of red-hot pleasure over his flesh, before she convulsed beneath him, her core wrenching on his erection as her orgasm buffeted her. Seeing her lost to pleasure, feeling its force, broke his dam. He tumbled after her into the abyss of ecstasy, jetted inside her. Her convulsions spiked at the first splash of his seed against her womb. Her cries stifled, he felt her heart boom out of control along with his as the paroxysm of release destroyed existence around them…. Eduardo stared down on Jade. He’d thought her the sum total of every unreasonable quality he’d demanded in his soul mate and never dreamed to find. And that was before they’d shared…this. He felt shaken, uprooted. He’d never imagined anything could pack such power, that he could register and withstand that much pleasure. The experience would have dismantled him body and soul on its own. But there was more. He’d been her first. Elation, upheaval and confusion tossed him among themselves. From the chaos one truth emerged. Undeniable. Uncontainable. He still loved her. He’d never stopped. Might never be able to stop. He didn’t want to stop. And why would he? She was innocent. And it had nothing to do with her physical innocence. He knew it with everything in him. No need for proofs. No matter what she felt or didn’t feel for him now, he’d offer her himself, spend his life making it up to her, deserving her and earning her love. He gathered her soaked, trembling body to him, shuddered with the pleasure and possessiveness that lanced through him at the renewed desire in her eyes and willingness. And he whispered his pledge, his plea, “Marry me, Giada mia.”

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Chapter Nineteen Jade had been tormenting herself with what it would be like with Eduardo since his first touch. She’d thought her fantasies of his possession would remain in the realm of hopeless exaggeration, that reality would never compete, would be anticlimactic. If reality had been any more…climactic, she wouldn’t have survived it. She felt savagely pleasured, sorely replete. So thoroughly possessed she knew her body no longer belonged to her alone, that she’d forever share dominion over it with Eduardo, its new master. She’d been struggling with the need pouring back into her cells, running deeper now the floodgates of her emotions had been irrevocably shattered. She’d been telling her heart and body that this should never be repeated, that she’d be destroyed if it did. Then he’d whispered. So hot and dark and devastating. Marry me, Giada mia. Confusion crashed over her. Disbelief followed, inundated her, suspending her breathing, all thought, all existence. Out of the chaos something vast and terrifying expanded in shock waves that would decimate her world, recreate it in its image. Joy. It all escaped her eyes in a gush of exquisite torment. Eduardo rose on his elbow, his face contorting with alarm. “Dio, did I hurt you? You should have told me I was your first. I would have taken it slow. Dio, I wouldn’t have taken you at all.” He took her into his arms. “But I did. And I’ll make everything right.” The brittle joy was snuffed like a candle in a gust of brutal wind. Was this why he suddenly wanted to marry her? To do the “right” thing, since he’d taken her innocence? It was light years beyond what her own father had done, but it wasn’t enough to build a future on. She couldn’t marry him if he only felt honor-bound, didn’t reciprocate her emotions and respect. If he didn’t believe in her real innocence. She pushed at him until he relinquished his hold on her. She refused to meet his eyes, to answer his questions as she numbly got into her strewn clothes. Then he was there, so close and as unattainable as ever, she almost cried out. He took her trembling hands away and gently buttoned up her blouse. “Perdonami, Giada mia. Forgive me, let me make it up to you, per favore.” She staggered out of his reach. “You have nothing to make up for. I made…had sex with you because I wanted to. Taking my virginity is no reason to get married.” “It certainly is!” She jerked at his growl. His eyes stormed through the spectrum of blues and indigos as he lowered his voice. “And you might already be pregnant.” She jerked again. She hadn’t even thought of that. She’d come here certain he’d use protection. He hadn’t. So he wasn’t only honor-bound to her but duty-bound to his possible offspring.

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“If—if I am, I’ll welcome your presence in your baby’s life.” He seemed to grow bigger, as if he were about to explode. He lunged for her and she cried out, “It’s your presence in my life that I can’t bear anymore.” He looked as if she’d emptied a gun in his gut. His shock lasted only seconds. Then he was advancing on her in determination. She spun around, swooped down on the handbag she’d dropped at his bedroom’s door. She fumbled it open, produced a CD. He reached out to her and she foisted it at him. “What’s that?” he rasped. “That’s why I accepted your job.” Total bewilderment coated his face. And it all gushed out of her. “That’s why I hacked into your systems, to make sure no one else could again. Then I would have come to you with this, a foolproof security system tailored to your operations, and asked you to advertise the fact so my uncle’s creditors would find it pointless to blackmail me anymore. I hoped you’d pay me enough for it to repay his debts. But you discovered my tracks before I had anything near a working system and condemned me out of hand. If I’d told you my plan when I had nothing to show for it, you would have thought I was trying to con my way out. I could have sold it to you for millions, so it settles the score between us. My family and I owe you nothing now. Our bargain is over.” She swayed around without another glance at him, feeling her life had come to an end.

Chapter Twenty Eduardo felt his world beginning anew. Jade wasn’t only innocent, she was a hero. But what rocked his brand-new, magnificent world was a realization of such enormity, he wanted to crash to his knees and kiss the floor in thanks. She loved him. But from the desolation on her face, she was in the grip of agonizing misconceptions about his emotions and motivations. It wasn’t enough that he prove what they were now, but what they’d always been. He caught her back. “You think I’ll let you walk away?” She struggled out of his convulsive embrace, rounded on him like an enraged feline. “You can’t blackmail me again. I’ll prove to the authorities that I didn’t use the info I hacked into to harm you or gain a cent, that I gave you software worth millions.” He didn’t care that it was impossible for hearts to dance with delight. His was pirouetting in his chest. He neared her, hoping she’d lash out, vent all the pain he’d caused her. “Why didn’t you develop it before, sell it and get Richard out of debt yourself?” “B-because I never got it to work. This time it seems I was so motivated I finally succeeded.” He stopped within touching distance but didn’t touch. Soon. And forever. “Why didn’t you make it generic? You could have sold it widely, made millions.”

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The discomfort of the admissions he kept dragging out of her rose in a tide of peach over her cheekbones. “B-because if I sold a generic version, your version would eventually be hacked and cease to be of value to you.” He kneeled. “Giada mia, again I beg you. Forgive me. Marry me.” Tears splashed on his upturned face. “God…now you’re adding guilt and gratitude to honor and duty. And none of them is reason to get married.” He exploded to his feet, rushed to his nightstand, then back to kneel in front of her again. She stared down on the velvet box he opened up to her. Then she was bawling. “H-how c-could you!” “Just look, amore mio.” He dragged her shaking hands, put one piece of jewelry after another there. “See for yourself my reasons for wanting to marry you.” Jade tried to drag her hands away from the miraculous jewelry he’d said was meant for another…anyone but her…. She couldn’t look at them. But the ragged passion in his voice prevailed. She looked. And looked. And there it all was. Integrated ingeniously into the intricate design. Her name, the date of that day everything had turned nightmarish, and a pledge of undying love and fidelity. “I loved you from the first moment, was only waiting for these to be ready to propose. Then they were, that day I thought my world had ended. I told you they were for anyone but you, pathetically attempting to hurt you when I thought nothing I said or did could. But just as you’ve proven to me that you are the one I was made to love, this is my proof that I’ll shower you with love throughout our lives together. Will you forgive me, Giada mia? Will you make me complete?” This time, joy blossomed unchecked. She threw herself at him, the only words she seemed to know anymore yes and please. *** Eduardo reached for his phone across Jade’s sated body. He kissed her shoulder as he turned it to speaker mode and pressed a speed-dial button. The line connected on a growled, “Considering the time, you’d better be dying.” Eduardo chuckled. “I took another route to heaven, Durante. And this is the best time to tell you…I told you so.” There was a long silence. Then a heavy exhalation. “I take it your computer wiz has wiped and reformatted you. Again. This time, no doubt, forever.” “At least that long, amico. Start practicing being ‘the best man’ you can be.” Durante harrumphed something about incurable foolishness and Jade spoke up. “Actually, there is a cure. Trusting his heart did the trick. Hope you seek treatment for your intractable grouchiness.” Another silence. Then Durante huffed. “You’re sure she isn’t too good to be true?”

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Eduardo filled his soul with Jade’s unbridled love, thanked the fates again that not even his madness had dimmed it, and that it had “cured” him. He gathered Jade to his heart, answered Durante and pledged to her, “I’ve never been and will never be as sure of anything else.”

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The Journey to Welbourne Manor by Deb Marlowe Orphaned by the sudden death of her father, abandoned by her suitor, heiress Emma Lawson now finds herself at the mercy of her greedy uncle—and about to be sold into marriage to the highest bidder! Rather than submit to a match with a man she loathes, Emma decides to travel to Welbourne Manor, home of her scandalous aunt, Lady Ramsden, even though she knows the path leads to almost certain ruination! But the road to Welbourne is fraught with surprises—including her wayward former beau, Robert Marchwell, who is on a mission of his own…

Chapter One “And you say she’s chaste?” Lord Bainbridge’s voice burbled in the back of his throat. Behind her, out of her uncle’s line of vision, the horrid old baron stroked a gnarled finger across Emma Lawson’s shoulder blade. “I’ll not take her unless she’s a virgin.” Emma shuddered even as her uncle bridled in indignation. “By God, the girl is granddaughter to an earl, gently born and raised, Bainbridge.” Uncle George sneered down at the older man. “If you doubt my word, we’ll have the doctor in to prove it.” Now Emma glared at her uncle. The baron prodded her again, poking her ribs as if she were a market sow he was testing for plumpness. She smacked his hand away. “I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself, sir.” Rounding on her uncle, she allowed him to see all the hurt and bewilderment churning inside her. “Surely this is a jest, sir? I know we’ve had our disagreements, but you cannot think I would wish to wed this…him.” She gestured helplessly. Her uncle stiffened. “Quiet, Emma. You’ll do as you’re told.” “But I—” She drew a deep breath. “My aunt would never countenance such a match.” “Who do you think first approached me, missy?” Lord Bainbridge flashed his stained teeth at her in a grin. “Quite a logical thought, it was. Poor woman’s got two chicks of her own to consider. Launching them into society will prove expensive.” He raked his gaze down the front of her. “It’ll also prove to be a sight easier once she’s removed a beauty like you from their proximity.” Desperate, Emma grasped at her only straw of hope. “If money is the issue, Uncle, then you know I’ll be happy to help! In fourteen months I’ll reach my majority. If only we wait, I could—” “Enough!” Her uncle had gone a brilliant shade of red. “Bainbridge has an ancient title, a respectable estate and deep pockets. It’s a fine match. You’ll make it and be grateful.” He turned away. “We’ve details to discuss. Go on to your room now.” “But—” “Go!” In the six months she’d lived with him, Emma had never heard such a tone from her mild-mannered uncle. No—it usually fell to his wife and occasionally to his daughters to torment her. Fighting tears, she backed away. “I’ll have your answer now, Bainbridge,” she heard her uncle say as she reached to pull the door closed behind her. “I’ve need of the money. If you don’t want the chit, I’m sure I’ll find someone willing to agree to my terms.” Emma froze. Leaving the door opened a crack, she strained to hear the baron’s reply. “Oh, I’ll have her,” he avowed, “once we’re sure she’s intact.” There was a slight pause and she could imagine the twisted anticipation on the old man’s face. “I’d heard the rumors about your troubles. Whispers of bad management

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and failed investments are circulating, but no one is quite convinced.” He gave a rusty cackle. “This ought to do it, though. You must truly be in a mess, to be in such a hurry to sell the girl.” Footsteps sounded in the room and the door was pushed decisively closed. Shaking, Emma turned away. Her legs gave way and she pressed her spine against the door frame, sinking slowly to sit on her heels. How had her life come to this? Not long ago she’d been happy, the pampered daughter of a doting father, with a prominent position in local society and prospects of a fine marriage. Her eyes closed. Even now, she could not think of Robert without pain, even though she’d endured far worse since his abandonment. Her father, though, had been given no choice. His heart had failed and he’d slipped away inside a week. Robert’s heart had failed, too, but in an entirely voluntary manner. He’d chosen the pleasures of Town over her, left her alone and waiting—and look where she had ended. Tears began to flow. Now she was only a poor relation, and her future—it did not bear thinking about. A sharp tug on her arm shook her from her reverie. “Emma? Whatever are you doing, girl?” Her aunt glanced at the closed door. “Is there someone with your uncle?” Emma looked down at the fingers gripping her tightly, then up at the crafty look on her aunt’s face as she listened at the door—and something inside of her shifted. Robert’s desertion had torn her heart, but this— this betrayal by the very people who were meant to love and protect her—it was turning her soul to stone. Faith and hope withered even as understanding grew. The painful truth shone clear at last. She was alone in this world. There was no one to help her, to save her. It was all up to her. Her aunt looked down. Something she saw in Emma’s face gave her pause. “It’s Bainbridge in there, isn’t it?” Suddenly she stood, dragging Emma with her. “Come along.” She hustled her to the front parlor and thrust her inside. Her two daughters watched, incurious, as Emma stumbled over the threshold. “Daphne, Danae, watch your cousin. I’ll be back in a moment. Don’t let her out of your sight.” Neither girl answered. They were clustered around a set of newspapers spread on a table. Emma threw herself on a settee and tried to think. She must find a way out of this disastrous match. “Why would the Duke of Manning bother to marry Lady Ramsden now?” Danae asked her sister in a deliberately loud tone. She rustled a paper. “After he’s lived with her so scandalously all these years?” Daphne shrugged. “It seems the lady’s every breath stirs a scandal. They say you could paper all of Carlton House with the broadsheets that have been printed of her. And now—” she leaned in to her sister “—it’s rumored that one of her cicisbei is so distraught at the idea of her marriage that he’s casting off all of his mementos in a private auction. And the grand centerpiece…” Her voice lowered to a whisper, but Emma was scarcely attending. She was too absorbed in her own misery. But Danae’s screech nearly startled her out of her seat. “No! Upon a fan? How—?” “Never mind, I’ll explain later.” Daphne glanced at Emma. “Do you think Emma will be invited to the wedding?” Danae asked in a loud whisper. “I swear, it will be the event of the year. They are talking of it even in the village. And Lady Ramsden is her mother’s sister.” “Of course not, you ninny,” Daphne scoffed. “Mama would never permit it.” She gave a snort. “You can be sure that she checked to see if Emma had any contact with her notorious family before she consented to take her in. I heard Papa tell her that all connections had been severed years ago, when Emma’s mama died.”

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“It’s still rather exciting, isn’t it?” Danae said wistfully. “It’s shameful, that’s what it is,” Daphne insisted. “Catherine Ramsden is not the sort of woman you claim as a relation, even if she was once a countess. Moreover, Welbourne Manor is the most infamous estate in England. It would be the ruination of any young woman to even set foot in the place.” The scornful declaration caught Emma’s attention. She sat up. Her cousin’s words echoed in her head. It would be the ruination of any young woman to even set foot in the place. And just like that, Emma had her solution. Somehow, someway, she was going to Welbourne Manor. *** They were nearly upon him. Robert Marchwell did not look over his shoulder. By some miracle Rowland’s hirelings hadn’t spotted him yet. He knew he must make himself less conspicuous. He removed his fine beaver hat and ducked into an alley. At the end he emerged into a back lane, startling a laborer unloading a cart. “A fair trade, good man?” he asked. “My hat for yours?” He tossed the fellow a coin. “And a little something extra to ensure that you never saw me.” Bemused, the laborer handed over his worn hat. Robert placed it on his head, pleased to find it too large and hanging low over his forehead. He nodded his thanks and entered the open door at the man’s back. “Eh?” He’d found a storeroom and surprised another chap. This one, swathed in a large apron, was shelving the supplies as they came in. “Who’re you?” the clerk demanded. “What’re you doing?” “A nice brisk business, thank you,” Robert answered affably. “That’s a fine apron, with nice deep pockets.” He tried to wiggle out of his tightly fitted coat. “Will you take this coat in trade, sir? Sewed by the finest London tailors.” He grimaced. “But you’ll have to help me out of it.” He’d only just got the apron wrapped around him and his precious cargo stored in one those deep pockets when a ruckus sounded outside. “Hey, now!” the laborer protested. “That’s mine! I made a fair trade for it.” Robert was through the storeroom to the front of the building in a flash. He erupted into a busy general store, where several of its patrons stared in disapproval of his haste. Smoothly, he stepped behind a fabric counter. He snatched off the hat, hefted a bolt of cambric from a shelf and pretended to start in surprise along with the rest of the room when two large men burst through the door behind him. The pair moved through the storefront, cursorily inspecting the clientele before heading out onto the street. Robert grinned. Rowland’s bullies were proving easier to elude than he’d feared. He slipped back into the storeroom. “Here now, you can’t just come and go back here,” protested the clerk. “I’m off, I promise.” Robert grabbed a pair of stacked crates. “Might I have use of these, though?” The man waved a weary hand and Robert was gone. He kept to the alleys until he was forced to make his way back to Maidenhead’s main street. Keeping the crates raised carefully before his face, he made his way east toward the edge of town. A carriage accident outside a posting house delayed him. A crowd had gathered to cheer the shouting, sparring drivers. With careful steps, Robert worked his way through the happy spectators. He’d nearly reached the middle of the crush when he felt an ominous tingle at the back of his neck.

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He lifted the crates higher and surreptitiously glanced about. No sign of Rowland’s men. The coachmen’s argument had degraded to angry, inventive name-calling and everyone about him appeared both interested and amused. His gaze swept the inn, and suddenly he caught the gaze of a young woman standing alone in the yard. She was eyeing him closely, a strange expression on her face. She might have been pretty, beneath the travel dust and under her limp bonnet and creased brown cloak, but Robert had no time to investigate. He shifted the crates to block her view of him and resumed his crawl through the crowd. She was there when he broke through, closer than she had been, standing at the edge of the cobbled yard. Her hands gripped a portmanteau and a large umbrella, a scowl contorted her smooth brow and sent a twinge of panic racing up from the base of his spine. Did he know her? He dared not look closer to find out. He kept his gaze lowered and the crates lifted high, for the last thing he needed was to be recognized. Robert quickened his pace. Another quick peek as he drew near proved that she was still staring avidly in his direction. His head down, he moved to the edge of the road and rushed past. He’d just inhaled deeply, the better to expel his relief, when something struck the back of his knee. His legs tangled, the crates tilted and the ground rushed up at him. He hit the pavement with a painful thud even as the crates launched into the air. Almost before they’d landed, he was over and on his feet, cursing Rowland’s bullies and clutching at his apron pocket and the object they sought. But there were no hired villains. Instead he stared, incredulous, at the mangled object at his feet. The chit had tripped him with her umbrella! “Robert Marchwell!” He winced as his name rang out. “I knew it was you!” He looked up, past mud-stained hems and wrinkled skirts, over arms clenched tight to a slender frame—and into the face of the girl who had gotten him into this mess in the first place. His mouth fell open. Not half a year past, Emma Lawson had jolted him awake. She’d stirred him up, made him painfully aware of his own emptiness and given him an incentive to change. For her sake he’d undertaken this insane mission—and she’d nearly broken his kneecap in return. “Emma?” His vibrant, golden girl looked a travel-weary and bedraggled mess. He climbed to his feet and clutched her shoulders. “What’s happened? Where is your uncle?” Her open and sunny countenance had gone tight and dispirited. “On his way to debtor’s prison, I hope,” she said bitterly. She crossed her arms and scowled at him. “What are you doing here? The Season is still in swing. Aren’t you fearful you’ll miss something?” Robert shifted, suddenly unsure of his footing in a multitude of ways. Emma was fixed in his mind as sweet and sure. Her generous and giving nature had struck him powerfully. They’d spent an idyllic autumn in company together and he’d found that her presence shone a light on his rakish, fast-paced existence. He’d seen his life for the pitifully shallow thing it was and in her eyes he’d seen what it might be. But he didn’t know the dusty, resentful Emma in front of him now, and was unsure how to answer her. Before his silence stretched too long, a deep voice sounded nearby, a barked order that stood out from the cheerful urging of the crowd. Robert looked up to find one of his pursuers pushing his way toward him. “Oh, damn it all to hell,” he cursed. The man gestured and Robert spotted another one closing from the street. He fumbled in the apron pocket. “Emma, tell me quickly—were you meant to be leaving on one of those carriages?” Sudden tears shone in her eyes. “No. I’ve no money—”

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“Good,” he interrupted. “Take this, then.” He pulled out the thin, precious package, and using her body as a shield, tucked it inside her cloak. “There’s an inn on the east end of town, the Hoof and Horn. Meet me there, upstairs in room twelve, in an hour’s time.” He clutched her hand and stared into her startled eyes. God, but he wanted to crush her to him and kiss her senseless. But Rowland’s men must not connect them. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” He shook his head. “If they ask, you don’t know me.” “What are you talking—” He gripped her shoulders again and scowled. “Watch where you are stepping,” he said harshly. “Move!” The men were nearly upon them. Roughly he shoved her aside and sprinted away.

Chapter Two Stunned, Emma watched Robert Marchwell’s rapidly disappearing form. He was leaving? She was stranded, dirty, hungry, alone and penniless—and now had a strange object poking her side—and he was leaving? Again. She pushed away from the low wall surrounding the posting yard. Disbelief twisted in her gut, exposing burning anger underneath. Deliberately she embraced it, as it made a fine shield against panic and despair. She straightened her shoulders—and was struck between them as two men rushed past. “Out of the way!” The words were nearly as rough as the wall she hit once more. Neither paused or apologized. She stared as they raced off after Robert with deadly intent. Now fear was the emotion erupting inside her. What had Robert got himself into? She pulled her cloak tight and was poked once more by the object inside. What had he got her into? Furtively Emma glanced around, but no one paid her any attention. The drivers had given up their fight and turned to untangling their coaches. Around her the throng had begun to disperse. What she needed was a moment’s privacy to examine this mystery object. She picked up her portmanteau, abandoned the ruined umbrella and eased away with the melting crowd. Emma found an apothecary shop tucked amidst the rows of taverns and posting inns lining Maidenhead’s main street; it boasted a front lined with plants and herbs and a tiny bench tucked amongst them. She took a seat, angled her body toward the building and pulled out her unwanted acquisition. The package was long, thin and wrapped in linen. Emma tore the cloth away to reveal a fan of aged, polished ivory. Reverently, she opened it. The pierced ivory was beautifully detailed and adorned with three small vignettes. She peered closely—and stilled. The lovingly painted portraits were of her mother’s sister, Lady Catherine Ramsden, who was soon to become the Duchess of Manning. Her gut clenched. Daphne’s words, uttered on that fateful day at home, echoed in her head. An auction, she’d said, and an ardent admirer selling off his mementos. Surely there had been something about a fan? But Robert could not be her aunt’s cicisbeo—he was not half her age! Emma bit her lip and ran a finger over a likeness. Lady Catherine was a beautiful woman, it was not impossible. She shook her head. Perhaps Robert had merely won this piece at the auction? That notion did not sit well either.

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A gentleman walked by and tipped his hat. She nodded and idly waved the fan. She turned it around—and gasping, nearly dropped it. This side, too, had three detailed portraits, but they were of a decidedly different—that is to say, risqué—nature! Emma caught a glimpse of long, naked limbs and a bounteous bare bosom before she snapped the thing shut, her face flaming. Fumbling, she wrapped the fan up again, and felt a little more of her faith in mankind slipping away as she did. Who would commission such a thing? And why, she wondered darkly, would it be in Robert’s possession? Try as she might, she could not dredge up an innocent answer, or even one that made a particle of sense. Emma stood and strode away again down the street, her mind awhirl. She knew the stories. Her mother’s sister had thrown her life away, left her husband—an earl, no less—and their young son to run away with her lover. The world scorned her as a fallen woman, but Emma had heard her parents’ whispers, had heard bitterness in her serene mother’s voice as she laid at least part of the blame on the earl, using words like cold, distant and inflexible. And Lady Catherine had not, as so many had predicted, been abandoned and left to drift from man to man. Instead she’d lived with her duke for many years, had a family with him and in the end she’d extracted the best revenge on all of her detractors; she’d lived her life as she chose, and had been blissfully happy doing it. Emma had known the story, but it had always been just dim music in the background. She’d never felt it touch her own life. Until her father died and her aunt began to talk of the taint in her blood. Until the ugly afternoon in her father’s study, when her uncle had bartered her future away. Then Lady Catherine’s example had risen before her like the sun, and she’d decided to follow it. Emma might ruin herself by running to her relatives at Welbourne Manor, but she’d be living her life on her own terms. Her eyes welled. Blissful happiness was beyond her reach. Her chance had run off with Robert, fallen along with her father. But ruination and a place in her relatives’ fast society appeared far more comfortable than life as Lady Bainbridge. And whether Robert had meant to treasure the fan or make mischief with it, he was not getting it back. Lady Catherine was finally marrying her duke. Emma could picture her happiness, but she could also imagine how the knowledge of an object like this out in the world might taint it. Well, the thing was in Emma’s possession now. She would take it with her to Welbourne and offer it up as a wedding present to Lady Catherine. It might ease the bride’s mind and it just might sweeten Emma’s own welcome. The decision made, her steps grew brisker. Really, there was no need to meet up with Robert Marchwell again at all. What could come of it? Only a resurrection of old pain and the birth of new humiliation. She’d come this far on her own; it would be wisest to continue on that way. Her head was convinced of it. Her heart reluctantly agreed. Yet for some reason her feet were carrying her steadily toward the east end of town. Almost before she knew it, she found herself in the dusty foyer of the Hoof and Horn, asking after room twelve. She shifted uneasily as the innkeeper eyed her with a knowing grin. He led her upstairs, knocked on the door and swung it open. Emma stopped on the threshold and stared. A stunningly beautiful lady gazed back at her, her mouth quirked into a quizzical smile. “Well, hello,” she said. “Are you the package Robert meant for me?” *** Robert was late. The last thing he wanted was for Emma to show up at the Hoof and Horn before him, but Rowland’s hired men were more determined this time, and he had begun to tire. A horn blew and traffic scattered before a fast-moving post chaise. Quickly, Robert swerved toward it. A burst of speed, a lucky jump, and he caught hold of the back end. Vainly his pursuers tried to match speed with the vehicle. Robert grinned and saluted them as they were left in a cloud of dust. Breathing deeply, he hung on as he was carried through town, and jumped off as the chaise swept past the inn. Anxiety dogging his steps, he sped upstairs, flung open the door—and pulled up short.

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At a tiny table sat Cora DeLane, a sleek and gleaming vision from his past. “Good morning, Robert. That’s a lovely apron. Are you trying a new look?” His former mistress shot him a look of tolerant amusement before transferring her gaze across the table—to a rumpled, decidedly uncomfortable image of his future. Robert’s heart began to pound. Even bedraggled and stiff, Emma was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Smiling, he ripped off the apron and started toward her. “Hello, Mr. Marchwell,” she said in a cold voice. “I almost did not accept your invitation, but just think what I might have missed. Your…friend…has been entertaining me with tales of your exploits in society.” Cora laughed. “And I had only just begun to tell her how least-in-sight you’ve been for the past few months, Robert, dear. Your timing is as atrocious as ever.” “Thank you for keeping her safe, Cora.” Robert knew every moment of peril had been well worth it as he knelt and took Emma’s hands. She held herself rigid, but he ducked down until he could look into her eyes. “So much has happened since last I saw you, Emma. I’ve a thousand things to tell you. But first—will you talk to me? What’s happened? Why are you here alone?” His fingers gripped hers tighter. “And do you have the package I gave you?” Her eyes bright and hard, Emma met his gaze. “Yes, I have your precious package, Robert Marchwell, and I know what it is. Though try as I might, I cannot think of a good reason for you to possess it.” Her lips pinched together. “Or even why someone would think to paint such images on a fan.” She shuddered. “It’s positively lewd.” “Fan?” Cora’s catlike lethargy disappeared. “Lady Ramsden’s fan?” She stared at Robert. “You did steal it from Rowland?” He didn’t answer. Emma was jerking her hands free of his. “You shan’t have it back,” she said sharply. “I’ll be taking it on with me—to Welbourne Manor.” “To Welbourne?” Robert ignored the issue of the fan for the moment. Every part of him rebelled at the thought of Emma being exposed to the fast and jaded society that would be gathering now at Welbourne— the very society he was striving to leave behind. “Why are you going to Welbourne? What’s happened to your uncle?” “I’ve no notion.” She sniffed. “But it could not be worse than what he had planned for me.” “And what was that?” Cora’s languid amusement was back in place. “Sale to the highest bidder,” Emma replied bitterly. “He got himself into financial trouble and decided I was his way out of it.” Her chair scraped as she pushed back and away from him. “He found a disgusting, lecherous old baron who agreed to split my dowry with him.” Her chin lifted. “I ran away instead. As to your question, I’m going to Welbourne for a very specific reason—to be ruined.” Robert reared back. “Ruined?” “Indeed. Lord Bainbridge will only accept a chaste maid. Just visiting with my scandalous family and their guests at Welbourne ought to give him sufficient reason to doubt.” She stepped back as he stood. “And no, I was not so foolish as to leave alone.” She crossed to the window to gaze down upon the courtyard. “I brought my maid along. We’ve been making good time, but yesterday we discovered that we were being pursued, and last night—she left me.” She tossed a hard look over her shoulder at him. “Like so many others, she stole away.” A rattle sounded outside and she turned back. “Likely so she wouldn’t be blamed for helping me. She took all of my money with her. No doubt she means to lead my uncle straight here.”

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Robert swallowed a surge of fury. Her uncle had turned him away as a useless fribble? It was beyond hypocritical. He took a step toward Emma. He’d known she was quick-witted and kind, with a generous heart. Now he watched her battle weariness and worry and he knew she was so much more. She was strong, full of fire and resolve. He drew a steadying breath. Yet she seemed so distant, so different. He’d realized last autumn that he wanted her by his side. He’d been empty, aimless until he met her. A third son, he’d lived his life with no occupation other than to stay within his means and refrain from shaming his family name. He, Cora and the others in his circle drifted from one pleasure to another and wondered why they eventually ceased to satisfy. Emma, he’d learned, was disarmingly different. She lived with joy and purpose and he wanted to wake every morning to the light in her eyes. But the obstacles before them were numerous—and multiplying. Cora was staring at Emma with a calculating gleam in her eye. “Might I see the fan, dear?” Emma flushed. “I’m sorry, Miss DeLane, but I cannot allow it. Lady Ramsden is my mother’s sister. Although I’ve never met her, I can imagine her dismay at the thought of this object in unknown hands, being ogled and evaluated and discussed by strangers.” She shot another cold look toward him. “Or even acquaintances.” She shook her head. “No, the thing is in my possession now, and there it will stay until I turn it over to her myself.” Robert stared at her and wondered how this situation had become so damnably complicated. Months ago he’d had nothing more pressing on his mind than whose bed he would end up in next. Meeting Emma had shifted his outlook and changed his desires, but he’d been at a loss until the Duke of Manning offered him the means to do something about it. It was a simple enough bargain: a small but prosperous estate in exchange for the fan. Not so easy in reality, but he’d come so close. He must get that fan to the duke, but did he want Emma to end up at Welbourne? He didn’t have the means, or the right, to stop her. Not yet. But not only would it be harder to dodge Rowland’s men with her in tow, he’d have to be on the watch for her uncle. He also had enough experience with Cora DeLane to know that the cat-and-mouse game she was playing with Emma boded well for neither of them. “I don’t believe you know what you are getting into,” Cora told Emma, watching her closely. “Rowland was furious when the fan disappeared. With all the talk, that fan has become notorious—and notoriety, my dear, can be a valuable commodity.” She sent a twinkling smile in Robert’s direction. “Rowland wants his commodity back. It’s rumored that he’s hired a small army to chase it down.” She tilted her head at Emma. “Perhaps you will want to reconsider your course of action.” Emma’s face tightened. “No. I would not.” Cora breathed deeply. She relaxed in her chair and the air of assessment left her expression. “Good for you, dear.” She sat a moment, smiling at Emma, and then she stood, her movements more decisive than Robert had ever seen. “And I shall help you.” She gestured at Robert. “Both of you.” Robert hardly knew how to respond. Cora could indeed be a valuable ally—or a dangerous enemy. Emma merely blinked at her. “Help us?” “Indeed. It’s unfortunate that I came in my barouche, but we shall manage. We must move quickly, there’s not a moment to waste.” She crooked her finger at Emma. “You, dear, shall become my protégé.” Her grin took on a decidedly wicked cast. “And Robert—your apron has inspired me. I think that you shall make a splendid footman.”

Chapter Three

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Here was another first. Since that fateful moment when she’d stepped into her uncle’s study and encountered Lord Bainbridge, Emma had experienced a distressing number of uncomfortable firsts. This one, however, might just be her favorite. Miss DeLane had transformed her. With a scant thirty minutes, a borrowed gown and the help of one of the inn’s maids, she’d altered Emma completely. Oh, she knew she’d always looked passably fair—and exactly like what she was, a simple countrywoman of comfortable means. Men had watched her with at least a degree of appreciation. But this was different. With her skin scrubbed and glowing, her hair elaborately coiffed and her bosom displayed by a fitted bodice with elaborate embroidery, she felt somehow changed. At once stronger and more vulnerable. The attention she was receiving from the men milling about the inn’s taproom had changed as well and become…intense. Last week she might have been uncomfortable with such notice. Today she merely tossed her head and watched impatiently for Robert Marchwell. The new, cynical part of her soul wished him to have a taste of what he’d so easily left behind—and to choke on it. She had to wait until Miss DeLane had finished her business with the innkeeper. At last it was done and Emma followed her new mentor out into the courtyard. And immediately had to swallow a burst of laughter. Robert stood stiffly near Miss DeLane’s open carriage, the stain of embarrassment cast across his face. Or perhaps it was merely a reflection from his new costume. Miss DeLane had worked her magic on him as well, with an entirely different effect. The apron was gone, but somehow she had unearthed an old set of livery. Once a rich, vivid red, time and wear had faded it to an odd pinkish-orange. Stretched tight across his shoulders and not quite closed in front, it lent Robert the unfortunate aspect of a ripening pomegranate. Emma knew the moment he caught sight of her. His pained expression melted into a blank look of shock. He took an involuntary step toward her. “Ah, Jenkins,” Miss DeLane said smoothly. “How prompt you are. As you can see, my young friend and I are ready to leave at last.” Emma’s mouth twitched as Robert recalled his role. Woodenly he turned to assist them into the barouche. She could not help a surge of satisfaction as his hand gripped hers—harder and longer than was strictly necessary. The moment stretched on. Miss DeLane cleared her throat and announced her desire to depart. He let go. Emma’s amusement faded as, instead of climbing up beside the driver, Robert stepped onto the perch at the back of the vehicle. She sat in the backward-facing seat—and he stood staring straight down and across at her. The barouche lurched to a start, and eased from the courtyard into the street. The London Road stretched ahead, wide and even. The traffic heading toward Town moved briskly. He couldn’t have noticed any of it. His eyes never left her for a moment. At first Emma kept her chin high and her own gaze fastened on the countryside, on the farm carts they passed, or the riders moving smartly past them. But she saw none of it, either. The intensity of her focus matched his. An unnatural silence held sway as the heavy weight of his regard left her skin tingling in its wake. She felt the path of his gaze, as tangible as the touch of a hand as it traveled from the luxurious ribbon entwined in her hair to the dainty slippers peeking from beneath her skirts. At last her resolve weakened, and slowly she turned her head to meet his eyes. And there it was, that look that had so captivated her last autumn. Their odd situation, the presence of Miss DeLane, even his ridiculous livery—it all faded into the background. She was caught up once more in the connection that they had shared.

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Their attraction had been immediate, their conversation open, candid and amusing. She’d been intoxicated, her senses drunk with him, her thoughts filled with his teasing laughter, his stolen kisses and whispered promises. After several glorious weeks, Robert had left Somerset with the extended house party that had brought him, but he’d pledged to return for her. And then Emma’s father had died. Her world had broken apart. In her grief she had waited for Robert—but he had never come. Heartbreak had proved to be as terrible a burden as grief. And she’d endured it alone. Perhaps that had been the most painful part of all of this. Even amidst her uncle’s family, she’d never been more isolated, or more terribly lonely. And that still had not changed, she realized suddenly. Mere chance had brought Robert to her again. She’d be a fool to expect any different sort of outcome from this meeting than she’d had from the last. It was enough to break the spell. Her heart twisted as she turned away. She’d been right all along. Her best chance for safety and perhaps a small measure of happiness lay at Welbourne. Though her heart might be damaged past repair, at least she would not suffer alone. *** The sun was setting behind them, the last rays radiating warmth on Robert’s back. It had been a long and eventful day; one he’d never imagined would end with him playacting as Cora DeLane’s footman. But then, he’d never imagined he might encounter Emma today, either. As the barouche swayed, he watched her, his frustration slowly turning to irritation. She looked incredible. In the past their time had been spent in country pursuits; riding and picnicking, in afternoon visits and informal dinners. She’d looked beautiful then, of course—fresh and happy, glowing with health and good humor. Cora had dressed her as a sophisticate and she looked even lovelier powdered and pampered. His chest tightened at the thought of her reception by the type of men likely to be gathered at Welbourne. And yet the internal changes to Emma distressed him even more. She’d been through so much; of course she was due a measure of bitterness and anger. Yet a good deal of it appeared to be directed at him. Though Cora’s help was undoubtedly proving invaluable, he cursed her presence. He needed to get Emma alone, to explain all that he’d been trying to do for them, tell her how important that fan was and explain his bargain with the Duke of Manning. “Do you know that I purposefully changed into this high-necked frock before we left,” Cora announced idly. “But now I see that it was a wasted effort.” It took a moment for her meaning to register. It wasn’t until Emma blushed and he looked down over Cora’s shoulder that Robert realized his unique position on this cursed platform. Though he was several feet behind Cora, he stood a good deal higher. Had her gown been cut low and revealing he would have been in an ideal spot to appreciate it. “In fact, I feel quite cheated,” Cora continued. “Had I known that the two of you were only going to blanket this trip in layers of silence and…tension, I might have declined to help you after all.” Neither he nor Emma had an answer to that. “And my earlier conversation with Miss Lawson proved so entertaining, too,” Cora said, sighing. “I told her all manner of stories about your exploits in our circles, Robert, and she turned several charming shades of red.” Above her, Robert clenched his jaw.

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“You were always entertaining,” she said sadly. “I meant to ask dear Miss Lawson if she might have known why we’d seen so little of you in the last months—but then you arrived.” She angled her jaw and smiled up at him. “And now I may ask you directly. Just what has been occupying you and keeping you so busy and quiet?” At least Emma had looked at him again. She raised an arched brow as if to echo Cora’s question. Robert swallowed. “I’ve been engaged in some business with the Duke of Manning.” “Ah.” Cora sat quietly for several minutes. “I begin to see. The duke is a generous man. I’ve known him to…adopt a person now and again.” She shuddered. “You’d think he’d have no time for it, what with the menagerie of children he and Catherine are rearing at Welbourne, but he is known to treat his friends handsomely, especially when they do him a service.” She shot a glance across at Emma. “And if he asked such a difficult and immense thing of you as stealing that fan back—why, then, I would expect the reward to be just as immense.” Robert didn’t reply. Emma’s gaze had returned to her lap. Cora was still studying her with a slight smile on her face. “But really, Robert. I’ve never known you to be under the hatches before. You’ve always lived admirably within your means.” She cocked her head. “What is it that has changed, I wonder, to put you in need of a…favor…from the Duke of Manning?” Emma’s head jerked up again. “But enough about you,” Cora said decisively. “I wish to hear more about Miss Lawson’s dilemma.” She paused, her head tilting. Robert stiffened as a shout echoed from behind them. “Ho, there! Hold the carriage!” Robert twisted around to see two horsemen coming up quickly behind them. Fury and alarm battled within him as he recognized Rowland’s hired men. He spun back to glare down at Cora. “Davies, pull over to the side of the road,” she called to her driver. “But take your time about it.” She reached across the barouche to grip Emma’s arm. “Wipe that look of fright from your face,” Cora commanded. “You are a coquette, do you here? You will be demure—except when I am not looking—and then you will glance flirtatiously, enticingly, at these men.” She sat back and arranged her features into a slight frown. “Robert,” she hissed without looking at him. “You will try and look like a footman!” Robert met Emma’s terrified gaze with a reassuring one of his own before the men drew abreast and he straightened, staring blankly ahead. “Miss DeLane,” the biggest man said in a reproachful voice. “You left Maidenhead without checking in. We lost Marchwell. Did he keep your appointment?” Robert’s fists clenched along with his gut. He should have known better than to trust Cora! She stared at the hired henchman, her smile gone to ice. “He did. But he was as nervous as a cat and not inclined to trust me with your men so close on his heels.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I told you to leave him to me, but you bungled it. And now you delay me.” She narrowed her eyes. “Marchwell mentioned his family estate in Gloucestershire before he became suspicious. I left word for you. Why are you not after him?” Robert saw the second man eyeing Emma. She stared at her hands, only the flutter of long eyelashes betraying her obedience to Cora’s instructions. None of them spared Robert a glance.

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“I received no word,” the first hireling said. “Did you check at the inn?” “No.” “Idiot,” Cora huffed. “And now he is several hours ahead of you. Lord Rowland will not be pleased.” She scowled. “I must return to him in London before my protégé and I depart for the wedding.” The man’s horse danced nervously beneath him. “Miss, about Lord Rowland…” “I shall tell him exactly what has happened,” Cora said spitefully. “Were I you, I would be in Gloucestershire as fast as I could.” “Wait!” she called as they both spun their mounts around. “I assume there are men posted ahead?” “Yes,” the first man said, impatient. “How many?” He shrugged. “A great many, I’d say. Rowland wants his property back before that wedding.” “I shall send a few of them after you, should I encounter them. You’re going to need reinforcements.” The henchman nodded and they were gone. Road dust hung in the cooling evening air. Cora asked her coachman to drive on. She sat back, seemingly at ease. “Do not look at me so, Robert,” she ordered. “You cannot know how I look right now, Miss DeLane,” he answered tightly. “I do not have to, I can feel the indignation pouring from you.” She patted Emma’s hand. “It’s not what you think, dear. True, Rowland is my…” “Protector,” Robert spat. “Yes.” She sighed. “But Catherine, your aunt, is a very dear friend. When Rowland asked for my help, I decided to do what I could to get that fan myself.” She laughed. “And while I would have had no compunction in taking it from you, Robert, I do not feel the same about Emma.” She smiled at the girl. “I believe you do have Catherine’s best interest at heart.” Cora craned her neck to look back at him. “Hounslow is just ahead. I have friends there. I will make arrangements for you to stay for the night. I’ll have to go on or Rowland’s men will begin to suspect something.” Her gaze lifted to the countryside. “It is a few trifling miles overland to Welbourne from there. I trust you, Robert, to act the gentleman. You must leave first thing in the morning and get Emma and that fan to Lady Catherine.” Impotent fury nearly stole Robert’s breath. It was quickly replaced with a burning determination to get this job done. He suffered the uncontrollable urge to grab Emma, leap from the barouche and tell Cora DeLane to go to hell. He didn’t. He balanced on his precarious perch, his mind awhirl, all the way to Hounslow. Night had fallen when the driver turned down a lane and followed a narrow track to an inn tucked beyond the main village drag. Robert jumped down and pulled Emma from the vehicle. A stout woman with a lantern emerged from the run-down building. “Plans have changed,” Cora told her grimly, climbing down. “This one needs to change back into her own clothes.” She smiled at Emma. “You’ll be less conspicuous as a dusty traveler.”

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Robert flinched when she touched his arm. “Different clothes for him. Perhaps a tenant farmer?” “And you?” the lady innkeeper asked. “I’ll be going on. But they’ll need to stay hidden for the night.” She nodded. “The hay barn out back’ll do.” For the first time since they’d been stopped by Rowland’s men, Emma spoke. “No,” she said flatly. “It will not.” Cora took her hand. “Your cynicism is entirely understandable. Your uncle used you ill indeed. It’s just a hunch, dear, but I think you must wait before painting Robert with the same brush.” “Wait for what?” Emma asked. She sounded exhausted. Cora glanced his way. “Perhaps until you can discover if your lecherous baron was the only man to ask your uncle for your hand.” Robert’s breath caught. Could it be so simple? “Of course he was.” Emma sounded bitter now. “No,” Robert contradicted her clearly. “He was not.”

Chapter Four He was not. Robert’s innocuous statement had set Emma’s world askew. Bainbridge hadn’t been the only man to ask for her hand. Numb. She concentrated fiercely on feeling nothing, showing nothing, as the inn’s mistress tugged her inside, past a noisy taproom and up to an empty chamber. Emma accepted her help in changing out of her borrowed finery and back into her travel-stained garments. Had Robert asked for her? Had he kept his promise? Her heart pounded, ready to soar at the possibility. Some part of her was screaming in happiness. Another huddled small, sobbing in relief. She squelched them both, along with myriad other wildly erratic emotions. Her lessons might have come late, but she’d learned them well. She struggled to keep her expectations low and her walls high. She didn’t think she could survive another blow, another disappointment. How would she bear it if it were not true? Outside, night had settled and Cora DeLane was ready to continue on. In the murky light of the innkeeper’s lantern, Robert was nowhere to be seen. Cora huddled with the older lady a moment, their whispers no match for the good-natured rowdiness emanating from the taproom. Numb, Emma reminded herself as Cora left the woman with a last, urgent-sounding admonition. She held herself aloof, unfeeling as Robert’s ex-mistress hugged her close and then held her at arm’s length, searching her face. Whatever she was looking for was not to be found. Emma started when Cora cupped her face in both hands, her stern gaze boring into her own. “You will not do this. You will not be afraid,” Cora whispered. “You’ve come too far to give in to fear now.” She let go and turned to climb into her vehicle. “Emma, dear,” she said, settling into her seat. “You can be happy if only you will allow it.”

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Emma swallowed a surge of emotion and did not respond. The barouche began to move. Cora leaned forward. “Stay hidden tonight. Robert will take you on to Welbourne before first light. Get that fan to your aunt. It’s the best wedding gift you could give her.” Gravel crunched beneath the vehicle’s wheels. “Give my regards to Catherine,” Cora called. Emma nodded and waved. She stood, staring after the vehicle, until the innkeeper called her to attention. “This way.” The older woman gestured with her lantern. “The taproom’s full of locals,” she whispered hoarsely. “The main coaching inns are full tonight and I’ve several rooms let to the overflow.” She looked over her shoulder. “Even here there’s endless talk of the wedding at Welbourne, Rowland’s auction and that missing item. There’s a reward out for that thing, although folks is split on who’d pay more to have it, the duke or the jilted lover. It’d be best if no one ever knew you were here.” Emma clutched at the thin bulk of the fan, tied safely into a pocket under her skirts. But it was not concern over the fan that had her anxiety escalating as she followed the bobbing light past the stables, to an even smaller, older barn. Robert was in there. Whatever was she going to say to him? “The hay barn,” the innkeeper said. “Nobody comes here at night, though there’s an empty groom’s loft with a cot for you. S’pose it won’t hurt the gentleman to sleep the night in the hay.” She cracked the door open. “There’s supper in there, and a bit of traveling supplies. I expect you’ll be gone before the cock crows.” “Thank you,” Emma whispered. “Thank Cora, not me. It’s all her doin’.” Emma stared at the open door while Cora’s words echoed in her head. You can be happy, if only you allow it. Resolutely, she entered the barn. *** Robert watched as Emma lingered at the door. Her posture was stiff, her face carefully blank. She hadn’t known. It was clear now that she had never been told of his visit, his offer. Robert didn’t know if he was angrier with her despicable uncle, or with her. She’d believed he’d abandoned her. She hadn’t trusted him to keep his word. “Come in and eat,” he said, gesturing to the bread, cheese and wine atop a crate. She’d left her bonnet off. Even the dim light of the covered lamp set alight the sunlit streaks in her tawny hair. He stared at them, unspeaking as she slowly crossed the tiny space and sat upon a crooked stool. “Robert,” she whispered. Her gaze was cast downward. “Eat,” he ordered. He should avoid this now. It would be better to wait, to have this conversation when they weren’t so isolated, when he’d had time to gather sufficient control. “We’re leaving early, you should sleep.” “I’m sorry.” She looked up then. “I must apologize. It’s true, I didn’t know, but I should never have believed…” “That I was a worthless fribble?” he barked. “That’s what your uncle named me, when I had the audacity to ask for your hand. Perhaps I should have waited—it was right after your father’s death and I wished only to see you, comfort you. But he made it clear he had other plans for you.” She reached out a hand but he moved away. “Don’t. I can’t really blame either of you, for he was right.”

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“No,” she denied. “He wasn’t.” “He was. At that time I had nothing to recommend me save a close acquaintance with the fast and loose set of the ton.” He met her dark eyes. “But I’ve changed. You inspired me. The Duke of Manning noticed, and encouraged me. I’ve worked closely with him, and learned much about business and land management. I hoped to make something of myself, to become worthy of you.” She rose and crossed to him, slipping her hands around his waist. “You’ve always been worthy. But I’ve let you down.” A terrible tension eased within him at her words and with her touch. He gripped her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair before he took her seat upon the stool, bringing her along to sit in his lap. “When the furor about the auction and the fan arose, the duke asked for my help. I agreed to do anything I could.” “Of course.” “And then do you know what he offered? He promised me an estate, should I succeed. It’s small, but it will be all mine.” He squeezed her waist. “It’s an unbelievable opportunity.” She smiled and laid a hand across his cheek. Suddenly he grinned. When she shifted he’d felt the press of a long and narrow object against his hip. “Is that where you’ve been keeping the damned thing?” She laughed. “It’s safe there.” She sobered. “Such a small thing to cause so much trouble.” Robert sighed. “Rowland commissioned it years ago, after your aunt left her husband to live with her duke.” He ran a finger along her jaw. “Terrible things were said about her, then and since. Assumptions were made about her character and awful predictions of her complete ruination abounded. I suppose Rowland thought owning such an object would be a lark. If she really had been as wanton as some said, perhaps he would have enticed her to his bed.” He smiled grimly. “But she and the duke have proved loyal to each other and are still very much in love.” “She wasn’t afraid to be happy,” Emma whispered. He shrugged. “I know Rowland’s taunted her for years with the existence of that fan. But Catherine’s a strong woman.” She flushed and he stared into her dark eyes. “Like her niece.” She smiled and arched slightly. He almost shouted his relief. Emma was here, in his lap, smiling at him again, her luscious mouth positioned just right for his kiss. God, but he wanted nothing more than to oblige her. Every fiber of his being ached to snatch her close and taste her once more. He wanted to kiss her senseless, until all the turmoil and trouble about them disappeared and there was only her and him, and the sweet spiral of their desire. Instead, Robert groaned and did the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. He set his love off of his lap and stood. Thrusting a hand in his hair he offered her a grimace of apology. “I’m sorry, Emma, but this is not our time or our place. I started this crazy journey meaning to prove something to your uncle. And then I wanted to prove myself to the duke.” He could only hope she would understand. “But now I mean to finish this for me. For us.” He set his hands on her shoulders, and allowed himself one quick, tantalizing kiss on her lips. “I’m going to get you and that fan safely to Welbourne. We’re going to outwit Rowland, leave your uncle and his treacherous baron high and dry, and set your aunt at ease at last.” He leaned down and rested his forehead on hers. “Tomorrow we’ll be at the gates of Welbourne. And there we’ll decide our own futures.” ***

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They left the barn early, before the birds had even begun to stir. Robert shook her awake and then climbed back down out of the loft. He hitched a nag to the rickety old cart he’d hired from the innkeeper and they were off; a farmer and his wife moving slowly along backcountry lanes. Emma huddled beneath her cloak, lost in contemplation. She’d thought herself so brave, following in her aunt’s footsteps, leaving her uncle’s house to follow the path of her choosing. But she’d acted nothing but a coward since the first moment she’d glimpsed Robert on the street in Maidenhead. Her aunt was courageous, withstanding the censure of the world to follow her heart. Robert was brave, daring to change the course of his life. But she’d been weak. She should have been forthright and asked him where he’d been, if he still cared for her and how and why he’d come to possess that fan. Instead she’d hidden, afraid of the answers. She’d let cynicism and bitterness color her perceptions. But no longer. She knew Robert wanted to wait until they’d finished this, but suddenly Emma wanted him to know everything she was feeling. Now. Before they’d reached the end of their journey and without the distractions that would inevitably arise at Welbourne. “Robert.” Emma placed her hand on his, where he held the reins loosely. They’d passed through the village of Twickenham. Robert had just begun to take the turn that would shortly bring them to Welbourne. “Robert,” she repeated, insistent. He pulled the horses up in the middle of the intersection and eyed her questioningly. “I have something to say, and I do not wish to wait.” His brow furrowed, he waited. Emma gathered her courage. “I’ve been a terrible coward.” She shushed him when he stared to protest. “It’s true. The moment I saw you, in that silly apron, carrying a stack of empty crates, I closed myself off from you. I’d been hurt and I was afraid it would happen again. So I pushed you away, looked for reasons to be angry and told myself I’d be happier without you—when really I just wanted to be safe.” She scooted closer to him on the bench and leaned into his reassuring warmth. “But you’ve shown me what it means to be brave, to risk failure in search of happiness. I see now that if I wall myself off from the negative or difficult things in life, then I’m closed to all of the good things as well.” She breathed deeply. “So I’m going to tell you, right now, that I’m not going to give in to fear any longer. I want to be happy. I choose to be happy. With you.” Robert transferred the ribbons to one hand, and trailed the fingers of the other along the line of her jaw. She tilted her head to him and this time, at last, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. A torrent of emotion surged through Emma. Joy and pride and a great swell of love for this man unfurled inside of her. She opened beneath him, and daringly touched her tongue to his. He moaned in response and kissed her deeply, his heavy hand settling at the small of her back and urging her closer. Emma was lost, awash in a haze of pounding hearts and communing souls and rising desire. Gradually, though, the rumble of wheels and the jingle of harness began to pierce the sensual cloud that surrounded them. Robert pulled away, his grin rueful, and they both looked over their shoulders to find a coach and four come to a stop behind them. The coachman sat atop his box, watching them with a commiserating grin, but the occupant of the coach, a wizened old man, had poked his head out of the window.

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“Out of the way!” he shouted. He shook a cane in their direction. “What do you think you’re about, blocking the public road—and with such vulgar affrontery!” Aghast, Emma shrank back. “It’s Bainbridge,” she whispered. She met Robert’s questioning stare with horror. “The baron—my uncle!” Robert stiffened, but before he could react, they were all hailed by a call from ahead. Emma cringed further when she caught sight of her uncle on horseback, coming from the direction of Welbourne. “Might as well turn around. They’ve had no sign of the chit,” he called to Bainbridge. He passed Robert and Emma with barely a glance at their worn clothes and ancient cart. “The maid!” Bainbridge exclaimed. “That lying jade…” “No, the girl spoke the truth.” Emma’s uncle sighed. “We must have missed her on the road. Let’s retrace our steps a bit and stop to think.” He waved impatiently at Robert. “Well, go on, good man, and quit blocking the road.” Fighting a grin, Robert shrugged at Emma and shook out the reins, urging the nag to continue. Emma clutched his leg tightly until the coach and her uncle had turned about and headed back toward the village. She stared openmouthed at Robert as he pulled the horse up again. He bit his lip. She giggled—and then they both dissolved in a flood of hilarity and relief. *** Soon after, they stopped before the gleaming gates of Welbourne Manor. Robert helped Emma down and soberly they stared at the gorgeous gardens beyond and the twinkle of the Thames in the distance. “We’ve fought hard to get here,” Robert mused, “and now I feel strangely reluctant to enter.” “I feel the same.” He turned and took her in his arms. “You journeyed here to become ruined. In a way, I came to save myself. But I don’t think either of those goals fit us any longer.” “No.” She sighed. “What do you say we take the fan to the doorstep, with instructions for it to be delivered to the duke and his soon-to-be duchess, compliments of her niece—” “And of you, too,” she insisted. He nodded and kissed her nose. “And then shall we just continue on?” Her eyes lit up. “Where shall we go?” “I was thinking of Gretna Green.” Emma stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms about his neck. “It’s perfect. Let’s go and be happy.”

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Bravo Tango by Julie Miller Justin Grant, a tactical officer with KCPD's bomb squad, is recruited to go undercover to find those responsible for a series of bomb threats in Kansas City. While trying to form ties with a group of mobsterwannabes, he must rush a suspect to the ER- where Dr. Emilia Rodriguez threatens to blow his cover. Emilia Rodriguez is all business...and her business is saving lives. But because of Justin's flirting and an intimate-looking situation, the gang pegs Emilia as Justin's girlfriend, involving the doctor in the dangerous case. As Justin delves deeper into the gang world to find who’s responsible for the threats, he must also ensure the safety of the woman he has involved...the woman he is falling for.

Chapter One Static crackled over the radio clipped to Justin Grant’s Kevlar vest. “Heads up, Grant. Stand down from Bravo Tango alert. Klein’s bomb is a dud. Second-floor lab clear.” Justin allowed himself a moment to breathe normally as he listened to his TAC team leader, Michael Cutler, relay orders to the three KCPD tactical assistance specialists who’d been sent inside the evacuated building to do a recon sweep after a Bravo Tango- cop-speak for bomb threat- had been called in that morning. “First floor clear.” That was Murphy reporting in. Justin removed the protective goggles he wore and wiped the sweat from his brow. This basement was too damn hot for an autumn day when the temperature outside hovered at a balmy fifty degrees. Either this small, independent lab- a new addition to the reclamation of Kansas City’s historical downtown district- was literally cooking up some new kind of miracle drug, or they had a problem with their heating system. “Grant, do you copy?” “Roger that, Captain. “ Justin pulled off his helmet and scraped his gloved fingers across the top of his short hair, uncaring that the golden strands stood up in spiky disarray. He wanted to take one last look. He wasn’t feeling the calm yet, that preternatural instinct inside him that was a more reliable “all clear” order than any departmental procedure. “Something’s hinky here.” He set down the helmet and used his flashlight to make another visual scan of the basement. He spotted the thermostat on the far wall and made his way toward it. “Did anybody crank the heat when they came in?” “That’s a negative,” Cutler replied. “You know we’ve got the gas turned off.” “Hmm.” The thermostat had been moved to its highest setting, then had the adjusting tab broken off. Justin pried off the cover. The wiring looked normal. But the calm hadn’t kicked in yet. He broke out a section of the drywall and followed the wires around to the furnace. “Doesn’t it seem like the bomb squad’s been busier than usual lately?” He kneeled down to inspect the gap between the building’s iron boiler and the warped concrete floor beneath. “Somebody with a grudge has got too much time on his hands. First, it’s a threat on the University research lab. Now it’s Markon Pharmaceuticals. They broadcast the threat, KCPD clears the building, time and money are lost—” Justin’s commander jumped into the discussion. “Two medical tie-ins give us a pattern. A patient got misdiagnosed. The lab didn’t get a drug approved in time. That’s payback, pure and simple. But how do you explain the other threats we’ve had across the city? The convenience stores? The bus terminal?”

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“Copycats? Thrill-seekers? These threats are a hot story in the press right now. Maybe our guy’s just been practicing his craft.” Or maybe the recent spate of bomb scares, and influx of illegal explosives and bomb parts into the area, was the equivalent of one sicko’s very dangerous, very adult way of playing with matches. Or not. Justin’s sharp eyes caught sight of the red plastic-coated wire buried in the bundle leading to the furnace’s control panel. “What have we here?” Justin swung the light up to the row of pressure gauges. Son of a bitch. “I’ve got an independent heat source feeding the temperature in the basement.” He was on his feet, ripping off the panel and exposing a portable propane tank. This bastard was nothing if not clever. He eyed the gauges. Approaching critical. Hell. The arrow swung into the red zone. “I’ve got a temperature trigger.” He saw the relay switch too late. A chain reaction had already been set into motion. Klein’s voice crackled through the static. “Damn it, this thing’s ticking again! I’m going to attempt—” “Negative, Klein! Abort! Abort!” Justin shoved open the door and hit the service stairs, climbing them three at a time. “Damn it, Cutler, stop him!” “Return to base. Repeat. Return to base.” “Clear the building!” Justin shouted. Murphy dashed out ahead of him. “Klein!” But it was too late. Justin knew it in his bones an instant before he heard the detonation, a nanosecond before the concussive blast of air hit him in the back and lifted him off his feet. He knew Klein was dead before he hit the asphalt and was swallowed up by oblivion.

Chapter Two Four months later... “I told you we could take ‘em.” Justin Grant slammed on his brakes and spun into the circular drive outside Kansas City’s Truman Medical Center. “Yeah, so why are we the ones at the ER?” He killed the engine and the lights, checking the street to make sure he’d lost the two thugs from the parking lot behind Nathan’s Bar. They’d struck him as the type to want to finish what they’d started. And despite his tough talk, Mickey Larkin didn’t have much left in him to finish anything off. Justin ran around the hood of his Chevy SS, counting off the minutes since he’d dumped his new best pal into the front seat. He’d been buttering up Mickey for a month now, desperate to infiltrate the gang of twentysomething mobster wannabes that KCPD suspected was behind the two explosions and countless bomb threats that had plagued Kansas City for the past six months. Lending a fist in a parking lot brawl and then providing the getaway car was one hell of a way to gain a suspect’s trust, and get in good with the gang. But if Mickey didn’t make it... Mickey fell into Justin’s arms when he swung open the passenger-side door. “Man, I don’t feel so good.”

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“We need some help!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Easy, buddy.” Bending his long legs, Justin got his shoulder under Mickey’s arm and lifted him out onto the sidewalk. The shorter, stockier man grabbed his stomach and leaned heavily on him. “Can you walk?” “I think I need another drink.”

Way to prioritize, buddy. But then Justin didn’t suppose any amateur bomber who’d earned the infamous nickname “Two Toes” after he’d mis-set the timer on one of his creations was known for his smarts.

“Let’s get you inside.” To the casual eye, most people would dismiss Mickey’s stumbling steps and slurred speech as the result of the number of beers he’d consumed. But Justin knew blood loss could have the same effect- and a knife wound to the gut could cost a man a lot of blood. Justin hurried his steps through the fading winter slush that still lined the streets at the end of February, half dragging, half carrying his best chance at getting a lead on this investigation. “I need some help here,” he shouted as soon as his thick boot hit the rubber door sensor and the doors slid open. Ignoring the sharp catch of pain in his forearm, Justin boosted Mickey into his arms and carried him to the first empty gurney he could find. “Anybody?” “What do you think you’re doing?” Justin turned at the clipped female voice of authority. The big brown doe eyes and creamy olive skin didn’t match the battle-ax image the voice had conjured in his mind. But he wouldn’t let the intriguing contrast sway him from his purpose. “Making sure my buddy gets some help. He’s cut up pretty bad.” She signaled an orderly at the front desk. “Let’s move him into Exam 2.” She raised the side bars, pulled on a pair of gloves and rolled the bed into a private room. Justin fell into step behind her. “Get me the surgeon on call,” she snapped with every bit of the authority KCPD’s Captain Cutler used with his men. She palmed the center of Justin’s chest and pushed him back to the door while a team went to work on Mickey. “Not you.” “I stay with him.” “Not on my watch.” Justin backed off from the steely set of shoulders that barely reached his chest and tried to catch a glimpse of the name tag attached to her white lab coat. “You a doctor?” “Dr. Rodriguez, assistant shift supervisor. There are procedures we follow here. Rules about prioritizing and stabilization.” She picked up the clipboard at the end of the gurney, frowned at the blank sheet of paper, then hung it back in place. “Where’s the ambulance he came in?” “I’m the ambulance that brought him. Are you gonna stitch him up or are you gonna talk rules and procedures and get in my face until he bleeds out?” “Your friend needs more than a few stitches, Mr...?”

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“Justin Grant.” She nodded toward the neat slice in the sleeve of his leather jacket and the blood oozing through the narrow gap. “Apparently, so do you.”

Chapter Three Emilia Rodriguez intubated and stabilized Mickey Larkin as best she could before sending him up to the OR for surgery. But she doubted he’d make it. Now she was left to deal with his partner in crime, Justin Grant. Partner in crime wasn’t a figurative description, either. She recognized the difference between a knife wound sustained in a fight, and someone who’d sliced his finger peeling potatoes. During her rotation in trauma medicine and volunteer work at the City Clinic, she’d treated enough victims and instigators of violence to spot them as soon as they rolled in on a stretcher. She’d grown up poor in a Kansas City neighborhood where violence had shaped a number of lives, including her own. Her brother, A.J., had once run with a gang. Tragedy had touched them when they were both little more than kids- their father had been murdered in an explosive car wreck. Maybe because of where they lived and who they were, his death had been dismissed as an accident. But Antonio Rodriguez Sr. had been a wonderful, loving man. His death had brought the family closer together, and inspired his children to make a positive difference in their world. His son and four daughters had grown up to become a cop, a doctor, a teacher and a social worker. The youngest sister, Teresa, was currently studying at the Kansas City Art Institute. Justin Grant and his friend were grown men- the kind who barreled through life, taking what they wanted, heedless of the fallout on the people around them. Emilia was more than a little suspicious. The fact they’d avoided contacting authorities by not calling for an ambulance was only one red flag. Plus, Justin, with a golden scruff of beard shadow to toughen up his handsome features, moved with a controlled grace that indicated he expected trouble to find him- and, judging by his efforts to save his friend, he was more than prepared to tackle it head-on. His watchful look was another clue. Those sharp green eyes revealed something serious- unsettling, evengoing on behind that band-of-brothers facade. Emilia had felt them focused on her more than once, and she bristled at the feeling that he saw far more than she wanted him to. He ambled into the semiprivate treatment room behind her. “Where do you want me, Doc?” “I prefer Dr. Rodriguez, thank you.” She pulled out a rolling metal tray and suture kit. “The bed will be fine.” Emilia rolled the tray up to the side of the bed. Even sitting down, he seemed to tower over her. At only 5’2” herself, anyone who topped six feet was tall, and she guessed he stood two or three inches above that. “Can you take your jacket off, or do you want me to cut the sleeve?” “First you ask me to bed, and now you want to undress me?” His low-pitched teasing danced across her eardrums. “You give a man ideas, Doc.” She raised an eyebrow. His words were both a compliment and a boast about his own self-alleged prowess with women. The flirting was also a tad surprising, given how gung-ho annoying he’d been the past hour, dogging her and her team for updates on his dying friend. What kind of game was this guy playing? “It’s Doctor,” she corrected. “And you do realize I’m holding a needle in my hand?” He unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off his shoulders. “I’m strippin’, boss lady, I’m strippin’. You know, your bedside manner could use a little fine-tuning.”

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“So could yours.” “Ouch.” The mock hurt in his tone was countered by the sexy grin that sliced across his lean, angular features. But as he tugged the black leather sleeve off his left arm, his teasing expression flattened into a grimace of pain. “Damn. I didn’t think I was cut that bad.” “Let me see.” Instantly, attuned to the pain he couldn’t mask, Emilia scooted the tray aside and inspected the five-inch gash along the underside of his forearm. “You know I have to report a wound like this to the police, don’t you?”

Chapter Four Police?

Hell. Justin had been wasting time picking out the subtle, flowery scent of Emilia Rodriguez’s hair just below his nose as she bent over his injured arm. That sweet scent was a surprising layer of softness to discover beneath the antiseptic smells that clung to her uniform, and the sharp tongue she wielded as efficiently as her sutures and syringe.

But while he’d been flirting, trying to distract her from asking questions about who he was, how he got there and why he really needed Mickey Larkin to survive, she’d gotten the drop on him. His undercover assignment was about to be blown sky-high by a woman who couldn’t be charmed into breaking the rules. The way Justin saw it, he had two options. He could tell her he was a cop, and then trust this woman he didn’t know to keep it a secret and off the record- or he could just cut his losses and get the hell out of there. His way into the gang they’d dubbed TNT would be shot. If Dr. By-the-Book here didn’t play along, then Cutler would have to recruit someone else from the TAC team with a working knowledge of bombs to replace Justin. Klein would still be dead. A month’s worth of work would be lost. And KCPD still wouldn’t have the evidence it needed to bring TNT down. Justin voted for cutting his losses. He sat up and reached for his jacket at the foot of the bed. “Just bandage it up and give me that tetanus shot. You’ve got worse cases than me waiting for your attention.” She flattened her hand at the center of his chest and pushed him back into the pillows. “We’re mandated to report any suspicious injuries. The police will send someone to take your statement.” Justin pushed right back, hating to resort to his superior physical strength to get his way. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, forcing her back a step to maintain a professional distance between them. “Yeah, about that-” “There’s no discussion on the subject.” Raised voices outside in the waiting area diverted her attention from the lecture. Her shoulders stiffened as though donning a suit of armor. “More friends of yours?” she accused. “Why don’t you go find out?”

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But Dr. Rodriguez was nothing if not dedicated. She shook off her concern and reached for a gauze pad. “I won’t leave my patient. Besides, I can’t trust that you won’t bolt on me.” “Don’t you ever bend the rules, Doc?” “Doctor, remember?” She unwound a roll of tape. “Do you ever follow them?”

She was leaving him no choice. Justin grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her between his legs, right up against the bed.

“What-?” Tunneling his fingers beneath her ponytail, he dipped his mouth to her ear and whispered, ”I’m a cop, but I need to keep that hush-hush.” He pulled a card from his pocket and forced it into the fist she’d wedged against his chest. ”Before you fill out any paperwork, call this number. You can check me out.” “I can call KCPD right now and have you arrested.” But Justin had bigger trouble than the righteous doctor. He recognized the loud voices now- two of Mickey’s gang buddies from Nathan’s Bar- moving closer to the exam room.

“Doc.” He couldn’t have his cover blown. He smothered her mouth with his hand, but she twisted her chin away. Man, for a small thing, she was strong and squiggly. He slid his arm around her back to pin her to his chest.

“Who’s your friend in the OR? He’s no cop.“ “You think you could stop saying that out loud?” “We have protocols in place for this sort of thing.” The voice was right at the door. “Is he in here?” Justin froze. No way. They’d tracked him down. He saw a black glove at the privacy curtain. Hell. “I have friends at the Fourth Pre-” Justin tipped Emilia’s chin and covered her mouth with his own. The kiss startled her into silence as the curtains opened.

Chapter Five Emilia stirred the turquoise paint, squinting into the afternoon sun glaring off the walls of her brother’s living room. Plain white walls and a cot didn’t make his new apartment a home- but remodeling it for him couldn’t take her mind off last night.

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She didn’t know which had frightened her more- the two big bouncer-looking men who’d invited themselves into her work station? Or the fact that when Justin had forced himself on her, she’d actually kissed him back? Since when did she have a thing for bad boys? No guy was that good a kisser. He’d probably just caught her unprepared. Maybe she’d responded out of some needy instinct buried inside instead of filtering his kiss through the common sense precautions she normally used when getting to know a man. But during those few brief moments, she hadn’t been able to spell common sense, much less use any of it. Justin had lifted her off her toes. She’d dug her fingers into the soft knit of his sweater, grasping for purchase on the solid muscles underneath. She needed leverage, she reasoned, so she could push away and scream for security or hold him off with a scalpel. Liar. He’d plowed right through the emotional armor she wore for work and tapped into the woman she’d neglected inside. The scratch of his beard had sensitized her lips, but the bold sweep of his tongue had soothed them right after. And when he’d dared to slip inside her mouth, instead of protesting, she’d made an embarrassing moaning sound- as if she liked it. As if she welcomed his boldness. But then the presence of an audience had registered. Heat had blossomed in her cheeks. Justin had lowered her to the floor and lifted his head, his green eyes narrowed in a frown. He’d looked as confused and out of breath as she’d felt. He’d silently dared the two men to stop them as he walked her all the way into the hall. “Please play along.” His arm was still around her as he dropped his gaze to her breast. “Emilia, is it? I promise I’ll come back tomorrow and you can slap my face then. Just let me go tonight. No questions asked.” Curiously fascinated by those firm, demanding lips, Emilia had to force her eyes to look up into his. All the way up. What had she done? She’d shoved him away. “I have work to do.” He and his friends were gone by the time she’d composed herself and had gone back to give Justin Grant a piece of her mind, and tell him she didn’t work again until Friday. She hadn’t wanted to wait that long to slap his face- or to ask why he’d let the kiss go that far when clearly he’d only done it to impress his buddies, or to keep her quiet. “You know, this job will go faster if you actually put that paintbrush against the wall.” Emilia blinked and focused in on her twenty-one-year-old sister, Teresa. “Smarty-pants.” Emilia ignored Teresa’s amused grin and started covering the plain walls with the rich turquoise color. “Should I say ‘penny for your thoughts’? Or just be blunt and ask you what his name is?” Emilia tried to be affronted. “How do you know I’m thinking about a guy?” “Please. You are the most levelheaded woman I know. You’ve done nothing but go to school and work for as long as I can remember. The only time I’ve seen you dreamy-eyed is when you’ve got a man on the brain.” “I do not get dreamy-eyed.” “Good point. It’s about time you did.” “Can we change the subject?”

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“So there is a guy. Tall? Rich? Nice butt? Tight abs?” “There’s more to like about a man than his looks.” “He’s ugly, with a great personality?” “No.” “Cute, eh?” Justin Grant was too rough around the edges to be classified as cute. But she wasn’t about to share that detail with her sister. “Why do I get into these conversations with you?” Nine years Teresa’s senior, Emilia hated that her sister knew more about relationships than she did. She’d just never had time for anything serious. “I only met him last night.” Under incredibly weird circumstances. “I want to talk to A.J. first.” The door clicked shut behind them and a familiar voice spoke. “Talk to me about what?”

Chapter Six A.J. studied the business card Emilia had pulled from the back pocket of her jeans. “I don’t recognize the name, but I’ll find out what I can.” You can check me out. She intended to check out Justin Grant, all right. But she wouldn’t trust any number he gave her. She was counting on A.J. He was a real detective at KCPD. If there was any truth to Justin’s claim about being a cop, A.J. would find out. A.J. brushed aside a tendril of hair that had sprung loose from her ponytail. “Did he hurt you?” Teresa interrupted from across the living room. “I think she wants you to get the skinny on him- age, weight...marital status?” “Teresa!” Did the apartment suddenly seem unusually warm for February? Their nosy little sister waved aside the rebuke and returned her attention to the turquoise wall. “I know. Concentrate on my painting.” “Is that right?” A.J. rarely betrayed any emotion, but Emilia recognized the slight tightening in his posture. He was sliding into big brother mode. “You like this guy?” Emilia decided not to mention the kiss. “He flirted with me a little, that’s all. Our baby sister already has us getting married.” Teresa huffed a noisy sigh. “I can’t help it if I want to see my role model get a little action. I’m starting to think I’ll have to choose between a relationship and a career if I follow in your footsteps.” A.J. shifted his attention. “I don’t need to hear about any of my sisters getting some action.” “So I shouldn’t tell you about the grad student I’m dating?” “Teresa!” Baby sister grinned at the dual reprimand. “I’m painting. I’m painting.”

Emilia gave A.J.’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze to temper the concern in his golden eyes. “I just want to make sure I don’t jeopardize a KCPD investigation. I put ten stitches into what was clearly a defensive wound sustained in a knife fight. I need a good reason not to report him like I did his buddy, Mickey Larkin.”

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“Madre dios. Mickey Two-Toes?” “You know him?” That so didn’t sound like a promising recommendation for Justin Grant. “He died a few hours after Justin brought him in. He never made it out of surgery.” “Dead? Captain Taylor’s tossed out his name a couple of times at our morning briefings. Mostly petty stuff. But the D.A.’s office likes him for some of the bomb threats we’ve had recently. KCPD believes there’s a group of young punks in town, trying to make a name for themselves as the new mob, taking gang warfare up to a more sophisticated level.” Oh Lord. Young punks? New mob? That description fit the two thugs who’d interrupted that disturbing kiss perfectly. A spooky calm settled over the room as A.J. retreated firmly into veteran cop mode. “If this Grant guy is mixed up with that, I do not want him hanging around you.” Emilia couldn’t help but recall the image of her father’s burnt-out car after the explosion that had killed him, and the charred skeleton that had to be identified by forensics. “Believe me, if he’s involved with the bomb threats- or this new mob you’re talking about- I’ll tell KCPD and the courts everything I know about him.”

Chapter Seven “What’s in there?” Justin nodded toward the padlocked door off the kitchen at Nathan’s Bar. A cache of explosives? A meaty hand steered him to a room farther down the hall. “Nothing you need to worry about.” Justin took the seat Big Dumb Guy pushed him down into and peered through the room’s smoky haze to the blue-haired punk sitting across from him. “Who are you?” “I’m Billy Blue.” Did everyone around here have a cheesy street name? Justin toyed with the beer he hadn’t been allowed to drink. He was late for his standing appointment at Truman Medical Center. Emilia Rodriguez still owed him a good smack. He’d gone there the past two nights, hoping to catch her and apologize for his cavemanlike silencing technique. But she’d been a no-show both times. He didn’t have time for a guilty conscience at the moment, however. “What do you want from me?” “I hear you know your way around explosives.” “I have some experience.” “Now that Mickey’s gone- because he’s gone- I have a proposition for you.” Mr. Blue pulled a stack of bills from his jacket and set it on the table. There had to be a good ten grand there. “I want you to build me a bomb.” “I’ve got the know-how.” This could be his direct connection into the pipeline of illegal explosives. Maybe he hadn’t needed Mickey to give him the answers, after all. “I don’t know if I can put my hands on the parts, though.” “Give me a shopping list. We’ll get you everything you need.”

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“Everything? Computer-laced circuitry and military-grade plastique?” Billy seemed pleased by the opportunity to show off his connections. He slid the money in front of Justin. “Everything. If we like your work, we might have other jobs for you. Deal?” Justin swallowed the bitter taste of success as he shook Billy’s proffered hand. “Deal.” *** Justin snapped at the voice on his cell phone. “Yeah, Cutler, I’m still here.” But where the hell was Emilia? Justin sat in the darkness behind the wheel of his black-and-white Chevy for the third night in a row, waiting for Doctor Rodriguez to take her dinner break. “They blame the Westside Warriors for Mickey’s murder. They want me to create a little payback giftsomething loud and messy that will take out their leader’s car, with him in it.” As Justin’s KCPD contact, Cutler was taking notes. “We can rig the car easily enough. Do it in an abandoned lot so no one gets hurt. Maybe we can strike a deal with the Warriors. Get their head man to lie low for a couple of weeks so that TNT buys the hit.” Justin’s eyes never left the hospital’s employee entrance. Two guys came out for a smoke. Still no Emilia. “He’ll never go for that. TNT has stolen part of their drug turf. It’s a matter of pride and profit to fight back. If we’re not careful, this young stud mob is going to turn K.C. into a war zone.” “I’ll find something on my end to get the Warriors to cooperate. You just worry about the bomb. Any chance Billy Blue will let you in on where he’s getting the stuff?” “Not yet.” “We need a look at a warehouse, a contact name, something concrete we can take to court.”

“I know.” Justin had thought of little else for the past month. Until he’d kissed Dr. By-the-Book. Now his hormones were nagging him as much as his conscience.

His desire to solve the case was being challenged by a desire to kiss Emilia again- to find out if the passion inside that pint-sized dynamo had been forced by the desperate circumstances, or if she was the real thing. Not that she’d give him a second chance. “I’ll keep my eyes open. We’ll find the supplier. I’m gonna do right by Klein.” “Just be careful.” Do right by Klein. Justin considered the intricacy of the triggering device on the bomb that had leveled Markon Pharmaceuticals. Mickey had struck him as a meat-and-potatoes style of bomber- nothing fancy. Maybe Justin was looking for more than a black marketeer who could supply all the destructive power Billy Blue and his boys wanted. There was another bomber out there.

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Chapter Eight Hello. Petite brunette at nine o’clock. Justin’s pulse kicked into a higher gear. “’Bout time, Doc.” His perseverance had paid off. Zipping up his new leather jacket against the damp February chill, he hopped out of the car, taking care to ensure the gun he wore beneath his left arm was hidden from view. He was about four days late with this apology, but he was gonna get the job done. And this was only about apologizing, he reminded himself. But Justin couldn’t seem to shed the eagerness that quickened his pace as he headed across the street to meet her. A scan of the employee parking lot accounted for the same two guys from the night before huddled outside for a smoke, plus the man and woman in medical garb who’d walked out with Emilia. Beyond that, the lot was deserted. He was the biggest, baddest thing out here. Emilia hugged her friends, and then the three of them parted ways. The other two, apparently a couple, linked hands and turned in one direction. Emilia, looking almost child-sized as she hunkered down into the turned-up collar of her coat, took off by herself across the middle of the parking lot. “Damn fool,” Justin muttered beneath his breath, lengthening his stride. Hadn’t she heard of preventative self-defense? Practicing safety habits like never walking alone in the middle of the night? Why hadn’t her friends escorted her to her car? Why hadn’t she asked a security guard for assistance? Dr. By-the-Book wasn’t as smart as he’d given her credit for. At least she had her keys in her hand. And maybe a can of mace, judging by the way she was holding them. She even slowed to look beneath the cars as she approached her own. Someone had taught her the basics, at any rate. “Doctor-?” Justin snapped his jaw shut. The need to apologize- the urge to scold- both fell silent inside him. The light inside the car next to Emilia’s flashed on. The doors opened and two men climbed out. Her steps stuttered. Stopped. Retreated. A barely-acknowledged sexual attraction had hummed through his veins just a moment ago, but something decidedly more urgent screamed at him to take action. “Doc!” Justin ran. *** Emilia heard the deep voice shouting at her almost as an afterthought. Two men- mid-twenties, built like offensive linemen, the same ones who’d shown up in her ER the night Justin Grant had kissed her- climbed out of their car and walked toward her with an air of intimidation to their bulk and stride. “We’ve been waiting for you.” An ominous chill shimmied down her spine. “Get away from me.” Raising her hand, Emilia squeezed the tiny canister of mace in her fist. “I know how to use this.” The two men looked at each other. Their amused smiles were even more frightening than their bullying glares. “That won’t be necessary, ma’am. We’re just here to deliver a message.”

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Run, Emilia! The instinct was there, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. Why the hell had she gotten so careless? Did she think that just because A.J. had confirmed Justin Grant was a cop working a case for KCPD that the danger he’d brought into her life had suddenly been removed? She recognized the bulky holsters beneath their coats from the years she’d watched her brother and his colleagues work. They were both armed. Like either one of them needed a gun to overpower her! But she kept her cool. On the outside, at any rate. “What message?” “Doc!” Not wanting to risk turning away from the two hulks, Emilia let her gaze slide toward the tall, lanky form zipping through the shadows. Another one? Her lead feet wiggled to life inside her thick-soled shoes. Run! Burnished gold hair gleamed in a pool of lamplight, giving her a moment’s recognition before Justin Grant towered beside her. “What do you boys want?” He was every bit as terse and unyielding as he’d been three nights ago. “We wanted to make sure that Dr. Rodriguez got to her car safely.” “Try again,” Justin warned, sliding his arm around Emilia’s waist and tucking her to his side. “She’s with me.”

Chapter Nine Justin was solid and warm, and Emilia fit against him in such a way that her head nestled against his shoulder. She couldn’t feel quite so short and defenseless after discovering her body matched up perfectly in the space at his side. After catching her breath at his proprietary claim, she found herself making the unexpected choice of reaching behind him and curling her gloved fingers around his belt to anchor herself to his strength. He hadn’t done much to endear himself to her, but Justin was a cop- on some sort of dangerous, hush-hush undercover investigation, according to A.J, who’d warned her that that kind of assignment was reason enough to steer clear of him. But when faced with the two thugs who’d accosted her, she had no problem ignoring big brother’s advice and snuggling closer to Justin. If nothing else, Emilia respected the badge, and she trusted that Justin would stick to the protect part of KCPD’s To Protect and Serve motto. The smaller of the two men adjusted the front of his camel-hair coat. “If you’re workin’ for Billy now, then you’re entitled to all the rights and privileges of his protection. Your girlfriend is, too.” Girlfriend? “You’re working with them? Who’s Billy? Why do I need protection?”

But in this battle of testosterone, her questions went unnoticed.

“The same way you were there to protect Mickey in the parking lot at Nathan’s?” The man in the expensive coat bristled at Justin’s taunt. “Billy’s well-being is always our first priority. Mickey should have known better than to get drunk and leave himself open like that. The Westside Warriors have been gunnin’ for us for a long time.”

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Emilia recognized the Warriors name from the newspaper. Mickey Larkin had been killed by a gang of teenagers? She’d thought drive-by shootings were their execution of choice. Unless they hadn’t intended to kill Mickey- or the Warriors hadn’t been responsible for the attack. Justin’s fingers clenched at the nip of her waist. “Dr. Rodriguez is my responsibility. If she needs any protecting, I’ll do it.” The bigger man grinned, but Emilia didn’t share his amusement. “She’s such a pretty little thing. I don’t mind helpin’ out.’” “Stay away from her. She has nothing to do with our business.” As they returned to their car, Emilia pushed a little space between her and Justin, though he latched on to her coat and prevented her from moving too far away. Then she remembered something, and called out, “Wait! You never said. What was your message?” The little Big Man answered. “Mr. Blue is grateful for everything you did to help Mickey and Mr. Grant here. If something should come up in the next day or two- a medical emergency, for example- we’d like to know that we can count on you.” “I’ll treat anyone who comes through those ER doors.” “You don’t understand, ma’am.” He started to take a step back toward her. But when Justin stiffened beside her, he gave a deferring nod and opted to keep his distance. “Mr. Blue is expecting you to make a house call.”

Chapter Ten “I hate to ask, but how does Billy Blue know someone’s going to need medical assistance?” “You won’t have to go,” Justin insisted, sipping his coffee. Emilia took a bite of bacon from the early morning breakfast they were sharing at Pearl’s Diner in the City Market District. “You didn’t answer my question.” With the rising sun just canceling out the last shadows of the night, Justin couldn’t help but let his weary mind wander to how the cool morning light picked up glints of amber in her dark hair. “If Billy intended to hurt someone, he wouldn’t bother inviting a doctor to patch things up.” Justin reached across the table and covered her hand where it rested on her glass of milk. “I do think he’s expecting some trouble, though.” To Justin’s surprise, Emilia laced her fingers through his. “I can’t just drop my job to become some mobster’s personal physician. I like working in the ER. Most nights,” she amended honestly. “There are some cases that frustrate me, some that break my heart. But I know I’m making a difference. I’m helping good people who need someone to care.” Justin didn’t bother to ask if she thought he fell into that group, now that she knew he was a cop. And since he’d discovered that she was the sister of a cop, he understood she would never intentionally reveal his secret. He felt a little bit of worry in the unconscious massage of her fingers. “He can’t make me help him, can he?”

He rubbed his thumb across the soft skin at the back of her hand. It was such a simple touch, holding hands. But with an electric heat arcing between them, there was nothing simple about what Justin was feeling. “I won’t let that happen.” For a moment, Emilia seemed as taken as he was by the erotic differences between

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his big hand and her smaller, capable grip. In the next moment, she’d turned his wrist and pushed up the sleeve of his black sweatshirt. “How’s your arm?”

She’d felt something, too, and was slipping back into doctor mode to help keep her distance. Justin let her retreat. But he didn’t let go. “It stopped throbbing a couple of days ago. You do good work, Doc.” He caught himself before she could correct him. “Doctor.” She lifted her dark brown eyes and Justin couldn’t look away. “Why don’t you try Emilia?” He repeated the word, savored it. “Emilia. It rolls around the tongue. It’s a pretty name.” Now he just needed her to loosen that hair and put on some civvies to complete the transformation from Dr. Rodriguez, ER supervisor, to Emilia- the almost-shy beauty who graced his breakfast and haunted his fantasies. *** Justin was still holding her hand when he walked her back to his car. “You have your break the same time every night?” “Unless I’m in the middle of treating a patient.” “Fine. I’ll be there to walk you to your car.” He unlocked the passenger door. “You will not.” “It’s not up for debate. I owe you something. And if watching your pretty little backside is the way to pay you back, then I’m gonna do it. Now you either get a security guard to walk you out, or I will.” Pretty little backside? She was too intent on making her point to process the compliment. “Your friends wouldn’t be interested in me if you hadn’t made me a part of this mess in the first place.” “Fine. It’s my fault. I accept the blame.” He closed the door after her, and climbed in behind the wheel. “But even without Tweedledum and Tweedledee following you, it isn’t safe to walk around by yourself in a deserted parking lot at four in the morning.” The phone rang in Emilia’s purse. She huffed at his chauvinistic, yet sensible promise. She wasn’t ready for a relationship, was she? Certainly not under these circumstances. Not with this man. “Dr. Rodriguez.” She snapped the greeting with more force than she intended. And instantly regretted it. “Emilia?” Teresa sniffed back a sob. “What’s wrong?”

She instantly had Justin’s attention. Emilia braced herself for whatever had upset her sister so terribly at this time of morning.

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“I need a place to stay. The police evacuated my dorm about an hour ago.” “Why?” “Someone found a bomb.”

Chapter Eleven Though gloves separated them now, already it had become the most natural thing in the world for Emilia to fold her fingers into Justin’s sure, easy grip. “You’re not just a regular cop, are you?” she whispered against his shoulder. She’d watched how Justin spent as much time studying the heating and air circulation apparatus behind Bingham Hall as he did scanning the faces in the crowd of students, faculty, emergency personnel and curiosity-seekers gathered behind the cordon tape. Even with his shoulders hunched a bit against the north wind, he stood nearly a head taller than almost everyone else. He used that height to an advantage to observe whatever he wanted. But Emilia couldn’t help but feel that she was better protected down at her level from whoever might be observing them in return. Justin nodded toward Teresa, who stood a few feet away, hugging the blanket from his car around her coat and pajamas. “Let’s just keep the ‘C’ word to ourselves, okay?” “Fine.” Emilia studiously chose her words. “My brother’s specialty is homicide investigation. He trains new undercover recruits, too. You’re...?” “Bomb squad.” He squeezed her hand. Offering comfort? Or seeking it? “That’s my team clearing the building.” “I’m sure they’re fine.” “Yeah. They know their stuff.” “But you’re still worried.” Emilia sandwiched his hand between both of hers. It wasn’t a question. She’d seen that same stoic look at the hospital, in the faces of family members who were trying to keep a stiff upper lip for the sake of their friends and loved ones. “Our team’s been fractured for a little while. I feel like I should be there.” Justin finally pulled his focus from the crime scene and potential suspects and turned his attention down to her. After a momentary hesitation, he bent down and pressed a kiss to her temple before extricating his hand from hers. “Stay with Teresa. I’m gonna go check things out.” Be careful. The words formed on her lips, but she didn’t say them out loud. Justin was already sifting his way through the crowd, and she wasn’t ready to think about what her concern- not just for his safety, but for his feelings- might mean. Before she gave another thought to where that impulse to tip her head and turn that friendly peck into a real liplock came from, Emilia stepped over to her sister and slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You’re sure you want to stay here and watch?” Teresa barely looked away from the antlike scurry of armored police in and out of the building to offer Emilia a nod. “Why would someone do this? What’s the point of endangering sixty college students? It’s not like any of us are rich enough to pay a ransom. If we had that kind of money, we wouldn’t be living in the dorm.” “I think bombs are about power more than money.” Emilia wasn’t sure where her conviction came from. “One person wants another person to be afraid.” She scanned around the crowd. “Or in this case, whoever

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set that bomb and placed the threat is probably getting a major rush at seeing how many people have come to watch his handiwork.” Teresa leaned back against her big sister’s protective arms. “Do you think he’s watching us right now? That he’s getting all jazzed up to see how many people are paying attention to what he’s done?” “Maybe.” Emilia hugged Teresa tighter, trying to dispel the goose bumps running across her own skin. Maybe it was just the power of Teresa’s suggestion, but Emilia suddenly felt as though she was being watched. That even hidden away at 5’2” someone- the bomber himself, perhaps- had spotted her in the crowd, and was very pleased to see that she was afraid.

Chapter Twelve “What the hell are you doing here?” Michael Cutler ducked behind the questionable camouflage of the armored TAC van and nailed Justin straight in the eye. “Does the concept of keeping a low profile mean anything to you?” Justin’s eyes kept scoping their surroundings even as he inclined his head to whisper to his team commander. “Emilia’s sister lives in the dorm. We came by to see if she was okay.” Cutler frowned. “Who’s Emilia?” A beautiful woman who has become important to me a lot more quickly than I ever could have imagined. “She’s the ER doc who worked on Mickey Two Toes and stitched me up.” “And?” Cutler was fifty years old. He’d buried a wife he’d loved and had divorced one he hadn’t. He had an idea of how a woman could get into a man’s blood, screw up his priorities and distract him from his job. Apparently, Justin was showing some of the symptoms. He shrugged. “She’s a friend. I’m keeping an eye on her.” “Anything I need to know about?” Justin breathed out a slow sigh. “We had a situation when I was in the ER, waiting to talk to Mickey. A couple of Billy Blue’s men mistook us for a couple. Now he thinks we’re a group package. He made some weird request about recruiting her to treat a future patient.” “That doesn’t make any sense. Is he planning on a hit?” “He’s planning on taking over all of K.C. if we don’t stop him. And he’ll use anyone to do it. That’s why I’m looking out for her. It’s my fault she’s involved at all in this.” Enough about his messed-up way with women. “So what’s the situation here? Is it Mickey Two-Toes simple? Or another Markon bomb?”

The captain nodded. “This one’s complicated. I think you’re on to something with the second bomber theory. I wish I knew if he was working for TNT, too, or if he’s a solo act.” Justin looked toward the building, wondering if he’d be able to spot the tricks of the trigger and wiring before anyone got hurt- or killed. But Cutler cut off that line of thinking. “I know you’re anxious to get in the game. But we’ve got this one covered. You find me that supply pipeline. That’s your job.” “Yes, sir.”

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Cutler twisted his mouth into an expression that was almost a smile. “Now get out of here.” Justin was gettin’. “Take care of that girlfriend, too. I don’t want any more casualties on my watch.” “She’s not my...” Justin didn’t finish the protest. Maybe he wished Emilia Rodriguez was something more special than a forced ally. He scrubbed his gloved hand across the top of his head, trying to rub out the distracting thought. He needed to be thinking with his head, not his zipper. The captain was already on his radio with his men inside the building when Justin spotted Emilia. A wary urgency kicked through his veins, speeding his pulse with concern. She was leading Teresa by the hand, zigzagging through the crowd, her eyes darting to each person she passed. She was searching for someone. For him? Didn’t matter. Justin was already moving toward her. “Emilia?” He caught her by the shoulders. He spared Teresa a reassuring glance before taking note of the stiff set of Emilia’s expression, the pallor beneath her wind-whipped cheeks, and the trembling he felt beneath her hands. Damn. He’d only been gone five minutes. Five minutes too long. “What’s wrong?” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, trying to instill his warmth into her. Finally, he had to cup the side of her jaw and cheek to get her to stop fidgeting her gaze and look him in the eye. “Doc?” “Maybe I’m crazy. But I think somebody’s watching us.”

Chapter Thirteen “I remember my college days.” Emilia kept her voice low as she handed Justin a mug of decaf coffee. Recovering from her early morning scare, Teresa had sacked out on the couch in Emilia’s apartment. “Staying up all night. Catching catnaps the next day. And still feeling fresh enough to take a big exam and stay up late again the next night.” The walls in the home she’d once considered cozy seemed to close in to tiny proportions as Justin filled up the space with his long strides and repeated checks of the parking lot below and door locks. He took a sip of coffee and peeked through the blinds one more time to get a glimpse of whatever lay beyond the glass. Emilia had all but admitted she was scared, and Justin had gone into full protector mode like he had in the hospital parking lot. Her paranoia must have been draining on him, as well. She’d made a fool of herself, getting spooked by her imagination. A lot of people had been in that crowd. Any one of them could have spared her a cursory glance, and suddenly she was being stalked! So much for being a self-sufficient professional woman. Maybe a former patient recognized her from the hospital. Or she reminded someone of a sister. It was just fatigue playing with her brain. She’d worked a twelve-hour shift, gone out to breakfast and spent the morning wondering why some sicko had such a fascination with bombs. She could almost feel each individual cell in her body yawning for sleep. “How I envy the energy I used to have.” Justin twisted the blinds shut again. ”Yeah, but I bet you were up studying instead of partying.”

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Emilia paused, midswallow, then gulped the warm liquid down her throat. “What if I was?” He eased the evidence of nerdism with a smile that reawakened several dozing cells. “Relax. I think smart women are very sexy.” Was that a blush? Emilia turned away as her cheeks grew hot. “Nobody thought I was sexy back then.” Heck, nobody thought she was sexy now. Or maybe she just hadn’t dated enough men over the past few years to learn whether or not her status had improved. She didn’t hear him move up behind her, and she let out a startled yelp when he reached around and took the mug from her hands. Teresa stirred on the sofa and Emilia covered her mouth in apology. But Justin had something in mind as he put a shushing finger to his own lips, took her by the hand and led her into the hallway towards the front door where they could speak more freely. “College boys look for the obvious signs of a sexy woman,” he whispered, his green irises sparkling with a hint of mischief despite the shadows of fatigue beneath his eyes. “I know because I was one of them.” He cupped her cheek and brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips, taking the sting from his teasing. “But a grown man sees the whole package. The eyes. The hair. The lips.” He touched each feature as he spoke and Emilia almost believed he was somehow turned on by the shapeless hospital greens, support shoes and worn-off makeup that greeted her in the mirror at the end of every shift. “The brains and the mouth with attitude don’t hurt, either.” It was the sweetest compliment she’d ever received. “Thanks.” “You work tonight?” Emilia nodded. “I’ll be there to walk you to your car at dinner. Maybe you’ll even let me take you out.” A huge yawn seemed to catch him by surprise as he unhooked the security chain on the door. “But only after I get home and catch a few hours of shut-eye.” Emilia shook her head. Justin’s words had sparked a little of that attitude he admired. She re-hooked the chain. ”A man as tired as you doesn’t need to be driving. Or else you’ll wind up in my ER.” Taking him by the hand, she led him down the hall. “C’mon.”

Chapter Fourteen “You’ve got a spare bedroom in this little place?” Justin asked, shamelessly ready to follow the sweet sway of that butt wherever it might lead. “No.” The significance of what Emilia was saying actually sent a frisson of adrenaline through his system, waking him with a new energy. He could go another thirty hours without a wink of shut-eye if that subtle flowery scent of hers was leading him where he hoped. “Twin beds?” Maybe he’d better not get too excited. She opened the door to her bedroom and pushed him inside, quietly closing the door behind them. “No.” Justin’s mouth went dry as he took note of the one- lone, single- full-size bed. Antique from the look of things, with lots of hand-stitched quilts and pillows. Not suitable for his size or randy intentions. Justin tried to accept the kind offer for what it was. “I can bunk on the floor.” But Emilia turned the lock on the door with an intriguing click. Her hands swept across his back in the imitation of a caress as she slipped his

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jacket from his shoulders and tossed it onto a chair. “You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. We both need our sleep. In a bed that won’t leave us with a crick in our neck.” Maybe it wasn’t just kindness. Justin turned and cupped his hands beneath her elbows, pulling her a step closer. “Doctor’s orders?” “Yes.” Her fingers came to rest on his biceps. “Promise to be a gentleman?” “No.” He couldn’t resist. When the flood of rosy color dotted her creamy skin, Justin dipped his head and kissed her. Oh yeah. Her lips parted beneath his with a soft gasp and invited him inside. He did his damnedest to hold back, to keep the kiss from turning into something they were both too exhausted to finish. But he didn’t protest when she stretched up on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck. She didn’t protest when he reached down to grab her bottom and lift her up into his growing heat, easing the strain on both their necks, and pulling her small, but perfectly proportioned breasts flush against his harder chest. Emilia was hot and sweet, like the Latin heritage that flowed through her veins. She was easy on the eyes, a delight to the brain, a mind-blowing combination of shy forays and uninhibited responses- and she was beat. When she yawned against his mouth, Justin took no offense. As the heat in his body rightly cooled, a deeper warmth filled him inside. He kicked off his boots, swung Emilia up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He pulled back the covers and laid her on the flowered sheets. Then he tucked her up to her chin and climbed in beside her. He gathered her close in his arms, quilts and all. After pulling the band from her hair, he massaged the tension from her scalp, loving how her cooing sounds of pleasure relaxed him, as well. Maybe he didn’t need to feel quite so guilty about getting her involved with Billy Blue and his friends. Emilia possessed an amazing resilience and a giving nature that could only come from her own inner strength. “You’re good,” she sighed against his chest, snuggling closer. “This is much better than college.” Justin grinned. Much better. “I won’t guarantee I’ll be a gentleman the entire time I’m in your bed...” His brain was feeling drowsy again, though his body still hummed with interest at the soft weight of the woman sprawled against him. “But I promise we’ll get a few hours of sleep first.”

Chapter Fourteen “You’ve got a spare bedroom in this little place?” Justin asked, shamelessly ready to follow the sweet sway of that butt wherever it might lead. “No.” The significance of what Emilia was saying actually sent a frisson of adrenaline through his system, waking him with a new energy. He could go another thirty hours without a wink of shut-eye if that subtle flowery scent of hers was leading him where he hoped. “Twin beds?” Maybe he’d better not get too excited. She opened the door to her bedroom and pushed him inside, quietly closing the door behind them. “No.”

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Justin’s mouth went dry as he took note of the one — lone, single — full-size bed. Antique from the look of things, with lots of hand-stitched quilts and pillows. Not suitable for his size or randy intentions. Justin tried to accept the kind offer for what it was. “I can bunk on the floor.” But Emilia turned the lock on the door with an intriguing click. Her hands swept across his back in the imitation of a caress as she slipped his jacket from his shoulders and tossed it onto a chair. “You’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. We both need our sleep. In a bed that won’t leave us with a crick in our neck.” Maybe it wasn’t just kindness. Justin turned and cupped his hands beneath her elbows, pulling her a step closer. “Doctor’s orders?” “Yes.” Her fingers came to rest on his biceps. “Promise to be a gentleman?” “No.” He couldn’t resist. When the flood of rosy color dotted her creamy skin, Justin dipped his head and kissed her. Oh yeah. Her lips parted beneath his with a soft gasp and invited him inside. He did his damnedest to hold back, to keep the kiss from turning into something they were both too exhausted to finish. But he didn’t protest when she stretched up on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck. She didn’t protest when he reached down to grab her bottom and lift her up into his growing heat, easing the strain on both their necks, and pulling her small, but perfectly proportioned breasts flush against his harder chest. Emilia was hot and sweet, like the Latin heritage that flowed through her veins. She was easy on the eyes, a delight to the brain, a mind-blowing combination of shy forays and uninhibited responses — and she was beat. When she yawned against his mouth, Justin took no offense. As the heat in his body rightly cooled, a deeper warmth filled him inside. He kicked off his boots, swung Emilia up into his arms and carried her to the bed. He pulled back the covers and laid her on the flowered sheets. Then he tucked her up to her chin and climbed in beside her. He gathered her close in his arms, quilts and all. After pulling the band from her hair, he massaged the tension from her scalp, loving how her cooing sounds of pleasure relaxed him, as well. Maybe he didn’t need to feel quite so guilty about getting her involved with Billy Blue and his friends. Emilia possessed an amazing resilience and a giving nature that could only come from her own inner strength. “You’re good,” she sighed against his chest, snuggling closer. “This is much better than college.” Justin grinned. Much better. “I won’t guarantee I’ll be a gentleman the entire time I’m in your bed…” His brain was feeling drowsy again, though his body still hummed with interest at the soft weight of the woman sprawled against him. “But I promise we’ll get a few hours of sleep first.” *** Emilia cradled the muscled cords of Justin's forearm between her hands and gently rubbed her thumb along the neat row of stitches she'd made. Kneeling on the bed beside him, she peered through the dim morning light filtering through the sheers at her bedroom window. With a trained eye, she studied the new pink line nestled among a darker expanse of tanned skin and golden hairs. "Whatcha doin', Doc?" Justin's drowsy green eyes blinked open.

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Emilia gasped as if she'd been caught sticking her hand inside the cookie jar. "I didn't mean to wake you." She pulled her hands back and cleared her throat. "I was checking to see how your wound was healing." "Uh-huh." A green eye winked, and Emilia realized that the man stretched out across her bed hadn't been sleeping at all. "I think you're feelin' me up." An indignant rush of heat suffused her. "You… I…" "Eloquent, Doc." He reached for the hands that had abandoned him and sat up beside her. The quilt that had covered him pooled around his hips and the heat of protest transformed into something sultry that licked through her veins and parted her lips in a plea for cooling air. When had he pulled off his shirt? She shamelessly stared at leanly sculpted pecs, dusted with more sun-kissed hair, and the flat stomach below. Emilia tried to pull her fingers from his grasp, but her muscles wouldn't seem to cooperate. "I'm trying to be a doctor here." Justin grinned and scooted closer. "I'm not complaining about your bedside manner." He leaned in and sealed his mouth over hers, blotting out practical arguments and self-conscious doubts with the power of his kiss. Emilia's palm found the sandpapery stubble of his jaw. His fingers worked their way into her hair and trailed down her back until she shivered. But Justin understood the difference between chill and desire. He reached for the hem of her hospital greens and pulled the shirt over her head, exposing more skin to the sweep of his hands and the greedy curiosity of his eyes and lips. "I'm feeling—" he kissed her "—loads better." He kissed her again. "Thanks to your tender care." Emilia kissed him back. She was done being a doctor. A sister. A citizen. She opened her mouth, her heart, her shy reserve and offered Justin the tenderness of a woman. In a heartbeat, the embrace changed. Justin flattened his hand against her spine and pulled her against his chest, rolling them both over on the bed as skin rubbed against skin. Emilia whimpered at the heady bliss of his hard chest pressing into hers, their legs twining together, and the glorious differences between a man's needy body and a woman's loving welcome. He flicked his thumb between their bodies, teasing the aching tips of her breasts and flooding her womb with heat. "Justin…" "I know." He palmed her hip, stilling her twisting body beneath his, and tilted his head back in resolute retreat. "Teresa's in the next—" "No." She pressed her fingers to his lips and demanded that he listen. "My brother would have a fit to hear me say this, but…" "Yeah?" The light shining from Justin's eyes, and the press of his obvious desire against her thigh gave Emilia the confidence to know that, for this moment at least, she could throw sensibility aside and follow her heart. "Don't be a gentleman."

Chapter Fifteen The pounding at Emilia’s apartment door woke him.

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Justin rolled out of bed, pausing only long enough to pull on his jeans, grab his gun and take note that Emilia had already left the bed where they’d made sweet, crazy love to each other to climb into the shower. “Damn.” He didn’t know which bothered him more: the fact that he’d slept so soundly when he had bombs and gangs and somebody spying on Emilia to worry about, or seeing how neatly Emilia had remade her side of the bed, masking how quickly and completely they’d come together after a few hours of sleep. “Emilia! Teresa! Open up.” Setting aside both sweet memories and bitter speculation, Justin threw open the door and stalked down the hallway. Teresa was a step ahead of him, fully dressed, carrying a dripping coffee pot and a dish towel in her hand. “Hold up,” he ordered, snagging her by the arm and pulling her behind him. The grin that lit her perky young face only made him scowl. “What?” The man outside pounded again. “Emilia!” Justin checked the peephole, saw the KCPD badge hooked to the man’s belt and frowned. If this was official business, the detective hadn’t announced himself. Cautiously, Justin unhooked the chain and the dead bolt. He had his Glock in hand when he reached for the doorknob. Teresa’s smile vanished. “You don’t need a gun!” Justin held up a hand to hush her as he opened the door. “Who are you and what do you want?” The man outside merely blinked his eyes to take in everything. The half-naked man, the gun... “Oh, my God.” ...the shower-soaked woman wrapped in nothing more than a towel dashing out of the bathroom. As noisy and insistent as the man had been a moment ago, he was calm now. Eerily so. Not the kind of calm that told Justin when a bomb had been successfully neutralized. This calm filled the air with a sense of foreboding that told Justin trouble was about to change his world. That’s when he recognized the eyes. The color was different, but the shape was the same. Oh hell. “I’m A. J. Rodriguez. Emilia and Teresa’s brother. You and I need to talk, amigo.” *** “I worked for Cutler a few years ago, until I took a bullet in the shoulder during a drug bust. He still a pain in the ass to work for?” “He’s tough enough. I respect him.” “So do I.” Justin wasn’t fooled by A.J.’s trip down the memory lane of shared experiences at the department. He was being sized up to see what kind of yahoo bastard would dump a dying man at his sister’s hospital door, get her involved with an explosives smuggling investigation, take her to the site of a Bravo Tango, throw her into the middle of a turf war between gangs- and then have the audacity to sleep with her.

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Even though he stood half a foot taller than A.J., there was something about the whole overprotective big brother you-slept-with-my-sister vibe that made Justin a little uneasy about sitting in a booth at Pearl’s Diner and sharing a cup of coffee with the man. “I hear you had a hard time getting into your undercover role,” A.J. prompted. “I can give you some pointers.” Justin swallowed the dregs of his coffee and laid a five dollar bill on the tabletop. Didn’t look like he was going to get a chance to ask A.J. what made his oldest sister tick. “It’s my first assignment. I’m learning as I go.” “Just don’t make a mistake where Emilia’s concerned.” Nope. Didn’t sound like A.J. was going to offer any pointers when it came to falling in love with his sister.

Chapter Sixteen What had she done? Feeling more out of sorts than she had in a long time, Emilia waited inside the corridor leading to the employees’ parking lot. Maybe she could stomach hospital food for dinner just one night, and never venture into the darkness.

He was out there, in his cool, black-and-white muscle car, waiting for her. Good guy that he was, no matter how badly she’d botched the morning-after thing, Justin Grant was going to see her safely to her car in the middle of the night. She’d only known him a few days, had kissed him twice. All right, to be fair, she couldn’t remember any man ever kissing her like that- the kind of kiss where she lost all inhibitions and boldly gave everything he asked for and more. Maybe that counted for several kisses on the average scale. He’d been gallant; he’d been annoying. He’d put her in danger and he’d made her feel absolutely safe. And she’d never wanted to have a man make love to her more than she’d wanted Justin inside her body. Holding her, praising her. Laughing with her. Making her moan with need and sigh with pleasure. Oh, Lord. She was getting herself all hot and bothered and out of sorts again, just by thinking about the time they’d shared in her bed late yesterday afternoon. “Get a grip, Doc,” she chided herself. “Don’t you mean Doctor?” Emilia snapped her gaze up to Justin’s. “My brother didn’t beat you up, did he?” She shook her head and turned away, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. That was the best she could come up with? Nothing about how are you feeling tonight? No, thank you for doing the whole guard dog thing? Not one hint of was-making-love-as-scare-the-pants-off-you-wonderful-for-you-as-it-was-for-me? Justin linked his fingers with hers and urged her to face him again. He arched one golden brow and answered in a calm, I-survived-your-brother-just-fine tone. “We had coffee. We talked business. And I wish like hell that you’d been there to wake up next to this afternoon.” “What?” Dazed by the husky admission, Emilia could only stare as he freed her ponytail, spilling the waves down around her shoulders.

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“I’m sorry if I scared you, or if I said something, or didn’t say-” “Shh.” Emilia brought his head down for a kiss, silencing him much the same way he’d quieted her that first night. Justin didn’t need much encouragement to wrap his arms around her and lift her onto her toes to deepen the kiss. Emilia slid her fingers up into his hair, rubbing her palms against the ticklish strands. Then she skidded her lips across his sandpapery jaw and nibbled on his ear the way she’d discovered made him shivery with goose bumps. “I’m the one who should apologize for running away to the bathroom. It’s just that we jumped from A all the way to Z so fast, and I needed some time to think. There were things to consider. Teresa was there. My schedule. Your work and-” He caught her face between his hands and captured her mouth again. “We’ll go slower this time, I promise. We’ll stop on every damn letter of the alphabet if you need to.” He kissed her once, reigniting the fire between them. “Just give me a chance.” He kissed her again, making her feverish for more. “Give us a chance to turn this accidental...whatever it is between us...into something real.” Justin’s mouth stilled over hers, giving her a split-second warning before she saw the two hulking shapes of men behind him.

“Isn’t this romantic?” Emilia sank back onto her heels, chilling with anger at the determined way Justin blanked the emotion from his eyes and turned to position himself between her and Billy Blue’s henchmen. “Yeah, I’m all warm and fuzzy inside,” the other one answered. “C’mon, Dr. Rodriguez.” The shorter of the two, the one with the expensive coat, reached around Justin and snatched her wrist. Justin’s big hands were there immediately, prying them apart. “Get your hands off her.” The pistol in his belly was there immediately, too. “No!” She circled around Justin herself, forcing the bigger man to pull the gun back beneath his coat. “What do you want?” “Emilia-” “We told you earlier this week,” the littler man explained. “Tonight you’re on call.”

Chapter Seventeen “Where are you taking us?” Emilia sat in the back seat of the navy blue Lexus, wedged between the thug with the new coat and big gun, and Justin. The other creep drove them around so many corners and through so many alleys and side streets that she’d lost track of what direction they were going. But then, maybe that was the point. “The hospital expects me back after my dinner break. If I don’t show up, they’ll call the police.” New Coat reached inside his pocket and shoved a cell phone at her. “Fix it so they don’t call.” Justin’s long, strong thigh pressed into her from hip to knee. She interpreted the subtle rubbing against her leg as a silent sign of encouragement. She slid hers back and forth, returning the favor. She dialed the ER’s personnel desk. She could do this. She could lie. The gun pointed to the middle of her gut said she had to.

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Several minutes later, with the hospital convinced she’d come down with some sort of flu at dinner, they pulled into the parking lot of a remodeled sports bar known simply as Nathan’s. Apparently, men with guns who manhandled women dressed in hospital scrubs and a lab coat were a common sight at Nathan’s. No one, not one customer or waitress or bartender, gave her more than a cursory glance as New Coat dragged her past the bar into a rear hallway. What kind of people came to this place? Who were these thugs who commanded such fear? She tried to catch Justin’s eye to get some answers, but a short, skinny man with blue hair and an ostentatious taste for gold jewelry came out of the last door to greet them. Emilia tried to twist free, but New Coat’s bruising grip didn’t budge. “This is Grant’s girl?” Mr. Blue Hair asked. “She’s the doctor we arranged for you.” This was her patient? Beyond an overindulgence in alcohol that stained his nose and cheeks, she detected no noticeable signs of injury or illness. “There’s nothing wrong with him.” The man who introduced himself as Billy Blue grinned at her apparent stupidity. “I have a weight I’ve been carrying around my neck for far too long.” Then take off four or five of those stupid chains and let us go! He patted her cheek as he pushed past her to a black, padlocked door. Emilia flinched away from the contact and watched him pull out a key attached to one of the chains. “In here, Doctor.” He inserted the key into the lock. “Justin, you’ll want to see this, too. The supplies you ordered are here.” What were they going to do? Lock them inside? The instant Billy pushed the door open, the smells hit her. Emilia crinkled up her nose and turned away. The acrid sting of sulfur. The moldy scents of clay and darkness. She heard the wheezing next, followed by the bone-deep rales of a cough that desperately tried to do some good. A patient’s suffering called to her, but the black walls and bare light bulbs and murderous intent of the room made her hesitate. “Justin?” She felt him at her back, his chest and thighs butting against her, shielding her, urging her forward. “It’s okay, babe. I’m right behind you.” With Justin’s reassurance, Emilia stepped inside. This locked-up hovel was the size of an office, but the window and walls had all been painted black, and the walls had been lined with shelves to convert it into a glorified storage closet and prison cell.

She felt the tension harden in Justin’s muscles as they looked about. But she didn’t need to be a bomb squad cop to recognize what was on the shelves- sticks of dynamite, blasting caps, spools of wire, bricks of clay that she guessed to be another type of explosive. It was a mini-warehouse. The warehouse of illegal bomb parts Justin had been looking for. “Oh, my God.” Emilia gasped. Sitting at a worktable in the middle of all this potential death and destruction, chained to his chair, pale from disease and stooped from age, sat a thin old man.

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“Let me introduce you to my grandpa. He taught me everything I know about the business.” Billy Blue laughed. “Your job, Dr. Rodriguez, is to keep him alive for one more day. And, oh, make sure his hands are steady- and that he can travel. Tomorrow’s the big day.”

Chapter Eighteen “This man needs oxygen. Antibiotics. An X ray. He needs to get out of this damp, dusty air. I can’t treat him here.” Justin watched Emilia pace the confines of the small room. She was getting inured to the business end of Big Guy’s gun following her back and forth. She was steaming mad about the conditions in which Billy’s grandfather, Nathan Bingham, had been forced to live. But Justin hadn’t for one moment forgotten the danger she was in. The pieces of his investigation were falling into place. Mickey Two-Toes had been a decoy bomber- the same way Billy and his pals expected him to be. The car bomb they wanted him to create for use against the Westside Warriors was nothing but a distraction, keeping KCPD’s eyes averted from the true bomber. The real genius behind the bomb at Markon Pharmaceuticals was chained to a chair and surrendering to an advanced case of emphysema. No doubt Bingham- a longtime hit man and lieutenant in former mob boss Jericho Meade’s organization- had specifically placed the bomb at Bingham Hall to send out some kind of message to the police. He might be long-forgotten, but he wasn’t dead. And if Emilia couldn’t keep him alive long enough to complete Billy’s grandiose plan- to plant a bomb in the heart of downtown Kansas City and the First Cattleman’s Bank- then Billy and his boys would have no trouble killing her, as well. “You got everything you need yet, Grant?” Big Dumb Guy’s impatient voice was beginning to grate on his nerves. But, since Justin didn’t have the Superman skills to take out three well-armed mobsters and a legendary explosives expert without risking harm to Emilia, he bit his tongue and played his part. He zipped his duffel bag and slipped the explosives that were about to become evidence over his shoulder. “I’m ready. I’ll have the bomb in place by tomorrow morning.” “Good.” Billy Blue unholstered his gun and gestured toward the door. “Now, I hate to part you two lovebirds, but...” He laughed- that juvenile, want-to-be-a-man laugh that said a lot about what motivated Billy’s quest for power. “Who the hell cares? Tomorrow marks the official beginning of my reign over this city, and if anybody asks any questions, the blame will fall on Mickey, those Westside idiots, and you, Grandpa.” Nathan Bingham, whose wispy white hair was a stark contrast to Billy’s blue spikes, sat as though half conscious when his grandson gave him a cruel hug around his fragile bones. “Take good care of my grandpa. He taught me everything I know about running a city. After tomorrow, nobody will question who the top dog is around town.” Billy waved the key in front of Emilia. “We men have business to take care of. But I’ll lock you in with the old man.” He leaned closer, using even his meager height to intimidate her. But Emilia tipped her chin, clearly unimpressed. With a huff, Billy turned away and ushered the rest of them out the door. Justin planted his feet and used the same over-the-top advantage in height to stop Billy in his tracks. “Let her go. You heard her- she can’t do the old man any good here.” But Billy became a braver man when the two BDG’s fell into place behind him. “I think you miss a subtle point here, Justin. By keeping her here, I know you’ll do your part exactly the way I instructed. Once I’m satisfied with your work, I’ll hand you the key.”

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Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. If he blew the car bomb, innocent people could get hurt. If he didn’t blow it, Emilia would pay the price. That elusive sense of calm was as far out of reach as his chances of scooping her into his arms and running out of here now would be. Hostages and bombs were never a good mix. Justin pulled himself to his full six-foot-three inches of height and looked across the room, filling his eyes with all the love he could find inside him. Green eyes met brown and made a promise. “I will come back for you. Do your job. Do whatever they say. I will come back.” She nodded, and he wondered if the glaring lights and dim shadows of the room had played a trick on him. Did Dr. By-the-Book really mean what those beautiful brown eyes were saying? Or was that just wishful thinking? “I’ll be here, Justin,” she vowed.

Chapter Nineteen “I saw you.” Nathan Bingham’s raspy, breathless voice whispered through his chest into Emilia’s stethoscope. “What?” She pulled away. His weak heart sounds and short, irregular breaths made her doubt she could pull him through another twenty hours under conditions that would be appalling for a man in perfect health. But she’d made him as comfortable as possible. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” “I saw you at the college. You and your man.” Every word was a painful gasp. “Billy likes to watch when I put on a show for him. Twenty-four years old and he still thinks like a kid.” Emilia sat on the table, facing him. “Did you see how frightened we all were? I lost my father in an explosion. Yesterday, I could have lost my sister, too.” “I’m seventy years old. I’ve killed a lot of people. Done it for money. Done it for revenge.” A fit of coughing racked his frail body, leaving him unable to speak for several minutes. But, as though sensing last chances and final breaths approaching, he pushed himself a little more upright and continued. “But my greatest crime is that boy. Letting him grow up to become the monster he is.” What was she supposed to say to that? She was locked in a room with a murderer, and instead of feeling fear or loathing, all she felt was pity. What a waste. “Your man’s a smart one. I saw it in his eyes. He can neutralize my bomb. He’s a cop, isn’t he?” Emilia had to stand up and walk away. She’d probably just confirmed his guess, but she wouldn’t say the words to betray Justin’s cover. Nathan’s breath wheezed out and almost didn’t catch again. “I saw how much he loves you, too.” Emilia spun around. “What?” How could this man, this shriveled-up man who was more dead than alive, possibly say such a thing to her? Because it was true. She’d known Justin a week. It made no sense for feelings to develop so quickly, so deeply. But she knew it was possible. Because she loved him, too. Nathan pointed a gnarled finger at her. “Allow me one last shot at redemption, Doctor.” “How? How can you possibly atone for the things you’ve done?”

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“Those boys are stupid. I taught him everything he knows about the business. But I didn’t teach him everything I know. They lock me away in this room. Leave me with all the supplies each time a shipment comes in.” On a last burst of strength, he pointed to an outlet on the wall. “A man has to have his hobbies.” Emilia examined the outlet and wires running from it. It looked like an extension cord at first, but as she followed the device around the room, she discovered a whole lot more was going on. “Is that a...?” Nathan nodded. “A bomb. This whole building is rigged to blow. I’ll do it tonight, when those three boys close the bar to celebrate a victory that hasn’t happened yet.” “Tonight? Um, I have a slight problem with that.” He pointed to the bricks of plastique with his eyes. “I’ll show you how to blow the hinges. You get out of here and be with your man. Oh, and tell him he’ll have to defuse the bomb at the bank. I won’t be around to show him how.”

Chapter Twenty Justin was bleeding again. But he ignored the pain and floored the Chevy, using his horn to clear traffic and get to the Cattleman’s Bank in record time. The car bomb had been so noisy and distracting that Billy and the BDGs hadn't even noticed A. J. Rodriguez and the band of undercover detectives from the Fourth Precinct moving in. While the gang had holed up in a nearby restaurant to watch the fireworks, the police had swarmed the building. But they hadn’t gone out without a fight. While most of the thugs had wisely surrendered, two had slipped out the back...forcing a chase. Already inside, Justin had been the first to run after them, and along with two other officers, had caught them- but not without a price. The fresh wound on his arm was deep. He should be in the ER. He wanted to be at Nathan’s Bar, freeing Emilia. But he needed to be downtown with Cutler and his TAC team. Justin’s sense of calm was as impossible to hold on to as the belief that he and Emilia had something real going on, something long-term. But she probably couldn’t wait to get back to her by-the-book life, far away from the danger and unpredictability he’d brought into her world. As he screeched to a halt, and donned the protective gear from his trunk, he had to trust that A.J. would get Emilia safely away from Nathan’s Bar. His heart might have been there, but Justin’s job was here. Bingham wouldn’t have made this bomb simple. Justin wasn’t about to trust that this device had been neutralized until he’d seen to it himself- until he felt that calm, and knew that the case was closed. *** “This was too easy.” Justin stood beside Mike Cutler and stared at the frozen clock they’d detached from the explosives packed inside a computer on the second floor of the bank. “Bingham never relies on just one triggering device.” Justin’s calm just wouldn’t kick in. Billy Blue’s reign of terror over Kansas City wouldn’t end until this final bomb was neutralized. “Bingham’s in too bad of shape to waltz into a building this size and make a delivery to the second floor undetected,” he continued. “And Billy doesn’t have the know-how to engage the device without Grandpa.” “Right.” Justin was scanning, pacing. “Bingham would have had to come in a wheelchair. Where would he have access to set up his bomb?”

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“And not get noticed?” “Hell.” Justin snapped his fingers, already running toward the stairs. “Handicapped john. Keep an eye on that clock and your radio open.” Within three minutes Justin had located the secondary triggering device. He found the red wire and digital watch inside the automatic hand-dryer in the handicapped bathroom. The damn thing was ticking. Two minutes, thirteen seconds. “I’ve got a countdown again!” Cutler yelled over the radio. “Clear the building. Now!” “No, sir.” Damn if he was gonna let Billy win. Justin had long since tossed his goggles and helmet. He’d paused only long enough to mop his arm to keep the blood from his wound from dripping onto his hands as he worked. Unscrew this. Pull here. Cut there.

Justin blinked his eyes clear of sweat. He positioned his snips around the last red wire. “If this doesn’t work out- tell Emilia I love her.” “Grant!” Justin squeezed. *** “I’m a doctor. Let me through.“ Battle-ax voice firmly in place, beautiful brown eyes watching him every step of the way. Emilia. In one piece. There was a God. Justin pushed himself up from his seat on the back of the ambulance. “Did A.J...? Are you...?” She pushed him right back onto his bottom and walked straight into his arms. Her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him before he got his I love you out. He wrapped her up in his embrace- loving her hair, her scent, her mouth- loving her attitude, loving her. When she came up for air, he wasn’t ready to let her go. But Emilia had a few procedures she needed to take care of first. “Let me see your arm.” He dutifully cooperated while she probed the cut. “You’re going to have matching scars.” “But if you’re the doc who stitches ‘em up, they’ll be neat and pretty, right?” And then she was hugging him around the neck again. “Dammit, Justin, I don’t want to see you in my ER every week.” “What about when I come to take you to dinner?” She gave him a painless smack on the shoulder. “I’m serious. When I knew you were inside, defusing that bomb, I thought...” Okay. He was the stronger one here- physically, at any rate. He pushed her away just far enough to find out what could bring tears to her eyes. “Thought what?” “That I hadn’t told you I love you. That I didn’t want to lose you the way I lost my father. But I can’t imagine you doing any other kind of work when I know you’re so good at it.”

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Justin wiped the tears from her cheeks, then kissed each spot. “The work I do is dangerous.” He’d never lie to her about that. “But I love it.” He’d never lie to her about this, either. “About half as much as I love you.” A miraculous sense of calm settled over Justin. It was more than knowing the bomb threats were over and no one was going to get hurt. The calm came from holding Emilia in his arms and knowing that loving her was one thing he’d gotten absolutely right.

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Take a Chance on Me by Ann Roth Psst! Rumor has it that Forest Glen's favorite son — famed movie director Garth Henderson — has come home at long last! Is this Hollywood heavyweight really trying to escape the media glare after his recent divorce from a certain screen siren? Or could it be that he's looking for a second chance at love with his high school sweetheart, Iris Norton? After all, guess who's just enrolled his canine companion in Iris's obedience school?

Chapter One "Iris! Guess what I just found out?" Iris Norton smiled at her breathless assistant, who'd started talking before she was even halfway out of her late model sedan. "That today is April Fool's Day?" Queenie, the female mixed breed Iris had rescued from the pound was very attuned to the humans around her. Yipping, her funny little part-spaniel, part-boxer tail quivering, she danced around Shelley as they stood in Iris's gravel driveway on the crisp, sunny morning. As if to say, Hurry and tell us, Shelley. Iris calmed her dog with hand signs and a voice command. She couldn't do that with Shelley, who looked ready to hyperventilate. "What happened? Did somebody play a trick on you at the post office, or maybe at Dobson's General Store?" Shelley caught her breath at last. "No tricks. This is real. You'll never guess who's back in town." She barely gave Iris time to think before she blurted out the name. "Forest Glen's own golden boy — Garth Henderson." "Oh?" Though the air seemed to whoosh from Iris's lungs, she managed to hold on to her smile. Queenie shot her a worried look then whined softly. Iris leaned down to scratch behind her ears. I'm fine, really. Oblivious, Shelley grinned. "You two dated in high school, right?" At twenty-four, she was six years younger than Iris, but everyone in tiny Forest Glen knew that Iris had once "gone steady" with the now-famous movie director. "That's so hot." It certainly had been. She and Garth had loved each other. They'd lost their virginity together in the backseat of his car, and had talked about getting married someday. Then Garth, who was a year older than Iris, left for college. During Christmas break of his freshman year, he'd seemed tense and unhappy, and they fought continuously. When he suggested they take a break from each other, Iris feared he no longer loved her. After a few strained emails and phone calls, she knew she'd been right, and the break had turned into forever. Garth had stayed away from Forest Glen, even to visit. Until now. Shelley popped the trunk of the sedan. "Word is that he divorced that actress. Now he's building a house on the creek, with plans to live in it between movies. How awesome is that?" Ages ago Iris had stopped reading stories about Garth and his various actress girlfriends. "I hadn't heard about the divorce," she said. "It's true. Supposedly he's working on a script for a movie he's wanted to make for years. But all the production people are in L.A." Shelley gave a puzzled frown. "His parents divorced and moved away years ago. Why in the world would he come back to Forest Glen, especially now?" "I don't know and I really don't care." Iris scooped up two fat, brown paper packets from Shelley's trunk.

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Shelley grabbed the remaining two and they headed for the remodeled garage Iris used as her classroom, which stood a convenient dozen yards from the small bungalow she'd inherited from her father. Certainly Garth's moving here had nothing to do with her, Iris mused. Aside from the flowers and sympathy card he'd sent after her father's death three years ago, she hadn't heard from him in close to twelve years. She'd spent a good portion of those years caring for her father and getting over Garth. He'd gotten over her far more easily. As they headed into the classroom, Shelley glanced at Iris. "What are you going to do if you run into him?" "Well…" Iris considered the question. Given that there was only one general store, one bank, one post office and one restaurant in town, coming face-to-face with Garth was a likely event. Dread filled her at the thought, but she was over the man, and had been for a long time. "I'll probably say 'hello,' the same as I would with anyone." Then we'll go our separate ways. Unwilling to discuss the subject further, she opened the metal storage cabinet behind her battered desk. As she stowed the packages, she sniffed the air. "Liver and chicken, right?" "Yep, and these biscuits are nice and fresh, just the way you like them." "Not me," Iris corrected with a grin. "The dogs." Dogs: large and small, mixed and pure breed. Tonight was the first session of the three-week-long dog obedience class she taught. Meantime… "I promised to take Mrs. Henry to lunch today, and then to see her cardiologist. She's not supposed to get upset, and you know how she worries when I'm late. I'd best leave now. " Mrs. Henry, a widow with no family, had been Forest Glen's kindergarten teacher for forty years and a friend to all. When Iris's mother had died twenty years ago, the teacher had stepped in to help Iris and her father. She'd quickly become like family, celebrating holidays and birthdays with them, and later helping Iris take care of her father after his stroke. Now long retired and in frail health, the eighty-year-old remained fiercely independent, refusing to move in with Iris or live in an assisted living facility. So Iris stopped by her tiny apartment often — cleaning, cooking, running errands and visiting. Mrs. Henry had been the one to teach Iris how to knit, and still enjoyed the hobby herself. She often helped make the dog sweaters Iris sold online. Since business was brisk, Shelley made them, too. "You'll set up the room for tonight and check the web site for orders?" Iris asked. Shelley nodded. "And finish the sweaters for those firehouse Dalmatians in Minnesota. If all goes well, I'll pack them up and mail them, too. Send my regards to Mrs. H, and see you tonight." *** Hours later, back from an enjoyable visit with Mrs. Henry but a worrisome doctor's appointment — the woman needed bypass surgery but stubbornly refused to have it — Iris set aside her concern and prepared to greet her new class of seven humans and their dogs. She always began the one-hour session promptly at seven. By six forty-five, with Shelley helping, all participants had paid and checked in. This was a small town. Iris already knew everyone, and they all knew each other. But as was her custom, she welcomed and talked with each human and each animal. Warm conversation and doggie greetings filled the room. At seven sharp, as Iris, Shelley and Queenie headed for the front of the room to start class, a tall man and his dog stepped through the door. Iris recognized him immediately — Garth Henderson. Her jaw dropped and her heart seemed to stop.

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Abruptly the room quieted, and everyone went still.

Chapter Two Outsider that he was, Garth Henderson stood at the back of the classroom while Iris and everyone else, dogs included, stared at him with open curiosity. As a movie director, he met with stars and bigwigs all the time. Yet he'd never felt so nervous. He hadn't seen Iris in a very long time, and they hadn't parted on the best terms. That'd been a lifetime ago, yet standing here looking at her, it seemed like yesterday. She still wore her chin-length, copper-color hair tucked behind her ears, and the familiar smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks. But the slim girl he remembered had become a woman with full, round curves and more natural beauty than any movie actress. He tried a smile. "Hello, Iris." The attention in the room shifted again to Iris, who offered a somber nod as she studied him through the same cornflower blue eyes that always had captivated him. "Garth." At least she didn't fawn all over him. He was sick of Hollywood grovelers and pleasers, and had come to Forest Glen to get away from that. But he hadn't expected such a chilly welcome, either. Wondering whether he was a fool to be here, Garth shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "It's good to see you." "What are you doing here?" "You mean, why did I move back?" He was here to find meaning in what had become a colorless life. He might be rich and famous, but at the ripe old age of thirty-one, something was missing. "He and that actress got a divorce," a woman said. Garth squinted at the plump, mature face, trying to recall the name that went with it. "Missy Jensen, the high school secretary," she reminded him. "Welcome back, and may I have your autograph?" Everyone laughed — except Iris. Other men and women called out greetings. At least they were glad to see him. He promised them all autographs. "Iris knows about the divorce," said the blushing young woman standing next to her. "And that you're about to make a movie from your own script." Her assistant, Garth figured. "That's right," he said. "I'll be commuting back and forth for a while." "What she wants to know is —" "I can speak for myself, Shelley." Iris narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here, in my classroom?" His marriage had failed, with his ex accusing him of holding something back from their relationship. He was distant, she said — a complaint he'd heard from more than one woman. After much-needed soul-searching, he thought he understood why. He still had feelings for Iris. He was here to find out if that was true, and if she was his key to a meaningful existence. But he couldn't tell her, not this soon, and not in front of these people. At a loss for what to say, he rubbed the back of his neck.

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Then Lucky woofed softly, reminding him. "The vet told me about your class today when I took Lucky in for his shots." He patted his six-month-old pup, a vizsla-golden retriever mixed breed he'd adopted, both for company and because he loved dogs. When he'd found out Iris taught an obedience class, he couldn't believe his luck. That was the reason he'd chosen the name "Lucky" for his dog. "I got Lucky at the pound. He needs to learn a few things, and I don't know how to teach him. I'm counting on you to show us both what to do." Iris glanced at the pup. Her expression softened, and Garth was certain they were in. Grinning, he tugged Lucky's leash and started forward. Just like that, the warmth evaporated. Iris tightened her mouth, her closed look stopping him. "You're too late. The class is full." "No, it isn't," Shelley said. "Only seven people signed up. We have room for eight." Garth didn't miss the dirty look Iris shot her assistant. She didn't want him here. Her rejection made him all the more determined to get back into her good graces. While he searched his brain for some way to persuade her to let him and Lucky into class, his dog sat down on the cement floor and whined, training a mournful look on Iris — the same look had convinced Garth to choose him from the dozens of dogs at the pound. No one could resist that look, not even Iris. She sighed. "All right, for Lucky's sake, you can stay." She wouldn't meet Garth's eye, and instead spoke to his shoulder. "You can pay and fill in the needed paperwork after class. Shelley handles that." She turned away, effectively dismissing him. Warming that cool attitude wasn't going to be easy, but over the next hour Garth intended to do just that — with Lucky's help. Because he definitely wanted to get to know Iris again, in every way. "I can't stay after class," Shelley whispered in a voice everybody heard. "I have a date with Pete." She sent a longing glance Garth's way. "I wish I could, though." Iris rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Garth will give you an autograph next time." Laughter broke out, and Garth offered a good-natured grin. "You can take the paperwork with you and bring it back Thursday," Iris told him. "Right now, I have a class to teach. This is Beginner Education for dogs ages five months and older with no previous training," she said as her gaze traveled from person to person. "Over the next three weeks, using reward training — that means dog biscuits — you and your dog will learn simple commands and hand signals that will make everyone's life easier. We'll meet Tuesdays and Thursdays at seven, and I expect you and your dog to practice your lessons every day. Questions?" Garth had only one question, which he'd save until after class. Would Iris give him a second chance?

Chapter Three During the one-hour class, though Iris made certain to pay equal attention to every person and every dog, she was keenly aware of Garth. Over the years glamorous Hollywood photos had catalogued his transformation from a tall, lanky boy into a solid man, the boyish face honed into strong, masculine features. But no picture adequately captured the lively glint in his chocolate-brown eyes or his irresistible charm. Willingly or not, she was attracted to him.

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Even when she turned her back on him, she felt his gaze on her. That made her nervous and self-conscious. The man was rich and famous. He could have any woman in the world, in any glamorous city. So, what was he really doing back in Forest Glen? Lucky was adorable, and the fact that Garth had found him at the pound rather than spending piles of money on a pure-breed was particularly endearing. Man and dog worked hard to master "sit" and "down," the two commands the class practiced. She couldn't help but admire them for that. Also difficult to ignore were the nosy looks from everyone when she stopped to help Garth or compliment Lucky. Iris wished she could control the blood flow to her cheeks, which felt continually flushed. After a while, she let Shelley work with Garth and Lucky. Trouble was, for some reason — maybe because both dogs came from the pound — Queenie liked Lucky more than the other animals. She kept glancing at the pup and whining softly. Lucky seemed to feel the same fondness for Queenie. The kinship between the animals only fueled the knowing grins. By the time class ended, Iris was exhausted from pretending she didn't notice or care. So was Queenie, who moved to her favorite spot, the braided oval rug beside the desk, and collapsed. "See you Thursday, and don't forget to practice every day," Iris reminded the group as they filed through the door — except for Garth, who hung back. She waved at Shelley, who was in a hurry to get home. "Have fun on your date." "Oh, I will." Shelley glanced from Iris to Garth, then winked. "You have fun, too." Iris frowned to let her know what she thought of that idea, but Shelley was gone. So she frowned at Garth, who hung his thumbs from his belt loops and widened his stance as if he wasn't going anyplace. "Didn't you hear what I said at the start of class? You can fill out those forms at home and bring them back Thursday. Unless you'll be in Hollywood then. And by the way, how in the world are you going to make it to class if you're busy with your movie?" "Actual production won't start for a while. We're in preproduction, which is mostly boring meetings." He offered a crooked grin no woman could ignore. Slightly breathless, Iris eyed him coolly. "What about class?" she repeated. "Lucky and I plan to show up for most of them," he said, "though we may miss one or two. But I will be here this Thursday with the forms and a check. " "Good." So what did he want? He looked straight into her eyes. "I want to talk about us," he said as if he'd read her mind. Oh, what that look did to her. Her breath caught and time seemed to stop. Unnerved and upset by her pounding heart — she was no more interested in Garth than she was in old Mr. Carlson, who ran the post office — Iris scoffed, "There hasn't been an 'us' since high school." She was over Garth, and rehashing the past would only open old wounds. Wishing she could escape, Iris glanced longingly at the door. "Do you have a date, too?" Garth asked, his jaw suddenly tense. Though she hadn't dated in a long while, she considered making up a boyfriend. But she never had been able to lie. She shook her head.

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He exhaled. "Excellent." Lucky woofed softly and cocked his head as if to ask, "What's going on here?" Iris wondered, too. Not to be left out, Queenie rose and sashayed to Garth, nosing his thigh for attention. Flashing his thousandwatt grin, he hunkered down and rubbed the dog's back. A jealous Lucky growled, and Queenie stiffened. Garth stood up. "Knock that off, Lucky. Sit." Looking confused, his pet remained standing. "Use hand signals with your voice, and bribe him with a biscuit, like I showed you," Iris reminded him. "Sit," he repeated, following her advice. His dog obeyed. Queenie padded back to the braided rug. Moments later Lucky jumped up and followed. Jealousy forgotten, the dogs stretched out side by side. "What a cutie," Iris said. "He knows it, too." Silence. Rocking on his heels, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, Garth seemed as nervous as she felt, which was ridiculous. They were two adults, acting like…the teenagers they were the last time they faced each other. "Mind if we sit down?" He nodded toward the circle of chairs the class had used. They had nothing to say to each other, and the thought of sitting and talking was unsettling. "I don't have that much time," she said. "Suit yourself." He shrugged, and she couldn't help noticing how his broad shoulders framed his flannel shirt. Or his long legs. He wore his jeans snug, and her gaze darted to the healthy bulge… "Like what you see?" Cheeks hot, she jerked her attention to his teasing grin and gave him a dirty look. "Get to the point, Garth. What do you want?" He sobered instantly. "For starters, to say how sorry I am about your dad." "Thank you." Iris dipped her head. "Thanks for the flowers and sympathy card. That was very thoughtful." Biting her lip, she again looked at him. "I'm sorry about your divorce." "Don't be. Getting married was a mistake for both of us. We parted as friends. It wouldn't be so rough, but with the tabloids and paparazzi chasing the story…" He shook his head. "So you're here to hide out," Iris guessed, wondering what that had to do with her.

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"Partly." Again he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I owe you an apology for the way I treated you that Christmas. I acted like a jerk." "It was a long time ago, and we were both young and immature." Iris waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I got over it." Mostly. Standing here now, she realized she was still angry over what had happened. At the same time she couldn't help longing for what might have been. Sharing her bed and her life with Garth. Children filling the days with joy. At thirty, she was beginning to wonder whether that dream would ever come true. "I'm not sure I did. I never explained what happened." "You said you needed a break," Iris reminded him, pleased with her emotionless tone. "But I didn't tell you why. If you remember, at the time my parents were still married." He glanced at Iris and she nodded. "When I came home that Christmas things at home were tense. My dad kept picking at my mom, and they screamed at each other all the time. It was especially bad at night, when they drank." He shook his head, then rubbed the space between his eyebrows as if he had a headache. "They should've split up decades ago." Iris remembered how badly Garth had wanted a close, loving family, and how his parents were too wrapped up in themselves to bother with their only child. She'd never liked them, but this… "I didn't know," she said. "Why didn't you say something?" His mouth twisted. "Too ashamed. The worst of it was, I started picking at you the same way. I felt like I was turning into my old man, and I didn't know how to stop. I didn't want to put you through the same hell he put my mother through." He blew out a heavy breath. "And there you have it, the ugly, unvarnished truth." Iris felt his pain, her heart twinging in sympathy. "I never imagined. You're not at all like him." "I know that now. I never meant for us to break up for good. I only wanted to figure out where I was going wrong and straighten myself out." He gave a humorless laugh. "We both know how that turned out, and here we are." At least now Iris understood. She wasn't about to forgive and forget, though. There'd been too much pain for that. "Thank you for explaining." "Thank you for listening." Something — his tone or that soulful look — had her yearning toward him, primed and ready for whatever happened next. A small voice in her head cautioned, Be careful. She frowned. "Is there something else?" Garth nodded, his gaze fastened on hers. "I think I still have feelings for you, Iris. I'd like to find out whether you do, too." *** Everything, everything hinged on Iris. Garth held his breath. "Let me get this straight," she said, her voice cool. "After twelve years of silence, after you sleep with countless women and even marry and divorce one, you march back into town, apologize for the past, spotlight your movie-star smile on me, and expect me to swoon." Eyes blazing, she lifted her chin. "I appreciate the apology, but you broke my heart. Frankly, I don't want to suffer like that ever again." Feeling lower than a dog flea, Garth winced. "I'd give anything go back in time and change my behavior, but all we can do is move forward."

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"Exactly. Things change. I've changed. I don't have feelings for you, anymore," Iris said, without quite meeting his eye. When she fibbed, she never looked a person in the eye. Even after all this time, he remembered that, and it gave him hope. "Letting you go was a terrible mistake. The biggest of my life," he said with sincerity. "You want to know why I move from woman to woman, and why I got a divorce? Because I should have married you. Give me a chance to prove myself." "There's too much history between us. I could never trust you." Iris fiddled with the sleeve of her turtleneck. "We'd best leave things as they are." Garth hadn't gotten where he was by backing away from a challenge. "I don't plan to give up. I will win you back." At last she looked up, glaring at him. "I'm not some prize you can take home and put on your mantel. My life is exactly the way I like it, calm and peaceful. No fights or arguments. I want it to stay that way." "Who says it won't? Let's get reacquainted, Iris. You'll see that I've changed." "Don't you listen? I-am-not-interested," she stated, enunciating each word as if he were from another planet. He knew how to turn that less-than-friendly attitude around — take her in his arms and nibble the sensitive place under her ear until she forgot all about not trusting him. But right now regaining that trust was the most important thing in his life. So he kept his hands to himself. "Got it. You'll only see me in class." "I'm glad we understand each other," Iris said, looking relieved. "So that's settled." Nothing was settled. During the next two and a half weeks there were five more one-hour classes. Surely that was enough time to win her over. Whatever it took.

Chapter Four "I hear Garth Henderson is back in town, and that he enrolled his dog in your obedience class," Cora Henry told Iris Thursday afternoon. They were sitting on the older woman's faded chintz sofa, knitting twin red, white and blue doggie sweaters for a pair of Welsh corgis. Queenie, who adored Mrs. Henry, lay contentedly at her feet. Iris adored her, too, and trusted her completely. Mrs. Henry knew everything about Garth and had spent countless hours comforting Iris after their rocky breakup. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded, her gnarled hands adeptly wielding the knitting needles. Sometimes she acted like a bossy mother. "I was about to," Iris said, "only you beat me to it. You won't believe what he said…" Behind bifocals, Mrs. Henry's surprisingly bright, gray eyes winked with excitement. "Try me." "After all these years he apologized for the way he acted. Now he wants to get together again." Though Iris scoffed, she had considered the idea more times than she could count. But Garth had walked away before. What was to stop him from doing the same thing again? Besides, she was a small-town girl, neither sophisticated nor exciting like the other women he'd dated since. Iris pulled more yarn from the skein on her lap. "Can you believe that?"

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Mrs. Henry's knitting needles click-clacked several times before she spoke. "Do you still have feelings for him?" "No." Over the years Iris had managed to tamp down the hurt and forget Garth for long stretches of time. Today, even though she didn't have the husband or children she longed for, Queenie, friends and work filled her days comfortably enough. But now… Mrs. Henry glanced up from her work, eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Are you certain about that?" She knew Iris all too well. Iris sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "What I do know is that I don't want to get hurt again." And she didn't want to talk about Garth, anymore. "How are you feeling today?" "Not bad," her friend replied, her sallow complexion and thin frame at odds with the words. "I wish you'd reconsider the doctor's suggestion. Bypass surgery will make you feel worlds better…" "You know I lost my John on the surgeon's table. I won't relegate myself to the same fate." "But that was a long time ago, and this is a better doctor," Iris reasoned. "I want you to live a long time. Won't you at least think about surgery?" The older woman pursed her lips stubbornly. "The subject is closed." The cuckoo on the wall chimed. "Don't you have to get ready for class?" Iris threw up her hands. "All right, I give up. I'll see you later." *** Unfortunately, Shelley had caught the flu and wouldn't be in class that night. Without her, Iris wasn't sure how she'd manage the one-on-one attention she liked to give each owner and dog, but she intended to try. She also needed to set up the room, so after a quick dinner she leashed Queenie and opened the front door. "Come on, girl, let's head for the garage." The evening air was chill and she strode rapidly across the grass, Queenie clipping beside her. As Iris unlocked the door, a black Jaguar pulled up the drive, wheels crunching over the gravel. No one around here drove such an expensive car, but Iris knew the man behind the wheel as sure as she knew her own reflection — Garth. As he opened the door and unfolded his long denim-clad legs, her traitorous heart gave a joyous kick. Masking her pleasure at seeing him, she frowned. "Class doesn't start 'til seven. You're way too early." "I heard about Shelley." He opened the back door, leashing Lucky before letting him out. "We came to help." Iris wasn't surprised that he knew about Shelley. Most likely, so did everyone else in class. What did surprise her was his offer of help — which she didn't want. She shook her head. "No, thank you." "Aw, Iris, come on," Garth said, with a round-eyed look that was hard to resist. "I'm here, so you may as well put me to work." He seemed so eager, she gave in. "There's not much to do," she said as she opened the studio and flipped on the lights. "But since we won't be using the chairs tonight, you can push them against the wall." He nodded. "You want me to help you out during class, the way Shelley does? "

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"I don't know. Can you handle me telling you what to do?" "I sure can." The low, intimate tone put her on alert. She shot him a suspicious look. "What do you expect in payment?" His eyebrows lifted. "I get to decide?" He chuckled, the sound warm and musical — and contagious. "Let me think on that." She couldn't help smiling. "Just don't ask for something I can't give." *** After class Garth helped Iris straighten up, while Lucky and Queenie snoozed on the rug together like old friends. He nodded at his dog. "You worked him hard tonight." "I worked you both hard," Iris said. A warm smile curled her lips. "Thanks for being my assistant." "I enjoyed it." Garth meant it. He also hoped he'd earned a few brownie points. "It is fun, isn't it? Helping the animals and their owners build on what they learned in the previous class, watching as each pair grows.… I love that. Just think what Lucky has learned so far — 'sit' and 'lie down' and 'heel' and 'halt' — I'm so proud of him." Excited by her work, with her eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy, Iris was more beautiful than ever. She'd put shiny stuff on her lips that made them look soft and sexy. Suddenly Garth knew exactly what he wanted in payment. But that would have to wait until he regained her trust. "Why didn't some great guy marry you?" he asked as he emptied leftover dog treats into a plastic container. "Dad was sick for seven years, and I was too busy taking care of him to think about dating," she said. "Then after he died…" She offered a thin smile. "There aren't a lot of single men around here. I've dated a few guys, but nothing serious." He was glad to hear that. "Where do you keep the broom?" "In the closet." Iris gestured at the door on the side of the room. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, holding the dustpan while he swept. Because she'd finally warmed up and he wasn't ready to leave. "I'm filling in for Shelley, remember?" He finished the job and returned the broom and dustpan to the closet. Unfortunately, now there was nothing left to do, and he couldn't think of another reason to stick around. He glanced at the door. "Guess I'll be going." "Wait," Iris said. "I want to pay you. You don't exactly need the cash. What would you like — a week's supply of dog biscuits?" He hadn't intended to collect any payment, but suddenly a great idea popped into his head. "That's tempting, but I want something else — to take you to dinner tomorrow night. Martini's is still around." The only Italian restaurant around, where he'd first told Iris he loved her, was located at a ski resort fifty miles away. "You still like Italian food, right?"

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"I love it. But take me out for dinner, as in you pick up the tab?" She shook her head. "Since I owe you, that won't work." "Sure it will. If we have a good time, maybe you'll go out with me again. That's payment enough." Iris shot him a the-hell-you-say frown. "I thought I made myself clear. We're not going to date. Period." Garth wasn't giving up, but he knew better than to pressure her. "I still want to eat at Martini's and see if the food is as good as I remember. How about it?" Women never had been able to resist his big-eyed, soulful look, and Iris was no different. She sighed. "All right, but let's clarify a few things. Dinner's on me. And this is not a date. It's payment for your help tonight." As long as she went out with him, Garth didn't care who picked up the tab. He wanted to shoot his fist in the air and let out a "Yes!" but settled for a subdued nod. "Great. Pick you up at seven." "You're okay with me paying?" She looked impressed, which pleased him. "I know I wouldn't let you do that when we were in high school, but now I'm an enlightened man. If you're sure Martini's isn't out of your budget." "No problem. Just don't go getting any ideas about us." "I won't," Garth lied, his head swimming with ideas. For starters, a call to Federico, owner of the restaurant. To arrange a romantic walk down memory lane, which Garth would pay for on the sly. Iris might be treating him to the meal, but he planned to fund the extras that would charm and woo her. With any luck, by dessert tomorrow night, she'd be halfway in love with him and ready, willing and eager to give him a second chance.

Chapter Five Awestruck diners in Martini's restaurant jabbed each other and whispered as they noticed Garth Henderson, but Federico seemed more interested that Garth was with Iris. "It's been a long time since you two were here together," he said as he smilingly led them to a linen-covered table in front of the mountain-view picture window — the very table where Garth had told her he loved her. Iris marveled at the sixty-something restaurant owner's memory. During their high school years she and Garth had eaten here exactly twice. After so many years, how could Federico possibly remember? She, however, recalled every moment of the night the very stars seemed to shine on her. The night Garth had pledged his love. Nostalgia struck, and for one long moment she was back there, her heart warm and full while they happily planned their future together, and later in the backseat of his car, as they sealed their bond in passionate, though clumsy lovemaking. Less than a year later, Garth had asked for a "break" that effectively ended the relationship and crushed her dreams. He hadn't truly loved her, after all.

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Remembering the pain was the key to protecting herself from future heartache. Iris silently renewed her pledge to keep an emotional distance from Garth. They were causal acquaintances now, and after tonight she would see him only in class. They sat across from each other in comfortable chairs, the flickering candle in the center of the table adding a soft, romantic glow. Garth faced the window so Iris could people watch, a favorite habit of hers he remembered. Tonight every person's attention was focused on Garth, the famous movie director. Iris understood completely. Despite her best intentions, she didn't want to look at anyone but Garth, either. Dressed in a tailored suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, he looked successful and handsome. But for her, his appeal had nothing to do with his clothes or his fame. "You look wonderful," he said, echoing her very thoughts about him. "That's a great dress." He nodded at the mint green sheath she saved for special occasions, his eyes warm with appreciation. With that one avid look, she was lost. Breathless and daunted by her intense feelings, she lowered her gaze to the menu. "Thank you." Federico took their orders, returning shortly with a bottle of wine. "On the house," he said, "because I am glad to see you here together." He and Garth exchanged looks. What was that about? "Don't get any ideas," Iris warned them both. "We're only here because I owe Garth this meal." "Your reasons do not concern me," Federico said. "You are here, and that is enough." He served the wine with a flourish. "I'll be back with the salads." He left, and Garth raised his glass. "To the future." His eyes were dark with intent, and for one moment Iris let herself imagine a future with him — a future that easily could turn into a painful repeat of the past. Suddenly frightened, she wanted to rush home. Then maybe she could breathe normally. But Martini's was a place for leisurely dining, and Federico took his time. While they waited for their salads and later, their veal parmesan, Iris fought to steel herself against Garth's charm. Difficult to do, with him asking questions about her life and listening closely to her every word. So different from high school, when most of the conversations had revolved around him and his dream of making movies. Iris told him about Mrs. Henry. "She needs a bypass operation but refuses to have surgery. I've tried and tried to convince her and so has her doctor, but no luck." She sighed. "I'm worried sick about her." "That's a shame," Garth said. "She was one of my favorite teachers, and always seemed so rational. What happened to her common sense?" "That's still intact. The problem is, her husband died on the operating table, and she's afraid the same thing will happen to her." "Fear often holds people back," he said, looking straight into her eyes. Iris agreed. She was scared, all right. Of getting involved with Garth. Resisting the urge to look away, she held his gaze. "Sometimes fear is a good thing." Before he could argue she changed the subject. "Tell me about your new movie."

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"It's about a neglected kid who grows up determined to be noticed through fame and wealth, and the mishaps along the way that turn him in a new direction," he said. "In the end, he figures out that love is the key to happiness." "Sounds interesting." Somewhat biographical, too — at least the part about the neglected boy. She wondered whether Garth was aware of that. He told her about the actors he wanted, his commitment and boyish enthusiasm contagious and irresistible. Easy to see why he'd become Hollywood's darling. "I have a lot riding on this movie — money and my reputation," he went on. "At the end of next week I'll sit down with the people involved and move things forward. I plan to stay in L.A. a few days after to tie up loose ends." He shot Iris an apologetic look. "That means Lucky and I will miss two of your classes, but we'll be back for the last one." That first night he'd mentioned that possibility, so his announcement came as no surprise. Yet Iris couldn't stem her disappointment. "If you miss two in a row, you and Lucky will fall way behind. Can't you postpone the meeting, or teleconference instead?" "Teleconferencing won't work for this. We need to sit down together and hammer out the details. Sometimes that takes days, or even weeks. You have no idea how rough it's been to schedule even one meeting with all the players at once. My assistants have worked months to set this up." Garth shook his head. "There's no way to postpone it. Maybe you'll give Lucky and me a couple of makeup sessions," he said, raising his eyebrows. The suggestive warmth in his eyes flustered Iris. The very thought of working alone with Garth with no one else around unnerved her. "Sorry, I don't give private lessons." "Can't blame a guy for asking," he said, his mouth quirking. "Guess that means Lucky and I will have to learn a few things on our own." Federico appeared to refill their wine glasses. When he left, Garth turned the conversation to her. "In high school you talked about getting your teaching certificate, just like Mrs. Henry. What happened?" "Life. I went to college and graduated, but then Dad got sick." Recalling that dismal time, Iris stared at the crystal stem of her wine glass. "I never did use my degree. Instead, I got my dog obedience certification and remodeled the garage so I could run the business from home. That way, if Dad needed me I was close by." "You could teach now." "There aren't any teaching jobs around here. I'd have to move away," she said. "This is my home and I don't want to leave. Besides, I am teaching, and I love my work. I also like to knit, and run an online business selling custom-knit sweaters for dogs." "A woman of many talents." Garth's eyes glinted warmly in the candlelight. "I know more than a few stars who'd pay good money for that sort of thing. Give me your web site address and I'll pass it along." "I will. Thanks." "I'm glad you're happy and doing well," he said, "but I still think you sacrificed a lot for your father." "I don't see it that way. After my mother died, he raised me with love and kindness. Returning the favor was the least I could do." Now Garth looked impressed. "I hope he appreciated you."

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"He did." Bud Norton had let her know he loved and valued her, and that he hoped she'd find her soul mate, get married and be happy. She had found her soul mate — Garth. Unfortunately, she hadn't been his. Iris gave a sad smile. "I miss him." "I'll bet. I always envied your close relationship." Iris hadn't realized that, but given Garth's self-absorbed mother and father, it made sense. "Are things better with your parents now that you're a big success?" "Well, they're both sober now, and that's good. Mom lives in Sedona with her second husband, and Dad moved to Florida with his latest girlfriend. We talk on birthdays and holidays, and sometimes when they need money. That's about it." Life with a loved one was precious, and Iris couldn't imagine not connecting whenever possible. "You don't see them?" "Not if they can help it." "I'm sorry to hear that," she said with sincerity. Garth shrugged. "I'm used to it." But she saw the pain flit across his face. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to erase the hurt, cup his cheek and smooth back the lock of unruly hair that had fallen over his forehead. She ached to hold him close and… The strength of her feelings terrified her. She was not getting involved with Garth again. She wasn't. Tonight was a mistake. She had to go home, before she said or did something foolish. She laid her napkin beside her plate, and within moments Federico appeared. "Dessert and coffee?" he asked as he collected the plates. "No, thanks," Iris replied before Garth could. "I need to get home." Where she'd lock herself safely in the house. *** By the time they headed back to Forest Glen night had fallen. On the dark, hour-long drive through the curving road that cut through the Cascade Mountains, they made small talk. Even laughed. The air between them was easy and warm. Like old times. Iris didn't want to feel this good, not with Garth. She lapsed into silence, and during the last twenty minutes of the drive home neither of them spoke. Garth didn't seem to mind the quiet, another surprise. Years before, long stretches of silence had made him uncomfortable. But now… "We're not talking, and that doesn't bother you," she commented. "You've changed." In the dark she couldn't see his face, but somehow she knew he was smiling. "That's what I keep telling you." As he pulled into her driveway, he glanced at her. "I had a great time tonight," he said in a tone as rich as the dinner wine.

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"So did I." Garth slid out of the car. He would have opened her door, but not wanting this to feel more like a date than it already did, she jumped out. "I didn't get my coffee and dessert," he said as he walked her up the front steps. In the dim porch light, shadows played over his face, masking his expression. "How about a rain check some night soon?" Fool that she was, she actually wanted to spend another evening with him — the man she ought to avoid. Iris shook her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea." He looked so disheartened, she had to do something. "I'll bake you cookies, instead," she offered. "Do you still like chocolate chip?" "Homemade?" Garth brightened immediately. "I sure do. Why don't I pick them up tomorrow night?" Unnerved at the thought of Garth inside her house on a Saturday night, she said, "I have plans." As in figuring what vegetables to plant in the garden, but he didn't need to know that. "I'll bring them on Tuesday and give them to you after class." After all the other participants had left, so they wouldn't jump to conclusions about her and Garth. "If that's what you want." He peered past her, into the house. "I haven't been inside this place in years. I could come in…" Her fear must have shown on her face, for Garth scrubbed his hand through his hair. "That's right, you don't trust me." Disappointment flitted across his face before he set his jaw. "Guess you need convincing." His eyelids lowered a fraction, making him look dangerously sexy. "I want a kiss." The sensual warmth in his voice skittered over her skin, making her yearn for him. But giving in would be a huge mistake. "I don't see how kissing you will make me trust you," she said. "You'll have to take that on faith." His heated gaze dropped to her mouth. "One kiss." Of their own volition her lips parted, and every nerve in her body tensed with expectation. Unable to fight her need, she gave in. As long as she was in control… "Just one," she echoed.

Chapter Six "Let's get this over with," Iris said, her bored tone at odds with the promise in her eyes. She raised her face and puckered her lips slightly, signaling Garth to kiss her. He'd wanted to taste that mouth all evening. Now he would prove to her that in this small way, he could be trusted. Though he itched to haul her tight against his body, he masked his fierce need and reached for her slowly. Holding her in his arms was a real turn on. She felt the electricity, too — her arms twined around his neck, her eyes drifted to half-mast and she let out a soft sigh. The instant his lips touched hers, he was home. He'd forgotten how good she tasted, how perfectly her soft body fit his. From her enthusiastic response, he knew she was enjoying this, too. She wriggled closer, teasing his groin. Desire roared through him. He wanted more, a lot more. But tonight was about trust, not sex. Mustering all his willpower and then some, Garth broke contact and backed up a step.

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Iris blinked, her eyes dazed. "What's the matter?" "Not a thing," he said, his breathing labored. "That was dynamite." They both glanced at the erection straining his pants, Iris flushing, and Garth amazed that one kiss had aroused him so fully. "But I thought I was in charge," she said, looking as if she wanted more of the same. He stifled a groan. "You were, but we agreed to one kiss." He couldn't stop himself from touching her cheek, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. "As much as I want you, earning your trust is more important." When she nodded and offered a sweet smile, he knew he was on his way to a second chance. *** "Is it true Garth took you to dinner Friday night?" Shelley asked the following Tuesday when she stopped by to pick up the six doggie sweaters made by Iris and Mrs. Henry, and boxed by Iris for mailing. The flu hadn't dampened her nosiness. Iris knew that whatever she told Shelley would be all over town in no time, so she spoke carefully. "It's not what you think. Garth helped me in class last Tuesday when you were sick. So I took him to dinner as payment." No need to mention the passionate kiss that had opened an emotional door long closed and had left her restless and confused. She'd never kiss the man again — too dangerous. Shelley studied her closely. "I know you, Iris, and I haven't seen you look so mooney-eyed since…never. You like Garth, don't you? I don't blame you. He's a babe." Her eyebrows raised knowingly. "Have you carried a torch for him all these years?" Before he moved back to town, Iris had thought she was over him. She certainly didn't want to care about him, didn't want to get hurt again. Shelley was waiting for her answer. "He's…okay," she hedged. But oh, that kiss… She touched her lips. Understanding dawned on Shelley's face. "He kissed you, didn't he?" Iris opened her mouth, but her friend cut her off with a gleeful sound. "Omigawd, he did!" "It wasn't anything," Iris said, hoping she sounded convincing. "Just one little kiss." Later, while she baked chocolate chip cookies for Garth, she replayed the whole thing in her mind — the feel of his warm, strong arms wrapped around her, the heat of his lips so eager on hers. All the warm, melting feelings rushed back, and she ended up eating tons of chocolate chips. Which, no doubt, went straight to her rear end. She refused to wonder why one night out and one kiss from Garth had turned her edgy and aching and craving chocolate. That night in class he didn't act any different than usual. But Shelley and the others were more obvious, the women sighing and the men smirking. Iris pretended not to notice. Garth seemed genuinely oblivious. With the same single-minded focus he'd shined on her at Martini's, he concentrated solely on working with Lucky.

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At first Iris was relieved. But as the hour wore on, relief morphed into irritation. The way Garth was acting, they might never have shared an evening together, let alone a passionate kiss. Had he changed his mind about her? She told herself that if he had, that was for the best. All the same, she couldn't help feeling disappointed. Sensing her low spirits, Queenie bumped against her thigh. Thankful for the dog's concern, she offered a reassuring pat and an extra dog treat. After class, as dogs and humans filed through the door, Garth hung back. Beside him, Lucky wagged his tail. Shelley cast a curious look at them. "Um, Pete said he'd drop by later. If you don't mind, I'll be leaving." Iris nodded and her friend beat a hasty retreat. All evening Garth had treated her like nothing special. Now his gaze connected with hers, his eyes dark with heat. Her nerves went on red-alert. If he dared try to kiss her, she'd…she'd…let him. Heart pounding, body primed and ready, she waited for him to make his move. But he didn't touch her. Frustrated and at the same time relieved, and thoroughly disgusted with herself, she pivoted toward the storage cabinet. "Here are your cookies," she said, taking the foil-wrapped goodies from the shelf where she'd hidden them. "Thanks." Garth signaled Lucky to sit, then peeled back the foil and bit into a cookie. "Delicious. Want one?" Iris shook her head. "Now that you have your cookies you can go. Good night." Still working on a mouthful, he held up his finger, signaling her to wait. "I thought you should know that Cora Henry called me this afternoon. She invited me to tea tomorrow." He grinned. Wondering what her meddlesome old friend was up to, Iris bit back a groan. "Why would she do that?" Garth shrugged. "Said she wanted to see me. I'm supposed to bring you along." With or without an invitation, Iris would have shown up. She had no idea what Mrs. Henry intended to do or say, but no doubt it involved both her and Garth. The retired teacher always had been blunt, and Iris meant to be there to stop any damage before it happened. "I thought you were flying to L.A. tomorrow." "Since I own the plane, I can leave anytime. I scheduled an evening flight. After I leave Mrs. H's, I'll drop you off and then drive to Boeing Field." A two-plus-hour drive. "What time is tea?" Iris asked. "Four o'clock. I'll pick you up at three forty-five."

Chapter Seven Mrs. Henry cast a fond smile at Garth. "So you're leaving tonight to work on your movie." They were sitting in her tiny living room, Garth in an old maple rocker and Iris and Mrs. Henry on the faded chintz sofa. All three sipping herbal tea in pink flowered, china cups. Iris had warned him that the retired teacher was ill, but he hadn't been prepared for this. Though behind her glasses her gray eyes sparkled with the same intelligence he remembered, her once apple cheeks were sunken and pale. "Actually, this is a preproduction meeting," he corrected. "A key part of the movie-making process. If things go the way I anticipate, we can get rolling with a production schedule and the actual filming."

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"Very interesting." She sipped her tea. "I'm awfully proud of you." Her approval pleased Garth. He grinned. "You're partly responsible for my success. Way back in kindergarten you told me I could do anything I set my mind on. I took those words to heart." He glanced at Iris to see whether she understood his meaning. A flush climbed her face and her gaze darted away. She seemed on edge about this afternoon. Probably because of Mrs. Henry's failing health. "Iris tells me your doctors want you to have surgery," he said, aiming to talk the woman into doing just that. "I think you should listen to them." Iris gave him a grateful look. "So do I." Mrs. Henry compressed her lips and sent them both a flinty-eyed stare. "I didn't invite you here to discuss my health. Far more important are your intentions regarding Iris. What exactly are they?" Iris gasped. "Mrs. Henry!" "Well, everybody in town knows he kissed you." She winked at Garth. "Personally, I'm glad of it." He'd found an ally. Garth chuckled. "Thanks, Mrs. H. My intentions are to do everything I can to show Iris I've changed. I hope she'll give me a second chance." "Hello," Iris said. "I'm sitting right here, pouring more tea." She refilled Mrs. Henry's cup from the matching china pot on the coffee table. "Thank you, dear," the older woman said, but her attention remained on Garth. She studied him several seconds before giving a satisfied nod. "I believe you're serious about this." "Never more so," he replied. Now she trained a shrewd gaze on Iris. "Either you hold your heart safe forever and simply exist, or you take a risk, open your heart and live. Which will it be?" She reached for her cup. Incredulous but not surprised, Iris gaped at the woman. "This really isn't the time to —" A groan slipped from Mrs. Henry's lips, cutting off the rest of Iris's words. The teacup fell from her hand and she clutched her chest. "I think…I'm having…a heart attack." Iris shot Garth a stricken look and scooted toward the woman. "Call 911." He was on his feet before she finished. *** Hours later in the hospital located miles away, Garth sat beside Iris in the waiting room outside intensive care. Mrs. Henry had suffered a heart attack and at last had consented to the open heart surgery that could save her life — if it wasn't too late. She was weak and her prognosis iffy. Garth never had seen Iris so upset. He meant to stay by her side for as long as she needed him. Though the situation was grave, he felt more alive than he had in a long time, and he knew why. He was in love with Iris. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted her in his life forever.

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"This reminds me of when my father died," she said. "Only then, Mrs. Henry sat here with me." She bit her lip. "She's like family to me. I hope she makes it." "Me, too." Garth wished he could have comforted Iris when her father was sick. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you then," he said. "But I'm here now." "Thank you," she said, a bleak smile on her face. He wanted to shield her from everything that could hurt her, but that wasn't possible. What he could do was offer comfort. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled clean and fresh, a welcome respite from the antiseptic odors of the hospital. Iris released a sigh and snuggled closer as if she trusted and needed him. Upset as she was, she probably wasn't aware of her actions. Yet Garth's chest expanded with feeling. "Why don't you get some sleep," he murmured. "I'll wake you when the doctor comes out." She looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes. "Don't you have to get to that meeting in L.A.?" He didn't even pause to think about that. "I'd rather stay here with you."

Chapter Eight Five days later, on Monday afternoon, Mrs. Henry went home to private, round-the-clock nurses, courtesy of Garth. He was relieved to see her on the mend, and happy to help in this small way. But Iris worried him. Despite the quality hospital staff, she'd refused to go home. She'd asked Shelley to take care of Queenie and Lucky, cancel last Thursday's obedience class and bring her several changes of clothes. She'd slept and showered at the hospital, pushing Garth to go home and rest. After two exhausting nights, he'd done just that, returning refreshed in the morning. Now, despite the top-notch nurses, despite the shadows of fatigue under her eyes, Iris seemed determined to stay at Mrs. Henry's apartment. "Stop being a pest," Mrs. Henry insisted, sounding like her old self. She looked healthier, too. Color brightened her cheeks, and every day she seemed stronger. "Garth needs to get to Hollywood. Let him take you home so you can catch up on your rest and he can head for Boeing Field." Missing his meeting had been Mrs. Henry's big concern, and Garth had reassured her that he planned to leave for Hollywood that day. Though some of the people he needed to meet with no longer were available, his assistants were hard at work, trying to set up another all-inclusive meeting. For now Garth would sit down with those who could make it. "You're sure you want me to leave?" Iris asked Mrs. Henry. She nodded. "When you get back from your trip, Garth, come see me. You're a one-in-a-million man. If I were fifty years younger…" She sighed and arched her brows Iris's way. "You're just the right age for him, dear. Have you decided whether to stay safe and exist, or take a risk and live?" Anxious to know, Garth crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Iris rubbed the back of her neck. "I —" "Don't tell me," Mrs. Henry said. "Tell Garth." Eyes twinkling, she waved her hand toward the door. "Now go on, you two. Fill me in later." "I'm sorry you missed your meeting," Iris said on the drive to her place. "I know how important it was to you."

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Missing the meeting had thrown off the production schedule and was costing him a bundle, but he didn't regret staying with Iris when she needed him. "Being here for you was more important," Garth stated. "I appreciate that." A grateful smile brightened her somber face. "These past few days, I don't know how I'd have survived without you. You've been wonderful." Her words filled him with hope. He knew Iris cared about him. But trust him enough to try again? As he braked at a four-way stop he glanced at her. "Wonderful enough that you'll give me a second chance?" "Things are happening so fast." She bit her lip. "I need time to think." Not what he wanted to hear. His spirits dropped, and neither of them spoke again. As he pulled into her driveway, Garth decided to tell her exactly how he felt. Today, before he left town. He'd dropped Lucky off earlier, and both dogs were penned in the backyard, enjoying the cool spring air. Both animals woofed excitedly as Garth and Iris exited the car. Iris let them out, and they raced ecstatically around her and Garth. While Iris joyously greeted Queenie and Garth rubbed Lucky between the ears, he gathered his thoughts. At last Iris headed for the front door, Queenie at her heels. "Thank you again, Garth. For everything." Shooting longing looks at Iris and Queenie, Lucky waited with Garth. It was now or never. Garth signaled to his dog and followed Iris. "Wait," he said. Standing on the front stoop, chin angled a fraction, she eyed him. Suddenly scared out of his mind — he was about to share his deepest feelings and Iris could reject him for good — his gut clenched. Garth cleared his throat. "Since I came back to Forest Glen, my life has new meaning. The truth is, for the first time in twelve years I feel like a whole man. Because of you." Letting his feelings show, he searched her face. "I love you, Iris. I have since we started dating in high school." He swore he saw tears in her eyes. Was that good or bad? He didn't want to know. She opened her mouth to speak. Afraid of what she might say, he cupped her face and gently kissed her. After a long moment she sighed and sank against him. His body roared to life. He ached to deepen the kiss. But now was not the time. Breaking contact but still cupping her face, he hooked his gaze with hers. He saw confusion there, but also warmth. That gave him hope. "I want a future with you," he said, "but I know you need time to think. Lucky and I will be back in time for the last class on Thursday. Until then, I'll leave you alone." *** Graduation from obedience school was always an enjoyable, fun-filled event, complete with punch and cookies for humans, and biscuits for the dogs. Iris usually handed out diplomas accompanied by short, humorous speeches about each animal and master. Tonight, she wanted only to get through the evening so she could give Garth her answer. True to his word, he'd left her alone, if you didn't count the fancy collar for Queenie, and the imported cashmere yarn he'd air-expressed to apologize for missing one class. But his warm words of love stayed with her, filling her mind and making her heart sing. She'd fallen in love with him all over again — or maybe she'd loved him all along. Once she admitted the truth, Mrs. Henry's question was easy to answer. Iris wanted to take a chance, open her heart to Garth, and live.

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Whether he'd change his mind later…that was a risk worth taking. Tonight she would tell him the truth. That she loved him. Half an hour before class, she and Shelley met to organize the refreshments on an oilcloth-covered card table. In high spirits, Iris joked and laughed with her friend. She didn't even object when Shelley snuck a doggie treat from the platter and tossed it to Queenie. "Somebody's extra happy." Her friend's brows arched. "Does this have anything to do with Garth?" Iris wasn't about to admit to anything, not until she talked to Garth. She shrugged and offered her version of a Mona Lisa smile. "So that's how it is." By five minutes to seven, the room was crowded with dogs and their masters, everyone except Garth. Since that first class he had always arrived on time, and for one heart-stopping moment, Iris panicked. What if he's changed his mind? No, she trusted him. "Where's that handsome Garth?" Missy Jensen asked, casting about the room with obvious disappointment. "He missed Tuesday. I thought you said he'd be here for sure." "He will be," Iris said with certainty. Suddenly, he strode into the room, Lucky leashed and beside him. His eyes met hers, questioning and loving at the same time. "Sorry we're late." Iris smiled. "I knew I could trust you to show up." With a happy heart, she handed out ribbons and diplomas, calling up each adult and dog. Tonight her speeches were especially clever, and everyone laughed. She saved Garth for last. "I have a special announcement," she told the class. "I'm wild over Garth Henderson." The room grew pin-drop silent. Holding back nothing, she focused on the man she adored, letting the love shine from every pore. "I love you, Garth. I want you in my life as my friend, my partner and my lover." He blinked, as if he couldn't believe his ears. Then a grin lit up his whole face. While Lucky and Queenie eyed their owners curiously, and Shelley and everyone else cheered, Garth pulled Iris into his arms. "I love you right back, Iris, and I swear on my very life, I'll never let you go." Filled with joy, Iris smiled into his eyes. "That makes two of us."

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Cowboy Lover by Tina Leonard Darling Montgomery loves her life in small-town Union Junction, Texas. As owner of the local B and B, she has thrown herself into caring for her guests. Having harbored an unrequited crush in her younger years, Darling won't let herself fall in love again, and has resigned herself to living the single life. After all, she's too busy for love—and she'd certainly never consider falling for the too-young, too-sexy cowboy who makes himself at home in her B and B!

Chapter One "Come in!" Darling Montgomery called. "That will be Mason," she muttered, leaning further under the sink so that she could connect the sink's U-pipe more tightly. "The Jefferson cowboy with the plan to change all these dratted old pipes to efficient PVC. Won't that be a nice change!" She was certainly tired of banging on old, leaky, easily clogged metal drainpipes. With a steady stream of customers at Darling's Bed & Breakfast in Union Junction, Texas, she needed pipes that didn't back up, toilets that flushed and lights that stayed on. Most fix-its she could do herself—no hard chore since she loved this charming B and B she'd inherited from her beloved grandmother ten years ago. With no husband and no children, she enjoyed nurturing her guests. Darling's B and B had a farther-thanlocal reputation for excellence and caring. "It's my desserts that are the real problem," Darling murmured, standing to wipe her hands. "Fix those, Mr. Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Do-Better Jefferson." "Excuse me," a strange man's voice said behind her. "Not to get into a family squabble or anything, but from where I stand, it sounds as if you could use some help." She whirled around. "I'm so sorry! I was expecting someone else!" A confident cowboy grinned at her. "So I gathered. Someone you have competitive issues with." Switching to hostess mode, Darling said, "I'm Darling Montgomery." "I'd like to say you certainly are darling, but I'm afraid I'm already pushing my luck." She looked more closely at the man as she pushed a lock of short, chocolate-colored hair behind one ear uneasily. He was a cowboy, yes—she recognized that from the well-worn Wranglers to the seen-better-days felt hat to the devil-may-care grin. A young cowboy, she guessed. He didn't have enough scars and bitterness on him to be middle-aged. She certainly had all the prerequisite scars and maybe a touch of world-weariness of the middle-aged. She ignored the flash of regret and the sting of attraction making her wish she wasn't so disheveled from banging around under a sink. "Consider your luck pushed. What can I do for you, stranger?" "I hear you rent rooms," he said with a drawl from a part of the country she didn't recognize. "And there's a sign out front that says so," she said impatiently. "Yeah. But I also heard you're a wonderful hostess with a ready smile and a family style," he said easily. "My name's Sam Lightfoot. Can we start over? I didn't mean to startle you." He extended his hand. Darling hesitated. She didn't want to touch him—she was dirty and sweaty and he was way too cute. A boy, she reminded herself. She didn't have to worry about anything.

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Assuming a motherly air, she swiftly shook his hand, withdrawing from what was really just a touch. "I have a room available. I'm sure you're tired. Would you like dinner tonight or just breakfast in the morning? Breakfast is served on the antique mahogany sideboard in the formal dining room." He grinned at her. She flushed. "Am I making you nervous?" he teased.

Chapter Two "No," Darling fibbed, wishing she weren't wearing a tight tank top, the kind that looked so cute on younger models in the Victoria's Secret catalog but just looked comfy on her. "You're not making me nervous at all. Are you trying to?" "Absolutely not." "Excellent. Then we'll get on famously. Now, shall I show you to your room?" "Would you like me to help you with that U-pipe first?" Sam asked. "I'm assuming that if I take you up on the dinner offer, I don't get it until the sink is in working order. And I'm real good at fixing things, I promise." He laughed, the sound low and sexy, almost a growl of a chuckle. Darling's hair practically stood on end from the sensual fire it sent through her. "I have a friend coming, thank you," she said briskly. "I've got it under control. Are you just driving through Union Junction?" "Yeah. Just driving through." "Rodeo?" He shifted on one foot, setting down his denim duffel bag. Dark brown hair fell over one eye, which he carelessly swiped back. "Maybe." "Oh, you're the asker, and I'm the askee," she said. "You know, Mr. Lightfoot, for all the questions you've asked of me, I think I deserve to ask a few of my own. Especially as you'd like to stay in my home." The flash of irritation she'd glimpsed on his face was quickly replaced by studied nonchalance. "Of course. Here's my credit card and my driver's license so that you can charge my room." She took the items, more out of curiosity than anything. His driver's license picture showed the same man who stood before her. How could anyone look sexy in their license photo? His address was stated as Billings, Montana. And then she held back a gasp as the birth date caught her eye. He was twenty-nine. And she'd been fighting some strange sizzle inside her forty-year-old body. A flush crept up her neckline— darn it, she could feel the pinkness rising to the top of her flesh. Slowly, she raised her gaze as she handed back to Sam the driver's license and credit card. He was smiling at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking! "You're gonna say I'm jes' a baby," he drawled deeply to annoy her. "Yes, I am," she snapped.

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"You have those competitive urges, you know. So you're older than me." "A lot." He nodded, and she sensed he was vastly amused by her attraction to him. "The only competitive urges I have are in the rodeo," he said. "I prefer to leave the competition out of the bedroom." She stiffened. "Now, don't get all bent out of shape," he said easily. "I didn't say your bedroom." Her eyes widened. "Do you have personal references? I really don't think—" "Hey," Mason said with a hearty laugh as he walked into the kitchen. "Sam Lightfoot, you old dawg!" The two men embraced, pounding each other liberally on the back. "So, you took me up on my recommendation, I see," Mason said. "You'll like it at Darling's. I've known her since we were practically babies." Darling flushed crimson. She'd had a crush on Mason during their teenage years, despite the age difference. Later in life, that feeling had minimized to the comfortable friendship between them. He had his eleven rowdy Malfunction Junction brothers to raise and a five-thousand-acre ranch to run, and she'd had her grandmother to care for. And then a B and B to make profitable. "You know this man?" "Yeah. He's the best on the circuit when it comes to fixing busted bones and rearranged chops." "Busted bones? Rearranged chops?" Darling repeated, her gaze caught by Sam's laughing, dark one. "Sure. Didn't he tell you?" Mason said. "This is Dr. Sam Lightfoot. One of the best men at fixing things that you'll ever meet."

Chapter Three Sam looked at Darling, grinning. From the moment he'd heard her call out to "Come in!" and found himself staring at her dynamite little fanny as she wrestled under the sink, he'd hoped the rest of the package was as cute. What a nice surprise to discover that not only was she adorable, but she had an attitude he liked, too. Yeah, he saw the protective wall go up; he saw the nervous sweep of her hand through her dark hair; he saw the self-conscious glance of her gaze before she pulled her posture straight and looked him in the eye. She dug him as much as he dug her—and she was going to protect herself. Fine with him. He knew all about being gentle. Doctors had to have those skills. Did no good to have a patient startled or scared of him. He'd perfected his technique, and there was no human he couldn't soothe. "Well, Doctor," she said, "my sink helper is here, so your kind offer of repair assistance won't be needed. Which is best, since I don't make my guests work for their keep. Let me show you to your room so you can put your stuff away." She glanced at Mason. "You can get to work with your theory." "Theory?" Sam asked.

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"That older isn't better and that new is just what I need." Darling walked from the kitchen so that Sam would follow her, which he did, but not without a raised brow at Mason, who shrugged at him and bent to get under the sink. "So, you and Mason know each other well?" he asked as they walked through the B and B, aware that something more than handyman issues were going on between Darling and Mason. "Beyond the diaper stage, that is." "We've never dated, if that's what you're asking," she replied briskly. He hadn't figured. During a few of their rare meet-ups, he remembered Mason wheezing about his next-door neighbor, Mimi. But he was glad to know she wasn't throwing the ol' hanky down for Mason. "So, you run this place by yourself?" "Yes." She turned down another hall. "It's nice." "It's wonderful," she replied, opening the last door along the hall. "Large bedroom, bathroom, a door that opens to the outside so you can come and go without coming through the main part of the house. Mini fridge. Anything else you think you would like, Doctor?" He smiled and watched her eyes widen. "I think you've taken care of just about everything, Miss Darling." She paused. "Did you say you'd be staying only one night?" "Actually, I was planning on a week." She stared at him, and he saw a pulse beating in her pretty neck. Whoa. He was going to have to be extragentle with Darling. "Will that be all right?" he asked softly. "I—of course. Any friend of Mason's is welcome here. There are guest cards on the bureau. Please fill them out in the mornings and leave them in the box in the kitchen. That way I'll know your food preferences and also anything else you may need to make your stay in Union Junction more comfortable." Ah. She was going to use the card trick. Communication by note card. No chance of interaction there. And he hadn't missed the hint about using the door in his room so that he wouldn't have to go through the house. No chance of interaction there, either. She was so soft, so sexy. So feminine. So well-defended emotionally. He just couldn't let her get away that easily. "I could use a tour guide," he said with no hint of a grin. "If you have an afternoon free." He kept his voice calm and kind as if he were tending a patient. "Or an evening."

Chapter Four Darling stared at Sam. Was he hinting at a date with her? "I imagine you're busy cooking and stuff for your boarders during the day. I guess evening would fit your schedule better," he said. She relaxed slightly, although still keeping a sharp eye on him. He didn't appear to be hitting on her, and she doubted he would, knowing that Mason was a good friend of hers.

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Still… "Exactly what would you be interested in seeing, Mr. Lightfoot?" "Sam," he said. "I'd like to see what's in this Union Junction that Mason thinks so highly of." "You know, Mason probably has a little time on his hands. He'd be a better tour guide than me." Briskly, she turned to leave his room, finding Mason standing behind her. "Mason would be a better what?" Mason said. "Sorry, came in on the backend of that conversation." "Be a better tour guide. Sam wants to see the town. His old friend should do the honors." Mason glanced at Sam over the top of Darling's head. "Sure. I've got time now." The breath Darling had been holding slowly left her. She wasn't even going to ask if Mason had fixed her sink. Sam leaving with Mason would provide her with a gracious way out of this conversation—and for the rest of the week, she was communicating only by note cards! "All right." Sam put his duffel on the bed. "I'm up for a ride around town. And I'll spring for dinner." Darling beamed as the two men walked out the door. Then Mason popped his head back inside. "What are you doing?" he demanded. The smile slipped instantly off her face. "What do you mean?" "Lock up and come on. You're going with us." "No, I'm—" "Come on," Mason said. "Didn't you hear Sam say he was buying dinner? It'll seem rude if you don't join us. And anyway, you've got nothing better to do than stand there rooted to the floor. Come be a good hostess." "My hostessing doesn't extend outside my B and B." She glared at Mason. "And he didn't invite me, which is actually not a problem." Sam stuck his head around the door. "Miss Darling," he said, "I promise that the only thing I'll bite tonight is my food. And you could certainly use a margarita." "I could?" was all she could manage. Why had she imagined he'd gone on down the hall and couldn't hear her conversation with Mason? "I think so. Don't you think so, Mason? After wresting with those pipes, she deserves a margarita." "Those pipes are fixed," Mason said cheerfully. "That took you five seconds!" Darling said, outraged. "And I worked so hard!" "Ya gotta know what you're doing," Mason said smugly. "And ya gotta have the right hands for the job." Sam winked at her. "He's bragging. And using one of my lines." Oh, right. Physicians had to have the right hands to treat patients. "I get it," she said. "Do you find that your patients respond well to lines?"

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"Yeah, and the ladies respond even better," he said, getting a grin out of the usually dour Mason. "You're a tough case to crack, but we'll help you think up some lines of your own by the end of the evening if you come with us. Come on, Miss Darling. It'll be fun, I promise." Darling hesitated. "Come on," Mason said. "You deserve some fun. Margaritas and dart-throwing. Maybe some dancing. C'mon. Take a load off for a while." It sounded fun. Actually it sounded wonderful. But glancing at Sam, Darling had a million thoughts going through her head. He knew that she was attracted to him, and that she didn't like it—none of which seemed to worry him. Without sexual attraction coloring her responses, Darling knew she would treat Sam like any other man many years her junior. Simply like one of Mason's friends. So what difference could one night possibly make? Nothing was going to happen, especially with Mason there. Sam waited patiently for her answer, his eyes gleaming, and suddenly, Darling threw ten years of pent-up caution to the wind. "Let me change," she said. "And then I'm ready to challenge two handsome men to a game of darts."

Chapter Five Mason and Sam went to the truck to wait while Darling freshened up. "So, what's her story?" Sam asked Mason. "Beyond the B and B reference you gave me." Mason shrugged. "Not much more. The B and B became her life once her grandmother passed. It's her tie to everything she holds dear." Sam nodded. "A homemaker. Never planning to leave Union Junction." "I can't see it. She's comfortable here." Mason rested his arms on the wheel. "Why? She catch your eye?" "Not if she's caught yours." "Nah. We're just friends. I suppose you figured out that she's closer to my age than yours. She's four years older than me, actually." "So, about your theory…" Mason looked at him. "What?" "That older isn't better." "Pipes for the house, friend. I'm sticking to my story on that one." "Yeah, but would it bother you if I decided to convince her that older isn't necessarily a bad thing?" Mason met Sam's eyes. "She really did catch your fancy." Sam gazed out the window, watching Darling walk across the yard to the truck. She was dressed in hot-pink cropped pants and high-heeled white sandals. Her top was a crisp, white blouse that showed her arms and a little neckline. Curves bounced and swayed and Sam wondered why a woman like her didn't have men lined up on the porch ringing her doorbell.

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Location, location, location, of course. Union Junction was small, and she knew everybody here too well for them to be on anything but brotherly terms. Lucky for him. "I just think I might be in the right place at the right time," he murmured, hopping out to open the truck door for Darling. "You look real nice," he told her. She looked at him a second too long, as if he'd surprised her. "Thanks." Stepping under his arm, she slid along the truck seat next to Mason. Sam got in next to her, and closed the door. "Okay, shall we give Sam the tour of the old town square?" Mason asked. "Hang on a sec, my pager's gone off." Checking the screen, he said, "Bad news, friends. I'm needed back at the ranch. Unfortunately. I know the evening won't be the same without me, but you'll have to manage." And then he grinned at Sam. "Uh, okay, that's too bad, Mason. We'll take my truck," Sam offered, hoping Darling wouldn't go gun-shy and forego the evening. She did look as if her protective layer had been stripped away. "Go on," Mason told her gently. "Get out of my truck and go have a good time." Sam opened the truck door and got out. Darling slid past him, and he breathed in the scent of lavender. As she headed toward Sam's truck, he quickly reached out and snatched the pager off the seat where Mason had laid it. "Bring home Chinese food; no groceries. Frisco." He glanced at his friend, appreciating the ruse. "Needed back at the ranch, huh?" "Guess so." Sam grinned. "Thanks, Mason." "I'll see you tomorrow. Make good use of your time." Sam planned to.

Chapter Six Slamming the truck door, Sam hurried after the curvy package he'd just been gifted with for the evening. Darling stood by his truck, waiting, and he hoped that was a good sign. Staring down into her face to gauge her mood, he opened the door for her. The smile he gave her was meant to reassure. "You know," she said, "you don't need me for throwing darts and drinking beer." Oh, yeah, I do. "Don't chicken out on me now," Sam said. "Darts is a lonely game without a friend." She raised her brows. "All right," she said, her tone reluctant. "You know, I think what bothers me about going into town with you is…is…" "That you're older than me," he finished. Darling smiled slightly. "Well, yes. I don't want to offend you. But people might think it's strange that I'm showing a man eleven years younger than me around town." "Oh, is that the bed-and-breakfast syndrome? You don't go out with your boarders because it might look like you're a lonely spider with a web meant to catch prey?"

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She gazed up at him. "Something like that. I do have my reputation to consider, Sam. If I date my boarders, then people will assume other things go on in my house. And then they won't recommend me anymore." "I see." He grinned at her. "I do see the problem." "It is a problem." Sam nodded. "But there's just one thing I should point out. I think you're beautiful. And I've never been worried about spiders. 'Physician, heal thyself' and all that. This wouldn't really be a date, anyway, as much as showing the poor lonely fly around town for a friend, not necessarily rolling me up in your web." She stared at him. "Are you daring me, Doctor?" He grinned. "I'm saying you're in good hands." Darling slid into his truck, deciding that one night without her reputation wasn't going to kill her livelihood. Darts wasn't dancing, after all. Now that would cause people to talk. "I have to be home by ten." "Yes, Cinderella." Sam gunned the engine. "Not a moment later. Now relax. I promise not to make you any more nervous than you are." Her mouth opened. "I'm not nervous." He headed down the neat driveway. "Good. I'm not, either. Although I should be. I'm with a real attractive woman who claims her desserts suck." Darling laughed. "Just how long were you standing there while I was talking to myself?" Her back end had been sticking out of the cabinet while she wrestled and made unattractive grunting sounds. And conducted a soap opera with herself. "It wasn't my most attractive moment." Sam shook his head. "From where I was standing, Darling, it was a very attractive moment." Darling took a deep breath, the smile hitching on her face. "Sam, I get the strangest feeling that you're coming on to me." He watched a slow-moving truck roll across the farm road before he got on the main road into town. Then he looked directly into her eyes. "I'm sure trying to."

Chapter Seven Darling took a deep breath, unprepared for his expected honesty. "Maybe I don't want you to come on to me." At the same time, Sam's attention flattered her. The woman in her perked up, came to life, assessed his eyes, his fingers, the curve of his lips, his chest and the waist that tapered into nice jeans that hinted at hidden pleasures. The smell of his truck was pleasant, manly. Evocative of hard work and maleness. Even the way he held the steering wheel was confident. Her heartbeat began beating in a new, different and nervous way. She liked it. "Just say the word and I won't," Sam told her. "If you don't mind us making this a real date, we can give it a shot. If you do mind, it'll be a friendly game of darts and nothing more."

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Well, he certainly was confident about putting her in the driver's seat. Darling felt her interest flare, something she hadn't equated with a man in a long time. The feeling was new and exciting, and maybe just a little bit dangerous. And yet, it felt safe, too, since Mason thought so highly of Sam. She was being offered the closest thing to a "safe fling" that could possibly exist, and Darling was ever so tempted. What would it be like to be kissed again? Her brow wrinkled. When was the last time she'd been kissed? "You know, I could explore my wild side. It's new territory for me. Any rules to the game?" "Yeah. Quit acting like you're about to atrophy, calcify and roll yourself into an old folks' home. I don't want you to think of me as a boy in short-pants. Can we make a deal on that?" "Yes, if you'll answer one more question on the age thing. Do you always hit on older women?" she asked, curious. "Can't say they've ever been my preference. You would, in fact, be the first," he said, his voice even. "Why me, then?" He sighed. "I don't know, Darling. You've got sassy pants when you're bent under a sink. You're a nice lady. I'm dying to know if you can throw a dart worth a damn. Does it have to be more than that?" "You're explaining the rules of the game to me. But it doesn't have to be more than that as far as I'm concerned." Sam liking her figure forced her to admit to herself that he was a pretty appealing package as well. To be honest, it had been a long time since a man looked at her the way Sam did—more honestly, no man had ever gazed at her with the obvious interest his gaze held. A pleased shiver ran up her spine. "Well, then." He shoved his hat back and gazed at her as he stopped at a stop sign. "Are we calling this a date?" All of Darling's senses absorbed the tension of the moment as she looked over the very handsome, very virile man sitting next to her. What do I have to lose? "Definitely a date," she said.

Chapter Eight Sam liked how Darling shored herself up and opted for fun instead of caution. It showed that she trusted him. "Good," he said, smiling at her. "What do I need to know about Union Junction?" Darling smiled back at him. "It's old. It's small. The townspeople are genuine and proud of their history. Everybody knows everybody, which has its good and bad points." "Were you born here?" She nodded. "What about you?"

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"Born in Montana. My folks split up when I was young, and a neighbor mostly raised me. Figured I didn't have much chance to see the rest of the country if I stayed where I was, and I was ready to move on, so I hit the rodeo circuit. Was doing fine until I took a spill off a bronc that put me into the hospital. While I was getting put back together, I decided medicine was safer. And more interesting." He glanced at her. "All those nurses in white uniforms, you know." She shot him a slanted brow. "Teasing." He laughed. "I went to college, got my degree, and then another, picked a specialty and decided to hit the rodeo circuit again, this time to help out my fellow riders. It's good to me. Travel a lot, make lots of friends, see the country." Stopping the truck in front of the building that had once housed the town's beauty salon before hard times had forced it closed, he glanced at Darling. "And tonight's my lucky night." "Because?" "I met you." He got out of the truck and came around to her side, opening the door so he could help her down. Somehow, she found herself sliding down the length of his body more than moving straight to the sidewalk. "Don't suppose you're much for traveling the U S of A in a truck." She held her breath as he set her down. "I think the town square is far enough for tonight." He tweaked her nose gently. "You're so careful." "Careful?" "Guarded." Darling looked away for a second. "Maybe I haven't had many younger men try to sweep me off my feet and into their truck and onto the open road." "Maybe I'm the first." She put her hands on her hips and stared up at him. "Maybe you are." "Good," he said, "then I'll also be the first to do this." And then he pulled her to him, putting his lips on hers and kissing her breathless. "Whoa," Darling said, pulling away after a moment. "Sam, I—" "Yes?" His eyes gleamed down at her in the lamplight. "You…have a boyfriend? Don't like kissing? Aren't interested?" Her response to his kiss told him she was very interested, the rat. But his passion for her was such a surprise that she needed a moment to regroup. "I don't have a boyfriend. I like kissing. I am interested. I thought kisses came at the end of the evening, though, and you caught me off guard." "Oh. I disturbed the natural order of things." "Yes, you did." He winked at her, hoisting her into his arms and carrying her down the street. "Sam, put me down!" "Am I disturbing the natural order of things again?"

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"Yes!" He set her down gently, pretending to look around to see if anyone on the deserted street was watching him play with her. Pretending to whisper in her ear, he said, "But if you had to be honest, would you admit you liked it?" She gave him a playful push on the chest. "No." "I'm shocked." Darling laughed. "No, you're not. You think you've got me figured out. I'm going to throw darts now," she said, walking backward ahead of him, facing him so that she could tease him the way he was teasing her. "You can stand out here, or we can get down to the business of the game. I think you're stalling because you know I'm going to win." She pointed to the softly glowing, small orange neon sign on the otherwise darkened sidewalk. Nothing else was open. "Beat you to the dartboard. Loser forfeits a kiss." He howled, running after her. She shrieked and leaped through the doorway of Lampy's Bar. Before Sam could reach her, she'd snatched up a handful of darts. "I won." "You had a running start!" "And the element of surprise. Deal with it, Doctor." He stared at her, his eyes intent. "What's the matter?" Darling asked. "Scared of the forfeit? Don't like not being in the driver's seat?" "You must have liked my kiss, to make sure the deck was loaded in your favor." "Doctor," she said, "quit talking and pay up."

Chapter Nine Sam was intrigued. He liked Darling trying to turn the tables on him. Still, it wasn't good for her to get too cocky. "Forfeits come later," he said, turning away. "Meanie!" she said, laughing and pounding lightly on his back. "Now I'll have to beat you at darts." "You can try. We could put a bet on this to make it interesting." "Like what?" "Winner collects any forfeit they choose. Any forfeit—not including sex." Darling looked at him. "That's an interesting addendum." "I don't want you to think I'm trying to take advantage of you. It's not good manners to pick on the weaker sex." He shot her a playful wink. "Ladies first." "You already owe me a kiss," she reminded him. "Not if I win. I can opt out."

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"I don't think you would." She gave him an arch look, backed-up, aimed—and hit the wooden board beside the circular board. "Oops." Sam blinked. Hmm. Mason had said she was good at this game, so she had something up her sleeve. It would be fun seeing what it was. He threw a dart, hitting a bull's-eye with authority. "Would you look at that?" she said. "Dead on the money. What does the loser get?" "A slash in the Loser column," he said, removing his dart from the board. "And no kiss." "Guess I'd better get to winning." And for the next hour, Darling proceeded to beat the pants off of him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the best of her. She was focused, she had purpose, and he liked being the object of her determination. "Whew!" he said at the end of the last game. "You win." She smiled at him, putting the darts back where they belonged. "So, what's your prize, Miss Darling?" he asked, watching her walk toward him with sweet intent on her face. He very much liked that she had a playful side. "The kiss you already owe me," she said, "unless you're going to put kisses under the heading of sex. Which would be a total cop-out." "No," he said huskily, wrapping his arms around her when she got close enough and pulling her tight to him. "You worked hard for your kisses, Darling. I like you wanting me that bad." "Maybe I don't want you that bad. Maybe I just want to be kissed." He laughed. "Don't chicken out now. Just for that, you have to say it. Or no prize for you." "No." She glared up at him, but he wouldn't let her out of his arms. "Honesty is the best policy, Darling. You were doing so good there for a while." "Until you made the crack about earning your kisses." She gave him a look of total disgust but quit fighting in his arms, he noticed. "You did, you know," he said softly. "Your body gives away what you won't say with your lips." She glanced away for a minute. "Then may I suggest you listen to my body? Because I'm going against everything my mind is telling me by being on this so-called date at all. Common sense tells me not to make a fool of myself; practicality tells me nothing good can come of this. Remember, I'm not good at disturbing the natural order of things. I've already used up all my bravery." "Say it," he demanded. "I want you to kiss me," she said without hesitation. "Sam," he prompted. "Sam, I want you to kiss me," Darling said breathlessly.

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Fire flooded Sam's body—and he didn't waste another moment.

Chapter Ten Darling wasn't prepared for the storm of emotions sweeping her as Sam kissed her. He held her face so gently, but his lips demanded her complete compliance. She kissed him back with every ounce of enthusiasm she'd ever had, trying to get closer to him. When they pulled apart, she felt like a reborn woman. "Gosh," she murmured. What else could she say? She'd never been kissed like that in her life. "Some prize." Sam laughed, pulling her with him to the door. "C'mon. Show me the town." They walked along the empty sidewalk streets, she tucked comfortably under his shoulder, as if they'd done this many times. The moon shone overhead, brightening the winter sky. "Where is everybody?" Sam asked. "Or are we the only ones with a penchant for darts?" "Union Junction isn't exactly flush with business," Darling said. "It was always a small town, but people have moved away to find work. The economy's been tough on us." "So are any of these stores still open?" "Lampy's is usually busier than it was tonight." Darling pointed across the street. "The Peppermint Patty sells wonderful baked goods and ice cream, and teas of varying types. It's a family affair, owned by Patty and run by her crew of kids. No father, so the kids grew up in the store and branched it out. We hold our church circle meetings in there. Bored with history yet?" He stared down at her, giving her tingles. "No." "All right. In the middle of the square, you see the courthouse." "Of course. Obligatory to small towns." Darling smiled. "Pretty much. Then we have the Dusty Mule." Sam peered in the window. "Aren't all mules somewhat dusty?" Darling stood beside him. "Yes, but this is actually a consignment store for clothes. If you see a really pretty dress on someone at church or at a party, you hustle in here the next day to see if the owner put it up for sale. Some of the ladies around here sew like a dream, and they advertise by wearing their creations. It's a small but efficient economy, and keeps us from having to drive into the city." She gave him a wry look. "Ma Carsons's clothes don't get bought very quickly. She loves pickled onions too much. On the other hand, her daughter, Clove, sees ladies bickering over hers." "Poor Ma Carsons," Sam said, sympathizing. Darling's eyes twinkled. "On the bright side, if you're very understanding about the onions, and you catch her on a day when her pipe is full, Ma Carsons can teach you how to make a vanilla soap that is so wonderful you never want to leave your house." His brows rose. "Kudos to Ma." "That's right." Darling nodded. "Now I've told you all about Union Junction."

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"I fear you've only scratched the surface." She turned to face him. "What about your home? Do you miss it?" "No." She blinked. "You must. No girlfriend back home, no family? Friends?" His eyes darkened. "I wouldn't be here with you right now if I had a girlfriend. I have a rodeo family and rodeo friends. And that's it. There are no Dusty Mules or Ma Carsonses I care to think about." She drew in a breath. "Am I being nosy?" "Are you?" "No. I'm being interested." He smiled. "My world's just not like yours, Darling, full of interesting anecdotes and storybook framework." Drawing away, she said, "Home is what you make it." "And I think home is where you take it. For me, that's on the road."

Chapter Eleven Darling looked down, and Sam hoped he hadn't hurt her feelings. "We're similar and yet so different," she murmured. "Too different." "Not that much." He put his arm around her and they walked aimlessly toward the truck. "Age, lifestyle, desires. What more is there?" Darling asked. "Ah, the desire word. That makes me think of you." He kissed the top of her head. Of course his feelings were sharply sexual right now. He was so attracted to this woman. But he'd also heard her underlying question: Did they have a future? He frowned. Why did he think of future in relation to Darling? She'd pointed out the very obvious facts separating them. "It's nearly ten," Darling said, glancing up at him. "I really do need to get back. The morning goes smoother if I have everything prepared the night before, especially the tea and bread." Fun and games were over. "All right. Let's head that way." She had a business to run, so he tried not to think about the fact that any other woman would be trying to get him into her bed. Somehow it was better this way. The drive back to the B and B was companionably quiet, with both of them thinking. "I had a good time," Darling told him when they'd gotten out of the truck and walked to the porch.

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"I did, too." Sam gazed down at the lady looking up at him. He read hope in her eyes, hope that he'd put there. For an instant, he felt regret. Darling was extremely attractive to him—more so than any woman he could remember. It was her maturity, it was her sense of fun, it was the total package. And yet, her tour had told him more than just the fun history of Union Junction. This was a woman with strong, deep ties to her community. He was a man with essentially none. They had no future, and it wasn't fair to play with her heart. Not when she had so much more to lose than he did. He was going to ride off to the next rodeo. She'd remain here with her memories, sipping tea at the Peppermint Patty and trading clothes at the Dusty Mule. "Good night," he said. Darling nodded. "Good night." She went inside, and he stayed on the porch, waiting until he'd heard her close the kitchen door. He heard a pot come out of a drawer, water turning on in the sink Mason had repaired. Sam shook his head. "I'm going in," he said.

Chapter Twelve Sam headed into the kitchen, stopping in his tracks. Darling had slipped on a pink apron that said Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice in scrolling white letters down the length of her cute little body. "Whew, I'll say so," he said. "Say what?" Darling looked so surprised he'd entered her private domain that she remained still, wooden spoon in hand. "Never mind," Sam said. "Can I help? How many guests do you have on the premises right now?" He talked fast to overcome the sudden fantasy that had hit him. High heels, naked Darling, pretty pink apron— "Are you all right?" Darling asked him. "You seem…rattled." I'm just fine, Suzy Homemaker. Except that I'm having a helluva sugar craving. "I'm fine, thanks. How about I stir?" She glanced down at the round bowl on the counter in front of her. "There's nothing to stir yet." "Oh." He was invading her space, but he hoped she wouldn't make him leave. "Here." She handed him a bowl of long green bean things. "Snap those." "Snap them?" "Yes, Sam." Her smile was teasing. "Like this." Efficiently she snapped the beans, and he stared, wondering if her fingers looked so delicate with everything she did. He tried snapping like she did, but it wasn't as crisp nor beautiful. Yet he set himself to learning it. He really, really wanted to watch her move around her domain. She was damn sexy for a woman wearing an apron. There was major movement in his jeans, and Sam forced himself to think beans and not lust. But the kitchen table was like a mirage, a sexual playground, shimmering in his gaze.

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"You're awfully quiet," Darling said over her shoulder. "Just trying to keep my mind on the ass," he said helpfully. "What?" She turned to stare at him. "The task, the task. Mind on the task." He raggedly kept snapping beans, wishing he wasn't experiencing sexual overload over Darling in her kitchen. She sprinkled cinnamon into the bowl, and the aroma of it drifted to him. Quietly, he edged his chair over so he could sit closer to her. "Would you like a bite?" she asked, holding up a spoonful of whatever it was that she was fixing, and right this second, he didn't give a damn what it was. He stood, putting the bowls on the counter, and grabbed Darling like a man grabbing at salvation. He consumed her lips as if they were his last meal; he practically tore her clothes off. The thing that heartened him was that she was totally into him, too, reaching for him, pulling him toward her. "Sam," she murmured. "Oh, my, Sam." That was all he needed to hear. The kitchen was his

Chapter Thirteen "Cooking is more fun than I ever thought it could be," Darling said, after she'd recovered from the acrobatics she and Sam had just performed. "Let me get some of the cinnamon off your face." "My God," Sam said, helping her up, "I may take up cooking lessons. I may join the Julia Child fan club. I saw an ad once for the Naked Chef, and now I think he may have been on to something." Darling tried not to feel self-conscious about her body and the fact that she had a butter pat stuck to her rear. She tried surreptitiously to reach it. "Let me," Sam said gallantly, using the opportunity to feel her fanny with enthusiasm. "Sam." Darling laughed a little nervously and backed away. "Don't be shy about a little oleo," he said. "What's a bit of margarine between friends?" "Oleo?" "That's what my mom called it. But she never wore it on her ass." He picked up a raw carrot and chewed on it thoughtfully. "At least not while I was around." While his attention was otherwise engaged, Darling speedily put her clothes back on. Her composure would be a little harder to regroup. He'd made her feel so incredibly sexy and good — and yet, she'd just let a man eleven years her junior totally blow her mind. "It was good, wasn't it?" Sam said, sitting back down on the chair and snapping beans again. She felt herself blush. "Yes." He gave her a stare that gauged her mood. "I feel you slipping," he said, "and it's not because of the butter. You wish we hadn't done that."

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"Well, I feel...awkward." "Why?" Because he was sitting in her kitchen, watching her every move, making her feel as though she were the kitchen queen of sex, and she wanted him again! "I don't know," Darling murmured. "Maybe it's the age factor." He tapped her hand lightly. "Who was it who said no cop-outs? I believe that commandment fell from your luscious lips first." She turned away, washing her hands. Reaching for a sponge to wipe down the counters and the kitchen table, where somehow flour had flown everywhere, she said, "Maybe it's because you're Mason's friend." "Forget about that. Mason would be happy for me." "Because you had sex in my kitchen?" "No. Because I like you." "Okay." She quit wiping and stared him in the face. "What exactly do you want from me? A quickie every night while you're here?" "Are you offering? Because I really don't think you'll have to twist my arm too hard." She tossed the sponge at his smiling face and left the room, heading to her bedroom. "Hey, where are you going?" he called after her. "To shower." She needed desperately to get away from him and think about what she'd just done. "Hey." He caught up with her as she reached her bedroom, and kicked the door shut behind her. "Darling, you need to relax. Otherwise, I'll have to find another place to stay, and I'd really rather stay here. With you." She looked at him, realizing she'd never had a man inside this bedroom and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Encroached? No. Happy? Happy that it was Sam. "I'm in big trouble," she whispered. "Why?" he whispered back. "We used a condom. And I can run to the store and get you some more flour." Darling looked at the younger man in front of her. With cinnamon still smeared across his face like war paint, he was sexier than she knew how to handle and greatly in danger of making her fall for him. "I don't want a teen crush," she said. "That's what this feels like." He frowned. "You don't take me seriously — what we just did seriously — because of my age?" His whole body stiffened, and instantly, Darling realized she'd carelessly said words she couldn't take back.

Chapter Fourteen

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"So I really don't stand an even chance with you." Sam couldn't believe he'd misjudged the situation like that. He'd thought Darling was mature enough to handle the way he was feeling about her. If she didn't feel the same, that was fine. That was life. Sometimes two people's emotions and needs didn't meet on the same plane. But if she was counting him out because of something stupid like their age difference, then they really had nothing further to talk about. It made him sad. It also made him angry. "Excuse me," he said, turning to leave. "I'll be going in the morning." "Sam, wait," Darling said. He turned. "For what? Until I grow up by your definition?" She blinked, and momentarily he was saddened that he'd misjudged her insecurity. Then he realized what a waste of time it would be to worry about what she was thinking. He certainly couldn't change it. "I'm going to get back in my sandbox now." And then he left. Darling stared after him, knowing she'd let her doubts ruin a beautiful evening. He was right. She hadn't taken him seriously since the moment she'd met him. At least not serious for a meaningful relationship. "I'm out of practice," she muttered. But could she tell him that? No. It was only half the truth. The age thing was only part of her hesitation. "You're so well-defended emotionally," Sam said, popping his head back inside the room, "that you've picked your age as the big barrier. But that's not all it is." "I know," Darling said. "And I'm a doctor, not a psychologist, but I think I know what's really bugging you. You're afraid." "Could you be more specific, Doctor?" she asked. "Because I don't think my fear of spiders is actually coming into play here." "I can be as specific as you need. You're afraid of falling in love. Need I elucidate further?" She held up a hand. "I think that was just sparklingly clear. Thank you." "You're welcome. And now I'm going." Then he left, this time closing the door behind him.

Chapter Fifteen "That will teach me not to sleep with my boarders," Darling murmured, taking a fast shower and changing into fresh jeans and a light blue T-shirt that read Union Junction's the Heart of Texas. "Bad, bad Darling." Of course, Sam might have hit irritatingly close on some salient points. It was best not to go there, though. What was the point? He'd be leaving in the morning.

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And even if he hadn't made that decision, he would have left eventually. "What was I thinking? The worst possible package of temptation and I fall for it like a desperate woman." She padded down to the kitchen in feathery slippers and found Sam putting the raisin-cinnamon muffins she'd intended to bake into the oven. "What are you doing, Sam?" "Cleaning up the mess in here. I'm not one to just ride off and leave a mess behind me." Uh-oh, double entendre. She wrinkled her nose, smelling the warm fragrance of spices and appreciating the fact that he was wearing her pink apron. "That looks good on you." "I'm masculine enough for pink. Unless Mason were to show up, and then I might hear about it for a while. But I thought I'd put myself in your shoes for a while — apron, as it happens to be." "That's free-thinking of you." "Well, that's me." He peered into the oven at her handiwork. "Free." Darn it. Of course, that was the bottom-line problem. He was free to go, and would be going — in the morning or at the end of the week — and she'd be left with a lonely, broken heart. "Guess I'll snap the rest of these beans," she said brightly. "What you're missing in this recipe," he said, holding up the muffin recipe, "is vanilla. I put it in fairly liberally. Like a tablespoon." She stared at him. "I don't think vanilla is the total problem with my desserts." "No. It's an adjustment. A tweaking of the recipe. I think you'll be surprised what a new attitude can do to your muffins." He was picking on her. "I don't need a new attitude." "Well, you think about it, Darling." He pulled off the apron, handing it to her. "I feel fairly certain not everything in life is bland or spicy. There's probably 'just right' somewhere in between." She took the apron, put it on, but when she turned around, he was gone. Somehow the kitchen seemed smaller and lonelier without him in there. Twenty minutes later, when the buzzer went off, she pulled the pretty muffins from the oven, setting them on a rack to cool. "Vanilla," she murmured, taking one to taste. "Mm, delicious. Mm!" So Sam was right about her muffins. But that didn't mean he was right about her heart.

Chapter Sixteen Darling decided to throw courage, common sense, and inhibition to the wind. Sam thought she was giving him short shrift; he was right. She was looking too much at herself and not enough at his feelings. A woman shouldn't be so insecure that she pass on one of the most flavorful moments of her life. She pulled out a tray, lined it with a lace paper doily. Four muffins on a plate and two mimosas were placed on the tray. Carrying the tray to her room, Darling exchanged the feathery slippers for high heels. She wore nothing except the pink apron. Fluffing her hair and putting on a dash of lightly flowery perfume to override the cinnamon, she peeked into the hallway to make certain no boarders had come in.

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Then, very quietly, she made her way to the back of the house where Sam's room was. She tapped lightly on the door. "Come in," he called. Closing her eyes for an instant to steel her nerves, Darling slid the door open with a pointed-toed shoe. Sam was lying in the bed talking on the phone. He was freshly showered, his dark hair awry and wet, his strong chest bare above the fresh white sheets. She nearly lost her nerve right then and there. "Room service," Sam said to whoever was on the phone. "Gotta go." He hung up. "You can set it down right there, Miss Room Service." She did, then backed up to the still-open door. "Just thought you might like a snack." "Close the door," he said. "I didn't mean to bother you —" "Darling, please close the door." She swallowed, feeling suddenly ridiculous with nothing on under the apron and her vulnerability exposed. "I just wanted to apologize —" He got up from the bed and strode to the door. He was naked, and Darling couldn't take her eyes off him. "I'll close it for you," he said. She stared up at him, her pulse pounding in her ears. "I like a woman who knows how to offer a nearly naked apology." He grinned at her, glancing at the tray. "I see two drinks over there, possibly mimosas, and some awesome muffins — more than I can eat. Were you planning on staying?"

Chapter Seventeen "I like this apron," Sam said, "but it actually covers too much." He helped her pull the full-length apron off. "Now," he said, his eyes taking in every inch of Darling's nudity. He had her down to just black pumps, and he was feeling much better about their problem. "Care to join me?" He moved the tray to the nightstand and dove back into bed. Patting the space next to him, he said, "Don't just stand there nude. Bring your apology over here." It was obvious that Darling had used up her sexual bravery by the way she hit the sheets, jerking the covers up to her chin. She looked at him, her expression shy. "Can you eat lying on your back like that?" Sam perused her. "Hope you brought a straw for your mimosa because, unless you know some really amazing way to get liquid down your esophagus while on your back, this doctor says he's going to have to perform the Heimlich on you. Only, it'll go something like this," he said, rolling her onto her stomach and tearing the sheet from her. Then he spanked her, three rapid, gentle but firm spankings that brought a howl of laughter from her as she tried to flip back over.

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He wasn't about to let her, now that he'd warmed the rounded skin. "That's for treating me like a child," he said softly into her ear as he lovingly rubbed her fanny. "But you get definite props for the seduction attempt. Very mature of you." She giggled, and now that she'd made the first move, Sam allowed himself to make slow, lingering love to her, telling her with his body everything she didn't seem to understand about his feelings. He took the time with her that they hadn't taken in the kitchen, and while fast and furious had been mind-blowing, leisurely and adoring was even better. Afterward, he pulled her into his arms, laid her against his chest, and handed her a muffin. "So thoughtful of you to plan ahead. I know I'm ravenous." "I can testify to that." In the act of putting a glass to his lips, he grinned. "Now, now, no sexual innuendo from you. Or I'll have to —" "Sam." Darling sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts. "Please. You really don't have to be so formal. I adore your body." He tried to tug the sheet down, but she held his hand. "Sam. This is important. Yes, being older than you bothers me, but I can get over that. In fact, I already am." "Good. Let's not have anymore of that. Changing a stubborn woman's mind can wear a guy out." Darling took a deep breath. "The problem is I don't want to fall in love with you."

Chapter Eighteen There. She'd said it. Laid her heart on the line. And everyone knew that a man ran from a serious discussion. "Well," Sam said thoughtfully, "I can't wipe that particular fear away. If you're afraid of falling in love, I'm not going to be around long enough to change your mind." So that was it? Then she'd been right to try to protect her heart. Okay, it had been fun to have him teach her that she was attractive. It had truly been fun and liberating to discover her sexy side. But she'd obviously have to simply chalk this interlude up to experience. Losing her heart to a born drifter was simply not an option. She had deep roots in Union Junction, and giving up her lifelong dream of running her B and B to follow a drifter on the rodeo circuit would be ridiculous, especially at her age. Sure, she was alone, and maybe, just maybe Sam had hit her at a lonely time. And sure, nothing would please her more than if Sam decided to stay a little while longer, maybe even long enough to develop roots of his own. Yet she knew with the wisdom of maturity that men like Sam didn't hang around a bed-and-breakfast forever, not with the open road calling. Darling knew in her heart that if she used her feminine wiles to persuade him to stick around, he'd always pine for the freedom he'd once enjoyed, and would grow to resent her for making him settle down. If Sam wanted to stay, it was a decision he had to make willingly. "Thank you for being honest." She reached over to swipe one of the glasses off the tray. "You were right about the vanilla. There are some times in life when neither bland nor spicy is appropriate."

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"Excuse me? Are we talking about food or love?" "Both," Darling said with a smile. "But you'll have to decide the context, Doctor." "You're losing me here," Sam said. "And I'm sensing emotional withdrawal." Then she was doing everything right. "Don't worry about that. It won't require surgery." "Hey," he said, "I don't think I like that snippy tone. It smacks of one-night stand." "Isn't that what we just determined? You're leaving. I was simply a pit stop." He stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. "I would never think of you that way." "It's okay, Sam. I completely understand the recipe now." She ate her muffin, licked her fingers, and got up from the bed. "See you in the morning." But she didn't. Sam left in the night.

Chapter Nineteen Mason came by a week later to help Darling change some pipes in the B and B's bedrooms' baths. "By the way, what did you do to my friend?" Darling looked up from the PVC she was measuring. "What do you mean?" "I happened to see Sam at a rodeo in Lubbock this past weekend. His face was hanging lower than his britches." "Sounds painful." She went back to measuring. Mason grunted. "Women can be so cruel." "Women can be so cruel? Let me tell you, men get exactly what they have coming to them. It's the old youreap-what-you-sow theory." "Whew." Mason rolled his eyes. "I'm glad I'm not the one whose heart you threw to the wolves." "No one's heart got thrown." Darling handed him the PVC. "It was a perfectly happy ending." "Then why was my buddy drowning in his beer mug?" Darling layered her heart with an extra-tough mental shield. "Mason, I don't want to talk about Sam. Any relationship I have is off-limits discussion with you. I hesitate to remind you that the townspeople have for years called your ranch Malfunction Junction. And there's a good reason for that, which has to do with you and your wild 'n' woolly brothers. Please don't try to fix my life when yours is pretty much as messed-up as the pipes in this house." She burst into tears. "That's what I thought," Mason said, pulling her into his arms for friendly comfort. "I told Sam you weren't nearly as black-hearted as you'd tried to convince him you were."

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She sniffled. "Shut up, Mason," Darling said, liberally using his flannel shirt as a tissue for her eyes. "You don't know anything about love. You and Mimi have avoided falling for each other for years." "Well, let's not talk about that," he said hastily. "Let's concentrate on the L word you just used." "It slipped out," Darling said miserably. "Don't tell Sam." Mason raised his head to glance toward the kitchen door. "Don't tell Sam what, Darling?" "That I fell in love with him." "And damn glad I am to hear it," Sam said, stepping into the room.

Chapter Twenty "Sam!" Darling jumped into his arms. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again!" "You wouldn't have. You scared me too much, woman." Sam looked down at her. "Mason convinced me to come back and talk to you." "I'm glad he's good for something." Darling sniffed. "Next you have to fix your own love life, Mason." "I'll be going now," Mason said hastily. "I'll be swiping a muffin off the kitchen counter as I make my escape. "Did I ever tell you those are the best muffins I ever tasted?" Sam and Darling laughed as Mason quickly exited, leaving them alone. "New recipe," Darling said. "My boarders have been requesting them ever since that night." The night he'd left her. "So," Sam said, "last time I checked, you were worried about falling in love alone." "Right." Darling stared into his eyes. "But I've accepted that you're a rolling stone." "Me? You were kicking me out emotionally before the sheets even got cold." "I might have been a bit too hasty." "Yeah. I didn't even get to romance you properly." "Romance me? You mean there was more?" "Definitely. That was just the hors d'oeuvres." Happiness bloomed inside her heart. He really was crazy about her. "Thank you for coming back." "I had to, so that I could ask you to marry me. I love you, Darling Montgomery. Will you marry me?" Darling's whole world burst into sparkling colors. "Yes," she said without hesitation. "Yes!" Sam grinned at her. "I like the fact that you didn't ask how this is going to work."

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"Then I'm glad you noticed that I learned a lot from you, and one of those things is not to think too far ahead. I know that it will all work out." "Trust is a good thing in a relationship." He kissed her forehead, holding her close to him. "And one of the things I learned from you is...history," Sam said. "Roots. Ties. I bought the old doctor's office on the square. I'll be right there with the Dusty Mule so I can see you fight over Clove's dresses. And I'll be right there where we can drink lavender tea together at the Peppermint Patty." "And the rodeo?" "On the weekends, I'll head to the rodeo and fix up my busted friends who don't have a good woman to keep them home." "That sounds like a very smart plan. Union Junction hasn't had a good doctor in a long time." Darling put her head against Sam's chest, feeling the solid warmth and strength of him. "You're awfully young," she said, her voice teasing. "How can you be so certain I'm the right woman for you?" He lifted her chin with a finger. "I've been all over this country a few times. I knew when I met you that you were what I'd always been looking for." He kissed her lips gently. "Besides, I've got advanced degrees, lady. I'm a smart man." She laughed. "I love you, Sam." He smiled and held her close. "Then serve me a generous portion of love, Darling. I'm starving for you!"

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Single Doctor, Single Dad! by Janice Lynn Returning to her hometown to care for her ailing mother has Dr. Jennifer Castillo reliving tragic memories— she can’t wait for her mother to recover so she can leave town, throw herself back into her private practice and forget the past. The last thing she needs is the complication of an intense attraction to her mother’s doctor! After all, nothing could convince her to move back to Huntsville permanently…. Dr. Garrett Wright needs a mother for his twins—stat! And fellow workaholic Dr. Jennifer Castillo, daughter of one of his patients, is the least likely candidate for the job. So why can’t this single dad stop himself from falling for her anyway?

Chapter One "Dr. Castillo?" Jennifer spun toward the masculine voice and almost swooned with the drama of a 19th century Southern belle. Moss green eyes fringed with inky black lashes stared from a sharply angled face. A black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. Dark jeans hung on lean hips. Surely she was hallucinating because hunks like him didn't wander emergency department waiting rooms. "Yes?" Phew, does one have hot flushes during hallucinations? Because she was. Right down to her fingertips, burning to touch the forearms sprinkled with wiry hair. She fanned her face. "I'm Dr. Garrett Wright," he eyed her curiously, as if he thought she might be on the verge of syncope. Like any mirage worth his salt, he'd catch her if she fainted. "I've been with your mother." Dr. Wright? Jennifer blinked. This was her mother's primary care doctor? No wonder she no longer balked at routine health care. No doubt women of all ages lined up at this man's door. Jennifer could think of a few personal ailments that would benefit from his attention. "She said you'd taken temporary leave from your Madison practice prior to her hip replacement," Dr. Delicious continued, oblivious to her uncharacteristic drool-fest. What was wrong with her? She never reacted this way. Never. Jennifer nodded, mutely. Her tongue refused to cooperate. Probably because the traitorous appendage wanted to lick him all over. Which shocked her. She wasn't the kind of woman given to such intense, immediate fantasies. Ever. "You were right to insist she be transferred from the rehab center. She has a deep vein thrombus." The news snapped Jennifer out of her hormone induced haze. Her mother had a blood clot. Trying to sound professional and not like the worried little girl she suddenly felt, she gulped and said, "Are her lungs clear?" Shortness of breath had been why Jennifer insisted on the emergency room visit. Only then had her mother admitted to leg pain. Dr. Wright raked long fingers through thick black hair. "Unfortunately, no." Panic gripped Jennifer's chest, shortening her own breath. "No?"

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Please, God. She couldn't lose her mother. "She has a pulmonary embolism." A blood clot had traveled to her mother's lungs and cut off blood flow to a pulmonary artery. Weak-kneed at the seriousness of her mother's condition, Jennifer sank onto a waiting room sofa. "She was given routine preventative anti-coagulation therapy after her surgery." He sat down next to her. "She formed a clot anyway." Jennifer knew what happened when a patient threw a clot. But this was her mother! Logic played no role in her emotions, her thoughts. "Tell me everything." Closing her eyes, she crossed her arms over her stomach, rocked forward. "Please." "Her x-ray showed normal," he explained, "but with her hip replacement three days ago, I had a D-dimer drawn and proceeded with a CT angiogram that revealed the embolism." Jennifer's blood drained, leaving her body cold, numb, as if her own arteries were blocked. Hadn't she known? Wasn't that why she'd insisted her mother be taken to the hospital? "Ninety-five percent of people who are alive at time of diagnosis recover." She blinked back the moisture blurring her vision. Ninety-five percent. Good odds. Unless you were speaking about your mother. Then only a hundred percent was acceptable. "I gave her a low molecular weight heparin to keep the clot from enlarging." He took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze in what was probably supposed to be comfort, but instead sky-rocketed her pulse. Startled by the gesture and the flutter low in her belly, Jennifer's gaze shot to him. Too many wild emotions stampeded her troubled soul. Her mother. Thoughts of Carrie. Her suddenly revived hormones after years of nothing. "Any sign of respiratory failure?" "Not at the moment, but given her risk factors that's a concern. With oxygen, her O2 sats are holding at around ninety percent." His finger stroked over hers. "She's having tachycardia." Did he have any idea his touch was increasing Jennifer's heart rate too? Numbly, Jennifer nodded. A blood clot to the lungs. He was right. Her mother was past the worst. Everything would be okay. Everything had to be okay. Tears prickled her eyes. "May I see her?"

Chapter Two Garrett stared at the gorgeous brunette sitting on the waiting room sofa. Dr. Jennifer Castillo's shapely legs, outlined beneath figure-hugging black pants, had caught his attention the moment he stepped out of the emergency room. He'd always been a legs man.

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Not that he should be noticing. Not when his patient had a clot. Not even if said patient had talked up her daughter, declaring her available and only slightly used. Slightly used: Jennifer's mother's description of a messy divorce that left her daughter devoted only to her patients and numb to the opposite sex. Had Bridget talked him up to her daughter? Had she described him as available and actively seeking? Actively seeking: His description of his desperate search for a mother for his four-year-old twin sons. An embittered, career-minded divorcee wasn't what he'd had in mind. But damn if his libido recognized that. Without letting go of Jennifer's hand, Garrett glanced at his watch. "She should be in her room by now," he said, trying to keep his brain on the real issues rather than on his unexpected reaction to the curvy brunette. "Thanks. Will the orthopedic surgeon be notified?" Jennifer's soft, vulnerable smile sucked him further under her spell, making him feel more a man than he'd felt in eons. "He has been, but I'll handle her hospital stay." She took in his pedestrian clothes, shock registering in her soulful brown eyes. "You're on duty?" "No," he said, grinning. "I was checking on a patient when your mother arrived. Since I was here, I examined her." Garrett stood and pulled Jennifer to her feet. "Come on. I'll take you to her." Reluctantly, he let go of Jennifer's hand, but he doubted the fire scorching him from the contact of their skin would burn out any time soon. Think of the boys, he reminded himself. A woman who is as dedicated to her career as you are is not someone you need to get involved with. The boys need a mother. Someone like Emma had been. Not another parent who knew how to deal with sick patients better than two little boys.

Chapter Three The following morning Jennifer reminded herself she was there in the capacity of a patient's daughter. She sat on her hands to keep from assisting to change her mother's surgical dressing. As if sensing her need, Dr. Wright glanced up. His green eyes sparkled with an understanding only another provider could have. "Want to help?" "Can I?" She'd felt helpless through much of her mother's care. Doing nothing was driving her mad—as witnessed by her reaction to Garrett. "Sure." His gaze lowered to her mouth and darkened prior to returning to her mother. He cleared his throat. "Her surgical site is healing well with no infection." Fighting the urge to say his name, to have his mesmerizing eyes skim over her again, Jennifer examined the excision site on her mother's hip. Staples held the puckered skin together in a neat line. Lifting her gaze to Garrett's, she swallowed a surprised whimper. That wasn't professional admiration reflected in his eyes. Desire burned there.

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Desire she felt just as strongly. Which was all wrong. No way should her libido be so cruel as to rear its ugly head in Huntsville. Just being in her hometown, near to so many bad memories, should render her immune to anything other than sorrow. "Physical therapy will be by later. Keeping her mobile is important." "I agree." Was she agreeing with his treatment plan for her mother or the temptation dancing in his eyes? "I am awake, you know," Bridget reminded them from the head of the bed. "You two don't have to talk about me as if I'm not here." "Did you hear something?" Garrett asked, winking conspiratorially. Jennifer shook her head. "Not a thing." After a lingering look that held a world of sin, he broke eye contact and applied a fresh bandage to her mother's wound. Bridget sighed. "Dr. Wright, can you talk to her about being nicer? Perhaps you could write a prescription or something? One that says she has to move back to Huntsville?" Jennifer inwardly groaned. From the moment she'd moved, her mother complained Jennifer didn't visit enough. Did her mother realize every time she stepped foot in Huntsville she was confronted with a past she just wanted to forget? No, she didn't want to forget her sweet baby girl. But she'd had to move on. She couldn't do that in Huntsville. Which made her attraction to Garrett all the more confusing. Why now? Why in Huntsville?

Chapter Four "Yesterday I had to listen to her fuss until I got up and used that darned walker." Bridget paused for breath, readjusting her oxygen tubing. "Now I'm back in the hospital." Garrett ran his hands over Jennifer's mother's leg, checking pulses and the level of edema. "Maybe if you'd gotten up more frequently you wouldn't have the clot," she wryly informed her mother, trying to clear images of Garrett's hands caressing her legs, stroking his fingers over her calves, up her thighs, higher. It had been so long since she'd been touched, since she'd wanted to be touched. "I swear you and that physical therapist were trying to kill me." Bridget crossed her arms, a stubborn look on her face. "About did." Garrett finished his exam. "Following hip surgery, you need to walk as much as possible as soon as possible." "Easy for you to say," Bridget harrumphed. "You aren't the one they cut." "True," he agreed, his gaze locked with Jennifer's. Her breath caught at the silent message. He was attracted to her.

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"But I agree with Jennifer. You need to ambulate every chance you have someone to assist you." Sweat coated Jennifer's skin. Just hearing her name roll off his tongue should not send her into hot flushes or inner thigh meltdowns. Nonetheless, her core temperature could thaw the polar ice caps. "I should have known you doctors would stick together." Although her tone sounded disapproving, Bridget's eyes held a gleam that made Jennifer nervous. Or, more likely, Garrett was the one who made her nervous. "I have your best interest at heart," Jennifer reminded her, stepping back from the hospital bed. Perhaps a little distance between her and the yummy doctor would restore internal circuits and cut down on global warming. Surely this crazy roller coaster of emotions was a result of worry over her mother and being in Huntsville? "Uh-huh. That's why you moved to the other side of the state," her mother accused. "I offered to move you with me." She'd had to get away, bury herself in work. She couldn't have survived otherwise. "Where do you practice?" Garret asked. "Madison, near Gulf Shores. I visited the beach one summer—" the summer before her father had died, why did those she loved always die? "—and wanted to go back. After my divorce, I did. Permanently." "My only family, and she moves." Bridget drew in a pitiful breath. Jennifer sent an apologetic look to Garrett and changed the subject. "How were her labs?" "I'm still here, you know," Bridget reminded. "We know," Jennifer and Garrett answered simultaneously. Their eyes met. Sparks flew. Being attracted to her mother's doctor was a complication Jennifer didn't need. Being attracted to a Huntsville man, who was so fine his middle name must be Heartbreak, was a complication she didn't need. But she was. She hadn't wanted a man's touch since before Carrie's death. Hadn't even realized she'd shut that part of her mind and body down. With her mother seriously ill and while staying in a town that held only pain, now was not the time to remember she was a woman beneath the lab coat and stethoscope she hid behind.

Chapter Five Garrett held the hospital room door, allowing Jennifer to leave the room before him. Would she slap him if he pulled her into a supply closet and kissed her until they were both breathless? She wasn't right for him. But there was something vulnerable in her expression, something that appealed in a way he couldn't resist.

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"Have dinner with me," he said the moment her mother's room door closed. He hadn't known he was going to ask, but couldn't take the words back, couldn't even draw in his next breath as he waited for her answer. Never had he felt such a consuming desire. Surprise and something more, fear perhaps, shone in her big, brown eyes. She hesitated, then nodded. "I'd like that." He'd like to find the supply closet. "Should I pick you up here?" An image of picking her up, literally, flashed through his mind. More hesitation lit her face. She shook her head. "Under the circumstance it would be better if you pick me up at my mother's." She prattled off an address. "What circumstances?" "You're my mother's doctor. I'm leaving as soon as she's recovered. She'd view our going to dinner as complicated." Those circumstances. Asking Jennifer to dinner was a lot more complicated than his being her mother's doctor. There was also the fact that he needed a mother for his boys and she was the least likely candidate for the role. Her mother had talked about Jennifer's long work hours—that she worked seven days a week, weeks on end. He'd been surprised to hear Bridget's daughter had taken off the next month. Surprised as hell. So why had he just asked Miss Workaholic to dinner when he should be home with his boys? Or trying to find them a mother who could bake cookies and shower them with love? Logically, he knew he should cancel. Unfortunately, logic had nothing to do with his asking Jennifer to dinner. "You're right. I'll pick you up at her place." *** Despite Jennifer's reservations about saying yes, dinner went well. Garrett was a great conversationalist and, in addition to medicine, they shared many likes and dislikes. He even let her eat more than half of his chocolate obsession cake when she refrained from ordering dessert. "That's good, isn't it?" he asked, smiling at her sigh of pleasure. "Very." She glanced at his empty plate and winced. "I shouldn't have eaten so much, though. You barely got a bite. Sorry." His eyes darkened with temptation much sweeter than the chocolate. "I enjoyed watching you enjoy it." Heat burned her cheeks. Tension had buzzed between them all evening. Tension that plucked at every cell in her body, strumming the electrons into a frenzied jitter.

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Feeling self-conscious, Jennifer picked up her napkin and brushed the starched material across her mouth. "I should get back so I can check on Mother." "If there had been any changes, the nurse would have contacted me." Jennifer nodded. He was right. But she needed the excuse to end their date. Needed time to analyze why her body had suddenly recalled that she was a woman since meeting Garrett. And why that recollection scared her so much.

Chapter Six Feeling like a school boy on his first date, Garrett walked Jennifer to her mother's front door, watched as she fumbled with the keys. They were both nervous as hell. He'd seen it in her eyes, heard it in her voice while he'd driven her home. The closer they'd gotten to her mother's, the more chatty she'd become. He should tell her goodnight and go. The door pushed open and Jennifer stepped inside. "Do you want to come in for a drink?" The Sahara seemed a tropical oasis compared to his dry mouth. He needed a drink. Desperately. Garrett followed her inside, taking in the homey feel of the mismatched furniture, the wall full of photos, mostly of Jennifer at various ages, the knick-knacks cluttering every surface. Behind him, Jennifer closed the front door. Garrett turned. They gazes met. His heart leapt in his chest, thudding wildly, capturing his breath and leaving him lightheaded. Like a doe in headlights, Jennifer stared, wordlessly, nervous. Her pulse hammered at her throat. Swallowing, she moistened her lips. Garrett groaned. He had to kiss her. Just one little kiss. Then he'd go home. *** Jennifer sighed in pleasure. Dear sweet heaven, the man could kiss. Her lips, her face, her throat, her breasts. His hands were just as talented, gliding over her skin in blissful strokes. Where had her shirt gone? Her bra? How had her skirt become bunched at her waist? What was she doing?

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She didn't do this. Didn't have sex with men she'd just met. She'd never been with anyone except Jeff. She needed to stop this. She wasn't looking for a relationship, didn't want a relationship. Jeff had cured her of that. "Have I told you how amazing you are?" Garrett had told her. Several times. Which surprised her. Jeff had always complained about her body, about her lack of enthusiasm for sex, about the way she touched him. Garrett was consumed with desire, couldn't seem to not touch her, kiss her, taste her. She pulled his T-shirt over his head, wanting to touch him the way he was touching her, wanting to taste every delicious inch of him. She fumbled at his waistband, unzipping his pants, grasping him. He groaned, praising her touch. Not just with his words, but with his eyes, his hands, his body's reactions. His desire was a heady aphrodisiac. Perhaps that explained why enthusiasm wasn't an issue. Not with Garrett. She wanted him. Enthusiastically. Enough that even though her brain kept telling her to stop, she didn't. Not when he slid her panties off and put on a condom, not when he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. Not when she clung to him, her fingers digging into his taut shoulders. He kissed her hard, his body tense with the control he exerted. "You're sure?" he breathed, staring into her eyes, his chest heaving, his heart racing next to hers. Jennifer couldn't speak, couldn't do more than nod. His eyes never leaving hers, Garrett pinned her against the solid wood front door and thrust inside her. With every thrust he whispered praise into her ears, telling her how good she felt, how amazing her body was, how much he wanted her. Her belly twisted, her thighs quivered, her head rolled back and forth and her insides melted, wave after spasmodic wave. Hallelujah, praise Jehovah!

Chapter Seven What had she done? Jennifer bit the inside of her cheeks. When she'd nodded yes to Garrett, she hadn't considered the consequences. Like how she'd face him the next day. He'd left much earlier than she'd wanted. He hadn't wanted to go, but said he'd had to. He'd probably had a patient at the hospital. That left her the entire night to relive the hot coupling against the door, to relive the much slower yet no less intense love-making in her bedroom.

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"You've barely said a word," her mother said. "You look tired. Didn't you sleep well?" "Not particularly." Thoughts of Garrett haunted her. Not for the first time since her divorce, Jennifer had found sleeping alone a desolate prospect. Last night's loneliness had been different. Only one man could have eased the ache inside her. The man who'd awakened bits of her she hadn't known existed until he'd stroked every living cell within her to a heightened sexual frenzy. Was that it? The explanation for her mixture of happiness and anxiety? She couldn't have a relationship. How could she when no man would want her after he discovered what she'd done? That her sweet baby had died. That she'd never have more children. Never again would she put some innocent child in that position. "Maybe you should set up an appointment with Dr. Wright." Speaking of the devil. A knock sounded on her mother's open door. Garrett walked in, looking wonderful in khaki slacks and a green polo that matched his eyes. A black stethoscope was draped around his neck. "How are you feeling today, Bridget?" he asked, briefly smiling at his patient before making eye contact with Jennifer. His smile dug dimples into his cheeks, put a sparkle in his eyes. A sparkle that said he'd thought about her non-stop. A thousand butterflies emerged from their cocoons at once and fluttered to life in her belly. She'd had the hottest sex of her life with this man. Two times. She wanted number three. Right now. On the floor. Against the wall. Whatever. She wanted Garrett with all her being. Whatever qualms she'd battled paled next to the fire blazing through her veins. She burned. From the inside out. "Good morning." Innocent enough words, but his confident look dripped with innuendo. He knew what she was thinking. He was thinking the same thing. Wanting the same thing. Against the wall. On the floor. Whatever. She whimpered, causing her mother's head to whip toward her. "See," Bridget huffed. "You sound as if you're catching a cold. You should make an appointment. I'm sure Dr. Wright could make you feel better." "I'm sure I could." Garrett's lips twitched as he examined her mother's leg. "Are you feeling poorly, Dr. Castillo?" "No," Jennifer began, knowing Dr. Delicious really could make her feel better. Lots better. Actually, just seeing him accomplished that. She hadn't dreamed how much he'd wanted her or how good it had been between them. Garrett had been as affected by what they'd done as she had. "Look at those shadows beneath her eyes," Bridget pointed out. "Apparently she didn't sleep a wink." Bedevilment flickered in Garrett's eyes. "Jennifer?"

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"I'm fine," she mouthed, glaring at her mother. Fine, except for her mother's delighted smile when Garrett called her Jennifer instead of Dr. Castillo.

Chapter Eight His gaze never leaving Jennifer, Garrett slipped on his stethoscope and listened to Bridget's heart and lungs. Although she still had a few crackles, her lungs were much improved. Thank goodness. Garrett was unbelievably distracted by his patient's sexy daughter. In her black pants and silk button down blouse, she looked amazing. Simply, irrevocably amazing. She had been the most amazing experience of his life. "What's the verdict?" Bridget asked. Garrett cleared his throat and explained what he'd heard through the stethoscope before returning his attention to the woman quietly watching him. He pulled out his wallet, withdrew a business card and scribbled a message on the back. "Here. Just in case your mother is right and you need me." Taking the card, Jennifer's eyes widened at what he'd written. Swallowing, she nodded. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. Should I need you." Knowing her mother was watching, Garrett didn't push for a response to his written request. But that didn't keep him from pacing like a damned fool an hour later. Asking Jennifer to meet him at his office was pushy. Pushy as hell. Something he'd never been. He never mixed business with pleasure. "Garrett?" His heart tip-toed a funny beat in his chest. She'd come. He turned, soaked in her lovely appearance. Uncertainty shone in her eyes. "Are we going to lunch?" she asked, her tongue darting out to moisten her pretty pink lips. Lunch? There was only one thing he was hungry for. Starved for. Her. *** A week later, Garrett smiled at the woman curled in his arms. Each day that passed, her mother grew healthier, stronger. He'd transferred Bridget back to the rehabilitation center. In a week or two she'd return home. Soon thereafter Jennifer would leave. He didn't want her to go. Ever.

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But there were so many things they didn't know about each other. Like the fact that he'd been married and had twin sons. Why hadn't he told her about the most important part of his life? Because he'd never believed Jennifer and he had a future. That no matter how good they were together, they were destined to be lovers, but nothing more. Quelling his frustration, he kissed the top of her head. She was the sexiest woman he'd ever met. Sensual, giving, but she was a dedicated physician. He heard it in her voice when she talked about Madison. He understood that dedication. Admired it even. But what about the boys? They needed a mother. Their well-being was his number one priority, even if he'd left them in his mother's care too often as of late so he could spend time with Jennifer. He should have told her about them. That very first night they'd gone to dinner. He should have told her. He hugged her to him, breathed in her warm vanilla scent. How had she so quickly come to mean so much to him? Was it even possible that she wanted a family? That she'd find room in her heart for him and two lost little boys? "How do you feel about kids?" She tensed. "Kids?" Panic turned her brown eyes a fearful shade of black. "Don't you think that question is too personal when I'm leaving in a few weeks?" They were in bed, naked, and he'd tasted every inch of her delectable body, knew every curve, every indention by heart. Asking her how she felt about kids was too personal? "Haven't you figured out the truth?" He just had. He wanted to see what the future would hold if they were given a real shot. "I don't want you to leave." He laced their fingers, pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her. "Stay with me."

Chapter Nine Stay with him? What was he asking? Tears threatened to rain down, flooding Jennifer's heart, drowning her in deeply embedded sorrow. "Asking me if I want kids isn't the kind of question a man asks a fling." Kids were the one thing she'd never have. "I'm asking you to stay because you're more than a fling." She took a deep breath. "No, Garrett, I'm not." "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His brows furrowed angrily. "As soon as my mother can look after herself, I'll return to Madison." He pulled back. "You're really going to leave? Just like that? As if we never happened?"

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"I don't understand. You've known that's what would happen all along. Nothing could convince me to move back to Huntsville." Hadn't she only earlier today run into one of Jeff's cousins? Did she know that Jeff's new wife had given birth to their second child? A perfect little girl to go with the perfect son Jeff had conceived while still married to Jennifer. Did she know what a great mother Jeff's new wife was? "I like my life," she assured. Sharp pain zig-zagged across her chest. "I'm a career girl." Maybe if she said it often enough she'd seal the cracks in her heart. According to the OB-GYN who'd delivered Carrie, Jennifer had as much chance of getting pregnant again as she did of winning the lottery. Until Garrett she hadn't even been buying tickets. Jennifer was so caught up in her own misery, she didn't notice how stiff Garrett had gone. Not until she saw the disappointment in his eyes. Hating the tension, she touched his cheek. He flexed his jaw beneath her fingers. "You don't want children? To someday have a family?" Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Unable to speak, she shook her head, eyes closed, chest gaping. "Medicine is my life." *** Garrett should go. Jennifer didn't want children. He had two. Not that she'd said she'd stay. She'd said nothing could convince her to stay in Huntsville. That included him. He blew out a long breath. He needed to go home. He wanted to be a family with his boys. To see them laughing and smiling like the rambunctious four-yearolds they were. That's where he should have been the past week. Not burning up the bed sheets with a woman who planned to leave and never look back. "Garrett, this is crazy." Jennifer rolled on top of him, staring down. "You're acting as if you wanted more than an affair." He did. Lots more. But what was the point in telling Jennifer? She'd made her views clear. He was someone to pass the time with while she was in Huntsville. Nothing more. She'd go home and forget about him. He'd find someone who'd be a good mother to his boys, a good wife to him, and he'd forget about the woman who set him on fire. At least, he hoped he'd forget Jennifer. No way did he want to measure every woman to the standard she'd set.

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It wasn't just sex. He liked her. Really, really liked her. She made him smile, made him feel alive. "Garrett?" "I know you're leaving." He smiled up at her, knowing he should end things. Knowing he couldn't. "But we still have a few weeks before you go."

Chapter Ten In preparation for her discharge the following day, Bridget had an appointment with the orthopedist and physical therapist, leaving Jennifer free. She was meeting Garret for lunch. His SUV was parked in her mother's driveway when she pulled in. "Hey you," he called, grinning. "Hey yourself." She wanted to throw her arms around him and hold on tight, but they were in her mother's driveway in broad daylight. So she restrained herself. As did Garrett. Until the moment the front door closed. He pushed her against the wood, kissing her hard. "I've missed you." She refused to acknowledge that his words meant anything. "You saw me last night." He didn't answer, just ran his hands beneath her blouse, cupping her breasts, grinding his hips against her. "Too damned long." She laughed at his husky response, but her laughs quickly turned to moans as his fingers worked their magic. "You like that?" "You know I do." She wiggled, pressing against his straining fly. Wet heat dampened her panties. Panties she'd gone shopping for yesterday. She'd wanted something more tantalizing than her usual dull granny whites. He tugged her shirt over her head, trailing kisses along the flesh he exposed. "You smell so sweet, like fresh-baked cookies." His brows rose in appreciation of her silky black push-up bra that really did work miracles. When he revealed the high cut black triangles covering her femininity he smiled. God, he had a scrumptious smile. "You're beautiful." Had she said it or had he? Their touches grew in fervor, each more heated. He thrust inside her, deep and possessive.

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They clung to each other, determined to make the moment last, determined to hang on to the illusion of the past few weeks as long as possible. Her fingers clung to him, clawing into his back, his neck, pulling him closer, closer still. His lips claimed hers in a feral kiss, a kiss so potent she slipped over the edge. "Jennifer," he cried, her response toppling him over with her. With a mighty series of thrusts, he came deep, dropped his head to her shoulder. "You're fantastic." She brushed a kiss against his dark hair. "So are you." He lifted his head, stared into her eyes, and grinned in that heart-stopping way he had. In a way that left her powerless to keep from grinning back. So, goofy grin in place, she gazed at the man she was still connected to at the hips. The man she was connected to in ways that went way beyond physical. They'd both known today would change everything since her mother was coming home tomorrow. Of course they could always go to his place. Except he'd never invited her. Did he live in an apartment? A house? Did he live alone or with a roommate? Why didn't she know these things when she felt so in sync with him? "Why haven't we gone to your place?"

Chapter Eleven Oh hell. The time of reckoning had come. It wasn't as if Garrett hadn't prepared for this moment. He'd planned to tell her everything. Today. Not with them barely inside the front door, his pants missing and his body spent inside her. But he had planned to tell her about the boys and to ask her to meet them. He'd even told his mother about Jennifer, admitted to having strong feelings for the lovely doctor. But she did funny things to his willpower, made him go a bit crazy. Plus, her new underwear had undone him. Literally. "About that," he began. Scooping up her clothes, she shook her head. When she bent to retrieve the scrap of black silk, desire punched him and he was right back to Horny 101 and eager to prove he could ace the class. But he wanted more than just hot sex from Jennifer. He wanted her heart. She straightened, turned, caught sight of his quick rebound. She glanced away, but her unsteady breaths told him she'd liked what she'd seen, that his reaction turned her on. "Never mind," she said, staring at a collage of school photos of herself. "I have no right to ask." "You have every right."

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Her clothing clutched protectively in front of her, she smiled derisively. "That's sweet of you to say." Garrett touched her face, stroking his fingers across her smooth skin. "I'm not being sweet, Jennifer. You have every right to ask me anything. I want you to ask." Her lips parted. Her eyes searched his. "I don't want you to go back to Madison." He took her hand in his. "You are not a fling, Jennifer. And neither am I." "You are," she denied, but her eyes told a different tale. She loved him. As sure as he was of his feelings for her, he knew Jennifer felt the same. How would she feel about his children, though? Could she find a way to love his kids? To be the mother they needed? If she couldn't, then what? He lifted her fingers to his lips. "Then this fling doesn't plan to let you go without a fight, because he's fallen in love with you." He'd meant to tell her about the boys before telling her how he felt. But Jennifer was in his heart alongside his boys. He wanted her in his life always. As if on cue, his phone buzzed with the programmed ringtone from his home number. His mother or one of the boys. Not taking his gaze from Jennifer, Garrett grabbed his pants off the floor to retrieve his phone. "Hello." *** Jennifer began slipping on her clothes. How could a man look sexy while taking a phone call naked? There should be rules about that level of attractiveness. Even as she thought it, she recognized that she was focusing on the physical to keep from dealing with the emotional. Garrett wanted her to stay. He'd said he loved her. They had no future, weren't supposed to be anything beyond a fling. A fling. His words about fighting for her struck a mushy spot in her heart. Part of her wanted to believe him, but hadn't Jeff once said the same thing? He'd promised undying love and to fight for her always. 'Til death do they part. It had been Carrie's death that parted them. Garrett might think he loved her. He might even love her enough to want a long term relationship. But eventually his instinct to procreate would kick in and he'd want children.

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Children she couldn't give him. Then what? "No, it's fine." His cell phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder, Garrett pulled his pants over his hips. He fished his shirt off the floor, dragged the material over his head. "Tell the boys I love them and will be home soon." The boys? Who was he talking to? He snapped his phone shut and gave Jennifer an apologetic look. "Sorry about that." An apologetic look filled with guilt. Oh God. Invisible hands gripped her throat. God, could she have been any more blind? No wonder he never took her to his place. Fully dressed, hands on hips, she confronted him. "Are you married?" Her mother had said he was single. Jennifer had never asked, never considered her mother might have been wrong. Panic pounded in her heart. "Married?" Confusion darkened his eyes. "Why would you think that?" He moved toward her, his gaze narrowed. "Do you think I'd be here if I was married?" "It wouldn't be the first time a man's cheated on his wife." God, she felt dirty. Dirty and used. She'd wanted Garrett so much she'd refused to see he'd been hiding something. Now that the blinders had been lifted it was so obvious. His lips tightened into a fine white line. "He really did a number on you, didn't he?" "Who?" "Your ex." "We're not talking about Jeff." "Maybe we should. He's why you left Huntsville, why you won't allow yourself to consider a real relationship with me." "Jeff has nothing to do with this conversation." Her ex-husband hadn't been why she'd left. Memories of Carrie had been why she'd run. Memories of what a failure she'd been as a mother. "Who was on the phone?"

Chapter Twelve Jennifer crossed her arms over her chest. Hurt mixed with betrayal glimmered in her eyes. Garrett stepped toward her. She scampered back, maintaining distance between them. She didn't trust him. After all they'd shared, she thought he was married? That she meant no more than an extramarital affair? That he was the kind of man who would cheat on his wife? Disgust washed up to the back of his throat. Could he have been that wrong? "The call was from my mother."

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"Your mother?" "As far as your other question," he said shrugging, battling his hurt, "I'm divorced." Her eyes widened. "You were married?" "For five years." "What happened?" What happened? Good question and one he'd asked himself a thousand times prior to Emma's death. "She didn't like being a doctor's wife." Jennifer's lower lip disappeared between her teeth. "She died in an automobile accident earlier this year. Fortunately, the boys weren't with her." "Boys?" She blinked. "As in your boys?" Jennifer's shocked expression sucker-punched him. "I should've told you." He sighed. "But, we started out as a fling, so our personal lives didn't seem to matter. When I realized how I felt about you, telling you about the boys had become complicated for the mere reason that I hadn't already told you." "You have kids?" she repeated, looking pale, shocked and like she might pass out. Great. This wasn't going as expected. Or maybe it was. She'd said she didn't want kids. He was telling her he had two. Just what had he expected? That she'd suddenly change her mind because they were talking about his kids? This was why he hadn't told her. Because he'd known the moment he did, nothing would ever be the same. But God, he'd hoped their feelings for each other would be enough for her to give being a part of his life a chance. "Two boys," he repeated, trying not to sound defensive. "Twins. Ethan and Ian. They're four." Jennifer sank onto the sofa and dropped her head into her hands. Her entire body shook. She laughed, almost hysterically. "You're a father. Of twins." Laughter? He'd expected her to be angry that he hadn't told her. Or angry that he wasn't the uber-sexy single guy he'd let on to be over the past few weeks. "I'm a father," he admitted as if to reinforce the reality of who he was. No matter how much he loved Jennifer, if she couldn't accept his children, they had no future. "I had planned on taking them to the space center this afternoon. Come with us," he said suddenly. "I want you to meet my children. They'll love you, Jennifer, and as full of energy as they are, I wouldn't trade them for the world. Give them a chance." He moved to stand in front of her. "Give us a chance." Her laughter silenced, she glanced up, met his gaze. Tears ran down her cheeks. Garrett's chest tightened around his heart, squeezing the flopping organ until he worried it might burst from the pressure.

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"Don't cry." He knelt in front of her, wiped her tears. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the twins. Surely it's not that bad, my being a father. The boys are good kids. I can't imagine you not liking them once you've met them."

Chapter Thirteen Jennifer eyed the miniature versions of Garrett and wanted to run far away. Equally, they eyed her as if she was the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. Although his smile stayed in place, Garrett's glances toward her weren't much better. Did he expect her to stuff them into an oven and gobble them up like the wicked witch in some fairy tale? She'd never hurt his children, or any child for that matter. Not on purpose. "Can we have some dots, Daddy?" Ian asked, tugging on his father's hand. "Puh-leeze," Ethan added, his big green eyes beseeching his father to agree. Jennifer knew right then and there that if Garrett said no, she'd buy the boys ice cream. And anything else they wanted. How could she not when they were so like their father whom she found totally irresistible? Garrett had children. Her mind reeled. Garrett had twin sons. No matter how much she loved him or that he claimed to love her, she couldn't be a mother again. Every hateful word Jeff had thrown at her following Carrie's death came crashing back, washing over her in waves of torturous memories. No, she couldn't deceive Garrett, couldn't pretend they had any hope of a future. Her mother would be home tomorrow. In a couple of weeks Jennifer would be back in Madison. In a few million years she'd forget Garrett. Maybe. Oh, who was she kidding? She'd never forget him. She loved him. Loving him didn't mean she could be a mother to his children. Not that Garrett had specifically asked, but wasn't that the direction they were moving towards? "Sure, you can have dots," Garrett agreed, ruffling the boys' dark hair. "Maybe Jennifer wants some space ice cream, too. Should we ask?" The boys glanced from their father to Jennifer, looking at her expectantly, as if it were a given that she'd want space ice cream, Grinch or not. "I've never had space ice cream," she admitted. "Do I get to pick flavors?" "Its chocolate covered dots," Ian explained with a very grown-up expression. "Space ice cream is dots."

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"I won't go shooting into outer space, will I?" Shaking his head, Ethan giggled. "No, silly. Astro-nots eat them." His expression changed to uncertainty, as if he were considering the possibility. "Just in case, maybe you should hold my hand." Before Jennifer could stop him, Ethan slipped his hand into hers. *** "You're sure you don't need to go?" Garrett asked Ian for the third time. The little boy shook his head, clasping on to Jennifer's hand. Since Ethan had broken the ice, the boys had clamored for her attention. "I'll wait with Jennifer." Panic gurgled up Jennifer's throat. She didn't want to be left alone with the little boy. What if something happened? Garrett frowned, looking confused by her frantic head-shaking. "Ian, you should go." "I don't have to go, Daddy." "I do." Ethan wiggled back and forth, his legs squeezed together dramatically. "I can't hold it." Garrett looked torn. In the end, Ethan's urgency won out. He rushed his son to the bathroom. Oh God. Garrett had left her alone with his son. She had no business being responsible for a child. Her own daughter died because she wasn't a good mother. "Are you my daddy's girlfriend?" Ian looked at Jennifer with eyes the exact shade of Garrett's, with the same thick black lashes. "I'm your Dad's friend and I'm a girl," she hedged, not sure what she was to Garrett. He'd said he loved her. She wasn't over the fact that he'd not told her about the boys, but she could forgive him, could even understand. Sort of. That didn't mean she could deal with this. The moment he told her she should have ended things. Why hadn't she? If she had she wouldn't be alone with a four-year-old. "My daddy has lots of girlfriends." Lots of girlfriends. Jennifer didn't say anything. Oblivious to how his words wrenched her heart, Ian went on. "Mommy said that's why Daddy didn't live with us anymore." "Because he had lots of girlfriends?" Was it wrong to question a child about his father? It must be, with the amount of guilt filling her stomach. Then again, didn't she already know she was the wrong person to be left alone with a child? Ian nodded, his legs swinging back and forth. "My mommy is in heaven. 'Cause she's an angel." The little boy's gaze went to the rocket towering above them. "I bet that rocket ship could take us to see her." Jennifer didn't know what to say. Her mind was racing in a thousand directions at the boy's revelation about Garrett's 'girlfriends'. Her heart was breaking at the loss in Ian's eyes. He'd loved his mother very much.

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Despite her misgiving about being alone with him, she couldn't help herself. She hugged him to her. "I'm sorry about your mommy, Ian. I wish that rocket ship could take us to heaven." "To see my mommy?" "And to see Carrie," she whispered, feeling hot tears trail down her cheeks. "Who's Carrie?" "My little girl." "She's in heaven with my Mommy?" Eyes watering, Jennifer nodded. Ian gave her a quizzical look, then patted her hand. "It's okay. I bet my Mommy is watching her the way you're watching me."

Chapter Fourteen Jennifer stood in the doorway watching Garrett tuck his children into bed. Ian asked a question each time Garrett started to rise. In the top bunk, Ethan's eyes had already closed. After fielding a few dozen questions about everything from where the moon came from to how yo-yos worked, Garrett kissed the boy's cheek. He turned off the overhead light, leaving only a night-light to illuminate the room. Wordlessly, they made their way to the living room. "I should go." He shook his head. "Don't." "I can't stay." "Because of the kids?" She swallowed. She had to tell him. Before they got any closer, before he got ideas about her and his children. She couldn't do that to his children, to him. "With Mom coming home from the rehab center tomorrow, I don't think we should see each other anymore. Our avoiding each other shouldn't be a problem." "I don't want to avoid you, Jennifer. I want to share my life with you." "That's not going to happen." "Because of the boys?" She nodded. "Perhaps if you didn't have children we could have worked, but—" her voice broke. "I can't do this." She turned, determined to leave before she completely broke down.

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She'd barely taken two steps when Garrett spun her toward him. "That's it? You don't want kids, I have two, and so you just shut off the way you feel about me?" She couldn't meet his gaze. "Answer me, damn it! You care so little about me that you'd walk away rather than attempt to know my boys?" It was because she cared that she pulled loose and rushed out of his house.

Chapter Fifteen A week later, Jennifer's mother was home and growing bored with her confinement. She'd invited neighbors over for a Saturday barbecue. With all the hinting she'd done, Jennifer should have known she'd invite Garrett too. Jennifer stared out the back window at where he stood, talking with her mother. His sons ran around in the back yard playing with the neighbor's chocolate lab. That settled it. If her mother was well enough to play matchmaker, she was well enough for Jennifer to go home. Only the thought of returning to Madison didn't hold the appeal it should have. She loved her job in Madison, loved her partners. But leaving Huntsville would hurt now. The back door opened. Garrett walked in. "Your mother sent me to fetch a glass of iced tea." Right. Her mother was playing matchmaker. Again. "I'll take her one." Jennifer took a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with ice. Garrett leaned against the counter. "I miss you." Jennifer didn't respond. For the past week she'd kept a smile pasted on her face for her mother's benefit, but alone in her old room, tears swamped her heart. Tears over Garrett, over Carrie, over her lack of parenting skills. If only… "The boys liked you. They've asked about you and were excited to see you today." "They barely know me." "Something I wanted to remedy, but you shut me out." "I don't do children, Garrett." "Damn it, Jennifer, I know you love me. I see it in your eyes even now. Do you hate children that much?" A sob broke free from her lips. "I don't hate children. You're boys are wonderful, but…" How did one explain that she'd failed as a mother, that she didn't want to risk hurting another child?

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"They've not had an easy go since Emma died. I want to fight to keep you in my life, but I have this overwhelming need to protect them too." "You think they need protection from me?" She reeled from his words. Words that sounded so reminiscent of something Jeff might have said. It's your fault Carrie died. If you'd been a better mother. If you'd been home more often. If you'd not been so focused on medicine. "No, that would be me." Jennifer blinked back tears. "You need protection from me?" "Oh, yes, because my heart is exposed to whatever fate you place upon it." Groaning in frustration, he pulled her to him. "I love you, Jennifer. I know I'm a package deal when you weren't even in the market for a deal at all, but don't shut me and the boys out of your life. Not without giving us a chance." She gulped. "A chance at what?" "To see if what we have can last a lifetime." Emotion welled inside her, threatening to explode. "Garrett, I can't have children," she blurted out. "You should know that before you say anything further." Disappointment shone on his face just as she'd known it would. Hadn't Jeff told her she wasn't even a real woman anymore? "Your career means that much to you?" "You don't understand," she clarified, deep-seated pain and insecurities bubbling to the surface. "I can't physically have any more children."

Chapter Sixteen "I don't care if you can't have children, Jennifer. I love you," Garrett assured. Jennifer's words sunk in. Any more. Bridget had never mentioned grandchildren. "You have children?" Her eyes closed. "I had a daughter." Again, her word choice struck him. "Had?" "She died. When she was two." "Oh, honey." Garrett wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close to him. "I'm sorry." "It's my fault she died." "How did she die?" "She drowned," she whispered, shriveling against him as if she wanted to curl up into a tight ball.

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Garrett couldn't imagine what she was going through, couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child, much less if her death had somehow been Jennifer's fault. Garrett held her, letting her cry. Ethan burst into the kitchen, coming to a halt. "Daddy, what's wrong with Jennifer?" Jennifer swiped at her eyes, smiling weakly at his son when she'd semi-composed herself. "I'm fine. What's up?" "Ian wants to know if we can jump on Benji's trampoline." "Who's Benji?" "My mother's neighbor," Jennifer answered. "The redheaded kid they've been playing with. He lives next door." Garrett considered his son's pleading face. "Ian wants to know, huh?" Ethan grinned. "Me too, Daddy. We'll be super careful and only jump in the middle." "Fine." Garrett grabbed Jennifer's hand. "Come on. We'll take the tea to your mom and watch the boys." They sat on Benji's back porch steps, silently watching the three boys jump and giggle. Garrett's cellular phone buzzed. Sighing, he flipped it open. "Hello. Uh-huh. I'll be there as quick as I can." He turned to Jennifer. She smiled softly, not needing an explanation. "I understand." "Can I come back later tonight?" "I—" she hesitated. "If you want to." He wanted to kiss her, but her mother and guests could see them. Instead, he told her with his eyes everything that was in his heart, hoping she'd understand. "I want to," he assured her, then called to the boys: "Come on, guys. We've got to go. Quick." The boys moaned, begging to stay. "I've got to get to the hospital. STAT. Get your shoes on." Grumbling, the boys climbed off the trampoline. Ian glanced toward Jennifer. "She can watch us." "Jennifer doesn't want to watch two mischievous little boys. Get your shoes on." "It's okay, Daddy. Mommy watches Jennifer's girl in heaven and Jennifer watches us." Ian lifted trusting eyes to Jennifer. "Isn't that right?"

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Chapter Seventeen Jennifer didn't know what to say. What could she say? Garrett stared at her in confusion. The boys stared at her in expectation. Her heart pounded at the sheer terror at being made responsible for Garrett's children. But did Garrett trust her with his children? After all, she'd told him about Carrie. As if he sensed her thoughts, Garrett took her hand. "I'll let them stay, Jennifer, if that's what you want, but you don't have to say yes. They can go with me and wait in the doctor's lounge. We have the routine down pat." "Please," Ethan pleaded. "We'll be good. We promise." No matter how much she wanted to say no, she didn't have the heart to do it. "They can stay." The boys cheered, high-fiving each other. Garrett squeezed her hand. "You're sure?" Not really, but she nodded. "Hurry back." Leaning in, Garrett pecked her on the cheek. "Thank you. I'll be as quick as I can. Call me if you need me." He turned to the boys. "I expect your best behavior." "Yes sir," they said in unison, grinning at each other. Jennifer sat on the porch steps, watching as Ian, Ethan and Benji hopped around until they fell back in giggles to stare up at the sky. "Will you jump with us, Jennifer?" Ian called. The last thing Jennifer planned was to jump on the trampoline, but she climbed up and crawled over to where the boys laid. "I'm not much of a jumper, Ian," she told him. "That's okay. Sit there. We'll jump and make you bounce." Nodding in agreement, the boys began to jump. Higher and higher. Keeping her legs crossed Indian-style, Jennifer bounced from the aftershocks. The boys' giggles lightened her heart and she soon found herself laughing along with them, feeling lighter than she had in years. Until Ian landed at an odd angle, falling onto Jennifer. She grabbed hold, steadying him, but Benji and Ethan both lost balance at the change of bounce dynamics. Benji fell forward, smacking into Jennifer's shoulder, throwing her back. Ethan landed on Ian, mouth smashing into head.

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Eyes round, Ethan sat up, blood covering his face.

Chapter Eighteen Oh God. What had she done? She'd known better than to watch Garrett's children. Reeling from the pain shooting through her shoulder, she did a quick assessment. Other than turning pale at the sight of blood, Benji seemed fine. Ian, however, took one look at his bloody twin and burst into tears. Trying to be brave, Ethan patted his brother's arm, his hand leaving crimson stains. "I'm okay," he assured, blood sputtering from his nose and mouth. "Ethan, sweetheart, let me check you." Definitely a bloody nose and busted lip. Any damage beyond that was obscured by blood. "We need to get ice. Pinch your nose." Unconcerned about her shoes, Jennifer lifted Ethan off the trampoline and ran toward her mother's kitchen. "Put your shoes on and follow me," she called to the other two boys. "Good Lord, what happened?" her mother called from where she sat in a lawn chair next to her remaining guests. "He bumped his head." Rushing the boy inside, she set him on the counter, grabbed a clean dishtowel and soaked it in cold water. "Here. Pinch your nose with this while I get an ice pack." Ethan covered his face with the cloth. Ian and Benji rushed into the kitchen. "Is he okay?" Jennifer placed the ice inside a clean cloth, then took the bloodsoaked one from Ethan. "Hold this to your lip while I check your nose." Jennifer examined the boy's nose. It wasn't broken. Thank God. Still, blood poured from both nostrils. She pinched the nares together, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding while she checked his lip. Ethan's upper lip was huge and split. His lower lip was swollen. But his bleeding upper gums concerned her most. And the missing tooth. "His tooth is gone!" Ian exclaimed from where he watched. Wide-eyed, Ethan poked his tongue into the vacant spot. "Cool," he said, his voice slurring. Not cool, Jennifer thought, but was grateful Ethan wasn't panicking. Unlike her. She called Garrett to tell him what had happened. That she'd let his son get hurt. "I'll be right there," he promised.

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And he was—Garrett burst into the kitchen. "Ethan lost a tooth, Daddy!" Ian exclaimed, wanting to be the first to tell his father, what he considered, the exciting news. In the ten minutes it had taken Garrett to get there, Jennifer had packed Ethan's nose and the bleeding had stopped. His lips had stopped as well thanks to the constant ice. The little boy looked horrible. His face swollen, busted and bloody. His clothes blood-stained. "I'm sorry." The reality of everything that had happened hit Jennifer, overwhelmed her. Knowing that Garrett was there to take care of his children, she ran from the kitchen, locking herself in her bedroom.

Chapter Nineteen Garrett hated using the television as a babysitter, but he had to talk to Jennifer. Alone. With her company gone, Bridget was ensconced in her lift chair and he left the boys watching cartoons. "Jennifer?" He knocked on her door, but got no answer. Reaching above the door-facing, he retrieved the key Bridget had told him he'd find. He opened the door, startled to see a swollen-faced Jennifer sitting on the bed, staring at photos. "Jennifer?" She didn't look up. He sat beside her on the bed and stared at the pictures. Clearly the child was Jennifer's. Same dark eyes. Same dark hair. "That's Carrie?" "My mother told you?" "A few minutes ago." "I let her die." Garrett wrapped his arms around her. "That's not what your mother said." "She wasn't there. She doesn't know." "You weren't there, Jennifer." "I should have been. Jeff was right. I should have been with our daughter. If I'd been there, she wouldn't have died." "Her death was an accident. Not because of your negligence, but because of your ex-husband's. He was there, Jennifer, supposedly watching her while you were at work. If anyone is to blame, it's him." "I wasn't a fit parent. I'd suffered postpartum depression after she was born and…" Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. "I didn't treasure her every day like I should have."

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He hated her pain, wished he could take it away, but hated the jerk who'd planted these doubts in her mind even more. "Look at this photo." He picked up a picture of a smiling Jennifer with her arms wrapped around the laughing little girl. "Your love is obvious." "Don't you see? Love wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to save Carrie. It isn't enough to justify putting your boys in my care. I'm not mother material." "There's no one else I'd trust more with my children," he said softly, knowing his words were true. "There's no one else I'd share them with, Jennifer. Just you." "You can say that after what I did?" He stared at her, wondering what her nut job of an ex-husband had said to her. Bridget had told him Jeff blamed Jennifer and, in her grief, Jennifer had accepted that blame and never forgiven herself. "After what you did? Jennifer, you took charge, packed Ethan's nose to stop the bleeding and kept ice on his lips and gums. What more could anyone have done?" She looked at him in confusion. "I shouldn't have let him get hurt. Jeff told me I shouldn't ever be left alone with kids. He was right. Look what happens." "You can't predict the future. Nor can you stop kids from being kids. No matter how closely we watch our children, accidents happen." "Ethan is hurt because of me." She winced, almost as if in fear of being hit. "Aren't you mad?" If he ever had the displeasure of meeting her ex, he'd slug the bastard. "Mad?" He stroked her cheek. "You deserve a medal for getting his bleeding to stop so quickly." She burst into fresh tears. Garrett held her, letting her sob against his chest, not knowing how to ease the pain inside her, knowing her ex had a lot to answer for. Garrett caressed her hair, kissed her and told her how much he loved her, how much he trusted her with his children, with his heart.

Chapter Twenty Jennifer sat up, collecting her emotions and hating that she'd slobbered all over Garrett. He must think her such a fool. "Carrie's death is what split you and Jeff?" he asked, softly. "For a long time, I thought so." She'd blamed herself for the demise of her marriage. "If our marriage had been what it should have been, if we'd loved each other, Carrie's death wouldn't have driven us apart." "What happened after she died?" "He told me it was my fault she'd died, that I was too busy being a doctor to take care of my own child and husband. He got another woman pregnant and divorced me to marry her." Her pain was palpable, filling the room and his heart.

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"He was a jerk. Do you hear me? Your ex was a fool." Just like Garrett had been a fool in many ways. "I had this idea of what the perfect woman for me was going to be like. I was looking for a cross between Martha Stewart and Mary Poppins." "I can't cook and never could say that Supercalifracha word." "There's always take-out," he said, grinning. "There are two little boys downstairs who need a mother." "Is that why you're here? Because your boys need a mother? I failed my own daughter, Garrett. You don't want me mothering your children." "No, the boys aren't why I'm with you." He laced his fingers with hers. "I'm with you because I need you, Jennifer. I can't imagine my life without you in it." Jennifer stared at him in disbelief. When his gaze didn't waver, her mouth dropped. "You're serious." "I love you, Jennifer. I want you to be in my life and in the boys' life. Always." Garrett knelt on the floor, took her hand in his. "What I want is to marry you and spend every day of my life loving you." "You're sure?" "I'm sure." Her career was important to her. He understood that. "If moving back to Huntsville isn't an option, I'll relocate." "You'd do that?" He shrugged. "The boys would miss their grandmother, but they'd like living near the beach. We'd make it work." "But—" "But nothing. I want to be with you. I'll do whatever it takes for that to happen." "You love me that much?" "I do." "Me, too." A smile spread across Jennifer's face. "Garrett, you're sure you're not doing this just to give the boys a mother?" "I'm positive. For a short while I told myself I shouldn't be doing this because the boys deserved a mother who wasn't so dedicated to a career. Now I know that what they deserve is parents who love each other and them as well." "They've been through so much," she mused. "With losing their mother." Ian's words from earlier in the day hit her. "Did you cheat on your wife?" "I never cheated on Emma, although she considered medicine my mistress." He sighed. "We married because she was pregnant. I thought we could make it work. I was wrong. She never forgave me for loving medicine more than her, but I don't regret the choices we made because God gave us two beautiful sons." Jennifer digested what he said, knew he was telling her the truth. "We'd have to take things slow, Garrett. Give the boys time to get to know me, to make sure our being together is what's right for them." "I'm not sure how slow I can go when you're involved. I want to wake up next you, to sleep holding you."

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"My mother would be ecstatic if I moved back to Huntsville." "She would." He waited, giving her the opportunity to expound. "The boys shouldn't be uprooted. They've had enough changes. Leaving their grandmother and their home shouldn't be thrown in." Garrett smiled. Already Jennifer was putting the boys before her own life. Like a mother did. Did she even realize that's what she was doing? Jennifer's gaze met his. "I love you, Garrett. With all my heart. If you still want to marry me after we've given the boys time, my answer is yes." "Yes, you'll be my wife?" She closed her eyes. "I won't be able to give you more children." Garrett cupped her cheek. "Jennifer, even if we didn't have the boys, I'd still want to spend my life with you. Never doubt that." Staring into his eyes, seeing the love shining there, Jennifer's heart blossomed. Garrett loved her. Deep down real last a lifetime loved her.

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Hot and Wild by Jodi Lynn Copeland After four long years apart, Karen and Brian’s love is stronger than ever, and their sex life would put the Kama Sutra to shame. But on the eve of their drive-through Vegas wedding, Karen can’t shake the feeling that her fiancé has a secret—the kind that could rock the foundation of an otherwise solid relationship. And her worst fear seems to be confirmed when she sees his hot bod, in the arms of another woman! Is it possible Brian has grown bored of Karen’s subservience in the bedroom—that he’s he looking for a woman who can take control? Or is there something deeper, something darker, at play…?

Chapter One “Sex doesn’t have to die after marriage.” Staring through my open car window at the white-and-red heart-emblazoned sign of Vegas’s Little White Wedding Chapel, I faked a laugh. My friend Deitre’s speculation at what was on my mind couldn’t be farther off. Brian and I had a sex life to put the Kama Sutra to shame. I had every faith we’d still be doing it with the frequency of bunnies after we said those two little words. We didn’t lack for love, either. Having spent four years apart while he chased his music career across the country, our first red-hot reunion kiss—which segued into our first redder, hotter reunion lovemaking—promised this time we were playing for keeps. What bothered me was that no matter how much of myself I revealed and even how much of himself he shared, I felt he held something back. A secret that could rock the foundation of our marriage even before we took that fateful nuptial drive through the chapel’s Tunnel of Love. A secret that had me wondering if I shouldn’t be on the eve of saying “I don’t.” I looked across the center console of my hatchback. The flashier lights of the strip were up the street a half mile. I didn’t need that glitz, or the luster of the full moon, to see Deitre’s questioning expression. Thousands of small white lights entwined with the tunnel’s blue cherub-and-starlight-bedecked canopy, lighting up the car’s interior like it was ten in the morning instead of ten at night. “I was thinking maybe we should go for the old-fashioned approach,” I lied. “A drive-through ceremony might be a little too hokey for even me.” From the passenger’s seat, Deitre shot my all-black ensemble of oversize dress shirt, leggings and combat boots a “get real” look. The getup was a stark contrast to my short, naturally white-blond hair, and in that way, deepened my hazel eyes. “You, Karen ‘far-out’ Sanders, do old-fashioned?” Her expression became sympathetic. “Besides, who would you invite to an old-fashioned ceremony?” “Good point,” I returned solemnly. My parents had been killed in a car accident when I was three. The grandparents who raised me in their stead had passed on a few years ago. I didn’t have siblings or other close relatives, and Brian was just as alone, since his parents kicked him out for not living up to their expectations. Between us, we’d invited a dozen friends to share our rented limo and witness our nuptials tomorrow. Most of that dozen were Brian’s friends. Most of those friends, with the exception of two of his bandmates, I had yet to meet. The sobriety that came with Deitre’s observation vanished as my apprehension once again rose. Why had Brian yet to introduce me to the guys he routinely spent four nights a month with, including tonight? Or were they not guy friends? Was he having an affair?

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“The Tunnel’s as good a place to do the deed as any.” Deitre said the word deed like marriage was a step away from incarceration. I forced a smile while inside my belly lurched. But really, what was I worried about? It had to be guys he spent those four days a month with, or he never would have told me I’d meet them at our wedding. So there was no other woman. There probably wasn’t a secret, either. It was just my desperate want for a family at work, making me find fault and fear where there was only good. My smile warmed with sincerity and a hint of teasing. “Someday your prince will come.” Deitre rolled her eyes as expected. A relationship-lover she was not. Though, honestly, until Brian returned to my life, I wasn’t all that jazzed about them, either. “Screw the prince,” Deitre returned. “It’s man candy and expensive booze time. Before you say something else that makes me want to lose my lunch.” I did love me some man candy—now that I was engaged it was purely the kind you appreciated from afar, of course. Even so, I wasn’t raring to take in a bunch of strangers’ tight tushies. Drinking myself silly, or at least my nerves into numbness, did hold appeal. Thoughts of the drinks to come spinning in my head, I pulled out of the chapel parking lot and headed toward the glitzy part of the strip. “Are you having doubts about Brian?” Deitre asked as we bypassed the brightly lit, towering spike of the Stratosphere. “You’ve only been back together a few months, so no one could blame you for secondguessing, or postponing the wedding, for that matter.” I thought the answer to her question was no, that I’d ascertained a half mile ago that Brian was hanging out with guy friends and that there was no dirty little secret. But if I had come to that conclusion, why did the question have my belly back to its obnoxious churning? I feigned a laugh. “Nice attempt to bring me back to the single side.” “I’d just hate to see you revert to your ‘men are pigs, good only for sex’ mantra.” I laughed again, this time for real. “Bullshit, you would.” While my doubts on Brian were relatively new, Deitre had been questioning whether he had my best interests at heart since learning of our reunion. “Brian and I are perfect. Now that I think about it, so is the Tunnel of Love.” Repeating those words in my head, I headed for our favorite club—a local’s place a few blocks off the strip and within walking distance of our respective apartments. Traffic slowed in front of the Liege casino, and my thoughts skipped to the bakery-style café I operated inside the building. For an instant my nerves faded to guilt, because I hated leaving someone else in charge of the café this next week. Then my attention veered to the opposite side of the street so fast and hard it was like it was drawn by some molecular force. The stellar view on the sidewalk instantly turned my guilt to lust. Holy yum! Brian’s ass. Did I mention I have a thing for tight tushies? Well, I do, and Brian’s backside was nothing short of delicious, scrumptious. Totally freaking edible. Damn, the man’s butt and long, lean, muscular legs did thigh-melting things to a pair of faded blue jeans. Out of those jeans, he was even more amazing. Our first go-round on the relationship wheel, he’d been an incredible lover. This time around his natural dominance and the glide of his finely tuned musician’s hands along my curves, over my peaks, inside my slick, quaking valleys had gotten me hot to the point of delirium more than a few times.

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Last night he’d been working his not-quite-grunge look. He’d left his short, shaggy blond hair to the pleasure of my fingertips and a couple days’ worth of dark stubble that—along with his dark eyebrows—betrayed his natural hair color, to tease along my sensitive flesh. A shudder sliced through me, as if he had that coarse bit of hair taunting me into submission right now, and I trembled despite the balmy night air snaking through the hatchback’s open windows. The memory of the multiple-orgasm encounter and the words of love Brian shouted in the midst of his release soothed the last of my nerves. I was feeling much better—not to mention much wetter—when a tall, leggy brunette in short, clingy electric blue appeared on the sidewalk. She seemed to come out of nowhere to throw Brian first an adoring smile and then her arms around his neck. The barracuda’s lips pressed again his, and every salacious thought in my head evaporated. The contents of my stomach vaulted into my throat. Then they nearly came out as I stomped my foot on the brake so hard it propelled the coins from the center console depression onto the floor. Deitre braced her hands against the dashboard. “What the hell?” she gasped as a series of horns blared, the most notable and persistent coming from the taxi behind us. “Are you trying to get us killed?” No, but there was a very good chance of my killing Brian before this night was through….

Chapter Two “No way. No freaking way!” I curled my fingers around the hatchback’s steering wheel so tightly my nails dug into my palms. I feared Brian had a secret that could destroy our relationship, but I honestly never believed he would cheat on me. What would he hope to gain with another woman that he didn’t have with me? A better sex life was out of the question. Or was it? I’d always assumed he loved the way I played to his dominance. Maybe my subservience had grown old. Maybe he needed a woman who was just as eager to turn the flogger on his ass. The thing was, I could be that woman. I was hardly a shrinking violet, and I did take control now and again, just never total control. Just never to the point where he was left to my complete and utter mercy. “What is the matter, Karen?” Deitre prodded from the passenger’s seat. I looked over at her, floored she had to ask. Was she blind? Obviously, I was—blind or just plain stupid—to have missed Brian’s infidelity. “The pig’s cheating on me.” Red eyebrows drew together, showing her confusion. Not trusting myself to speak again, when emotion hot and thick was barreling up my throat, I nodded out my window to the spot where Brian had just killed my dreams of finally having a real family. Dreams he’d sworn he shared. Dreams that were way in the hell more important than who controlled the reins in the fuck department. The bastard. The bastard who was no longer in sight. The hoochie in electric blue was gone, too. I hadn’t turned my head more than three seconds. Not nearly long enough for them to make an escape, yet a second search of the sidewalk and twenty feet of the strip on either side revealed them missing in action. Unable to tear my gaze from the sidewalk, I managed in a low voice caught between anguish and wonder, “He was standing there sucking face with some brunette chick. I could never mistake his butt.” “That was all you saw? Just his ass?” Doubt rang in Deitre’s voice.

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“That’s all I needed to see.” I’m telling you I have an eye for tight tushies, and Brian’s was grade-A, standout-from-the-pack material. The taxi driver behind us laid on his horn again. Then again and again. I stuck my arm out the window and flipped him a middle finger of greeting. I got that he was ticked at me for holding up traffic, but c’mon, my life had taken a downward spiral of massive proportions. “Brian’s not there,” Deitre stated the obvious. Then she added the unthinkable. “Either some other guy’s walking around with the same ass, or they disappeared into a pocket of darkness.” My focus jerked across the center console. Not only was the observation unthinkable, but totally out of the blue. “What?” “A place not visible by human eye. Where the supernaturals hang out.” “I know what it is.” Anyone who’d called Vegas home for more than a month or two would. I’d lived here my entire twenty-seven years, and rumors had been circulating that the city was a breeding ground for paranormal creatures for as long as I could remember. As someone who’d, more or less, fallen into the Wiccan craft, I believed those rumors to a certain extent. I would never have guessed Deitre did, or that she could think Brian was among that supernatural group. “You seriously believe the stories?” I asked. In the year we’d been friends, not once had we discussed the paranormal. The taxi driver railed on his horn. Deitre frowned out the back window. “I seriously believe if you don’t get this car in motion, you’re going to have a taxi up your ass.” I wanted to hear her thoughts on the paranormal. I wanted to know where Brian had gone far more. Sitting here wasn’t getting me answers of either kind. Relenting to the taxi driver with the badass attitude, I lifted my foot off the brake and took the next side street to the local’s club. A casual buzz no longer appealed. Still, it was better than heading back to my apartment, where I’d be alone, pissed and heartbroken. *** “This diamond ring doesn’t shine for me anymore.” I sang the lyrics in tone-deaf style as I twisted Brian’s engagement ring off my finger, tears pressing at the backs of my eyes. I wanted to throw the ring out my third-floor bedroom window, let some other lovesick sap find it. Better judgment wouldn’t allow it. I’d had a handful of beers in the two hours Deitre and I spent at the local’s club. Not enough to mask the truth. That truth was, Brian’s ring still shone for me in a soul-deep way that extended well beyond its luminous, three-carat clarity. Setting the ring on the nightstand, I flicked off the lamp and lay back in bed. I hadn’t worn clothes to bed in years, yet I’d never felt as naked as I did now, with my ring finger bared. Shutting my eyes, I urged the blessings of a dreamless sleep to claim me. Instead my mind was flooded with the memory of the night Brian proposed. He did things by the book as rarely as I did. That night he’d risked cliché and went down on bended knee with open love gleaming in his potent green eyes. One second I was saying yes and the next second we were fucking like wild animals. Touching, teasing, tasting each other until we were both too exhausted to do more than gasp for breath. My heart twisted painfully. When had he stopped loving me?

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Or was I still making something out of nothing? Deitre had tried to convince me that it wasn’t Brian I’d seen tonight. Why she’d suddenly become his champion I have no idea, but I wanted to believe her damned badly. I wanted to know there was no other woman, no life-altering secret. No nothing but our love, shining now and forever. Only those weren’t wants. Those were all-consuming needs. If there was still a chance of the sun rising on one of the happiest days of my life, I had to have answers from Brian and I had to have them now. Tossing the covers back, I intended to climb from bed, back into my clothes and head straight for his apartment. Reality had me flicking on the lamp and reaching for the vibrator inside the nightstand drawer. There was a chance that I wasn’t enough for Brian from a sexual standpoint any longer, but he was more than enough for me. All it took was the suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows, the naughty slant of his soft, sexy lips, the brush of his palm across my ass—any or all of those—and my brain was mush, my pussy moist. He made me feel wild, wanton, wicked with my burning need for his lover’s touch. Even with fear and anger riding high, there was a good chance of my falling victim to lust. Sating that lust now was my best attempt at resisting it later….

Chapter Three Purging all thoughts but those of pleasure, I reclined against my headboard, covers pooled on the bed past my bent legs and a flesh-colored vibrator in hand. The vibrator buzzed to life with the flick of my fingernail…and my freaking thoughts went racing to Brian. He’d gifted me the sex toy for those times when his band was on the road and I couldn’t hold off my craving for orgasm. Too, so he could envision in full detail the vibrator pulsing inside my body as he took me higher with rough, dirty words via the phone line. That’s my cock in you, babe. Fucking you so fast and hard. I can’t get enough of that sweet pussy wrapping around me. Clenching. Showering me with your honey. I didn’t want those remembered words from his last road trip in my head. But better it be remembered words that sated my lust now, than new words that sated my lust when I arrived at his apartment in search of answers a half hour from now. Spreading my thighs, I brought the throbbing tip of the sex toy along my slit. I sighed with the erotic contact. More remembered words followed the wanton sound, played hot and carnal in my mind. Eagerly, I filled my free hand with a breast. That’s right. Get that hand on your breast. You’re so soft, baby. Everything but these nipples. Hot, hard, ripe for my tongue. Teeth. My fingers pinched the swollen red crest, mimicking the heady nip of his teeth. Moisture gushed in my pussy. Blood warmed in my veins and my breathing heightened. The vibrator slipped partway inside the slick valley of my sex with my next taunting pinch. The pulsating head stroked against my clit, and my hips pumped up on rapturous instinct, slipping a little moan from between my lips. Wanting, needing more than that light touch, that little moan, I sank the toy deep inside my sheath. Closing my eyes, I let Brian’s sexy face, his commanding words, take me over.

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Thoughts turned to electric sensations. Arousal colored the air with a sensual musk and hastened the beat of my heart. The vibrator and my hand moved together, pumping, pinching, propelling me to the thightingling, belly-tightening edge of release. Warmth balled in my stomach, heated my cheeks. Sliced from the erect, aching points of my nipples to that place where my sex clenched needfully around the damp shaft of the vibrator. Come for me, Karen. Come all over my cock. Brian’s words whispered through my head. Whispered, yet they were rough, deep, that coarse, sexy tone that had aroused me from day one. That decadent demand that had orgasm gripping hold of me now. That’s it. Fuck me. Take me all the way inside. Panting, I pumped my hips, twisted my nipple and rode each delicious thrust of the vibrator. My pussy contracted around the rod with a final furious clench, and then let loose with a flood of cream. I shouted with the force of my climax. Cried out in ecstasy as the continued twisting of my nipple bordered near to the edge of pain. And then sighed when it all ended too soon. Opening my eyes revealed Brian nowhere in sight. Not even on the other end of the phone line. Possibly not even home from his illicit liaison with the hoochie in blue. All trace of pleasure faded with grim reality, the gentle quivering of my sex already a distant reminder of the explosive orgasm. I moved to the edge of the bed and toward my only objective for the rest of this night. Before the sun rose, I was going to get my answers. I just hoped to God they didn’t come when Brian opened his door to reveal a leggy, naked brunette standing behind him. *** “Don’t be a bastard.” As I climbed into my hatchback, I sent the order to Brian by way of the engagement ring I’d put on before leaving my apartment. I felt so bare without the ring, so damned vulnerable. And afraid. I hated how weak my love for Brian made me. I’d been alone for years, had learned to be happy that way. All the same, the overwhelming fear of finding myself alone again ate at my belly as I drove to his apartment on the other side of the city. His place was more upscale than mine, located in a nicer neighborhood, but I knew he craved for a real home. A two-story, single-family stucco with enough room to live comfortably on the inside and enough acreage to play passionately on the outside. I longed for that same thing. The perfect spot to grow our love while we raised a family. Brian vowed he would see our dream a reality. His band was still playing small-time gigs, waiting for its big break, but he believed their day in the sun was coming, a hefty paycheck to accompany it. With his smooth, smoky vocals and, okay, his awesome ass, I had every faith he was right. I did until recently. I did until I caught him locking lips with another woman. The knots of trepidation in my belly became those of rage as I pulled into his apartment complex. What the fuck right did he have to promise me a family, a home, his undying love, and then bury his dick in someone else? Was the hoochie brunette a groupie? Was she more?

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God, why did I even care? She could be a one-night stand and it wouldn’t change the fact that he’d cheated. Quite possibly was inside his apartment, cheating at this very moment. Unless he hadn’t. Unless he wasn’t. “Innocent until proven guilty.” With that sad attempt at self-soothing, I stepped from the hatchback and started up the sidewalk. Despite being past one in the morning, the night air was balmy, the sky vibrant with a full moon and a canvas of stars not visible closer to the heart of the city. A stunning Vegas night like the one we’d shared last Saturday, when we’d made love on Brian’s balcony. My mind threatened to wander to a week ago. To the feel of his full, sensual lips kissing a damp path between my breasts, along the slope of my belly, lower to press teasingly against the plumped-up folds of my sex. The folds that were tingling with dampness again this very moment. Crap, so much for sating my lust. Once more flushing all thoughts from my head, but those of getting answers from Brian, I opened the door that led to four interior units. His apartment was the first on the right. A press of my ear to the windowless door revealed no noise coming from inside. Given the late hour, the sex-capades could be over. Or he might not have come home yet. He might not be planning on coming home at all. That heart-thumping idea had my hand shooting out and twisting the doorknob. The door didn’t budge. Since Brian had given me a key to the place weeks ago, a locked door was a minor thing. Jerking the key ring from my pocket, I shoved the key into the lock and pushed in the door. Pitch-black inside. Silent. Then, suddenly, not silent. Breathing came from down the hall. From the direction of his bedroom. Fast breathing. Labored breathing. The breathing of a guy who’d just finished a good, hard fuck.

Chapter Four Fast breathing. Labored breathing. The breathing of a guy who’d just finished a good, hard fuck. Tears stormed into the backs of my eyes as that damnable telltale breathing lit up the darkness. They were just one of many sets of tears that had tried to escape tonight. Stupid, since I never cried. More stupid since I never cried over guys who were total lying pigs. I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand. No matter how my heart stung with Brian’s betrayal, I wasn’t backing down. He was going to know that I was here, that I’d caught his no-good ass red-handed, or postcoital, or whatever. Wishing that I studied a craft that believed in the use of black magic, I felt my way through the dark to his bedroom. The breathing stopped before I could reach the door. Brian’s familiar deep, rough voice questioned, “Karen?”

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Even now, as I stood on the verge of unveiling him for the bastard he was, his scratchy, sexy tone got to me. Sent a sensual shiver racing along my spine. But I could mask that awareness. So long as the light stayed off, he would never know I was anything but pissed. “Surprised to see me?” I asked cattily. “Yeah. I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” Oddly, his breathing sounded normal now. It had to be a facade. Personally, I didn’t worry about putting up a front, but snapped, “I think that’s only if she’s in her wedding gown, and since when do I care about tradition?” The light flickered on in response. I blinked against the sudden brightness, then felt my mouth go a little agog at both Brian’s nearness and his appearance. He stood less than two feet away, decadently nude. His short, shaggy blond hair was tousled and a smile of pure devilish carnality curved his lips and reflected in the dark green of his eyes. My heart came untwisted to give a bump of longing. Hunger unfurled in my belly, quickly working its way down to my sex. My gaze slid to his chest—broad, solid, dusted with furled dark hair. Then lower to his cock. Semihard but with no trace of freshly released come. His shaft hardened further under my eyeing, and I jerked my attention back to his face. To that damned smile. Fuckety fuck. I knew that wickedly tempting look. I knew sex was on his mind. The question was, with who? I looked past him, to the open door to the attached bathroom. Was the brunette in there? Hiding in the shower? “Were you sleeping?” “Almost. Suddenly, I’m not tired anymore.” Brian’s hands closed around my upper arms, pulling my gaze back to his face and my body flush to his own. Bending his head, he nipped a tender kiss across my lips. “I missed you tonight.” My heart gave another stupid bump. He sounded sincere. Looked sincere. His lips pressed a little harder, a little hotter. He released my arms to slip his hands beneath the hem of my oversize black shirt. Long, clever fingers molded to my ass, their warmth seeping enticingly through my leggings. Short nails dug into the soft flesh of my butt. I sighed with the blissful contact. His tongue took advantage, delving damply between my lips. He moved slowly at first, teasingly, then faster, eagerly. His big, strong hands kneaded my ass. Frissons of need rocketed through my body. My heart skipped a beat, melded into a wild tattoo. Greedily, I took his back into my hands and ground against his stone-stiff cock. My pussy throbbed with the buck of his shaft, the earthy, primal scent lifting off his skin. My tongue went wild in his mouth. Yes, yes, yes! It was always like this between us. So wild. Passionate. Unrestrained. But no, no, no! I was going down for the count, forgetting my purpose, losing myself to lust. Another few seconds and I’d be totally mindless to a hoochie brunette sneaking out of the apartment.

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Shoving my hands between our bodies, I pushed hard against Brian’s chest. It took a few seconds, but he ended the kiss. Concern clouded the heated desire in his eyes. “What’s the matter?” My pussy throbbed its discontent as I searched for an excuse. “I need to pee.” A slow, amused grin formed, telling me he didn’t mind the crude explanation. But then, c’mon, we weren’t exactly Mr. and Mrs. Sophisticate here. We weren’t exactly Mr. and Mrs. Anyone yet, and I had to remember that. Had to remember the barracuda hiding in the bathroom. With a feigned parting smile, I moved into the bathroom. The door had just closed when Brian asked, “So is it bad luck for the groom to fuck the bride before the wedding?” My pulse sped. My sex liquefied. Seriously, he was so not playing fair. He’s trying to distract you, I gave myself a mental pointer. Right. Distract me. Away from catching the brunette. By offering up his gorgeously nude, incredibly virile, beautifully formed body. Focus. Right. Focus. Focusing on my purpose and not my out-of-control sex drive, I hurried the handful of feet to the shower. A plain navy shower curtain was all that separated me from the ultimate betrayal. Heart slamming, I jerked the curtain aside…and screeched my loathing at the repulsive sight before me…

Chapter Five As seldom as I cry, I screech even less—it had a way of making one sound like a shrew. But, damn, I hate spiders. The one climbing up Brian’s shower wall had both the element of surprise and a huge, hairy body on its side. On a far better note, unless the spider was female and a member of the supposed supernaturals who ruled Vegas’s darker side, there was no brunette in the bathroom. A hard knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Karen?” Worry ruled Brian’s voice. The doorknob jiggled. “Damnit, open the door!” My heart swelled. For Brian to be that concerned over a screech, he had to love me. Did that mean there was never another woman? Had I imagined both his heavy breathing when I’d entered the apartment and that it was his scrumptious backside on that sidewalk tonight? Pulse speeding, I unlocked and opened the bathroom door. Elation swamped me at his equally adoring and worrisome look. His wasn’t the face of a cheater. It was the face of my future husband. The face of the man I’d fallen for seven years ago, and whose engagement ring was going to shine for me forever. I kept my expression neutral when all I wanted to do was break out a monster-size grin. “Sorry. I must have locked it by accident. I’m okay.” “You’re okay?” he repeated incredulously. “You show up after midnight, fumble your way to my bedroom in the dark, then run from my kiss when I assume you came for sex because what else could bring you out this

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time of night?” Anxiety took over his face. “Is this about tomorrow? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind. This is our dream.” Unable to keep my grin at bay, I let it out in full force. Oh, yeah, he loved me. Me, and me alone. “I didn’t change my mind. I love you, Brian, and I love our dream. I want to make love. Now, always.” I recalled the creepy crawly, and shuddered as I pointed it out. “Just not in here. Not by that thing.” A first relieved and then amused smile broke out on his face. He laughed, loud and hard. “Christ, I should have guessed.” He grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper and used it to make the spider disappear. “You sure are something, Karen Sanders. You put up this goth-girl, kick-ass front, then freak out at the sight of a spider.” “I’m not a goth girl. I just like black. And that spider is huge. Probably poisonous.” He gave another rough laugh because he, no doubt, knew as well as I did the slim odds of the spider being venomous. The wicked, wide smile from when he’d first turned on the light emerged. “The spider’s gone and you’re not the only one with a thing for black.” His eyes darted to the vicinity of my crotch. Sensual command filled them. “Tell me you’re wearing panties to match.” And just like that all thoughts of the creepy crawly were gone. My pussy flooded with liquid warmth. As much as I was a sucker for his style of command, I was also a sucker for taunting him. Earlier tonight I’d feared he’d grown tired of the way I played to his natural dominance. Now I knew better, and every nerve in my body quivered in excitement as I baited his dominant side. “I’m not.” I moved into the bedroom, wiggling my butt just before I would have disappeared from his view. “I’m wearing a thong to match. You might as well call it dental floss for how small it is.” A low growl sounded behind me. “Such a tease,” Brian accused in that raspy voice that never ceased to give me chills. “You know what happens to teases?” Did I ever. My breath hitched in wild anticipation. His hands were on my waist in the next heartbeat. My feet left the floor as he lifted me up and turned me around. A gentle push at the center of my back had me propelling toward the wall. I braced my hands against the wall to stop my face from making a direct hit. His hands were on me instantly. This time he didn’t bother to cup my ass through my leggings. He shoved the hem of my shirt up and tugged the waist of my leggings down. Warm fingers stroked over the newly exposed flesh, rising gooseflesh and puckering my cheeks. The hot hardness of his chest pressed against my back. Warm, feathery breath chased along my ear. “I’m going to swat this gorgeous ass. Get it all good and pink. And then, little tease, I’m going to fuck it.” I shuddered with the delicious promise. “An early wedding gift.” He gave my butt another pet, stopping midway to finger the lace lining my crack. “Yeah, soon-to-be Mrs. Ryder, and just wait till you see what the honeymoon brings.” Mrs. Ryder. My excitement mounted with pure giddiness. In just over twelve hours I was going to be Brian’s wife. We were going to be a family. “I love that name.”

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“I love this ass.” His fingers freed the lace. In the next breath, his hand connected with my backside. Delicious sensation whipped through my cheeks with his swat. I flattened my hands against the wall and stuck my ass out farther, giving another taunting wiggle. With a barely audible chuckle, he swatted my butt a second time. This time he added pressure, enough to register a soft sting. Enough to trickle juice from my pussy and lift the scent of my arousal into the air. The fingers of his left hand came to the wall, covering mine and trapping them in place. He sniffed the air audibly, ferally. “Someone’s wet. Someone’s about to get wetter.” His right hand fell once more, connecting with my tingling backside so hard it echoed through his bedroom as a visceral crack. The air caught in my throat. My hips jerked back. I yowled with the resulting stab of desire that shot from my quivering sex to my throbbing nipples and back again. “That’s it.” Approval laced with conceit rang in Brian’s raspy tone. “Howl for me, baby. Tell me all about it.” His palm lifted from my butt. I clenched my cheeks in wait of another spanking. He spread my thighs apart instead, pulling my leggings down to my ankles. Returning his hand to my ass, he walked his fingers along the strip of black lace that lined my butt, and then continued the journey downward, applying toying pressure as he bypassed my perineum en route to my vagina. From behind, his long, knowing fingers cupped my hungry pussy. Unable to resist temptation, I ground against his hand. The inward arch of a knuckle slipped between my folds to rub along my clit, and I squealed in pure carnal delight. Brian’s breathing sounded like a tempest in response. Bringing his mouth to my earlobe, he first sucked the soft skin and then scraped his teeth over it in succulent fashion. Thankful for the easy access my short hair allowed, I craned my neck to the side and purred for more, more, more. Teeth and fingers moved together, taunting my ear and my pussy in turn. One finger moved past the delicate lace of the thong, entering my sheath and loving me with slow, knowing strokes. A second finger moved beneath the lace. Together they quickened their pace. The nip of his teeth heightened with each pump. My breathing increased, grew ragged, and I worked my hips to take his fingers deeper, faster, harder. The hand that still held mine captive against the wall tightened, demanding I leave the control entirely within his grasp. Obviously, I couldn’t have been more wrong in thinking he wanted a less submissive lover. Obviously, I couldn’t love his being in control any more if I tried….

Chapter Six The nip of Brian’s teeth lifted from my earlobe. The two fingers buried inside my sheath from behind ceased their pumping. Firming his hold on my hands against the wall, he ordered, “Tell me what you want, Karen.” “You to never stop fucking me.” The words came out fierce and low. But, c’mon, did the man really have to stop his fingering when he had me so near to orgasm? Dark, delicious laughter rolled along my ear. The fingers within my pussy moved—slow, measured strokes meant to drive a girl insane with desire. Brian’s mouth returned to my neck. No teeth this time, but his tongue laving in the same lazy style as his fingers. “More,” I panted, rubbing against his hand. “Give me more, Brian. More fingering. More spankings. Let me feel your cock inside me.”

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His mouth lifted. “You need more, all right. More patience.” Not tonight, when it was already so late. When each languid glide of his fingers and flick of his tongue had more restless heat gathering in my belly. Moisture flooded my vagina. I wriggled my sex harder against his palm, tried to free my hands from his grasp. I expected a reprimand for that act of disobedience. Instead, he released my wrists and moved his hand beneath my shirt. Even as he found a breast and captured its nipple through my bra, the fingers of his other hand left my pussy. I whimpered with the loss. My sex felt empty, void. Then I whimpered again with the new contact. My nipple felt cherished, alive with the heady pinch of his fingers. Brian increased the pressure, rolling my nipple through the black lace of my bra. His mouth returned, teasing warm breath along my nape. The need in my belly grew to a trembling inferno. Bending my knees, I sought out his hand, needing his fingers back inside me, needing his cock, a dildo, anything to fill that aching, burning void. While nothing connected with my sex, his teeth touched down on my neck, abraded. Sank in. Just a bit. Just a shallow scrape that I felt as a furious clenching in my sex. Just a scrape that beaded sweat on my skin and had my wild need for more burning higher. His free hand returned to my ass as a swat so hard and divine I nearly came on the spot. “Give it to me!” I yelped near helplessly. A guttural growl slipped from his mouth. The edge of his teeth sank deeper. Pleasure pain rippled through me like a wildfire. Wicked heat coiled, arrowing electric bolts of sensation through every pulse point in my pussy. Moaning, I pressed my hips back, seeking out the cradle of his powerful thighs. But it wasn’t the warm cradle of his strong, bare thighs that I met with. The hard ridge of his cock pressed along the seam of my ass. Right where I was warm and wet for him. Right where we both knew I’d wanted him from the first swat. “Fuck me, Brian. Take my ass. Please don’t make me wait another second.” His answer was the tug of the thong from my butt. The thick head of his shaft replaced the string that served as the thong’s backside. The head of his cock moved the tiniest bit inside the halo of my anus, natural lubrication seeping from the tip easing the way. “I need you, babe,” he rasped. “God, do I need you.” I pumped my hips back with his fervent words, and his erection nuzzled with its need to push all the way inside. His teeth sank deeper into my neck. Pleasure bordered on pain. Shudders of ache dipped from my nape to where he twisted my nipple. Then the pain became pleasure once more as he eased his cock fully into my ass. The hand at my breast went to my crotch, gathered the sodden front of the thong. A soft rip and the black lace fell forgotten to the bedroom floor. Two of Brian’s fingers returned to my pussy, sinking deep inside, loving my front entry as his cock began to move inside the back one. Fingers, cock, teeth. They all worked together, moving, pumping, nipping, pushing me toward an orgasm of blistering proportions. The blood singed through my veins. My heart galloped in my chest.

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Panting for breath, I struggled to keep my hold on the wall. Where my hands held, my legs gave out, breaking the connection of our bodies. Brian’s free arm came around my waist, catching me before I hit the ground. He brought us both to our knees, his big, beautiful body covering mine. I thought my need great, but it was nothing compared to what I could now feel of his. His need trembled through him so forcefully it shook us both, shuddered through me and claimed me all the way past my heart and into my soul. One of his hands supported my middle while the other dipped back between my thighs. As if my pussy hadn’t been filled in months, a deluge of cream gushed forth and my inner muscles sucked hungrily at his impaling. A growl rolled from his lips—no low, gentle sound this time this time, but one that spoke of bonedeep need and urgency. Tipping my hips, he pumped into my ass with a force that stole my breath. He set a pace of pure, animalistic frenzy. One that no longer allowed me to concentrate on any one part—finger, teeth, cock. All came together in a brilliant explosion of lust, love and lavishness as I gave in to a soul-bending climax. With a last deep thrust, Brian’s cock pulsed inside me, seized and released his hot silky fluid. His teeth left a mark on my neck in the process, that was bound to last the entire week of our honeymoon, and that I loved for precisely that reason. *** I lay in Brian’s arms, my back to his front, basking in the glow of our lovemaking, first on his floor and then those tender caresses which followed here in his bed. I wanted to fall asleep, wake together on the morning of our wedding, watch the sun rise on the first of thousands of days spent as man and wife. I couldn’t close my eyes. Now that my brain was returning from the land of all that was lusty and good, I couldn’t forget that something had bothered me about our relationship before I wrongly believed he was having an affair. I had to know if he truly held part of himself back. If he harbored a secret with the potential to destroy our relationship. Turning in his arms, I savored his sexily tousled look and the utter satiation glimmering in his potent green eyes. His mouth curved in a slow smile. Heavyhearted, I nipped a kiss along his lips. “Did you enjoy your last night out as a single man?” He wiggled his dark eyebrows at the portions of my body neither his sheets nor his own body covered. “Not as much as I enjoyed my last night in as a single man.” I laughed, though the sound rang hollow. I felt suddenly hollow, scared to death and cold despite our shared warmth. Regardless, I had to forge on. I could never be entirely happy so long as doubt remained. “Are the guys still planning to make the wedding?” Brian’s smile dipped, suggesting he was aware of my mood swing, or maybe the subtle tremor in my voice. “So far as I know.” “Good. I hate talking about people when I don’t know what they look like.” I pulled in a breath, then let it and my next words out quickly. “Or where they hang out. Were you guys near the Liege tonight? I swear I saw you across the street from there. I could never mistake your butt. Not ever. Or the way you kiss a woman.” Surprise flashed in his eyes. His throat worked visibly before his face went deadpan. My own throat constricted, a backlog of pent-up emotion trapping the breath inside, as I waited for his response….

Chapter Seven

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The deadpan look Brian got, in response to my asking if he’d been across from the Liege tonight, faded to detachment. He slid his arms from around me. “The only way you saw my butt was if it was on someone else’s body. All the guys and I did tonight was hang out and have a few beers.” Tossing the sheet off his lower half, he climbed from bed with his back to me. “Are you hungry?” Was he kidding? If I ate right now, the food would come up as quickly as it went down for my queasy belly. Brian never looked away when I asked a question. Never. Not even for the hard ones. Had I been right earlier? Was he having an affair? Gulping down a knot of tangled emotion, I pressed, “Are you hiding something from me?” “Why would I be?” “I don’t know. But you are.” That truth was in the thickness of his voice. Standing from the bed, I circled around to his front and forced him to look at me. In the second before he masked it, his expression was one of regret. The queasiness of my belly became a vicious roiling. I’d stood naked before him hundreds of times. Never before had I felt exposed. Vulnerable. Like my heart was about to be broken beyond repair. “What is it, Brian?” My voice shook. “Another woman?” He shook his head furiously. “Christ, no! I would never cheat on you, Karen.” “Then that wasn’t you I saw tonight?” “No.” The breath sagged out of me. Then it whooshed right back in with the unsteady push of his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t finished. Breathing a hard sigh, Brian looked away again, stared at the blind-drawn window. Searching for escape? If he was, he didn’t take it. Instead, he dared to look back at me, dared to let his regret resurface. “It might have been me.” Betrayal, rage, heartache slammed into me. “It might have been you?” The tears I’d kept at bay so often tonight attempted to leak out. And if they did, I’d let them. Let his no-good ass see how badly he’d hurt me. “How the hell could you not know if you were kissing some other woman on the eve of our wedding?” “Karen…there are things you don’t know.” His voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it, humbler. “What I hope you do know is that I’m serious when I say I love you. I would never do anything to hurt you. You’re it for me, babe. My mate.” Bullshit. “If you love me so much, then tell me where you were tonight. Tell me I didn’t see you with a slutty brunette’s arms—” “Joanna’s not slutty.” Joanna. The name hung between us, stifling the air, stifling my breath, tormenting my heart. I thought I’d let my tears fall. Now I chose to keep them inside, let a glare meant to chill his wicked soul free in their stead. “She was

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here when I walked in, wasn’t she? I heard breathing. Heavy breathing. You two had just finished fucking.” His mouth opened. I spoke before he could. “Don’t answer that. Don’t ever talk to me again.” *** Men were pigs good only for sex. How many times had I spoken those words in the four years that Brian and I were apart? Hundreds. So how had I let myself forget them? How had I let myself walk face-first into heartache? Because I wanted a family. I’d had a family of sorts with my grandparents. Another type of family with the Wiccans I’d befriended. Now I craved a real family, with a dad and mom and kids. I ached to watch my children mature from infancy to adulthood the way my parents never got to see me do. I yearned to grow old in Brian’s arms. I had wanted all of those things. Now, sleep eluded me despite it being nearly 4:00 a.m., and my baker’s soul was kicking to mix up something dark, decadent and laced with four thousand calories. Unfortunately, a search of my cupboards confirmed what I already knew—they were bare of sweet-rendering ingredients. Spending the workday baking and sampling the goods was hard enough on my waistline. No way was I bringing temptation home. Not that I had anyone to look good for. Screw that, yes I did. I had me to look good for. Me to feel good for. I was so much better off without Brian in my life. “Liar!” The telltale wink of the engagement ring still on my finger had the chastisement falling from my lips. “Yes, but I never wanted to be.” It was Brian who responded. Brian whose low, scratchy tone had always heated my blood and brought a smile to my face. Always, before tonight. Turning around, I eyed the black rose-petal key ring dangling from his fingertips. Ruing the day I gave him the spare apartment key, I crossed the kitchen and jerked it from his fingers. I didn’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks for returning my key, now get the hell out.” “It was me you saw tonight, across from the Liege.” I thought not meeting his eyes would help keep some of the pain at bay. But those words unleashed the pain until my already battered heart felt ripped to shreds. “Thanks for clarifying that,” I managed in a shaky voice. “Now get the hell out.” But like the bastard he was, Brian didn’t listen. He took my chin in his hand and applied pressure until I had no choice but to look at his face. The regret remained in his eyes, sympathy now joining it. And was that ache? If he thought I’d been the one to cause the pain, he was an idiot as well as a lying pig. “I’m not cheating on you, Karen,” he said solemnly. “The woman you saw—Joanna—isn’t my lover. She’s my sister. I don’t know what angle you were looking at us from, but the only kiss we shared was a completely nonintimate one because we were so happy to see each other. It’s been over a year.”

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Nice try. If I was the idiot here. “You don’t have a sister. You don’t have any family you’re close with. Your parents cast you out for not living up to their expectations.” A small smile crept across his lips. A sad smile. “I do have a sister. I lied about that much. Okay, and about what I did tonight. I didn’t go out for beers with the guys. I met up with them after leaving Joanna, and we went for a run, the same way we do most every time we get together. I’d just gotten back when you showed up, and was still a little winded.” “A run? In the middle of the night?” What, was I growing more naive-looking by the second? “It’s the truth. And so is the fact that my parents cast me out for not living up to their expectations. What I haven’t told you is what those expectations are, or why I feel the need to take those late-night runs. They’re my escape, a chance to embrace my—” I attempted to pull my chin from his hand, but his grip stayed firm. Narrowing my eyes, I snapped, “Let me go, Brian. I don’t want to hear this. Not now.” “Yes, now. It’s past time you see me for what I really am.” “You’re a bastard. You showed me that plenty well.” “No, baby. I’m an animal.” I prepared a snarky response, a good old “six of one, half dozen of the other” adage, compliments of dear sweet grandma. My mouth opened, but the words never made it out. Nothing made it out but a shrieking gasp as Brian proved he truly was an animal. A four-legged, fur-covered canine.

Chapter Eight I stood frozen in my apartment kitchen, unable to look away from the sleek brown wolf standing before me. Where Brian had been seconds ago. Where I’d watched the clothes vanish from his body, skin turn to fur, man to beast. What a freaking secret—my fiancé was a beast! But was he truly? My heart pounded, but I didn’t fear him. My pulse raced, but I didn’t feel the need to run. I stood frozen, but in shock alone. Had my Wiccan studies prepared me for this? Or was it Deitre’s suggestion that Brian had disappeared into a pocket of darkness? And what did that say of Deitre? Was she, too, a supernatural being? I can’t tell you about Deitre, I can only speak for myself. My attention snapped on the wolf’s familiar green eyes—Brian’s eyes—as his thoughts entered my head. God, this was all so surreal. “You can read my mind?” Sometimes in human form. Always as a werewolf. “You’re a werewolf.” It wasn’t a question but my attempt at accepting that the countless stories I’d heard about Vegas’s darker side were true.

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What I am doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re it for me, Karen. My everything. My mate. I tried to deny it for years, to let you have a normal life, the normal family I know you crave. It’s the reason I left. But I couldn’t stay away. That was why he’d broken things off? Not to chase his music career, but because he felt I was better off without him? The wolf’s head bobbed. Apology glinted in his eyes. I wanted to be pissed about his not giving me a choice back then, but I already had too much to digest in the present. Like if Brian had ever planned to reveal his inner wolf, or if I was to find out about it someday when I gave birth to a litter of werepups. Would our children be wolves? Possibly, yes. And, yes, I did plan to tell you. On our honeymoon. I know that timing is selfish, but I was so afraid you’d reject me. The same way my parents did when they learned of my transformation. They forbade Joanna to see me for fear I’d try to turn her. She visits when she can regardless, because she knows I’d never force someone to live this lifestyle the way I was forced to do. He’d been forced into a becoming a werewolf. Why? How? And what did it mean for his lifespan? Would he live forever, or would his life flash by in dog years? Would mine do the same if I chose to be his mate in the truest sense? The enormity of the questions washed over me as a tumultuous wave. I closed my eyes, suddenly desperate for respite. My lifespan is the same as a human’s. And you don’t have to be like me to be my mate. We can be together as we are now…if you still love me. If you still want me. I would always love Brian. But could I want him sexually, knowing an animal lurked beneath the surface? Knowing he might snap at any time, bury his fangs into my neck as I now knew he’d done to me when he’d taken me on all fours tonight. Tonight his bite had just broken the surface. But what would happen next time? The question lingered for less than a heartbeat when I knew the answer. Next time Brian would do the same, give me only what I could handle. Because no matter his appearance, he loved me in the same soul-deep way I did him. He had to, that he’d come here tonight and faced his fear of rejection. A love as strong as ours could persevere no matter the obstacles. All trace of doubt faded. My heart and pulse sped now for elation alone. The sun was soon going to rise and it would be on one of the happiest days of my life. Smiling, I opened my eyes…and discovered neither wolf nor man. Brian was gone. What if he’d more than left this apartment? What if he’d taken my pondering for rejection and run from my life forever? This isn’t me running, Karen. This is me giving you space. I’ll be at the chapel at two. If you still love me, if you still want me, all you have to say is “I do.” ***

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Staring through the limousine’s window at the white-and-red heart-emblazoned sign of Vegas’s Little White Wedding Chapel, I struggled to keep my emotions in check. Two o’clock had come and gone. The dozen guests we’d invited to take the Tunnel of Love nuptial cruise with us were all present, including the guys Brian spent those four nights a month with—guys who, I could now guess, shared his supernatural side. Brian, however, was nowhere to be found. My belly rumbled, betraying my fear. I rubbed my hand over the sky-blue organdy that covered my stomach. I was a little uncomfortable in the vibrant dress, but everyone had gushed about how beautiful I looked. Would Brian agree? Or would I never know? Another minute ticked past. On the bench seats around me, our guests conversed. No one seemed concerned about Brian’s absence. Why should they? It wasn’t their dream on the line. Damnit, where was he? Deitre looked over from the seat beside me. “Relax, Karen. He’ll be here. You’ll have your family. I promise.” How could she make that guarantee? Had Brian told her that he’d be late, or did she have supernatural abilities that allowed her to see such? One day, I’d ask. One day when I didn’t feel like my heart and dream were at stake. “Nothing like being late for your own wedding.” The words came from the doorway of the limo, and were spoken in that low, smoky tone I adored. My heart lurched, anxiety turning to giddiness as Brian climbed inside the vehicle. We shared a look of relief. And then all-consuming desire slid into his gaze as he hungrily eyed my body, from my open-toed iridescent heels to the low-cut bodice of my dress. Brian had veered from the norm, as well. His hair was its natural chestnut brown, and a black vest and suit pants hugged his long, lean body. His ass had to look killer in those pants. For now it was his smile that held me captive. Devilish carnality claimed his lips, saying without words how much he approved of my appearance, how much he couldn’t wait to get me alone to see if I wore panties to match. If there was any doubt about my ability to still want him, it vanished with the moistening of my sex. I ached to throw my arms around him and kiss him until we were breathless. Settling onto the seat beside me, he took my hand. Reverence shone in his eyes. “You look amazing, Karen. Too amazing to be kept waiting, but I had to make a small detour.” I followed his nod to the brunette standing in the limo’s doorway. With a warm smile, Joanna moved inside the tight quarters and pulled me into a hug. “It’s so great to finally meet you. As often as my brother talks about you, I feel like we’re already family.” Twelve hours ago, I’d hated this woman. Now, with those few words, she took up residence in my heart. My emotions broke free. Tears of happiness trickled down my cheeks. Tears Brian leaned over and kissed from my face. My engagement ring sparkled in the sunlight as I caressed his cheek, and I let out a little laugh at how completely it shined for me. How it had never stopped shining despite all my fears and misgivings these last hellishly long hours. I had a lot to learn about Brian’s primal side, had to decide if I wanted to embrace an inner wolf of my own. But there was time for those things. First was the honeymoon. A week I planned to spend showing him how much I still loved his touch, his body, his mega-hot butt in my hands and his luscious cock pumping me to orgasm.

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First were those two little words that would mark the beginning of the family I’d always craved.

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What Happens in Texas by Cathy Gillen Thacker First comes marriage, then comes love? The morning after her sister’s Vegas bachelorette party, Jen Baxter wakes up with a splitting headache, wearing a gown she doesn’t recognize—and in the arms of a man she most definitely does: best man Rick Steele! Making matters worse are the matching wedding bands they’re sporting… It’s not long before Jen and Rick—coworkers who’ve been verbally sparring for months—remember the dare that led them to “I do.” And thanks to the media circus surrounding beauty queen Belle’s upcoming marriage to a Dallas NFL star, the news is already out. Fearing their boss, Texas tycoon Grady McCabe, will not look highly on two of his employees making light of such a serious commitment, Jen and Rick decide to make the marriage look real—in name only…

Chapter One Jen Baxter shifted sleepily on the large, comfortable bed, the bare skin of her shoulders sliding across the rich satin fabric beneath her. Having apparently survived her only sister’s bachelorette party in Vegas, Jen wanted nothing more than to drift back into dreamland, and would have, if not for the fact she had a raging headache pounding at her temples, and an equally awful taste in her mouth. She wondered what the bartender had put in the cosmopolitans he had been serving her. After all, she’d paid him extra to make sure her beverages were—unlike those for the members of her betrothed sister’s entourage—strictly nonalcoholic. This, in order to make sure she didn’t lose all inhibition and do anything foolish, as she had been known to do in the past at these types of events. Jen groaned and opened her eyes. Saw she had fallen asleep on top of the covers still wearing a pair of sparkly stiletto-heeled shoes she didn’t recognize, and that there was a strong male arm clamped just beneath her breasts. Startled, Jen blinked to clear her head, and blinked again. What…in the…world…? Had she been drinking last night? Because, honestly, that was the only way to explain any of this! Still trying to get her bearings, Jen pushed herself to a sitting position, stared at what she saw. Tousled walnut-brown hair, equally stunned sea-blue eyes and an incredibly handsome, oh-so-familiar face that she dreaded seeing daily, covered with a two-day stubble of beard. *** Despite the fact that he and the groom had been friends since childhood, Rick Steele knew it had been a mistake to agree to be Aidan Whitmore’s best man. Mostly because Rick’s coworker and antagonist, Jen Baxter, was the maid of honor. Physically, Rick and Jen had enough sparks to light up the entire Lone Star state, but none of the natural compatibility needed to get along. Like oil and water, the two of them would never mix. Although Rick admitted privately to himself that he did enjoy getting under the pretty attorney’s skin. Had she not been so uptight… But she was. And he’d had far too many rules growing up to want to pepper his adulthood with any more. These days, he and he alone decided what was right for him, and in what manner he wanted to live. As if to prove that point, Jen’s delicate hand closed over his wrist—which was still clamped against her slender form. “You!” she hissed, flinging his arm away, like some odious piece of trash. “What are you doing here?” Good question, Rick thought, rolling over onto his back and taking a lazy look around. They were in a hotel room, all right. Together. For what had apparently been the rest of the night. The larger question was, what

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were they doing in such over-the-top attire—even if they were in Las Vegas. He had on a sequin-lapel whiteand-black tuxedo worthy of Elvis Presley. She was wearing a plunging halter dress, with a sequined bodice and white organza skirt, hiked up around her thighs. Which were, Rick noted, more spectacularly sleek and lissome than he had ever guessed. She was also wearing some sort of rhinestone-studded tiara with a short organza veil. “Explain to me what you are doing here!” Jen demanded. Trying not to get distracted by how beautiful the disheveled honey-blonde looked in the sunlight pouring in through the windows, Rick glanced at the hand she was waving indignantly in front of him. More telling than the knowledge she was a lefty, was the plain gold band encircling her ring finger. Rick fought the sinking feeling in his gut, and a hazy memory of an emotional albeit slightly tipsy exchange with Jen, followed by a dare, and a trip to the Las Vegas marriage bureau. Which, unfortunately for the two of them, stayed open till midnight, daily. He dimly recalled more taunting, the purchase of a marriage license, and then with Jen’s bossy sister trying desperately to derail the very bad idea while her groom-to-be goaded them on, a trip—with the entire wedding party—to one of the brightly lit wedding chapels on the Strip… “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Jen demanded, even more outraged. Rick remembered selecting an Elvis and the Showgirl–themed wedding, never dreaming a straitlaced woman like Jen would follow through on the wild idea—even to win a bet. And then, there were wedding vows being said, but not by Aidan and Belle, but by…oh, hell…no… Rick tore his gaze from the color streaming into Jen’s cheeks and looked down at his own left hand. In squaring with his fuzzy memories, there was a band there, too, identical to hers. Rather than try to explain, he lifted it for her to see. “Just this,” he commented drily, leaving her to fill in the rest just as he had. Jen tossed her head indignantly. “If this is a joke—” she speared him with her green eyes, apparently not recalling anything yet “—I am not laughing.” Nor was he. His heart thundering, Rick sat up, too. He shoved both his hands through his hair, hardly able to believe he had done what he swore he never would. And actually followed in the impulsive footsteps of his oft-married, even more frequently divorced, parents. “You do know what happened!” Jen intimated. “It’s beginning to come back to me,” Rick admitted gruffly. Although the memory was still fuzzy. And yet oddly romantic in a romantic comedy kind of way. Jen leaped from the bed. Arms folded militantly in front of her, she paced back and forth, her hips sashaying sexily beneath the full organza skirt. “I can’t wait to hear!” Rick tore his eyes from the sumptuous breasts spilling out of the narrowly cut top of her dress, and recollected, “It was after the bachelor party, when we met up with the bachelorettes in the bar next to the casino. Talk turned to marriage and you bet I’d never say ‘I do.’” Jen paused, and wet her lips. Already, Rick noted, the story sounded plausible to her. Probably because she had been ragging on him about that since the two of them had first met two years before. He shrugged and continued. “I said, ‘Sure I would. You’re the one who doesn’t have the guts to tie the knot.’” Jen paled, apparently recalling now, too. “And that’s when I took you up on the dare and we all went to the county clerk’s office for a license, then to the chapel on the Strip…”

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Rick tensed as it all became more and more real. “I kept thinking you’d back out.” Jen sent him an accusing glare. “I kept thinking you would.” Rick groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. Unfortunately, neither of them had. “So we got married to the stunned amazement of everyone else in the wedding party, and the continual railing of your sister. And had a glass or two of champagne.” “And that’s the last thing I remember,” Jen whispered, her hand pressed to her soft, trembling lips. Rick only wished that were the case with him. Although not completely sober himself after an evening out carousing with the guys, he had known Jen was tipsy from the get-go. He’d even heard the other bridesmaids giggling about tipping the bartender extra to put liquor in her drinks after all, because they all knew the ever-uptight Jen had a tendency to say and do surprisingly unexpected and/or hilarious things when under the influence of even one drink. And they’d wanted to see if they could get her to loosen up, and liven things up. Loosen up, she had. Although, Rick admitted, his gaze drifting longingly over her feminine curves, not as much as he wished she would. The kiss they had shared at the conclusion of the ceremony had been close-mouthed and hopelessly chaste. Once back at the hotel, they’d fallen exhausted onto the bed, too tired to think about the import of what they had done, and apparently fallen fast asleep. Which was a good thing, Rick noted. Otherwise he might have been tempted to consummate the marriage. Since they hadn’t… Pale, shaking, Jen moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Although the know-it-all had a habit of getting under his skin as thoroughly as he got under hers, Rick abruptly felt sorry for her. He reached over and covered her small, delicate hand with his. “Look. We were out of our minds.” Jen stiffened and withdrew her palm. “Clearly.” “We don’t have to get divorced. We’ll just get it annulled. You’re a lawyer. You know how to do that. Right?” “Of course I—” The ring tone sounded on his cell. Jen frowned as the familiar melody of “Friends in Low Places” filled the room. Rick knew the polite thing would have been to let the call go to voice mail. And he would have, had the caller ID not flashed the name of Grady McCabe. “Well?” Jen said, torturous moments later, when Rick ended the call with the man who employed them both. Rick exhaled and admitted grimly, “Grady knows. Everyone at work does.” Jen studied Rick, aghast. “How?” “A tabloid reporter was tailing the bachelor party, hoping to dig up some dirt on Aidan.” Which would have been news since the bridegroom played for the Dallas NFL team. “She couldn’t find anything on him, so she wrote the story on us instead. Apparently it’s already on the Internet.” Jen’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “What are we going to do?”

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“The only thing we can do,” Rick said flatly. “Stay married and ride out the storm.”

Chapter Two Jen stared at Rick, sure now he had completely lost his mind, as well as any sense of gallantry he might have possessed. “That is without a doubt the nuttiest idea I have ever heard,” she announced heatedly. Looking sexier and more determined than ever, Rick whipped off the ridiculous jacket and bow tie. “But the only sensible solution nonetheless,” he countered. Jen lifted her chin and propped her hands on her hips. “And how do you figure that?” Rick undid the first two buttons on his shirt. “Our boss at Grady McCabe Enterprises does not suffer irresponsible fools. And given what we did last night, we definitely fall into that category.” Wishing Rick weren’t right about that, Jen bit her lip, thinking. Rick continued, more grimly than ever. “If we want to hang on to our jobs—and I certainly do, since I’m in line for the vice-presidency slot in commercial real estate sales—you and I are going to have to hang tough. At least for a little while.” “Hang tough?” Jen repeated, stalking back over to the bed. She sat down in a whoosh of organza. Rick sat down beside her. “You know what I mean.” Jen looked at the rock-solid musculature of his thigh, next to hers. She was five feet eight inches tall, with a fit, athletic build, but next to his broad-shouldered six-foot-three frame, she always felt impossibly feminine and delicate. Rick squeezed her hand. “We can do this,” he reassured. And that was when the knock sounded on the hotel room door. Hand tingling, Jen disengaged their palms and got up to answer it. Her sister, Belle, stood on the other side of the portal. “There you are!” the former beauty queen stormed. She rushed in, everything about her as model-perfect as ever. “I’ve been looking for you all morning!” Once again, Jen wished she and her only sibling were as close as they had been as children. Before Belle had forgotten what really mattered in life and become obsessed with celebrity. “What time is it?” Jen asked. “Eight o’clock!” So they’d been in the hotel room for, what…three hours, maybe, at most? Three hours spent sleeping next to Rick… Oblivious to the surprisingly wistful nature of Jen’s thoughts, Belle stormed closer. “How dare you upstage me like that!” Belle continued her tirade. “This is my week to get married! Not yours!” Rick stepped in, wrapped his arm around Jen and drew her back into his protective embrace. “Trust me,” Rick told her sister, “we weren’t thinking of you and Aidan at all last night.” Belle looked at both of them, shocked and dismayed. “You can’t tell me you’re going to continue on with this joke!” For once, Jen allowed herself to react just as emotionally as her flamboyant older sister.

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“Yes,” Jen retorted, “I am.” *** “Are you okay?” Rick asked Jen, after Belle had left. Jen nodded. “You don’t look okay.” Rick took her in his arms once again. “You’re shaking.” His arms were so warm and strong! Too warm. Wary where this might be leading, Jen tilted her head back. “Rick, I—” His head lowered, their lips met and the kiss was everything their first hadn’t been. Passionate, hot and demanding. Soulful and yearning. Sweet and tender. Without volition, she found her lips parting. Their tongues tangled and Jen drank in the masculine taste of him. He was all she had ever dreamed a man could be. He challenged her, even as he protected, making her feel so very alive. Which was why, she figured, as his body hardened next to hers, that he had the good sense to end the spontaneous embrace. *** Rick knew he shouldn’t have kissed Jen again. It would have been better to leave them both with the fuzzy memory of that brief, unsatisfying post-nuptial embrace. Now he knew what it could be between the two of them. Now he had proof that his gut feeling, that the two of them would be hot as a firecracker together, was proven, without a shadow of a doubt. And with the wedding rings on their fingers… He dropped his hands, stepped back. “We have to keep this marriage in name only,” he ordered gruffly. “Absolutely,” Jen agreed. “Otherwise it’s going to get way too complicated.” Jen’s face flushed a becoming pink. She stepped back, too. Held up a hand. “I agree. No more kissing, Rick. No touching, either.” He nodded. “Except for what we absolutely have to do to make this look like the real thing.” Jen swore. Probably, Rick thought, imagining how difficult the next few days and weeks, maybe even months, were going to be. “How long do you think we have to—” she swallowed, looking abruptly agitated “—um, pretend?” Rick shrugged. “A year ought to do it,” he said. *** A year, Jen thought to herself, as she went back to her own hotel room, and showered and changed. A year of being married to Rick, and yet never having been engaged. A year of having him take her hand or put his arm around her at appropriate times. A year of putting a smile on her face and sharing space… How in the world were they going to manage that? Jen wondered. Rick had changed their seat assignments on the flight back to Dallas-Fort Worth so they would be sitting together, away from the rest of the wedding party. Consequently, they were tucked into a cramped twoperson row in the very back of the jumbo jet. The seats were so small there was no way they could not be touching. But at least, Jen thought, trying desperately to ignore the warmth and strength of Rick’s tall body, at least they were away from the prying eyes, and the attention her former Miss Texas sister and her profootball-player husband-to-be, were getting.

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“I can’t believe I’m entering Belle’s world,” Jen murmured to herself. Especially when she had fought so hard to keep it real. “What are you talking about?” Rick asked, shifting yet again, his leg brushing against hers. In deference to the sizzling summer heat, Jen was dressed in a cotton sheath-dress. Rick had worn shorts and a camp shirt for the flight back to Texas. Their calves were bare. And kept rubbing up against each other. Another disconcerting sensation she was going to have to become immune to, if she were to survive the “mistake” they’d made. “Whenever Belle is around Aidan, she acts so fake.” So unlike the person Jen knew Belle to be, deep down, when no one else was around. “You’re saying I’m going to be disingenuous, too?” Jen sighed, feeling even more upset. “We both are. Always pretending to be something we’re not. Which is happily married!” “Not necessarily,” Rick corrected. Jen turned to look at him. He gazed deep into her eyes. “I know this wasn’t what we planned. Or would have ever wanted. But as long as we’re stuck together, can’t we at least be friends?” *** Good question, Jen thought, as the jet took off, and she and Rick both closed their eyes. She sensed he wasn’t any more asleep than she was. But they both needed a break. Marriage was stressful. And what looked to be even more painful was telling her parents what she had done. As it turned out, Jen did not have to do that. Belle had done it for her, and their parents were waiting at the airport baggage claim. When Jen saw them, she slowed her steps. Belle rushed forward and burst into public, noisy tears, while her pro-football-player fiancé stood uncomfortably at her side. The scene caused more than one person awaiting their luggage to turn and gawk. As the two Texas celebrities were noticed, cell phone cameras began to go off. Jen grimaced again. It was just like Belle to amp up the drama even more, in order to keep all the attention solely focused on her and Aidan. Jen turned to Rick. “Let’s get out of here while this blows over.” They could claim their bags later. To her frustration, Rick remained planted firmly where he was. Which gave Belle enough time to lead their parents over to Jen. Jen’s father, Frank, gave Jen The Look he always gave Jen when Belle was upset and it was “all Jen’s fault.” Her mother, Martha, faced off with Jen, too.

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“Tell me it’s not true,” Martha murmured, with her own version of The Look, the one that reminded Jen that, these days anyway, her parents always eventually bent to Belle’s will, and expected Jen to do so, too, for the sake of peace in the family. Rick wrapped his arm around Jen’s shoulders, as more cameras went off, and Belle cried crocodile tears. Rather than apologize, he looked proud to be standing firmly behind what they had done. “Jen and I got married in Vegas,” Rick told her folks. And that was that.

Chapter Three Rick had been right. Within hours of the marriage, photos were everywhere, on and off the Internet. In the Dallas and Fort Worth newspapers, the tabloids. The story of Jen and Rick upstaging Belle and Aidan had even made the Personalities! magazine Web site. And it was no surprise that Grady McCabe summoned Jen and Rick to his office for a meeting, early Monday morning. “Welcome back. Please accept my personal congratulations.” Grady looked them both squarely in the eye. Unable to help herself, Jen flushed. Rick, on the other hand, looked cool as a cucumber, which was what she got, she told herself grimly, for marrying someone in sales. “The company voice mail is clogged with requests for interviews,” Grady continued grimly. Grady’s personal secretary appeared in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt. Alexis Graham from Foreverlove.com is at the reception desk, asking to see Jen.” Rick squeezed Jen’s hand. “Guess you won’t be needing a matchmaker any longer.” Grady’s brow lifted in silent inquiry. Jen gestured inanely, feeling even more embarrassed. “I hired Alexis…before…” “Did the agency pair the two of you together?” Grady asked, more curious than ever. “Heavens, no!” Jen replied, before she could stop herself. “I’m not in favor of dating services,” Rick declared. Jen pivoted toward her “husband.” “I don’t know why not. They are very accurate in figuring out via computer if two people are suited for one another.” Grady paused. “I can see where that might be a good thing,” he mused out loud. “In any case, we didn’t need a matchmaker to get married,” Rick explained. Grady’s preoccupied look faded. “So this is serious, then?” Their boss’s expression gave no clue as to what he was thinking, but his past behavior indicated it had better be. Grady had been married to the love of his life, and lost her shortly after the birth of their only child. For the past five years he had been bringing up his daughter, Savannah, on his own. And although no one figured the successful CEO of Grady McCabe Enterprises would ever fall in love again, the rumor was, Grady was considering seeking a wife, if only to give his daughter the mother she needed. “Serious as a heartbeat,” Rick said, still holding Jen’s hand.

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“I wasn’t aware you two were even seeing each other,” Grady continued. “Every day,” Jen replied. Unfortunately. Try as she might, she had not been able to avoid Rick at work, and since they socialized with people from GME, they often saw each other on weekends, too. She and Rick just hadn’t dated. Grady nodded, taking that in. He circled around his desk. “Where are the two of you going to be living?” Jen jumped in once again. “That’s still up for discussion.” “For now,” Rick added, giving her hand another stay-with-me squeeze, “we’re going to be using both apartments.” “We’ll shuttle back and forth as needed,” Jen said honestly. And only as needed. If she could get away with continuing to live alone, as she more or less had last night, she would do so. *** “Do you think Grady bought it?” Rick asked Jen, as they took the elevator down to the reception desk, where Alexis Graham still waited to see Jen. Jen swallowed. “Not sure.” “Me, neither.” Rick fell silent. “If Grady thinks we’re putting one over on him—” “That this is some con—” “We’re both in the ditch here. As far as our careers go.” “I know.” “Like it or not, we’re going to have to start living together,” Rick said. Jen made a face. She did not need more intimacy with Rick when the little they’d experienced so far had thrown her emotions into turmoil. The elevator doors opened. Across the lobby, Alexis Graham rose. “May I have a word with you?” the elegant blond matchmaker asked Jen. “I’ll catch you later,” Rick said, and sauntered off. Jen escorted Alexis to her office in the legal department at GME. She shut the door behind them. The always poised and professional Alexis sat opposite Jen. “Are you okay?” Alexis asked softly. Without warning, tears blurred Jen’s eyes. She fumbled through the stack of messages on her desk, wishing people would stop asking her that. “I know how much you had your heart set on finding your own Mr. Right,” Alexis continued kindly. “And I can’t help but think…” “I rushed into this marriage with Rick?”

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Alexis leaned forward compassionately. “Weddings bring out the romantic in all of us.” “Or the just plain crazy,” Jen muttered under her breath, still hardly able to believe she had done such a thing as elope with Rick Steele! Alexis sat back. “It’s not too late to undo it, if it isn’t right.” As an attorney, Jen knew that. As a woman caught between her disgruntled family and her need to keep climbing the ladder of success at work…she still agreed with Rick…and felt she had only one option. “I’m determined to make this marriage work,” Jen said. For better or worse. Alexis paused thoughtfully. “Even if you don’t love him?” *** Alexis Graham’s observation stayed with Jen the rest of the day. She was still thinking about it at 5:00 p.m. when one of her coworkers stuck her head in Jen’s office. “You’re needed in the design center, pronto.” “For what?” Jen asked with a frown, aware she hadn’t gotten anywhere near the work completed that she should have that day. Too late, her colleague was gone. With a sigh, Jen got up and walked down the hall. The GME offices were oddly silent. Jen turned the corner. “Surprise!” everyone yelled. Rick stepped forward, a welcoming smile on his face. “Isn’t it great?” He enfolded Jen in his arms and bussed her cheek. “They got us a cake and everything!” Two glasses and many toasts of champagne later, the impromptu party came to an end. Rick and Jen stood at the door like the real couple they weren’t, and thanked everyone for coming. Finally, the two of them were alone with what remained of the wedding cake. Jen looked at Rick. Rick looked at Jen. “I feel like a fraud,” she whispered. “Why?” he teased. “Because you don’t really like butter cream frosting?” “Because…we’re not…” He lowered his lips to hers. “We are.” Rick hadn’t meant to kiss Jen again. And certainly not in the office. The wistful look in her eyes prompted him to do otherwise. He knew Jen. Always thinking what lay on the other side of tomorrow was going to be so much better. Never really appreciating today… Her hands splayed across his chest. “Rick,” she whispered, still kissing him back. He threaded both hands through her hair. “For once,” he murmured, surprised by how much he needed her, needed this, “let’s live in the moment. And take this for what it is.” He tilted her face up to his. “And that is…?” Jen searched his eyes.

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His hand on her spine, Rick guided her closer yet. “A chance to find out what kind of chemistry the two of us really have.” That, Jen thought, was easy. Together, like this, the two of them were completely compatible. In fact, if she kissed him much longer, she knew she really would burst into flames. Which was why she shoved at his chest again, forced them apart, then stood there, looking up at him, breathing hard. She wanted him. So much. But she knew the worst thing she could do, for either of them, was to make love to him without being in love with him. “I’m not going to settle for anything less than what I deserve,” she told him, smarting at the realization of how easily she could have let herself be completely utterly vulnerable to him. “And if you’re smart, you won’t, either.”

Chapter Four Rick met Jen at the door of his apartment Wednesday evening. “What?” he teased, giving her the sensual once-over, as he ushered her in. “No toilet-paper tiara and veil?” Jen scoffed in amusement. “Your idea of what goes on at a bridal shower is sadly out of date.” That quickly, he got with the program and peered at her closely. “You don’t look like you’ve had mojitas.” “Only because my mother was the one throwing the party. She used to think my avoidance of alcohol was a silly thing. After my marriage to you…she’s changed her mind. She wants me stone-cold sober at all times. Especially when she knows I’m going home to you.” “She doesn’t…” “Know our marriage is only a platonic arrangement? No.” Jen sighed. “If I told her that, she’d really freak out. As it is, she and Dad are still trying to get used to the idea.” “What about Belle?” “Believe it or not, she’s actually grateful to us for getting hitched.” Rick’s glance turned speculative. “She said our elopement ended up drawing much more attention to her wedding this weekend than would have happened otherwise. She and Aidan have had tons of press coverage and she in particular is getting lots and lots of sympathy, so that makes up for me temporarily stealing the spotlight from her.” “Has it always been this way?” Rick asked. Not sure she wanted to discuss what had become, for her, a major disappointment in her life, Jen shrugged. “You have to understand. Belle’s always been way prettier—” “Not in my estimation,” Rick interrupted. Gently he took her face in his hand. “Real beauty comes from within. And in that regard, she can’t hold a candle to you.” Jen thrilled at the compliment but the years of feeling second-best made it hard to accept. She shrugged. “You don’t know me.” Don’t I? his look said. Rick dropped his hand. “I know you’re the one who organizes all the charity drives at work.”

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Jen moved away. “I have the contacts.” Rick followed. “The one who makes sure that everyone who is sick or going through any sort of personal or family challenge gets a card and flowers and whatever other help is needed.” Jen swung around to face him. “I have the time.” Rick shook his head, firmly discounting her self-effacing attitude. They both knew, as a corporate lawyer, time was one thing she didn’t have to spare. “You have the heart.” He took her into his arms. “And heart is what’s needed most of all.” *** Jen hadn’t figured she would be kissing Rick again. After all, they had managed to spend the previous night together, albeit in separate rooms, without ratcheting up the intimacy between them. But tonight she needed comforting. Needed, after an evening spent honoring Belle, to feel like she was appreciated, too, even if for only this moment in time. Rick broke off the increasingly passionate kiss. “I thought this was only a platonic relationship.” “So did I.” Jen threaded her fingers through his hair, went up on tiptoe and kissed him again. When she came up for air, she admitted, “I changed my mind.” That pronouncement was all it took. Rick lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom. He deposited her gently on the bed. “If there’s anything I like,” he murmured, taking her back into his arms, “it’s spontaneity.” Funny, Jen mused, if there was one thing she thought she didn’t like, it was anything done on a whim. But as she and Rick began kissing once again, tenderly, evocatively at first, then with more and more passion, she realized not knowing what lay ahead was infinitely more exciting than planning life every step of the way. Discovering what an amazing body Rick had beneath his clothes was matched only by the ardent look in his eyes when he undressed her. Feeling the heat and warmth of his body pressed against hers, allowing him to take the lead, show her how much she could feel, how fast, was equally thrilling, as was doing the same for him in return. Until at last they were one, moving recklessly toward the same ecstatic goal, soaring ever higher, ever deeper. And then there was no more holding back, no more pretending, no more living without the physical expression of love. *** Rick hadn’t meant to make love to Jen, but now that they had broken that barrier, now that he held her so close he could feel her heart beating in tandem with his, he knew it had been the right decision. It was clear Jen needed affection and intimacy in her life, every bit as much as he did. And there was nothing that made two people feel more alive than coming together the way they just had, with passion and speed and a recklessness, heretofore unknown, to both. Jen was the kind of person who strategized every move she made. So was he. But there had been nothing preplanned about what they had just done, Rick noted in satisfaction. Nothing calculated. Their coming together had been driven strictly by need and yearning. And Rick liked that feeling.

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He turned toward Jen, fully intending to make love to her all over again. The doorbell rang. Rick looked at Jen, brow raised in silent inquiry. She looked at him, the same way. “It’s your apartment.” Hence, her deduction, likely his guest. “Don’t move.” Rick kissed her forehead. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.” He reached for his shorts, tugged his T-shirt over his head, exited the bedroom and headed for the foyer. Once there, he looked through the viewfinder on the door. On the other side of the portal were the two people he least expected to see. *** Jen lay in Rick’s bed, still breathing rapidly, trying not to worry about who might be there at eleven o’clock at night. Obviously, it was someone Rick knew. The voices drifting through the closed bedroom door sounded cordial. “I can’t believe you’re both here, together,” Jen heard Rick say. “We thought it might be more effective if we talked to you at the same time,” a woman’s voice said. A man followed up. “Your mother and I agree. We want you to end this farce as soon as possible.” Jen’s face burned. Not just at the fact she was lying there, eavesdropping, but because of what was being said. Figuring she had already heard enough, she leaped from the bed and rushed into the bathroom. Closing and locking the door quietly behind her, she turned on the shower and stepped beneath the spray. For the next ten minutes, she tried to wash away the ridiculously romantic feelings she had felt, earlier, when making love to Rick. By the time she wrapped herself in the fluffy white spa robe she had left hanging on the door, Rick was knocking on the bathroom door. “Jen?” he said firmly through the wood. “We need to talk.” *** Rick had hoped that Jen hadn’t heard any of what had been said. One look at her beautiful flushed face and averted eyes told him otherwise. “That was my parents,” he told her. “They wanted to meet you, but given the reason they were here—” “To convince us our elopement was a mistake,” Jen reiterated what she had obviously overheard. Rick nodded reluctantly, wishing he had been able to do more to protect Jen’s feelings. “I told them it wasn’t the right time.” She nodded, still not looking at him as she ran a wide-toothed comb through the fragrant silk of her justshampooed hair. “Well, this is awkward,” she said with a wry shrug. “Particularly since they’ve never even met me.” Rick shrugged, taking his folks’ reaction in stride. “They don’t want to see us go through an ugly divorce.” Slowly, Jen lowered the comb. “Why would they presume our breakup would be unpleasant?”

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If, Rick thought, that was indeed what happened in the end. Rick edged even closer. His voice dropped a consoling notch. “Maybe because every divorce each of them has been through has been horrible. My dad has been married four times, my mother five.” Shock turned to compassion. “Sorry,” Jen murmured, reaching out to him. She swallowed. “I didn’t know…” Rick shrugged at the pain the reluctant memories conjured up. “It’s nothing I care to advertise.” And also why he had always been so determined not to marry. He hadn’t wanted to go through as an adult what he had suffered as a child. Having grown up with two oft-divorcing, chameleonlike parents and a total of nine different stepparents—each with his or her own idea of how children should be brought up—he did whatever he could to live by his own rules. Jen exhaled and lounged against the bathroom countertop. She looked pretty and content, wrapped in the fluffy white robe. “No wonder you don’t believe in marriage.” “I don’t when two people go into a marriage with unrealistic expectations,” Rick corrected. “But when they go into it sans romance of any kind, the way you and I did…” He paused, aware that in the past few days his feelings had changed. He shrugged affably. “I’m beginning to see how it could work.”

Chapter Five “We may have made a mistake,” Jen told Rick the next morning, as they rushed around, simultaneously getting ready for work. Rick studied Jen as she stood before the bathroom mirror in a sleeveless silk shell and trim gray “lawyer” skirt. The clothes were dull—the woman inside them was not. Mesmerized, he watched as she ran a straightening iron through the thick honey-blond strands of her layered shoulder-length hair, swiftly transforming the delectably sexy bedhead to office chic. Wishing they could shirk their professional obligations and concentrate only on the personal, Rick smeared shaving cream on his jaw. “In not deciding to take the day off?” He picked up where she left off. Jen’s gaze tracked the strokes of his razor. “In consummating our marriage,” she said. She hadn’t had any complaints the second and third times they’d made love, Rick thought. But then, that had been in the dark of night. This was the bright light of day. The time when all romantic regrets were likely to surface. Rick turned away from the turbulent sheen in her emerald-green eyes and went back to shaving the day’s growth from his jaw. Just because Jen had doubts didn’t mean he had any. He forced himself to sound casual. “Kind of a moot point, isn’t it, since what’s done is done.” “I guess.” Jen lounged against the bathroom counter, facing him. Her teeth raked the softness of her lower lip. His own pulse racing, Rick rinsed his face and blotted it on a towel. He reached for the aftershave lotion, slapped some on, never once taking his eyes from her face. Figuring he knew what was bothering her, he told her what he assumed she needed to hear. “We can keep it casual.” He indicated their wedding rings with a nod. “Despite this.” “Speaking of which…” She lifted her hand, shifted the ring slightly to show him the skin beneath. It was turning her finger green.

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Rick chuckled. That, they could do something about. *** “Every bride should have a diamond,” the jeweler assured Jen and Rick, at midday. Jen shook her head, nixing the idea as firmly as it was offered. “We were never engaged.” “Maybe we should have been,” Rick said. Maybe then, Rick thought, she wouldn’t be driving him crazy with lust and longing…coming close one moment, flitting away the next… Jen pivoted in astonishment. She looked like she was warm all over, which wasn’t surprising given the heat of the June day. “Really, it’s not necessary.” “Perhaps,” the clerk insisted smoothly, “if you were to try one on…the square cut solitaire, perhaps?” Rick nodded his approval. Jen sputtered in protest, but acquiesced when the ring was produced. As lovely as it looked on her hand, it was clear Jen did not like it. So Rick went with what he would have chosen. The round three-karat set in platinum with the matching, diamond-studded wedding band. Jen caught her breath when she saw it on her hand. The pure joy on her face made his next decision easy. “We’ll take it,” Rick said. Just that quickly, her expression changed. She looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Given the fact this was a wedding of convenience, she might have had a point, Rick allowed silently. Except for one thing. “I don’t want my wife wearing a ring that turns her finger green.” “And you shouldn’t, either,” the clerk agreed. Fifteen minutes later they left the store, bands on their fingers. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right,” Rick said. Jen sighed and lifted her shoulders dispiritedly, as if to say, “I guess.” Their gazes clashed a moment longer. “And speaking of spousal commitments,” Rick told her, “I’ve got a business dinner tonight with a potential client I’d like you to attend.” *** Hours later, Jen freshened her makeup in preparation for the evening out with Rick’s clients. She still couldn’t believe what a romantic idiot she had been. For a second there, she’d deluded herself into thinking that the rings Rick had purchased for the two of them on their lunch break meant the commitment they had made in haste was beginning to take on some real heft! Instead, the jewelry was just one more prop in this comedy of errors…a way to keep them from looking foolish to all those around them! So while they had all the paraphernalia necessary to look really married, and even the lovemaking and the shared space to go along with that, in reality it was still all a sham. And now she had to go out this evening, with Rick and one of GME’s most important clients, and play the dutiful wife. Luckily for her, the first part of the dinner was dominated by talk of Grady McCabe’s new development project, a mixed-use high-rise in downtown Fort Worth named One Trinity River Place.

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Rick’s client, a prestigious Texas oilman, was angling for prime office space in the thirty-eight-story building, while his wife wanted one of the condominiums. But as soon as that deal was concluded, the talk turned to Rick and Jen and their new marriage. “Tell me,” Joan Lang said. “When did you realize something was going on between the two of you?” That, Jen thought, was easy. “The first time I ever saw Rick he caught my eye,” Jen said honestly. Rick looked intrigued. He reached over and took her hand, squeezing gently. “How so?” he asked softly. Jen couldn’t look into that gaze of his and not admit, “You were just so handsome,” she said. He had such a wonderful laugh. A way of teasing anyone and everyone out of a mood and back into a happy state. “But then,” Jen continued, even more honestly, withdrawing her hand from his, “you started getting under my skin. Especially with all your talk about how marriage was no longer a viable institution!” The fact he didn’t think any man and woman could make it over the long haul—when all she had ever wanted was a life with and the love of one man for the long haul—had kept her away from him. She hadn’t let herself really get close to him. Hadn’t dared think he might one day change his mind about the importance of commitment. But now, seeing the way he was looking at her—with such love and affection, kindness and respect—it was hard not to imagine the two of them together in the days and weeks and months, maybe even years, ahead. As if he were thinking exactly the same thing, Rick chuckled, admitting to Bill and Joan Lang, as well as Jen, “I admit I did bring up that topic every chance I got. I couldn’t help it.” Rick turned back to Jen. “You were just so pretty when you got worked up.” The Langs chuckled while Jen recalled every hot-tempered, overly emotional argument the two of them had ever had. “It was a little like fifth-grade recess,” Jen told the Langs. “Until we realized there was no way around it,” Rick picked up the story where Jen left off. “She was right. And I was wrong. And the two of us were meant to be.” *** “Why did you say that to the Langs?” Jen asked Rick when they went back to her apartment, where they were set to spend the night that evening. “That I was right…?” Rick waggled his brows. “Because you are.” “And we were meant to be!” Rick wrapped his arms around Jen and drew her close. “Because it’s true.” He pressed a kiss on her temple. Another on her cheek. The shell of her ear, the nape of her neck… “It isn’t,” Jen protested, already going weak in the knees. “Kiss me and tell me that again and I’ll believe you,” Rick dared, his lips lowering to hers. Jen tried to formulate an argument. Heaven knew, as a practicing attorney, she ought to have half a dozen ready to go, on any subject, at any time. But when Rick drew her close and electricity arced through her

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entire body, all she could think about was touching her lips to his once again. A thrill shot through her at the taste and touch and feel of him, making it impossible to heed the warnings her intellect was sending out when all she wanted to do was give in to the demands of her heart and heed the siren call deep inside her. Because, she realized, as they tumbled onto her bed, the truth was that she was falling in love with him. Had been for what seemed like forever. And now that they were married, now that they were living together and making love, she could no longer pretend she didn’t want to entwine their lives. Or find a way to make this union of theirs last and last and last… *** Rick knew this was nothing but a game of make-believe to Jen. It had started out as a lark to him, too. But now, being here with her, like this—being with her anywhere—was all he wanted. Jen had shown him how right the two of them were and how satisfying marriage could be. She made him want to dig deeper into his soul. She brought out the kindness buried deep inside him and encouraged him to want more out of life than success. Left him needing and wanting her, as his partner and soul mate—not just until the time they could reasonably divorce—but for the rest of their lives. Now, Rick thought in satisfaction, as they brought their bodies together as one, all he had to do was convince her that a long and happy life together was what she wanted, too.

Chapter Six Rick wasn’t sure what he expected of Belle and Aidan’s wedding rehearsal late Friday afternoon. Certainly not the advice he got every time he turned around in the century-old downtown Dallas cathedral. “Jen should have had all this, too,” her mother, Martha, whispered in an aside. “I don’t care how much of a hurry you two were in. You cheated my sister, depriving her of all this,” Belle pouted. “You blew it, son,” his father-in-law, Frank, said with a paternal slap on the shoulder. A week before, Rick would have said they were all wrong. But this afternoon, watching Jen march up the aisle in advance of her older sister, paper bouquet in hand, Rick knew there was something to that declaration. Jen might present herself as a woman who was practical in the extreme, but deep down she was as romantic as all get-out. And it was up to him to figure out what to do about it. *** Jen knew she was getting weird looks. She even knew why. After months of not caring less, or at least telling herself she couldn’t have cared less, the importance of this weekend had finally hit her. Her older sister—her only sister!—was getting married. When the ceremony tomorrow evening concluded, Belle would no longer be an integral part of the family they had both grown up in. She would instead be the female head of a family of her own. Sure, Belle and Aidan would be around for holidays. Even more frequently if Aidan kept playing football for the Dallas NFL team. But they would also be with his relatives, and on adventures of their own. And Jen realized that most poignantly of all when the wedding party moved from the church to the restaurant for dinner and watched the video of Belle’s childhood, put together by their mom.

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There were Belle and Jen. Belle teaching Jen how to walk with a book on her head. Belle and Jen playing in a wading pool. Belle teaching Jen how to strike a cover-girl pose. The two of them roller-skating at the local rink, with Belle catching Jen every time she fell down. Belle trying to teach an unwilling Jen how to put on makeup with beauty-queen expertise. And then Jen, cheering Belle onstage, at the Miss Texas Pageant, when Belle was crowned. Memories. So many memories, Jen thought wistfully. All of them good. And that was why it was such a shock, after the video ended, when Jen, near bawling, had escaped to the ladies’ room on another floor of the restaurant to pull herself together. And saw the last thing she had ever wanted to see. *** “It wasn’t what it looked like.” Aidan blocked Jen’s exit from the alcove outside the restrooms. With effort, Jen quelled the urge to deck her future brother-in-law. “You patting a woman on the butt seemed pretty clear to me.” “She’s an old friend.” Aidan shrugged. Jen smirked. “I’ll bet.” Aidan tried again. “I was drunk.” “That was just seconds ago and you seem pretty clearheaded now.” “You can’t tell Belle,” Aidan reiterated, with a threatening stare. Rick rounded the corner. Took one look. Scowled and shoved Aidan aside. “What the hell is going on here?” Rick demanded of the groom. Aidan stared at Jen another long, telling moment. Then turned back to Rick. “She’s your wife. You’re the best man. You handle her.” Aidan stormed off. Rick’s eyes radiated concern. “Did he make a pass at you?” The question stunned her. Jen’s anger quickly found a new target. “You know he does that?” she asked in astonishment. Rick scowled. “I know he did before he got engaged to Belle.” “You approve of it?” Rick tensed, torn, it seemed, between his allegiance to a guy he had known since they were kids, and Jen. “I try not to judge,” Rick said finally. Right. Jen folded her arms in front of her militantly. “Meaning you look the other way.”

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“Meaning it’s none of my business,” Rick reiterated curtly. “At least it hasn’t been. And you didn’t answer my question. Did Aidan make a pass at you?” Rick looked ready to deck Aidan if that were true. Jen inhaled deeply. Feeling partly reassured, she shook her head. “No.” Rick relaxed, too. He took her hand. “Your parents sent me up to find you. Tomorrow’s a big day. They’re about ready to end the party and call it a night. They want you to be there with them when they do.” Her feelings still in turmoil, but not wanting to cause her sister any more pain, Jen clasped Rick’s hand tightly. “I’m ready to go home, too,” she said. *** Rick would have known there was something wrong on the ride back to Jen’s apartment where they were staying the night, even if he hadn’t seen Aidan intimidating her outside the restrooms. She was far too quiet. Almost hauntingly sad. They walked in. Jen kicked off the high-heeled sandals. Looking exquisitely pretty in a flowered sundress with a ribbon sash that her sister had picked out for her to wear that evening, Jen flounced down on the sofa. Rick opened a bottle of champagne and filled two flutes. “I was saving this for tomorrow evening, but it seems like we need it tonight.” She let him press the glass in her hand, but did not take a sip. “I’m really not in the mood for celebrating.” “Is it because your sister is getting married tomorrow?” Rick asked gently. Tears appeared in the corners of Jen’s eyes. “I know it seems like the two of us don’t get along. And in recent years, I guess we really haven’t, but I do love Belle, Rick. So very much.” Jen’s voice broke. Her lips trembled and tears rolled down her cheeks. “I know.” Rick set both glasses aside. He lifted Jen onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “I get this wedding is emotional for you.” Jen buried her face in his shoulder. Her slender body shook with sobs. “I want her to be happy. I do!” she sobbed. Whether that would be possible married to Aidan, Rick didn’t know. The bighearted kid Rick had grown up with had morphed into a football star with an air of entitlement and ego the size of his fame, to the detriment of the character and values Rick’s old friend had once had. “And I want you to be happy,” Rick said, stroking his hands through Jen’s hair. “Then hold me,” Jen whispered, already loosening his tie. “And make love to me. And make everything all right.” *** Rick did his best. And while the sex was certainly as satisfying as ever that night, there was clearly something wrong.

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Jen didn’t sleep. Any time they weren’t actively enjoying themselves, she seemed a million miles away. He awakened to find her, not in his arms, but sitting on the window seat in a sleeveless nightgown, her knees drawn up to her chest. Once again, it looked like she had been crying. Rick reached for his boxer-briefs, and slid them on. He joined her on the window seat. “I know as your husband I can’t command you to do anything, but I sure wish you would tell me what’s going on,” he coaxed gently. Finally, Jen did. “I saw Aidan with his hand on a woman’s butt last night. He was clearly propositioning her. I think she might have said yes.” Many words went through Rick’s mind. None could be said in polite company. Finally, he asked, “Do you think Belle knows?” Looking more miserable than ever, Jen shook her head. “Belle thinks Aidan has been faithful since the day they met. She wouldn’t… There’s no way she would be with someone who didn’t worship her and the ground she walked on.” Rick covered her hand with his. “So what are you going to do?” Jen shrugged. She wiped away a new flood of tears with the back of her hand. “What can I do?” she sniffed. “Tell her what you saw.” Jen shut her eyes as if in pain. “It would ruin this day.” “Better that than the rest of her life,” Rick ventured. Jen exhaled and lifted her gaze to his. “The thing is, I don’t think Belle would believe me, not without some kind of proof, and I don’t have any.” Rick paused. “Any idea who the woman was?” “None. Not that it matters. If that woman has designs on Aidan, there is no way she would betray him.”

Chapter Seven Rick met up with Aidan at the church and quickly brought him up to speed. “You have to tell Belle the truth,” Rick said. “And promise her it won’t happen again.” Aidan looked at Rick. “Are you my best man or worst enemy? ’Cause I have to tell you, I don’t recognize you right now. Besides, what happened to your old mantra, ‘So many women, so little time’?” The mantra had been a joke, designed to keep any female who was serious away from him. “You know I was never really like that,” Rick said. “A pity, too. You could have had all my leftovers. And I have to tell you I’ve snagged some pretty fantastic—”

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Rick didn’t know what happened; he’d never decked anyone in his life. One minute he was just standing there. The next he had the famous athlete flat on his keister, sliding across the vestibule floor. Rick grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to his feet. “I swear to all that’s holy. You hurt Belle or anyone in her family ever again and you will answer to me.” Rick let go and stepped back. Aidan dusted himself off and glared at Rick like the self-involved stranger he had become. “The only reason you’re going to be my best man is because it would cause too much talk now if you weren’t. But after today?” Aidan growled. “I don’t know you.” “Fine with me,” Rick shot back. “Now, if you don’t mind…” Aidan opened his customized black cell phone with the big silver star on the back. He showed off the text on the screen. “I’ve got a hot babe to call before I change into my tux.” *** “You’re not supposed to be in here!” Belle chided Rick short minutes later. Rick shrugged off the chiding and made his way to his wife. It was clear Jen hadn’t said a thing. Belle and every other female in the wedding party looked ecstatic. Jen looked as if she were trying to feign wild happiness while secretly miserable. “But maybe you can cheer her up,” Belle hoped aloud. Jen enveloped Rick in a hug. Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear, “I didn’t and you can’t.” “I know,” Rick whispered back. “That’s something Belle has to discover on her own.” Jen nodded, still looking upset. Rick set the pilfered phone down on the closest table. No sooner had he done so, than it went off again. Thanks to Rick, the ringer had been set to loud. The obnoxious ring tone filled the room. Belle frowned. “What’s Aidan’s phone doing in here?” She rushed to pick it up. Then paled as she read the text aloud, “‘I want to…’” Belle looked around. “Is this some sort of a joke?” she asked to no one in particular. “Give me that.” Jen dived for the phone. Belle held tight and kept scrolling. “I want everyone to leave except Jen and Rick.” “Honey,” Martha Baxter implored. “I mean it, Mom! Take all the bridesmaids and Aidan’s mom and just go.” The women filtered out of the room. Belle stared at Rick, a fairy princess about to explode. “Is this for real?” she repeated again. Rick ignored the shock and ambivalence in Jen’s expression. “It’s his phone.” “The messages,” Belle stipulated.

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Rick ignored Jen’s pleading glance. He looked into her sister’s eyes. “As far as I know, yes.” “Okay,” Belle said to Rick, pointing to the door. “You need to get out, too.” Jen caught Rick’s sleeve as he passed. Once again her eyes were filled with tears of relief and fury. “I can’t believe you just did that,” she hissed. “You’ll both thank me later,” Rick predicted, and prayed that was the case. *** Belle collapsed on the nearest chair, no longer caring what the action might do to her silk skirt and train. As she looked Jen in the eye, what little remained of the years of estrangement disappeared. Once again they were sisters, in heart and soul, as well as last name. “Obviously,” Belle deduced, “you knew.” Jen swallowed, aware the only thing she could do now was tell the truth—and let the chips fall where they may as Belle made what was arguably the most important decision of her life. “Only since last night,” Jen admitted quietly, realizing belatedly that Rick had been right to do what he had. Neither of them could have lived with themselves had they covered for Aidan and kept the truth from Belle. Belle passed a weary hand over her eyes. “You saw his texts?” “I saw him with his hand on another woman’s butt.” Briefly, Jen explained. “And didn’t tell me,” Belle accused, betrayed. “I wanted to…but…you had already accused me once of trying to ruin your wedding…and I didn’t have any proof. Not like that.” Jen pointed to the phone. Belle leaped up and began to pace. “So you chickened out.” “Yes,” Jen admitted, ashamed. She struggled not to cry. Belle swung around, heavy skirts swishing. “So now what am I supposed to do?” Belle fingered the elaborate bouquet in her hands. Outside, they could hear the music starting. She studied her gigantic diamond ring. Their mom popped her head in. Belle held up a hand. Their mom popped right back out. Belle looked at Jen. “Tell me what you think,” she insisted quietly, for once—maybe for the first time in her life—looking as if she really needed her baby sister’s advice. Jen knew a lot was resting on her answer so she gathered her courage and spoke from the heart. “I think you deserve better. We both do. A week ago I might not have known this, but I do now. True love is worth waiting for.” Belle looked sad for herself, happy for Jen. “Are you saying…?”

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“Yes. I’m in love with Rick.” So in love, in fact, Jen was willing to stay married to him even if he didn’t ever love her back. *** “We can’t let everything go to waste!” Jen and Belle’s mother said, after Belle had told her fiancé it was over, marched into the chapel, made the announcement and marched right back out. “The flowers, the food, the dinner, the band, the limo—everything has been paid for!” “It doesn’t have to go unused,” Belle said, looking more serene than she had in years, now that the decision had been made. “Rick and Jen can take our place!” Jen gasped. This was the wedding of a lifetime. “I couldn’t,” she protested, hand to her heart. With the generosity and love she’d shown Jen when they were kids, Belle said, “Sure you can. We’ll even swap dresses.” Belle grinned. Looking surprised, but nonetheless cooperative, Rick shrugged. “I’m willing,” he announced. “Well, I’m not!” Jen folded her arms in front of her. Jaws dropped. Martha looked like she might faint. Frank looked annoyed beyond words. “Give us a moment,” Rick said to Jen’s parents and sister. In relief, everyone filtered out of the anteroom. Rick held out his hands to Jen. “You deserve the wedding of your dreams.” Jen couldn’t argue that. Still… She looked at Rick, determined to be as honest with him as she had just been with her sister. “This was Belle’s dream. Besides, it’s in a church, before God and all that, and I don’t think I—it’s not—in this case,” Jen stammered, “a civil ceremony would be better.” Rick looked at Jen, as always seeing so much more of what she was feeling than she would have wished. “Mind telling me why?” he asked finally. Total honesty, it seemed, was the guiding principle of the day. Jen inhaled deeply, marshaled all her courage and looked Rick straight in the eye. “Because you don’t love me,” she said quietly, “and I don’t want you pretending that you do.”

Chapter Eight Rick stared at Jen, hardly able to believe what he had just heard. “I don’t love you?” he echoed in stunned disbelief. “Shhh!” Jen pressed her finger to his lips, as aware as Rick that others might very well be listening outside the door. “You don’t have to speak so loudly!” she chided. “Apparently, I do,” Rick stated, more determined than ever to make her understand. “Because I do love you, Jen, with all my heart!” Jen’s face lit up with a glow that came from deep within. She looked deep into his eyes. “You mean that,” she noted softly, happily. Rick gathered her in his arms for a long, soulful kiss. “I do.”

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A contented silence fell. Rick knew what they would have done next, had they been alone. But they were in a church, with a chapel still full of everyone who had shown up on the bride’s side. The groom’s guests had, at his behest, already departed. “I understand if you want to turn Belle down on her offer to take her place, and go back to square one, do the whole courtship and proposal thing from the very beginning, and plan your very own wedding,” Rick said. Jen held up a staying hand. “Actually, now that you mention it, the answer to that is no. I’ve always been practical and to tell you the truth, planning a wedding like this one is nothing but one giant headache, from my point of view. Selecting the flowers and the caterers and the invitations and the band, it just takes forever, and I don’t want to waste that time. Not when I could already be still married—” “Really married this time,” Rick clarified. Jen smiled. “—to you.” Rick gathered her slender body closer yet. “So?” Jen took a deep, enervating breath. “I’m willing if you are.” No question there. “I am.” *** It took another forty-five minutes to get the dresses changed, and Rick’s very surprised but willing parents to the chapel, as well. There was also the little matter of talking to the minister and agreeing to do their prenuptial counseling sessions after the fact. But once that was all accomplished, with Rick’s father standing in as best man, the wedding march sounded, and Jen glided down the aisle on her father’s arm, the way she had always secretly wanted. Rick was standing at the altar, all the love she had ever wanted in his eyes. She approached him, all the love she had ever wanted in her heart. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of Rick Steele and Jen Baxter,” the minister began. “Although the two of them are already married in the eyes of the law, they’ve also asked to be married in the church.” And thus, the ceremony that would tie them to each other for the rest of their lives began. *** “Have I told you what a beautiful bride you make?” Rick murmured in Jen’s ear, as they took the floor for the bride and groom’s first dance together as husband and wife. Jen flirted back, “In my borrowed dress.” Rick kissed the top of her head. “In any dress.” Jen exhaled in contentment and snuggled closer in Rick’s warm embrace as they swayed to the beat of “What a Wonderful World.” Rick’s grip tightened possessively and Jen cast a look at her sister, who was gamely cheering them on. “I just wish things had turned out better for Belle,” Jen murmured.

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“They will,” Rick assured Jen. And, as it turned out, they did… *** One year later… “Hurry up!” Jen called from the top of the stairs. Belle opened the door to her childhood bedroom and stepped out. She was dressed in a breathtakingly simple Vera Wang wedding dress. A real diamond tiara was threaded through her exquisitely upswept hair. Jen caught her breath. As always, her sister’s beauty was astounding. Happiness radiated from Belle. “You are without a doubt the most stunning bride I have ever seen,” Jen told Belle. Belle clutched the bouquet she would carry in the formal gardens, where she was to be married. This time, Jen amended silently to herself, to a man who loved Belle as much as she deserved to be loved, and whom Belle loved equally in return. “You mean that, don’t you?” Belle smiled. Glad the last twelve months had reinstated the closeness the two had felt in their youth, Jen nodded. “I do, but if we don’t hur—” Jen paused, put her hand to her midriff and caught her breath. “What?” Panicked, Belle came closer. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?” Tears gathered in Jen’s eyes. She took her sister’s hand and put it on her waist. “Only very right.” Recognition lit Belle’s face. “Is this…?” “The first time.” Jen could barely contain her excitement. “Yes.” Belle went to the stairwell. “Rick! Get up here now!” she yelled. Jen protested. “We’ll be late.” And there was no guarantee it would happen again! “I don’t care!” Belle said, laughing and pushing her own needs aside, as she teased merrily, “If you’re upstaging me anywhere, little sis, it’s here!” Rick dashed up. He looked as alarmed as Belle’s hasty summons commanded. “What?” Rick demanded, coming to a rest at Jen’s side. Belle took Rick’s hand and fit it into Jen’s. “She’ll explain,” Belle promised with a wink. To Jen, she added, “I was going to say, ‘Don’t take too long!’ But what the heck—take all the time you need.” Belle winked. “The important moments in life only come once. Right?” Belle kissed Jen’s temple and, being very careful of the fabric of her dress, headed down the stairs. “What was that all about?” Rick demanded, perplexed. Jen felt it again. “This.” She took Rick’s hand and put it across her softly rounded belly. And there it was again, as if on cue, the tiniest kick, followed by another. Rick’s gaze widened. “Is that…?”

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Jen nodded, a joy unlike any she had ever felt coming over her. “Our baby. It is.” “Wow,” Rick said, waiting once again. The baby kicked once more, then fell silent. From the curb, they heard the limo honking. “We better get going!” Jen said. “Not before this,” Rick said. He took her in his arms and kissed her once again, thoroughly and sweetly. Breathlessly, they drew apart. “I love you,” Rick said, “with all my heart.” Jen looked deep into his eyes and kissed him back. “I love you, too,” she said softly. “So very much.” The horn sounded again, longer, louder this time. Rick and Jen laughed. “Belle can be patient, but only for so long!” Jen warned. “Then let’s get going, so we can all live happily ever after!” Rick said. And they did.

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The Prince’s Mistress by Sandra Marton Billionaire Nick Karrier enjoys a life of carefree luxury in Manhattan, but he harbors a secret: he is really Prince Nicolas, heir to the throne of the island kingdom of Karas. But Nicolas has learned there can be too much of a good thing and he is ready at last to take over from his aging father and lead his homeland in the future. Duty demands that Nicolas also take a wife a well-born woman hand-selected by the Council of Ministers to be his perfect queen. But before resigning himself to a loveless marriage and a life of passionless nights, “Nick” decides seducing a beautiful woman into his bed is the perfect way to spend his last days of freedom. And Chloe Sutton an aspiring model with obvious contempt for playboys like Nick presents just enough of a challenge to make the seduction interesting....

Chapter One Nick Karrier had been at the charity ball for only half an hour but he was more than ready to leave. Events like this were painfully predictable. Flat champagne, unidentifiable food, too much bling..and too many women competing for his attention. Prince Nicolas of Karas was ready to say goodbye to the whole thing, too. But then, Nick the billionaire and Nicolas the soon-to-be king of Karas were the same man. It was a tightly guarded secret, known only by his father the king and the Council of Ministers. For the past six months, Nicolas had been living in New York and enjoying his freedom, but two weeks from now he would return home and assume the responsibilities of the throne of Karas. His homeland was an island kingdom in the Mediterranean Sea. It was wealthy, thanks to its gold mines, but smaller than its neighbors, the once-united but now-separated kingdoms of Aristo and Calista. Nicolas’s father and the Council feared that without a new direction and new leadership, Karas might be swallowed up by one of the two kingdoms and they had decided that it was time Nicolas provided that leadership. Nicolas knew the importance of duty. He had agreed, but with a price: half a year of anonymity far from Karas. “A king cannot think of his own needs,” his father had said, when Nicolas told him he was taking this time alone. “I am not yet king, father,” Nicolas had replied with quiet determination. “I am still a prince, free to make my own choices, and I am simply informing you and the Council of my plans.” The king’s stern face had softened. “You have the spirit our people require, my son,” he’d said, “but you must be king by the time your aunt, Queen Tia Karedes of Aristo, celebrates her sixtieth birthday. It will be a huge event, viewed by the entire world, and you should attend as Karas’s new king.” So Nicolas became Nick, moved to a Manhattan penthouse and assumed the carefree existence that went with having good looks and lots of money. Nobody questioned his sudden appearance. He had been protected from the media as a boy and carefully maintained his privacy as a man. Besides, this was New York, a city in which modern fairy tales thrived. Two weeks more, and Nicolas’s would end. And tonight, he’d realized he was ready for that to happen. Maybe there was truth in the old saying that there could be too much of a good thing. Nicolas raised his glass, caught the overly-sweet smell of cheap champagne, changed his mind about drinking any more of it and surreptitiously eyed his watch. Tonight’s cause Save the Pelicans, Save the Penguins, Save Something or Other—was a good one but for the most part, events like this were not. He had the damnedest desire to grab the mike and ask if anyone here had ever considered staying home and

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just sending a check. Or, even better, volunteering. He’d helped build houses for the poor in an outlying province of Karas a couple of years ago and he’d enjoyed every sweaty, muscle-building minute. Grabbing that microphone might not be a bad idea... Hell. A waiter sidled by. Nick exchanged his flute of flat champagne for what turned out to be an apple martini. He shuddered, got rid of it and decided it was time to leave. Really leave, maybe move up his return to Karas by a few days. It was time. Yes, there were things he’d miss. Anonymity. Solitude. The right to be with a woman solely because she wanted him but then, there was never any guarantee of that, not when you had a lot of money. New York women had been all over him and it would have been even worse if they’d known he had a title. He’d never thought a man could tire of being surrounded by beautiful, eager-to-please females, but he had. From now on, at least, trying to figure out a woman’s motives would not be a problem. The Council would find him a wife. She would be of royal blood or, at the least, well-bred. She would be from his part of the world, Karatian or Aristan but not Calistan. Karas maintained a polite relationship with the sheikhs of Calista but their culture was too different from that of Karas. She would be attractive he would demand that much—but other than that, royal marriages were about duty. Not love, not passion, not heat and sex and challenge... It was definitely time to get out of here, out of New York, before he got himself into trouble although it did seem wrong to end his freedom on a down note. Surely, there was something he could do as a send-off... “Have you purchased your raffle tickets yet?” The voice was female and no-nonsense. It reminded him of the icy governesses of his childhood, and he reached for his wallet without bothering to look up. “How much?” he said, his tone bored and brusque. “A thousand dollars each.” “Fine. I’ll take five.” “Five?” Her voice dripped disdain. “Only five, given your reputation for squandering your money?” That did make him look up and surprise, surprise the woman looked nothing like any governess he’d ever known. Not with that long, lush body, that sexy tumble of gold curls, that spectacular face and those enormous, coffee-colored eyes. She was looking at him with something close to contempt. She was beautiful. And unless she was putting on a damned good act, she didn’t seem the least impressed by him. Seducing her into his bed might be the perfect way to say goodbye to his six months of freedom.

Chapter Two Chloe saw the sudden flare of interest in Nick Karrier’s eyes and wanted to take back her words, but it was too late.

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Why had she said something so foolish? You didn’t challenge a man like him, not unless you wanted to do battle, and all she wanted was to get rid of these silly tickets and go home. Did the rich really think tossing money at problems was the same as actually doing something to solve them? She knew the answer. She worked for her living now, knew what it was to try to make ends meet, but she’d grown up rich. Her father had been wealthy before gambling most of his money away. He was a Calistan sheikh, not that she ever told that to anyone. She had, once, when she first went to Paris. The memory still made her shudder. “A sheikh?” the other girls had shrieked and bombarded her with ridiculous questions about camels and deserts and tents. So, yes. She knew how the rich operated, how useless and self-indulgent they could be, which meant she knew all she needed to know about the infamous Nick Karrier. She’d only left Paris a couple of days ago but she’d heard all about him already, that he was rich and gorgeous and sexy. What more was there to know? The ballroom was full of Nick Karrier-types tonight. Okay, perhaps not as ruggedly handsome, but just as useless. Raffle tickets in hand, she’d approached the ones on her list politely. Those with wives or mistresses at their sides had tried to seem interested only in the raffle, though two slid business cards into her hand along with their money. The ones who were alone hadn’t bothered to be subtle. “I’ll buy half a dozen,” one especially obnoxious jerk had leered, “but there’s a price.” Chloe had steamed but she’d simply walked away. Then why had she lost her cool with Nick Karrier? His eyes a pale gray slid from her face and over the rest of her, all the way to her feet and the silver stilettos the designer had insisted on. As much as she abhorred this sort of thing, as an aspiring model she couldn’t argue with the chance to work a benefit for a good cause while also getting some much-needed New York exposure. Chloe felt her face heat. That didn’t make sense, either. She was accustomed to men looking at her, it was her career now. Plus, her father had begun subtly parading her before what he considered eligible suitors the day she turned eighteen. “It is a father’s right to choose his daughter’s husband,” he’d said, when she’d balked. According to strict Calistan custom, she supposed it was. It was how her mother had married, and her grandmother, and all the women in the Sharif family. Would nobody admit the practice was barbaric? Worse, she knew in her heart that he wanted to marry her to someone with money so he could recover some of his own lost fortune. She’d put her father off for two years. Then she’d fled to Paris where her girlish dreams ran into cold reality. She couldn’t get a job. She spoke six languages, could plan a dinner party for six or six hundred, but so what? Eventually, she’d done the one thing she seemed suited for. She became a model, but she wasn’t happy. It was a frivolous occupation and perhaps because she saw it that way, she was still struggling for jobs. Plus, she knew she’d hurt her father, and he was not getting any younger. Her favorite aunt had called her just last week to remind her of that. And so she had reached a decision. She would face the duty that awaited her, a proper marriage to a man who would meet with her father’s approval. There was to be a big celebration in the neighboring kingdom of Aristo, a birthday celebration for its queen. Her father was invited an important thing, considering the uneasy relationship between Calista and Aristo and, by extension, between Calista and Karas.

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Chloe had written her father to say she would return home in time for the event, and that she would finally agree to marry a man who met with his approval. Meaning, she knew, someone rich and probably old and ugly and horrible.... “Did you intend to sell those tickets or hoard them?” Chloe blinked. Nick Karrier was watching her, looking amused enough to be annoying. She drew herself up. “Sorry,” she said in a voice that made it clear she wasn’t sorry at all. “How many tickets did you ” “I said five. And then you said I squandered my money. I’m wondering how you could possibly know that?” How, indeed? She wasn’t about to admit the other girls had talked about his cars, his penthouse, his partying. “I meant that it’s good to give money to a worthwhile cause.” “Save the Pelicans is a worthwhile cause?” She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “You have a great laugh, Miss...?” He smiled. Ridiculous that between the smile and the compliment, she felt her knees go week. “Sutton,” she said briskly, using the name she’d adopted since leaving Calista. “And how many tickets do you want?” “How many did you want to sell?” “All of them, naturally, but I can’t possibly do that if I waste time” “Ah. The truth, at last. Talking to me is a waste of time.” God, she kept digging herself deeper! “I didn’t mean” “I’ll take them all.” “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Karrier. I have, easily, fifty tickets left.” “Fine,” he said, taking out his checkbook. “You’re going to buy them all? At a thousand dollars each?” Nick Karrier flashed her another of those sexy smiles, wrote a check and held it out. Okay. Perhaps she had misjudged “But there’s a price,” he said softly, and she snatched back her hand. “Yes,” she said coldly, “I’m sure there is. Unfortunately, you can take your ‘price’ and” “Ah, Chloe!” The chairwoman bore down on them, smiling like a barracuda. “My dear, you still have tickets left!” “Wrong,” Nick said pleasantly.

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He plucked the raffle tickets from Chloe’s hand and gave his check to the chairwoman, who gasped with delight. “How lovely! You bought them all!” “Chloe offered to have supper with me if I did,” Nick said blandly. “How could I turn her down when spending money on a good cause is far better than squandering it? Isn’t that right, Chloe?” Chloe opened her mouth but nothing came out. She was trapped.

Chapter Three A long, black limo was waiting at the curb. No surprise there, Chloe thought coldly. Men like Nick Karrier didn’t care if they kept their servants waiting half the night while they enjoyed themselves. Oh yes, she definitely knew his type! But men like him didn’t signal their drivers to stay put while they opened doors themselves. Karrier did. Well, so what? He was still arrogant enough to keep a man waiting at his beck and call and “Your sister’s flight get off on time?” Chloe swung toward him, thinking he was talking to her. No. He was talking to his driver as they pulled away from the curb. “On the button, Mr. Karrier.” “Great. I figured that when I saw you at the curb already.” Chloe scowled. All right. Maybe he wasn’t as easily defined as most men of his class. That didn’t make him a good guy and when he flashed her another of those knee-buckling smiles, she knew she was right. Here it was, the “Let’s go up to my place” routine. “Do you like Italian food?” “Don’t tell me,” she said sweetly, “your cook just happened to leave a freshly made ragu in your fridge.” “I have a housekeeper, not a cook, and if she left me a ragu, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He was good at making her feel foolish, but that wasn’t going to continue. She was a grown woman, educated and worldly. She had his number. “I am not,” she said, switching instantly from supersweet to cold-as-ice, “in the least bit hungry.” His sigh was deep and, she knew, as exaggerated as her response. She was starved; dinner had been a bottle of water and ten almonds. She was on a low-carb diet, desperate to drop five pounds. American designers liked their models thin. As for Italian food...she adored it. Not that he needed that bit of information. “Giovanni’s,” he told his driver. Chloe got another smile. “You can keep me company while I eat. I’m hungry as a bear.” “Too busy having fun tonight to try the buffet?” “Too smart to eat anything that doesn’t look like food. And I hate to disappoint you, but nothing about tonight was fun.”

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Maybe the smartest thing was to keep her mouth shut and just survive Giovanni’s, which would, of course, be on a bit of prime real estate, elegant, overpriced and overstaffed. Wrong again. Giovanni’s was downtown in Little Italy and the owner greeted Nick Karrier like a long-lost friend. There was some pleasant chatter and the surprise of realizing Karrier spoke Italian. So did she, of course, but she kept her expression blank as they were led to a candlelit table in a garden. Wind chimes sighed in the breath of a soft breeze. Nick Karrier drew out her chair. His hands brushed her bare shoulders; she felt the touch whisper through her blood and she pulled back, heart racing. What was wrong with her tonight? “Great place, isn’t it? You’d never think you were in the city.” You wouldn’t, but why tell him that? Chloe sat stiffly while he ordered. Soon the table held a straw-wrapped bottle of Chianti, a basket of crusty bread, a huge platter of antipasto. “Sure you won’t have anything?” he asked politely. “Positive.” She looked pointedly at her watch, then at him as he poured two glasses of wine. “I told you, I am not” “Hungry. But you might be thirsty.” He drank some of the wine. “Very nice, not that glop they served at the Save the Whosis thing.” “No one was Saving the Whosis.” “No one was saving anything. They were just making themselves feel good.” He bit into a chunk of bread. “Incredible. Giovanni’s wife does all the baking.” Chloe watched as he ate the bread, ate some cheese, ate a cherry tomato. To her horror, her stomach snarled. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she hissed with anger, snatched a piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth. Giovanni bustled up, pushing a serving cart. Chloe looked at it and shook her head. “No,” she said, “I can’t.” Giovanni all but slapped a hand to his heart. “The signorina does not want to try my Celeste’s cooking?” “It isn’t that. It’s.... All right. But just a little....” She meant it. There was her diet, and there was the arrogance of the man who thought he could coerce her into enjoying the evening. But the food was amazing. And Nick Karrier was well, he wasn’t exactly the way she’d imagined. He was relaxed, he was charming...and funny. How could she not laugh at his stories of other Save the Whosis parties? He was attentive, too, asking her questions about her work, laughing when she told him about the time she’d had to stagger down a runway with her feet crammed into shoes that were two sizes too small. And then there was the way she felt when she reached for something and he did, too, and their hands accidentally brushed.... Suddenly, music filled the little garden. Not some syrupy rendition of “O Solo Mio” but the sultry voice of Norah Jones, singing plaintively of the pain of love lost.

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“Giovanni knows Norah Jones is one of my favorites,” Nick said, and all at once Chloe knew, with terrifying certainty, that she might have misjudged this man. He rose to his feet, held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?” She knew the right answer was no, but maybe there were no right answers tonight. She took his hand, went into his arms and when he gathered her to him, she felt her heartbeat stutter. His lips were against her temple. Hers were against his throat. After a while they were swaying, not dancing, and when Chloe looked up, Nicolas did the only thing he could. He kissed her.

Chapter Four What had become of easy flirtation? Of the challenge of making Chloe Sutton respond? He’d met the challenge, except he suddenly realized that wasn’t what mattered. This was what counted. The shocked intake of her breath. The softness of her lips. This, only this, was reality. “Nick,” she said unsteadily. “Nick, I don’t” He framed her face with his hands, changed the angle of the kiss, parted her lips with his so he could dip deeper into the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. She held back and then she moaned softly and leaned into him. The feel of her body against his almost drove him to his knees. “Chloe,” he whispered, and gathered her closer, one hand in the silken spill of her hair, the other at the base of her spine. She rose on her toes, wound her slender arms around his neck and he slid his hands down her back, cupped her bottom and lifted her into him. He had turned rock-hard and she caught her breath again and he knew she’d felt his aroused sex against her belly. Her scent was dizzying. And when she moved against him, that long, lush body soft and warm against his, he groaned. He was hanging on to his self-control by a thread and despite all his experiences with women, that had never happened before. He had too much to lose. But the need to take this woman was hot and fierce. He whispered her name, took his kisses deeper and deeper. They were alone in the little garden but it was still a public place. Someone could come along at any second. The thing was, he didn’t give a damn. All he could think of was making love to a stranger named Chloe. Mouths fused, they moved farther into the shadows. Nicolas wanted more. Wanted her naked beneath him, her legs wrapped around his hips, her body lifting to his, her silken heat taking him deep, deep, deep... Her hands were under his jacket, under his shirt. Nicolas groaned, kissed her throat, the slope of her breast. He closed his mouth around her nipple, erect and pebble-hard through the silk fabric of her dress and when she gasped, he bunched her skirt in his hands, shoved it up and up, cupped her hips and moved against her. Now, he thought, yes, now... An errant breeze caught the wind chimes, sent them into a wild clatter that drowned the soft music still pouring from the speakers set in the trees. Chloe jerked in his arms, as if the sound had woken her from a dream.

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“No,” she said, her voice filled with panic, and when he caught her face to keep her from tearing her mouth from his, she slapped her hands against his shoulders. “No,” she said again, and Nicolas drew a shuddering breath, lowered his head and leaned his forehead against hers. “Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have” “It isn’t your fault. I should not have come with you.” Her voice, her body, shook. “I should not have let this happen, Nick.” “Nicolas,” he said, because, somehow, hearing his real name on her lips seemed important. “Call me Nicolas.” “Nicolas. We—we can’t” He raised her face to his, silenced her with a kiss. “Don’t say that.” “But it’s the truth. We mustn’t” “Do you believe in fate, Chloe?” “I believe in right and wrong.” She swallowed hard. “And this is wrong.” “The hell it is! I want to make love with you. You want that, too. No, don’t shake your head, don’t lie to me or to yourself.” He bent down a little, enough so their eyes met. “All that nonsense at the party, in the car... We were only putting off the inevitable.” A tremor went through her. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “God, what am I doing?” He thought of a dozen answers, the clever lies men offered to women in the name of seduction, but something told him that this woman, this moment, deserved the truth. “Hell,” he said with a little laugh, “I don’t know what either of us is doing. The only thing I’m sure of is that we shouldn’t turn away from this.” Chloe ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Nothing can come of it, Nicolas. Do you understand?” “Yes. I know that.” He lifted her face, swept the dampness of tears from her lashes with his thumbs. “I also know that I don’t want to let you walk away tonight.” Chloe didn’t want that, either, but how could she do this? Nicolas Karrier was a stranger. She would never see him again she was going home, to marry a man of her father’s choosing. The letter she’d sent her father spelled it all out. “No,” she said desperately. “You don’t understand! I have I have obligations...” “As do I,” he said gruffly. “Maybe that’s why tonight, the only obligation that matters is the one we have to each other.” Chloe touched her finger to his beautiful, chiseled lips. She knew what lay ahead, a lifetime of obedience and duty.... A lifetime of passionless nights.

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“Chloe.” His lips brushed lightly over hers. “Chloe, come home with me.” She hesitated. Knowing right from wrong should have been simple, but was it really wrong to want this one night? Nicolas kissed her, drew her close against him and Chloe let him lead her from the garden.

Chapter Five Nicolas’s car was waiting. “Home,” he told his driver, and then he pushed a button and the privacy screen slid into place, enclosing them in a dark, private universe. Nicolas saw doubt glittering in Chloe’s eyes. There was only one way to resolve that doubt. He took her in his arms, drew her into his lap, kissed her eyelids, her throat, her mouth and promised himself he would do nothing more until they were in his bed. But how could he keep from nuzzling aside one thin strap of her dress and nipping the tender skin beneath it? How could he not slip his hand under her skirt? Her skin was hot and silky and when he brushed his fingers lightly over the strip of fabric between her thighs, she moaned into his mouth and shuddered. He felt his heart shudder, too. Traffic was light at this hour. The drive uptown was mercifully brief. The ride in his private elevator seemed endless. Take her now, said the urgent beat of his blood, but some still-functional part of his brain reminded him that they had only this night and she deserved everything he could give her. So he held back, kissing her, whispering to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her until, at last, they were in his penthouse. Soft moonlight poured through the wall of glass in his living room, casting its light on Chloe’s face. Nicolas cupped her shoulders, ran his hands down her arms to her wrists, lifted her hands, brought them to his lips and kissed the palms. “My beautiful Chloe,” he said softly. Chloe was trembling. She had never felt like this before, as if time were standing still, as if the very universe was standing still, everything waiting, waiting, for what would happen next. “Nicolas.” Her voice was unsteady. “I should tell you” “You don’t have to say it, sweetheart. I know you don’t do this kind of thing. Meet a man. Go home with him.” “Yes. But there is more. You should you should know” “I know this,” he said, and kissed her, scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom. From that instant on, nothing else mattered. His body kissed hers as he slowly lowered her to her feet. God, the feel of all that hard muscle, his warmth, the steady beat of his heart... Pleasure swept through her. This was right, it was a moment torn out of time and space and she would have it to cherish, forever.

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Nicolas took off his jacket. His tie. They fell to the floor but his eyes never left hers. Was the next move hers? She took a deep breath, reached behind herself to the zipper at the back of her dress. He stopped her. “I want to undress you.” His voice was low and urgent and incredibly sexy. He stepped behind her; when she felt the touch of his hand at her zipper, she angled her head, caught her long hair and swept it aside. He groaned softly and nipped the skin at the nape of her neck. “Chloe,” he said. Just that, but she had never heard her name spoken that way before. She could feel her bones turning to liquid. Slowly, he drew the zipper down. The silky fabric was cool against her skin as it dropped to her feet. Nicolas took her hand and she stepped free of it. All she wore now was what the designer had paired with the dress. A pale blue bra. A pale blue thong. Thigh-high sheer stockings. And the sky-high stilettos. Nicolas turned her toward him and the look on his face made her breath catch. “Nicolas,” she whispered unsteadily, and he gathered her in his arms, took her mouth with his and she knew, oh she knew that this was what she’d been waiting for. This moment, and this man. He undressed her with exquisite care. Her bra. Her thong. Touched her with that same care, his hands cupping her breasts, his fingers moving over her nipples and that, only that, made her cry out. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful, sweetheart.” He lifted her into his arms, brought her to the bed and came down on it beside her. She was naked now; he was still dressed. The contrast was shockingly erotic. He explored her with slow deliberation, touching her breasts, kissing them, watching her face as she came alive under the stroke of his hands. He kissed her. Caressed her. Kissed her breasts, her belly... The golden curls at the apex of her thighs. Her head fell back against the pillows. A moan broke from her throat. “What?” he said hoarsely. “Tell me. Do you want more?” His fingers brushed over her again. Lingered. Chloe whispered his name and arched toward him. “Tell me,” he insisted. “You, Nicolas,” she sobbed. “I want you.” He captured her mouth with his and as he did, he parted her woman’s flesh with his fingers. Stroked her, and she shattered into a thousand bits of star-shot crystal. Her cry, the way her eyes went blind with the release of her passion, almost undid him. Now, he thought, and he kicked off his shoes. Tore off his clothes. Spent a too-long minute sheathing himself in a condom. “Chloe,” he said fiercely, and then he knelt between her thighs and he entered her, not slowly as he had promised himself he would but on one long, deep, hard thrust. She cried out again and for one endless moment, Nicolas froze. “Nicolas,” she whispered, and lifted her hips. It was too much.

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He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop. He kissed her, moved inside her. She came again, flying into the heart of the universe with him as he took what he had never before taken from a woman. Her virginity.

Chapter Six “Why didn’t you tell me?” Nicolas’s voice was low and rough. Their eyes met. Chloe felt heat rush into her face and she tried to turn away but he rolled onto his side and gathered her against him. “You should have told me,” he said softly. “I would have done whatever it took not to hurt you.” “You didn’t hurt me. What happened...what we did...it was wonderful.” His smile was pure male. “Yes. It was. You’ve done me a great honor, sweetheart.” Her lips curved against his as he kissed her. “I’m glad you think so.” His kisses deepened. Her breathing quickened. He clasped her hands, held them above her head and entered her slowly, so slowly that she thought she might die of pleasure. “Nicolas,” she whispered. And then, for a very long time, there was no need for words at all. *** She slept in his arms the entire night, rising from sleep twice to meet his passion with her own. But when she woke the next morning, she was alone. What now? What was morning-after protocol? She had no idea. All she could think of was leaving as quickly as possible. If she were very lucky, she might not even have to face the stranger with whom she’d spent the night. Not that she was a prude. Not that she’d made a fetish of keeping her virginity. Once upon a time, it had been important in Calistan culture for well-bred young women to remain chaste until marriage, but she knew that had changed in Calista just as it had in the rest of the world. Still, some part of her had always believed that sex was more than sex, that it was part of love. How could all that have gone by the wayside? She’d lost count of the number of men handsome, charming men who’d done their best to try to talk her into bed. Rejecting their advances had been almost pathetically simple. She had not, even for a moment, wanted any of them. And then Nicolas came along and the truth was, just as he’d said, this heat, this need had been between them right from the beginning. It didn’t make any sense and neither did playing at self-analysis when he could return at any minute. Chloe threw back the covers. Her clothing was scattered; she tried not to think about how it had come off as she collected it. She quickly pulled on the thong, ignored the stockings, jammed her feet into the stilettos... “Good morning.”

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She swung around, automatically crossing her arms over her breasts. Nicolas leaned, hipshot, in the doorway. Her pulse rate went crazy. He was, without question, absolutely gorgeous, his dark hair damp from a recent shower, that long, potently masculine body casually dressed in a long-sleeved black cotton sweater and faded, close-fitting jeans. He was enough to make her mouth water. “Did you sleep well?” “I yes, thank you, I did.” “I was afraid I might wake you.” “No,” she said brightly. “No, you didn’t. I, ah, I never even heard you get up.” He unfolded himself from the doorway and came toward her, his movements fluid and catlike. “What I meant,” he said huskily, “is that I was afraid I’d want to wake you, if I stayed in that bed a minute longer.” His gaze moved over her with slow deliberation. “You’re a lovely sight first thing in the morning, sweetheart.” “Nicolas. I don’t I don’t think ” He reached for her hands, drew them to her sides. The rest of her clothes tumbled from her suddenly nerveless fingers. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” His eyes met hers. “Don’t tell you the truth?” ”No. I mean...” She licked her lips. “I don’t really know how to do this. I know how stupid that sounds but” His arms went around her, his mouth took hers. At first, she stood stiff within his embrace but then she sighed, her lips softened and clung to his. “What I told you last night is true, agapi mou. Your innocence is a gift. Don’t apologize for it.” Chloe blinked. “What did you call me?” A muscle knotted in his cheek. “It’s just a term of affection.” “But that was... Do you speak Greek, Nicolas?” He hesitated, then gave a careless shrug. “Yeah. I do.” She wanted to tell him she did, too, but then he might ask questions and she wasn’t ready to give answers. The last thing she wanted right now was to talk about her life. Her real life. It would claim her, soon enough. “Hey.” He cupped her face in his hand. “What happened to that smile?” Chloe forced one to her lips. “Nothing. I was just thinking... I have to finish getting dressed.” “What for?”

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“Well, because I’m” “Naked.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Half-naked. And gorgeous.” His words were pure sex. So was the way he was looking at her. She felt herself turning hot and liquid but she couldn’t let this happen. She’d been swept away last night. The garden, the music, the moon... This was different. It was daytime. People were supposed to think more clearly in the daytime and what she was thinking was that making love again would be wrong. But when Nicolas kissed her, she kissed him back. He said her name, dropped to his knees, curved his calloused hands around her hips. His breath was warm... She buried her hands in his hair, trembling as he found her with the tip of his tongue and when she cried out, he rose to his feet, swept her into his arms and took her back to bed.

Chapter Seven They made love. And slept. Made love again but this time, when Chloe curled up in Nicolas’s arms, he kissed the tip of her nose and said it was time to get up. “Mmm,” Chloe said, and yawned. “Okay,” he said, “you leave me no choice...” He scooped her into his arms. She yelped with indignation. “What do you think you’re doing?” What he was doing was shockingly obvious. She shrieked as he carried her into the bathroom, stepped into the glass-enclosed shower and turned on the water. “Nicolas! It’s cold!” “But effective,” he said, holding her tightly against him. “I’ll get you for this!” He gave a low, sexy chuckle. “I certainly hope so.” She laughed and leaned back in his arms. The water turned warm. It felt glorious, but not as glorious as his embrace. Chloe gave a contented sigh and turned her face up to the spray. “Mmm,” she said. “Nice.” “Very nice.” She smiled. He wasn’t talking about the shower and, after a moment, neither was she. *** They finally got around to showering. Nicolas got out first, gave her a last kiss and said he’d leave something on the bed for her to wear while he put up the coffee. Her happiness dimmed a little. Silly, she told herself. She might have come late to sex but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew that other women had surely spent the night here. It was just that the thought of wearing the clothing left behind by one of his other lovers was yet another reminder that all this was a dream.

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Wrong. What he’d left was an enormous terry cloth robe. She snuggled into it, closing her eyes with pleasure when she realized it smelled faintly, tantalizingly of him. She ran her hands through her hair, wild and curly without a diffuser and gel to tame it, and followed her nose to the kitchen where Nicolas handed her a steaming mug. “Thank you,” Chloe said, and took a long, grateful swallow. She looked up, saw Nicolas watching her intently. “What?” “I was just wondering...” “About what?” “About your plans for the day.” “Oh.” It was a polite way of reminding her that it was time to get moving. Of course. The morning-after thing. “Well,” she said, putting her mug on the granite counter. “I have a lot to do.” “Such as?” “Uh, I have to shop. I just moved into my apartment last week and” “Shop for what?” For what? For what! “Um, groceries. Coffee. Stuff.” That intent look was still there. It made her uncomfortable. “Does it matter?” she said briskly, and started for the door. “In fact, the sooner I get started...” His hand closed lightly on her shoulder and turned her toward him. “Zabar’s has great coffee.” “Fine. Excellent. I’ll remember that” He bent his head and kissed her. It was a kiss that left her breathless, and too confused to be anything but direct. “Nicolas. I don’t have any idea of what’s going on. First you tell me it’s time to leave and then” “I never said that.” “You did. Well, you didn’t. Not in those words, but” “I’ll take you to Zabar’s.” “What?” “I said...” He slipped his arms around her, clasped his hands in the small of her back. “We’ll go shopping, if that’s what you want. I thought we’d take a walk in Central Park, maybe have a picnic but if you want to shop” “Are you asking me to spend the day with you?”

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He was. And it surprised him as much as it apparently surprised her. He was not a morning-after guy, much less a day-after guy. The truth was, he wasn’t even the kind who wanted a woman staying the entire night. And yet, falling asleep with Chloe in his arms had seemed the most natural thing in the world. And waking with her there had been, well, it had been okay. Maybe better than okay. It had been heaven. As for wanting her to spend the day with him... His life was about to take a 180-degree turn. Why not do something different before it did? That he’d never even considered spending a day with a woman before was meaningless. It was meaningless, wasn’t it? Of course it was, and why in hell was he standing here trying to analyze a simple decision half to death? “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.” He smiled. “Will you spend the day with me, agapi mou?” She wanted to say yes. But how could she? The more time she spent with him, the harder it would be to forget. Not that she wanted to forget. Wasn’t that the reason she’d gone with him last night? So she’d have memories enough for a lifetime? “Chloe?” She shut her eyes. Opened them again. Looked up into his face and felt her heart do a stutter step. “It’s a lovely suggestion. But” “But?” “But I can’t. I can’t possibly. I mean, last night was” “Wonderful,” he said, smiling. “Yes. Oh yes, it was.” “So was this morning.” His lips were at her throat, at that place where she was most sensitive. She’d learned that last night, in his arms. “It was. Wonderful. But” He kissed her. Tender, teasing kisses that left her longing for more. Chloe sighed and leaned against her lover. “But?” he said. “But I can’t go on a picnic wearing what I wore last night,” she said, and that was when she knew she was lost.

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Chapter Eight They had their picnic in Sheep Meadow. Cheese and crusty bread from Bouchon Bakery, and a bottle of chilled white wine from a nearby shop. And they talked. About nothing. About everything. Nicolas could not remember ever feeling so at ease with a woman, but then Chloe wasn’t just any woman. She was telling him a story about a cat she’d had when she was a little girl. Her lovely face, bare of makeup, was flushed and animated. Her hair was glorious, streaming down her back in a profusion of untamed, sunshot curls. She wore jeans and sandals and a pale pink T-shirt, nothing like the sexy outfit of last night. And yet she turned him on so completely that he might as well have been a randy sixteen-year-old boy instead of a man of thirty. They’d taken his car to her apartment, a walk-up flat on Third Avenue she shared with two other girls who were out of town. A good thing because he’d followed her into her postage stamp-size bedroom, watched her do nothing more provocative than reach for the zipper on the back of her dress, and the need to have her again had damned near overwhelmed him. “Chloe,” he’d said in a rough voice, and she’d gone straight into his arms. They’d made love standing up, fast and hard and so hot he’d felt as if they might go up in flames.... It was the sex, he’d told himself after. That was all it was between them. Except, it wasn’t. Watching her now, listening to her laughter as she described what had happened when her aunt, who was allergic to cats, and the cat in question met, Nicolas knew that sex was only a part of it. Chloe was she was special. There was no pretense to her. No B.S. She wasn’t trying to impress him the way women always did. Her looks, her conversation, everything about her was honest. It was a rare commodity in his world and it killed him that he wasn’t being honest with her, but how could he be? What could he say that wouldn’t destroy the joy of the little time they’d have together? Because he’d have to tell her that, too. That they’d never see each other after this, that he was going back to Karas to accept his responsibilities to his father, his nation, his people. That he would have to take a wife who would meet with everyone’s approval except his, a woman who would surely be Chloe’s exact opposite, who would be docile and obedient and bred to the world in which he would live. “Chloe,” he said, so sharply and suddenly that she jumped. “Yes? Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve been babbling on and on” “Let’s go away.” She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

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“Away,” he said impatiently. “From the city.” He took her hands, drew her to him. “Say yes, sweetheart. Please.” She blinked. People drove up to Connecticut, out to Long Island, all the time. Just a couple of hours in a car... “How does that sound?” Warning bells rang in her head, but what was a drive to the country after spending the night in his bed? “It sounds lovely,” she said, and he grinned, leaned in and kissed her. Then he took out his cell phone and made a call. She could only hear the last few words, which seemed to be, “Yes, exactly, we’ll be at the airport in an hour.” He snapped the phone closed, reached for her hand and tugged her to her feet. “We’ll have to hurry,” he said briskly, “if we want to take off before midafternoon.” “We’re flying to Connecticut?” Nicolas was busy clearing the debris from their picnic, stuffing it into the shopping bag that had contained the meal. “Not Connecticut. We’re flying to...” His eyes glittered; he flashed that amazingly sexy grin. “On second thought, it’s a secret.” “I’m supposed to get on a plane but the destination’s a secret?” He put his arms around her and kissed her. “Exactly.” Chloe wiggled free. Such typical male behavior! She’d grown up with it, that “I am in charge” nonsense men believed was theirs by right of gender. American men weren’t as bad as men from her part of the world but, come to think of it, she didn’t know if Nicolas was American. He’d said he spoke Greek, and every now and then, she detected a bit of an accent. And what did that matter? They had slept together. That didn’t give him the right to make decisions for her. A man would be doing that, soon enough. The realization hurt and she turned the hurt into anger, which was easier to handle. “Am I expected to click my heels and salute? Because if you think that’s what I’ll do” To her amazement, Nicolas looked contrite. “You’re right. I should have asked you properly. Sweetheart. Will you come away with me?” “I did that last night,” she said, the anger giving way to a sudden, wrenching despair. “I can’t keep saying yes to you, Nicolas. I just can’t, because” “Because this is crazy. I know it is.” He took a long breath. “Do it anyway, sweetheart. Come with me. Be with me. No questions, no explanations, nothing but you and me and a place where the sky is a brilliant blue, the sun is hot and we can be alone.” Tears rose in Chloe’s eyes. Nicolas cursed softly and drew her into his arms.

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“Damn it,” he said gruffly, “the last thing I wanted to do was to make you cry.” “It isn’t you,” she said. “It’s, it’s that I know this is all a dream.” He wanted to tell her she was wrong but he couldn’t. This was a dream, but until it ended they would make the most of it. So he held her close, his lips pressed to her hair, and after a long, long moment, she looked at him and smiled despite the dampness on her lashes, put her hand in his and went with him, just as she had done last night.

Chapter Nine The flight was long. Chloe spent most of it sleeping in Nicolas’s arms. They landed on a private airstrip. Deep green hills rose on one side, white sand stretched toward a brilliantly blue sea on the other. Chloe looked around and felt a chill of warning. “Where are we?” she said. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Nicolas smiled. “This is an island called Aristo.” She felt the blood drain from her head. Though decades of disagreement separated Aristo and Calista, physically they were separated only by the Straits of Poseidon. It was possible someone might recognize her. If that happened, if her father found out she’d come here with a man, especially a man who was wealthy... “Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” “We can’t stay here, Nicolas! We can’t!” “Why not?” She stared at him, wondering where to begin. How would he react to knowing who she was? She should have told him sooner but there’d been no reason... “Chloe.” Nicolas took her hands and looked down into her eyes. “I brought you here because it’s a favorite place of mine, and because we can be alone.” He hesitated. “There are things I must tell you.” “There are things I must tell you, too.” “Here’s the most important thing,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I think I’m falling in love with you.” “Oh, Nicolas. Nicolas...” He kissed her, and nothing mattered after that. He took her to a beautiful house on a cliff above the Bay of Apollonia. They were alone, except for a woman who came each day to prepare their meals. Did she look at Chloe strangely when Nicolas introduced them? Chloe decided it was her own paranoia at work because after that, the woman paid no attention to her. Long, lazy days slipped by. They sailed, they walked the beach, they made love. They talked about things as simple as the sea and as complex as the stars but somehow, those other things, the ones they’d said they had to tell each other, remained unspoken. The closest they came was when Nicolas said there had been demands on him all his life.

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“On me, too,” Chloe said softly, and she suddenly looked so unhappy that Nicolas took her in his arms and swept away that sad look by making love to her. That night, as Chloe lay sleeping in his arms, he watched the moon paint patterns on the ceiling and finally acknowledged the truth. He was not going to marry a woman who would please the Council or his father. He was not going to marry the well-bred daughter of an Aristan or a Karatian. He was going to marry the only woman he would ever love. His Chloe. Karas needed new leadership. It also needed a new direction. Marrying for love, not duty, was definitely a new direction. All he had to do was tell Chloe the truth. She might be a little surprised, but he’d handle that. She loved him, he was sure of it, and what could be more powerful than love? Content, happy, certain of what would come next, Nicolas fell asleep. How could he possibly know that Chloe was awake, that she, too, was making fateful decisions. She was going to tell Nicolas who she was. A sheikh’s daughter. He could handle that. He had obviously spent time on Aristo; he was at least familiar with this part of the world. The next part would be more difficult. She would return home, as her letter had promised, but only to tell her father she was not going to marry a man of his choosing. She was crazy in love with Nicolas. And he loved her; he’d admitted as much. He had brought her here to tell her something important. It had to be that he wanted her to be his wife. Content, happy, certain of what would come next, Chloe fell asleep in her lover’s arms. *** Nicolas knew he’d been pushing his luck. His cousin, Prince Alexandros of Aristo, had a home on these cliffs, too. They had not run into Alex or anyone from the Aristan royal family, but how long would that luck hold? It was time to confess everything to Chloe and propose marriage. He would do it that night. He was nervous all day. What if she turned him down? He could not wait. In late afternoon, he took Chloe walking on the beach. She had been unusually quiet all day, but then so had he. Now, he thought, now was the time for talk. “Agapi mou,” he said slowly, “do you remember what I said about there being demands on me?” She nodded. “And that there were things we had to tell each other.” He bent his head and kissed her gently, then took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “It’s time to talk about all of it. But first—first, sweetheart, I ask for your patience. No, that’s the wrong word. I need your understanding. You see, I have not been honest with you—” “Oh, the lady will be most understanding, my lord,” a sly male voice said. Chloe gasped in fright. Automatically, Nicolas stepped in front of her...and then his eyes narrowed with surprise.

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“Marius?” It was his father’s chief minister. Nicolas’s voice took on a tone of command. “What are you doing here?” “Saving you from making a fool of yourself, Prince Nicolas.” “Prince Nicolas?” Chloe said. “Chloe. I was going to explain—” “Why not let Miss Sharif do the explaining, sir.” Nicolas drew Chloe forward, his arm tight around her waist. “Her name is Sutton. And I don’t like your tone.” “Her name is Sharif, and she is the daughter of Sheikh Sharif of Calista.” “No. That’s impossible.” *** “It is fact, sir. She and her father have long schemed to find her a rich husband to pay off his gambling debts and restore the family fortune.” Nicolas stared at Chloe. “Is it true?” he asked carefully. “My father is a sheikh from Calista, yes. But the rest—” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?” “I had good reason.” “Yes, well, so did I.” “She had excellent reason, my lord. In fact, Miss Sutton sent her father a letter only days ago, saying she was going to marry a rich man of whom he would surely approve.” Chloe’s face paled. “No!” Nicolas’s eyes went flat. “Did you send such a letter?” “Of course I did, but—” “You hoped to marry me,” he said, his voice cold. “Nicolas. It isn’t how it seems.” “It is precisely how it seems,” he said, and he turned his back and walked away, his minister at his heels.

Chapter Ten Nicolas returned to Karas and his father relinquished the throne. Nicolas said he was too busy to bother with public celebration so the transition was handled as simply as possible. His father unobtrusively watched his

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son assume leadership. Nicolas was clearly going to be an excellent king. But he was quiet and withdrawn. That troubled the older man. When asked, Nicolas insisted he was simply occupied with his new duties but the former king wasn’t convinced. Was his son mourning the loss of the woman who had almost tricked him into marriage? The loss had been a necessary one, and yet Nicolas was no fool. That he’d fallen for the woman’s tricks seemed impossible. And so the former king set in motion the ancient means by which the privileged had always gained information. Servants heard things, and money could often buy what they’d heard. Days later, he confronted Nicolas. “There is something you might wish to know about Chloe Sharif.” Nicolas stiffened. Everyone in the palace knew better than to speak Chloe’s name. “There is nothing I wish to know about her.” “She quarreled with her father, the sheikh.” Nicolas flashed a bitter smile. “I’m sure he wasn’t happy she’d placed the hook but failed to reel me in.” “She refused to marry a man her father had selected. She said marriage should be about love, not money or power. She said she would never marry—but that, at least, she had known love. Then she left her father’s home and said she would never return to it.”

Nicolas’s icy look held for a few seconds, then vanished. “She lied to me,” he said in a low voice. “She should have told me who she really was.” “The way you told her who you really were?” A muscle knotted in Nicolas’s jaw. “She is not of royal blood. She is Calistan. Her father is not a man to admire.” “And?” “And you and your Council will just have to deal with that because, damn it, I love her!” The former king smiled. “A new direction, my son,” he said softly. “For us all.” *** Chloe’s roommates had moved out. One had relocated to Chicago, one to Hollywood. They’d sublet the apartment to Chloe. Meeting the rent alone was tough but she was happier, living alone. She could drag around as much as she liked without one of them rolling her eyes and saying, For heaven’s sake, Chloe, get over it! Not that she missed Nicolas. Why would she? He had accused her of lying, of trying to sleep her way into his heart. She was long over him, she was just still angry. Angry as hell, which was why she was often awake the way she was tonight, watching some stupid old movie on TV....

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The doorbell rang. Chloe shot to her feet. Somebody at your door at this hour wasn’t a good thing. Did burglars ring doorbells? The bell rang again and now a fist hit the door, too. Chloe’s heart began to race. Call 911? Shove a chair under the doorknob? Scream? “Chloe? Chloe, I know you’re in there. Open this door!” Her heart bumped into her throat. “Nicolas?” He pounded on the door again. “Open it or I’ll call the New York Post and tell them the King of Karas is at Chloe Sutton’s door and she won’t let him in.” “You wouldn’t!” “Try me.” Chloe hesitated. Then she undid the chain and the lock and cracked the door open. “Go away,” she hissed, but Nicolas shoved past her and slammed the door shut behind him. Chloe stared at him. Why had he come? She had no wish to see him...and wasn’t it stupid that she wanted to throw herself into his arms when she hated him, hated him... “Chloe.” He sounded stern. Then, all at once, his voice broke. “Chloe, my love, my heart...” “I am neither of those things, Nicolas, remember? I am a liar, the woman who tried to snare you for your money.” There were a dozen answers but Nicolas gave the only one that mattered. “I love you,” he said, opening his arms. Chloe gave a sob and flew into them. He held her, kissed her, whispered to her in Greek, in English, and she thought, Please, please, let this not be a dream again, and then she thought, Where is your pride, Chloe? and she pushed him away. “What are you doing here?” Her voice trembled. “Are you at loose ends for the weekend?” “Agapi mou. I love you.” “Sure you do. That’s why you made those—those awful accusations, why you walked away from me and— and” Tears rose in her eyes. “Go away, Nicolas. Please. I’ve been such a fool—” Nicolas drew her to him. “I’m the one who’s been the fool.” He kissed her temple. “Tell me you love me.” “How could you have imagined I didn’t? How could you have believed the worst about me? That letter...I sent it before I met you. I wrote my father that I’d finally agreed to let him choose my husband because it was my duty.” “Your duty,” Nicolas said softly, “is to live the rest of your life with me. Will you be my wife, agapi mou?” “I thought I could do it. My father is getting old and I was raised to be dutiful and—” She drew a wobbly breath. “And then I met you. And I knew I could never marry except for love.” He smiled. “Is that a yes?”

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“Nicolas, you are such a self-centered, arrogant—” He kissed her and she put her hand against his face. “It’s an absolute yes,” she said, laughing, and he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. *** She flew back to Karas with him. Nicolas’s father smiled. The ministers frowned but the new king would not be moved and, within days, Chloe charmed them all, even the one who had ended their idyll on Aristo. A week later, the lovers went walking on a moonlit beach. Nicolas turned Chloe toward him, kissed her and slipped a ring on her finger. The platinum setting held a perfect four-karat pink diamond from the fabled mines of Aristo. “Chloe, beloved. Will you be mine?” Chloe’s eyes glittered with happy tears. “Forever,” she said softly, and went into his arms.

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Game Plan of the Heart by Cara Colter Almost every midnight, its the same thing: Bowen Reeves phone rings, and the tiny voice on the other end asks, Are you my daddy?

Chapter 1: Vindication. There was the name right on the mailbox. A. Burnadette. The very same name that had flashed on Bowen Reeve’s newly purchased Caller ID machine last night at midnight. He had him. He had the little punk who had been pestering him with prank calls two or three times a week for the last three weeks. “’Are you my daddy,’ indeed,” Bowen muttered to himself, and sank low in his truck seat, pulled his ball cap over his narrowed eyes, and surveyed the house. Truthfully, it wasn’t quite what he was expecting. Kids who were running wild at midnight usually came from homes where nobody gave a damn about much of anything. And he considered himself something of an expert, having once been a kid who ran wild at midnight. But looking at that little white house of A. Burnadette it was evident whoever lived here gave a damn. The picket fence was freshly painted, the grass in the small yard was neatly trimmed, red flowers bloomed in the window boxes. On the covered verandah a colorfully cushioned swing swayed gently in the slight breeze. That was a good thing, Bowen told himself. A. Burnadette gave a damn. As a phys ed teacher at Montgomery Bridge Memorial High School, he dealt with lots of parents who didn’t. Lots of parents who, if he confronted them about their child being the prankster calling at midnight, would look at him blankly and wonder why he didn’t unplug his phone. Why hadn’t he unplugged his phone? Bowen had stubbornly picked up the phone every single time, even though he knew he had only one midnight caller, even though he knew the exact pattern of the call by heart. “Hello.” His greeting would be followed by a long silence. “Hello?” he’d say again, irritated now, and then there would be another long silence. And then a voice, cleverly disguised to sound like a young child, would whisper, “Are you my daddy?” It was some sort of terrible cosmic joke, of course, that out of several million potential victims the prankster had found him, Bowen Reeve, a man haunted by a choice made while he was still in high school. “I’ve decided to give the baby up for adoption,” Becky had said.

Chapter 2: The right choice, of course. The only choice. They’d been unmarried, young, and poor, not so much in love as looking for an escape from the grim realities of their lives. Becky had moved away shortly after the birth of

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the baby, and Bowen had been saddened to read of her death in an automobile accident two years ago. It should have been the end of the chapter, but it wasn’t. Because he had held his baby, his son, once. It was something a man never forgot. Even though he tried. Even though, in the aftermath of that terrible time, he had made the decision that he would make a difference to other young men trying to find their way in a rough world, and even though he had followed through on that decision, he could not forget that somewhere out there was a child. His child. It was this fact that made him so furious at the midnight caller. Bowen never went right back to sleep after. Oh, no. He had to reopen all the eight-year-old wounds, revisit all the old hurts. It made him so cranky he could barely stand himself. “Coach,” one of his kids had finally said, “don’t bite my head off. What’s with you?” “Sorry, Barkley. I’ve been getting prank calls. I’m not sleeping.” Barkley had looked at him and rolled his eyes, a look reserved for those who had technology impairments. “So, you ever heard of Caller ID?” As a matter of fact, he hadn’t. But now that he had, this miracle of the modern age had led Bowen Reeve right to where he wanted to be. Sacrificing his Saturday had paid off. Vindication. As he studied the little white house that slumbered in the early spring sunshine, the garage door suddenly began to open. He slumped down farther in his seat, and then began to smile. There was the culprit, exactly as he had pictured him. Maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, the boy had his back to the opening door, and was squatted down beside a miniature motor bike, like the ones the monkeys rode in the circus. He was a typical delinquent. Too large white T-shirt, a large streak of grease on one sleeve, vest over it, baseball cap on backwards, long dark brown hair protruding out from under the cap. The kid looked downright scrawny. No match at all for six feet and one hundred and eighty-two pounds of angry football coach. Still, just in case he did not look intimidating enough, Bowen lowered his sunglasses over his eyes, got out of his vehicle, slammed the door. Bowen walked right up behind the kid, folded his arms over his chest and planted his legs. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” He was rewarded with a little squeal of fear, but his enjoyment was short-lived. The boy stood up and whirled around. And was not a boy!

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Chapter 3: Bowen stared, startled, at the delectable curves under the T-shirt. And then, embarrassed, he looked up. She was no girl, either. Perhaps thirty, her face was a small heart, dominated by huge eyes that were part gold and part brown. He realized he could study those eyes endlessly trying to decide what color they were. At the moment, the eyes were sparking with irritation. “You scared me,” she said, and folded her arms defensively over her chest. “I’m sorry.” Then he felt annoyed with himself. He had pictured this conversation from beginning to end ever since the name had come up on the call display last night, and never once had it begun with the words I’m sorry. She had a little smudge of grease across the bridge of her nose, and Bowen was aware of the strangest desire to reach over with his thumb and wipe it off. Of course, there was the little matter of the wrench she was wielding. She looked prepared to use it if he took one step closer to her. And there was the little matter of why he was here, which he felt suddenly a whole lot less certain about. Obviously she was not making prank calls at midnight. His mind seemed to be moving sluggishly, caught in the current of her eyes. “I’m Bowen Reeve,” he said, finally, and offered his hand. It occurred to him this had not been in his script, either. Not even close. “I teach at the high school. And coach football.” She hesitated, and as he had hoped, took his teaching position as proof he was not a door-to-door salesman, or worse. She juggled her wrench to her other hand, and accepted his proffered hand. He saw immediately that it had been a mistake to take her hand. It was soft and delicate, not the hand of a woman who made it a habit to work on tiny motorbikes. He let it go abruptly, but not quickly enough to escape the little shiver of awareness he felt. “Ashton Burnadette,” she offered. “What can I do for you, Mr. Reeve?” “Make it Bowen.” What was he doing? He wasn’t here to make friends! “Have you got a child?” he asked, forcing himself to be all business. She looked suddenly wary, as if Oprah had been coaching her not to talk to strangers and she suddenly realized she had not demanded proof that he worked at the high school. “Not old enough for you to be scouting for the Mountain Lions,” she said. She knew the name of his team. Before his ego lapped that up too eagerly, he said, “Actually, I’m here about some phone calls I’ve been getting.”

Chapter 4: “Phone calls?”

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“Prank calls. At midnight.” “That’s impossible. Justin goes to bed at eight thirty. Besides he isn’t that kind of boy.” Bowen had heard that line a few thousand times since he had started teaching. It was never their kid. He should make his point and leave. But somehow making his point had become secondary to finding out if she was a single mom, or if a husband shared this cute little house with her and her prank-calling kid. “Maybe I should come back when your husband is home,” he said. “I’m a widow,” she said with stiff pride. “I’m sorry.” There, he’d said it twice, and this time he didn’t mean it at all. He was glad she was single, which did not bode well for his mission here. He might as well admit he had totally lost control of the script and leave. He tried to salvage something. “Look, if you could just talk to your kid about it. I need to get some sleep.” “Mom!” A little boy came whipping around the corner into the garage and screeched to a halt. He looked from Bowen to his mother and back again, his chocolate hair falling over his eyes. Bowen stared at him. The child’s eyes were huge. And green. The pure, undiluted green of an Irish meadow. Bowen had seen eyes like that before. He saw them every morning when he looked in the mirror.

“Justin, this is Mr. Reeve. He teaches at the high school,” said Ashton. Her son came forward and politely extended his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Reeve?” he enquired solemnly.

Chapter 5: Bowen listened carefully, trying to decide if this was the voice that haunted him at midnight. He took the small extended hand and shook it. Could such a well-mannered child really turn into Captain of the Telephone Terrorists at the stroke of midnight? “Fine, thanks,” Bowen said gruffly. This was the problem with being technologically impaired. Could the newfangled device sitting on his bedside table supplying him with the phone numbers of all who called lie? Could it make a mistake? He was going to have to ask Barkley. Meanwhile, he felt himself trying to judge the kid’s age, and no matter how he looked at it, Justin Burnadette looked like he was about eight years old. Bowen told himself sternly that it just wasn’t possible that this was the child he had held in his arms, so briefly, eight years ago. How could it be? How could a mere child track down his natural father? Was it some kind of wishful thinking on his own part? “Mr. Reeve says he’s been getting strange telephone calls, Justin. For some reason -” Ashton sent Bowen a dirty look from under lashes that were as thick and sooty as a chimney brush “- he thought you might be involved.” Bowen focused very intently on the child now. He’d been teaching long enough to spot discomfort.

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The boy seemed to shrivel before him, and he looked down and scuffed the garage floor with the toe of a worn sneaker. “Not me,” he said, without an ounce of conviction. Bowen would be willing to place odds that this was the boy who belonged to the voice on the other end of the midnight calls. But he suddenly knew, in the boy’s mind, it was not a game, not a trick, not a prank. He glanced at Ashton. She was looking at her son with alarm and puzzlement. And suddenly, Bowen’s desire to be vindicated died completely. “This is 2218 Birchwood, isn’t it?” he asked. He hoped Ashton was as technologically impaired as he was, and that she would accept Bowen had traced his tormentor by address and not by name. Her face melted into lines of relief. “Oh, no,” she said, and smiled. “It’s not. That’s two blocks over. This is 2218 Lodgepole.” The smile was devastating to Bowen. It brought a light to her face that transformed her from pretty to beautiful. He reminded himself, firmly, that he was a man who disliked complications. Women, generally speaking, were complicated. Ask one out for a beer and a pizza and before you knew it they were expecting a diamond ring and a wedding date. And Ashton Burnadette came with more complications than most - namely the boy beside her who had Bowen’s own green eyes and had been calling in the middle of the night making daddy enquiries. This was a situation a sane man would not touch.

Chapter 6: “Well,” he said, “sorry to have bothered you. Two blocks which way?” She pointed, not even trying to hide the fact that his departure filled her with relief. Apparently she was not one of the ones in search of a diamond ring and a wedding date. Bowen was amazed to find himself slightly miffed at this rare display of immunity to his masculine charm. In a moment of insanity, he thought of staying, making small talk, getting around to the pizza and beer thing. Sanity came back in a gratifying rush. This situation promised to bring nothing but confusion and chaos to his well ordered life. He turned swiftly to go, promising he would never look back. He would never think about that question in the night. “Are you my daddy?” He would never think about the little boy’s large green eyes or her somber golden brown ones again. He would make a clean getaway. In moments he would be back to his neat and tidy life. He was willing to bet the prank phone calls were over. But his clean getaway was impeded by a sturdy little body that was suddenly planted in front of him. “What grade do you teach?” Justin asked, his words laced with just a touch of desperation.

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Desperation that made Bowen realize the only one he’d been fooling was himself. He could never walk away from the Burnadettes without knowing the answer. Was he this little boy’s dad? The possibility was remote. One in a million. One in a billion. One in a trillion, maybe. But people did win lotteries all the time. And they got struck by lightning. Weird coincidences threaded human existence. At school last week, all the female teachers had been talking about a TV program they’d seen where two guys who met in a bar and became best friends for life later discovered they were brothers. He could see that Ashton was not happy about this delay in his departure, and he had a purely masculine need to change that, to know if she felt even a little bit of the same sizzle he was feeling. “I teach grades ten, eleven, and twelve boys P.E.,” he said. “And I coach football. Our senior team has been division champs three years in a row.” “Cool,” Justin said.

Chapter 7: But his mother looked unimpressed. Bowen had seen that look before. It was the look the cute librarian on campus reserved for the jocks. Bowen tried to think of a way to quote some Shakespeare without looking like he was completely off his rocker, but he couldn’t think of one. “I play hockey,” Justin confided, sidling a little closer to him, smiling. “Really? What position?” “Goalie. I’m pretty good. You could come see me some time.” “Justin! Mr. Bowen is a complete stranger. Besides, hockey season is over for the year.” She didn’t have to add thank God when it was written so clearly on her face. Bowen snuck a little peek at her. She was blushing wildly and looking embarrassed. Now he understood her haste to be rid of him. Her son was matchmaking. Justin probably had just picked his phone number out of the book at random. Or maybe seen his picture in the paper when the senior team had done so well. Still, the crimson in her cheeks gave him the smallest little shiver of pleasure. Ashton Burnadette was not nearly so indifferent to Bowen Reeve as she wanted to be. “Maybe I can come see one of your games next year,” he suggested, and when the little boy’s face lit up, he was instantly ashamed of himself. He’d made the remark to get a reaction out of her, and he had certainly succeeded. She was glowering at him and looking very much like an angry kitten. “That would be great,” Justin said, awestruck, a reminder to Bowen of what he was playing with. You didn’t play games with little kids’ hearts. “I better go,” he said.

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She nodded vigorously. “Wait!” Justin wailed. “Do you know anything about motorcycles?” It was his way in, and he knew it. He was going to have to risk her wrath, but it would give him an opportunity to find out if the boy was his kin.

Chapter 8: Besides, her wrath looked like it wouldn’t be without its attractions. “I do know a little about motorbikes,” he said. “Why? You having a problem?” “It won’t start. My dad gave it to me. He died. He was on a fishing trip and -” “Justin,” she said firmly, but her eyes were tender, “Mr. Reeve doesn’t need to know our life story. And if I can’t figure out from the instruction manual how to fix the motorcycle, I’ll bring it in to the shop. Mr. Reeve has to leave now. I’m sure. Don’t you, Mr. Reeve?” “As a matter of fact, I have a few minutes.” She glared at him, folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, the message clear. He chose to ignore it. He leaned over and looked at the motorbike. She already had the engine cover off, and it was obvious, at a glance, it was missing the spark plugs. But if it was going to be his excuse to hang around a bit, he might have to find something a little more complicated than that. He lifted up his sunglasses to have a closer look, and then glanced over at her, trying to read exactly how much she knew about the machine. Her gasp, as her gaze met his, was audible, and she bit down on the knuckle of her index finger. Bowen Reeve realized she had just seen his eyes.

Ashton tried to recover her composure. Bowen Reeve’s eyes were green. Surely it wasn’t that big a deal? A certain percentage of the world’s population had green eyes! Still, she had seen that particular shade, like emeralds sitting on the bottom of a pond, only once before. Justin had those eyes. “Is something the matter?” Bowen asked her.

Chapter 9: Oh, yes, something was the matter. Her heart was nearly beating out of her chest, as it had been since the moment he had walked up behind her. But, really, if she was honest, only the first three seconds or so of her rapidly beating heart could be attributed to being startled by his arrival in her garage.

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After that it had been pure awareness of him. Bowen Reeve was powerful and intimidating masculine perfection. He was long-legged, broad across the shoulder, and deep through the chest. His dark hair was short and neatly trimmed, but a wayward shock of it fell boyishly over his brow. His facial features were clean and strong - straight nose, high cheekbones, and a faint cleft in his chin. She had decided he was absolutely and dangerously gorgeous, even before he’d lifted the sunglasses off those remarkable eyes! It was the fact that she was having such a feminine reaction to him that had caused this absurd overreaction to his eyes. “Ashton?” Bowen stepped very close to her. His scent, like sun-warmed earth, filled her senses and made her feel dizzy. Then he touched her shoulder. His hand felt exactly as she had known it would, strong, heated, full of the promise of passion. She jerked her shoulder away from his touch, and took a step back from him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Nothing’s the matter.” Unless she counted the fact that she had vowed love was much too painful, and fate was taunting her by dropping the most gorgeous man in the western hemisphere on her doorstep. She didn’t want to care that she was dressed like an auto mechanic, and that there was a dab of grease on her nose the kept making her want to cross her eyes. She didn’t want to care, but she did. She gave her face a surreptitious swipe with her sleeve. She was not, she told herself, ready for a relationship. She might never be. She was appalled that some part of her insisted on calculating, and quickly, that Daniel had been gone for fourteen months. More than a year, surely a suitable period of mourning. Love was an uncertain force, too wild and too unpredictable. She had loved and lost, and now she did not think she was strong enough to tangle with that force again. She told herself, righteously, that her lack of interest in a relationship was about Justin. Providing a stable home for her son was her top priority, her reason for being. She was determined that the winds of passion would not disrupt the security of a childhood that had already been so severely disrupted. Bowen Reeve would qualify as a wind of passion. A hurricane, even. She could tell by looking at him how disruptive a man like that would be. Her heart, pounding erratically, reacting totally without her permission, was all the confirmation she needed. “Really,” she said, “I’d rather you didn’t do that.” “Touch you?” he asked quietly.

Chapter 10: “Repair the motorcycle! There’s a service station just down the street where I can take it.” “It’s not a problem,” he said smoothly. He squatted down beside the bike, unconcerned about getting grease on his hands. In seconds he had the motorcycle in a distressing amount of pieces, all lined up neatly on the garage floor. Justin was hanging over Bowen’s shoulder, hero worship evident on his face.

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If Justin needed someone masculine to worship, she would sign him up for a Big Brother. Hopefully she could request what she wanted: a scrawny, bespectacled boy in high school, someone the winds of passion did not stir around quite so strongly. “So, Justin must look like his dad, huh? He doesn’t take after you.” Bowen did not look up from the blackened piece of steel he had in his hand and the question appeared to be purely conversational. It was a comment Ashton had heard before. “Daniel and I adopted Justin,” she said. “Oh,” he said. “Justin, could you find a rag and clean this for me?” Justin would have gone to the moon for him, had he asked. “I think I can have this running in an hour or so,” Bowen decided. An hour or so? What was she supposed to do for that hour? Stand here and watch his muscles flex? Very tempting. “Do you have a socket set?” he asked her, making himself at home. “No,” she said a trifle tersely. “Yes, we do, Mom. It’s over on the work bench there in that black box.” How did Justin know what a socket set was? Were males born knowing these things? Gritting her teeth, she went and fetched the socket set. And clean rags. And against her better judgement, freshly squeezed lemonade.

Chapter 11: “So, what do you do for a living, Ashton?” Bowen asked, taking a long drink of the lemonade, his green eyes meeting hers over the rim of the glass. She watched his Adam’s apple bob. She wished, suddenly and irrationally, that she did something interesting. That she trained tigers for the circus or owned a little lingerie shop or led guided hikes through a pristine rainforest. “I’m a secretary for an accounting firm,” she said. “Really? Which one?” “Barnes and Cooter.” “Does Jerry Childers still work there?” he asked. “I went to school with him.” “Yes, Jerry’s there.” She recognized a pathetic desire rising in her to quiz Jerry on Monday to find out what Bowen Reeve had been like in high school. As if she didn’t already know - popular, athletic, the kind of golden boy who had never even noticed shy girls like herself were alive.

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It was ridiculous to feel furious about that now after she’d been out of high school for more than a decade. “Mommy, I’m getting hungry. Is it supper time?” She glanced at her watch and realized it was nearly time for dinner. Somehow the afternoon had melted away. The motorcycle looked no closer to being reassembled. “Could we have macaroni and cheese?” Justin asked eagerly. “My favorite,” he confided in Bowen. “Yeah,” Bowen said dryly, “it’s served at my place regularly, too. Bachelor food.” “Bachelor food,” Justin said happily. She was cooking bachelor food for her son? It made her feel as inadequate as she had felt over a decade ago. “Not that I’m insinuating you can’t cook,” Bowen told her.

Chapter 12: She was hopelessly transparent! “Cooking is no longer a prerequisite for motherhood,” she said sharply. “Of course it isn’t,” Bowen said soothingly, which only made her madder. “I just had the greatest idea,” Justin said, completely oblivious to the strange tension in the air in the garage. She could hardly wait to hear it. “Mr. Reeve could have supper with us!”

“I’m sure Mr. Reeve has other plans for dinner,” Ashton said firmly. Bowen considered his plans: a frozen pizza, an ice-cold cola, and a televised baseball game. Staying here seemed like it would be infinitely more interesting. “Actually,” he said, as if he had missed Ashton’s lack of enthusiasm, “I could have a bite to eat with you and Justin, if you don’t mind. Then I could finish the bike after dinner. I’d be out of your hair in no time.” He could tell she did mind, and that the out-of-your-hair part was the only part that appealed to her, but with a curt nod, she marched off, slamming the door of the garage behind her. It was running through his mind, over and over, that Justin was adopted. This child, standing less than three feet from him could be the son he had given up! Confirming it would be as easy as asking Justin when is his birthday. But somehow the question caught in Bowen’s throat. What was he going to do if Justin was his son? How would Ashton react? What right did he have to disrupt a life that looked as pleasant and peaceful as hers did? Did Justin already know something that he and Ashton did not? How could he? Bowen, a man of action, and proud of it, had an unfamiliar sense of being paralyzed by not knowing what to do. If Justin, by that one-in-a-trillion long shot, was his son, he could hardly expect that Ashton was going to be thrilled by that news.

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He glanced at the boy and felt this unexpected tug of tenderness at his heart. He decided just to enjoy this moment, and he and Justin worked side by side, an ease between them, as if they had known each other a very long time. “Dinner,” Ashton called from inside the house. Justin took Bowen’s hand and showed him the way.

Chapter 13: The whole problem, Bowen thought as he took his seat at the kitchen table, was that he needed a plan. The fact that the midnight prankster might not have been kidding when he whispered those words “Are you my daddy?” was not even a possibility Bowen had considered. Now he was in the middle of the game, uncertain of the rules, and with absolutely no game plan. So it was obvious; he needed a brand-new game plan. As a football coach, he knew that. You didn’t just charge ahead. You looked at all the angles, you weighed all the possibilities, you gathered all the facts, and then you followed a carefully laid out plan to get to where you wanted to be. Of course, you had to know where you wanted to be. And in the long term, he wasn’t sure where that was. But in the short term, sitting in Ashton’s kitchen, eating dinner would do. “So, Justin,” he said, inching toward a game plan, “How old are you? Six? Seven?” Justin looked at him scornfully. “I’m eight.” Bowen’s heart leapt in his chest, but it felt more like panic than excitement. He reminded himself that there were probably several million eight-year-olds in the country. Still, he had to focus intently on the dinner to keep his shock off his face. As it turned out, Ashton’s idea of macaroni and cheese was not quite the same as Bowen’s. She set a large pasta dish in the middle of her kitchen table. It bubbled with a layer of freshly melted cheese. “You have a nice place,” Bowen commented. Her kitchen was a charming blend of beautiful old mismatched furniture and scatter rugs. Her red-checked tablecloth matched the kitchen curtains, and a string of red peppers hung in the window. “Don’t you have a nice place?” Justin asked. Bowen laughed. “I live in an apartment close to the school. I’d say it’s a typical bachelor place.” “I don’t know what bachelor means,” Justin said. “Well, it’s a guy who isn’t married,” Bowen said. “Does he want to be married?” Justin asked eagerly.

Chapter 14: An hour ago the answer to that question had been so simple. An hour ago Bowen had actually loved his spartan apartment, the central feature being a forty-inch TV set with surround sound. Now, sitting in this kitchen, so bright, so warm, and so cozy, he felt an ache.

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Or maybe it was sitting with Justin and Ashton that caused this ache to leap to life within him, and made him not as certain of that answer as he had been such a short while ago. “I guess a bachelor might get married if the right woman came along.” It would be the wrong time to look at her, but Bowen slid her a glance anyway. She was pushing macaroni around on her plate, blushing wildly. He liked her blush. It occurred to him that he liked her. She was trying to appear prickly, but the fact that she was shy and sensitive shone through. He guessed she was trying desperately to get over having her world turned upside down from the death of her partner. It occurred to him she was courageous. It also occurred to him that he did not want to be the one to test her courage. He felt himself torn between wishing Justin was his and hoping he wasn’t. “Would the right woman be someone like my mom?” Justin said. “Justin! Stop it!” she said in a ferocious whisper. “Let’s not embarrass your mom,” Bowen agreed, but an answer formed, unbidden, in his mind. I think it might be someone just like your Mom. Bowen felt the shock of his silent answer. Justin looked like he wanted to pursue it, but one glance at Ashton and he decided against it. “So, what does a typical bachelor place look like?” Justin asked. “Imagine what this place would look like without your Mom, and you got it.” “Wow,” Justin said. “Messy, huh?” “Not messy exactly.” Sterile. No pictures. No colorful throw rugs. No red peppers hanging from a string by the window. “That means he hides the dishes in the oven when he has company coming over,” Ashton told Justin. Bowen looked at her. She was actually smiling. “How did you know that?” he demanded, with false indignation.

Chapter 15: “Oh, you know. College. About a hundred years ago.” She said that as if she was ancient instead of so young and beautiful and vital. She looked so lovely when she smiled, and it occurred to Bowen that maybe she didn’t smile much because she worried, because the weight of the world had been placed on her slender shoulders. He had already decided he would not add to her burdens if he could help it. Now a brand-new idea occurred to him. Could he lighten her burden? Just give her a day or two of good old fashioned fun? Make her smile like that again? He realized he wanted to hear her laugh out loud. “What were you planning on doing with the motorcycle once it was running?” he asked.

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“I’ll let Justin ride it up and down the back lane. He did that before Daniel died. I’ll be very careful.” Bowen thought maybe part of her problem was that she was very careful. Too careful about everything. “If I get it running, what would you think of taking it out into the country tomorrow? I have a buddy with a piece of land twenty minutes from here. It would make some great motorbike riding.” When she looked doubtful, he added helpfully, “Very safe.” He realized, too late, that he was leaping ahead without having properly developed the game plan. “Mom, say yes, say yes, say yes,” Justin pleaded out loud. Say no, say no, say no, Bowen pleaded inwardly. Ashton looked from one to the other. The exasperation melted from her face, and she sighed. There was that smile again. “Okay,” she said. “Yes.”

“That helmet always makes me think of martians,” Ashton said, watching her son, smiling. “He looks like he should barely be able to hold his head up.” “Watermelon head,” Bowen agreed, with a smile. “He’s a good little biker.” They were sitting on a blanket in the shade of some poplars, while Justin roared around them on a large, twisting, well-worn track. “Daniel taught him.”

Chapter 16: “He taught him well.” A part of Ashton still could not really believe she’d said yes to this, and that she was sitting across from this awesomely attractive man. What had gotten into her? Some small voice had insisted she say yes, instead of no, that for once she just take a chance and go with the flow instead of being so cautious. “He’s never had such a good place to ride, though,” Ashton said. “He’ll never want to get off that bike.” Bowen looked at her lazily from under the fringe of his lashes. “Are you getting bored?” “Oh, no!” And it was the truth. Sitting here in the dappled shade, she found herself enjoying the scenery, and enjoying her son’s pleasure. But if she was really honest, what she was enjoying most of all was Bowen’s company. She had thought she would be uncomfortable with him, but nothing was further from the truth. He had none of the conceit she might have expected from such a good-looking man. He was funny and amazingly easy to talk to. He had drawn her out, his eyes so intent on her face as she spoke, that she had probably talked far too much. He knew her whole life story. It made her realize that she had grown very lonely since Daniel’s death. “So,” she said, “tell me a little about you. How did you decide to teach high school? You don’t really strike me as a teacher.”

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“Really? What do I strike you as?” A cowboy. A pirate. A secret agent. “You strike me as someone who would like adventure,” she said, “excitement.” He threw back his head and laughed. She stared at the strong column of his throat, and his teeth flashing brilliant white in the sun, and she felt weakness radiate out from her stomach to her limbs. “I guess I got enough excitement in my younger days,” he said. “I grew up on the poor side of town. I did lots of wild things, crazy things. But I made some really poor decisions, ones that had life-long repercussions, and that made me grow up really quickly. When I was offered a football scholarship, I took it. And after two years at university, I knew I had to go back to the places I had come from, and offer a hand to the young men coming up behind me. That’s why I became a teacher at a tough school like Montgomery Bridge.” Somehow what he had just said made him much more a hero to her than if he had been a cowboy or a pirate or a secret agent. It seemed to Ashton that he had said yes to the greatest adventure of all. “You’re using your life to make the world better,” she said softly. He looked embarrassed, but hid it behind a boyish grin. “Oh, sure. Make the world a better place and get the whole summer off at the same time. That’s really why I became a teacher. Because of the holidays.” It was her turn to laugh. It felt like it might have been the first time she laughed, really laughed, since Daniel died. “What?” she said, her laughter finally dying. He was looking at her so intently, the green of his eyes deep and dark. “I was hoping you’d laugh today,” he said softly. “You were?”

Chapter 17: “I wanted to hear it. You looked so serious yesterday. You have these little worry wrinkles, right here.” And he touched her forehead with his finger and rubbed gently. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. The tenderness of it made her feel as if she would cry. It had been so long since anyone above the age of eight had cared about her, since anyone even noticed if she laughed or not. The motorcycle engine quit, and the silence was abrupt. She yanked herself back from his touch, but not before she saw the look in his eyes. Justin swaggered over, the motorcycle helmet under his arm. “I’m hungry,” he announced. “When aren’t you hungry?” she teased her son. He was absolutely glowing with happiness. It was the happiest she had seen Justin since they had said goodbye to Daniel. When they had made their arrangements for today, Bowen had insisted on being responsible for lunch. Now, as he went to his truck, she watched him with a hunger that had nothing to do with lunch. She liked the way he moved, his body so strong, his movements so easy and fluid. She liked the way his blue jeans hugged his rear end, and the way his biceps bulged at the hem of his shortsleeved shirt. She liked the way, when he turned back toward them, basket in hand, his shirt molded the

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strong lines of his chest and his flat belly, and she liked the way his jeans hugged the rigid line of the large muscle of his thigh. Through lunch, Ashton was aware the comfort she had felt all morning was dissolving into something else. A fine tension. A wanting. It was a hunger that could not be erased with the bucket of chicken he had produced, the basket of strawberries, the sparkling apple juice. Thankfully, there was no need for her to make conversation. Justin relived every second of his morning. He chatted happily about grabbing air and burning rubber. His narration was punctuated with plenty of motorcycle engine noises. Guiltily, she realized she was barely listening, that in fact, she was waiting for her son to get back on his little motorcycle. Unless she was mistaken, Bowen, who kept casting her glances from under his lashes, was feeling the very same way. “Well, I gotta get back to it,” Justin announced as if he had an important job waiting for him. Apparently he was unaware the adults had barely touched lunch. “Have fun,” she said to him, and watched him go. He climbed on the bike, started it and was off.

Chapter 18: Suddenly, she felt very shy, afraid to even look at Bowen, as if she was the high school bookworm who unexpectedly found herself in the company of the captain of the football team. She felt his finger on her chin, and he turned her head gently toward him. “Where were we?” he asked softly. “You were erasing the worry wrinkles from my forehead,” she said, trying to be funny. Her voice sounded like a weak squeak. “I think I was finished with worry wrinkles,” he said softly. “You were?” “Mmm hmm.” “Oh.” “Ashton, would it be okay if I kissed you?” Dumb, Bowen thought. Dumb, dumb, dumb. He had just asked Ashton Burnadette, a woman he hardly knew, if it would be okay to kiss her.

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But it didn’t feel like he hardly knew her. It didn’t feel that way at all. It felt like he had known her forever, like he would always know her. It felt like his life had been half lived until he heard the delightful music of her laughter. But even so, kiss her? Where was that in the game plan? Last night Bowen had gone home, gotten enough distance from the warm golden brown of her eyes that he had been able to figure everything out so carefully. The first thing he was supposed to do this morning, according to the game plan, was ask Justin his birth date. Once that was out of the way, and he had determined Justin was not his son, then he would be free to do the knight-in-shining-armor thing - give Ashton a wonderful, carefree day of fun. But when she had come down the walk, pushing the motorcycle, her eyes sparkling with eagerness, the birthday question had eased right out of his mind. And maybe it hadn’t just been the laughter in her eyes. She was wearing a white button-up shirt and jeans, and both items of clothing hugged all the right places. His mouth had gone dry at how effortlessly lovely she looked. He had escorted women to elegant parties who, in all their finery, could not hold a candle to Ashton in blue jeans. Still, it wasn’t okay to kiss her, and Bowen knew it. It was not anywhere on any game plan he had formulated. If she had an ounce of sense she was going to say no.

Chapter 19: But at the moment she seemed to have even less sense than him, because she leaned closer and she whispered her answer, so low that he almost didn’t hear it. “Yes, Bowen, it would be okay to kiss me.” So he did. He was not sure what he had been expecting. She was shy and sensitive and so perhaps he had expected innocence. He had thought her lips would taste cool, like mint. But there was nothing chaste in the meeting of their lips. Rather than being cool, her kiss was red hot. Her lips were soft beneath his and tasted not of mint, but of cinnamon hearts. There was fire there, licking just below the surface. Bowen Reeve had kissed a lot of women on that stretch of road that started at beer and pizza and always ended well short of diamond rings and wedding dates. He thought he knew all there was to know on the subject. So he was amazed to find himself, twenty-six years old and learning something brand-new. That a kiss could open places in a man that he had not known existed. That a kiss could make him yearn, not for sex, but for love. That a kiss could promise to find empty places in his soul, dark places, and fill them to overflowing with light. “That’s the problem with game plans,” he muttered against her ear.

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“What?” she whispered, and took his lip and gently gnawed it with her teeth. The problem with game plans was they couldn’t always be put into effect. Bowen knew the other team could throw all kinds of unexpected obstacles in front of you. A game plan was not a guarantee that anything was going to go your way. In fact, the success rate of a good game plan, if he calculated it mathematically, was probably pathetically poor. On the other hand, what wasn’t going his way, at the moment, even if it wasn’t going according to plan? It was a beautiful day, and he was with a beautiful woman. Who happened to be kissing the living daylights out of him. What could be better? He gave in to the tantalizing temptation of her lips, tasted her, savored a sweetness that he knew went to her soul. Repercussions, he reminded himself. He was the expert on repercussions, right? This was not going to turn out well if he was stealing kisses before coming clean. If Justin was his son, she was never going to forgive him for taking things so badly out of sequence. In the natural order of things, truth should come before kisses. He disengaged his lips from hers. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. For the first time in his life he understood addiction, understood how a force could be so strong it could overpower and crush absolutely anything in its path, especially something as weak and ineffective as a man’s willpower. When he had taken his lips from hers, where there had been warmth, a great cold emptiness took its place.

Chapter 20: Using the force of his entire will, he stayed her lips, putting his finger on the soft fullness of her bottom one. When she kissed his finger lightly and then nipped, he thought he was lost. But he marshaled what was left of his will and wrapped his arms around her, pulled her in close to him. After a moment, he felt her nestle her head against his chest, trusting. Trusting him to be exactly who he had said he was. He felt the warmth of her, and how sweetly feminine she was. But he also felt her fragility. “Gosh, your kid is bold,” he said, watching Justin grab air over a dirt pile. “What sign is he?” He hated himself for this, for edging closer to an answer when she didn’t even know there was a question. “You’re not into astrology!” she said, and tilted her head up and looked at him. It was true, he wasn’t. It had just seemed like a subtle way to get around to Justin’s birthday. His sense of self-loathing grew. “I’m an Aries,” he said, leading her along. She looked at him quizzically, not buying it, but playing along anyway. “How does that go with Capricorn?” How the hell did he know? “Great,” he said, “if you’re a Capricorn.” She grinned with such openhearted delight, and he realized he’d done it again, put the cart before the horse.

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Bowen, he told himself sternly, find out the kid’s birthday. If he’s not yours, you can keep on kissing her. And if he is… “Justin’s a Gemini,” she said. “May 30.”

Chapter 21: Bowen knew his life had just changed, forever and for always. “What on earth have you been up to?” Tracey McMilligan, who worked at the next desk, asked Ashton on Monday morning. Could it be that obvious? Could it? “What do you mean?” “You look like you’re in love,” Tracey said, regarding her thoughtfully. “My God, girl, shining eyes, blooming cheeks. Give. Tell all to Auntie Tracey.” So, it could be that obvious! “I just met him,” Ashton said. “How could I be in love?” Of course, that was the same question she’d been asking herself since Bowen had dropped her off yesterday. It was too soon to hope, anyway. After the kiss, he had seemed withdrawn, and very shortly after that he had announced he thought it was time to go. There had not been another kiss at her doorstep, even though Ashton had longed for one. “Well, tell me what sign he is,” Tracey, the office horoscope expert, said, “and I can at least tell you if there’s any hope.” “He’s an Aries.” How silly to actually want Tracey to delve into her mysterious books for this information, but she did. “And you’re a Capricorn, right?” Without waiting for an answer, out came the book that Tracey consulted for all kinds of office issues. Ashton’s coworker apparently felt not an ounce of guilt about pursuing this interest on office time. Ashton watched her friend frown. Tracey snapped the book shut. “Sorry, Ashton, it’s not in the stars.” “What?”

Chapter 22: “Unless you’re older than him. Then it might work. Rams can work with old goats.” “I have no idea how old he is! He looks the same age as me.” She couldn’t believe she was putting credence in Tracey’s hocus-pocus! Was she prepared to be an old goat, even for Bowen Reeve? She had to admit the short answer was yes! “Morning, Jerry,” Tracey called.

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Jerry! Jerry would know how old Bowen is! They had gone to school together. Jerry would know all kinds of things about Bowen Reeve. Watching his office door out of the corner of her eye, Ashton waited for Jerry to go for morning coffee. Her plan was to casually follow him. Ashton had not felt like this since she was a schoolgirl. No, that was not true. Even as a schoolgirl she had never given herself over to fluttering heartbeats, sweaty palms, breathless giggles, what the stars said! It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved Daniel madly. It wasn’t that at all. She had just known him forever. They had grown up next door to each other. Saying yes to him had been as comfortable and as right as choosing a favorite rocking chair. Nobody was ever going to mistake Bowen Reeve for a comfortable rocking chair! At five to ten, Jerry’s office door opened and out he came, coffee cup in hand. Ashton grabbed her own and met him at the staff coffee room. “So how was your weekend, Ashton?” he asked. “Interesting. I met an old friend of yours.” “Really? Who?” “Bowen Reeve.” She watched his face carefully and was pleased when it lit up. “Bowen! My God, how is he?” “He seems to be doing very well.” “Does he still teach at Montgomery Bridge? And coach football? That amazes me. He never seemed to be the high school teacher type to me.”

Chapter 23: Exactly what she had thought! “What type did he seem to you?” “He was wild and fun and completely fearless. A daredevil. I remember he rode his bike along the edge of the high school roof one day on a dare. He used to get a gang of big guys together and we’d pick up Miss Mitchell’s little Austin Mini out of the parking lot. We’d put it on the football field, or haul it into the gym. She could never find that car. Of course, he was a hell of a football player. I heard he had a chance to go pro, and picked teaching instead. Nuts, huh?” “Nuts,” she agreed, and remembered Bowen’s voice telling her about the boys he had gone back for. He had never mentioned a pro football career. Was there any doubt left that she was falling in love with Bowen Reeve? With very little need for encouragement, Jerry was off and running, reminiscing happily about Bowen Reeve, a charismatic renegade, a mischief maker, a superb athlete, a lady-killer. “A high school teacher,” he finally said with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe it. I occasionally wondered if he might end up in jail, but I never pictured him in teaching.”

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“He said something happened to make him take life more seriously,” she said. “Yeah. Something did.” “What?” There are moments sometimes in a person’s life where they know what they are going to hear next is going to alter their whole existence. And she had that feeling, but just a hair to late to stop Jerry from speaking. “He got into some trouble our senior year. He was never the same after that. It was like the fun was gone out of him. He became very serious. Mature.” Don’t ask, she told herself. But there was her voice, asking, “What happened?” Jerry hesitated, then shrugged. “He got a girl pregnant. She was nearly as wild as him, as I remember it, and drop-dead gorgeous— Sorry, that was an unfortunate choice of phrase. I remember reading she died in a car accident a few years ago.” “The baby?” Ashton whispered. “They gave up the baby for adoption. All the rest of us were getting ready for grad, celebrating life, and I remember him and Becky looking so sad, as if they would never be young and carefree again. It was as if it broke something inside of him. His heart, I guess.” She stared at Jerry. A baby, born near the end of the school year. That would make it a spring baby. Possibly even a May baby. A baby given up for adoption. Green eyes. “How old are you, Jerry?” Her voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance.

Chapter 24: “Huh?” he said, not following the quick change in conversation. “How old are you?” Her voice sounded shrill, agitated. He gave her a puzzled look. “I’m twenty-six.” Absurdly, she realized she was older than Jerry. And Bowen. That she could be Bowen’s old goat, after all, if her whole world wasn’t falling into pieces. Ashton’s mind raced. If Jerry and Bowen had graduated when they were eighteen, that would be eight years ago. Eight years ago that a baby born in the spring had been given up for adoption. Green eyes, like nothing she had ever seen before, like emeralds dropped into the bottom of a pond. Ashton stood up. Her legs felt very odd, as if they had turned to putty and were folding in on themselves under the pressure of her own weight. From a long way away, she heard Jerry call her name.

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And then her world went black. Bowen Reeve felt both foolish and exhilarated. He was standing on Ashton Burnadette’s front porch with the biggest bouquet of flowers he could find. He had never bought flowers before, but he thought they might signal his intentions far more clearly than pizza and beer. He had a game plan, finally. It was such a relief to have the whole thing mapped out, and to know exactly where he wanted to go with it.

Chapter 25: Justin Burnadette was his son. Bowen had to explain that to Ashton, to tell her everything, beginning at midnight phone calls and ending with his arrival at her garage door. And then he had to ask her if she would consider him being a part of their lives. Not just as a father to Justin. No, he wanted to taste her lips again. To hold her. In the long run, he was thinking diamond rings and wedding dates. He pounded on the door again. Justin peered out cautiously then flung the door open. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “My mommy’s sick. I’m scared.” Bowen dropped the flowers, bolted past Justin, and looked in two doors down the hallway before he found her. Her room was in darkness. She had the covers pulled up right to her nose. And her face was all blotchy. She’d been crying. She opened her eyes and pulled the covers right up over her head. “Go away,” she said. “I never want to see you again.” Bowen ignored her. Instead he entered her bedroom, sat down on the edge of her bed, and pulled the covers back down over her nose.

Chapter 26: She regarded him furiously. “You’re his father,” she said. “Jerry at work told me all about your May baby eight years ago. You came here looking for him. You tricked me. You made me think -” she stopped abruptly and put her head back under the covers. He pulled the covers back down. She had a firmer grip on them this time, so it was marginally harder. “I made you think what? I care about you? I do care about you!” “Oh, sure. I get it all now. You gave him up for adoption, and then you decided you wanted him back, didn’t you? Life-long repercussions, you said.” “That’s not how it happened,” he said. “I don’t want you around me.”

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“You’re scared to death of falling in love again.” “I am not! You snake. Tracking him down. Not telling me who you are.” “Mommy?” Justin appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Not now, Justin.” “It wasn’t like that,” Justin said in a tiny voice. “Bowen didn’t track us down. I tracked him down.” She went very still. Very slowly she sat up in bed, and patted the place beside her. Justin came in and sat down. “How could you have tracked him down?” she asked softly.

Chapter 27: Justin held out a worn leather-bound book to her. “That’s Daniel’s journal,” she said, taking it. “You gave it to me after he died,” Justin said. “Remember?” She nodded, running her hands over the soft leather cover. “I didn’t read it. I couldn’t. But I thought it would help you know the kind of man your father was. Your real father,” she said, shooting Bowen a look, “which happens to be more than a function of biology.” “Read the page that the corner is bent over on,” Justin said. She turned to it. Bowen leaned close, inhaled the scent of her, prayed whatever was on that page could help them through this moment. “’I went to pick Ashton up at work today,’” she read out loud from Daniel’s journal. “’I was waiting in the coffee room for her, and I picked up the newspaper. There was a color picture of the Mountain Lions’ coach, and I found myself looking at it thinking, This is what Justin will look like when he grows up. “’Then Jerry Childers came in. He saw me looking at the picture and mentioned he’d gone to school with the man. He said he was surprised the man, Bowen Reeve, became a teacher because he’d been so wild throughout their high school years. He mentioned Bowen had fathered a child in his senior year.’” Ashton’s voice caught in her throat, and then she continued reading. “’I think this man is Justin’s father.’” Ashton was choking back tears.

Chapter 28: “Later on, he finds out for sure,” Justin said, looking at his mother with concern. He took the book from her. “Look what he wrote at the end, the very last day before he went on his fishing trip.” Justin thumbed through the pages, then cleared his throat and read. “’Justin and I played ball after work today. I watched the sun on his hair, the sturdy strength of him, and I know I have a complete stranger to thank for the marvel and the miracle that is my life. Bowen Reeve, wherever you are, thank you. Someday I hope the universe rewards you for the great gift you have given

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me, though how it could ever find a gift to equal this one is beyond me. Bowen Reeve, may you be happy and blessed.’” Bowen could feel the sting behind his own eyes. Ashton’s hand crept into his, and he held it with all his strength. “I read Dad’s journal lots,” Justin said, “and then one day, I just had this idea, maybe he would be in the phone book. And he was. And I didn’t really know what to say. I was kind of scared and mixed up. So, I just asked if he was my daddy, and then I’d listen to his voice for as long as I could before he hung up the phone.” “But I don’t remember you ever phoning anybody!” Ashton said. “I set my alarm for midnight and put it under the covers so you wouldn’t hear it.” “You were the prank caller!” Ashton guessed softly. Justin nodded. “Bowen knew right away it was me, but he didn’t tell you.” “Why?” She turned her huge, tear-filled eyes on Bowen. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He caught the tear with his fingertip as it chased down her cheek, and lifted it to his lips, tasted it tenderly.

Chapter 29: “I didn’t think it was possible it was really my boy calling me. So when I first came here, I was just fighting mad. This prank caller was triggering my deepest loss and I wanted it stopped. Of course, as soon as I saw Justin’s eyes, I realized maybe I was his father. I wanted to find out for sure before I troubled you. I know it would have been as easy as asking his birthday, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Not right away.” “Are you glad you’re my dad?” Justin asked. Bowen scooped him up in his arms and held him close to his chest. It felt as if his whole life had been in preparation for this moment. “Nothing has ever made me happier. Ever. I hope your Mom is going to allow me to be part of your life for a long, long time.” He remembered the game plan, suddenly. He hopped off the bed and ran down the hall. The flowers were scattered all over the place, and he put them back together as best he could. He went back into the bedroom. She was sitting on the side of the bed now, hugging Justin, and they were both crying. Bowen got down on one knee and offered her the bedraggled bouquet. “I was hoping not just that Justin would be part of my life, Ashton. I hoped you would give me a chance, too. To be part of your life and your future. That would be my greatest dream.” She took the flowers and buried her nose in them, and then looked up at him with shining eyes. In her eyes, Bowen saw the gift.

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Chapter 30: It was a gift a stranger had wished for him, long ago, before he deserved it, if one could ever deserve such a gift. A stranger, having no idea how his wish would be fulfilled, had wished Bowen Reeve a world filled to overflowing with love. And that was what he saw in Ashton Burnadette’s eyes. The potential for love beyond his wildest dreams. Justin, catching the spirit in the room, let out a whoop of celebration and flung himself at Bowen. Since he was on one knee, he couldn’t keep his balance and the boy fell on top of him. And then Ashton was down there on the floor in a heap with them, hugging them both, laughing and crying. “Do you think he knows?” Justin asked, when the laughter had died and they just lay there all wrapped up in each other, bathed in happiness. “Do you think Dad knows?” “Yes,” Ashton said. “He knows.” “Thanks, Dad,” Justin said, softly. And then he turned to Bowen. “Welcome home.”

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Fireworks by Valerie Hansen Bethany Brown can’t blame her old pal Stan Ellison for avoiding her the past year. After all, Bethany’s sister, Amy, did break his heart by jilting him to pursue her dream of Hollywood fame and fortune. But Bethany is nothing like her fickle and frivolous sister, despite their physical similarities. And she misses the good times she used to have with Stan. Truth be told, her feelings for him have grown into something more than friendship…. Stan Ellison is reminded of how Amy treated him every time he sees her little sister, Bethany—at least, that’s the only reason he can think of to explain why his heart jumps into his throat whenever they meet. But when an approaching storm threatens their small Kansas town, firefighter Stan is forced to examine his true feelings for Bethany! Don’t miss this heartwarming prequel to the all-new After the Storm miniseries!

Chapter One “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.” Isaiah 41:18 “Really? You need me?” Bethany Brown clapped her hands, feeling more like a giddy child than the twentytwo-year-old she was. “Thank you for asking. I’d love to help out.” “We’ll see you at nine sharp, then,” the fire chief said. “Sorry about the short notice but one of our regular auxiliary ladies fell and broke her arm yesterday and had to cancel.” Bethany grinned broadly. “No problem. I’ve already helped decorate the bank’s booth. I don’t have any other plans for the day except to enjoy the food and see the fireworks later.” “Good. And don’t worry. You won’t have to sell our baked goods alone. Stan said he had enough staff lined up to help on all but the first shift.” “Stan Ellison?” Her heart began fluttering as if it had suddenly become a demented butterfly. “He’s in charge?” “This year he is. Why?” “No reason. I just wondered.” She hoped her flushed cheeks weren’t giving her away because she didn’t want to start rumors. It was bad enough that Stan and her sister, Amy, had been the talk of the town the previous summer. She sobered. Poor Stan. He’d suffered so. And all because of Amy’s foolish idea that she was pretty enough to be a success in Hollywood. As far as Bethany was concerned, any woman who would abandon a great guy like Stan to pursue a chance in a million of becoming a movie star was off her rocker. And cruel, she added to herself as she watched the chief walk away. What Amy had done to Stan was a crime, pure and simple. She had not only broken his heart when she’d jilted him, she’d caused him to shut down his emotions where other women were concerned. “Especially me,” she murmured, disgusted and disheartened. There had been a time when she and Stan had been pals, special friends who had confided in each other. But all that had changed after Amy had packed her bags and left High Plains so abruptly. Worse, as Bethany had attempted to help Stan heal his broken heart, she had grown more and more enamored of him. The excitement she’d started to feel every time they had met had become so telling she’d

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eventually had to distance herself. It was either do that or take the chance she might speak out of turn or even be so foolish as to throw herself at him. “Which would be a terrible mistake,” she insisted, shaking her head. “It would make him think I’m just like my sister.” Nothing was further from the truth, Bethany assured herself. She wasn’t self-centered, nor was she the kind of woman who used others. When she made a promise she kept it. “And speaking of promises…” She glanced at the clock atop the new town hall building across from the park. It was nearly eight-thirty already. In half an hour or less she would be in close proximity to the one man who could make her knees tremble and send shivers up her spine by merely passing her on the street. What was she going to do; how was she going to keep her sanity when they were cooped up together in the tiny food booth for three hours? Her grin returned. It grew so wide, so joyful, it made her cheeks hurt. Perhaps this unexpected chance to help the fire department raise funds was going to be the answer to her prayer about how to break down the walls around Stan’s heart. It certainly had possibilities.

Chapter Two “You got who to help me? You mean Mrs. Beth Otis?” “No, no. Bethany Brown.” Stan Ellison knew that the grimace on his face was telling, but he didn’t care. There were some things a man shouldn’t have to accept, even if his job security might depend upon it. Anybody who had a clue about his past would never have assigned Amy Brown’s sister to work with him. Never. Which was just one more reason why he felt the department should have hired a chief from High Plains instead of bringing in a man who had no idea about the internal politics of the small town. “She said she was free this morning and I see here she’s helped us out before,” the chief reminded him as he checked the paperwork on the clipboard he held. “Besides, who better to take the money and make change than a bank teller?” “Right.” There was nothing more Stan could say. Not a thing. He was stuck and he knew it. He muttered to himself as the chief hurried away. “Okay. I can do this. After all, Bethany isn’t responsible for what her big sister did. She’s actually not a bad kid.” If only her appearance didn’t tie his gut in knots, he added, chagrined. Poor Bethany was really a pretty girl, which was part of his problem. She and Amy shared many of the same features, from their long, silky, reddish hair and hazel eyes to their stature and even the graceful way they moved. Catching sight of Bethany from a distance never failed to make his heart race and his throat go suddenly dry, thinking for an instant that Amy had returned. He knew he didn’t still love Amy, not after the way she had treated him, but there was enough emotion left over to make him decidedly uneasy with regard to her slightly younger sister. Looking up, he realized with a jolt of awareness that it was happening again. Bethany was approaching and his pulse had quickened at the mere sight of her. This was not good. Not good at all. He forced a smile and tried to act nonchalant. “Hey, kiddo. I heard you got drafted. Sorry about that.” She smiled so broadly in return that Stan’s cheeks warmed.

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“No problem. You know how I love cookies. There’s no booth I’d rather work at than this one.” “You plan to eat up all our profits, is that it?” She giggled. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for whatever I nibble on.” “Aren’t you afraid of getting fat?” “Like Amy always said she was, you mean? Nope. I figure, if the Good Lord wants a few curves on me I’m not going to argue. Besides, He made chocolate so He must want us to enjoy it.” “I’ve never heard anybody put a spiritual spin on food before,” Stan said with a smile. “Not all food,” Bethany replied. “Just chocolate.” “I stand corrected.” He backed away to give her plenty of room to squeeze between the tables and join him before he pointed to a folding chair. “You can sit over there and manage the cash box if you want. The chief said you’d be best at it because you’re used to handling money.” “Well, I can count—as long as I don’t run out of fingers and toes. That has to be a plus, right?” “Right.” Something about her attitude, her very presence, cheered Stan so much he was flabbergasted.

Chapter Three There was no way Bethany could ignore Stan’s presence. Even when she wasn’t looking directly at him she could tell exactly where he was in relation to her chair. If they hadn’t been outside under the clear blue sky, with only a leafy cottonwood tree for dappled shade, she didn’t think she could have tolerated that degree of closeness. She surreptitiously watched him greet and joke with locals as well as welcome visitors who had come to High Plains to celebrate July 4th in the riverfront park. That summer tradition was one of Bethany’s favorites. There would be live music in the gazebo, games for the kids, free watermelon, hotdogs and soda pop for supper and then a fireworks show that rivaled those in the big, nearby Kansas cities like Manhattan and Council Grove. Right now, however, there was only her and Stan, bordered by three long, rectangular tables that held the baked goods, which had been donated for the fund-raising effort. Bethany stood, reached into her pocket and handed a dollar bill to Stan. “What’s this for?” “Brownies. Two of them.” She placed a couple of the chocolaty treats on a paper napkin. “I figure I may as well do it up right. These have been calling my name for the past hour and I’m through resisting.” I wish I could say I was through resisting you, she added silently. As of this morning, before she’d been asked to help in the booth with Stan, she’d assumed that she was well in control of her feelings, no matter what kind of temptation presented itself. Now, however, she could tell she’d been kidding herself. The way she saw it, she would probably still have a stupid crush on Stan Ellison when they were old and gray. There they’d be, she imagined, sitting in rocking

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chairs on the porch of the rest home and trading barbed quips as always. Only, by then, neither of them would remember why they were at odds in the first place. The silly picture in her mind made her giggle. Stan cocked his head and peered over at her. “You okay?” “Oh, sure. I was just daydreaming.” “It must have been funny because you got a strange look on your face just before you laughed.” “Really? Well, well.” “You aren’t going to tell me about it, are you?” “Nope,” Bethany said. She took a bite of one of the brownies, rolled her eyes and slowly licked her lips. “Umm, this is sooooo good.” The witty retort she’d expected in reply didn’t come, so she glanced at Stan quizzically. He had an odd expression on his face and his cheeks were slightly flushed, the way a teenage boy’s might be if he were bashfully interested in a girl. Either that, or the poor man was having an attack of indigestion. The workings of her stressed-out mind and heart were getting so ridiculous and so funny she wondered if she was about to break into hysterical laughter. She wouldn’t be surprised if she did. And then what could she say to him? How would she ever explain her true feelings? What had begun as a friendship and had deepened due to empathy, was now a full-blown crush. Perhaps it was even more than that, she added with a sigh. Perhaps, in spite of all her self-recriminations and inner warnings, she had actually let herself fall in love. Affection was not the problem, Bethany insisted. The real trouble lay in the man she had chosen to care for. Of all the eligible bachelors in High Plains, she had picked the one man who would be the least likely of any to return her love.

Chapter Four As far as Stan was concerned, he would rather have been charging into a burning building without any of his protective equipment than be stuck for three hours making small talk with Bethany Brown. He’d been on edge from the second the chief had told him exactly who he had recruited to help in the booth. And as soon as Bethany had arrived, his nervousness had increased until he wondered how much more tension he could stand. Checking his watch, Stan discovered that his troubles would be over in fifteen minutes. He almost cheered. “You look awfully pleased all of a sudden,” Bethany remarked. “Just glad we sold so much already.” “Oh. I thought maybe you were happy I’d be gone soon.” What could he say? The expression of hurt in her lovely eyes cut him to the quick. Made him want to tell her the truth in spite of everything. “It’s not that,” Stan said, hoping to sound believable. “I really do appreciate all your help.” “But you wish I was Amy, right?”

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“No. No way.” His brow knit. “What makes you think that?” She shrugged. “Just a wild guess. I know she caused you pain and for that, I’m sorry. Please try to remember that I’m not my sister. Not even close.” “I know that.” “Do you? Sometimes I wonder.” She blinked and shaded her eyes as if the bright sun was causing them to water. Stan knew better. Bethany had obviously been hurt by Amy’s actions, too. That was something he hadn’t considered before, partly because she had never given any sign of being so upset. Then again, perhaps he’d been so caught up in his own suffering he hadn’t considered how Bethany might feel. “Tell you what,” he said. “How about letting me buy you a burger as soon as our shift is over? You need some real food.” The shock on her face was telling. Not only was she touched, she was as surprised by the offer as he was. What had come over him? Was he crazy? He’d spent the past three hours waiting for their parting and yet he’d just opened his mouth, stuck his foot in it and prolonged the agony. Hoping she might turn down his offer, he held his breath. Her jaw had dropped and she was staring at him. “Food? You and me? Together?” she finally asked. “Don’t feel pressured. You don’t have to accept. I just thought…” “I’d love to!” Okay, Stan mused. Now you’ve done it. She’s not only going to let you buy her lunch, she’s excited about the prospect. Terrific. Considering the situation, he nevertheless knew he’d done the right thing by asking. Bethany was sweet. A really lovely person. If her every move, every feature, had not continued to remind him of the woman who had broken his heart, he might even have been interested in her romantically. Stan shot a quick, unspoken prayer heavenward. He had been asking the Lord for emotional healing, for a new, fresh start in life, but he had not imagined that God might require him to forgive Amy first. That possibility was starting to appear evident. If he could find it in his heart to befriend Bethany, in spite of what her sister had done, perhaps that would lead him to finally release his anger. Was it anger? he wondered, surprised by the conclusion. In the past he had seen himself as a victim of an untruthful woman, but anger? Really? As he mulled over the situation it became clear that that was part of his problem, all right. And now that he was aware of it, how was he going to cope? The grinning young woman beside him was his answer, at least for now. He smiled back at her. “Here comes our new crew. Give the money box to Maya Logan and let’s go check out the food at the Community Church booth. I’m starving.”

Chapter Five Bethany was so elated she felt as if her feet were not touching the ground. This was the stuff her dreams were made of. She couldn’t seem to stop grinning so widely that she felt foolish.

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It would complete the reverie if Stan would hold her hand, she mused, but under the circumstances she figured she’d better just take what had been offered and thank the Good Lord. She still couldn’t believe it. Her. And Stan Ellison. Together. Hallelujah. She smiled up at him. “In case I haven’t already told you, thanks for the offer to feed me.” “You’re welcome.” The moment she decided to pursue the conversation on a more personal level, her mouth dried up like the white, fluffy seeds that were drifting down from the cottonwood trees that lined the river. Many questions pressed to be asked. Bethany shaded her eyes with her hand, looked up at him and settled on a simple, “Why?” “Why what?” She could tell from the way his brow wrinkled that he was confused and she hoped that that was all that was bothering him. “Why ask me in the first place? I mean, you and I haven’t had a lot to do with each other for the past year.” “You were away at college,” he said flatly. “Only as far as Manhattan. I came home every day and on the weekends.” “Did you? I hadn’t noticed.” Blushing, she decided to let herself say what she was thinking—at least in part. “Fine thing. Makes me feel invisible.” “I didn’t mean it like that.” He continued to stroll with her toward the big Community Church building. Bethany kept pace by taking two steps for every one of his longer strides. What she yearned to do was insist on further explanation but in her heart of hearts she feared she would not like what she heard. Since he had already denied comparing her to her sister, what else could she say? It was evident, at least to her, that that was exactly what the man had been doing, even if he failed to realize it. The three-story, white-painted Community Church sat at the east end of Main Street, on a low hill next to the High Plains River. The edifice dated back to the mid-1800s and was the focal point of much of the town’s history. It, and the old town hall building nearby, was part of the heritage that so many current residents shared, even if they were not direct descendants of the Logan or Garrison families who had originally settled the area. The row of temporary booths and vendors ended where the church lawn began. It was there that the ladies’ society had set up their outdoor kitchen. The pastor, Michael Garrison, was greeting everyone and passing their orders to the cooks. Bethany saw his eyebrows arch as she and Stan approached. Little wonder, she thought, since she had poured out her heart to the pastor after her sister had jilted Stan so cruelly. “Afternoon, folks,” Michael said with a grin. “What’ll it be?” Bethany’s quick wit made her think, everlasting love and marriage. She said, “A burger with the works, please.” “Same for me,” Stan echoed as he got out his wallet.

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All she could do was stare and grin and give thanks that he could not read what was really going on in her active imagination. It was bad enough that she knew.

Chapter Six Sighing unobtrusively, Stan carried a tray with their food to one of the picnic tables that had been set up under the shady cottonwoods between the church and the river. Bethany followed with their drinks and chose to sit across the table rather than beside him. He wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. Either way he’d have to pay closer attention to her than was comfortable for him. She swung her slim, jeans-clad legs over the bench and met his gaze. “Isn’t this a beautiful day? I was afraid it might rain and ruin the fireworks show tonight but so far, so good.” “Yeah. I’m glad, too. Although I wouldn’t mind a little rain on the prairie grass on the other side of the river. Every once in a while we have a wayward spark land over there and start a spot fire.” “I forgot about that. Do you have duty tonight?” He nodded. “Yes. I’m stationed on an engine across the river. We’ll crew a couple other units here in town while the show goes on, too. May as well be ready if there’s trouble.” “I really admire what you do,” she said, taking a bite of her burger after bowing her head over it for a moment. “Thanks. I see it more as a calling than a job.” “I know. I wish working in the bank felt like that to me. There’s nothing very noble about passing out money.” “I suppose not, unless you were to give out samples to the needy,” he said with a chuckle. “Oh, that would be nice. I can see the headline now—Local Bank Employee Arrested for Giveaways.” She laughed. “I don’t think my boss would approve.” “Probably not.” Pausing, he ate a bite, then took a drink before continuing. “You could join the Fire Department Auxiliary. They do a lot of community service.” “Like what?” “Well, they collect food and supplies for victims. And they make up these cute teddy bears to give to children who are involved in accidents or fires.” “Hmm. That sounds like a worthy cause.” “It is.” He decided to keep to himself the fact that he often spoke to the auxiliary and also taught classes in CPR. Here he sat, trying to think of ways to avoid Bethany in the future, and he had just invited her to become part of another segment of his life. What was wrong with him? He supposed he could back off those volunteer duties if she did decide to participate, but that didn’t seem right, either. Changing the subject, he asked, “How are your folks doing in Florida?”

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“Fine. Dad plays golf all the time and Mom has gotten involved in a book club at the senior center in their neighborhood.” She glanced at the children running and playing nearby. “They sound like kids at a picnic when I phone them.” “That’s good.” “Aren’t you going to ask about my sister?” “I wasn’t, no,” Stan said with a scowl. “You should.” “Because she’s never going to disappear from my life and you need to know that she’s miserable. At least I think she is. Oh, she puts on a big, important front and brags about her success but I don’t believe a word of it. I can tell how she really feels.” “I’m not interested.” He felt about an inch tall when Bethany reached across the table, lightly patted his hand and said, “I don’t believe you, either.”

Chapter Seven Bethany could have kicked herself. The expression on her companion’s face was unreadable, yet she knew without a doubt that her outspokenness had hurt him. Well, everything she’d said was true, she argued. Then again, many unhappy things were. That didn’t give her the right to bring them up or be so brutally honest. Stan had not asked for that kind of open dialogue and she had overstepped the bounds of their tenuous relationship. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I had no call to judge you that way.” He shrugged. “You’re probably right—in both instances.” “That doesn’t excuse it,” she replied. The bright sun was not the main reason why she was having trouble seeing through unshed tears but she tried to blame it, anyway, as she dashed them away. “Whew! I could use a little more shade.” “Right. You don’t want to burn.” “I never do,” Bethany said. “It was my sister who was always worried about getting freckles.” Sobering and staring over at him, she shook her head. “You know, you and I are never going to be able to have a conversation without mentioning her once in a while. It’s inevitable. The more I try to keep from talking about her, the more she comes up.” “I know what you mean.” “You do, don’t you? It must be awful for you, living here and always running into people who remember how close you two once were.” “I really don’t want to discuss it,” Stan said. “I know. I don’t either. But think about it for a minute. Please? Maybe, if we hash it all out, we can put it behind us and not be so tense all the time.”

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“I’m not tense.” Bethany covered her mouth but a giggle erupted just the same. “Oh, right. You get this look on your face like you just sucked on a sour lemon every time the subject of Amy comes up.” “Isn’t there a saying that if life gives you lemons you should make lemonade?” “Yes. All you need to do is add lots of sugar.” “I’ve tried,” he admitted ruefully. “I really have.” She sobered. “I know you have. I have, too. But there’s still this place in my heart that can’t help being so mad at her I could scream.” The moment those words were spoken she saw his countenance change. It was as if he were both pleasantly surprised and shocked. “No way,” he drawled, frowning and staring at her. “Yes, way. Did you think that just because I’m a Christian I never get angry? Please. Don’t imagine that I’m some kind of modern-day saint. I was so furious when Amy dumped you I could have smacked her. If I’d had the chance, I might have actually done it, too.” “Wow.” “Yeah, wow.” She began to smile again. “Some loving sister I am, huh?” “Sounds to me like you’d make a loyal friend.” A grin split her face and her cheeks flamed. “That, Mr. Ellison, is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Chapter Eight Stan couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry or run. He chose “none of the above” and simply stared at her. She was right, in a strange way. They had once considered each other friends. And after he and Amy had fallen in love, poor Bethany had kind of been shoved aside. “We did have some fun in the old days, didn’t we?” he remarked. Laughing lightly, she nodded. “Yes. Only I hate to refer to last year as the old days. It makes us sound ancient.” “There are times when I feel as though I’ve lived a hundred years.” “And you looked it, too, for a while,” Bethany quipped. “I must say you look much better lately. I think you’re going to live.” That made him smile. “Thanks. I agree.” “Good, because I’ve missed you.” “You have? How?” He figured she’d mention not seeing him in church or at the high school football and basketball games. He never dreamed she’d take the innocent question personally. “Days like this,” she said wistfully, sighing and gazing at the placid river as it flowed beneath the two-lane bridge. “We used to have so much fun just hanging out and talking.”

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“I don’t know what we’d talk about these days,” Stan countered. “Except you-know-who. And I think we’ve already exhausted that subject, don’t you?” “I suppose so. No use beating a dead horse, as my granny used to say.” “Speaking of horses, do you still ride?” “Not often.” She smiled at him. “I think the last time I was on a horse was the time one ran away with me on the church youth trail ride out at the Circle L ranch. You rescued me. Remember?” “Yes. And I wasn’t even wearing a white hat.” “You were still my hero,” Bethany said softly. “You still are. Every time I hear the fire siren go off I pray for your safety.” “Really?” Stan was touched. “Yes, really. Oh, not only for you, of course, but you’re always the first one who comes to mind.” “Thanks. We can always use prayer. The job is mostly boredom punctuated with sheer terror. We never know what we’ll find when we arrive on the scene.” “At least High Plains has escaped the kind of terrible tornados that hit Manhattan last year. I couldn’t believe all the damage. It’s a wonder more folks weren’t hurt or killed.” “I know.” He glanced up at the clear Kansas sky. “This is a beautiful place to live except for the storms we sometimes get. I suppose there’s no place that’s totally free of drawbacks.” “I suppose not. I do wonder, though, how people who lose everything manage to cope. I suppose the strong sense of belonging helps. This community is like one big family.” “Yeah,” Stan agreed, chuckling. “It has just as many odd relatives as most families do, too. Take you and me, for instance.” Bethany arched her brows. “Oh, yeah? Speak for yourself, mister. I am as ordinary as apple pie.” “And as sweet as the ice cream on the top,” he said. “But not nearly as chilly, I hope.” She blushed and averted her gaze. “No,” Stan said as he reached for her hand and touched it briefly. “You’re one of the warmest-hearted people I’ve ever known.” To his astonishment, she pulled away, got to her feet and said, “I should be going. Thanks for lunch,” and abruptly walked away. As he began to gather up their trash and carry it to a nearby receptacle, he wondered what had spurred her to act so unexpectedly. He couldn’t recall saying anything offensive. Puzzled, he started for the fire department to ready his gear for the evening’s duty. For once, it was Bethany who haunted his thoughts rather than her sister.

Chapter Nine

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The tingle of Stan’s warm, gentle touch lingered on Bethany’s hand and in her mind the rest of the long day. She hadn’t known how to react when he had so innocently complimented her and patted her hand. The action had come as such a surprise her only instinct had been to flee. It was one thing to daydream about receiving affection from her sister’s former beau but quite another to actually have it happen. He hadn’t meant anything by it, she kept telling herself. After all, they had barely spoken for a year—until this morning when fate had thrown them together. More likely, God had been in the details rather than fate, she reasoned, which didn’t help calm her one bit. She had prayed and prayed for a reconciliation with Stan and it had come, so what was she so afraid of? When wandering among the booths and greeting friends had grown tiresome, she’d headed for her apartment on Third Street. The neighborhood was peaceful as always. It was she who was a ball of nerves. She was almost to her own building when a small, wiry boy raced by on a pint-size bicycle. He came so close to hitting her she had to step off the sidewalk. As she did so, she lost her balance and ended up sitting on the grass verge with an “Ouch!” and a thud. The freckle-faced boy spun the bike in a circle and returned. “Sorry, lady.” “It’s okay.” Bethany was dusting off her hands and mentally checking to see if she really was all right when a black-and-white dog galloped up, planted its front feet on her lap and gave her cheek a slurp. “Charlie, down!” the boy yelled. Laughing, Bethany held the eager dog away. “He is down. And so am I. That’s the problem.” She was ruffling the dog’s fur and pushing him off at the same time. “Hello, Charlie. Pleased to meet you.” “I’m Tommy Jacobs. Charlie’s my dog,” the child announced proudly. Her brow knit as she got to her feet. “Jacobs? I don’t place that name. Did your family just move here?” “No.” He made a face. “I don’t got a family. I’m an orphan.” “Oh. Then you must be living with Brandon and Beth Otis. They said they were getting a new foster child.” “I ain’t stayin’. Not if they won’t let Charlie sleep with me,” Tommy declared. “It would probably help if you washed him before you asked to bring him inside,” Bethany said. “How long has it been since he had a bath?” “I dunno.” The idea that struck her next was so absurd she almost dismissed it. Then, she realized that this was a chance to do some good within the community, exactly the way she had insisted she wanted to. “Tell you what,” Bethany said with a smile. “I live right up the street and I have the perfect place where you and I can give Charlie a bath. What do you say? Will you let me help get him clean enough to sleep inside?” “He won’t stay that way. He loves mud.” The boy giggled. “So do I.” “Well, at least he’ll be pretty fresh today. It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain anytime soon and we can dry him with a hair dryer.”

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“Why do you want to help?” “Because,” she said. “Just because.” That simple explanation seemed to set well with the boy because he nodded and put one foot on the pedal of his bike, getting ready to ride. “Okay. But if Charlie doesn’t like the bath he doesn’t have to stay.” “It’s a deal,” Bethany agreed. “I’ll wash, you rinse, and we’ll be done in two shakes of Charlie’s tail.” Besides, she added to herself, if she was fussing with a soapy dog and a little boy, she’d have less time to spend thinking about Stan and wishing that she had let him continue to touch her hand. After the way she’d acted, chances were good that he’d never try again.

Chapter Ten The Independence Day engine crew consisted of Stan and two volunteers without much practical experience. Both younger men were trained in first aid but had not yet finished their studies in firefighting. He briefed them before sundown, then stationed one at each end of the engine. “Your only job is to watch for sparks and let me know. The sooner we can have water on the hot spots, the less chance of it getting away from us.” “I thought they were gonna shoot the shells over the water,” one of the rookies said. “They are. But you never know when one might go astray. Just keep your eyes open and pray nothing lands on those spectators across the river.” “Yessir.” Thinking of the people already gathering on the church lawn and in the town park by the gazebo, Stan immediately pictured Bethany. She’d be there, of course. She’d always loved watching the fireworks. They all had, although Amy had usually wound up complaining that the show was lasting too long. Bethany, on the other hand, had greeted each colorful explosion with a squeal of joy or a similar expression of delight. He remembered their last 4th of July together. Several couples and other twenty-something singles had gathered as a group to watch the show. He had already begun to wonder why Amy was acting so strange but she hadn’t yet informed him that she was leaving High Plains, for good, less than a week later. “It’s getting chilly and the mosquitoes are eating me alive,” Amy had complained. “I want to go home.” Stan had taken off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders, barely noticing that Bethany, too, was probably cold. The way she’d been jumping around and cheering, however, she’d undoubtedly been warmer than her sister. “Warmer in more ways than one,” he told himself. Bethany was right about being different from Amy. Her face glowed with enthusiasm no matter what she was doing. And she greeted the people she met as if they were the most important individuals in her life. At least that was the way it had always seemed to him. That was part of what he was just now realizing he had missed. Bethany’s smile. And her eagerness, openness, regarding life’s challenges. If he could ever get to the point where he saw her as herself rather than as a replica of her sister, then perhaps he’d stop being so tense around her. The first fireworks salvo boomed just as the last rays of sun disappeared. The shell reached its apex and exploded in a flash of colorful, twinkling lights.

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“One down, many to go,” he told himself. The days when he could sit back and enjoy the show had ended when he’d joined the fire department. Although he did still appreciate the pyrotechnics, he couldn’t help watching each launch and wondering how many live sparks were going to land in the dry, prairie grass. “Ranchers need all the feed they can get in weather like this,” he called to the nearest rookie. “Keep a sharp eye out.” “Hey, man, I am, I am. There’s nothin’ out there but weeds and coyotes.” Peering into the distance, Stan held his breath. Was it? Could it be? “There,” he shouted, pointing. “I see a flicker.” “Where?” “Just grab the nozzle and head that way. I’ll charge the hose,” Stan shouted. “Move it. Now!” Above them, more fireworks exploded. The show continued. But in the prairie grass there was a different kind of show going on. One that could easily turn deadly if everyone didn’t do their job.

Chapter Eleven Between Tommy’s wild handling of the hose and Charlie’s shaking, Bethany and the boy had ended up almost as wet and soapy as the dog. She smiled, remembering their shared laughter and how much fun she’d had. During their short time together, she had learned that Tommy was only six years old. This wasn’t his first foster home, nor was it likely to be his last in view of the fact that he refused to go anywhere without his best friend, namely Charlie. The first salvo of the fireworks show had already been set off by the time she’d showered, changed, dried her long hair and returned to the park. She peered at the land across the river. There was Stan’s fire engine, parked just where he’d said it would be. Her heart did a little flip and landed in her throat. Maya Logan, the woman who had relieved Bethany at the baked goods booth, hailed her. “Hey, over here. There’s room on our blanket.” “Thanks. I forgot to bring a chair or anything.” “No problem.” As Bethany sat down, Maya scooted over and gestured toward the little girl who was curled up, asleep, beside her. “Layla wore herself out playing. I tried to keep her awake to watch but even all this booming and commotion isn’t enough to do that.” “So I see. How did the sales go after I left?” “You mean after you and Stan left, don’t you?” “We happened to walk off together, that’s all. There was nothing to it.” Laughing, Maya raised an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s not the way I heard it.” Bethany was shaking her head and trying to squelch another earsplitting grin. “Okay, okay. So he bought me a burger. That doesn’t mean it was important, except to my empty stomach. It was just lunch, not a real date.”

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“If you say so. I also heard that you two were seen having a very engrossing conversation. Why did you suddenly jump up and run off?” Bethany rolled her eyes dramatically. “I don’t believe this. Doesn’t anyone in High Plains mind their own business?” “Nope. Never have and never will. Folks in a small town like this look after each other. We can’t help it if that shared concern sometimes comes across as nosiness or gossip.” “You can say that again.” Settling back and crossing her legs, Bethany sighed. “I wish Stan was as serious about me as the rumors make out.” “You might grow on each other if you give it half a chance.” “I doubt it. He still hasn’t gotten over what my selfish sister did to him. I’m afraid that his memories of Amy will always be between us.” “Where is he tonight?” Maya asked, just as another burst of brightness opened in the sky like a summer flower. “Across the river, manning that engine,” Bethany said, pointing. “The regular firefighters and the volunteers are all working, just in case there’s a spark.” “Good thing, too,” Maya told her. “Look.” Bethany’s breath caught. Her pulse began to race. The revolving lights atop Stan’s engine had just come on and there was a flurry of activity beside the pumper. Shadowy figures were running. She thought she could hear shouting above the already noisy crowd in the park, too. “Dear Lord,” she breathed, barely whispering. “Help them. Be with them. And keep them all safe.” The deepest regions of her heart added, Especially Stan.

Chapter Twelve “Get ahead of it and cut it off before it runs all the way to the gully,” Stan yelled. The rookie just stood there, aiming the spray of water into the air so it fell like misty rain. Recognizing that the younger man was not going to function properly under the stress of a real fire, Stan left the pump panel and raced to the nozzle. His terse, “Give it to me,” was not a polite request. It was an order that no man in his right mind would have disobeyed. Taking full command, he narrowed the stream and directed it at the base of the fire, keeping the flames confined to a small area and quickly gaining the upper hand. By the time he had the perimeter of the spot fire under control, another engine had crossed the bridge and was coming to his aid. Together, the two units mopped up and stood prepared to take on other falling embers. By the time the show ended an hour later, Stan’s initial surge of adrenaline had waned and he was exhausted. He was also sooty and coughing from being so close to the fire. All he wanted to do at that point was go home and crash, but his job required that he first clean and prep the equipment so it would be ready if something else occurred.

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He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to find Bethany waiting for him at the firehouse, especially since it was located so close to her apartment. But he was. “Nice show,” she said, waving and approaching. “We were all impressed. I think there were more people watching you work than the fireworks.” “Just doing my job.” “Somebody wasn’t. We could tell.” “That kind of thing can happen with rookies,” Stan said. “No matter how much training a man has had, some guys freeze when they’re needed most. The only way to weed out those people is to let them face real situations. With professional backup, of course.” “In that case, I’m glad it was just a small grass fire instead of a burning building!” “No problem,” he said with a smile. “You were praying for us, right?” She made a face. “Right. But I think the Lord still expects you to fight the fire yourself.” “So that’s why He gave me this bright, shiny engine. Imagine that.” “Don’t make jokes,” Bethany said wryly. “You know what I meant.” “Sorry. Yes, I do know. And we all thank you for your prayers.” He paused, studying her wide, hazel eyes and concerned expression. “I’m glad you’re still speaking to me.” “Speaking to you? Why would I not be?” He shrugged, turning aside to cough for a moment. “I don’t know. You sure had a burr under your saddle when you left after lunch. I’ve gone over and over everything I said and I can’t for the life of me figure out why you took off the way you did. Care to enlighten me?” “You’re coughing and all smoky and sooty. You need your rest a lot more than you need to stand around talking.” He started to take a few steps closer to her, noticed how she immediately tensed, and stopped moving. “Don’t be afraid to say whatever’s on your mind, Bethany. I’d lots rather hear the truth from my friends than face nasty surprises like…” “Like Amy gave you. I know.” “Well?” He waited, weary yet eager to hear her thoughts, to find out more about her feelings toward him. When he saw her countenance change he knew that that was not going to happen. Not tonight. “Good night, Stan,” she said. “I just stopped by to make sure you were all right. Take care of that cough, okay?” “Okay. See you around.” As he watched her turn and walk away he was struck by a sense of loss that took him by surprise. He wanted her to linger. To continue to keep him company. To lend her uplifting presence to an otherwise tiring evening. That was a bigger shock than having her show up there in the first place.

Chapter Thirteen

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The thrilling fireworks display had been nothing compared to the brightness and awesomeness of Bethany’s continuing thoughts the following week. They mostly centered on Stan Ellison, of course. She was disgusted to find that she was spending an inordinate amount of time dwelling on him, even inventing scenarios in which they not only talked, they hugged and kissed! Embarrassed even though no one else was privy to her thoughts, she finished dressing, grabbed her shoulder bag and headed for work. Living so close to High Plains Bank and Trust, she often walked the three blocks rather than drive, especially on beautiful summer days like this one. Two doors past the bank entrance was Elmira’s Pie Diner, the perfect place to grab coffee and a Danish if she chose not to have breakfast at home, which was about half the time. The scalloped edges of the red-and-white-striped awning above the doorway were flapping slightly in the warm breeze as Bethany ducked inside and tossed her head to flip her long hair back. “Whew! Good morning, Elmira. Guess I should have worn a ponytail today.” “Morning. What’ll it be? The usual?” the middle-aged matron behind the counter asked. “Supersize the coffee, please. I need to stay awake at work today.” “Big night last night, huh? Have a date?” Bethany shook her head and raked her bangs off her forehead while she looked for change in her purse. “Nope. Just not sleeping well.” The older woman laughed lightly. “Then maybe you needed a lively date to tire you out. My Harold used to take me dancing twice a week when he was alive.” She sighed. “I still miss his company, even after all these years. I’ve got a houseful of cats but it’s not the same.” As she picked up her order and paid, Bethany smiled. “I’ve never been fond of cats but I have been thinking of getting a dog for company.” “They’re no good for conversation unless you talk to yourself a lot,” Elmira said. “You need a husband, girl.” “Like a fish needs a bicycle.” Elmira cackled. “You make that up?” “Nope. Can’t take credit. I think I saw it on a T-shirt one of the teenagers was wearing during the picnic on the fourth.” “Those fireworks were sure something, weren’t they?” she asked as Bethany carried her breakfast to a small, round table nearby. “Yes. I’ve always loved watching that show.” “It was quite a show the fire department put on across the river, too. My heart was in my throat when I saw that fire start. This time of year, dry as the grass is, it could have burned all the way to Manhattan if they hadn’t gotten it under control so fast.” “I know. It’s a good thing they were prepared.” “Sure was.” Elmira began filling a big box with assorted doughnuts as she talked. “I was so impressed, I promised the firemen free treats all week long. “ She grinned. “They’ve been taking me up on the offer, too.”

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“Really?” The hair at Bethany’s nape prickled as if she were about to face danger. Or Stan Ellison. Or both. The chances of him being the one to pick up the free doughnuts were slim, yet considering the way her life had been going lately, she would not have been surprised to look up and see him standing there. She blinked and stared at the door. Stan was entering. This was the first time in a year or more that she had run into him in Elmira’s. And now, here he was. Big as life and twice as handsome. Oh, dear.

Chapter Fourteen Stan had looked through Elmira’s window and spotted Bethany before he opened the door. The sight of her had almost caused him to delay his entrance. Almost, but not quite. After all, he wasn’t afraid of her. She confused him. Or he confused himself where she was concerned. He wasn’t sure which. The little silver bell over the door tinkled. Marvelous aromas of fresh baked goods and hot coffee greeted him. So did the smiling face of the proprietress and the only current customer. He nodded. “Good morning, lovely ladies.” Elmira giggled. Bethany simply lowered her lashes and took a sip of coffee from the steaming take-out cup. Stan could tell she was blushing. “I see you have our reward ready again, Miss Elmira,” Stan said, reaching the counter and eyeing the doughnut-filled box. “I do wish you’d let me pay you for it, though.” “Nonsense. I want you boys to get so used to eating my treats you’ll crave ’em every day. I know what I’m doing.” That made Stan laugh. He snuck a peek past his left shoulder at Bethany. She was doing her best to feign disinterest but he knew her well enough to be able to tell that she was paying close attention. “I’ll take a large coffee, too, if you’ll let me pay for it. The stuff the guys brew at the firehouse is thick enough to stand a spoon in.” “Coming up. Black?” “Yes, please. No cream or fancy stuff. Just plain coffee.” Paying, he carried his cup to Bethany’s table and stood across from her. “Is this seat taken?” “No, but…” “Good, because there isn’t another place in the whole diner available and I’d hate to have to stand up to drink this.” He chuckled at her puzzled expression. In view of the fact that they were the only customers, his comment was ludicrous. It was meant to be. He was at his best when he and Bethany were trading quips. The serious moments were the difficult ones. “All right,” she said, smiling up at him. “Since we have no choice, I suppose it would be neighborly for me to invite you to sit with me.” “Absolutely.” Sliding into one of the red padded chairs, he rested his forearms on the table, cupped his hands around his coffee cup and looked at her. As expected, she frowned. “What?”

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“Nothing. Just taking in the scenery.” “I said you could sit with me, not study me like a bug under a microscope.” Stan laughed softly. “I’d rather think of you as a butterfly if I have to pick an insect to compare you to.” To his delight, Bethany picked up the analogy and took it one step further. “Sometimes I feel like a caterpillar that hasn’t transformed yet.” “Ah, but you have,” Stan said, realizing the deeper truth of his statement. Bethany had gone from a gangly teenager to a beautiful young woman and he had been so obsessed with her sister he had almost missed noticing the transformation. Now that they were getting reacquainted, he could see that she was not at all like Amy except for a few external similarities. It suddenly struck him that he was seeing her through new eyes. He had prayed to be freed from his thoughts of Amy but he had never dreamed that the Lord would replace those affectionate feelings with an attraction to Bethany. I’ll have to be really careful, he told himself. If there was any chance that his heart and mind were playing tricks on him, he’d have to really watch his step. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Bethany the way Amy had hurt him.

Chapter Fifteen Bethany was so reluctant to leave Stan, she was late for work…three days out of the past five, if anyone was counting and seeing a pattern. She had begun arriving at the pie shop earlier and earlier in the hopes of encountering him. To her delight, he had joined her nearly every morning. Lunch had often provided similar opportunities, once they had discussed their plans. Because Stan carried a pager and radio that kept him in touch with the fire station, he was able to get away even on the days when he was on duty. She fidgeted, anticipating his arrival. When he finally did walk through the door she could tell from his expression that something was bothering him. Smiling, she gestured to a chair at her table. “Have a seat. I had to go ahead and order or I wouldn’t have had time to eat.” “That’s fine. I can’t stay today, anyway.” “Why not? What’s wrong?” As he pulled the other chair closer and sat down, he reached for her hand. The gesture was so unexpected, so wonderful, Bethany hardly heard what he was saying. She blinked to clear her head. “The weather?” She glanced out the window at the bright sunshine. “It looks fine.” “I know. And right now it is,” Stan told her, still grasping her fingers and holding them gently. “But the reports don’t look good. We could be in the middle of a bad storm in a few hours. The chief wants us on standby.” “You can’t stay a little longer? We could share my sandwich. I got a Reuben, just like you like.” “It’s tempting, and I don’t mean the sandwich,” he said, making her heart race even faster. “But I have to get back to the station.”

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“Be careful,” she said tenderly, gazing into his eyes and willing him to understand how much he meant to her. “I will. And you do the same. If the storm is as strong as predicted, the whole town might be in trouble. You should head home early if it starts to look serious.” “As long as we have electricity, you know the bank will have to stay open. I can just hear my boss yelling if any of us asked to leave before closing time.” “All right.” He got to his feet, letting her hand slip through his fingers. “Just keep your eyes open and listen to a weather alert radio if you have one.” “I do at home.” She shrugged and stood so she could remain closer to him. “The way the high plains affect the paths of storms there’s no telling what will actually happen. If I get home before it starts to rain too hard, I’ll be sure to keep my radio on and watch the sky.” “Is there a storm cellar at your apartment?” “No, but there are no windows in the laundry room in the basement. If I think I need more shelter I’ll go down there.” “Okay. Just…” “What?” Her heart was already pounding when he grasped her shoulders, then leaned closer and placed a kiss on her cheek. After that, she figured it was a good thing he was supporting her. If he had not been, her knees might have buckled. And there I’d be, in a heap at his feet. Some butterfly, she reflected, almost smiling at the vivid image in her mind. The expression on Stan’s face grew so poignant it left Bethany breathless. In seconds, she understood the change in his character because he bent closer and kissed her again. This time, it was not a simple peck on the cheek. This time it was a real-life, knock-your-socks-off, write-home-to-Mother lulu. If this kiss had not left her speechless, she might have told him so.

Chapter Sixteen The afternoon seemed to race by at the fire station. Stan and his fellow firefighters had checked and rechecked their gear and emergency supplies. There was no way to tell what or how much would be needed beyond normal but they tried to cover all contingencies. He’d been listening to the NOAA weather announcements and still knew no more than he had when he’d warned Bethany. The conditions were right for a thunderstorm with strong winds and hail. Beyond that, it was anybody’s guess. High Plains had suffered more than one tornado in the past, including the devastating one that had practically leveled the town in 1860. After that, its founders had rebuilt, mainly in brick and stone. Many of those sturdy edifices still stood, including the bank and trust where Bethany worked. The same rookie who had frozen while fighting his first fire on July 4th stuck his head in the door. “Hey, Stan. What’s the word?” “It doesn’t look good. You going to be okay?” “Me? Sure. I’ve got the system down pat now. You put the wet stuff on the red stuff and the fire goes out.”

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Stan had to chuckle. “Right. Simple, but correct.” “How’s the storm looking?” “Nasty.” He swiveled his desk chair and stood. “As long as it isn’t as strong as the one that hit here in the mid-1800s we should be fine.” “Yeah, I heard about that one. Guess it kind of snuck up on them, huh? We’re smarter these days. We’ve got weather satellites to keep us posted.” “Yes and no. Just because we know trouble is coming doesn’t mean we can avoid it completely. According to historians, that twister came from the southwest, the same direction as this storm. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be as bad as it was in the old days, of course, but I’ve weathered a few pretty nasty ones myself.” “Well, we can always take cover like everybody else.” Stan shook his head, amazed at the young man’s naive attitude. “We may duck when the worst comes through but believe me, kid, we won’t be hiding our heads while there are folks who may need our help.” “I knew that. I just thought…” “No. You weren’t thinking. This job is not nearly as glamorous as it looks in the movies or on TV. It’s hard, dangerous, grueling work. We risk our lives every time we roll to a scene. And most people expect it, so we get very little praise. Don’t plan on being on the front page of the newspaper or getting decorated for heroism by the mayor or governor.” Shrugging and turning to go, the rookie gave Stan a look that said he didn’t believe a word of what had just been said. Well, so be it. All Stan cared about, then and in the future, was doing his job to the best of his ability and serving his community. That, and making sure Bethany stayed safe through it all, he added, chagrined. Since he was stuck there, on duty, there wasn’t a thing he could do to help her, to look out for her personally. He closed his eyes and shot a quick prayer heavenward. “She’s special, Father. Watch over her and keep her safe. Please? I—I really care for her.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he realized that they were inadequate. He more than cared for Bethany. Heaven help him, he’d fallen in love with her. Not because of Amy? he asked himself. Are you really sure? It didn’t take him more than a heartbeat to answer, “Yes.”

Chapter Seventeen On her way back to the bank after lunch, Bethany ran into Tommy Jacobs and Charlie. The boy was on his bike as usual, with Charlie running along beside him. “Hi,” Bethany called, waving. “How did your foster parents like the way we washed your dog?” Tommy pouted as he skidded to a stop at her feet. “Dumb old grown-ups. They didn’t believe me, even after I showed them how clean the white fur on his tummy was.”

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“I’m so sorry. Maybe I should have written you a note to prove we really washed him.” She eyed the gamboling dog with its lolling tongue and twinkling dark eyes. He didn’t look as if he’d rolled in the mud in the past week but there was really no way to tell since the majority of his hair was black. “It’s okay.” The wiry child shrugged and prepared to ride off. “Be careful out there,” Bethany warned, eyeing the darkening sky to the west. It was impossible to see all the way to the horizon due to the two- and three-story buildings that blocked her view, but she could see enough to tell that Stan had been right about the impending storm. If there was one thing that was predictable on the plains, it was changeable weather. “I know how to ride good,” Tommy insisted. “I don’t mean about your bike,” she said. “I mean look out for lightning and rain. There’s supposed to be a storm coming.” “I ain’t afraid. I like to play in the rain.” He grinned. “So does Charlie. We love mud.” “I can see that by looking at your sneakers.” Bethany returned his smile. “Just keep an eye on the sky, okay? You wouldn’t want your dog to get hurt, would you?” The boy shook his head so hard his hair ruffled. “Nope. I take good care of Charlie and he takes good care of me, too.” “I’m sure he does.“ She paused to check her watch. “Uh-oh. I’m late for work again. Gotta go. Bye.” “Bye,” Tommy called after her. As she passed through the front door of the bank she looked back and saw him riding off, standing on the pedals, leaning the bike back and forth and making noises to pretend it was really a motorcycle. Kids. They could always find fun in the smallest pleasures. Fun? Pleasure? Oh, yes. She instantly relived Stan’s surprising kiss. Her lips still tingled and her breathing grew a bit unsteady. That long-awaited kiss had not been the way she had always imagined it would be. It had been a thousand times better. Only one element of their relationship continued to bother her. Everything seemed to be happening too fast. Yes, they had already been well acquainted when they had renewed their friendship, yet there was still the specter of Amy hanging over their newfound affection. How could Bethany be certain that Stan was not thinking of her sister when he kissed her? How would she ever know? He had remarked often about the family resemblance, so perhaps, even if he truly believed he was interested in her, he still yearned for Amy. Disappointed at the way her mind had twisted an awesome occurrence, Bethany sighed. Of all the men she could have fallen for, why did her heart have to belong to Stan Ellison? Because, truth to tell, it always had.

Chapter Eighteen Stan was pacing the floor, watching the sky and listening to radio reports. The eye of the storm had passed Council Grove and was bearing down on High Plains at forty miles an hour. The wind was already blowing

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so hard it was starting to strip tender, green leaves from the cottonwood trees and whip the smaller branches wildly. Trash was blowing around as refuse cans were knocked over. This didn’t look good. He checked his watch. The bank would soon close. Perhaps Bethany would stop by the fire station on her way home. Chances were she had walked to work, meaning she wouldn’t have the protection of a car if hail started to fall while she was en route. Making a snap decision, he leafed through the phone book for the bank number, then quickly dialed. “Let me speak to Bethany Brown,” he said as soon as the operator answered. “I’m sorry. Our teller stations are closed for the day,” the woman said pleasantly. “Would you like to leave a message?” “No. I want to talk to Bethany and I want to do it now,” he said forcefully. “This isn’t bank business. This is the fire department calling.” “Oh, dear. Is there a problem at her apartment building?” “No. Just put her on the line, will you? She is still in the building, isn’t she?” “Yes, sir. One moment, please.” He heard the breathlessness in Bethany’s voice as she picked up an extension. “Hello?” “It’s me. Stan,” he said. “I think you should stay right where you are till the storm passes. It’s getting awfully close and you don’t want to get caught outside if it starts to hail the way I think it’s going to.” “What have you heard?” “Council Grove got hammered with nickel- and quarter-size hail even though the main part of the storm missed them. We could have it much worse.” “Are you sure?” “Nobody can be positive. I’d just feel better if you promised to stay there a little longer. You don’t have your car, do you?” “No. It was beautiful this morning. I always walk on pretty days.” “Must be the butterfly in you that craves the sunshine,” Stan said, hoping to distract her by mentioning their earlier conversation. “Must be.” She paused, then continued, “How long do you think we should stay inside? I want to be able to tell the others and let them make educated decisions about whether or not to head for home.” “We should be through the worst of it in less than an hour,” Stan said soberly. “I’m not trying to be an alarmist. I just know from experience how bad some of these storms can be. I was caught in a dandy when I was a kid. Remember?” “Vaguely. I was too little to take anything seriously back then. Maybe that’s why you’re so uptight about the weather now.”

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“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just more prudent than some folks.” He glanced through the window at the street. “Looks like traffic is about the same as always. People are acting way too nonchalant. I hope they’re not sorry.” “So do I,” Bethany replied. “Okay. I’ll stay here for another hour or so, but after that, I’m going home. The probability of High Plains being hit by hail or a tornado should have been resolved by then.” “Call me before you go outside? Promise?” He gave her his private cell number and was relieved when she took the time to jot it down and repeat it back to him. “And, Bethany?” “Yes?” Stan hesitated. “Never mind. We’ll talk later. Good bye.” He’d been going to express his tender feelings, maybe even tell her that he loved her, but something had stopped him. It was one thing to think about it and quite another to actually say the words. Besides, that kind of confession should be made face-to-face. That way, if she didn’t take it well, he’d recognize the truth and know whether or not she returned his love. The possibility that she might not gave him actual, physical pain.

Chapter Nineteen Bethany stood at the wide front window of the bank and watched the rain falling. Thunder rattled the whole building and lightning was flashing so often it seemed almost continuous. The wind velocity was building. Sheets of falling water were sometimes so dense she could barely see the park across the street. The distant sky was as dark as evening, yet the sun would not set for four more hours. Worse, there was a band of light near the horizon, signaling the presence of a wall cloud above. Bethany knew that was a bad sign. Clouds like that often spawned tornados. Most of her coworkers, except for the bank manager and one other teller, had already taken the chance that they’d beat the worst of the thunderstorm and had headed for their homes. Bethany wished she’d done the same. Perhaps there was still time to make a run for it, she reasoned, remembering all the previous storms she’d experienced. Just because there was rain falling and perhaps hail to follow, twisters weren’t inevitable. Nothing was that predictable, especially not during the spring and summer. The promise she’d made to Stan nagged at her. “All right,” she muttered, disgusted with herself for heeding his dire warning when she could have been snug and safe at home all this time. “I’m leaving, whether he likes it or not.” She raised her voice to get the bank manager’s attention. “I’m going to make a private call, then you can unlock the door and let me out. Okay?” “Is it safe?” the portly man asked, frowning and mopping his brow as he peered past her. “It looks pretty nasty out there.” “It’s pouring rain but that’s all. And that seems to be letting up.” She used her own cell phone to call the number Stan had given her. As soon as he answered she spoke without giving him a chance to argue. “This is Bethany. I’m going home. It’s not raining as heavily as it was and I’m worn out from the waiting.” “Not yet. Don’t go yet.”

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“I promised I’d call and that’s what I’m doing. Don’t worry. I’ll give you another call when I’m safely inside my apartment.” Suddenly, the line went dead. She stared at the little phone. Was it an accidentally broken connection or had Stan hung up? If he was miffed, that was just too bad. If she wanted to go home, she was going to do so. Period. End of discussion. Bethany closed her cell and slipped it into her purse as she grabbed a light nylon jacket, draped it over her head and headed for the door. “Okay. I’m ready.” The manager seemed unduly nervous as he fiddled with his ring of keys. “I don’t know. I think we should go with our first instinct and stay off the streets.” He pointed with a shaky hand. “Look.” Her eyes widened. Although the rain had slacked off for the moment, the wind continued to blow. Across the street in the park, people were scattering. Many umbrellas had been blown inside out by the gale and others looked as though they were about to collapse or be torn from their owners’ grasps. A police car with its red-and-blue lights flashing cruised to a stop directly in front of the bank. Bethany couldn’t tell who was behind the wheel but she immediately recognized the man who jumped out of the passenger side and ran toward her. “Hurry! Unlock the door,” she shouted at the manager. “Let him in before he gets blown away.” The heavy glass door was nearly snatched out of their hands when it finally swung back. Stan pulled it closed with the other man’s help, then held it while he relocked it. “You can’t go out,” Stan yelled at Bethany. “It’s too dangerous.” “It seemed fine a few minutes ago when I phoned you. What’s going on?” “We’re not sure. The hail is getting bigger and stuff all over town is being smashed, including car windows. I know you’re hardheaded but no one’s head is hard enough to withstand that kind of punishment.” “Okay, okay. But what are you doing here? I thought you had to stay at the fire station.” “I got permission to ride out with the police chief. He’s going to sound his siren as soon as we’re sure there’s a tornado on the ground.” “Do you think that will happen?” she asked breathlessly. Before Stan could answer, they heard the highpitched wailing of sirens begin.

Chapter Twenty There was no place Bethany wanted to be except in Stan’s arms. This dire situation left no room for bashfulness or hesitancy. If this was to be her last moment on earth, she wanted him to know exactly how much he meant to her. Stepping into his waiting embrace, she slipped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.” He pulled her closer. “So am I. It was tearing me up worrying about you.” She noticed that he was scanning the bank’s lobby instead of giving her his full attention. “What’s wrong?”

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“This area is too exposed. Too much glass. If these front windows go they’ll tear into us like shrapnel.” With one arm around her shoulders, he hurriedly guided her toward the rear of the building. “Where are we going?” “Into the vault,” Stan said. He nodded to the manager. “Everybody come with us. If your vault can keep thieves out, it can keep out a tornado, too. Just fix it so we don’t accidentally get locked in.” “What if the whole building collapses?” Bethany asked him. She knew it was foolish to borrow trouble but her mind kept thinking of the worst. “The vault will stand against even that,” Stan assured her. He pushed her into the enormous safe ahead of the others, then followed last and swung the heavy door nearly closed with the manager’s help. Bethany reached out to him and laid her head on his shoulder. “Since this may be my last chance to tell you,” she began, “I want you to know I love you. I have for years.” To her delight and relief, he not only didn’t reject her, he smiled and replied, “I love you, too, Bethany. Not your sister or anyone else. You. I’m just sorry it took me so long to figure it out.” “It hasn’t been that long,” she said soothingly. “We only got reacquainted a couple of weeks ago.” “No.” Stan was shaking his head as he cupped her cheeks, raised her face and gazed lovingly into her eyes. “It was a lot longer than that. I think I loved you all along. If Amy hadn’t been in the picture I’d have come to my senses sooner. It was your character, your sweetness, that had always appealed to me. I just got my feelings confused when you acted so reserved and she was so forward.” “She threw herself at you, you mean.” Bethany couldn’t help grinning in spite of the terrible crashing noises outside and the whistling of the wind through the narrow crack the manager had left between the safe’s door and frame. “I didn’t have to believe her,” Stan countered. “I should have realized long ago that I was confusing you two.” He paused to place a brief kiss on her trembling lips. “You looked so alike that I suppose I was combining your personalities, at least subconsciously. Now that Amy’s out of the picture I can see that her contribution to my dreams of the perfect wife was the only part that didn’t quite fit.” Bethany blushed. “Wife? Did you just say what I think you did?” Laughing and pulling her closer, Stan confirmed her conclusion. “Yes. Wife. Will you marry me, Bethany?” “Yes,” she replied, clinging to him. “And you’d better see to it that we get out of this mess we’re in because I intend to become your bride just as soon as possible. It seems like I’ve loved you forever.” “We’ll survive,” Stan vowed. “You’re not getting rid of me for at least the next fifty years.” Rising on tiptoe, she kissed him soundly before she said, “That’ll make a good start.”

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Rules of Engagement by Catherine Mann Description: Captain Ray Perez must make an emergency landing - guided by the cool, distant voice of his ex-fiancee, First Lieutenant Morgan Reed!

Chapter 1: “Fire indicator light, number two engine!” The copilot’s barked alarm rocketed through Captain Ray “Gator” Perez’s headset. Blazed through his gut. Ray’s eyes shot to the control panel on his C-17 aircraft. The warning light glowed. Damn. “Roger, co.” Ray twisted, hard and fast. Looked out his side window. “Checking number two visually.” Hell and damnation. Red shards of fire poured from the seams of the number two engine - streamed over the plane’s gray wing and into the star-studded night sky. “Visual confirmation. Fire in number two.” A nanosecond of ominous silence followed from the crew. Bulky Bronco looming in the copilot’s seat. Silent Tag, the loadmaster, in back. Not even a word from renegade flight surgeon Cutter sitting in the instructor’s seat. Then training overrode emotion. Aircraft commander for the mission Ray clipped orders through the headsets, exhausted emergency checklist procedures. Still, the fire indicator light glowed like the unity candle he and Megan had planned for their wedding. A wedding that would never happen. A wedding once scheduled for today. Ray shut down that thought faster than his flaming engine. He couldn’t afford images of his cool, blond exfiancée screwing with his concentration. Not now, with a cargo hold of medical supplies to deliver to the warravaged eastern European village below.

Chapter 2: The same village where Megan waited, stationed at the American-held military airfield, the main reason he’d volunteered for his hell-bound flight. Deliver her ring and his goodbyes. If he got to the ground in one uncharred piece. “Loadmaster, haul forward and strap in.” Ray cranked the throttle up on the other three engines, using airspeed to combat the fire, keep it blowing aft. It was damage control at best. God help them when time came to slow for landing. He radioed the airborne warning and control system aircraft for the airfield’s tower frequency and spun up the number. “Eagle base, this is REACH 2-7-1-1.” “REACH 2-7-1-1, this is Eagle Approach. Go ahead,” husky, controlled tones - feminine tones - flowed through the headset over the whine of straining engines. Megan’s voice echoed in his ears. First Lieutenant Megan Reed, U.S.A.F. - once his Megan. Just his damned luck, she was the air traffic controller on duty. Apparently irony had decided to take a chunk out of his backside before roasting him into hell in his burning plane. He’d hoped to talk to her one last time. But not like this. And definitely not with the risk of it being so very final. “REACH 2-7-1-1 declaring an in-flight emergency.”

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“State nature of emergency.” Her cool tones breezed over him, stirring fires within him hotter than the ones streaming from his C-17. Damn it, did anything rattle this woman? His leaving sure hadn’t. “Severe,” he answered, battling to adjust the airspeed in the single remaining left engine to equalize thrust from the two engines on the right. “Fire in engine number two. Request immediate landing.” “Roger, 2-7-1-1.” Megan’s transmission crackled with interference, her unwavering voice, however, plenty clear without even a hint of his name. Just an impersonal flight number. “Fuel and souls on board?” “Forty-five thousand pounds of gas and four souls on board.” Emotions churned through him. Too many. Of course, that had always been the problem between them. And now hearing her blindsided him when his emotions were already overrevved. “Copy. Fire trucks are on their way to the field. State intentions.”

Chapter 3: Intentions? He’d once had plenty of intentions and plans with this woman. Had lived with her for a full year, planted his baby inside her. Scheduled a wedding. Then they lost their baby. And he lost Megan. Now he had no intentions other than getting her out of his mind with this last meeting. If he lived through the night. Whomp. Ray jerked round in his seat, checked the wing through the windscreen. Found ragged metal instead of a mounted engine. “Oh, shit.” A small gasp breezed through his headset. Just a whisper, but so much coming from his reserved Megan. Mortality stared him in the face and he could only think how damned erotic Megan’s small gasp, Ray, had felt against his ear during sex two months ago. How damned good it felt now knowing she might still care. “REACH 2-7-1-1,” Megan queried, her voice once again steady. “Define nature of ‘oh, shit,’ please.” Ray held back an irrational chuckle. Definitely his Megan, always calm, even when his emotions where shot to hell and back, alarms blaring in the plane and his mind. “Number two engine has departed the aircraft. Mark my position and set us up for immediate landing.” “Roger, 2-7-1-1,” Megan answered with the same quiet authority as when she’d ordered him to leave her hospital room after the miscarriage. He ignored the remembered jab of pain. Ray called to the two pilots and loadmaster. “We have to get this puppy on deck now. Unless you guys want to bail out first?” Negatives from Cutter and Tag bounced through the headset. The crew would ride her in together.

Chapter 4: Bronco didn’t budge from the copilot’s position. “Lights are flashing like Christmas trees, Gator. You need our eyes and ears.”

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Computerized warning voices squawked their agreement through the crew compartment. Lost generator. Gas leaking. Energy wanes and pulses yanking the plane like a carnival ride. Ray thumbed the mike button. “Tower, things are going all to hell in here. I need to expedite this landing. No flaps.” Say my name, Megan. “Faster than normal airspeed. Larger than average turns. Get me lined up now.” “Roger, REACH 2-7-1-1, come to heading two-six-five.” She clipped through wind speeds and altimeter settings, dry numbers in drier tones when there was so much left unsaid between them. Leaving out the only word that mattered to him now. Say my name, damn it, one last time. “Copy, Tower.” Ray gripped the throttle. Focused on the runway lights. Training overriding emotions. Barely. My name. Just say my name. Care enough to stop me from walking out that door. But she hadn’t then. And she didn’t now. Ray centered the nose between the blinking runway lights screaming toward them at much higher than normal speed. “Everybody tighten your belts. This one will come quick and hard.” Like the end of his future with Megan. “Nobody unstrap until we’re at a complete stop. Then we’ll haul ass out the back of the plane.” Sweat popped, poured, streamed down his face. Megan’s guiding voice echoed over the airwaves. Inside his head. A head full of regrets.

Chapter 5: God, he missed her. Couldn’t stomach the thought of never seeing her again. Willed the C-17 not to explode. Gear down. Ground rushing up to meet them. “Okay, crew, get ready to run ’til you feel stupid. Then run a thousand feet more.” Ray set his teeth for the thud of a landing he knew was coming. He’d run from Megan once. And damn it, if he got out of this alive, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This time, he wasn’t backing off until he rattled her cool composure. Chapter Two Fire trucks screamed across the taxiway, filing in behind the landing C-17, echoing the scream in Megan’s head as she peered helplessly through the tower window onto the stretch of cement illuminated by a halo of lights. Composure evaporated. Forget waiting around. Hands trembling, Megan passed radio control to the sergeant and tore down the stairs to the cracked runway. Her eyes clung to the sight of the cargo plane powering past. Flames streamed from the wing. Sweat plastered her BDUs to her skin in spite of the chilly mountain winds whipping through the band of evergreens. Fear churned those flames into kaleidoscope visions within her mind of blood and…Ray. She braced a shaking hand to the brick tower. Damn him and his grandiose gestures that had undoubtedly brought him here in harm’s way on what should have been their wedding day. Damn him for leaving when she’d needed him.

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Chapter 6: Most of all, damn him for still being the only man she wanted. Smoke pumped from under the tires as the plane jerked to a halt. Megan froze. Waited. Prayed. The hatch door flung open. Her breath hitched on an icy gasp. Bodies poured through the open portal Cutter, Bronco, Tag…Ray. “Thank you, God.” She exhaled her relief in a puffy cloud into the night air. The four men sprinted full out, combat boots pounding toward the control tower. But she watched only one man now. Ray. Tall with muscles bulging and rippling his legs beneath the forest green flight suit as he ran. Brown leather stretched across a wide chest with a heart that had once beat such steady reassurance against her ear. And then there he was. In front of her. So close. The mingled scents of musk, smoke, and man saturated her senses seconds before Ray grabbed her arms. Her body absorbed the blessed familiarity of his touch after too long without him, her pounding heart echoing enemy explosions in the distance. Ray held her with his gaze as well as his hands. “You’re not going anywhere. Got it?” “Oh, yeah, I’ve got it.” Angry words tumbled from her lips in a torrent of frustration born from the teethchattering terror still pulsing through her. “You’re the one who leaves after all. Not me.” “Christ, Megan!” His close-cropped black hair lifted in the wind that carried acrid gusts. “You told me to go.”

Chapter 7: The three crew members standing behind Ray backed up a step. Cutter swept a red bandanna over his face. “Uh, Bronco? Wanna go check with the security police by the plane about that gunfire?” “Sure, bud. A little rebel action sounds less explosive than what’s about to go down here.” Bronco thunked Tag on the chest. “Coming, Tag?” The ever-silent loadmaster nodded, and the trio lumbered back toward the smoking C-17 now encircled by fire trucks spewing water and foam. Even though Megan realized the plane didn’t seem likely to blow after all, horror still clawed up her throat until emotion threatened to spill free again. Too much. Always too much emotion spinning around Ray, and she wouldn’t - couldn’t - relive echoes of her tumultuous childhood. Megan pulled her spine as straight as her resolve. “Forget I said a thing. You’re alive. And that’s all I needed to see.” His brown eyes hardened. “Nice to know it would have bothered you if I died.” Pain prickled through her like the relentless rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. “Of course it matters, Ray. We…” Loved each other? Made a baby together? Lost everything in a day? “We have history. But we’re exactly that. History. Your fault or mine - I don’t remember anymore. I just know when life got tough, our relationship couldn’t take the pressure. It’s best we learned before…” she swallowed the ache “…before we married.”

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“Married?” He hauled her closer until their bodies exchanged heat and longing. “Like you would have ever agreed to marry me if there hadn’t been a baby.”

Chapter 8: She started to snap back that he should have been patient with her, damn it. She wasn’t impulsive like him. Megan closed her mouth. With practiced precision, she restrained the harsh words and chaotic emotions that would only lead to more arguments. More hurt. Ray’s molten brown eyes sparked with enough emotions for two people anyway. “Don’t!” His grip tightened around her arms. “Don’t you dare shut down on me. For once be honest about how you’re feeling. Even tell me to go to hell. But don’t pull this ice-princess crap.” She tried to focus on his words, but could only stare up and soak in the sight of him. The square cut of his jaw, the hard angles of his bronzed face. Her fingers clenched around warm leather, muscles flexing beneath her touch. “I may be many things, Ray, but when I’m with you, cold isn’t one of them.” Passion combusted in the slice of air between them. His hand shot up her arm and tangled in her hair. Pulling her close. Closer still until his mouth took hers. Maybe she took his. The meeting and mating of their lips happened so fast she couldn’t think. Didn’t want to think. Just wanted to drink in the taste of Ray. Ray. Alive. So very alive. His tongue stroked hers, as bold and potent as the man. Her hands glided up, over his shoulders and into his hair with a familiarity that left her whimpering for what they’d thrown away. His arms banded around her, anchoring her to him in a perfect fit until fire pooled low in her belly. Insidious doubts whispered through her mind. She’d needed his arms around her weeks ago. How could he not know that even if she never cried, the sorrow and tears over losing their child were drowning her inside?

Chapter 9: And he’d walked. This man who’d first told her he loved her during a hot air balloon ride. A man who’d cradled her face in his hands while they made love, repeating with every deliberate stroke of his body that he would love her forever. Forever had lasted until their first fight. Two years together without a real argument had seemed idyllic. Finally, she’d found peace after years accommodating the mood swings of her drug-addict parents. No one had suspected their addiction. Or helped her. Why question the welfare of a child of such wealthy parents? After a life of upheaval, the military had offered her order. Ray had brought her light. But Ray, with all his grandiose gestures and boisterous emotions, hadn’t been there for her when it counted. Illogical on her part, expecting him to perceive her unspoken needs? Maybe. Except damn if he wasn’t doing a fine job perceiving at least her most basic needs now. The caress of his hands down her back, cupping her bottom, tempted her to forget the reasons they would hurt each other. And, man, could this guy ever tempt. Megan caressed his lips with her own. “Ray.”

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Just speaking his name swelled pleasure through her. He groaned into her mouth. “Again. Say it again.” How could she deny him anything? She couldn’t. “Ray.” The distant growling of gunfire increased. Faster. Louder. Ray inched away from her. “Christ, Megan, we need to talk. But not here. Not now when -”

Chapter 10: An ominous whistling interrupted from beyond the dense pines. Ray’s arms convulsed around her, his broad shoulders enclosing her as a missile arced overhead. Tearing into the control tower. Crumbling bricks and glass showered around them. “Oh, God!” Frantically, Megan scanned for the best place to take cover. Wished Ray’s muscular chest didn’t make such a large target. A second whistling sounded. “Damn it.” Ray’s body ripped with tension against her. “Incoming!”

Ray anchored Megan to his chest to shield her from the danger arcing overhead, demolishing the tower where she had been minutes before. Another mortar round from beyond the wall of evergreens whistled past to explode the truck where he’d planned to take Megan to talk. He couldn’t afford to choose wrong. His eyes scanned for safe cover, searched, found five sandbag bunkers around the runway. He reached for her hand to run and stopped short. The sight of blood, Megan’s blood, staining the shoulder of her battle dress uniform sent a bolt of dread through him, reminding him too clearly of her miscarriage. The fear of losing her then and now merged. He didn’t know how badly she might be hurt, and he didn’t have time to find out.

Chapter 11: Training kicked into overdrive. Ray bent and hefted her up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry as he’d done countless times with others during emergency landing exercises. “Ray!” Her muffled cry drifted from behind him as he sprinted. His grip tightening around her legs, he ignored her squawk. Ray dashed toward the nearest bunker, which waited fifty yards away. He tried like hell not to think of the other time he’d run with Megan cradled in his arms. Blood on her clothes then as well. He’d raced her to the hospital, fast, not fast enough. “Ray!” Megan shouted again. “Set me down so I can run. I’m all right.” All right? How could he be sure? Adrenaline masked pain and he wasn’t taking any chances. Not with Megan. She could chew him out later. “Damn it, Ray! Set. Me. Down!”

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Or she could chew him out now. Fine by him as long as she kept talking. Her voice, alive and full of fire, offered welcome reassurance despite the bullets pocking the asphalt, tearing into the grass. Ray skidded past the sandbags and mounded roof, down the dirt ramp. His boots plowed the angled earth as he made a sharp turn into the 10 x 10 bunker and into relative safety. His exhale filled the murky darkness. He lowered Megan to her feet.

Chapter 12: Her hand shot out and thumped him on the chest. “What the hell was all that John Wayne over-the-shoulder garbage? We could have run faster and made a less obvious target if you hadn’t carried me. Did it ever occur to you that I’m a trained soldier, too?” He caught her wrist before she jarred her injury. “And did it ever occur to you I knew what I was doing?” Ray carefully prodded the tear in her uniform as his eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering down the ramp. “You’re bleeding.” Megan blanched. Her gaze fell to the bloodstained circle on her camo. She nudged his hand away. Her fingers sped down the buttons on her BDUs, revealing a black T-shirt with a jagged rip. Her fingers slid inside the split fabric. She winced, then a sigh of relief parted her full lips. “Just a scratch. Must have come from flying debris.” Hopeful, he inspected every inch of her slender body, mussed blond hair swirling around her face, eyes refracting green sparks. She looked fine. Damned fine. Don’t go there, pal. Adrenaline not only numbed pain, it fired hot kisses like the one they’d shared on the runway. He would push her for more information in a minute. When her delicate jaw wasn’t set for battle. When heat wasn’t pulsing through him. When gunfire didn’t echo a staccato beat outside. Ray hooked his hand on his hips to keep from reaching for Megan. “And you’re okay otherwise? You’re sure?” “Of course I’m sure. Why all the questions?” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, forcing free the words. “It’s only been two months since you lost the baby.” Intense pain flashed across her face, dissolving anger. She gave him a tight nod. “I’m okay physically. Otherwise the doc wouldn’t have signed off for me to deploy overseas.” Megan turned away from him, striding toward a battery-powered emergency light hanging from the underground wall. One of three lamps. She flicked the switch. The red beam bathed her in a crimson nimbus.

Chapter 13: Time faded until they were back in the hospital room. He, afraid of losing her. She, so distant but brittle against the stark white hospital sheets. He, pushing for reassurance about their future when he realized full well Megan needed him to shut up and hold her.

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He knew the mind games her cocaine addict parents had played with her growing up, and yet he’d demanded his way. His pace. No compromise. Marry him, quit putting off their life together. He’d still been shaking in his running shoes with fear that she would die, so when she’d told him to leave, he’d let his temper, his emotions - his pride - win. Now that shaking fear of losing her nailed him all over again. The heirloom ring - his grandmother’s - weighted in his pocket like a brick. He’d planned to give it to Megan today, either way. Even if she didn’t marry him, he could never place that particular ring on another woman’s finger. He shoved aside the past for more pressing concerns. Like making sure they didn’t get their asses shot off in the crossfire rumbling outside the bunker. He turned to check the opening. Another explosion sounded. A mortar round. Dirt puffed through the door. Ray and Megan hit the floor. In the corner. Backs to the sandbag-lined wall. He wanted to cover her with his body. Accepted she wouldn’t allow it. Only minutes before she’d reminded him of her training. He would have to trust in that. A rumble sounded, like an avalanche. A mountain of dirt collapsed across the opening. Silence echoed in the red haze. Ray raised his head, facing Megan. Wordless realization passed between them. They were totally screwed. No escape. Just hope for a rescue. If the battle swelling with renewed explosions didn’t find them first. He braced his elbows on his knees. How strange finally to be alone with her, and he couldn’t unroll the speech he’d planned. Instead, he wanted to make her smile at least one more time. “Well, hell. I haven’t been this pinned down since a gator treed me while I was at an air show in Louisiana.”

Chapter 14: “An alligator?” Megan unfolded her mile-long legs in front of her, her normally cool voice betraying a hint of warmth, interest. Ray yanked his mind right off those long legs. Too bad his libido didn’t understand about life-and-death stakes. “How did you think I got my call sign?” “I assumed it’s because you’re from Florida.” “Nope,” he answered. “I got drunk at the Officer’s Club at Barksdale Air Force Base and somehow ended up out on the golf course at three in the morning. An alligator treed me. I stayed in that oak for two hours before I sobered up enough to remember I had a cell phone in my pocket.” “I don’t imagine you have a cell phone now.” She smiled. “Afraid not, hon.” He clenched his hands to keep from tucking her silky blond hair behind her ear before kissing that smile. “I guess that means you don’t have a radio handy to call back for help?” “I left it in the control tower when I ran down to check on you.” Even as he mourned the loss of a radio, he wanted to punch the air with a victory yell over having rattled his normally composed Megan. “Then it’s just us in here until the airfield clears and someone comes looking for us.” Hopefully, the good guys.

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Chapter 15: Her smile faded. He hated the wary look creeping across her face over being stuck together. He hated even more how he’d handled things back at the hospital. After his parents’ acrimonious divorce, he wanted reassurance the woman he loved would stick it out for the long haul. He’d thought he wanted that woman to be Megan. The ring burned a hole in his pocket half the size of the one in his heart. Ray shoved aside sentimental crap that would only distract him from survival. Time to find out more about her shoulder wound. “We should check that scratch of yours.” A half smile returned, his ever-indomitable Megan holding strong in spite of the world exploding around them. “I guess there’s no use in arguing.” “Not a chance.” He gave her his best bad-boy grin when all he wanted to do was hold her. “Now take off your shirt, hon.” Chapter Four Take off her shirt? Megan tucked her knees closer to her chest as she sat on the dirt floor. She could barely keep from reaching for Ray while dressed. How would she hang on to her resolve once clothes started flying? Not that he seemed open to debate on checking the injury to her shoulder. The determined thrust of his jaw and concerned glint in his eyes in the hazy red lighting made a lie of his playful grin. He was worried. And that simple emotion set her heart drumming louder than the repercussion of enemy bombs exploding outside their bunker.

Chapter 16: Megan grasped the hem of her T-shirt, struggling not to grimace over the sting of her wound. An unsuccessful attempt. Ray swept aside her hands. He tugged the cotton shirt over her head and prodded her minor cut with a touch so impersonal she wanted to slug him. Her pride stinging more than her shoulder, she tried to ignore the fact that she sat in front of him in nothing more than camouflage pants and a white bra. “So, am I going to live?” “Yeah, looks that way.” He ripped her T-shirt into strips and looped a makeshift bandage under her arm, tying it at her shoulder, the black fabric making a harsh contrast to her lacy bra. And why was it only she seemed to be bothered by the lack of clothes? He shouldn’t look anyway. She would probably be pissed at him if he did. They were stuck in the middle of a war zone in the godforsaken Eastern European country of Sentavo, for crying out loud, their bunker sealed closed with an avalanche of dirt. She did not want him ogling her breasts like some sex-starved adolescent. Did she? His gaze fell. Her temperature rose. Making love with Ray had always been incredible. And the hell of it was she’d really thought they were compatible out of bed, too.

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His eyes narrowed and he reached. She steeled herself to resist temptation but couldn’t bring herself to tell him no. Heaven help her, she wanted his hands on her again. With the world exploding outside their earthen haven, she couldn’t help but think she might never have the chance to feel his caress again.

Chapter 17: His knuckles grazed the inside of her breast. She shivered, her eyes sliding closed. Megan waited for a bolder stroke. Yearned. His hand left, and she moaned her disappointment. Her eyes fluttered open. Ray’s hand hovered just between her breasts - his fingers hooked around the chain to her dog tags. Nestled in his palm rested the two metal disks and a tiny silver airplane. A half smile quirked his mouth. “You kept it.” Not only had she kept it, but she wore it. Always. Hadn’t been able to bring herself to take off the memento from their afternoon at a fair. “I couldn’t give it away after you worked so hard to win it at the duck shoot booth.” “Ridiculous little thing cost me a fortune in tokens.” Her mind winged back to a happier day with Ray. Pumped with the victory of winning the airplane charm, he’d taken her for a hot air balloon ride. Told her he loved her for the first time. She wanted that moment with all its promise back but couldn’t delude herself. Ray needed more from her than she could give. He deserved better than a woman too hung up on her past to risk her heart. She hated herself for being a coward. Taking a bullet for him in battle would be easier, less frightening, than this. “The guy rigged the shooting booth, Ray, so he could get more money out of you.” “Hell, I knew that.” His hand fell away, the chain dropping to rest between her breasts again. “But you wanted it and I figured eventually he would feel sorry for me.” Her fingers gravitated to clutch the tiny plane, the silver still holding Ray’s heat. “That’s so sweet.”

Chapter 18: His eyes shifted away from her, fixed on his arms resting on his bent knees. “Sweet? Nah, I’d already decided once I reached fifty bucks, I would opt for the stuffed gator instead.” She wasn’t fooled. He would have played into bankruptcy for that charm. Being Ray with his grandiose gestures and big heart, once he set his mind to something, he never quit. Except when it came to them. But he was here now. Oh, God, was he ever here now, all six foot three inches of him, his muscular build filling their confined space and her senses. How quiet and, worst of all, lonely her life was without him. If they got out of this in one piece, would she spend the rest of her life only half-alive without him? Her chest tightened, each breath constricted at the thought of never being with Ray again. She swayed nearer. He thrust her BDU top toward her. “Get dressed.” “Ray -”

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“Damn it, Megan -” his hoarse bark filled the murky enclosure “- unless you want to end up flat on your back, put your uniform on.” To hell with reason. With mortality rumbling a bombing echo above ground, she could only think of the here and now. She angled forward on her knees and draped her arms around his neck. “Maybe I want you on your back.”

Chapter 19: “Christ, you’re killing me here, woman.” He grabbed her wrists and untwined her arms from him. “What about afterward? Are you going to slide into ice princess mode? Because if you are, then forget it. Call me crazy, but if I can’t have all of you, then I don’t want you at all.” His words sent a shiver of excitement through her. Followed by fear. Then more excitement. And need. So much need. The war raging outside mirrored the one within her. Reason and recklessness battled for control. Recklessness won. “Liar.” “Run that by me again?” “We may have hurt each other, but we never lied. Don’t start now.” She pulled her wrists free and flattened her hands to his chest, his heart thudding a double pace against her palms. “You want me as much as I want you. That was never in question.” A slow swallow moved his throat, but he stayed silent. He was going to make her say it, make her risk and ask. “Ray, I don’t know about tomorrow. With you being here, I want to hope….” Doubts threatened to chill her. “But I just keep thinking what if there isn’t a tomorrow? What if we never have that chance to be together again? To touch. To -”

Chapter 20: He yanked her to him, his mouth meeting hers, hard and deep, tenderness playing no part in the raw longing, the ache that passed from him to her, then back again. She kissed him, tasted him, met each hungry sweep of his tongue with her own. Megan yanked down the zipper of his flight suit, tugged his T-shirt up for freer access to the steely play of muscles. Ray’s broad palms roved restless, bold paths along her back, then returned to the front clasp on her bra. “Is this pink or is the red light messing with my perceptions?” “It’s whatever you want it to be, Ray.” How she wished she could be whatever he wanted. She shoved aside dangerous thoughts that could steal this moment from her. A moment she wanted so very much. She refused to let herself linger on abandoned dreams of the two of them standing at the altar today, Ray sliding his grandmother’s ring on her finger. Megan dipped her fingers lower, palmed the hot length of him. His groan filled her mouth as he cupped her breast, his touch familiar, exciting. Perfect. She arched closer, sparks of desire burning her with an almost painful need to be with him. Now. “Please say you have contraception stored somewhere in one of those flight-suit pockets.” She pulled her lips from his, cupping his face. “Ray, do you? Have something for us?”

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“Protection?” Ray captured Megan’s questing hands before they unwittingly discovered the wedding band in his sleeve pocket. “Uh, hang on a second, hon.” He shoved himself to his feet, struggling for reason - not to mention self-control. Megan rose to stand beside him, brushing her lips across his chin as she unzipped his pocket that contained the ring. “Don’t want to wait.”

Chapter 21: If she found the jeweled band, the arguments would start. They would be over. God help him, he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. But he couldn’t risk another accidental pregnancy. If they had any hope of working through this mess, it couldn’t be at the wrong end of a shotgun wedding again. Ray stifled a groan at the feel of soft breasts pressing against his chest through his survival vest. He needed protection. Now. And then he remembered. Sex may have been the last thing on his mind when he’d packed for this mission, but thank heaven his aircraft survival vest contained unlubricated condoms, included by life support personnel to utilize for water storage while taking up minimal space prior to use. He resurrected his best bad boy smile to cover the raging frustration over unresolved issues and answered, “Of course I have protection, hon. I was coming to see you.” Slanting his mouth over her grateful smile, he molded her slim body to him as he plastered her against the sandbag walls. He wished they had a softer place, a softer time to be together than standing up in a dank bunker in a battle zone. However the here and now was all they could count on, and he didn’t intend to waste a second of it when he could touch Megan’s silky skin. Feel her hand tug his flight suit zipper lower and free him from his boxers. “Ray,” she gasped. “No more waiting. I don’t want slow, and I sure as hell don’t want tender. I just want you. Here. Now.”

Chapter 22: How could he deny her when he wanted the same thing? Sliding the button from her waistband, his hands shook with need. She shimmied her pants down while Ray dug out the condom and sheathed himself. His mouth returned to hers, his body anchoring her to the wall. One sure stroke nearly sent him over the edge. He gritted his teeth and held back. Megan might want fast, but he damned well intended to make sure it was fast and satisfying. More than satisfying. So mind-blowing she wouldn’t be able to forget him if she walked away afterward. He moved within her, forearms braced to the wall, fingers tangled in her hair. Outside, the war raged and pounded while inside Ray found a haven in the dance of their bodies against each other. So easily, they recaptured their perfect rhythm that made time fade to just heat, hands, and sensation. Megan. Only Megan. Her breathing hitched in a sensual precursor he recognized well. He tore his mouth from hers, his touch roving to heighten her completion as he watched her. Soaked in the incredible image of his Megan, her head thrown back, her skin bathed in the red glow of the bunker light. His body and heart knew her with a primal recognition of his mate that hurtled him right over the edge of satisfaction with her. Later - hours, minutes, he had no idea and didn’t care - Ray emerged from the sensual haze, Megan sagging in his arms. Gently, he helped her back into her uniform, his hands still unsteady on every one of her buttons, then lowered them both to sit.

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She trembled in his embrace. He gathered her closer to warm her in the emotional aftermath - then felt the tears leak onto his chest. His arms tightened, residual passion fading into protectiveness. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as his ice princess melted in a flood of hot tears and pain that burned right through him. “Oh God, Ray. I wanted our baby so much.” Her agonized whisper echoed in the musky shelter. “I swore I would be a better parent than mine.” Loss thundered through him with more force than the mortar rounds nailing the airfield and raining loose dirt over them. An ache swelled for their child and for Megan. And yeah, for himself, too. “I’m so damned sorry for not being there when you needed me.”

Chapter 23: Her hand drifted to his face and she trailed soft fingers down his cheek, swiping away tears he hadn’t even known he’d shed. “We weren’t there for each other, Ray. I shouldn’t have lashed out when you had to be hurting as much as I was.” Her forgiving words soothed over him. Of course his logical Megan would be fair. She drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m not justifying what I did, but I want you to understand. I felt as if I’d failed you on so many levels. By not being the open sort of woman you want. Then I couldn’t even give you a child.” Her hand pressed to his mouth before she pulled away, hugging her knees to her chest. “I know. I know. The miscarriage wasn’t my fault. Blame the thoughts on hormones, or whatever you want. I just know I lay in that bed certain I would let you down again. So I sent you away.” Ray studied that straight brace of her shoulders and for the first time he saw past her ice-princess facade to the insecurity underneath. Didn’t she realize all she brought to their relationship? Her cautious reserve balanced his bullish plow-ahead mind-set. And how could she not know how much happiness she’d given him? Because he’d been too bent on dazzling her so she would stay that he’d never slowed down enough to reassure her or listen to her needs. He reached for her. The ring box shifted in his sleeve pocket.… And fell. Right at Megan’s feet, with the worst piss-poor timing imaginable. Ray winced. “Crap.” Great proposal, moron. She scooped up the velvet box. Held it in her trembling hand. Didn’t open it. Yeah. Crap about said it all. He yanked his flight suit zipper up, righting his clothes, if not his messed up head. “Megan, maybe now isn’t -” An explosion drowned out the rest of his words. Followed by another. Closer. Damn, how could he have let Megan blur his focus until he forgot about basic survival?

Chapter 24: Dirt exploded through the entryway in a pelting shower and settled, admitting streaks of light through a three-foot hole in the earthen avalanche. He forced aside thoughts of Megan clutching the ring box and assessed their more life-threatening concern. Go or stay? With two hits, the structure of the bunker had no doubt been compromised. A rumbling overhead swelled, rattling the ceiling until a corner of the shelter collapsed.

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Definitely go. He grabbed Megan’s hand and yanked her up. “We have to get the hell out of here before the whole thing caves on our heads.” Megan answered with a curt nod, cool professionalism stamped on her tearstained cheeks. Worse than disrupting his own concentration, he’d messed with hers as well, but he intended to do whatever it took to haul her through the day alive. Once they both crawled through, he clasped her hand in his again, scanned the runway. Smoke stained the morning sunrise. Gunfire stuttered from the band of trees. He searched for a safe haven, found the securityforces bunker, a larger steel structure waiting a hundred and fifty yards away. A helluva run, but their best bet. He peered over his shoulder at Megan, her face so damned gorgeous, smudged with dirt, blond hair askew, and green eyes lit with a fire he wouldn’t see snuffed. “Ready?” Megan squeezed his hand. “Ready.” Their boots tore up the incline, around, out. Bullets chewed the grass at their feet. He held tight. The majority of the gunfire seemed to be spewing from the right. He adjusted his steps to shield her body with his.

Chapter 25: Hope stirred. They neared the steel-enforced bunker. Only a few more yards. He stumbled. Righted himself. Pain pulled him up short again. White, hot, his nerves blazed along his side where blood spread. Ah hell, he’d been shot. Ray clamped his hand against the wound in counter pressure. Couldn’t risk letting Megan know and have her hesitate. He willed himself forward. His feet wouldn’t move. His view of the lush green landscape narrowed, tighter, darker. A scream, Megan’s horrified scream, ricocheted in his head. “Ray!” His name. Just a few short hours ago he’d wondered if he would ever hear her say it again. Now the sound reverberated through him, in him, Megan so much a part of him he couldn’t stop loving this woman. Ever. Why the hell had it taken facing death twice in a day to make him realize how precious what they had together was? Not perfect, sure, but special and worth fighting for. Agony firing through his gut, Ray held on to the sound of his name on Megan’s lips as the world faded to black. “Ray!” Panic pulsing through her, Megan screamed into the chilly air as Ray fell toward her. Morning sunlight illuminated too well the blood streaking down his side.

Chapter 26: Bracing her boots, she caught him, her arms under his to support his weight and halt his fall. Damn, he was heavy. She tamped down feelings of dread. She had to. For Ray. Her fingers fisted around the velvet ring box that had fallen from his pocket back in the bunker. Acrid wafts of smoke rode the moaning wind through the pine trees. What to do? Fling herself over him on the grass and shout for help? Or get them both the hell out of there? The bunker waited just a few more yards ahead at the end of the runway.

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The earth shuddered beneath her feet with another enemy explosion. Getting the hell away before the Sentavo rebel forces found better aim sounded like a plan to her. Shoving aside the teeth-clattering terror of losing Ray, Megan ducked her shoulder into his midsection. He groaned. Alive. Thank you, God. She would worry about Ray’s wound later. She hated to think she might be injuring him further, but the hail of bullets posed a more serious threat. She jammed the ring box in her pocket. “Damn it, Ray. Hang on a little longer. Don’t you dare leave me now.” She hefted him up into a fireman’s carry as she’d practiced often in rescue exercises, an arm over one shoulder, legs over the other to distribute the load far more easily than dragging dead weight by his arms. Dead. Nausea roiled. She swallowed back the bite of bile and forced training to override the gut-twisting possibility of Ray dying. She could pull her own weight in the battlefield. Had to in order to don the uniform. And those wearing the uniform understood the code: Never leave your wingman. Her grip tightened as she started toward the bunker. Adrenaline fired her steps. Love powered her feet the rest of the way. And, God, yes, she did so love this man.

Chapter 27: The cement bunker drew closer. Huffing in gasps of icy air, she started down the incline toward the entrance. Cutter, Bronco, Tag, and their squadron commander - Lieutenant Colonel Zach Dawson - poured from the door. Bronco charged forward, his football background evident in his bulk. “Let me take him.” The copilot leaned closer. “Lieutenant?” Megan’s arms convulsed around Ray, an irrational part of her fearing if she gave him over she would lose him forever, somehow certain the strength of her love would keep him alive. Ridiculous since her love had failed him before. Megan shifted her precious burden to Bronco. “Careful. He’s been shot in his left side.” Tag stepped forward silently to help Bronco carry Ray, while protecting his injury. The squadron commander nodded toward the looming line of five C-17s. “Load him up. We’re evacuating all aircraft from the field. There’s not enough in the way of medical treatment here anyway. Cutter can tend him in the air.” Her throat closed at the thought of watching Ray fly away. Hands clenched at her side, Megan backed toward the bunker door.

Chapter 28: Cutter’s brow furrowed, a doctor-frown marking the flight surgeon’s face below his red do-rag. “Where do you think you’re going?” He gestured to her shoulder. “Do we have to carry you to the plane as well to get you to accept treatment?” She looked down. Fresh blood seeped onto the front of her BDUs, even through her T-shirt bandage. She’d never even felt her wound reopen. “Go!” the towering squadron commander barked over the din. “You’re officially relieved of your post. We need to get the planes the hell out of here before they’re hit.”

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Relief washed over her. She would even take another bullet for the chance to stay with Ray. Just as he’d taken one for her. “Yes, sir.” Megan darted with the crew toward the closest aircraft, her shoulder stinging until she wondered how she could have missed it before. And then she knew. In a flash of understanding everything became so clear it seemed amazing she hadn’t grasped it before. Love gave her strength. She’d thought the fear of offering her heart to Ray made her weak. But now she realized the boundless love Ray had shown her - the same love she felt for him empowered her. Never leave your wingman. They’d screwed up on that one a couple of months ago. But if they both got out of this alive, she would convince Ray to make it their lifelong credo to each other. * * *

Chapter 29: Fog blanketed Ray’s mind. He pulled himself through the hazy layers, concentrating on the familiar drone of airplane engines. Flying. He was flying. The closest thing to heaven - except for being inside Megan. Megan. Pain from his side seared through him, along with memories. The bunker. Out of control emotions as they’d made love. Then the shooting. His gut blazed. His eyes snapped open. Megan. His Megan hovered at the foot of his stretcher inside the belly of the cargo plane. Flat on his back, he absorbed every gorgeous inch of her silhouetted by the lights lining the ceiling of the metal cavern. Her hair tangled around her pale face as she stood, her bloodstained BDU top replaced with a new black T-shirt. But oh so alive. He let himself breathe, his focus expanding now that his fears had been allayed. Cutter waited at his right. “Well, Gator, looks like your luck held. The bullet went clean through your side. I’ve already stitched you up. Sewed up Lieutenant Reed’s shoulder, as well. You can both collect your purple hearts in a joint ceremony.” Megan edged around the foot of the stretcher toward the flight surgeon. “Thank you.” “No sweat.” Cutter grinned, stepping back. “I’m going to head up front with Bronco now. Call if you need anything.” “Thanks, Cutter.” Ray kept his eyes on Megan, the ache fading to a dull throb worth ignoring. He had more important things to attend to. “I think we’ll be fine now.” The flight surgeon’s light chuckle mingled with the rumble of engines as he left.

Chapter 30: Ray studied Megan and thought of all he wanted to say, how much he wanted her, loved her. But he waited. No more his way or the highway. She lifted her hand, fingers clutched around…the black velvet ring box. He remembered her scooping it off the bunker floor, but hadn’t dared hope she’d kept it with her through their whole escape. Megan creaked open the box’s lid to reveal his grandma’s ring. “Marry me, Ray.”

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Shock leveled him faster than the bullet. “What?” “Please marry me.” She sat on the edge of the stretcher and smiled down at him. “As soon as we land and find an available chaplain. I love you so much, Ray. No more waiting. I’m ready to start our forever.” He wanted to shout with victory, haul her to him and kiss her until they both didn’t need any medication to numb the pain. But her more careful approach to life had merits. Making sure they had their forever right this time was too important to screw up. “Are you sure? There’s a lot of adrenaline flowing right now.” He wrapped his hand around hers, closing their fingers over the box. “Christ, I love you, too, hon, so damned much. But I don’t want you to regret this later.” “I know my heart, and it belongs to you.” Steadfast resolution shone in her eyes. “I’ve learned from you about acting before life slips away. Well, Ray?” Her voice faltered. “Have I blown it by waiting too long?” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “My answer’s inside the ring.”

Chapter 31: Megan opened the lid and withdrew the jewel-studded gold band. She tipped it to read. “Oh, Ray,” she whispered. “Our wedding date is next to your grandparents’.” “It’s still our wedding day, Megan.” He’d taken off just after midnight on what should have been their wedding day and midnight hadn’t rolled around again. “Grandma Anna and Grandpa Ray had fifty-nine years together. I want us to have at least that many.” “Starting now.” Megan passed him the ring and extended her left hand, her sure smile healed wounds old and new. He slid the band on her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” Linking her fingers with his, she leaned forward to whisper against his mouth. “With this ring, I thee wed.” Tenderly, she kissed him. He kissed her back. Gentle warmth flowed between them. Passion would come later once they’d both recovered. For now, he took comfort in the familiarity of her soft curves against him, the plane humming as they winged their way through the sky. Ray cupped the back of her head to brush her mouth with his once more and let the contentment roll through him. No doubt about it, flying solo was highly overrated.

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Hot off the Presses by Rebecca York Voted Most Likely to Get You to Tell Her Your Darkest Secrets, M.J. Carter has put her notorious nosiness to good use as an investigative reporter for a major Chicago paper. We hear that M.J. has been so busy uncovering scandals and busting crime syndicates, she's barely had time for a personal life — but rumors of a past engagement have circulated! We also hear that there's an opening for a new reporter at a paper right here in Denver. Now that M.J.'s beloved aunt is ailing, let's hope that the paper's editor can convince M.J. to stay in Denver once and for all!

Chapter One "Who does that jerk Daniel Brady think he is?" M. J. Carter muttered under her breath, then raised her head to glance quickly around the newsroom of the Denver Star. Nobody was paying attention to her, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. Swiping a hand through her short brown hair, she made an effort to get a grip on her frustration. A message had just come to her in-house computer mailbox, turning down her latest proposal—to do a story on evidence planting by the Denver P.D. The email was from her immediate boss, news editor Hank Mooney, but she was pretty sure Daniel Brady was the one who had nixed the piece. Brady was the new editor of the Star—which meant his word was law around here. She sighed. Four months ago she'd been so pleased about coming back home. Aunt Martha had told her about an opening at the Star. And after her success of getting half a dozen Chicago mobsters arrested, she'd been a hot property. Of course, it hadn't hurt that her aunt was friends with the Star's news editor. She'd submitted her résumé, interviewed for the job, and won out over several candidates. And she'd produced some blockbuster stories—until Daniel Brady had come on board. When she'd started working for the Star, he had still been in Afghanistan filing reports from various hot spots. Then his father, the paper's owner and editor-in-chief, had died of a heart attack. And the heir apparent had been called back to take over the reins. She'd heard he thought women should stay out of the war correspondent business. She hadn't realized he had the same prejudices about investigative reporting. She'd been working on a juicy story about a murder-for-hire gang. Brady had forced her to share the assignment with another reporter, Arnold Findlay. And somehow Findlay had made it look as if he'd done most of the digging when the series of stories was published. M.J. had gnashed her teeth and vowed to get her fair share of the recognition next time. And as far as her friends and Aunt Martha were concerned, she was doing great at work. With the crowd down at Sunny Jones's elegant beauty salon, it was a matter of pride. With Aunt Martha, it was a matter of expediency. Her aunt's health was fragile, and she wasn't going to burden her with any work-related complaints. The phone on her desk rang, and she picked up the receiver. "M.J. Carter." "Thank God I reached you," a low, urgent voice responded. She knew at once who it was. Anita Mangani, the daughter of Gianni Mangani, head of the Chicago crime family who had been gunned down over a plate of veal parmigiana in an Italian restaurant. His daughter had vowed to get even with the rival family, the Detellos, who had killed him, and she'd secretly contacted M.J. For months, she'd fed M.J. leads—and the information had led to a number of arrests and convictions. "Anita? What's wrong?" "I'm taking a big chance calling you. But I have to. Your boss is in danger."

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"Hank Mooney? The news editor." "No. I'm talking about Mr. Brady. They're going to kill him." M.J. felt her skin go cold. "When? Why?" "His father had some...business dealings with the wrong people." "Who?" "I can't tell you. But I know they want the son to stay away from stories on certain subjects. But he won't give them that guarantee." "He wouldn't," M.J. muttered. She might be frustrated by Daniel Brady's sex discrimination policies, but she was sure of his integrity. "It's going to happen at his luncheon meeting—at the Windsor Park Hotel." "But that's today," she answered, feeling her heart begin to pound. She'd read about it on the schedule this morning. "Stop him. And don't trust anybody." "You can't mean the police?" "Yes, I do." The line went dead, and M.J. was left with the words "Don't trust anybody" ringing in her ears. God, now what? With icy fingers, she dialed the executive suite on the tenth floor. "Is Mr. Brady there?" she asked his secretary. "I'm sorry. He just left for a luncheon meeting. Can I take a message?" "I'll get back to him." Slamming down the receiver, M.J. retrieved her leather backpack from her bottom right desk drawer and hurried out of the newsroom. As she crossed the lobby, she spotted Arnold Findlay watching her. "Late for an interview?" he asked, sounding as if he was anxious to go along. "Something like that," she answered, as she bolted for the employees' parking lot. Once in her car, she had time to reflect on what she was doing. Every scrap of information she'd gotten from Anita in the past had been reliable. Which was why she was going to catch Daniel before he got to that luncheon meeting. Daniel. She hated the way he was running roughshod over her career. Yet at the same time, from the moment the two of them had laid eyes on each other, she'd sensed a simmering man-woman attraction between them. She'd tried to talk herself out of it. She'd tried to pretend it was all in her imagination. He wasn't even her type. He was too blond. Too blue-eyed. Too handsome. Too rich. Think Robert Redford in All the President's Men, and you had him pegged. It was a movie she'd watched dozens of times because she'd admired the

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young reporters who'd brought down Richard Nixon. They'd provided much of her inspiration for going into investigative journalism. Daniel Brady might look like Robert Redford, but she'd cautioned herself often enough not to get them mixed up. He'd been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. She was from the wrong side of the tracks. She'd worked for everything she'd ever gotten. Success had been handed to him. Well—to be fair, he'd worked hard, too. You didn't cover the dangerous beats around the world from an easy chair. She'd admired the way he'd gotten into the rough-and-tumble of reporting, but that didn't mean they saw eye to eye on anything now. Still, the attraction between them was there, interfering with their working relationship. And to her annoyance, none of her silent lectures about the stupidity of office romances stopped her from having wild, erotic dreams about the man. She'd wake up in bed, her skin prickly, her overheated body slick with a fine sheen of moisture. As she'd throw off the covers, she'd know that she'd been imagining herself making love with him. It would be impossible to get back to sleep. Not after those steamy dreams. So she'd come to work rumpled and bleary-eyed. Sometimes Daniel would look the same way, and she'd wonder if he were awake at night for the same reason. Her heart was pounding hard as she reached the Windsor Park Hotel and pulled down the ramp to the garage—praying that he'd pulled into the VIP area near the elevators. When she didn't immediately spot him, her hands clenched on the wheel and her gaze darted around the specially marked section of the garage. Then she breathed out a grateful sigh as she spotted him getting out of his car. A group of women stepped into the elevator. Then she and Daniel were alone in the parking area—except for a man in a trench coat and rain hat, hiding behind one of the concrete pillars. He was standing stiffly, his arm held down beside his leg. As M.J. focused on him, she saw a gun in his hand. Terror leaped inside her chest. Terror so great it threatened to swallow her whole.

Chapter Two M.J. had only seconds to react. The man with the gun was leaning around the pillar, raising his hand pointing the weapon at Daniel. Oh, Lord, no. Pressing the button that opened her window, she shouted, "Daniel, he's got a gun. Get down." The warning was less than useless. At the high, frightened sound of her voice, Daniel looked up, his eyes fixing on her instead of the assailant—who had also heard her. He whirled, facing her, the weapon pointed at her now. The only thing she could think to do was duck low and tramp on the accelerator. The car leaped forward as the sound of a gunshot reverberated like a cannon blast in the enclosed garage. Two more shots rang out, and she felt a pain in her arm—like a bee sting, she thought vaguely. When she heard the sound of running feet, she peered above the windshield. The hit man was tearing across the garage floor, heading for the exit—with Daniel right behind him. Before the man made his escape, his forward progress was stopped by a tackle worthy of a defensive end. Her boss had brought the gunman down, but keeping him down was another matter. As she watched, they rolled across the cement floor of the garage, each trying to get the better of the other.

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Daniel looked to be the more agile. But the bulging muscles and sheer size of the other guy gave him a tremendous advantage. More than that, he still clenched the gun in his right hand, trying to bring it up into firing position. "No!" Shouting in protest, M.J. leaped from the car and pounded toward the writhing men, then lashed out with her foot, kicking the hand with the gun. The assailant screamed in pain, and the weapon skittered across the floor and under a nearby SUV. As she knelt to retrieve it, a shout from behind stopped her cold. Looking back, she saw the man had wrenched himself free and was running for the exit again. This time he made it, and the door slammed behind him. She might have gone after him if she hadn't heard a groan from behind her. Whirling, she saw Daniel pushing himself up, looking both angry and abashed. "He's getting away." "Maybe we can catch him on the street." She turned and hurried back to her car, which was still sitting there with the engine running. Footsteps echoed behind her, and when she would have climbed behind the wheel, Daniel blocked her way. "I'll drive." "It's my car!" "You want to waste time arguing about it?" She shook her head, making for the passenger seat, thinking that at least he wasn't going to order her to stay out of the action. Before she could fasten her seat belt, he shoved the gear lever into reverse and backed up. She wondered what Daniel was going to do when he reached the pay station at the entrance to the garage. To her astonishment, he barreled up the down ramp, his horn blaring to warn anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way. Luckily nobody was heading into the garage. They reached the street in record time. But the gunman had vanished into the noontime crowd. Daniel circled the block as they both tried to locate their quarry. "The bastard's made a clean getaway," he growled. "Did you recognize him?" "No. But I could pick him out of a lineup." She nodded, and as her adrenaline rush subsided, she felt a twinge in her left arm. Focusing on her sleeve, she was astonished to see her gray jacket was soaked with blood. "Oh my," she murmured, fighting a suddenly light-headed sensation. Daniel's gaze followed the direction of hers, and he cursed. "You've been hit," he said, braking and pulling into a loading zone at the curb. Her vision clouded into a kind of dark mist. Then, to her utter chagrin, she found herself blacking out.

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When she came to, Daniel was leaning over her, his large warm hands on her flesh. He was opening the buttons of her blouse, and for a moment she forgot where they were, forgot why he was touching her so intimately. This was like her dreams, only better, more real. She loved the warmth and strength of his fingers where they slid over her skin. He brushed her collarbone, then the swell of her breasts at the top of her bra. She touched the back of his hand, letting her fingers trail over his knuckles, feeling his reaction. "That's nice," she murmured. "Don't stop." All at once, his hands went very still, and she realized why he was touching her. She felt her face heat as she sat up straighter in her seat, leaning back against the headrest. He cleared his throat. "You've been shot." "It's just a flesh wound." He tipped his head to one side, fixing his blue gaze on her. "How do you know? You can't even see it." "I know because I kept moving my arm—and I barely felt it until…" "Until you fainted," he supplied. "I need to get you to a hospital." "No!" "What do you mean no? You're hurt." She took a breath, struggled for coherence. "They might look for me—look for you there. And the…the person who called me said not to trust anyone." "What person?" M.J. swallowed. "I can't tell you who it was. But they called to warn me that someone was going to try and kill you—when you went to the luncheon meeting at the Windsor Park Hotel. That's how I knew where to find you." "Who was the informant?" he demanded again. "What was his motive?" She shook her head. "I can't put their life in danger." "Who am I going to tell?" She raised her gaze to his. "The person who called said that your father had been playing ball with…with one of the crime syndicates in town. The person said they'd contacted you." She saw the blood drain from his face. "Is that correct?" she asked. "That's not your business!" "I think it is. We're going to talk about it, but first, you need to take off your tie." He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I beg your pardon?"

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She cast her eyes over the spreading red blotch on her sleeve. "I think your tie will cut off the bleeding, until I can get a look at my arm. Now we've just got to think of somewhere safe." He thought for a moment. "How about if I take you to my love nest?" She caught her breath. "Your…love nest?" Daniel's features hardened. "Actually, it's my father's pied-à-terre. I seem to have inherited it. A nice private little town house in LoDo where he apparently entertained his friends." The tight feeling in her chest eased. Then she gave herself a mental kick. What did it matter to her whether or not Daniel Brady had a mistress. "Is it safe?" "Dad kept it secret." He heaved a sigh. "The only reason I know about it is that the woman he used to meet there called me up after he died and said she wanted to retrieve some of her personal belongings. She gave me the code for the security alarm." M.J. gazed up at him through lowered lashes. His face was etched in stone, and she knew that while she'd been angry with him all these months, he'd been dealing with personal issues she could only guess at.

Chapter Three "The sooner we get to my dad's private hideout, the sooner I can look at your gunshot wound," Daniel muttered. "Okay," M.J. answered, when what she wanted to do was reach for Daniel and gather him close. She wanted to say she understood what it was like to think you knew somebody and find out otherwise. But her arm was throbbing, and she realized this wasn't the right time for anything personal. Apparently taking her silence for acquiescence, he started the engine again, driving just under the speed limit through the downtown area to a quiet street of restored town houses. There was an alley around back and a parking pad behind the locked back gate. M.J. was annoyed to find that she swayed on her feet as she got out of the car. Daniel came swiftly around to her side, steadying her as he unlocked the gate and led the way up a flight of stairs to the back door. They stepped into a gourmet kitchen, then a comfortable sitting area with two plush couches arranged on either side of a Georgian fireplace. The security alarm was beeping, and Daniel stopped to key in the access code. As she watched him move comfortably around the luxury setting, she decided that her fantasies about him were just that—fantasies. This place was a hundred times more grand then the modest bungalow where she had grown up. And it wasn't even his real home. He had a mansion on the west side of town, a second home in Aspen, and one in Florida. Daniel's voice cut into her thoughts. "You're not looking so great. Can you make it up the stairs?" "Of course!" she snapped, then marched up the wide flight of steps, keeping herself going on pure willpower. By the time she reached the top she was forced to grab the banister to keep herself from tumbling backward down the stairs. Daniel moved quickly to her side and steered her down the hall—into a masculine-looking bedroom furnished in grays and burgundies. "Lie down," he said, gesturing toward the king-size bed. "Aren't you afraid I'm going to get blood on the bedspread?"

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"I don't care about the damn bedspread," he snapped. "But I guess it's better not to leave any incriminating evidence. We wouldn't want anybody to think I'd brought a woman here and murdered her." M.J. shot him a startled look. Was that supposed to be a joke? While she was still trying to figure it out, he left her standing in the middle of the rug and hurried out of the room. Moments later, he was back with several thick towels, which he laid on the bed. "Lie down," he said again. She swallowed. Although she knew perfectly well why they were here, and she was in no shape for anything but first aid, the bed and the room carried a whole raft of connotations for her to deal with. But she simply didn't have the energy to keep standing there—or the brain power to make a better suggestion. So she dropped her knapsack on the floor and stretched out on the towels. For heartbeats, Daniel stood looking down at her, then he eased onto the bed beside her, the mattress shifting under his weight. When he reached toward her, she closed her eyes. The lack of visual stimulation and his silence sharpened her sense of touch. She felt every small pressure of his fingers as he removed the tie she'd used to stanch the bleeding. The sensations were even more intense as his hands went to the front of her blouse again and began undoing buttons. She felt his warm fingers brush her flesh, felt cool air as he folded the fabric back. "Sit up," he said, his voice thick, and at least she knew she wasn't the only one affected by the intimacy. Gently he eased her ruined blouse off her shoulders, taking her jacket with it. He was slow and careful. Still, she winced as the fabric slid down her injured arm. "Sorry." "That's okay. What do you think?" He didn't answer, and she raised her lids just a little and peered at him. He was leaning over her, looking down, and she saw that instead of inspecting the wound, his gaze was fixed on her breasts. They were covered only by the sheer cups of her lace-edged bra, and she knew that her nipples were clearly visible. Worse, she felt them bead and tighten—right before his eyes. She might be injured, she might be in pain, but she couldn't stop her body from responding to Daniel Brady. "My arm?" she managed. He made a strangled sound, and she wondered what would happen if she lifted her hand, curved it around the back of his head and brought his mouth down to hers. The image was so vivid that she almost acted on it. Before she could make a fool of herself, he turned his attention to first aid. "You're right, it's a flesh wound," he muttered. Dispassionately, she switched her attention to her mangled flesh. The bullet had grazed her arm, leaving broken skin and discolored flesh. She'd been very lucky. "Let's hope there's something to disinfect it." Daniel left the room, and she lay back against the pillows with her eyes closed. They snapped open again when he returned with supplies. "This may hurt," he said, as he pressed a wet cloth against the injury and began to clean it. She clamped her teeth against the pain, clamped them tighter when he progressed to antiseptic. When he'd covered the area with a sterile bandage, she breathed out a little sigh. ***

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Daniel pressed his fingers over hers just for a moment before releasing his grip. "I didn't like hurting you," he said, hearing the grittiness in his own voice. "You should have gone to the emergency room." "So a doctor could hurt me?" the maddening woman lying on the bed asked. "I'm just a battlefield medic. A doctor would have done a more professional job." "You've treated the wounded in the field?" "Yeah." He stood abruptly and gathered up the first aid supplies, hoping the clipped syllable told her he didn't want to talk about his war correspondent experiences. Crossing to the television set, he switched on the monitor channels that provided views from the surveillance cameras. He watched M.J. looking at the shifting pictures on the screen before she brought her gaze back to him. "Quite a security system. But we can't hide out here forever, so we'd better figure out who's trying to kill us," she said. "Right, and we're going to start with you telling me your source of information, Mary Jane." "Don't call me that!" He knew she hated her name, and he'd used it deliberately. Still he felt the outrage in her voice like the stab of a sharp blade. She had brought her tone under control by the time she spoke her next words. "No. We're going to start with your telling me what kind of dirty business your father was into." He stared down at the woman lying on the wide bed. M.J. Carter might look innocent and fragile. In fact, he knew she was as tough as any of the soldiers he'd interviewed in Afghanistan. She'd come charging into the garage at the Windsor Park Hotel, saved his life—and gotten shot for her trouble. Now he owed her an explanation. But the words clogged his throat.

Chapter Four Unable to meet M.J.'s questioning gaze, Daniel paced to the window and pulled aside the blinds, looking down at the street. Since stepping into the mess his father had left at the Denver Star, he'd kept his own counsel. He didn't want to talk about his heartache and disillusionment. But he guessed he'd better get this over with. When he turned back to M.J., her eyes were closed again, and it flashed into his mind that maybe he could take the chicken's way out. If she were sleeping, it would be cruel to disturb her, he told himself. Once again, he couldn't pull his gaze away from her. She was injured—because of him—and he cursed himself for his wayward thoughts. But, still, she was a powerful temptation, lying on a bed, wearing nothing above the waist but her lacy bra. From the moment he'd walked into his first staff meeting and seen her, he'd felt a zing of sexual awareness. She'd pulled him like a magnet, yet he'd ruthlessly kept the attraction under wraps. He'd told himself he had enough problems and that anyone he got involved with would only be dragged into the swamp with him. That had been enough reason to hold her at a distance. There were other reasons as well. But he carefully kept from examining them as he crossed to the walk-in closet and grabbed one of the expensive shortsleeved shirts that his father had left behind.

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When he came back to the bed, he found her watching him. "You can wear this," he said, hearing the thick quality of his own voice. She accepted the shirt, but when he saw she had trouble getting her arm through the sleeve, he took over the job. Even though he tried to minimize the contact, he was vividly aware of so many small details. The swell of her breasts under his hands as he buttoned the shirt. Her warm skin. The way she kept her breath shallow and her face averted as he touched her. Still, when he took a step back, she raised her eyes to his, and he saw she had made her expression fierce. "Stop stalling! Tell me what your father was up to," she demanded. His breath caught. "You're pretty direct." "Yes." To give himself a little more time, he sat down in the easy chair beside the dresser. When he realized his hands were clenched in front of him, he made a deliberate effort to relax. "I've spent some time piecing it together." He cleared his throat. "There are three newspapers in Denver. Dad wanted to stay number one, and he found out that someone else was going to a faster press system that would give them the edge. He wanted to stay competitive, and he'd already borrowed a lot of money from the bank for a new computer system. When one of his golf buddies offered to put him in touch with a businessman looking for investments, he said he was interested." He had thought that would be hard to say; it hadn't been as difficult as he'd thought. "Did he ever figure out the guy was connected to the mob?" Daniel winced inwardly at the speed with which she'd drawn the correct conclusion. "I think so. I know he tried to borrow the money to pay back the loan, but he was already too far extended. I think he was offered a deal then—in exchange for a favor. Not anything big. All his contact wanted was for Dad to let them know if the cops were planning any major initiatives against organized crime. The demands got heavier after that." Daniel looked down at his hands, seeing they were knit so tightly together that the knuckles were white. Deliberately, he eased up the pressure. "I think Dad found himself in a situation he couldn't stand. He'd dug himself into a hole, and he didn't know how to climb back out. I think that's why he had a heart attack. Or maybe it wasn't a heart attack. Maybe —" Before he could finish, M.J. had scrambled off the bed and crossed the room. She lowered herself to the floor beside his chair and laid one hand gently on his knee. "Oh, Daniel, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. All I saw was your coming in and taking control of the paper—making decisions that…surprised me." "Yeah, right," he managed. He'd been holding himself together for months, and now in one swift stroke, she had broken through the defenses he'd so carefully erected. "It must have been so awful for you." He struggled to speak around the lump that blocked his windpipe. "I didn't tell you any of that so you'd feel sorry for me, M.J.." "I pushed you to tell me. It's my reporter's instincts. I push…"

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"That's what makes you good at your job!" She tipped her head, her eyes going wide. "I thought you felt like I wasn't pulling my weight. " "Maybe that's what I wanted you to think." He realized he'd revealed too much—again. About his feelings and his motivation. "You shouldn't be out of bed," he said gruffly. Bending, he picked her up in his arms, carrying her back toward the bed, but her hands clutched his shoulder. "Maybe I need you to hold me," she murmured, laying her head against his shoulder. His arms tightened around her, and he lowered himself to the edge of the bed, cradling her in his lap. She was so lithe and light, so perfect in his embrace. He brushed his lips against the top of her hair, a small caress. Her head tipped up, and he found himself staring down at her lips. Needs and desires surged through him. He wanted her. Wanted more from her than he had any right to ask. *** As M.J. stared up at Daniel, seeing his parted lips, her own lips opened in response. There was a breathless moment when the world seemed to contract around them. Then slowly, oh so slowly—giving her ample time to refuse, his head bent toward her. His mouth brushed against hers, then settled gently, softly. The kiss felt good—right. And she found herself experimenting with the sensations, rubbing her mouth back and forth against his, nibbling, then increasing the pressure. He gathered her closer, and she knew he had forgotten why they had come here. She wanted him to forget—wanted more of what he was offering. When she tightened her good arm around him, the kiss turned hot and hungry. Again she answered him, unable to damp down the desire she'd been fighting since the first moment she'd set eyes on him. He angled his head, his mouth sexy and skillful, and the last shreds of coherent thought fled from her brain. All he had to do was lean back, and they'd be lying on the bed instead of sitting. But when he moved his hand to her arm, his fingers pressed against the recent injury. He'd made her forget about it. Now she couldn't hold back a small strangled sound of pain. Abruptly, he lifted his head, and she saw his eyes go from smoldering passion to self-accusation. Very deliberately, he moved his hand to her waist. "God, M.J., I'm sorry. You got yourself shot a few hours ago— saving my life. And now here I am taking advantage of you." "You made me forget about that," she murmured, looking up at him from below her half-lowered lashes. He shifted his position, setting her against the pillows, then climbed off the bed. "I should be figuring out how to protect you instead of coming on to you." His words might have been meant to reassure her, but they had the opposite effect. He'd lulled her into thinking they were working together—that they were establishing a relationship. Now he'd neatly shattered the illusion. She hid her bitter disappointment with a sharp retort. "I don't need protection!"

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Chapter Five Daniel couldn't believe M. J.'s reaction. He'd said he was going to protect her, and she'd answered with an angry retort. He kept his voice steady as he asked, "What are you planning to do? Go back home tonight? And then when the hired killers come charging through the back door, both you and your aunt will get hurt." The sentence was so loaded that she hardly knew how to respond, but she heard herself saying, "You know I live with Aunt Martha?" "Of course. I've read your personnel file." "You read the personnel file of everyone who works at the Star?" "Only if I've taken an interest in them." What kind of interest exactly. Like—what did it mean when you kissed me? She'd felt the heat of that kiss all the way to her bones. Had it been the same for him? She wanted to ask that question—among others. But she carefully steered away from the personal and asked, "You think Aunt Martha could be in danger?" "I'm sorry. If they figure out who you are, they could come looking for you." "I've got to get her out of the house." "You can't. In the first place it's too dangerous to go back there. In the second place, you're in no shape for a rescue mission." His voice had taken on such a steely tone that she felt a shiver travel over her skin. As she studied the taut lines of his face, she understood that he meant what he said, and he wasn't going to accept what he considered the wrong answer. She swallowed. "Do you have a better suggestion?" "Is there someone you trust? Someone who could take her in for a few days?" The answer came to her instantly. "Sunny. Or one of my other friends from high school. We were close. We took care of each other back then, and we still do." "Okay. Good." It was obvious from the intense expression on Daniel's face that he was working out the details in his mind. "I know you don't want your aunt to worry. So call her and explain you're on an undercover assignment and can't get away. Tell her…" He stopped and ran his hand through his blond hair. "Tell her that you had a threatening phone call down at the paper and don't want her at home right now." She nodded, thinking he'd come up with a very clever approach—in a minimum amount of time. "You're good." Better than I gave you credit for, she added silently. "Thanks." Picking up the phone on the bedside table, she called home.

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"Aunt Martha," she began when the familiar voice answered. "I need to talk to you about some stuff." "Is everything all right, dear?" "It sounds kind of bad, but I don't want you to worry, okay?" After making sure that her aunt wasn't going to freak out, she relayed Daniel's plans. Next, she called Sunny. "I'm in kind of a bind," she began. "So what do you need?" her friend asked instantly. M.J. launched into another explanation, providing a few more details than she'd given Aunt Martha. Fifteen minutes after making the call, she was breathing easier. "That was perfect," Daniel said when she hung up. She wasn't sure why his praise made her feel vulnerable. To counteract the sensation, she almost said, So, as my reward, are you going to tell me exactly why you limited my assignments? But just as she'd stopped herself from asking about the kiss, she bottled up the question about their working relationship, too, knowing it was a bad idea to make the situation any more tense between them. "So now that that's taken care of, what are we going to do?" she asked. "Call the cops." Her response was instantaneous. "No!" "What do you mean no?" She raised her chin, spoke her words slowly. "My contact said not to trust anyone." His eyes narrowed. "We're back to your contact. Perhaps you'd better tell me who it is." She sucked in a sharp breath, then deliberately let it out while she tried to decide what to do. "If you read my file, you know about my investigative work for the Chicago Sun." "Yes." "The person who called me to say you were in danger is the same person I worked with in Chicago. The person who fingered the top guy in the Detello family for me. But I don't feel comfortable giving you her name. Not when it could get her killed." "So it's a woman." The way he said it made her bristle. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Forget it!" "No. I'd like you to explain that remark."

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"I should have kept my mouth shut." "But you didn't." Before he could come back with another evasive answer, movement on the television screen caught her eye, and she stared in shock at the image in the upper right-hand corner. A car had pulled up in the space beside hers. As she watched, two men got out and headed swiftly for the back door. M.J. watched with narrowed eyes. "One of them is the thug who was shooting at us in the garage," she breathed. "Yeah. I think we'd better get out of here." Daniel turned to her, then cursed under his breath as he looked at her arm. "You're in no shape for climbing." "I'm fine!" He studied her for long seconds, then grabbed her hand and led her toward the bathroom. On the way, she picked up her leather backpack from the floor and slung it over her good shoulder, then watched in surprise as he flipped a switch under the vanity sink. One of the decorative ceiling panels slid open. Inside was a folding ladder. "I guess your father figured he might have to make a quick getaway." "Yeah. He must have had this installed after the mob started making threats. You go first." Dutifully, she climbed upward, gritting her teeth to keep from wincing. She emerged into a dark closed-in space, where she waited for Daniel to join her. As soon as he retrieved the ladder and closed the panel, they were thrown into pitch darkness. Disoriented, she reached to grab his arm. Swiftly, he turned and held her tightly, then gave her a quick squeeze before easing away. In the next moment, he switched on a flashlight, and a powerful beam illuminated the attic. Leading her across the low space, he stopped at another door that opened onto the flat roof of the breakfast room. As she and Daniel stood out of sight with their backs pressed to the wall, she could hear the thugs down at the back door. Her eyes stayed focused on the windows of the house across the alley. There was no point in telling him she hated heights. No point in giving him any reason to doubt her abilities. Because she was pretty sure his remark after the phone call meant more than he'd intended. A million years seemed to go by as she waited for something to happen. Finally, below her, she heard the door open, then the beeping sound warning that the alarm was engaged. But it didn't ring. "Either they have the combination, or they have some way to disable the system," Daniel growled. "We'd better be gone by the time they figure out we're not inside." After hurrying her across the roof, he put one foot over the edge, and she saw that the cleats holding the downspout in place could function as a ladder. A spasm of fear grabbed her. She couldn't climb down that thing!

Chapter Six

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M.J. wanted to scream that she was afraid of heights, that she'd faint on the way down the makeshift ladder. But she kept the protest locked in her throat as she watched Daniel expertly descend. The ladder ended about three yards from the ground. He hung by his hands, letting himself drop the last few yards. Turning, he held up his arms. "I'll catch you at the bottom." Knowing there was no alternative, she gritted her teeth and followed him down, ignoring the throbbing pain in her arm. When she reached the last rung, she hesitated. "Come on!" he growled. "We've got to get out of here." With a silent prayer, she forced herself to let go. Daniel caught her, and she fell against him. As he turned her and tightened his arms around her, she pressed her face into his shoulder. "You don't like heights," he said as he stroked his lips against the top of her head. "But you didn't let that stop you." "How did you know?" "Like you—I've learned to read people." "Yeah, well, I do what I have to." "And more." He raised his head, then looked toward the back door. "We'd better make tracks before they figure out we're not inside." They'd just reached the car when a shout sounded from the kitchen doorway. "Out here! They're getting away." A bullet whizzed past M.J.'s head as she scrambled into the car. Before she'd closed the door, Daniel hit the gas, backing up at what felt like a hundred miles an hour. More shots sounded as they screeched into a tight turn and sped down the alley. Behind her she heard the squeal of tires and knew the bad guys were right on their tail. Daniel made a sharp turn, then another, and another, weaving through the neighborhood at speeds so fast she kept expecting him to plow into cars parked along the street. But he would have made an excellent stunt car driver. There was a loud crash behind them. Jerking around in her seat, she saw that whoever was driving the other car wasn't quite so skilled as Daniel. "I think they're out of commission," she said. "They just plowed into a truck at the last cross street." "I hope the truck driver's okay." "He's driving a big sucker. Big enough to flatten them." Daniel snorted, then sobered almost immediately as he slowed the car and asked, "Are you all right?" "Yes. What about you?"

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"In one piece," he answered, his voice low and gravelly. She breathed out a sigh of relief. In the distance, she could hear the sound of police sirens. Once they were out of the neighborhood, he pulled to the curb under the shade of a low-hanging tree. "What?" Without speaking, he reached across the console and crushed her against him. Then his mouth came down on hers. The kiss might have started out as a celebration of their escape from death, but it quickly turned passionate as he angled his head first one way and then the other, tasting, feasting, demanding. She was helpless to do anything but give him what he wanted, her passion rising to match his. His hands slipped under her borrowed shirt, stroked against her back and shoulders, then came around to cup her breasts. She forgot she was in a bullet-riddled car, forgot everything but the taste and touch of Daniel Brady as he kissed her and caressed her. When his fingers found her hardened nipples, she gave a glad little cry. And when he lifted her into his lap, she straddled his body, pressing her throbbing center to the hard shaft of the erection she could feel through the fabric of his slacks. She made small, pleading sounds as she rocked against him, wanting more—needing more. They had almost been killed. Now they were gloriously alive and in each other's arms. The sound of a horn blaring made her head snap up. Headlights blinded her, and for a terrible moment, her befuddled brain thought that the thugs had found them. Then an angry voice shouted, "Find somewhere else for your nasty activities." She laughed, partly in relief and partly in mortification. Daniel kept his gaze straight ahead as he set her back in her own seat, started the engine, and lurched out of the parking space. "Sorry," he muttered. "About kissing me. Or getting caught?" "It was a little more than kissing." Always mindful of the truth, she answered, "It was what we both wanted." His tight nod had her leaning back against the seat. When she slid him a sidewise look, she saw his features were grim. A few blocks later, he pulled into a gas station, parked in front of the office, and climbed out. She wondered what he was doing as he stood talking to a man in gray coveralls. "Come on," he said when he strode back, a satisfied look on his face. "I've rented us another car. I'll replace this one for you later." His casual assurance was a reminder that she and Daniel Brady lived in different worlds. But there was little time to dwell on their relative social status. As they climbed into their new vehicle, she saw his jaw tighten. "What's wrong?" she asked

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He gave the ignition key a vicious twist, then backed quickly out of the parking space. "I'm wondering how those guys found us." "A phone tap?" she answered, because she'd been pondering the same subject. "If that's the case—I shouldn't have suggested you make any calls." She laid her hand over his. "You weren't thinking about phone taps, and neither was I." "I should have been!" he said as he took an on-ramp to I70. "Don't beat yourself up." She saw his expression hadn't changed and decided to take a wild guess. "Um…is taking the blame a pattern for you?" she asked. "No!" Figuring she had nothing to lose, she said, "I think you're lying." His head snapped toward her. "Is this how you get people to talk when you interview them?" Shrugging, she answered, "As you pointed out earlier, sometimes the direct approach is the best." He sighed. "Not necessarily with your editor." "You think I overstepped the bounds?" "Yeah, but I'm going to answer anyway, since I think you need to understand what kind of guy you've gotten mixed up with. I'm not taking any blame I don't deserve. I screwed up in Afghanistan." Her throat had gone dry, but she managed to ask, "What happened?" She saw his hands tighten on the wheel. "One of the reporters I was traveling with, Cindi White, got a hot tip that there were some villagers willing to talk about an al Qaeda hideout in the mountains. Cindi always did have lousy judgment. I should have vetoed the trip into the countryside. But I wanted the scoop as much as she did, so we teamed up with a CNN guy, and the three of us hired a driver to take us to the village." "And all of you came back alive!" "By dumb luck. The road was mined. If we hadn't been stopped by bandits and turned back, we would have gotten blown up." She stared at him, processing the information. "So that's why you don't trust women reporters when it comes to the hard stories. But I'm not Cindi White. My judgment is very good." "The way I heard it, you put yourself in danger in Chicago." "Who told you that?" "Now who's being asked to reveal sources?"

Chapter Seven

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M. J. held her breath. Somebody had told Daniel she'd taken dangerous chances on the job in Chicago. Would he tell her who it was? After a long pause, he answered, "Okay, it was my news editor, Hank Mooney." She was torn between relief that Daniel had trusted her with the name—and outrage that Hank would have sabotaged her like that. "But he's Aunt Martha's friend. Why did he hire me if he thought I couldn't cut it?" she sputtered. Daniel shrugged. "He knew your aunt wanted you back in Denver?" She grimaced. If she'd known that was how she'd gotten the job, she would have turned it down. The conversation halted abruptly as the car slowed. She looked up and saw they had left the highway behind and turned into the parking lot of a motel. Daniel pulled up under the canopy. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice suddenly tighter than it had been—even during the previous tense conversation. "Getting us off the streets while we figure out our next move. Wait here, so the clerk doesn't see both of us." She gave him a small nod, then slouched down in her seat while he went inside. He returned five minutes later, dangling a room key in his hand. "It's around the back. Where we have some privacy," he said. Probably he was talking about a place where they could settle down for a long discussion. But after the passionate scene in the car a little while ago, she couldn't help imagining other activities as he pulled up in front of room 72. When he fumbled with the key in the lock, she wondered if his nerves might be jangling the way hers were. They stepped into the room, and he turned to lock the door and set the chain. She told herself to calm down. They'd just spent hours together in a bedroom. They'd gotten to know each other pretty well in a very short time. But that was precisely the problem. Between their arrival at his father's house and their escape, the stakes had gone up. Or maybe she'd changed her priorities, she silently admitted, then told herself to be very careful. Because no matter her feelings now, she still thought there was no way there could be anything permanent between them. Once again, she'd gotten mixed up with a man who was all wrong for her. It had happened while she was in school at Berkeley. She'd been in love with Julian Tindall, and she'd dreamed of a partnership of a marriage, with all the things she'd always longed for. A house in the country. Babies. But Julian hadn't wanted any of that. He'd wanted a kind of working partnership where she'd make life comfortable for him and entertain his political cronies at their town house in the city. So she'd bailed out, and she was prepared to do it again, because she'd learned that you couldn't depend on a guy for your happiness. You had to make your own life. In fact, if they got out of this alive, the smart thing would be to quit her job and find something else—even if it meant giving up journalism. "I'm thinking that the mob has someone working for them at the Star," Daniel said, breaking into her thoughts. "How about Arnold Findlay," she said promptly. "No way."

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"You paired us up, so he's been following my every move. In fact, he was waiting for me when I left the building. And he's one of your dad's old friends, isn't he?" Daniel nodded tightly. "Probably another mistake on my part." "That's not what I meant at all." Swiftly she closed the distance between them, reached for him. "You stepped into a big job, and you've done better than anyone could expect." "Yeah, and I almost got both of us killed." "Because of your integrity. Your honesty. Your determination to do the right thing." As she spoke, she silently acknowledged for the first time how strong her feelings were for this man. Before she could stop herself, she brought her lips to his—for a long, deep kiss. *** When she finally drew back, Daniel's gaze burned down into M.J.'s. "Integrity. Right. That's why I can't bring you to a motel room for the purpose of making love with you! Because if we keep kissing like that, it's where we're headed, Mary Jane," he said, deliberately using the name he knew she hated. She gave him a look that told him she understood exactly what he was doing. Instead of getting sidetracked, she answered, "I think it's my choice." Cupping her hands around his head, she brought his mouth back to hers, and the passion that was always simmering just below the surface flared again. She tasted of summer sweetness, of his heart's desire. Of forbidden pleasure. When he broke the kiss, they were both struggling for breath. "We can't," he said, making one last protest. "What about your arm?" "I think you've got the right medicine for what ails me." As she spoke, she covered his hand, pressing her fingers against his. All it took was that touch for a shock wave to go through him. She must have felt it, too, because her hands went to his shoulders and hung on as though she needed to anchor herself to something solid. He watched her eyes drift closed as he strung tiny kisses over her face and chin and neck. Watched her back arch as he slowly began to undo the buttons of her shirt—still giving her time to draw back. "Touch me," she murmured. "I need you to touch me." The request ended in a choked exclamation as he cupped her breasts through the lacy bra he'd admired earlier, then found her nipples where they beaded the delicate fabric. He reached to unhook her bra, caressing her with his face, then his lips and teeth and tongue, drinking in her exclamation of pleasure. She swayed on her feet. "I can barely stand up," she breathed, her fingers digging more tightly into his shoulders. "Yeah." He brought her down to the surface of the bed, holding her, rocking her against him. "Am I hurting you?" he asked when she made a strangled sound deep in her throat.

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"No. You're making me feel a whole lot better." He turned her onto her back so he could strip off the rest her clothing, kissing each bit of skin he exposed. "Lord, you are so beautiful," he exclaimed, his fingers trailing down her body, touching her breasts, her hips, and the dark thatch of hair at the base of her legs, before finding the slick, hot core of her. She gasped out her pleasure, then reached for his belt buckle as she whispered, "I want you naked, too." He started tearing at his shirt, and it took the two of them only moments to remove his unwanted clothing. Then he was pulling her into his arms, mesmerized by the feel of her naked body against his. She wasn't a passive lover. Her hands were busy, stroking the length of his back and over his buttocks, then moving to the front of him for caresses that drove him near madness. "Don't," he choked out. "Daniel…I need you now," she gasped, "Please, now." "Yes!" He rose over her, claiming her in one sure thrust. His eyes locked with hers as he began to move with slow, gliding strokes that quickly became more urgent as she matched his rhythm. He watched her face, gauged her readiness, sensing that her pleasure was building toward climax—then felt her contract around him as she cried out in joy. Seconds later, he was there with her, his own shout of pleasure mingling with hers. He shifted his weight off her, but she kept her fingers knit with his as he lay back against the sheets. Mindful of her arm, he gathered her carefully to him, and she snuggled trustingly against him. "Daniel, thank you for that." "Thank me after I figure out who's trying to kill us," he couldn't stop himself from saying. M.J. shifted in the bed, staring at him, obviously cut by the sharp tone of his voice. "You just made love to me—and it was as wonderful as I dreamed it would be. Are you trying to take that away?"

Chapter Eight Daniel folded M.J. close. There was so much he wanted to say to her. But he didn't have the right—not yet, not when he'd dragged her into danger with him. Still, the wounded look in her eyes told him he'd hurt her. "You know that making love was spectacular. But those guys are still out there looking for us—and we have to do something about it." "Yes," she whispered. "I know." He let himself hold her a little longer, then helped her on with her shirt. Crossing to the minibar, he unlocked the door and gestured toward the contents. "Junk food always helps me think. What about you?" "Right, comfort food." As they settled down at the table with bottles of soda and sour cream and chive potato chips, she said, "I was thinking about what to do. I have a contact in the police department. Jackson Hunter."

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He tipped his head to one side. "You said we couldn't trust them." "Jackson's different. He's going to marry one of my oldest friends." "You'd trust this guy with your life?" "Yes," M.J. answered, waiting tensely to see if Daniel trusted her judgment. He gestured toward the phone. "Make the call." She reached for the receiver, her hand trembling as she dialed. "Kelly," she said when her friend answered. "I'm in kind of a jam. And I'm hoping Detective Hunter can help me out of it." "I'll put him right on," Kelly answered. When he came on the line, she quickly filled him in on what had been happening since—lunch time, she realized. Although it seemed more like a lifetime ago. *** On the way to the safe house where they agreed to meet Jackson, she and Daniel began working out a sting operation—including making sure that key people at the Star knew they were hoping to make a deal with the mob. The plans firmed up quickly. An hour before dawn the next morning, they were at the municipal park in Aurora, sitting in the front seat of their rented car, waiting for the show to begin. M.J. knew she should be exhausted, but her adrenaline was pumping. And when another vehicle pulled up a few yards from them, she felt every nerve in her body go taut. Although they'd worked this out carefully, based on certain assumptions, things could still go wrong. When her aunt's friend, Hank Mooney, stepped onto the blacktop, she struggled to hold back a small gasp. Daniel had argued that the spy at the Star would show up, acting as if he wanted to help. And now here was Hank—hurrying toward their car. He cast a worried glance over his shoulder. "Thank God I'm in time," he called out. "You've got to get out of here. Findlay knows where you are, and he's coming to get you." "Findlay!" Daniel growled. The word was hardly out of his mouth when another vehicle lurched into the parking lot—and the man in question climbed out. When he saw Hank, he pulled a gun and fired at the news editor. As Hank went down, all hell broke loose. "Police! Freeze!" a voice rang out, as the cops hiding in the bushes surrounded Findlay. When he saw he was outnumbered, he dropped his gun and raised his hands in the air. At the edge of her vision, M.J. saw Jackson cuff the reporter. She'd hated working with him, but she hadn't wanted to believe he was a spy planted at the Star by the mob. Rushing past him, she knelt beside Hank and took his hand.

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"I'm glad I was in time," Hank wheezed. "I suspected he was up to something. So I followed him down the hall to the men's room, and I heard him talking on his cell phone…" "Oh, Hank. You shouldn't have put yourself at risk. I'm so sorry you got hurt." As she spoke, an ambulance roared up. Paramedics brushed her aside. In minutes she knew that Hank's wound was not life-threatening. "Findlay's already talking," Jackson told them. "He's willing to give us information in exchange for protection. I expect it's only going to be a matter of hours before we find out who ordered your murder." "Good." Daniel nodded in satisfaction. They spent the next few hours at police headquarters—first with the anti-crime squad, then with reporters from the Star, who were given an exclusive story that would make headlines the next morning. Finally Daniel bundled M.J. into a cab, where she promptly fell asleep. She was vaguely aware that he carried her into a house, then into a comfortable bedroom. But she was too out of it to ask where they were. Hours later, she woke up to find herself in a strange bed—lying beside Daniel, who was wearing only a pair of jeans and sitting propped against the pillows. She was still dressed in the borrowed shirt from yesterday, although she realized that Daniel had removed her slacks and shoes. "Where are we?" she asked. "My bed." "What are we doing here?" "I'm holding you captive until you agree to marry me."

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Caught by Surprise by Samantha Hunter As a private investigator, Natalie’s gone incognito more than once, but never quite like this! The Miss Muffet costume she rented to crash a Halloween party doesn’t keep much under cover, and it’s caught the eye of a fellow partygoer, a hot guy apparently undressed as walking, talking sex in little more than body paint! But Natalie has also attracted the attention of someone else at the party—the man she’s investigating! Fearful that her cover is about to be blown, Natalie grabs her nearly naked admirer and drags him into the coat closet for an instant alibi. Luckily for her, playboy bartender Ryan is more than willing to help her keep up the ruse…

Chapter One Ryan Scott was dressed as walking, talking sex for Halloween. Wearing only a black Speedo and edible body paint, he made his way over to where his brother, Mason, dressed as a vampire, watched his approach. “This is your costume?” Mason teased. “I bet you don’t want to hear another joke about bloodsucking lawyers,” Ryan threatened back in good humor. “Point taken.” “Where’s your date?” “She went back to her ex.” “Tough break, man,” Ryan commiserated, though he’d never cared much for Cynthia anyway. Mason shrugged. “It was never anything serious.” Ryan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Mason was serious about everything. “You here with anyone?” he asked Ryan. “Nope, but hoping I won’t go home alone.” “You never do.” “I can’t imagine settling down with one woman.” “Someday. Someday, Ryan, maybe you’ll find the one that makes you forget the rest.” Ryan grunted his doubts, leering at a sexy demon as she passed them on her way to the bar, sheathed in red spandex, her tail flicking wickedly behind her. “I hope that day is far, far away,” he said, making eye contact with a sexy Miss Muffet again, before she turned away. “See you later, brother,” Ryan said, walking toward her. ***

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When Natalie Gardener ordered the Miss Muffet outfit, she had something much, much more innocent in mind, but at least this had gotten her into the party. She’d had to strap her gun so high on her thigh it was almost indecent. She’d been tracking Jace Harrington for days, hired by Fiona Kay to get evidence of harassment. Fiona couldn’t prove her former lover was causing her trouble, so she’d hired Natalie to do it. Jace was a powerful guy, one of the partners in the law firm that was throwing this party. No one knew better than Natalie how a heartless, powerful man could ruin your life. She’d been on him every minute to see what he was up to. “Hey, gorgeous,” someone said, and she looked into sexy brown eyes that were suddenly trained on her with great interest. Speedo guy. She’d seen him eyeing her across the room. He was…well, he was hot, but she wasn’t interested. “I was wondering—” Speedo guy started, but she lost what else he was saying as she saw Jace staring right at her. “Come here,” she said urgently to Speedo guy, pulling him in for a kiss, hoping that would discourage Jace’s interest. She’d just look like another partier. When her lips touched the ones of the man talking to her, it didn’t take long for his surprise to switch over to full-on seduction. Hard, toned arms came around her as his mouth nibbled hers before plunging in for a deeper kiss that made her knees knock. Whoa. Hold on a minute! Pulling away to catch her breath, she saw her ploy had failed. Jace was coming right at her through the crowd. “In here,” she said, pulling Speedo guy with her. They quickly ducked into the deep coat closet, and she plastered herself up against the wall in the corner. Speedo guy helped, reaching behind to push the coats closed behind him, taking her mouth in another hot kiss when she opened it to explain. Good gravy, where had this man learned to kiss? Heat scorched over her skin as he slid his hands down behind her and gripped her backside, pressing his hardness against the barely-there panties under her floofy skirt. It was more difficult than she would have thought when she pulled away, though the wall didn’t give her much leeway. “Wait, stop,” she said, her own breathing heavy. “What’s…wait. What the hell?” he asked as she realized his hands had traveled low enough to find the butt of her gun. “Is that a—” “Shh! Don’t touch that,” she said through her teeth as she saw Jace through a crack in the coats. He stood for a moment, looked around, consternated, before walking away. “I didn’t pull you in here for a quickie,” she said, trying to ignore how he was pressed up against her. How long had it been since she’d had a man in this position? A good while.

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“You could have fooled me,” he said. “Listen, I’m in trouble. Someone’s looking for me and I need to get out of here. I need your help. And please, take your hand away from my…gun.” Shocked silence was his only reply.

Chapter Two Ryan was shocked at first, but his Miss Muffet was obviously a danger junkie who liked a little role play. “Oh, darlin’, I can help you, for sure. Just tell me what you need,” he said under his breath, trailing kisses up the side of her long, graceful neck. He felt her nipples pebble under the thin fabric of her revealing top, pressing into his bare skin. She started to say something and he dove in for another kiss, sliding his hands down to find the edges of her panties, hooking his thumbs under them. The singer out in the main room was belting out a sexy song, and it just added to the moment, not to mention the dozens of people on the other side of the coats who could find them at any second. He started to edge her panties down over silky hips, when her own hands pushed his away, and she turned her head when he came in for another kiss. “This gun is real—and I know how to use it,” she said breathlessly, but the threat was clear. “Who are you?” He was confused by whatever game she was playing. “And you’d better have a good explanation for carrying a weapon into my brother’s party, or maybe we should all find out together,” he said, turning to leave the closet. “No, please. Listen, I crashed the party. I’m a private investigator. I’m here following someone, but they spotted me. I’m in kind of a bad spot, and I need to get out without him noticing.” She looked a little desperate, but sincere. “I can show you my license if we get out of here—it’s in my car.” Ryan took a deep breath, unsure whether or not to trust her, but his gut told him she wasn’t lying. If she was in trouble, he couldn’t walk away. “What does he look like?” “He’s the only devil.” “Let me look,” he said, peering out into the room and seeing no sign of anyone in a devil costume. “C’mon. We can leave through the kitchen and you can go around the back.” “Okay.” “Stay close,” he said, taking her hand. He helped her wind through the crowd, everyone distracted by the cabaret singer. Finally they walked into the brightly lit kitchen where the caterers were just cleaning up for the night. He smiled conspiratorially. “The back door’s this way.” ***

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Natalie was relieved, quickly following Speedo guy down a narrow hall to a back door. He flicked on a light and she saw the evidence—multicolored body paint was now all over her, and looking down, she saw it was all over her clothes as well. “Tell me this washes out of clothes,” she said. “It should. It’s actually edible,” he said, lifting her fingers to his lips where he sucked off the paint from one tip. Her toes curled. “Cherry,” he said, meeting her eyes and holding the sexy, daring look. Natalie swallowed hard, words deserting her. “Mmm-hmm,” he said, licking another finger. “Stop that.” She tried to sound threatening, but it came out breathless instead. “Why? Don’t you like it?” No way was she answering that. “I have to go. Thanks for your help,” she said, pulling her hand back. “Wait,” he said and she felt his hand, warm on her arm in the cool, dark backyard. “So that gun is real?” “Why?” “Well, it’s just…that’s pretty sexy,” he said with a chuckle. “You think my gun is sexy?” “Strapped on with that garter, you bet.” She was quiet. Most guys had the opposite reaction. “Maybe you should hang out here, with me, until you’re in the clear,” he said, his underlying suggestion clear. Natalie paused as she started to blurt a definitive no. She was with a gorgeous guy who turned her on, and it had been a long, long while for her. If she left, she’d go home, alone, wash the costume, review her notes. Alone. “Out here?” she said doubtfully. He moved in close, ran his hands up and down her arms, and leaned in to offer a gentle kiss, a seductive, slow meeting of their mouths that didn’t end until they were pressed up against each other again. “There’s a gazebo,” he said against her ear. “It’s closed down for the season. There’s furniture,” he said with a smile. He was letting her decide, allowing her to walk away. Suddenly she wanted this more than she could say. Maybe it was time for a different kind of excitement in her life. Besides, she was the one with the gun, and she did know how to use it.

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“Show me,” she said, taking his hand again as he led her back to the small structure where they made their way inside. “Come here,” Speedo guy said to her as he closed the door. Heart slamming in her chest, she joined him.

Chapter Three Natalie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been nervous. Nervous people didn’t become private investigators, or if they did, they didn’t last long in the job. “You okay?” he asked. “I’m fine, why?” “You haven’t said a word,” he replied as she sat down next to him on a wicker bench. He didn’t touch her, he just waited. She took a deep breath and slid her palm over his bare thigh, enjoying his indrawn breath. “I didn’t think we came here to talk.” “You are direct, aren’t you?” “Does that bother you?” she said, slightly stung. She’d been critiqued on that one often enough from men who liked shy and submissive better. She started to draw her hand away, but he grabbed it and stopped her. “No way. You’re a complete turn-on in every way, Miss Muffet,” he said as his lips captured hers in a hungry kiss. She let him guide her up and over so that she was on his lap with her legs over the other side of the bench, their torsos pressed close. Wiggling so that she could maneuver the hardness of his erection just so, they both groaned in anticipation. “Hey, wait,” she said, breathing hard. “What?” “What about protection? We’re not doing this if you’re not prepared.” “You’re right,” he said, and her hopes took a nosedive until he added, “I’ll be right back—just have to run to my car. Do. Not. Move.” He was out the door of the gazebo before she could answer, and she sat on the bench, feeling awkward. She should leave. This was crazy. He came back in before she’d finished the thought and threw his wallet on the bench beside her. “Now, where were we?” Natalie gave herself over to the moment, reaching behind to undo her top, sliding it off of her arms. “Your turn.”

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She watched eagerly as he reached to push the Speedo down powerful legs, and threw it on the bench beside her. *** Ryan pulled her to her feet, turning her around and pressing his erection up against her soft bottom while his hands worked around to cover small, firm breasts. Kissing her neck, finding the sensitive spots that made her cry out softly as he massaged the soft globes of flesh beneath his fingers, tweaking her nipples to hard perfection. Sliding her skirt down, he followed the movement with a trail of kisses down the length of her graceful back. His probing touch found her hot and slick, and he lightly bit her derriere as he rubbed the hard nub of flesh that made her shudder from head to toe. He felt her tense. “Let go, Miss Muffet,” he said provocatively, sliding one finger deep inside. Seconds later he was gratified to feel the wash of heat released from her body as a climax worked through her. He loved the sounds she made, the way she had to lean over and brace herself with her hands on the bench to ride it out. She started to stand, and he stilled her with one hand. “Hold that pose? If it’s okay with you?” She slid a look back at him. “No problem here,” she said sexily, giving him such a jolt that he dropped the condom package. “What’s your name?” “Natalie Gardener.” “Pretty.” “Thanks. Yours?” “Ryan Scott,” he said, touching her again, wanting to make sure she was ready for him. “Scott? As in, Mason Scott, the guy hosting the party?” “Yeah. He’s my brother,” Ryan said, slightly frustrated—he wasn’t interested in talking about his brother at the moment. Natalie turned away, and he was utterly confused. “This was a bad idea, I’m sorry,” she said flatly, and he watched in stunned amazement as she started pulling on her skirt and top. “Sorry, but I can’t go through with this. If I’d known who you were, I never would have come back here. Ryan wasn’t so much angry, as confused. What did it matter who he was? “Bye,” she said, and she was dressed and out the door before he found the Speedo, slamming his knee on a post in the process. “What’s going on?” he yelled after her. No answer.

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He ran to his own vehicle, parked in his brother’s wide driveway. He took off after her, though he had no idea what he intended to do when he caught up.

Chapter Four Natalie knew she was driving too fast, but she couldn’t get away from the gazebo quickly enough. It was bad enough that she’d almost had sex with a guy she’d never met before. That was definitely not her usual M.O., but even worse, he was not the kind of guy she ever wanted to be involved with in any way. She’d watched her mother run through a string of guys just like him after her divorce, and it had wreaked havoc with Natalie’s life and her mother’s. Of course, that hadn’t been enough to keep Natalie from dating the same kinds of guys in college. She imagined she would be able to handle them far better than her mom, who eventually became depressed and brittle when she realized her hopes for romance had hung on a string of empty affairs and promises. Natalie supposed she was trying to prove something—that she wasn’t her mother, maybe? She still wasn’t sure. She also wasn’t as sophisticated as she thought—which she proved in spades when she fell in love and ended up pregnant by the son of a local politician. He was perfect—on the outside, anyway. Handsome, charming and witty, and absolutely uninterested when she told him about their problem. Except it wasn’t their problem, it was her problem, according to him. He’d told her to “handle it,” and walked away. Changed his phone number. That was that. A week later the clinic told her that the pregnancy test had reported a false positive—she wasn’t really pregnant at all—but the damage was done. Her trust was gone. The upside was that it made her a great private investigator. In her line of work, it was useful to suspect everyone, and she got more than an eyeful of the sleazy things people did. Particularly men cheating on their wives and girlfriends. Taking a deep breath, she gained control of her emotions and started to merge onto the more populated road along the coast. She hit the brake to slow down, but her foot just pushed to the floor. The car continued to speed up, which made no sense—the area was completely flat, and she had let off the gas. Prodding with her toe, she couldn’t find the gas, either. She was going too fast and traffic was slow up ahead. If she didn’t act fast, she’d plow into the back of the cars lined up at the light. Swerving at a sharp angle to the left, she headed back toward the water. Peeking into her rearview, she saw headlights behind her. Jace? He’d probably messed with her car while she’d been fooling around with Ryan Scott. She was heading for the beach—her only option to stop the car was to run into the sand, and maybe the ocean. Reaching down, she rolled down her window, in case she had to get out under water. Luckily, she didn’t have to face that. Her little car slid across the road, over the walkway and into the sand, jolting to a stop. Natalie jolted with it, teeth clenched, closing her eyes, thankful that no one had been on the sidewalk or on the beach where she ended up about ten feet from the water. When her door was yanked open, she reached for her gun, but stopped when she saw it wasn’t Jace, but Ryan Scott.

Chapter Five

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Ryan wasn’t sure if he’d survive trying to keep up with Natalie as she barreled down the road. Was she this anxious to get away from him? What had spooked her? She was going to get killed, or kill someone else, he thought as she headed for a line of cars parked at a light, and then took a mad curve to the left back toward the water. Something was wrong. He dialed 911 on his cell and reported a motorist in trouble, hitting the gas and trying to catch up with her. He held his breath as he watched the small car catapult off of the curb as she steered toward the beach, slightly airborne for a second before landing in the sand, her tires finally digging into the deep sand and stopping short of the water’s edge. Breathing again, Ryan’s heart slammed in his chest as he pulled her door open, and saw her reach for her gun. “Natalie, it’s just me, Ryan,” he said quickly, and saw her pause. Who had she thought he was? “Are you okay? What the hell happened? You were driving like a maniac, like you were out of control. You could have killed someone.” “Thanks for the update.” “What’s going on, Natalie?” “My car was tampered with, okay? The brakes gave out, and the accelerator stuck to the floor and I couldn’t slow down.” “Son of a bitch,” he said, extending a hand and helping her out of the car. “I didn’t think things like that happened in real life.” “I guess they wouldn’t, to you,” she said, sinking down to the sand. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You are who you are. Nothing bad has probably ever happened to you, has it? A charmed life, and so forth,” she said, and Ryan couldn’t figure what was bringing out this scathing response. She looked up and nailed him with a narrow-eyed gaze. “Why were you following me? Come to think of it, why did you approach me at the party? Drag me into that gazebo?” Shock made him pause. “I hate to be less than gentlemanly, but I didn’t drag you anywhere. You wanted to be there just as much as I did,” he reminded her. “Strange that you managed to keep me from going to my car for a while, and then you follow me,” she said lightly. “You think I had some part in this?” “Did you?”

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“No! I was trying to help after you took off like your ass was on fire and almost got yourself killed, not to mention anyone who was in your way. I called the cops, lady, not you. Would I do that if I was trying to kill you?” He turned away, his temper getting the better of him. She’d had a shock, but she certainly seemed calm enough as she leveled her accusations at him. Sirens screamed close and they didn’t have another chance to speak as officers and EMTs flooded the street. Ryan told the officers what he knew, and slid a sidelong look at Natalie, who spoke with someone else. The chick was obviously more than a little on the crazy side, and he should get in his car and leave. Instead, he walked back over to where she stood. He’d pulled on jeans and a T-shirt that he had in his backseat, and felt the foolish urge to cover her up as the men working the scene snuck admiring glances. Natalie was hot. She was also passionate, strong and a little wild. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to walk away. Ryan’s life was changing. He might have talked the same old game with Mason at the party—no commitment, yadda yadda—but he was going to put his dormant MBA skills to work. He’d put in an offer on the bar—he’d be the owner, not just the bartender. He had some big plans, too. He’d enjoyed his carefree, surfer lifestyle up to this point, but now he wanted more. He needed a challenge. Natalie posed more challenge than anyone he’d known in a long time. He was bored with the women he dated. They were nice enough, but all of a type, predictable. Much like his life had become. He put on a good face of it, but somewhere along the way, the one-night stands with pretty women who had no expectations had become monotonous. Natalie was anything but, and he wanted to know more about her. Would she let him close enough to find out?

Chapter Six Natalie was tired and Ryan hadn’t left yet. Why was he hanging around? Porches across the way lit up as people came out to see what was going on, as she talked with the police and let the EMTs check her over. No way was she going to the hospital. The EMT she was speaking with backed off, and went back to his truck as Ryan returned to where she stood. “They’re taking the car back to the police impound, to see what they can find. The brakes were definitely cut and the fluid drained. The accelerator was rigged from the inside. I doubt there are prints, but it’s worth checking,” she said, watching the tow truck taking her car away. “You need a lift?” he offered, and she shook her head. “I can catch a ride,” she said, and stopped, watching the patrolman pull away, following the truck. “Or I can call someone.” He caught her shoulder, turned her so that she was looking at him. Gone was the flirty playboy; a serious and concerned man somehow taking his place. “Let me take you home, okay? No games, I just want to make sure you’re okay. This was…scary,” he said gravely. “I’m fine, Ryan, really.”

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He blew out a breath. “I’m not so sure I am. When I saw your car barreling up on the other ones at the light, I have never felt so helpless in my life. You could have been killed,” he said. She was touched by his concern, which appeared genuine, though it was unnecessary. These things happened. “When did you change?” “While you were talking to the police—I had clothes in my car.” “Why are you here, Ryan? I believe you weren’t involved, but why follow me?” “I didn’t understand why you took off when you found out who I was.” “Girls usually fall at your feet, huh?” she commented with an edge. So his concern had really been about his own ego. “Give it up, Ryan. This is a bad idea.” “Why would you say that?” “Just because. Listen, thanks for your help tonight, but I’m tired, and I’m stuck here in this stupid costume, and I just want to go home,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Why wouldn’t this guy just back off? “Let me take you home, Natalie.” The way he said it sounded like he was asking, or offering, so much more. She should walk away. She should walk all the way home as punishment for even considering it. Get away from this guy and his seductive smile and sincere eyes as quickly as possible. Still, she knew that even if she walked to another state, she couldn’t get away from the genuine concern he showed, or deny that she wanted more. She knew that the minute she went to bed, the moments in the gazebo when he’d had his hands all over her were going to come back with screaming clarity. It was foolish. Reckless. Stupid. But she wanted him. He was right. She could have died, or killed someone, and normally, that was just part of the job. But tonight, she had a scare. Though she wasn’t going to admit it out loud, she wanted to remind herself that there was more to her life than danger and suspicion. She hoped she could open herself up and trust someone, just for one night. With guys like Ryan, that’s all it ever was, or could be, but maybe that was okay. She nodded, playing along. “Okay, thanks. I could use a ride.” Natalie had experience, savvy and when all else failed, she trusted her gut. Her head was brimming with doubts and recriminations but her instincts told her that against all reason, Ryan Scott was different, too.

Chapter Seven Ryan waited as Natalie stood in the doorway of a modest apartment talking to her client, who was petite, tanned—probably all over—and had obviously had some work done up top. She was the kind of woman he’d dated plenty of times in the past. For some strange reason, it really did feel like his past all of a sudden. The apartment was part of a beach complex, but not one of the nicer ones. It was late, and he’d seen a few questionable characters hanging around near the street, though Natalie was probably tough enough to handle anything that came her way. Still, he’d seen her hands tremble when she’d gotten out of her car earlier. The woman wasn’t made of stone. Some brass, maybe, and a whole lot of silk, he thought with a smile, his eyes on her hair.

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Finally, she closed the door and made her way back to him. “Thanks for waiting. Fiona had her phone off. I wanted to make sure she knew what happened.” “What is she going to do?” Natalie had explained in the car about the harassment Jace had committed— slashed tires, nasty phone messages, even messing with her credit cards. It sounded pretty bad. “Lay low until we can get some proof, or give up and move.” “I’ve only met him a few times at Mason’s home but he just never seemed the type to me,” Ryan said, not starting the car just yet. “I always thought he was a nice enough guy.” “Yeah, like the guy next door that everyone loves who ends up being the one with all the bodies under his porch.” Ryan frowned. “You see a lot of tough things in your line of work. How long can you do that without letting it poison your view of the world and everyone in it?” “I just see what I see. Powerful, connected men—men who are used to getting what they want. They play by different rules. Or think they do. Women like Fiona, we’re fooled at first. They fall for the act, the charm.” Ryan whistled softly. She hadn’t caught it, the slip she’d made. “You have some personal experience, some bad experience, with this yourself, don’t you? That’s why you freaked out when you found out who my brother is.” She pulled back. He wondered if she realized how much she gave away. “Why would you assume that?” “You said ‘we’re fooled,’ not ‘they’re fooled.’” Her head dropped back against the headrest, revealing a long, graceful line of her neck, and Ryan’s heart flipped slightly. “Listen, I’m just tired. It was just a slip of the tongue. Can you just take me home?” “I was thinking about that.” “Good—let’s go.” “Well, what I was thinking was, if someone went after your car, wouldn’t it be safer for you to be somewhere else tonight?” “I can take care of myself, Ryan. No way am I going to be scared out of my house into some hotel—” “No, not a hotel. My place. You could come back with me,” he said, catching her gaze and holding it. “Are you kidding me?” She looked at him and smiled for the first time in hours, laughing lightly. “You’re still trying to get in my pants?” He frowned. “Don’t try to put me off by being crude, Natalie. I really do want you to be safe,” he said, reaching over and touching her chin. “I also want to have a little more time with you, to get to know you. What’s so bad about that?” “Listen, I know I left you, uh, hanging back there, but this isn’t going to happen.” “That’s not what this is about. You come back to my place, we have a drink, relax. I have a guest room. Unless you say otherwise, because I won’t pretend I’m not interested.”

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He could see the uncertainty play across her features—he’d surprised her, and the tough mask fell away again, just for a moment. “I must be exhausted, crazy, or losing it. Or all three,” she muttered. He smiled more widely. “Is that a yes?” “It’s a yes for staying over at your place—you said it was closer anyway. Not for anything else,” she warned. “Fair enough,” he said. It was a start.

Chapter Eight Natalie was somewhat surprised when she stepped inside Ryan’s condo. She’d expected some kind of typical bachelor, beach-bum pad with surfboards leaning up against the door and empty beer bottles on the table or something. Hardly. “Wow…this is gorgeous,” she said on a breath, unable to hide her admiration of the masculine lines of the furniture with rich brown leather cushions and sturdy tables by each chair and the sofa. The brightly colored, painted walls and funky geometric rugs made the place modern and classic all at once. “Thanks. Can I get you a drink?” There were no seductive overtones; he was just being polite. “I’d love to shower and get out of this getup. Do you have anything I could wear?” “I can find something. The bathroom is at the top on the left—” he pointed up the stairs “—and towels and anything you need will be in the closet there.” Natalie nodded. “Thanks.” Before she went upstairs she couldn’t help but walk to the sliding doors that took over one side of the small dining room. White crests of waves were still visible in the dark where they slapped up on the beach. How did he afford a place like this on a bartender’s salary? Oh, right, he was a Scott. Family money, probably. But that didn’t make him a bad person, did it? After her shower, she felt like a new woman and walked out to find Ryan and some clothes. She almost collided with him as he appeared with some sweatpants and a T-shirt in hand. “Will this do? They’re mine, but they shrunk and might fit.” “Thanks. I feel so much better. I think I must have cranked my neck when the car stopped in the sand. Do you have any aspirin?” “Even better. I have these,” he said, holding up his hands. She shook her head, confused. “I don’t think I have aspirin—I don’t take it—but I could go to the store. Or I could work the kinks out of your neck for you,” he said.

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Her heartbeat spiked a little, but she really didn’t want to make him run out to the store, and her neck did hurt. “Probably not a good idea.” “Just to get the kinks out, Scout’s honor,” he said sincerely. How could she refuse without looking like a freak? The guy was being so nice. “Okay, thanks. Uh…where?” “The guest room is down here.” “Oh,” she said, admiring the vintage look of the pretty bedroom with its four-poster, cast-iron bed. “My mom did this one. She had a blast,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s a little on the feminine side, but she enjoyed doing it for me so much.” “Sounds like you have a nice relationship.” “I do. My parents are both great. Lie down and relax,” he said, pointing to the bed. She lay down on the huge bed and rolled over to her front while being very careful to keep the towel in place. She knew he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want him to. She trusted him, at least a little. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. The realization was startling. “Relax,” he said again, and she sucked in a breath as she felt the bed sink under his weight. His hands were warm, almost hot when they touched her back, and she couldn’t hold back a sigh. “It’s the oil—it heats with touch and motion. Very good for loosening up muscles. With the surfing and other activities I do, I’ve learned a lot about how to take care of sore muscles and injuries,” he said. “And I had a girlfriend who was a certified massage therapist,” he added with some cheek, making her laugh. “Of course you did,” she said, not caring about anything but how good Ryan’s hands felt. He worked slowly and patiently, his touch gentle but firm, turning her into little more than melted butter. “I need to shift to reach the other side,” he said, levering himself over and straddling her butt. Natalie had been dozing off, but she became very alert when he leaned forward to reach the other side of her neck. She was so turned on by the time he finished, she couldn’t breathe, even though he’d been a perfect gentleman. “Better?” “Yes, very much.” “I’ll leave you to get some sleep,” he said, and started to get off the bed. “Um, no? I mean, don’t leave?” “Why?” he asked, standing very still. “I want you,” she said plainly. There was no point being coy.

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The next thing she knew, the towel was gone.

Chapter Nine “Stay right where you are,” Ryan said as she turned her head to watch him peel off his clothes and reach into a drawer for protection. He was slim and strong, gorgeous. She reached out to touch his jutting erection. He moved into the touch, groaning as she ran her hand lightly over him, learning him. He moaned lightly, smiling at her. “Careful,” he cautioned. “I want you too much,” he admitted, and rolled her over to her back, lying over her so that they were melded together chin to toe, everything delightfully pressed together as he kissed her with ultimate patience, exploring every part of her mouth, until she thought she would cry from wanting more. She tried to open her legs, to put him down in between where she needed him, but he deftly moved away. “Turn back over, like you were,” he said huskily. “Y-you don’t have to keep up the massage,” she said, though she complied, flipping over. “My neck isn’t sore anymore.” “I’m glad, but I wasn’t thinking about that kind of massage,” he said with mischief in his voice. He kneaded her back for a few minutes with those warm, strong hands, but this time his palms slipped underneath her, cupping her breasts and massaging there, too. “Ohhh,” she moaned, giving in to the urge and lifting slightly, rolling her hips against him in a sexy massage of her own. It had been a long time for her, and Ryan’s hands seemed to wipe out the memory of anyone else’s touch. “You’re strong,” he said, “but so soft,” he added, biting her shoulder lightly as he pinched plump nipples, making her writhe beneath him. She wanted to touch him, too, to explore and tease. She tried to move, to take some control back, but he wouldn’t allow it. She groaned first in protest, and then in ecstasy as he slid his fingers down. “Ryan, I want you, too. Now,” she said. “You’re so beautiful, Natalie, do you know that?” he said, his cock sliding teasingly along her sex before slowly entering her as he whispered more sexy encouragements. “Oh, yes,” she cried, sucking in a breath at the pressure and fullness as he filled her, wanting him from the bottom of her soul as he withdrew and thrust inside again, making sparks burst behind her eyelids. The warm tension of an orgasm blossomed quickly, the relief she craved not far away. Still he teased, pushing deep and staying there, touching her until she begged him to move again. Natalie wasn’t one to beg, but she didn’t mind one bit at the moment. “Please, I need you to move more,” she heard herself say, her voice sounding not quite like her own. She pulled up back against him, turning her head for a kiss as he increased the tempo, going deeper, faster. This time he didn’t stop, and suddenly her body buckled with pleasure—fierce, fiery tendrils of release seeming to explode everywhere, turning her limbs to water. She sighed, her body limp, but he held her tight and she somehow managed to keep moving with him as he broke the kiss, groaning and thrusting hard into his own climax.

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He held her close, their bodies cooling, not saying another word until he gently lowered her back down to the bed. She rolled to her back, watching him, feeling like something had changed. Something important. It wasn’t just the orgasm, which was amazing, it was…him. How he had kept her close, how he’d talked to her, how he was looking at her now. How he made her want more.

Chapter Ten Ryan opened his eyes to look at the lacy edge of the canopy, forgetting for a moment that they’d never made it out of the guest room. A silk scarf had stuck to the side of his face in sleep, and he peeled it off. He’d never realized how useful the cast-iron structure of the ultrafeminine bed could be, but he and Natalie had put it to very good use. She’d told him she had handcuffs at her place—real ones—and his fantasies went wild. Smiling, he slid a hand over her hip and up the smooth curve of her back, over to her breast where a soft nipple pebbled in his hand before moving down to the soft thatch of hair where he stroked lightly. He loved touching every bit of her. “You awake?” he whispered. She shook her head, but he saw her shoulder shake slightly with a repressed laugh. “Faker,” he said, willing to play. Natalie loved to play in bed, and it delighted him. He found the hard nub of desire nestled in between the folds of her sex, already warm and slick, and stroked. She tensed slightly, but didn’t make a sound. A new game, he thought with a smile. What he didn’t expect was for her to turn and face him, her eyes open and drugged with desire, sparkling with pleasure, as her hand curled around his erection and stroked. “We’ll see who gives in first,” she whispered naughtily. “You make a sound, I stop,” he offered up as a sexy threat, knowing she’d love the challenge. They drove each other silently mad for several minutes before both of them came, and he smothered his groan and her cry with a deep kiss, both of them emerging breathless and laughing. “You’re fantastic,” he said with gusto, meaning it. No one had captured his attention, or turned him on so completely, as Natalie. “Um, you too,” she said, almost shyly. “How is it that there’s not some guy breaking down my door right now, wanting to kick my backside for being here with you?” It was the wrong thing to say, he could tell. “I wouldn’t be here if there was,” she said coolly, rolling away slightly and he caught her, brought her back. “Sorry, I know. That wasn’t what I meant. Just…I’m glad there’s no one else, but I find it hard to believe.”

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“Not so hard. I have a strange job, strange hours and I’m not exactly the cuddly type most guys like,” she said matter-of-factly, relaxing and seeming to forgive him for the gaffe. “What about you? How come no Mrs. Ryan Scott at home polishing your surfboard?” He laughed a little but then shrugged. “I’ve never been interested in commitment. Nothing against it. My parents have been together for a long time, but I figured they just got lucky. The evidence around me seems to suggest that that kind of relationship is rare these days.” She nodded. “I think you’re probably right. You’re lucky your parents are together. I don’t know if I’ve ever known anyone in a happy relationship.” “Really? Not anyone?” “Not personally, no. It’s probably a side effect of my work, but not my parents, that’s for sure,” she said, but didn’t elaborate. “What else don’t I know about you?” “That I’m starving,” she said, smiling, and he sighed. She was going to be a tough nut to crack, and something told him he’d enjoy every second of trying. “Want to go out, or eat in?” he asked, trailing a finger lightly along the inside of her thigh and up the front of her to press against her beautiful mouth. She caught it, biting lightly. “In, as long as you have coffee.” It was what he’d hoped she’d say, because he wasn’t ready to let Natalie leave just yet.

Chapter Eleven “You do have quite a life here,” Natalie said, feeling like a different woman as she sat on a chair by the beach bar, looking out over the sunny sand. Ryan had to work a short lunchtime shift, and had invited her to tag along. Good thing his next-door neighbor, June, had dropped by, though at first Natalie was surprised by a surge of possessiveness. But it was clear they were friends, and June had even offered her some clothes to borrow for the day. Natalie didn’t say no. She didn’t want this to end; not quite yet. Relaxed from their night together and reluctant to return to the reality of her work, she gave herself permission to have this one day, this escape, from everything. His eye caught hers and the shiver turned to something else, warm and melting. “Joe will be here to replace me in a few minutes. You want to take a walk?” he asked. “That would be nice,” she agreed. For the first time in a long time she wasn’t thinking about work and nothing else. Be careful here, her mind cautioned, but she waved away worry. She knew what she was doing. Having some fun, enjoying herself for a change. It wasn’t like she was falling for him or anything…. No, I’m not, she insisted silently, her smile fading to a frown as she looked intently down into her drink.

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“You ready?” Ryan asked, looking far too sexy in long, loose surfer shorts and nothing else. Mentally picturing him without the shorts, she smiled. “Absolutely.” She took his hand, enjoying the feel of the warm sand between her toes. “I missed you,” he said, kissing her fingers and working his way to her mouth. She knew it was silly because she had been sitting at the bar the whole time, but weirdly, she’d missed him, too—or missed being this close. His mouth was warm and firm, and she was so mesmerized with the kissing that she didn’t notice he had walked them backward toward the water. Before she could gasp in realization, he’d scooped her up and ran in a few more feet, falling forward and dunking them both completely. Natalie came up spitting, narrowing a warrior gaze on him. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she warned, stepping closer. He crossed his arms, challenging her with a look. “Really? What are you going to do about it?” She proceeded to show him, and it went on for a while, the two of them engaged in horseplay until they were exhausted and made their way back to shore. “I’m not sure this top was meant to double as a bathing suit,” she said, looking down at the material that now clung to her bare breasts. Ryan was looking, too, and she saw him swallow hard, his eyes hot. Did she affect him that much? As much as he affected her? Natalie was having the time of her life. Near dusk, they joined a game of black-light volleyball. The players and the ball were covered with special paint, reflecting the purple glow from lights placed around them. She had fun, but on the way back to the bar reality kicked in. Fantasy time was over. “I should go home. I need to get back to work.” “One more night,” he said seductively. “I’ll take you right home in the morning, promise.” Oh, how she wanted to. “Ryan!” a voice interrupted them, and a tall woman with long black hair and a knockout body approached them. The woman put her hand on Ryan’s shoulder for a long moment and dipped in for a kiss, though he turned his face so that she ended up kissing his cheek. “Susan,” he said, squeezing Natalie’s hand. He sounded friendly but not overly enthusiastic. “Who’s your friend?” she asked. “We were just leaving,” he said. “I see. Well, I have a new number. In case you wanted to get together,” she said seductively. “I’ll just leave it at the bar.” Natalie froze when the woman turned, her wedding rings flashing in the nearby lights. She was married. And she and Ryan clearly had had a relationship of some sort. No, not had. Have. Present tense.

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Natalie went cold. “I—I have to go,” was all she could say. “I have to get home. I have to work tomorrow,” she said in stiff, staccato sentences. “Natalie, wait—what’s wrong?” Ryan said, grabbing for her hand but missing as she ran back to the condo, a few hundred feet away. She had to get her gun, her keys and leave. This had been a terrible mistake. Ryan was shouting behind her, running to catch up, but it wouldn’t make any difference. What bothered her most was how much it hurt, because that wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him. She should have known better, but she knew now, and kept moving.

Chapter Twelve “Natalie, what the hell happened back there?” Ryan caught up with her at the condo, only because she couldn’t find her things. Her eyes stung as he took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “Can you get my gun for me, please?” she asked, not making eye contact. No way would she let him see her cry. “Not until you tell me what this is about.” “It’s time for me to go,” she said tensely. “Is this about Susan?” He tipped up her chin, making her look at him, and she fought back the tears, drawing on the anger instead. “It’s about this being over.” Then, hating herself for giving in to the urge, she added, “Why don’t you go get your friend’s number, if you’re still looking for some action? I’m out of here.” “I could care less about Susan. She has nothing to do with us.” “It has everything to do with us!” Natalie yelled, breaking free of his hold and getting some distance. “I see it every day. God, I grew up with it, and still, what happened? Some charming, sexy guy comes along and I make the same mistake all over again,” she said in disgust. “If you’re talking about us, this wasn’t a mistake,” he said quietly, but with a thread of steel in his tone. “No, not for you. You get want you want, and then move on to the next one, even if she’s married, and consider it a job well done,” she said bitterly, wiping insistent tears before they could show. She was fully aware she’d lost it, but there was no going back now. “I guess sleeping with married women is just more exciting, right? I’ve always wondered what the draw is, frankly.” “What are you talking about?” Ryan watched her, appearing truly mystified. “I don’t have affairs with married women, and you are not just another conquest. What’s this all about?” he asked again. Too much emotion—all of the things from her past, her childhood, her work and the last day or so with Ryan—emerged in one painful mess. “Don’t lie. Susan is clearly married—and you clearly have a relationship with her. I may be stupid, but I’m not that stupid.” He strode up to where she stood, looking angry himself now. “First, you aren’t stupid, not even close. So stop that. Second, I am not an adulterer. Susan and I had one, I repeat one, night together. It was last

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summer, and she wasn’t married then. Now that she is, there’s no way, no how. I don’t go there,” he said adamantly. “Right, sure,” she said dispiritedly. “Can you please just get my gun so I can go?” “In this mood? No way am I handing you a gun.” She glared at him for the joke. He took her hands in his, and she tried to yank them back, but he wouldn’t let her. “Listen, Natalie, I haven’t been a saint. I’ve had a lot of lovers, and very few serious relationships, but I don’t cheat. I know what commitment is. My parents are literally each other’s life. It’s only been a day, but I don’t want you walking out that door, like one more one-night stand,” he said earnestly, and caught her eye. “If you walk away, you’ve made us that, not me.” Natalie stood, stunned, listening. All of the air seemed to have gone out of her, and she shook her head. “I don’t know, Ryan. How can I believe you?” “Why can’t you? Tell me, Nat,” he said gently. Suddenly, everything rose up. She told him about her mother, about the men, the desperation, the hurt…and about her close call in college. She told him about the myriad men whom she saw cheating, men who seemed to have everything and wanted more, with no thought to the price. When she finished, they were both quiet. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t for him to pull her close and hold her for endless minutes on end. She still had doubts, maybe more than ever, but she held on, too.

Chapter Thirteen Ryan held on tight, more worried than he liked to be that if he let go, Natalie was going to leave, and that would be that. When he heard everything she’d gone through, he wanted nothing more than to give her everything, give her more. He couldn’t blame her for not trusting. His life, at least on the surface, was everything that had scarred her in the past. How could he convince her that he wasn’t just one more user out to break her heart? He didn’t release her. What could he say to make her stay? He felt needy and foolish, but Natalie had worked her way into his heart, and she had all the power in the world to walk out the door. Love wasn’t much of a choice sometimes, he realized. He didn’t know if what they had was love—it had only been a day, after all—but he knew it was something different, special. It certainly wasn’t anything he’d ever experienced before. He liked the women he slept with—some of them were good friends whom he cared for quite a lot—but he’d never thought twice about leaving in the morning, or being left. He didn’t like Natalie thinking he was the kind of man for whom any woman would do. Though he supposed he’d kind of lived his life that way for a while, mostly. Natalie wasn’t just any woman. He had to find a way to let her know that, and decided to share one more secret. “I bought the bar.”

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She pulled back, looking spent, and a little confused. “What?” “I bought the bar. I wanted something more permanent in my life, I guess. Something real. A challenge, you know? I’ve always had ideas about how the business could be run differently, better. Maybe expanded. I have an MBA. I could do it. I had some money stashed, invested, so I bought it.” She blinked, looking at him with something between a frown and amazement. “Why are you telling me this?” He pushed a lock of hair back from her face. “Because I wanted you to know. No one else does, not yet. I’m excited about it,” he confessed, and found himself rattling on about changes he wanted to make, plans he had. She listened, and the mood shifted between them. They’d made their way to the sofa, and she listened to every word, asking questions, feeding his excitement. He looked at the clock and winced. “Crap, sorry…I’ve been going on about this for an hour,” he said, chagrined. She smiled. Amazingly. His heart leaped. “I don’t mind. It’s exciting. And the idea of adding on a small theme café is brilliant. You’re obviously on fire about it. I’m touched that you wanted to tell me.” Pride blossomed along with other emotions. “Thanks,” he said, unsure what to say next, but just took the leap. “So…if you want to leave, I’ll get your stuff. But I wish you wouldn’t,” he confessed, touching her face, leaning in for a kiss. “I really wish you wouldn’t.” She hesitated. “I don’t know, Ryan. I get it, that you bought the bar, and you’re thinking of making commitments. I don’t know that I am. I don’t know that I can. Or want to.” “Why not?” “I don’t think things last, I guess. This is good, what you and I had, but it’s just sex, right? Maybe we’d better not mistake it for something more.” “Maybe we should wait and see if it is before we write it off?” he countered. “I don’t know. I’m in the middle of this case, and there’s so much going on,” she said, standing, walking away. “Maybe if we’d met some other time. I don’t know if I can think differently than I’m used to.” Ryan stood, determined to convince her that they deserved a chance. He just had to find the way to do it.

Chapter Fourteen Natalie wasn’t afraid of much, but she was afraid of where Ryan was going with this. They’d had one night together—one night—and he was telling her his dreams and asking her for more. She didn’t know how to handle it. Mostly because more than anything, this guy who was so open with his heart made her want to be with hers, too. Her damaged, lonely heart felt full again with him, but she didn’t trust it. Not really. “Natalie,” he said, walking up behind her, the question in his voice.

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She was quiet for several long moments, and then she turned and leaned in, slid her hand around the back of his head, deepening the kiss that she meant to be a goodbye. She’d let him down gently, then walk out and try to chalk this up as a nice memory. Only, the kiss went on and on, and she didn’t let go. Neither did Ryan. Instead, heat leaped between them and he moved closer, pressing her back against the wall, trapping her. “You’re like a drug I can’t stop,” he said, chuckling, peeling away the light clothing she had on. She didn’t stop him. It’s just because you’ve been without sex for so long, she told herself. Liar, another part of her mind, or her heart, taunted. “Maybe you’re right—maybe we don’t have anything special here, anything that would last, but then what’s the harm in finding out, right?” he said, arguing against her skin as he left kisses everywhere. She smiled, tugging on the edge of his shorts. “You talk too much.” They laughed and he shucked his pants, not saying one more word as he kissed her again, working his way down her throat to her shoulders and breasts, sucking one tender nipple between his lips until she was gasping, her knees giving way. He picked her up and brought her back to the couch, laying her down and letting his eyes drift over her. She’d never had anyone look at her naked body so closely, but with Ryan, she didn’t mind one bit. What was happening here? Why couldn’t she walk away, or say no to this guy? He wiped out any more coherent thoughts, exploring her stomach, her navel and lower to the juncture of hip and thigh. To her great satisfaction, he gently opened her more fully to his kisses, tasting the warm honey between her thighs. She arched beneath him, mindless, begging him, giving herself over completely as he sucked gently on her clit, flicking his tongue in a way she loved. His hands slid beneath her, holding her firmly in place as release racked her, her moans and sighs taking the place of conversation. Quietly she pulled him up, nestling his hardness in the warm core of her body. She knew this much—that this was perfect. He filled her slowly and completely, everything inside of her clicking into place as he watched her and she watched him. For that moment she wasn’t afraid of anything, and certainly not of Ryan. No one had ever brought her such pleasure. Maybe he was right—what was the problem in seeing what they could have together? If it didn’t last, she’d at least have had something good for a little while… All she had to do was let go, to believe, just a little bit. He made her want that, too, though she found it difficult to admit. They moved slowly, enjoying the gentle tension, soft words punctuated with kisses until they couldn’t wait anymore and collapsed into each other on a mutual wave of release. Ryan’s heart beat steadily against hers as they lay together on the couch, both of them unwilling to move. Natalie gave in to the moment, and in to her heart; right now, in Ryan’s arms, her doubts were gone and everything felt right.

Chapter Fifteen

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Natalie had the most unfamiliar sensation dogging her all morning. Ryan had gotten up earlier, leaving after a phone call that sounded urgent. She took a leisurely shower, and was now sipping a cup of coffee, looking out at the beach. She was happy. Imagine that. Letting go of all the things she had bottled up for years was like releasing poisons that had been in her heart and her mind since she could remember, coloring everything she looked at, everything she perceived. Those experiences were still with her—always would be—but now they felt distant. A part of her past, able to interfere with anything good that might be part of her life now. Like Ryan. It was scary. It was a risk, to believe in someone, but she couldn’t walk away this time. She heard him come in the back door and turned to find him grinning widely as he nearly ran across the room and picked her up, swinging her around with laughter. She had to laugh, too, though she wasn’t sure why they were laughing. “What? What’s going on?” He kissed her on the forehead, then the nose, then the mouth, and they didn’t talk at all for a few minutes. “I signed the papers. That’s why I had to leave so quickly—they wanted to close the deal, and so I jumped on it. It’s done. The bar is mine,” he said, taking a huge breath, as if to steady himself. “That’s fantastic! Calls for a celebration, don’t you think?” she said, pressing up against him in a way that left no doubt as to how she’d like to celebrate. “I’d like that, believe me, but I have to go back out for a meeting. How about we celebrate later? With champagne?” “I like how you think. I need to get back to work today, too. I have to talk to Fiona again.” “What are you going to do?” “I think it’s gone too far. I’ll talk to the cops again, especially after what happened with my car, see if she can get a restraining order and go from there. He’s too dangerous. Harassment is one thing, but attempted murder is a whole other ball game. The cops need to investigate this,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe if we make this more public, if nothing else he might back off. He has his reputation to protect, after all.” He looked at her intently. “This job… Ever consider doing anything else?” She paused and shook her head. “I thought about getting into formal law enforcement, FBI maybe, but I love the freedom of what I do, being my own boss. I don’t know how I’d do in a formal setting.” “Ah, I see.” “That bother you?” She felt that tightness in her chest, the strangling doubt. “I can’t help but worry. Your work is dangerous,” he said honestly. “But if it’s what you want, if you love it, then I’m behind you all the way. It’s part of who you are.”

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The words sank in and her heart expanded. There were no words to tell him what that meant to her, so she nodded shortly, looking away so that she didn’t lose it and embarrass them both. “Okay, so I guess I should get going, too—I can take a cab back, no problem.” He frowned. “If you want to wait a bit, I can drive you back later and—” She shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I have to get some stuff done, too. I don’t mind grabbing a taxi, really.” “Okay, I have a feeling life is going to be crazy busy from now on, what with a new business and a new woman in my life,” he said. She smiled and offered one more kiss. “Yeah, well, I think I’ll have to make some adjustments, too, with this new guy in my life…but something tells me he’s worth it.” Her life was changing so quickly, she couldn’t keep up. They parted ways with more kisses, and Natalie had a hard time focusing on work for the whole ride back to her place, thoughts of Ryan taking over everything. She made her way back up to her apartment and heard something behind her. Instinct kicked in, her body tensing, senses on alert as she reached around for her weapon. When she turned, Jace was standing behind her.

Chapter Sixteen Natalie reached instinctively behind her for her gun—which wasn’t there. She’d left it at Ryan’s. It was the first time she’d ever forgotten to bring it with her. “What do you want?” she asked, holding her ground. “How did you find me?” “You aren’t the only one with resources. Mason has security cameras at his house, and private investigation licenses are public record. So who are you working for, and why are you harassing me? Someone hire you to do the dirty work? Send me the packages, the e-mails?” he accused, staring her down. Natalie studied him. His body language wasn’t aggressive, he didn’t have a weapon. In fact, he looked pretty stressed. “What do you mean?” “I’ve been getting strange packages—women’s underwear, dead flowers, and I keep getting these untraceable e-mails. I’m giving you one chance, warning you to stop. I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I will call the police and have them here at your door, and I will press charges. Your license will be revoked.” She gave in and nodded; something was way off here. “I’m not stalking you. I’ve been following you because you’ve been harassing a young woman named Fiona Kay.” He looked utterly confused and shook his head. “I don’t know anyone by that name. I haven’t harassed anyone. I’m the one being stalked!” Natalie paused. She hated to admit it, but she believed him. There was nothing in his demeanor that said he was faking. “Can you tell me more about what’s going on?”

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He threw his hands up. “Phone calls in the middle of the night, but then she started asking for my wife, my kids, telling them lies…and it started at work, too. Then the packages, the e-mails…now this. Are you working for this nutcase?” Natalie’s stomach sank. She’d been played. If what Jace said was true, then it was very likely that her client was using her to get at him—and Natalie had been logging the guy’s daily routines, who he met, where he went, for weeks. She’d been a patsy. “So I guess it wasn’t you or someone you hired who rigged my brakes at Mason Scott’s Halloween party?” She knew the answer by the expression of shock on his face. Great. “Listen, Jace, my client is a beautiful woman, twenty-eight, long black hair, blue eyes. Ring a bell?” He shook his head. “Maybe someone you messed around with? An affair? Someone you pissed off in court?” “No! I have never cheated on my wife in thirty-four years, and that’s the truth. I piss people off all the time, though, in court. But she doesn’t sound familiar.” Natalie nodded. “Well, the good thing is that I know who she is and where she is. We’ll call the cops and we’ll get this straightened out at the station. You have these packages, these e-mails?” “Yeah. I’m a lawyer. I saved evidence and I’ve already reported it to the police.” “Good. Well, get them and meet me there, then. We’re getting to the bottom of this now.” *** Ryan remembered halfway through his meeting that he’d never given Natalie her gun back. He was surprised she hadn’t missed it and called him already. He decided to deliver it promptly—a handy excuse to see Natalie again, he thought with a sheepish grin. So this is what it’s like to be smitten. Turning into the drive of the apartment complex she’d said she lived in, he drove along the winding road until he saw her building and stopped by a row of hedges, throwing the car in Park. When he got out of the car, he saw Natalie heading back out across the lot—and she wasn’t alone. She walked stiffly, reluctantly, and Ryan saw the woman from the other night—Nat’s client—right behind her. Something wasn’t right. Ryan took a step forward, starting to call out her name, before he saw that the woman, Fiona, was holding something at Natalie’s back, and was pushing her into a car. Against Natalie’s will. He eyed the glove box where he’d put Nat’s gun, but the other woman was already getting into the car. He only had one choice, and so he got back into his car and started to follow.

Chapter Seventeen

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“You won’t get away with this,” Natalie said, sounding more confident than she felt. There was every chance Fiona would get away with whatever she was pulling. “Oh, I think I will. You’ve disappeared off the radar for a few days with your new boy toy, and that’s very convenient for me. Not too many people will miss you, will they?” Fiona said with relish. Unfortunately, she was probably right. Fiona didn’t know that Ryan was more than a boy toy, and he would certainly miss Natalie—or would he just think she’d left him and moved on? “Why are you after Jace?” “Jace has to pay. You know how it is, don’t you? The way these rich, powerful men can ruin your life? He’s that kind. It’s why I chose you. I knew you’d do a particularly good job of watching him.” Natalie’s hands turned cold. When Fiona had shared her tearful story, Natalie had reassured her that she understood. Normally, she didn’t share any personal info with clients, but Fiona had been so distraught…and Natalie had played right into her hands by sharing her own past with powerful playboys. If there was anything worse than knowing you were going to die, it was that you were dying because of your own foolishness. “The one thing I’ve always learned over the years, Fiona, is that the truth always comes out. There’s always a catch in the plan,” she said lightly, and saw the other woman’s lips draw tight. “Not this time.” “The deeper you get in, the more evidence you leave for them to find you, and the worse you pay later. Right now, you’re guilty of harassment, threats, maybe kidnapping or assault. You let me go, disappear, no harm no foul. You kill me and I can practically guarantee they won’t stop until they have you—and they will get you.” “Shut up! Just be quiet,” Fiona ordered. Natalie thought about taking the wheel and battling it out, but the road was busy, and people were driving fast—it was likely they’d end up seriously hurt or killed and perhaps some other innocent motorist would be as well. For now, she sat back and did as Fiona asked, weighing her options silently. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many of them. *** Ryan kept a few car lengths behind, and did what he had to do not to let the red Mustang out of his sight. Fiona wouldn’t think anyone was following, so that gave him a little bit of an advantage. He felt like he’d inadvertently been thrown into a cop show on TV, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. That morning, when they had talked about her work, the danger had still seemed theoretical. But he thought about the brakes going out on her car, and now this… Is this what Natalie’s life was always like? Could he deal with that? He’d have to find a way, as he couldn’t imagine life without her, either. Taking a turn that went toward De Soto Park, he grabbed his phone and called his brother instead of 911. Mason had direct ties to local law enforcement. If anyone could get help, and fast, it would be Mason.

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“Ryan, what’s up? I’m kind of busy at the moment,” Mason said, sounding unusually stressed. Ryan heard a woman in the background, and some other voices, and wondered what was going on, but he didn’t have time to ask. “I need your help. I’m following a friend, she’s been taken in a car at gunpoint…they’re heading to De Soto Park. Can you pull some of your magic strings and get someone down here quick?” “Are you kidding?” “It’s no joke, Mason—she has Natalie. She’s going to kill her, I think. I’m keeping close.” “Ryan, you stay out of this, whatever it is,” Mason ordered. “I’ll call the police now—you keep your distance.” Ryan saw Fiona and Natalie stop and pull over to the side of the highway. He watched them get out and walk to the grassy area off the road. “They’re heading into Sawgrass Lake Park, from the highway… I gotta go,” he said, ignoring Mason’s loud objections as he pulled to the side as well. Mason could yell all he wanted to. No way was Ryan letting Natalie out of his sight.

Chapter Eighteen Natalie dragged her feet and did what she could to attract attention as Fiona pushed her along the wooden walkway through the groves and swamp. Looking down, she sucked in a breath as she contemplated the dark water under the tangle of trees and grass shrubs. Perfect way to dispose of a body, she figured. She’d be pretty hard to find in the swamp, even though thousands of people came here each year. The park was sprawling, and she hadn’t seen anyone so far. Fiona had obviously thought this through. Just her luck. “Can you at least tell me what’s going on, why you’re after Jace? You said he had to pay—what for?” she asked, stalling. Maybe someone would happen along the trail, or see them and call for help. It was unlikely, as her captor kept the gun beneath her jacket. No one would think twice about two women out for a walk. Turning, she faced Fiona and crossed her arms. “Listen, I’m not taking another step. You can shoot me where I stand, but I want to at least know what the hell is going on,” she said, aware that they were in too open of a spot for Fiona to risk it. More stalling. Fiona’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Natalie thought for a moment that she might have pushed her luck. “Fine. He’s a scum-sucking divorce lawyer who took my sister for everything she had. He managed to leave her with nothing when she was the one who supported her good-for-nothing husband all those years. They have their ways of bending the rules, don’t they?” “Yes, they do,” Natalie said truthfully, wrinkling her brow. “But why are you doing this? If she doesn’t want to get her own revenge—” “She can’t. She’s dead. She killed herself after the divorce. She just couldn’t pull herself back up again,” Fiona said tightly. “Because of those bastards. Now they’re going to pay. First Jace, then her ex.”

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“So why not just go after them directly? Why put me in the middle of it?” “If they saw me, they’d know. As for Jace, I wanted to make his life miserable in every way I could, and in the meantime, I needed someone in between to be a decoy. I planned to make sure he lost everything, just like Nancy did, and with any luck, he might off himself, too. Or I would do it.” She shrugged. “Either way is fine with me.” “But why cut my brake lines?” Fiona smiled. “I needed to keep your suspicions focused on him. Made you a believer, huh?” Natalie nodded. She had believed Fiona’s lies—because of her own blindness and biases, her own negative past experiences—and made what could be the biggest mistake of her life. “So now you know,” Fiona said, gesturing with the gun that Natalie should keep moving. “In fact, you just gave me the perfect setup. Once you’re dead, I think it would probably be much easier to just plant this unregistered gun in Jace’s car and be done with it. I’ll phone in an anonymous tip to the police about seeing a man out in the swamps with you, and voilà.” Natalie’s stomach turned as Fiona’s face nearly shone with evil glee. She made a desperate attempt to try to break through to this woman, who was obviously insane with the need for revenge. “No one will believe it. Jace is at the police station right now, waiting for me—I was coming to get you. The cat is out of the bag.” “You expect me to believe that?” “Fine. Would Nancy want this? Did she know her sister was a killer?” Fiona’s features turned dark and ugly, and she took a deep breath. “Walk, or you die here, now.” Natalie knew she was running out of time. Her only real chance was to take Fiona on, rushing the other woman and fighting for her life. It was then that she saw Ryan appear on the other side of the walkway, holding her gun, which made the decision for her.

Chapter Nineteen Ryan had just about given up hope when the women had come into his view. He approached slowly, keeping low, the gun an unfamiliar weight in his hand. His brother was a marksman and Ryan had gone out to the range with him a few times, but it wasn’t something that he cared for. Still, he knew how to shoot, in theory, but what chance did he have of actually hitting his target? And if he missed, what then? “Just hang on, babe, and we’ll figure a way to take this bitch down,” he said to himself, walking softly and hoping he could get close enough to communicate with Natalie. As he came closer, he heard angry voices and saw the woman with her back to him gesturing with the gun. She wanted Natalie to move. Obviously too out in the open to kill someone, he thought scathingly. Suddenly Fiona moved slightly, and his eyes locked with Natalie’s—she knew he was there. He tried to signal her not to let on to his presence. If she could just hold the other woman in that spot for another minute, and he could get closer… Then Natalie did something that stopped him in his tracks.

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Seeing him, she turned her attention back to Fiona and then rushed the woman in front of her, colliding with her and pushing them both down to the wooden surface of the bridge—the only thing separating them from the water and anything that was in it. Ryan ran forward, hoping to help, when he heard the gun go off, his heart in his throat. Had Natalie been hit? He watched as both women rolled to the side and into the swampy section of the lake. “Natalie!” he yelled and ran to the edge, looking down at where they had submerged. A second later they came back up, still fighting. The water was so dark and murky that he couldn’t tell if anyone was bleeding, or had been shot. “Stop! Let her go! It’s over!” he yelled at Fiona, who barely glanced at him as she grappled with Natalie. Sirens screamed in the distance, and Ryan saw flashing lights in a far parking lot across the water. They were too far away to help. It was up to him. Fiona still had the weapon in her hand, and lifted it up out of the water, bringing it down hard on Natalie’s neck. Natalie went limp and then sank under the water. Fiona, her expression fierce, held her there. Ryan threw the gun down and dove in. *** Natalie choked, trying to fight, but her head hurt and she’d blacked out for long enough that when she came to, she gasped for air and ended up sucking in water instead. Not good. There was a lot of thrashing in the water and she panicked for a moment, thinking about alligators, and then realized Fiona was holding her down, her fingers tangled in Natalie’s hair. Rage fueled Natalie’s need to survive, and the fact that Ryan’s face was the last thing she’d seen before going for it. He was up there somewhere, trying to help, and Fiona still had a gun. Then suddenly she was free, and she pushed her way to the surface, fighting nausea and looking for air. But as she came up she saw another terrifying image—Fiona was up on the bridge, with a gun, and she was pointing it directly at Ryan, who was in the water with her. Natalie submerged, pushing closer to the side of the bridge, fighting weeds and grass in the murk. She surfaced again, directly behind Fiona. Pushing up over the top, she launched at the other woman’s legs, just as the gun fired. Natalie pulled herself up, crying, in pain and searching frantically for Ryan. The thump of hard footsteps shook the bridge as she lay over it, spotting a dark ribbon thread along the water. Blood. “Ryan!” she screamed, feeling herself being picked up, police swarming around her. Fiona was trying to swim away, and there was no sign of Ryan. Natalie tried to jump back in but was restrained. She fought, crying, trying to get them to understand. “In the water…he’s in the water,” she said before losing consciousness.

Chapter Twenty

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Two days later, Natalie paced the hall of the police station, her body still sore. She sported a huge shiner, but she was more or less in one piece. She’d given her statement and was now waiting for Ryan, who had come down to the station to deliver his after being released from the hospital. It was a blessing that his wound was minor, though he’d taken the bullet in the shoulder and had his arm in a sling. When she hadn’t thought he would come up from that water alive, she’d realized how much she felt for him. They hadn’t talked about it since then. She couldn’t care less whatever happened to Fiona, as long as she was behind bars. Natalie could feel sorry for what had happened to her sister, but not for Fiona. Finally Ryan emerged from the offices, but he looked worried, on top of being bruised and exhausted. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “I keep trying to get hold of Mason. I haven’t talked to him since the other day, and his phone keeps going to voice mail. I can’t contact his assistant, either. They had a vacation message on their business phone. His partners said they don’t know where he is, but something’s up.” She shrugged as they stepped out onto the sunny sidewalk. “Maybe he just took an impromptu vacation?” “Mason doesn’t do anything impromptu. He doesn’t leave anything to chance. It’s just…weird. He would normally return my message, at least.” “Do you want me to look into it?” Ryan slid her a sideways smile and her heart melted. Not so much the tough P.I. now, she thought wryly. “I’ll give it another day and we can stop by the house. Right now I have more important things to do.” “Restaurant business?” “Us business,” he said, pulling her over to a park bench under a tree where it was shady and cooler. “Oh.” He faced her, pushing some hair back from her face. “Things have been too busy to talk, and we need to do that.” She nodded, her spine stiffening. “What are you thinking, Natalie?” “That I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. I almost got you killed. That would put anyone off of a relationship,” she said, trying to keep it light though her heart was breaking. “You saved my life. You hit her from behind and that diverted the shot. I would have been dead otherwise.” “You never would have been in that spot if you hadn’t met me.” “Well, that’s true,” he admitted, and they both laughed a little. He moved in closer, and she caught the scent of his soap, breathing it in. “How could you think I wouldn’t want to be with you?” She shrugged, shaking her head.

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“Natalie, it all made everything very clear. I know it’s fast, but I think I love you,” he said earnestly. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. The words would have sent her running days ago, but not now. Natalie looked into his face, framing his jaw with her hands. “I think I love you, too. I never thought I’d say that to anyone again, but when I thought I’d lost you, I knew I’d give anything to see you come up out of that water. And then you did,” she said, letting tears fall. With Ryan, she could feel all of the things she’d never felt, or was too afraid to feel. It was stunning, like coming back to life again, a second time. Ryan found her lips in a hot, deep kiss that told her how much he needed her, wanted her. She returned it without reserve. “How about we go back to my place,” he said huskily, nibbling at her neck, sending shivers everywhere. “But your arm…” “I’ll manage,” he said with a laugh, and she could only imagine all of the ways they could work around that sling. “I’ll play nurse,” she said sexily, standing and holding her hand out to him. “I might need a live-in—the permanent, on-premises kind? You up to that?” If Natalie had learned anything over the past days, it was that time was not to be wasted. Living with the man she loved sounded far less scary now that she knew what real fear was. “I think that would be best,” she said with a smile, ready for whatever life would bring them, as long as they had each other.

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Deadly Reunion by Elle Kennedy Seven years ago, rookie detective Max Hollis nearly threw away his career when he fell for Corey Devereaux. Then 18 years old, Corey was the star witness in his case against Harold Twain, the man who brutally murdered her parents right in front of her. Despite their mutual passion, Max refused to take their relationship any further once the case was closed, breaking Corey’s heart. Now, Harold Twain has escaped from prison, and can have only one goal: making Corey pay! Can Max protect the all-grown-up Corey from the killer, without falling for her all over again?

Chapter One Max Hollis was having a very bad day. So bad, in fact, that he was contemplating walking away from the monstrous case file on his desk, ducking out of the police station and spending a good week on his living room couch with his dog, Winston. Lord, he needed a vacation. But as Superintendent Fantana liked to remind the men and women on the force, crime didn’t take a vacation. Neither did the sadistic serial killer currently roaming the streets of Chicago and preying on innocent women. “So, do you want the good news first, or the bad?” Max glanced up as his fellow detective and closest friend, Russell Parker, strode into the office they shared. Most of the other detectives worked out of the bull pen, as Max had done for most of his twelve years on the force, but last year Fantana had bestowed the two men with an office after they cracked open a quadruple homicide case that had stumped nearly every cop in the department. The office was cramped and badly lit, but it gave Max a quiet place to think, and he didn’t mind sharing with Russ. Max focused on his partner’s question, immediately sensing his day was officially going to sink down to Much Worse on his How Bad Can My Day Get? list. So far he’d cleaned up his dog’s vomit (poor Winston had a stomach bug), been spat on by a prostitute he’d brought in for questioning, and then found a two-inchthick stack of reports he needed to comb through on his desk. From the look on Russ’s face, he got the feeling hooker spit and dog puke might be the least of his problems. “Good news.” Max sighed, raking his hand through his sandy-blond hair, which had gotten so long and scruffy he looked like a drug-addicted rock star. “Fantana called in the Feds,” Russ said as he walked over to his desk and flopped down on the edge. Max’s head jerked up. “For the Rose Killer case?” “Yep.” “Well, thank God. It’s about time he called the FBI for help.” While most cops tended to get twitchy and antagonistic when the Feds burst into their jurisdiction, Max only felt relief. They’d been getting nowhere with the Rose Killer case for months now, banging their heads against the wall and being rewarded with nothing but headaches. “A task force is being set up,” his partner added. “The chief wants both of us on it.” Russ paused, a frown creasing his mouth. “But I have a feeling you won’t be.”

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“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been living and breathing this case for months.” “Yeah, but you haven’t heard the bad news yet.” Wariness climbed up his throat. “All right, hit me.” “Harold Twain escaped from prison last night.” The impact of Russ’s words hit Max like a bowling ball to the gut. Just hearing that name—Harold Twain— brought a rush of memories to his brain. The ugly sneer on Twain’s face when Max had slapped the cuffs on his wrists. The barely veiled hatred on the killer’s face at the sentencing hearing, the way Twain had slowly turned his head to focus that hate-filled glare on… Corey Devereaux. And there it was, another name he’d tried desperately not to think about for seven long years. Not that he’d succeeded. He’d thought about the beautiful redhead far too often, usually late at night, when the memory of the forbidden kiss they’d shared woke him from sleep. The dreams were no longer as frequent, but they still came, often enough that he wondered if someone was torturing him. Corey had only been eighteen when her parents were killed. Eighteen when Max, a twenty-five-year-old rookie detective, had broken every rule in the book and fallen for his star witness. Max swallowed and asked, “How did he escape?” “It was impressive, actually. Got his hands on some pills, induced a seizure, bad enough that the prison had him airlifted to Chicago General, where he swiftly killed a doctor, a nurse and two guards. Then he pulled a Houdini and disappeared.” Max swore under his breath, then frowned when Russ pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his sports coat and handed it over. “What’s this?” he said warily. “The address of Corey Devereaux’s studio. Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Russ asked. Max’s heart did an involuntary flip at the notion of seeing her again. He should probably tell Russ to go, let Russ break the news that the killer who’d sworn revenge against her was roaming the streets. Really, Russell should do it. No reason for Max to unearth long-buried desires and troubling emotions and— “I’ll tell her.”

Chapter Two “Um. Okay. So that’s…pretty.” Corey Devereaux shot her agent a wry look, then pushed a wayward strand of hair from her forehead with the slender paintbrush in her hand. “No need to lie, Val. I know it’s pretty messed up.” Valerie Jones was Corey’s art dealer and the owner of Jones Avenue, the gallery where Corey often showed her work. As a dealer, Val was shrewd, professional and blunt to a fault. As a friend, she was far too nice. Taking a few steps back, Val examined the 30”x30” canvas resting on Corey’s easel. “I’m going to be honest, kiddo. I don’t get it.” Corey stared absently at the slash of color in front of her, sharp red lines and jagged black brushstrokes that formed together to create…a sword? Knife, maybe? “I don’t get it either,” she admitted. “And don’t worry, this piece isn’t going to be in the show.” Rising from her stool, she set her brush next to the palette on the table and turned to the older woman. “I woke up this morning and this image was in my head. I’m still not sure what it means.”

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Val worried her bottom lip with her straight white teeth, the lines around her mouth crinkling. “Did you dream it?” “No.” She swallowed. “No. You know I don’t dream anymore.” And thank God for that. She’d always had vivid dreams as a kid, but after her parents’ murder, those dreams of rainbows and brilliant landscapes had morphed into dark scenes of violence and gruesome images. Two years she’d endured the nightmares, until finally they stopped, along with the beautiful dreams of the past. If she dreamed now, she didn’t remember anything in the morning. It was a lot easier getting through the day when you weren’t reminded of death on a nightly basis. “Good,” Val said, then bent down to pick up the briefcase she’d left on the hardwood floor of Corey’s studio. “Call me when you finish up those last pieces. We’ve already reached capacity for your opening. Contemporary collectors were lining up to score an invite.” “That’s nice.” Again, her gaze restlessly drifted back to her painting, her mind trying to make sense of what it saw. “All right, so I’ve got to head out. I’m meeting with a buyer this afternoon,” Val said. “Mmm-hmm.” The other woman chuckled. “Okay. I see you’ve snapped back into artist mode. Guess I was lucky to pull you out of it for ten minutes. I’ll talk to you at the end of the week, kiddo.” Corey barely noticed her dealer’s departure. She stared at the canvas, frowning deeply. What the hell did it mean? The sharp lines were a huge contrast from her typical work, which usually consisted of bright abstracts and the occasional portrait, if the subject was interesting enough. So why this? Why black and red and, really, a sword? Why? The answers to those questions eluded her, replaced with the need to finish the piece. Maybe the final product would give her a clue. She was just sinking back onto the stool when the sound of footsteps filled the large loft. Without turning around, she reached for her brush and said, “What’d you forget this time, Val?” There was a beat of silence, followed by the sound of someone clearing their throat. A male clearing his throat. And then two gruff words: “Hey, Corey.” The oxygen drained sharply from her lungs, her fingers froze on the paintbrush. Almost immediately, her heart took off in a sprint. Oh God. Was it actually… Slowly, she turned, wide eyes taking in the sight of him. The wide doorway framed his tall, lean body, and his hands were awkwardly stuffed in the pockets of his faded blue jeans. He’d always worn jeans on the job. Those sexy jeans and a button-down shirt that never hid the ripple of muscles beneath it. He cleared his throat again and took a step closer. “Hey,” he repeated. “I, uh, I needed to speak to you.” Feeling like her legs had turned to cement, she managed to get up. Her hands shook wildly, and her heart…why couldn’t it stop pounding? Um, maybe because the love of your life is standing five feet away? You know, the man you haven’t seen in seven years? The one you still ache for every damn night? Yeah, that was probably why.

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Swallowing hard, she moved toward him, pausing when they were only a few feet away. She faltered, trying to think of something to say, something that sounded sophisticated and professional and didn’t reveal how badly she missed him despite the seven years they’d spent apart. Something that didn’t make her sound pathetic, or bitter, or angry. So she opened her mouth, and what came out was, “Hi, Max. You look tired.”

Chapter Three Holy hell. That’s all she was capable of coming up with? Hi, Max, you look tired? Corey’s cheeks grew warm, going even hotter when the corners of Max Hollis’s mouth curved into the familiar wry grin that had always melted her insides. But she hadn’t been lying. He did look tired. Older, too. His hair was still the same shade of dirty-blond, his eyes still a piercing green, but his face had lost the smoothness of youth, replaced with sharper angles and thick stubble dotting his defined jaw. Still, he was as gorgeous as ever. “How’ve you been, Corey?” he asked softly. “I’m good.” Though she’d probably be a lot better if he wasn’t acting like they were strangers. “What about you?” “You pretty much called it. I’m tired,” he said, shrugging ruefully. His husky voice sent a flurry of shivers up her spine. God, she missed that voice. When she was eighteen years old, that voice was the only thing that helped her survive her parents’ death. Max’s visits to her college dorm had gotten her through those long, empty days. She’d been orphaned, alone and about to testify against a killer. Other teenage girls might’ve cracked under the pressure. Thanks to Max, Corey had lived through it. She met his gaze, impulsively searching those green eyes for a sign that he was remembering their time together, too. That he was thinking about the long heart-to-hearts, the comfortable silences…the explosive kiss they’d shared. But his eyes were shuttered, the expression on his face all business. “I’ve been working on the Rose Killer case,” he added, weariness filling his features. “To no avail, of course.” Corey sensed his frustration, and knew where it came from. For months, women in Chicago had been taking extra precautions, determined not to become the next victim of the killer who apparently liked to carve roses into their skins. Having had some firsthand experience with a vicious killer, Corey understood the urgency Max felt to catch the monster. He was good at that. He’d fought her monster, after all. “Still no new leads in the case?” she asked, hoping he didn’t hear the wobble to her voice. “None.” He sighed. “But we brought in the FBI, so hopefully that will change soon.” She awkwardly played with the hem of her paint-spattered work shirt. “Is that why you came, to tell me about the Rose Killer case?” Max shook his head.

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Then why are you here? she wanted to shout. And how could he be so calm, standing in front of her like the six months they’d had together hadn’t existed. Like she hadn’t told him she loved him. Like he hadn’t whipped her heart right back in her face and walked away from her. Funny thing was, she didn’t even hate him for it. She’d understood his reasons for leaving, even back then. She’d been his star witness. His star teenage witness. It had been his first case working as the lead detective; her age and involvement in the case could have cost him his job. His only choice had been to end it before it even began. What she didn’t understand, however, was why he’d never come back. A year, two years later. They could have reconnected then. She’d been older. Twain was behind bars. So why hadn’t he come back for her? And why was he here now? Probably not questions that needed to be asked now, mere minutes into this strange reunion. And fortunately, Max spoke again before she could blurt out the inappropriate question anyway. “I’m here about Twain,” he said roughly. Her head snapped to attention. “He’s not up for parole, is he? Because that’s ridiculous! He got two life sentences, there’s no way they would parole him after seven ye—” “He escaped from prison last night.” Corey released a gasp. “What?” “He escaped. And we know he’s in the city.” Max’s green eyes darkened. “And, Corey, it’s safe to say he’s going to be coming straight for you so he can—” “Finish the job,” she whispered.

Chapter Four Goddamn, but she was the most beautiful woman on the planet. Max wasn’t one to wax poetic, but when he looked at Corey, all he could think was that her naturally red lips looked as sweet as ripe cherries, and her long silky hair resembled red satin, and her petite curvy body could make a centerfold weep with jealousy. She was Helen of Troy and Aphrodite and— And he needed to get away from her. As soon as possible. “That’s what he wants, right?” Corey said, her sapphire blue eyes filling with panic. “To kill me, the way he believes my dad killed his daughter.” “Unless his need for vengeance disappeared sometime in the last seven years,” Max said, his flat tone revealing his thoughts on the matter. Harold Twain had not lost his thirst for revenge, Max would bet his life on that. The man’s hatred for Sam Devereaux had run too deep. Corey’s father had been the surgeon who’d operated on Twain’s daughter Nicole after she’d been badly injured in a car accident. Devereaux had given Twain hope before the surgery, but not until they’d opened Nicole up had they seen the extent of the damage. Nearly every organ in Nicole Twain’s body had been crushed. She died on the table. The death of one’s thirteen-year-old daughter would tear up any man, but for Twain, the heartache hadn’t ended there. His wife committed suicide two months later, and the man simply snapped. Apparently he’d

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always had a history of mental illness, but the deaths of his wife and daughter had promptly driven him over the edge, and so he’d turned his grief-turned-hatred onto the man who’d promised to save his daughter and failed. “He killed my parents,” Corey murmured. “An eye for an eye, that’s what he said in court, remember? But they weren’t his only target. He wanted me dead.” And the only reason she was still alive was because of last-minute dinner plans with her girlfriends. Even years after the fact, Max still thanked God that Corey hadn’t been killed that night. But she had arrived home in time to see Twain fleeing through the front door, a gun in his hand. She’d been in a car full of friends, which was probably the only reason Twain had jumped into his own car and sped off without taking a shot at her. “Well, he’s not going to finish the job,” Max said gruffly. He shoved his hands back in his pockets, mainly because his arms tingled with the urge to hold the woman in front of him. Hold her, and comfort her, and kiss her senseless. Control yourself, Hollis. Nothing’s changed. Yep, that was true, wasn’t it? Nothing had changed. Sure, Corey was twenty-five now, no longer a grieving daughter. But those weren’t the only reasons he’d walked away from her all those years ago. Truth was, even then she’d been too good for him. “We’re going to keep you safe,” he said. Corey shook her head. “If you’re talking protective custody, a safe house somewhere, I can’t do it. I’ve got two weeks to finish three paintings for my upcoming show.” For the first time since walking into the studio, Max allowed himself to look around and what he saw stole his breath. Man, she was talented. Canvases filled the large loft, hanging on the walls, stacked up, sitting on easels. Each painting displayed bursts of color, fascinating abstract landscapes, random splashes of paint, some portraits that showed she was skilled in more than just abstraction. Her work was beautiful. She was beautiful. And, as usual, stubborn as hell. “Is a show more important than your own safety?” he said, hearing the testiness in his voice. “Of course not, but I’m not going to hide away like a scared rabbit.” Her delicate chin lifted in resolve. “I lived in fear of this man once already. I won’t do it again.” Despite himself, he wanted to smile. This was the Corey he remembered. Strong. Fearless. Charging into battle instead of running away. Her strength had awed him when he’d first met her. Not many other teenagers would have possessed the courage to sit in the same courtroom as a killer and finger him as the man who’d murdered her parents. Any of the other girls in the car that night could have identified Twain in court, but Corey had insisted she needed to testify. The day she’d stepped into the courtroom, he’d been so proud of her his chest had almost burst. “I figured you’d say that,” he said wryly. “Which is why I’ve arranged for a bodyguard and put two patrols outside your house. Until Twain is caught, the guard is going to be your shadow. Wherever you go, he goes.”

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Corey looked as though she was about to nod in agreement, then glanced at him sharply, an indefinable flicker in her blue eyes. She studied him for a moment, as if weighing something in her mind, like a potential buyer appraising a new car. Finally, she said, “No.” Max didn’t bother hiding his surprise. “No to what?” She crossed her arms over her chest, an action that drew her dark green shirt tighter over her delectable breasts. He swallowed and averted his eyes. “No to the bodyguard,” she elaborated. A sigh lodged in his chest. “Are you serious? There’s a good chance Twain will come after you. You can’t be left unprotected.” “Who said I’ll be unprotected?” she answered with a faint smile. Wariness climbed up his throat. Oh, boy. Why did he have a feeling he knew exactly where this was going? “Corey—” he started. “You,” she cut in. “I want you to protect me, Max. And I won’t settle for anyone else.”

Chapter Five Evidently, she was a huge masochist. Maybe pathetic, too, because she was willing to beg if that’s what it came down to. This man had broken her heart, and yet…yet, she would hand it right back to him if he asked. Truth was, there was no one she wanted more than Max Hollis. God knows she’d tried exorcising him from her heart, she really had. In the past seven years she’d gone out on dates, even had a year-long relationship with an artist she’d met at one of her openings. But none of those men had compared to Max, not even Jesse, her artist. Her entire life she’d longed for a relationship like her parents had—a combination of love and passion, a best friend and a lover. Comfortable warmth and searing heat. She’d had that with Max. In the six months he’d been in her life, she’d had a glimpse of what true love actually was. She’d always wondered, if she saw him again, would she still feel the same? Well, she had her answer now. She still loved him. And maybe if she convinced him to spend just a little bit of time with her, she could make him see that loving her back wouldn’t be so bad. Masochistic and pathetic…that was her, all right. “I can’t be your bodyguard,” Max finally said, his voice coming out gruff. Corey raised one eyebrow. “Why not?” “I’m working on another case.” “I thought you said the FBI was called. With all the manpower those guys bring with them, Chief Fantana isn’t going to need every detective on the force to work the case.”

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His mouth creased in a frown. God, she’d always loved that mouth, the sensual curve of his bottom lip, the lopsided tilt of his grin. She could’ve stared at that mouth for hours, and she had, during all those long talks they’d had when she was eighteen. “Why me?” Max said with a sigh. “The guard I arranged for can do the job as well as I can.” She met his gaze. “I want someone I can trust.” “You can trust Jeff—” “But you know Twain,” she cut in. “And I know you want to see him caught as much as I do. Which means you’ll work harder to keep me safe. You once told me that the only thing that matters to you is keeping me safe.” Something in his green eyes softened. “And I meant it. That’s all I ever wanted for you, Corey. To make sure nobody could ever hurt you.” To her shock, his voice suddenly cracked as he added, “Including myself.” Her breath caught in her throat. For the first time since he’d shown up here at the studio, there was genuine emotion in his tone. A chord of sorrow. A note of tenderness. And she couldn’t be certain, but had that been a flicker of longing in his eyes? Swallowing, she murmured, “You could never hurt me, Max.” “But I did. I hurt you when I left,” he said flatly. Rather than averting his eyes, he stared at her pointedly, as if daring her to contradict him. “Yes, it hurt,” she admitted, instinctively squaring her shoulders, a combative gesture she always made when she was forced to admit vulnerability. He flinched. “I’m sorry.” “Apology accepted. So now make it up to me. Protect me from my monster, Max.” A heavy silence fell over the studio. Max dropped his hands from his pockets, forehead wrinkled with reluctance and unease. He glanced around the studio for a moment, as if the canvases strewn across the room would help him make up his mind. And then his gaze landed on her current piece, the black-and-red sword/knife in the middle of the canvas. The crease in his forehead deepened. Finally he looked back at her and said, “All right.” A balloon of hope rose in her chest. “You’ll do it?” He let out a ragged breath. “Do I really have any other choice?”

Chapter Six “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Russ remarked the next day, leaning against the door frame as he watched Max collect a stack of files from his desk. “I knew you’d be off the Rose Killer case the second I heard about Twain’s escape.” “I’m that predictable?” Max said drily. “When it comes to her, yeah.”

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The note of disapproval in his partner’s voice made him glance up from the papers he was shuffling through. “What, you going to get on my case again?” Max grumbled. “Because you did a good job of that seven years ago.” Russ crossed his arms tightly over his stocky chest. “She was just a kid. You had no business getting romantically involved with her.” “She was eighteen, and we didn’t get romantically involved,” he answered through clenched teeth. Was emotionally involved the same as romantically involved? he wondered. Yes, the voice in his head said with certainty. Fine, so he’d harbored romantic feelings toward Corey back then, feelings that had culminated into one mind-blowing kiss. But he hadn’t allowed it to go any further. After Twain’s sentencing he’d ended it, and he didn’t regret the decision to walk away. She’d just lost her parents, for Pete’s sake—the last thing Corey had needed in her life was a man with enough baggage to fill an airport. “You fell in love with her,” Russ countered. He ignored the remark, tucked his case files under his arm and strode toward the door. “Fantana gave me a few weeks’ leave,” he called over his shoulder. “See you when I get back.” Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the fluorescent-lit corridor and left the station. Winston was waiting in the narrow front hall when Max unlocked the door to his small downtown apartment. He dropped the files on the credenza and bent down to pet the golden Lab whining with excitement at his feet. “Hey, buddy,” he greeted the wiggling dog. He rubbed behind Winston’s ears, and was rewarded by a slobbery lick to the face. “You’re going to have to calm down when we get to Corey’s. Can’t have you driving your new roommate crazy with that unbridled enthusiasm.” Winston yipped, then rolled onto his back, legs sticking up in the air as he waited for a belly rub. Max obliged, all the while wondering why it was so damn easy to please an animal when he couldn’t seem to do anything right for the humans in his life. The officers on the force loved him, patted him on the back and called him a hero each time he put a murderer behind bars, but the women he’d dated? His own family? Those relationships were nonexistent. He wasn’t one for self-pity, but he was well aware of his flaws. He was a workaholic. He had commitment issues. Oh, and the kicker—he had wife-abuser blood running through his veins. A total head case, that’s what he was. He didn’t deserve a woman like Corey Devereaux. Hadn’t deserved her then, and didn’t deserve her now. With a sigh, he rose to his feet. “Come on, Win, let’s go pack up your stuff. We need to report for bodyguard duty.” *** Harold Twain yanked on the brim of his Blackhawks cap as he approached the FedEx counter, holding the short-but-sweet letter he’d penned in his left hand. The woman behind the counter greeted him with a smile and asked, “Hello, sir, what can I do for you today?” Using a Southern drawl, which he’d perfected after listening to his Georgia-born cellmate drone on for hours upon hours, he said, “I need to send this by courier, ma’am, with a guarantee that it will arrive by the end of the day.”

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Another big, fake smile. “I can take care of that.” The clerk barely glanced at him as she got an envelope and told him which boxes he needed to fill out. He scribbled away, making sure his handwriting was near unintelligible, paid for the delivery in cash and hightailed it out of there. Outside, he breathed in the late-spring air, glancing at the pedestrians bustling past him on the street. A woman smiled at him as she walked by, and he wondered if that smile would still be on her face if she knew who he was. What he was. An escaped convict. Bitterness coiled in his gut, wrapping around his intestines like an angry cobra. Prison. Even now, seven years after the sentencing, he couldn’t believe he’d been sent to prison—and why? For killing his daughter’s murderer? That bastard Devereaux had deserved to die. After what he’d done to Nikki, death was even too good a punishment. But Twain had taken care of that. But you forgot one, the raspy voice in his head murmured. “Oh, I didn’t forget,” he muttered back. A passing businessman shot him a funny look, and, realizing he really ought to remain inconspicuous, Twain quit talking to himself and headed toward the car he’d hot-wired the night he’d escaped from the hospital. Another handy skill he’d learned from his cellmate. Driving out of the city, Twain glanced at the clock on the dash. Ten-thirty in the morning. The clerk from FedEx had assured him the letter would arrive before 6:00 p.m. He would have liked to be there when the girl opened the letter, when she realized her destiny as she read those two short sentences. An eye for an eye, the voice said gleefully. Twain nodded. “She deserves to die.” The child needs to pay for the father’s sins. Don’t screw it up this time. “I didn’t screw up before,” he said angrily, slamming on the brakes as he reached a red light. “I couldn’t get to her before. She was with friends.” You chickened out. You let Nicole down. Twain rubbed his temples, which were beginning to pound with pain and irritation. “Shut up,” he ordered. “Shut the hell up and let me do my job.” The voice said nothing, but he could hear the faint echo of mocking laughter in his head. “She’ll die,” he mumbled to himself. “Just like her murdering father and her weak, pathetic mother.” That’s right, the voice agreed, making a reappearance. Corey Devereaux will die.

Chapter Seven Max showed up in the afternoon, finally putting an end to the anticipation Corey had been experiencing since the moment he’d left her studio the day before. Last night she’d kept busy, working on one of the paintings for her upcoming show. She’d also attempted to keep herself occupied this morning, even inviting

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the officer Max had stationed outside her house in for a cup of coffee. But no amount of activity could distract her from the notion that Max was officially back in her life. And now here he was, in her kitchen, after she’d given him a quick tour of the house. She’d felt a spark of pleasure when he complimented her home. She’d bought the small Victorian a year ago, determined to fix it up on her own. The price had been a steal, thanks to the renovations that needed to be done. But Corey didn’t mind the grunt work. Having lived in the bustle of Chicago’s downtown area all her life, Corey had been excited to move to the sleepy suburbs, and she especially liked the gorgeous ravine that stretched out behind the backyards of the houses on her street. Her body warmed as Max glanced around the huge, country-style kitchen, admiring the bright yellow walls. “Did you paint it yourself?” he asked. She nodded. “I’m planning on doing a mural in here, but I haven’t decided what to paint yet.” A furry body brushed against her leg, and she bent down to pet Max’s golden-haired Lab. Max had a dog. She still found that little tidbit surprising. He’d always been so reserved. Definitely not the kind of man she pictured lavishing attention on an overexcited pet like Winston. “He likes you,” Max remarked, an odd note in his voice. She glanced up. “Is that a bad thing?” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Of course not. It’s good, seeing as we’ll be staying with you for a while.” And didn’t he just look thrilled about it. A spark of irritation lit up inside her. Ever since he got here, Max had been treating her like a random stranger he’d been hired to protect. Like the six months they’d had together had meant nothing to him. Like the kiss they’d shared hadn’t happened. Like— “Did you even miss me?” she found herself blurting out. Instantly, her cheeks heated up, making her wish she could take back the spontaneous question. But to her surprise, her words elicited the first glimmer of emotion she’d seen in his eyes since he’d knocked on her door. Max’s green eyes softened, flickering with unmistakable sadness. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. Corey slowly got to her feet, her steps hesitant as she eliminated the distance between them. She paused when they were only a foot away, searching those gorgeous eyes of his, wanting so badly to throw her arms around him. This was the only man she’d ever opened herself up to. The only man who’d ever made her feel…happy. And shockingly, he’d done it at a time when happiness had been in very short supply. “Yes?” she echoed, pressing her shaky hands to her sides. He swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his strong, corded throat. “I missed you.” Corey’s heart did a little somersault. “You could have called.” He shook his head. “That would have been the worst thing I could’ve done, Corey.” She had no idea what to say to that, so instead she pushed away the pang of pain and said, “I missed you, too. I missed talking with you, and…being with you. I miss it now.” Her throat tightened. “I’m glad you’re here, Max.”

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Regret filled his gaze. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “I’m only here to protect you. I don’t want you to read anything more into it.” Corey bristled, but before she could respond, the doorbell chimed. Max’s shoulders instantly stiffened, his right hand reaching for the gun holstered at his hip. As Winston began to bark and scurried for the front door, Corey shot her protector a wry look. “I hardly think Twain would ring the doorbell.” She moved for the doorway, but Max intercepted her. His hand circled her bare arm, sending waves of heat shooting through her body. “I go first,” he said gruffly. Following him to the front hall, Corey waited by the coat closet and watched as Max opened the door, holding his gun loosely behind his back. She craned her neck to sneak a peek, and spotted a skinny guy with a FedEx envelope standing on her porch. “Corey Devereaux?” the courier asked. “No, but I can sign for it,” Max said. A moment later, he closed the door and turned to face her, holding out the envelope. “Expecting something?” She slowly shook her head and accepted the envelope. As she tore it open, the image of her latest painting suddenly filled her brain, and an ominous rush of dread washed over her. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up, tingling, as she removed a single sheet of paper from the envelope. Corey stared at the words scrawled on the page. She felt all the color seep out of her face, and then the paper fell out of her hands. As it fluttered down to the hardwood floor, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Oh, God.”

Chapter Eight Dread seizing his throat, Max bent down to retrieve the slip of paper Corey had dropped. He held the sheet by one corner, trying to preserve the evidence. Not that it mattered. Corey’s fingerprints were all over the damn thing. He read the two sentences written there, as anger slowly coiled in his gut. A daughter for a daughter. See you soon, Corey. Well. Looked like Twain had made his first move. The bastard clearly intended to terrify Corey with this note. Before he killed her. Max’s throat tightened as he glanced at Corey’s pale face. Her hands were still shaking, her straight white teeth worrying her lush bottom lip. His anger escalated. She’d already been through enough, damn it. Losing her parents. Facing their murderer. She didn’t deserve any more pain or fear in her life. Before he could stop himself, he stepped toward her and pulled her into his arms. Corey gave a small gasp, then sank into the embrace, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Max’s pulse quickened, his groin hardening at the feel of that petite warm body pressed against his. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he murmured, holding her so tight he feared he’d break her in half.

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The intoxicating aroma of her drifted up to his nose. Her strawberry-scented shampoo. Her sweet feminine scent, honey and flowers and pure heaven. God, he’d missed holding her like this. Corey tilted her head to meet his eyes, her lips inches from his, and Max nearly keeled over with desire. He’d never wanted a woman the way he yearned for Corey Devereaux. “Max…” Her soft voice trailed off, but the uncertainty in her blue eyes was obvious. So was the longing. With a strangled groan, he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. Twain’s message, now crumpled up in a ball in Max’s hand, fell to the floor again, but he barely gave it a second’s thought. As usual, when it came to Corey, his job flew right out of his mind. Her lips were so soft against his, so warm and sweet. And her tongue…Lord, her tongue was in his mouth, flicking against his own, sending a streak of white-hot pleasure right to his groin. His arousal thickened, straining against his zipper, eagerly pressing into Corey’s flat belly. She sighed with pleasure, one hand stroking the nape of his neck, the other running through his hair as she kissed him back with enough passion to make him forget his own name. It wasn’t until one of those small, warm hands drifted down between them, stroking his erection, that Max pulled back. The erotic touch snapped the sense back into him. What the hell was he doing? He stumbled back, his breath coming out ragged, his pulse still drumming wildly in his ears. Corey looked startled by his abrupt movement, and then a spark of disappointment lit her eyes. “Max…” Yet again her voice drifted. Max sucked in some much-needed oxygen, waiting until his heartbeat went back to normal. Then he raked his fingers through his hair and released his breath. “Damn it,” he finally muttered. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes flashed. “Why is it that you always apologize after kissing me?” “I’ve only kissed you once before,” he said gruffly. “Yeah, and you apologized then, too.” “Because it was a mistake then.” He avoided her irritated gaze. “And—” “Let me guess,” she said bitterly. “And it was a mistake now?” “Yes.”

Chapter Nine Corey didn’t know whether to slap Max right on his stubble-covered cheek, or beg him to kiss her again. In the end, she decided to do neither. Instead, she simply gave up.

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Yep, gave up. Definitely not two words she’d ever expected to find in her vocabulary, but damn it, what else was she supposed to do? She couldn’t fight him anymore. Couldn’t keep opening her heart up only to have him tell her what a mistake the two of them were. “I think…” She swallowed the lump of agony in the back of her throat before attempting to speak again. “I think you’re right.” Surprise flickered in Max’s green eyes. “I am?” Corey blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “This is a mistake. Not just the kiss, but…” Her gaze landed on the crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor by their feet, the sadistic message from the man who’d killed her parents. “I shouldn’t have asked you to guard me. I…I can’t be around you, Max.” The second she said the words, a crash of thunder echoed from outside the house, followed by the sound of rain slapping against the front porch. It was almost as if the weather was protesting her decision, voicing its disapproval. But to hell with it. She was done chasing after this man. A note of sorrow entered his voice. “Corey—” “No, don’t bother with another apology.” Bitterness climbed up her spine, weighing down on her shoulders. God, she was so pathetic. Back then, at least she’d had her age as an excuse. Eighteen-year-old girl all starry-eyed over her older, attractive savior. But now? She was twenty-five. Old enough to know better than to throw herself at a man who obviously wasn’t interested. Her chest aching, she turned away from him, discreetly wiping at the lone tear that had slid down her cheek. “Make the call,” she murmured, keeping her back to him. “What call?” he said warily. “The bodyguard you hired. Call him, get him to come back.” It hurt like hell, saying the words, officially letting Max go, but she had no other choice. Maybe it was a good thing he’d come back into her life, even for such a brief time. At least now she could put the past to rest, and finally accept that she and Max Hollis would never be together. Say goodbye to silly girlhood fantasies and look for a man who actually wanted to be in her life. The tears suddenly fell in earnest, making her feel ashamed. Damn it, she would not cry over this man again. Swiping at her cheeks, she abruptly moved to the front door, mumbling, “I need to be alone for a minute.” “It’s raining,” Max protested as she reached for the door handle. “I like the rain,” she murmured back, then hurried out the door. *** Max stood frozen in the front hall, shocked by what had just happened. The mind-blowing kiss. Corey’s sudden turnaround, telling him to call another bodyguard. He could hardly wrap his mind around it, and the ache in his chest didn’t help. He wished things could be different, that he was different. But he’d never been good at relationships. He always managed to hurt the women in his life and, damn it, he didn’t want to hurt Corey. That was the reason he’d kept his distance from her, then and now. And yet he’d hurt her. Then and now. He lingered in the hall for a long moment, until he heard another loud roll of thunder.

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What the hell was he thinking, letting her go out there alone when there was a killer on the loose?! Some freaking bodyguard he was. He’d barely taken two steps toward the door when he heard a faint scream slice through the rain. Blood draining from his face, he threw open the door and ran outside.

Chapter Ten Fear pummeled into him like angry fists as he spotted Corey lying at the foot of the porch steps. Max ran toward her, instantly sinking to the wet grass and cupping her face with his hands. “Where are you hurt?” he said frantically. A streak of gold flashed in his peripheral vision, and suddenly Winston was beside him, shoving his wet nose against Corey’s shoulder. Max pushed the dog away and repeated his question. “Where are you hurt?” “It’s my—” Not letting her finish, he ran his hands up and down her body, searching for the wound. “Were you shot? Was it Twain?” he choked out. “Damn it, Corey, where are you hurt?” Her hand curled over his wrist, nails digging into his skin. “For Pete’s sake, Max, calm down!” she snapped. “It’s my ankle. I slipped on the last step and fell.” Relief smashed into him. “You fell,” he echoed dully. “Yes. Now can we go inside before this rain washes both of us away?” For the first time since he’d come outside in a panic, he noticed the downpour rushing from the sky. Corey was soaked, her red hair matted against her forehead as raindrops rolled down her cheeks. “Let me help you up,” he sighed, reaching for her arm. She pushed away his hand. “I’m fine. I can get up on my own.” He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her into the house, but the determined set of her jaw told him she’d hit him before letting him touch her. With another sigh, he stood up and crossed his arms, letting the cold rain wash over him. “All right, get up.” He saw her features crease with pain as she slowly got to her feet. Mud streaked across her faded blue jeans, and he almost smiled at the sight of her disheveled appearance. The smile never came, though, as he watched her take one step forward before crumpling like a rag doll. He caught her before she fell, and held her steady. “Now can I help you up?” Her eyes darkened before taking on a resigned light. “Yes.” Without another word, he placed a hand on her back, grasped her round bottom with the other and scooped her into his arms. To her credit, she didn’t protest the entire time as he carried her into the house, kicked off his muddy shoes and took her into the living room.

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He gently put her down on the plump beige sofa, then sat next to her and stared at the wet redhead, wanting so badly to kiss her again. “Which ankle?” he asked quietly. She sighed. “The left one. But it doesn’t hurt that much.” Irked by her continued insistence to pretend she was okay, he rolled up the hem of her pant leg and examined her ankle. It didn’t seem bad at first, not until he glanced at her other leg and saw the enormous difference. Her left ankle had swollen up to twice the size of her right one, and a nasty blue bruise already began to dot her skin. He stifled a groan. “Let me see if it’s broken.” “It’s not—” He didn’t let her finish as he lowered his hand to her leg. He gently ran his fingers over her tender skin, applying pressure against the bone. She winced, but didn’t make a sound. That was Corey all right, strong as hell. After he’d examined her ankle, he met her gaze. “I think it’s just a sprain.” Triumph lit her eyes. “See, I told you. I’m fine. Now go call the other bodyguard.” His heart squeezed. He hated that she was so determined to see him leave. But he knew she was right. Staying was not a good idea. They’d only been together a couple of hours and he’d ended up kissing her. Who knew what would happen if he stayed even longer? But what would happen if he left? If that bastard Twain managed to get his hands on her? Max couldn’t bring himself to get up, the notion of calling someone else to protect Corey sending a knot of pain to his gut. He swept his gaze over her, studying the two smudges of mud on her cheeks, her soaked clothing, disheveled hair—and he decided he’d never seen a more beautiful sight. He also decided that for the moment, he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ll call Jeff in the morning,” Max said, squaring his shoulders in resolve. Corey glanced at him in surprise. “You’re going to spend the night?” “Yes, and don’t bother arguing. Until Twain is caught, you’re in danger, which means no arguments about your safety.” He rose from the couch, his jaw tight, and lifted her back into his arms. “Where are you taking me?” she squeaked. “Upstairs.” “Why?” “You’re covered in mud,” he said roughly. “I’m going to run a bath for you.”

Chapter Eleven

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Max stepped into the upstairs bathroom, releasing a long breath. Damn it, he was crazy for not walking away. But he couldn’t leave Corey. Not now, when her parents’ murderer was roaming the streets. And besides, she was injured. Yeah, her sprained ankle is the reason you’re sticking around, his conscience taunted. He ignored the voice, and focused on drawing a bath for Corey. His breath hitched as he pictured Corey lying in the hot water, her soft, naked body slick from the water, her wet hair curling at the ends. When he found a bottle of bubble bath in the cupboard under the sink, all he could think about was how those white, sparkling bubbles would look against Corey’s firm breasts. When he smelled the fruity aroma of those bubbles, all he could imagine was nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck and breathing in her sweet scent. By the time he finished preparing the bath, he was harder than he’d ever been in his entire life. “It’s ready.” He entered the bedroom, where he’d deposited Corey on the queen-size mahogany bed, and hoped she wouldn’t notice how his jeans had tightened over his groin. He helped her up and led her to the bathroom. Corey hesitated in the doorway. “I think I’ll fall over if I try taking these clothes off myself.” Her voice sounded small and embarrassed to his ears. Cotton lined every inch of his throat. She wanted him to undress her? He wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist touching her if he started taking off her clothes. But when he saw how she struggled to balance herself on one leg, he realized he had no other choice. Max took a deep breath and then, with surprisingly steady hands, he reached for the button of her jeans. Fighting every urge telling him to devour her body, he focused on removing the jeans, which only deepened his hunger. Her soft hand held his shoulder as she wiggled one leg out of the wet denim, then the other. The lacy white panties she wore were so damn appealing, he nearly came apart just looking at her. “Max.” “Yes?” he said thickly. “I’m sorry if this is making you uncomfortable.” Uncomfortable? Oh, he was uncomfortable, all right. More than she’d ever know. “It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “Turn around.” He gripped the hem of her shirt and tugged it upward, all the while knowing Corey was perfectly capable of doing this part herself. She’d hurt her ankle, not her arms, yet Max couldn’t stop himself from taking off the rest of her clothes. She didn’t protest, or try to take over, and the soft hitch of her breath told him she enjoyed this slow undressing as much as he did. Max couldn’t tear his gaze off her, as his brain swam in a pool of satin and lace. The bra she wore held her high breasts lovingly, and creamy-white skin swelled over each cup. The cotton in his mouth thickened until he could barely get out a breath. He reached for the clasp of her bra and slowly unhooked it, willing his body to relax. Dropping the lacy bra on the tiled floor, he reached for the waistband of her panties, took a deep breath and pushed the garment down her legs. His heart slammed against his ribs, bruising each and every one, as he encountered the most delicious feminine behind. Her firm, rosy bottom made his groin ache, made his blood buzz in his ears and his pulse race.

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“Get in the tub,” he barked, hoping that once she disappeared into that mound of bubbles, so would his need for her. He held on to her arm as she raised a foot into the tub, then forced himself to turn away as she sank into the warm water. When he looked back, she was hidden in the bubbles, but his need was still there. Like a forest fire refusing to burn out. “Call me when you’re ready to get out,” he muttered, making for the door. Her husky voice stopped him from leaving. “No. I want you to stay.”

Chapter Twelve It was extremely hard to breathe. And not because her ankle hurt like hell. In fact, Corey barely noticed the pain. She was far more focused on the gorgeous man standing in her bathroom. She’d had plenty of fantasies about Max over the years, a few of them involving this very same bathtub, yet those fantasies didn’t compare to the real thing. As she sank lower into the water, she thought about the decision she’d made before walking out into the rain. The decision to give up on him. It had seemed like such a good idea… Then again, she hadn’t been naked at the time. Now, with her clothes strewn on the bathroom floor and Max’s big, sexy body lingering in the doorway, giving up was the last thing she felt like doing. “Please,” she added softly, when Max still hadn’t responded to her request that he stay. She shifted in the water, causing a wave of bubbles to wet her neck. “I’d really like the company.” He took a step toward the door. “I can’t.” “Why?” “If I stay in here a second longer, I’m going to kiss you again.” Her breath hitched. “Then kiss me.” Her quiet statement made him freeze. Corey stared at his back, the stiff set of his shoulders. She wished she could see his eyes, even though she was pretty sure what she’d find there. Regret. Reluctance. “Max.” She spoke firmly. “Can you turn around so we can talk about this once and for all?” Slowly, he did as she asked, his green eyes flickering with…yep, regret and reluctance. Shocker. Releasing a breath, he crossed the tiled floor and leaned against the wall next to the tub. His gaze fixed on her face, not once lowering to her bubble-covered body. “There isn’t anything to talk about,” he finally said. “Really? Because I’d like to know why you kissed me earlier.” She saw him gulp. “It was a—” “Mistake,” she supplied. “Yeah, I know that already. Why did you do it then?”

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He was quiet for so long she feared he wouldn’t answer. But then he spoke. “Because I wanted to,” he said roughly. Corey couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow. Such an uncomplicated answer from a very complicated man.” A wry flicker filled his eyes. “I’m not that complicated.” The laugh turned into a snort. “Yeah, right. You’re a walking complication, Max Hollis.” She reached up to brush a wet tendril off her forehead. “When you left… What you said after the sentencing hearing. It was more than my age, wasn’t it? You had other reasons for not wanting me.” “Not wanting a relationship,” he corrected. His eyes softened. “It was never about not wanting you, sweetheart. Never.” Her heart skipped at the endearment. He’d never called her sweetheart before. She liked it…no, damn it, she loved it. “And you still feel that way now?” Corey swallowed. “You still don’t want a relationship?” Pain creased his features, and he ran one hand through his scruffy dark-blond hair. “I’m no good at relationships,” he admitted softly. “I…shut down whenever things get serious. I always have, probably because of my dad.” “Your dad?” she echoed quietly. He nodded. “The man pretty much screwed me up from ever having a normal relationship. He…” Max swallowed. “He used to hit my mother, did I ever tell you that?” Her chest squeezed with sympathy. “No, you never did.” “Well, he did. Eventually killed her, too.” She swallowed, wishing she could wrap her arms around him and ease his pain. And I…” He made an exasperated sound. “I… Hell, I don’t have anything to give a woman, Corey.” “That’s not true,” she murmured. “You gave me so much, all those years ago.” “I gave you comfort.” Max sighed. “We couldn’t have had anything more. You always deserved better than me, Corey. You deserved a man who could open himself up to you, give you his entire heart. That’s…that’s not me.” Corey opened her mouth to protest—why was it that men always thought they knew what you needed?—but it was too late. Max had already walked out of the room.

Chapter Thirteen Lying in the twin bed in Corey’s guest room, Max was wide awake when he heard the soft footsteps in the hallway. He knew she’d come, even hoped she would, yet as the creak of the bedroom door opening echoed in the dark, silent room, his chest tightened with despair. “Max, are you awake?” He closed his eyes, not because he was pretending to sleep, but because he knew the second his gaze landed on her, it would be all over.

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“Max?” He managed to find his voice. “Go back to bed, Corey.” Opening his eyes, he saw that rather than turning and walking out the door, she was hobbling forward on her injured ankle. She paused at the foot of the bed, gripping the edge to balance herself. A thin gray T-shirt covered her body, outlining her curves and brushing over her thighs. Her red hair slid over her shoulders and rested just above her breasts, each strand begging for his fingers, pleading to be touched, stroked. She looked like an angel. A beautiful, red-haired angel, innocent and dangerously seductive at the same time. “You shouldn’t be walking around on that ankle,” he muttered. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” There was a small pause. “Do you really want me to go?” she finally murmured, her voice soft and melodic, as enticing as the sweet voices of the sirens who’d once lured sailors to their deaths. “Yes,” he choked out. He saw her swallow, saw the look of disappointment in her gleaming eyes. “All right.” She turned, and the way the thin cotton grazed over her firm backside made his throat go dry. “Corey.” She stopped. “Yes?” “Don’t go.” Oh, Christ, he was a fool. A goddamned fool. She turned around and approached the bed again, this time walking around the side and sitting at the edge. So close to him, just a few inches away. He wanted to touch her, to bury his face in her soft hair and inhale her scent. He forced himself to lie flat on his back, to keep his hands to either side of him, and his gaze fixed on the ceiling above. He couldn’t look at her. He knew what would happen if he did. “I came in here to tell you something,” she said. He felt her gaze on him, felt her eyes penetrating his skin, setting it on fire. “What did you want to tell me?” he said in a hoarse voice. “That you’re wrong.” She grew silent, and he wondered if she would continue. Hoped that she would. The quiet lull lasted for so long he feared she might have left the room. But he could feel her weight on the bed, hear her soft breathing and knew she was still there. After a moment, he forced himself to turn his head and meet her eyes. “I’m wrong?” he finally echoed. “You said you had nothing to give to me.” He took a breath. “I don’t.”

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“And I say you’re wrong.” Her hand reached out to touch his chest, and he nearly groaned aloud. “You do have something to give.” Ignoring the way her hand swirled over his collarbone, he uttered, “What?” “Yourself. That’s what you can give me.” *** Corey searched Max’s face for a reaction, any reaction, but he just lay there, his face expressionless, his features taut. This was her opportunity to go. To get up, leave the room and forget she’d ever been there. Yet she couldn’t will her body to move. She’d been lying in bed for hours before finally coming to him, unable to sleep thanks to the battle raging in her head, a duel between desire and uncertainty. Hadn’t she decided she and Max had no future? But…he’d finally opened up to her. He’d never been so candid with her before, and she was stunned by the personal details he’d revealed as he’d sat by the bathtub. He’d never told her about his dad before, and now that she knew, his reluctance to get involved made a lot of sense. Max was scared. Lowering her gaze, she glanced down at the flower-patterned sheets covering his body. Well, not his entire body. His chest, that glorious chest, was exposed. With trembling fingers, she swept her hand across his chest, brushing over his flat nipples, which hardened at her touch. Seeing that he wasn’t objecting, she dipped her head and pressed her lips to his smooth skin. Exhilaration swept over her as she planted soft kisses up his chest, stopping only to sample his collarbone, his neck, until her head loomed over his, her lips hovering inches from his mouth. Her pulse quickened as she lowered her head. The second her lips brushed his in a featherlight kiss, she nearly came apart. The five o’clock shadow around his mouth tickled her chin, making her want to smile and moan at the same time. He exuded raw masculinity, lying there beneath her. She’d kissed other men since that first kiss with Max, but nothing compared to the warmth of Max’s mouth, to the feel of his hot lips against hers. She deepened the kiss, teasing his mouth open with her tongue, nibbling on his lower lip, biting it with her teeth. She whimpered when his warm tongue thrust out, meeting hers in a swirling duel that left her breathless. He answered her whimper with a hoarse groan and in an instant, his hands found her bottom, pushing her aching core against his now evident arousal. And then he pulled back, and she saw the fire in his eyes. “You should leave,” he murmured. “Before it’s too late to stop this.” “I don’t want to stop it,” she murmured back. His eyes danced with amusement. “You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.” “I know.” And then she wiggled her lower body against his, and saw his amusement transform into need. “If you stay…” His tone was warning. “If I stay, what? What will happen if I stay?” Her eyes presented a challenge.

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“I’ll rip off that T-shirt, cover your body with mine and bury myself deep inside you.” Raw anticipation consumed her. “Then I choose to stay.”

Chapter Fourteen Before Corey could even blink, Max rolled her onto her back, his hands and mouth roaming over every inch of her body. She gasped as he tore the cotton nightshirt from her body, stopping only to gently pull it over her head, before lowering his head and branding her body with his lips. He trailed hot, wet kisses over her shoulders and collarbone, dragging his mouth down her fevered skin until it was mere millimeters from her breasts. “God, your breasts are…” His strangled voice made her smile. “My breasts are what?” “Nice,” he finally choked out. “Very nice.” Before she could reply, he captured one breast with his mouth, and she immediately forgot to formulate words. No talking. Talking took too much time, too much energy. Right now she only wanted to concentrate on Max. And his mouth. He grazed her nipple with his teeth, and a sigh slipped from her throat. Her eyelids closed as she allowed the delicious sensations to swarm her body. Pleasure like nothing she’d ever experienced filled every nerve ending, and when he finally drew her nipple into his mouth, the pleasure heightened to an excruciating pitch. Her arms, despite the heaviness weighing them down, found their way around his neck, pulled him closer. She was naked beneath him, hot and throbbing, and the feel of his cotton boxers against her stomach tortured her. “Take. Those. Off,” she groaned between clenched teeth. A soft chuckle escaped his mouth, and within seconds he’d shucked his boxers. She opened her eyes to look at his naked, aroused form, and the sight of all those rock-hard muscles, his sleek golden skin and impressive erection, sent a pulsing wave of heat straight to her core. She wanted him inside her, but he took his time, kissing her breasts, running his hands over her thighs, torturing her until she was nothing more than a puddle of heat on the bed. Swallowing hard, Corey forced herself to concentrate, to provide him with as much pleasure as he gave her. She ran her hands down his sinewy back, digging her fingernails into his skin, then reached down to touch his taut behind. When she reached one hand around his body and grasped his shaft in her hands, he lifted his head from her breast and gently removed her hand. “If you do that it’ll be over before it begins,” he said with a groan. “I don’t care,” she said stubbornly. “I need you. Now.” He looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “How’s your ankle?” Impatience swarmed her. “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. But everything else does.” The small, satisfied grin on his face made her heart jump. Fire burning in his eyes, he slid his hand down her belly toward the juncture of her thighs. She quivered as he ran a finger over her tender skin, as his thumb

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brushed against her slick folds. When he applied pressure on that sensitive spot, a moan flew from her throat. She’d never felt like this before—needy, hot. Desperate. Her mind swirled with inexplicable pleasure as he stroked her center, and she almost exploded from his gentle caress. Each breath was a struggle, a jerky gasp that tore at her lungs until she feared she might stop breathing altogether. And then he ran his tip over her opening and she nearly came apart. As one hand clawed at the sheets beneath her, the other tangled in Max’s unruly hair and pulled his head down. They kissed, a long, thrilling kiss that sent waves of rapture cascading down her body. He thrust out his tongue, and at the same time buried himself deep inside her. Corey cried out. “Am I hurting you?” he murmured, concern lining his eyes. He paused over her, searching her eyes, and all she could do was stare up at him. The delicious stretching of her body, the feel of his arousal inside her, consumed her with sheer bliss, and she couldn’t form a single word. She’d never felt so complete. “Don’t stop,” she finally managed to utter, pressing her trembling hands against his powerful back. With a groan, Max cupped her breast while his other hand snaked into her hair, and then he began to move. With each thrust she moved closer to the edge, teetering over a cliff that threatened to dissolve under her feet. When she heard his groan, felt his body shudder and tremble, the release finally came—only she didn’t fall, she soared, higher and higher, until white-hot pleasure exploded inside her, until she saw nothing but light. And felt nothing but Max.

Chapter Fifteen From the cover of the woods, Harold Twain focused his binoculars on Corey Devereaux’s house, anticipation rising up his spine until he shivered. The house was dark, but he knew Corey and the cop were inside. He’d seen Hollis show up earlier, both startled and pleased to see that familiar face. Two birds with one stone, the voice in his head said gleefully. Oh, yes. What a coup this was. Not only would he punish the daughter of Nikki’s murderer, but he could get rid of the bastard who’d put him behind bars, too. Earlier, Twain had watched as the detective walked the perimeter, gun in hand, with that slobbering golden Lab trailing at his feet. Hollis had seemed satisfied that the area was secure. He’d walked the outskirts of the woods, too, but hadn’t ventured any deeper, coming nowhere close to where Twain had been hiding. As midnight rolled around, Twain had changed position, now mere yards from Corey’s backyard. Soon. Soon he would make his move. As if someone up above agreed it was time to take action, the back door of the house swung open. The detective’s silhouette filled the doorway, and that idiotic dog bounded onto the deck. Perfect. The cop’s chest was bare, and for a moment Twain wondered if Hollis was doing a lot more than guarding Corey Devereaux. Mixing business with pleasure, perhaps? Shame this would be the last night he indulged in either, that son of a bitch. Hollis’s dog was prowling the back lawn, sniffing at the grass. The mutt finally found a patch of grass he seemed to like, then lifted his hind leg and did his business. The cop called something from the porch, but before the dog could return to its owner, Twain let out a whistle, so soft only the dog could hear it.

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Sure enough, the Lab tilted his head and turned around, peering at the dark forest with intrigue. The cop said something else, but the dog was already scurrying across the unfenced backyard, picking up speed when Twain whistled again. Twain heard the bushes rustle, smiling at the sound of twigs snapping under the dog’s paws. A moment later, a golden-brown head popped out of a bush. The dog let out a loud bark at the sight of Twain. Twain’s smile widened. “Let the games begin,” he said as he slowly drew his knife from the sheath on his belt. *** Standing on the patio, Max still couldn’t decide if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. A part of him couldn’t believe that he’d slept with her. That after seven years, he’d finally given in to the desire he felt for Corey Devereaux. Since she’d fallen asleep in his arms, her silky red hair fanned across his chest, he’d been asking himself what now? Where did they go from here? The answers continued to elude him, and not even the damp night air could clear his head. The rain had stopped, but the storm in his head wouldn’t dim. He rubbed his temples, wondering if he should wake up Corey so they could talk about what just happened, but then he heard Winston bark and his guard shot up twenty feet. Instantly, his hand lowered to the gun he’d tucked in the small of his back after he’d slipped on his jeans and left Corey sleeping in the guest room. Winston’s bark could only mean two things—either the dog had gotten stuck in a bush (which Max wouldn’t put past him) or there was something out there in the woods. Something…or someone. Gripping his weapon with both hands, Max crossed the lawn, the wet grass tickling his bare feet. When he reached the edge of the forest he stopped, listening. A beat of silence, and then a canine cry of pain rang out, echoing in the dark night. Dread seized his gut, causing him to slowly move forward through the brush. He didn’t call out for Winston, not wanting to reveal his location in case the dog wasn’t out there alone. When he stepped into a small clearing surrounded with thick pines, his heart nearly stopped. The golden Lab lay on the dirt, curled on his side and whimpering in pain. Even in the darkness, Max made out the streak of blood on Winston’s hind leg. Other than Winston, the clearing was empty, but Max couldn’t fight the wariness climbing up his chest like a vine. “Hey, boy,” he murmured, slowing approaching the wounded animal. “Let me look at that leg, Win.” He knelt down, still holding the gun in his right hand, while his left reached down to inspect Winston’s injury. Winston stared at him with wide eyes. Was that pain or fear? Max’s instincts were humming, pulse pounding out a beat that screamed danger, but there was no evidence of another human being in the clearing. Until he studied the cut on Winston’s leg. Adrenaline pumped through his blood. The cut…it was one clean slash. Not the kind of cut you got from a branch, or a fall. It had come from a knife. Max shot to his feet at the exact instant he heard the footsteps from behind. He raised his gun, but a fraction of a second too late.

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Before he could blink, something heavy smashed into his head, and as stars danced in front of his eyes, he felt the knife slicing into his side. Agony smashed into him, making him keel over. And then everything went black.

Chapter Sixteen Corey awoke at the sound of the guest room door creaking open. Yawning, she rolled over to her side. “Where’d you go?” she murmured, reaching up to wipe the sleep from her eyes. Max was nothing more than a dark silhouette in the doorway, and she smiled in the darkness, thinking of the incredible lovemaking that had lulled her into peaceful slumber. So much for giving up on him. Totally impossible, she realized now. She loved Max Hollis too much to ever give up. She’d always loved him. He didn’t say a word as he stepped toward the bed. She experienced a flicker of panic. Oh God, was he going to tell her this was a mistake again? Leave her the way he’d left seven years ago? She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet with her to cover her breasts, then said, “Max. Come back to bed. Please.” Still he stood there, silent, nothing but a shadow in the darkness. And then he stepped into a sliver of moonlight that sliced through the crack in the curtains, and his face was illuminated for one brief moment. Corey gasped. Harold Twain. The man who’d murdered her parents was standing at the foot of her bed, holding a…knife. Oh God, it was the same knife in her painting. Same curved blade, same horrifyingly sharp tip. Fear streaked through her like a bolt of lightning, followed by a jolt of adrenaline that had her jumping out of the bed. Pain shot through her ankle, but she ignored it, knowing the pain Twain wanted to cause her was a thousand times worse. “Don’t bother,” Twain rasped, smiling at her. “You’re not going anywhere.” “Like hell I’m not,” she shot back. She eyed the door. Could she get to it? She was no athlete, but she was strong. Lifting heavy canvases did great things to a girl’s arms, and the self-defense classes she’d taken seven years ago still resonated with her. Careless of her nudity and ignoring the throb in her ankle, she charged forward. Twain was prepared for the attack, but like most men he assumed she’d go for the groin, which caused him to lower his hands and gave her the opportunity to unleash a right hook into his jaw. He grunted at the impact, and that second of surprise was all she needed to make it to the doorway. Heart crashing against her ribs, she tore down the stairs, aware of Twain’s footsteps on her tail. Where the hell was Max? What had Twain done to him? How had he— Pain shot into her scalp as her hair was tugged from behind, nearly yanking her head from her body. Her ankle twisted beneath her, making her cry out in agony and sending her stumbling back against Twain’s chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” Twain whispered, pressing his lips close to her ear. “I’m not finished with you, Corey.”

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She pounded him with her fists, biting, trying to get out of his iron-solid grip. And when that didn’t work, she let out a scream that he quickly silenced by slapping his palm over her mouth. Twain sounded annoyed. “Really, Corey, stop struggling and accept your fate.” “Never,” she hissed out, sinking her teeth into the hand he’d clamped over her mouth. Twain swore loudly, then slapped her across the face, so hard her head jerked back. “I’m really going to enjoy punishing you,” he spat out. “You and your family…nothing but goddamn trouble. Murdering bastards, the lot of you.” “My dad didn’t kill your daughter,” she choked out. Another backhand to her face. This one split her lip and brought the salty taste of blood into her mouth. “He butchered her on that operating table!” Yanking her by the hair again, Twain dragged her into the kitchen, the steel blade of his knife pressed against her throat. “A daughter for a daughter,” he muttered, and though he was behind her and she couldn’t see his face, she could hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re crazy,” she whispered. “Certifiably cra—” Twain lifted his arm and slammed the back of her skull with the handle of his knife. Right before she lost consciousness, she heard him say, “This is for you, Nikki.”

Chapter Seventeen Max came to with a ragged groan, his vision so blurry he couldn’t make out a damn thing. But he sure as hell felt the wet tongue lapping at his face. “Winston?” he mumbled, blinking wildly. “What the hell are you—” In a flash, his memory returned. Twain. Twain had hit him over the head and sliced him in the side. Max lowered his hand to the wound, grimacing when he found his skin sticky with blood. Twain had gone for the kidney, probably hoping to damage the organ so Max would bleed out. Too bad Max didn’t have a kidney there. Damn thing had been removed five years ago after a perp put a bullet in it. Wincing from the pain, he managed to move to a sitting position. Wet dirt stuck to his back, and he noticed it had started raining again. Next to him Winston whimpered, attempting to move his injured leg, but Max quickly reached out to still the hurt animal. “Don’t move, boy. I’m going to get you some help, okay?” Winston let out a whine, then lowered his head to the ground. Fighting the waves of pain and nausea, Max stumbled to his feet. He glanced around him, looking for his gun, and found no sign of it. Twain had taken it. Surprise, surprise. His throat tightened with fury. Corey. He had to get to Corey. “Stay,” he ordered Winston, who tried getting up as Max took a few steps forward. The walk back to the house was difficult, what with the concussion he was certain he had and the blood pouring out of his side. Cold raindrops hit his bare chest, and his feet were covered with mud by the time he reached the porch.

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Max hesitated by the door, suddenly terrified to go inside. What if he was too late? He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. What if Twain had killed Corey? Pure anguish tore through him at the thought. No. No. Corey was not dead. He would not lose her to that sadistic psycho. Fingers trembling, he slowly opened the front door and stepped into the dark hallway. The light in the kitchen was on, and the yellow glow made his temple aches. Lord, he could barely see straight. Could barely walk, too. He was in no shape to fight off a killer. Humming. He suddenly heard low male humming drifting out of the kitchen. Twain was still here. Hope soared inside him like a helium balloon. Oh Christ, please let her still be alive. Max’s bare feet didn’t make a sound as he slowly walked down the hall, leaving streaks of mud on the hardwood floor. He pressed his body against the wall next to the kitchen doorway, took a silent breath then peeked inside. Twain was hovering over the kitchen table, back to Max. And Corey…Max’s heart stopped beating. Corey was lying on the table, red hair spilling over the edge, eyes closed. Relief poured into him when he noticed the soft rise and fall of her chest, but the sight of her breasts, exposed to the madman looming over her, sent rage pumping through his blood. Twain, meanwhile, continued to hum as he…oh Jesus, he was dragging the knife up and down Corey’s naked body. Max immediately knew the killer’s intentions. Twain was going to do to Corey what he believed Corey’s father had done to his daughter. He was going to cut her open. Max fought a wave of nausea, swallowing the urge to throw up. No. No way in hell was he going to lose her. He loved her, goddamn it! He loved her sass and her laughter and the way she made him feel anything was possible, that even a screwed-up kid raised by a wife-beater could have a shot at happiness. And he was not going to lose her. Max charged into the kitchen.

Chapter Eighteen Her stomach hurt. That was the first thing Corey registered as her eyelids fluttered open. Why did her stomach hurt? Probably because she hadn’t eaten dinner. She and Max had been too busy satisfying other appetites. She winced with pain as her belly tightened again, and then her eyes focused and she saw Twain’s face. His features were lined with intensity, and that pain in her stomach…it was there because he’d just cut into her skin with a knife. The knife she’d dreamed about two nights ago. She immediately closed her eyes again, pretending she was still unconscious, trying not to throw up from the pain.

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She needed to catch him off guard. Needed to get the hell out of there before he started to…oh God…to play knife hockey with her insides. Corey breathed evenly through her nose, slowly counting to ten. Okay, she could do this. A kick to the face, a roll to the left and she’d be at the door leading out to the back patio. She could do this. She could— “Let her go.” The sound of Max’s voice brought tears to her eyes. He was here! Corey shifted her head just in time to see Max stumble into the kitchen. His chest was bare, and the streaks of blood on his left side sent a rush of concern into her. He was hurt. Twain spun around at Max’s entrance, releasing an irritated curse, and then he attacked. Max barely dodged the knife Twain thrust at him, the blade hissing as it connected with nothing but air. A second later, Max knocked the knife from Twain’s hands, sending it clattering to the tiled kitchen floor. Help him, a voice in her head ordered as she watched the two men struggling. They were on the floor now, throwing fists at each other, both attempting to grab the fallen knife. From the corner of her eye, Corey saw a flash of black steel. A gun. Max’s gun was on the counter. Cringing, she managed to get up into a sitting position, blood from the cut on her stomach dripping down her skin and staining the cedar table. She drew in a deep breath, then swung her legs over the side of the table and hobbled to her feet, ignoring the dull throbbing of her swollen ankle. She was two feet from the counter when Twain shot up from the floor, evidently thinking along the same lines as her. The gun would end it all. As a dose of adrenaline filled her veins, she launched herself at the counter and grabbed the gun a split second before Twain. Without hesitation, she pointed it at the bastard and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot roared in the room, the recoil of the gun making her keel over backward. “You bitch,” Twain sputtered as he glanced down at his chest in horror. She’d just missed his heart, and blood poured out of the bullet wound. And yet he kept coming at her, dark eyes flashing with rage. She lifted her aim and pulled the trigger again. This time she hit her mark. Bile rose in her throat as a neat little hole appeared between Harold Twain’s eyes. With a loud crash he fell over backward, landing on the kitchen floor. His body grew still. Dead. Almost instantly, her entire body began to shake, so wildly she could hear her ribs rattling around in her chest. Her breath came out ragged. Oxygen. She needed oxygen. Oh God, she’d just killed a man. She’d— “Give me the gun, sweetheart.” She nearly jumped three feet in the air when she felt Max’s hand on her bare wrist. Blinking with confusion, she looked down and saw that her hands were still gripping the gun, aiming it at Twain’s lifeless body.

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“He’s dead, Corey. Give me the gun.” There was a slur to his voice, and it was that small oddity that snapped her out of her state of shock. She loosened her grip on the weapon and handed it to Max. As her vision focused, she noticed that his chest was covered in blood and his eyes had a flat shine to them. “Are you okay?” he asked gruffly. She stared into his glazed-looking eyes for a long moment before finally whispering, “No.” And then she threw herself into his arms.

Chapter Nineteen It took nearly four hours before Max was finally able to leave the hospital, though if it were up to Corey he wouldn’t have left at all. Why did men always have to play the tough guy? Max’s concussion worried her, but apparently to him it was no biggie. Sitting in the backseat of Detective Russell Parker’s unmarked sedan, Corey’s gaze wandered over Max’s face. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was awake. She wished he would open his eyes and look at her, but he’d barely spared her a glance since all the chaos. Since her house was officially a crime scene, Detective Parker was taking them to Max’s apartment. Winston was going to spend the night at the vet, and Corey knew the dog would be getting the royal treatment over there. Back at her house, she’d never seen so many people fawning over an injured animal. The paramedics had fawned over her, too, as had the doctors who’d stitched her up in the hospital. But it was Max she worried about. He’d lost a lot of blood, not to mention taken a hard knock to the head. But he insisted he was okay. Of course. “Make sure to wake him up every hour or so,” Detective Parker said when he pulled up in front of Max’s lowrise building. “If he’s slow to wake, throwing up or seems confused, call me and I’ll bring him back to the hospital.” Corey nodded. “I’ll take care of him.” The detective rounded the vehicle and opened Max’s door, rolling his eyes when his partner began to complain about not needing help. “I’m helping you upstairs whether you like it or not, macho man,” Russell said. In Max’s apartment, after she and Russell had gotten him settled in bed, Corey stood in Max’s living room frowning at the bare walls and sparse furniture. The room needed color. Life. Max needed it. Frown deepening, she limped down the narrow hallway. Her ankle still throbbed, now even more after her struggle with Twain. Slowly she entered Max’s bedroom and, like every other room in the house, this one was as cozy as a jail cell. Max’s eyes flickered open at the sound of her footsteps. He tried to sit up, then groaned and touched the bandage at his side. “Don’t move,” she said in irritation. “But—” “In fact, don’t even talk.” She tightly crossed her arms over chest. “I want you to listen to me, okay?”

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“Okay,” he said roughly. She paused for a moment, searching for the right words, but there was only one way to say it so she blurted out, “You need me.” Surprise filled his gorgeous green eyes. Corey drew in a breath and continued. “You need me, Max. You need me to fix up this boring, empty apartment, and you need me to make you smile—you really don’t smile enough—and you definitely need me to love you. There, I said it. I love you. I always have, and I always will, and I’m getting damn tired of you telling me you don’t have anything to give. Because that’s bull. You give me joy and comfort and love and— damn it, why are you looking at me like that?”

Chapter Twenty Max glanced at Corey in amusement, wishing he had a camera so he could capture the outraged look on her beautiful face. He couldn’t stop a chuckle. Her outrage grew. “And now you’re laughing at me!” “Only because you’re saying everything I’d planned to say to you.” She swallowed. “What?” “I was going to do it in the morning, when I was a little more coherent, but…” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re right. I do need you. I…” His voice trailed. “What, Max? You what?” “I love you, Corey.” Max had never said those three little words to anyone, but the second they exited his mouth he knew without a doubt he was doing—and saying—the right thing. He loved Corey Devereaux. Always had, always would. And it was time to stop being a stubborn jackass and claim what was in front of him. Almost losing her to Twain tonight had snapped a whole lot of sense into him. Sure, his childhood had been beyond crappy. His mother’s death and father’s imprisonment had screwed him up. Sure, he was a workaholic. He had two friends—his partner and his dog. And he would probably always have a hard time talking about his emotions. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t allow himself to be happy. And this beautiful redhead standing at the foot of his bed…she made him happy. “You love me?” Corey echoed softly, a slow smile stretching her lush mouth. “More than anything.” He sighed. “I fought it for years. I thought…you deserved more.” She moved to the side of the bed, sinking down on the mattress and reaching out to stroke his stubblecovered chin. “I deserve you,” she corrected. “I want you.” His throat tightened with emotion. “Then you have me. You have all of me, sweetheart.” Hesitation flickered in her gaze. “I’m not too young for you?” Max chuckled. “I’m not too old for you? Hell, I’m ancient.”

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She rolled her eyes. “Seven years isn’t that big of a difference.” Corey smirked. “Especially considering you act like you’re five half the time. I’ve never met anyone more stubborn than you—I mean, you fought your feelings for almost a decade. Jerk.” A laugh rolled out of his chest, bringing a pang of pain to his side. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I’m sorry I pushed you away for all those years.” Corey leaned down and brushed her lips over his. “As long as you’re done pushing, you’re forgiven.” As she gingerly slid up next to him and pressed her head against his shoulder, Max experienced a rush of pleasure so intense his vision clouded with tears. God, he loved feeling her body against his, loved the scent of her hair, the sound of her laughter. He loved everything about Corey Devereaux. “I’m so happy it’s finally over,” she murmured, her warm breath heating his bare skin. “Twain is dead. You, me, Winston, we’re all fine. I keep thinking how differently tonight could’ve ended, if…” If he hadn’t regained consciousness in time. If Corey hadn’t snatched the gun before Twain. God, he could’ve lost her tonight. He wrapped one arm around her slender shoulder and pulled her closer. “I’m glad it’s over, too,” he murmured. She lifted her head, those gorgeous blue eyes searching his face. “But it’s not over for us, is it?” With a soft smile, he brushed his fingers over her lips and murmured, “Oh, no, sweetheart. For us, it’s just beginning.”

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Man of Fame by Rochelle Alers Jordan Wainwright was born with a platinum spoon in his mouth. As heir apparent to the Wainwright real estate dynasty, he’s never wanted for anything. But burnout prompted him to leave his seven-figure job at a prestigious law firm, and a quarrel with his cantankerous grandfather has him questioning his very place in the world. The only bright spot in Jordan’s life seems to be his budding romance with Natasha Parker, a woman he hires as his personal chef after his grandfather intimidated her out of a much-needed summer job. Anxious to make a real difference in the lives of everyday people and not corporate fat cats, Jordan asks to join the private Harlem-based practice of his former mentor, Kyle Chatham. But his first case offers a unique challenge: taking on his grandfather’s corporation in a landlord-tenant dispute…

Chapter One Jordan Wainwright maneuvered onto the newly paved private road leading to his family’s summer estate. Downshifting, he decelerated around a curve and the Wainwright compound came into view. It was easily recognizable by its Victorian style and connecting three-bedroom guesthouse that resembled an intricately constructed wedding cake with an exquisitely two-tiered wraparound porch and turrets. Of the four thousand homes that made up the Chesapeake Ranch Estates, also known locally as the Ranch Club, no two were alike. Originally, the Ranch Club was a gated community manned by round-the-clock guards, but in the late 1990s a majority vote of property owners mandated removal of the gates. Instead of going to sleepaway camp or visiting with his grandparents like other children, Jordan had spent his summers at the Ranch Club. Though now a grown man, he still joined the rest of his family in Maryland for the mandatory Memorial Day gettogether. Jordan slowed before coming to a complete stop behind his parents’ vintage Mercedes Benz sedan. There were already three other cars in the drive. “Jordan!” Smiling, he peered through the windshield to find his sister racing toward him. He’d just stepped out of the low-slung sports car when she launched herself at his chest. Catching her in midair, he swung her around until she pleaded with him to stop. “How’s my favorite sister?” Chanel Wainwright rolled her eyes upward. Jordan hadn’t seen her in weeks, although they lived within walking distance of each other in New York City. She lived with their parents and brother Rhett in a Fifth Avenue Beaux Arts mansion overlooking Central Park, and Jordan had recently purchased a charming maisonette at Ninety-eighth Street and Fifth Avenue. Jordan knew his distant behavior—and his recent change in attitude toward their grandfather—worried Chanel, but when she’d asked him about it his response was to say it didn’t concern her. “I’m your only sister.” Jordan dropped a kiss on the fashionably cut sun-streaked hair she’d tucked behind her ears. He adored his fifteen-year-old sister. “Thanks for reminding me.” Going on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “Where have you been? Mother has been waiting for you so we can all can sit down and eat together.” “I made it down and that’s what important, Charlie.” Chanel, tired of everyone teasing her about her name, had told Jordan she preferred Charlie to Chanel.

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“Don’t let Mother hear you call me that. She’ll open a vein.” Jordan, cradling her smaller hand in his, led Chanel around to the rear of the house. He was familiar with Christiane Wainwright’s dining practices: breakfast and the midday meal on the back porch, and dinner in the formal dining room. “Perhaps we should let her hear it so we can find out if her blood is red or blue.” “Stop it!” Chanel hissed. Her blue-green eyes sparkled when she smiled. Jordan could count on his sister to provide a bit of sunshine on what he predicted to be an otherwise boring weekend. Most of the Wainwrights, Christiane in particular, were much too serious. Jordan stopped short when he saw the one person he hadn’t wanted to see: Wyatt Wainwright. His grandfather’s black eyebrows flickered at the same time his mouth tightened into a thin, hard line. The resemblance between the two men was uncanny, and Jordan knew what he would look like in another forty years. The only difference was eye color. Wyatt’s eyes were the color of a blue sky on a cloudless day and Jordan’s were brown with pinpoints of gray and green, depending upon his mercurial moods. “Grandfather,” he said softly in acknowledgment. Wyatt Wainwright inclined his head. Despite his casual attire of navy blue linen gabardine slacks, white shirt, opened at the collar, and white pullover V-neck sweater he was still an imposing figure. His gaze narrowed as he glared at his eldest grandchild. The last time they’d met, months ago, he’d permitted Jordan to say things to him that he never would’ve permitted another human being to utter—not even his own son. But Jordan knew full well he had gotten away with it because Wyatt had plans for him, plans in opposition to what Jordan had in mind for his own future. “It’s good seeing you, Jordan.” Jordan wanted to tell his grandfather the feeling wasn’t totally reciprocated, but then decided he didn’t want to ruin the kickoff to the Wainwright summer gatherings. Christiane came to the Ranch Club every weekend in June, then closed up the Fifth Avenue mansion, moved the entire household staff and spent the months of July and August in Maryland. “It’s nice seeing you, too, Grandfather.” It was a half-truth, but he’d promised himself that he would make an attempt to be civil to the seventy-eightyear-old widowed tyrant, who could easily pass for a man fifteen years younger. He’d said things to his grandfather that were damning and blatantly disrespectful, but were warranted given the circumstances. They’d seen each other at Christmas, but hadn’t until now exchanged a word. “Everyone’s in the house waiting for you.” Jordan’s gaze shifted to the cloth-covered table with china, crystal and silver for six place settings. “Mother knows not to wait for me.” “It’s not your mother who’s waiting.” Jordan’s raven eyebrows lifted a fraction. “If it’s not Mother, then who is?” “It’s your father,” Wyatt said over his shoulder as he turned on his heel and walked through the door leading into the kitchen, his grandson following his lead. “Bonjour, Master Jordan.”

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Jordan gave his parents’ live-in chef a warm smile. “Bonjour, Monsieur Durant.” His mother had gone through countless cooks until she’d settled on Jean-Paul Durant, who’d recently celebrated his twenty-second year in the Wainwright employ. But it wasn’t the longtime employee that captured Jordan’s attention; it was the petite, young, dark-skinned woman assembling an antipasto tray. She glanced up and he smiled at her, and she returned his smile with a dimpled one of her own. Taking long strides, Jordan caught up with his grandfather. Christiane rose from an armchair, a practiced smile pasted on her face. The smile that curved her mouth did not reach her frosty green eyes. “Now that you’re here, we can sit down to eat.” Jordan knew his mother was piqued, because she hadn’t bothered to greet him. He hadn’t given her a specific time when he would arrive. But more than that, she was still perturbed by the fact that he’d yet to find another position since leaving the high-powered law firm of Trilling, Carlyle and Browne almost a year ago. Despite the fact that he was more than comfortable living off his trust fund, and the savings from his seven-figure salary, Jordan knew his mother still disapproved of his current lifestyle. He’d also disappointed her hopes for a wedding when his long-distance love affair with Debora, a legislative assistant, has soured about the same time. Jordan’s gaze shifted to his father, who gave a barely perceptible shake of his head to his youngest son. Rhett’s expression spoke volumes. He was bored. Rhett would turn twenty-one the following year, and at that age would be exempt from spending his summers at the Ranch Club, like his twenty-two-year-old brother Noah, who was nowhere to be seen. Minutes later, everyone sat at the table on the back porch. Edward and Christiane sat opposite each other at the head of the table, Jordan next to Rhett and Chanel on Wyatt’s right. Goblets at Rhett’s and Chanel’s places were filled with chilled lemonade and the adults’ with dry French rosé. Jean-Paul and his assistant brought out the antipasto tray with a basket of bread sticks and focaccia bread. The weather was perfect for dining alfresco. The temperature was in the low eighties with a warm southerly breeze. Jordan stared under lowered lids at those sitting around the table. Edward and Christiane Wainwright were known as the golden couple amongst those in their social circle. Three of their four offspring had inherited their fair coloring, ash-blond hair and blue or green eyes. The exception was their firstborn, whose dramatic dark looks made him a standout when compared to his siblings. “Dad, what is it you want to talk to me about?” Jordan asked Edward Wainwright. Edward gave his son a long, penetrating stare. “As you know I’m turning fifty-five in July and I’m thinking of retiring.” Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at him. “Teddy!” Christiane gasped. “What the hell are you talking about?” Wyatt shouted. Chanel blinked back the tears. “Are you sick, Daddy?” Edward’s hand came down hard on the table at the same time a flush crept up to his hairline. “Will you please let me finish what I was going to say?” Jordan hid a smile. It wasn’t often his father exhibited a display of temper and he felt a measure of pride for the man who, unfortunately, was never able to come into his own because of his tyrannical father and haughty wife. Edward may have been president of Wainwright Developers, but Jordan knew the real power was in his grandfather’s hands. He’d been present at board meetings where Edward hadn’t been able to give a senior VP a definitive answer without first checking with Wyatt. “Please continue, Dad.”

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Edward nodded. “Thank you, Jordan. I plan to resign as president of Wainwright Developers, but I plan to stay on as a consultant.” He smiled at Chanel. “And to answer your question, sweetheart, no, I’m not sick. I’ve been telling your mother for years that I want to travel.” “Travel, or play golf?” Christiane mumbled under her breath. “That, too,” Edward confirmed. Wyatt cleared his throat, glaring at Edward. It was obvious he hadn’t expected Edward to resign without speaking to him first. “When were you going to tell me?” Edward seemed to visibly retreat from his father’s intimidating stare. “I thought it best to make the announcement during a family get-together.” “Who are you going to recommend as your replacement?” Jordan asked Edward. A pregnant silence settled over the table’s occupants following his query. Reaching for his wineglass, Edward took a sip, held it in his mouth for several seconds before swallowing the vintage rosé. He extended the glass to Jordan. “I want you to replace me.”

Chapter Two Jordan shook his head. “I can’t, Dad.” “You can’t, or you won’t?” Wyatt asked. “Both.” Edward drained his wineglass, and the chef’s assistant, standing off to the side, came over to refill it. “Why not?” Five pairs of eyes were trained on Jordan as they awaited his response. “I can’t, because I’ve got other plans.” Christiane pressed a hand to her throat. “What plans, Jordan?” “I’ve asked Kyle Chatham, a former colleague from TCB who recently set up a practice in Harlem, to create a position for me.” Wyatt choked on his wine. Reacting quickly, he coughed into his napkin. “Did you say Harlem?” Jordan’s revelation had not only shocked his grandfather, but everyone sitting at the table. They stared at him as if he’d announced that he’d come down with bubonic plague. “Yes, I did say Harlem.” “But…but why on earth would you want to work up there?” Christiane sputtered. “What’s wrong with working up there, Mother?” he countered. Wyatt narrowed his gaze. “What’s wrong is you’ll have pimps, hookers and drug dealers for clients.”

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Jordan’s expression changed, becoming a mask of stone. “I’m going to try to forget you said that, because if I ever hear you say something even remotely close to what just came out of your mouth I’m going to forget that you’re my grandfather.” His voice was low, lethal. A flush suffused Edward’s face, adding to the heightened color from quickly downing two glasses of wine. “Jordan, I didn’t raise you to disrespect my father.” “But it’s okay for him to disrespect me? I don’t think so, Dad. Wyatt is so used to bullying his employees that he believes he can do the same with his family. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not going to put up with it.” Placing his napkin alongside his plate, he stood. “Excuse me, but I just lost my appetite.” He left the porch and entered the house through the kitchen. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when he heard Wyatt screaming at the chef’s assistant. It was obvious he was redirecting his rage and frustration on someone who couldn’t fight back. Jean-Paul exchanged glances with his employer’s son. “I suppose I should see what the fuss is all about.” The words were barely off his tongue when the young woman rushed into the kitchen, pulling off the bandanna covering her head. Her dark eyes flashed fire. “I’m outta here. I’m here to work, not get abused.” “Natasha, please,” Jean-Paul pleaded softly. She rounded on him. “This has nothing to do with you, chef. Will you please call me a taxi so I can get to the nearest bus or train station?” Slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks, Jordan rocked back on the heels of his imported slip-ons. “Where are you going?” She turned and stared at him. “New York.” “Where in New York?” he asked. “Harlem,” she replied as a slight smile tilted the corners of her generous mouth. “And, if I’m going to be specific, then I should’ve said East Harlem.” Jordan took a car fob out of the pocket of his trousers. “Forget the train or bus, because I just happen to be going your way.” With wide eyes, she said, “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” “No, I’m not. As soon as you get your things together I’ll meet you near the garages.” Smiling, he offered his hand. “By the way, I’m Jordan.” She hesitated, closed the distance between them and shook his large, well-groomed hand. “Natasha Parker. It’s nice meeting you, Jordan. Give me about fifteen minutes, and I’ll meet you outside.” *** Ten minutes later Natasha walked out of the guesthouse and made her way around to the four-car garage. Jordan was sitting in a black-on-black convertible two-seater BMW. A baseball cap and dark glasses protected his head and eyes from the hot late-spring sun. He pressed his head to the headrest, singing along with the music flowing from the automobile’s powerful sound system.

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“Let’s go, homeboy. I’m ready to roll.” Jordan sat up quickly, smiling. “Hey, that was fast.” She returned his smile. “That’s because I was already ready to get the hell outta Dodge.” Natasha took a step backward when he opened the driver’s-side door and got out. Reaching for her weekender, he led her around the vehicle, settled her in the passenger seat and then stored her bag in the trunk. His cell phone rang as he slipped behind the wheel. He activated the dashboard’s Bluetooth device. “Yes?” “Jordan, dear, where are you?” Putting the car into gear, he executed a U-turn and maneuvered away from the garages. “I’m in the car, Mother, heading back to New York.” “Won’t you please come back?” He accelerated. “No, Mother, and you’re going to have to stop trying to play peacemaker. Wyatt is who he is and I am who I am. The sooner you accept that we’re not going to agree on a number of issues, the better it will be for everyone. I love you, Mother, and I’ll call you in a couple of days when I’m certain I can be more reasonable than I am right now.” “I love you, too, dear. I’ll be waiting for your call.” Jordan pressed a button, disconnecting the call. He took a quick glance at the woman sitting beside him. Natasha had covered her head with a rose-pink bandanna that matched the tank top she’d paired with black cropped pants. She’d pushed her tiny feet into a pair of sandals with a two-inch wedge heel. He hadn’t realized how tiny she was until he stood next to her. Jordan was six-two and he suspected Natasha was a foot shorter. “Let me know if you want me to put up the top.” Natasha raised her arms above her head. “The breeze feels delicious.” “Spoken like a true chef.” She glanced at him surreptitiously. “I still have another year before I can claim that title. But that may be delayed if I don’t find another position before the summer. I need to save about three thousand dollars to cover tuition and room and board for the next two semesters.” “Where are you going to school?” Natasha closed her eyes and settled back against the leather seat. “Johnson and Wales in Providence, Rhode Island. I have one more year before I can get my bachelor degree.” “Couldn’t you have found a culinary school in New York City?” “I did a lot of research before choosing a school and decided on two—the French Culinary Institute and Johnson and Wales. I went with Johnson and Wales because they offered a partial scholarship. If I’d had the forty thousand dollars for a six-month daytime course at FCI I would’ve commuted between Newark and Manhattan.” “So,” Jordan crooned, “you’re a Jersey girl?”

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“I was a Jersey Girl. Now I live with my cousin whenever I’m not in school.” She opened her eyes and stared at the navigational screen. They were traveling in a northwest direction toward Washington, D.C. “I broke the cardinal rule when I let your grandfather get to me.” “Why would you say that?” “Hired help should think of themselves as invisible. You hear nothing, see nothing and more importantly, you say nothing.” Jordan gave her a sidelong glance. “Not many people are able to ignore Wyatt Wainwright, especially when he spews his venom.” “He’s lucky I didn’t drown his old ass when he called me an incompetent bitch.” “What did you do?” “I spilled water on the tablecloth. Before I knew it I had the pitcher inches from his head, and he knew exactly what I wanted to do.” Jordan wanted to tell Natasha that Wyatt probably would’ve respected her more if she had challenged him, because there was nothing Wyatt detested more than weakness in a human being. He’d viewed his son as weak and it was the reason Wyatt refused to relinquish total control of the company to Edward. “I would’ve paid your tuition just to see my grandfather squealing like a wet cat.” Natasha laughed, the low, sensual sound floating on the wind. “If I’d known that I would’ve emptied the pitcher and then gone back to refill it.” “Easy, Natty. Remind me not to cross you,” Jordan teased. “Don’t worry, Jordan. I promise not to jack you up.” “I’m not worried, little bit.” “Do you have something against short people?” “Do you think I’m biased?” “I don’t know what to think, wannabe homeboy.” There was something about Natasha’s sarcasm that rankled Jordan’s nerves. She was no different than Wyatt, or for that fact, his mother. “You have one more time to call me homeboy, Natasha.” For the second time that day, Natasha’s quick temper got the better of her and again it was directed at a Wainwright. “What are you going to do, Jordan? Put me out on the side of the road?”

Chapter Three Jordan punched a button, raising the top to the convertible, shutting out the sound of blaring music from passing cars. When he’d gotten up earlier that morning he had hoped his day would go well, that he would enjoy the holiday weekend with his family, but he’d been wrong. He had tried to be civil with his grandfather, but failed. Moreover, now it was a woman whom he had offered to help that annoyed him with her unsolicited, off-putting remarks. “Either you don’t like men, or you’re dealing with the wrong homeboys.”

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Natasha’s mouth opened and closed several times before she sputtered, “I…I like men.” “You could’ve fooled me,” Jordan drawled sarcastically. “Why would I offer to drive you back to New York and then put you out before we got there?” Pinpoints of heat stung Natasha’s face. Jordan hadn’t realized how close he’d come to the truth. Her relationships with men had not been what she would call stellar. One had used her; another had abused her physically and verbally, while the last man in her life had cheated on her with her best friend. “I’m sorry, Jordan.” He took his eyes off the road, and the tenderness in his expression caused her to take a breath, hold it and then let it go when she felt the constriction across her chest. Reaching across his body, Jordan held out his left hand. “Let’s start over. I’m Jordan Wainwright, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Smiling, she took his hand. “It’s very nice meeting you, Jordan. I’m Natasha Parker.” Jordan winked at her from behind his sunglasses. “Would you think me presumptuous if I asked you to share dinner with me?” Natasha felt a warm glow sweep over her. Jordan Wainwright’s looks and manner of speech were nothing like the men in her past. She believed he was nothing more than a poor little rich boy who wanted to hang, to fit in with the have-nots. Not only were she and Jordan complete physical opposites, they were also socially and economically opposed. Moreover, while he had the luxury of picking and choosing where he wanted to work, she needed a job yesterday. She was willing to do anything—short of selling her body—to earn the money she needed to complete her last year of college. Jordan was not her type, but she was not ready to write him off completely. He came from money, lots of money, and there was no doubt he had wealthy friends. Maybe some of his friends, or their parents, would need the services of a personal chef for the summer season. She flashed a demure, dimpled smile. “Of course I don’t think you presumptuous. I’d love to share dinner with you.” “Where would you like to eat? You have a choice between D.C., Baltimore, Philly or the Big Apple.” “I prefer the Big Apple.” “Which cuisine would you prefer—French, Italian, Asian, Caribbean, Indian, Middle Eastern or American?” “You’re offering me a choice?” “But of course.” Jordan just went up several cool points with Natasha. He could very easily become her type. “I’d like French.” Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the upbeat hip-hop song coming through speakers, Jordan said, “I was hoping you’d say that. Have you ever been to Les Célébrités at the Essex House?”

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“Yes. I ordered their veal tenderloin filled with foie gras, truffles and wild mushrooms and thought I’d died and gone to heaven.” Jordan appeared to be searching his memory for other restaurants offering French cuisine. “What about Café des Artistes?” “I’ve never been there.” She had always wanted to eat at the restaurant that was a favorite of theater and media personalities. “Then it’s Café des Artistes.” He handed Natasha his cell phone, asked her to call the restaurant and make a reservation for seven. The day that had begun with the excitement of Natasha working alongside a former executive chef had gone downhill when she had become the brunt of a rich old man’s rage. Then things had changed again when she had agreed to have dinner with his grandson. She settled back to enjoy the ride and the man who unknowingly had become her knight in shining armor. Pushing a button on the steering wheel, Jordan increased the volume on the audio system, singing along with the catchy, pumping rhythm. “‘You spin my head right round, right round when you go down, when you go down down.’” “So, the poor little rich boy likes Flo Rida?” Jordan continued singing, deciding it was fruitless to try to change the way Natasha viewed him. He had never wanted his family’s wealth to define who he was, yet those who knew him felt he was being pretentious whenever he told them he was no different than they were. It wasn’t easy to convince them, not when he was heir to an empire second only to Prudential Douglas Elliman, the largest real estate conglomerate in the East. After graduating law school, he’d gone to work for Wainwright Developers, but left after three years because he’d needed something a lot more challenging. Working for Trilling, Carlyle and Browne was challenging and rewarding, and with Kyle Chatham as his mentor, Jordan had come to eat, sleep and breathe law. His love affair with TCB soured after he won a case for a CEO who had mismanaged his company, leaving it bankrupt and its shareholders without a penny. Following Kyle’s lead once again, Jordan had left his job. Now he hoped to find a place in Kyle’s new practice, to make a difference in the world. “I like Flo Rida, Ludacris and Keyshia Cole,” he finally replied. “I also like Josh Groban, Pink, Lil’ Kim and Barbra Streisand.” “Okay, Jordan, I get your drift.” “Do you really, Natty?” he asked. “You look at my family, see how they live and you put us in a box with a label that reads ‘rich and indulged.’ The truth is we’re no different from any other family in America. We have the same problems with sibling rivalry, drugs, alcohol, teenage pregnancies and cheating spouses. The difference is, we have enough money that we’re able to cover up our filth before others can smell the stench.” Natasha resisted the urge to applaud. “It sounds good, but there’s one other variable that makes us very different from each other.” “Of course there is. I’m a man and you’re a woman.” She punched him softly on the shoulder, encountering solid muscle. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

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“What exactly are you talking about, Natty?” “You have the option of turning down a job you don’t want, and I just quit one I needed.” “What if I help you out?” “How, Jordan?” “I’ll hire you as my personal chef.” “You’re kidding?” “I’ve offered, but if you don’t want the position, then let me know now.” There was the same hard edge in his voice Natasha heard when Jordan had warned Wyatt about his remark about pimps, drug dealers and hookers. He’d made an offer she would be a fool to refuse. “I accept the offer. When do you want me to start?” “Tuesday. I never eat breakfast, so—” “Don’t you know breakfast is the most important meal of the day?” “Not for me. I find that if I eat too much it makes me sluggish, so I just have coffee.” “It looks as if I’m going to have to teach you how to eat,” Natasha said softly. “I usually make lunch my heavier meal and dinner is usually veggies and fish or chicken,” Jordan said as if Natasha hadn’t interrupted him. The topic of food segued to music, movies and tabloid gossip. By the time Jordan drove across the state into New York he felt as if he’d known Natasha Parker for months instead of hours. They alternated talking with singing whenever songs they were familiar with came through the roadster’s speakers. What surprised him was that their voices complemented each other. His baritone was a melodious match for her perfect-pitch soprano. Jordan found a parking space along Central Park West two blocks from Sixty-seventh Street. Taking her hand, they strolled along the streets like so many other couples taking advantage of the warm weather. It was minutes before seven when he escorted her into the famed restaurant with murals of frolicking nymphs. The manager greeted Jordan by name and directed him and Natasha to a table next a mural of The Swing Girl. He stared at her bowed head as she studied the menu. When she’d removed the bandanna a profusion of twisted hair framed her doll-like face, ending inches above bare shoulders. Natasha claimed a dark, delicate beauty he found mesmerizing. “Do you see anything you’d like?” he asked after she’d perused the menu. Natasha smiled at him from across the table. “I like the duck confit and the Chilean sea bass.” “Do you find yourself analyzing dishes whenever you eat out?” She dropped her gaze. “I rarely eat out. I can’t afford it.”

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I can’t afford it. Interacting with Natasha Parker had shocked Jordan into realizing that he’d taken eating at restaurants for granted. All he had to do was pick up the telephone to make a reservation that permitted access to any restaurant in the city. Had he been that insular and disconnected from the real world? He’d attended prep schools, a prestigious college and law school, and then went to work for his familyowned company, and from there to a prominent New York City law firm. He hadn’t had to concern himself with repaying student loans or finding an affordable apartment, or put himself on a budget so he would have enough money to last from one paycheck to the next. Natasha had to work, and save every penny in order to have enough money to complete her education. “That’s going to change.” “What do you mean?” she asked. “Over the next three months we will eat out at least one or two days a week.” Natasha exhaled an audible sigh. “How many days do you want me to cook for you?” Jordan rested a hand over hers. “Probably no more than four days each week. I’ll give you my weekly schedule in advance, so that should rule out any conflicts.” “Do you cook at all?” “No,” he admitted. “I usually order from a local gourmet shop on Madison Avenue.” “Where do you live?” “Ninety-eighth and Fifth.” Natasha’s expression brightened. “We’re practically neighbors. My cousin lives on Third Avenue near 106th Street. I guess you can say it’s small world.” Jordan didn’t agree with her. In fact, his world as he knew it was expanding. He no longer wanted to work for wealthy clients but the underserved and underrepresented; and he’d found himself enthralled by a little slip of a woman whose spunk and fire made him want to get to know everything about her.

Chapter Four Jordan miraculously found a parking spot in front of the apartment building where Natasha lived with her cousin. He shut off the engine, removed his seat belt and draped his right arm over the back of the passenger seat. The East Harlem block was pulsing with electricity. People were sitting on benches, kids were riding bikes and tossing balls, and teenagers were packed into cars with open windows. All the radios were tuned to the same station and the street had become an impromptu open-air concert. “Do you have a cell phone?” Natasha went completely still. “Yes, I do,” she said haltingly. “Why?” “I want to give you the numbers where you can reach me.” Reaching into the leather tote, Natasha pulled out her cell and handed it to Jordan. “Don’t you want my number?”

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“No,” he said as he punched his name and numbers in her directory. “When you call me, your number will come up on my caller ID.” A hint of a smile played around her mouth. “So, if I never call you, then you won’t have my number,” Natasha teased. Jordan palmed the small phone instead of returning it her. “You’re the one who needs the job, Natty. So, if you decide to play head games then you’ll be the loser.” “Lighten up, Jordan. I was only teasing you. And of course I need the job.” He handed her the phone and then opened his door. “What are you doing?” she asked. He had one foot on the street and the other in the car. “I’m going to walk you to your apartment.” “You don’t have to. My cousin lives on the first floor. That’s her apartment with the American flag decal taped to the window.” Jordan stepped out of the car and peered at the building. The apartment was dark, but he could make out a small square object in the upper-left corner of the window. He rounded the convertible and opened the door for Natasha. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Of course I’ll be all right. Can you please get my bag out of the trunk?” Leaning over, he pulled a lever and the trunk opened smoothly. He took out her bag and handed it to her. “Thank you for the ride and for dinner.” “It was my pleasure.” “Don’t forget to eat breakfast,” she warned with a smile. Jordan closed the trunk and folded his arms over his chest as he stared down at the petite woman with whom he’d shared the past eight hours. “Why don’t you come over and fix breakfast for the two of us?” “What time should I come?” “What about eleven?” “That’s not breakfast, Jordan. That’s brunch.” “Okay. Then we’ll have brunch,” he conceded. “I’ll wait here until you get inside your apartment.” “Once I’m inside I’ll wave to you.” He waited for her to walk through the courtyard of a high-rise apartment building complex. Minutes later a light went on in the first-floor apartment and she waved to him. He returned her wave and got into the car, and drove to the garage where he parked the sports car. He walked the three blocks to his Fifth Avenue prewar, high-rise maisonette. The two-bedroom, three-bath apartment was steps from Central Park and Mount Sinai Hospital, private schools and public transportation. Instead of entering the building through the opulent, door-manned lobby, he used a side entrance that led directly into his apartment. He deactivated the alarm and set it again.

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Jordan emptied his pockets onto a table under the stairs before climbing the staircase to his bedroom. He wasn’t certain why he’d hired Natasha Parker as a personal chef, because he managed to get by eating at restaurants and ordering food from his favorite gourmet market. There was no way he could rationalize and say he was attempting to apologize for his grandfather’s insult. Wyatt was Wyatt and he was Jordan. The simple fact was that he liked her. Enough to want to see her again. *** Jordan woke at dawn to heat and humidity. He got out of bed and pushed several buttons on the thermostat for the air conditioner. He planned to do what he did most mornings: go jogging in Central Park. Running along the foot trails, whether summer or winter, was invigorating. Making his way to the bathroom, he splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth and slipped into a pair of shorts, a T-shirt and running shoes. The device strapped to his bicep monitored his heart rate, number of steps and miles. Jogging permitted him to relax, to clear his mind. He equated jogging to going to therapy wherein he mentally relived the prior day’s events. Today it was getting together with his family at the ranch. He knew he could’ve put up with his cantankerous grandfather if Wyatt hadn’t been so critical about where Jordan wanted to practice law. To Jordan, law was law and clients were clients, regardless of whom they were or where they lived. “Good morning,” he said, breathing heavily, as he passed a woman who lived in his building. She waved with one hand, while holding two fingers to the pulse in her neck. He didn’t break stride as he ran along the 96th Street Transverse Road, turning left to West Drive and onto the 86th Street Transverse Road around the reservoir to Fifth Avenue and then another half mile back to his apartment building. Jordan once again entered his apartment through the side entrance. His decision to purchase the maisonette rather than the penthouse that was on the market at the same time had been a wise choice, because he valued his privacy. It was a fact that New York City doormen knew as much about the tenants in the buildings they manned as an intelligence agency. Stripping off his clothes, he left them in a wicker hamper in the laundry room. The area held a small kitchen, and what had been a maid’s bedroom and bath, which he used whenever he returned from jogging. The telephone rang as he walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his lower body. He picked up the receiver from the wall phone in the kitchen. “Hello.” “Are you ready for breakfast?” Jordan glanced at the clock on the microwave. “It’s seven, not eleven, Natasha.” “You say you feel sluggish if you eat breakfast?” she continued, ignoring him. “That’s right.” “Why don’t you go for a walk afterward? In fact, I’ll walk with you.” Smiling, he didn’t tell Natasha that he’d already jogged a couple of miles. “Okay. What’s on the menu for lunch and dinner?” “Hold up, handsome. It’s just breakfast. I thought I wasn’t supposed to begin working for you until Tuesday.” “I changed my mind.”

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“You’re the boss, so you can call the shots,” Natasha countered. “I’m not your boss, Natty.” “Not in the traditional sense, but you’re still paying me to cook for you.” Jordan didn’t want to engage in a diatribe as to the nature of their relationship. Natasha needed money and he wanted to see her, to uncover why he was attracted to the rapier-tongued aspiring chef. *** “What on earth did you buy?” Jordan asked Natasha as she began emptying shopping bags when she finally arrived. He picked up the receipt, glancing at the total. “I’m going to prepare several dishes and store them in microwavable containers so you can reheat them. I’ll label each container so you’ll know the contents and cooking time.” Leaning against the countertop, Jordan stared at Natasha. She wore a white peasant blouse over a pair of jeans and a pair of leather clogs that added two inches to her diminutive height. Each time she leaned over to remove something from the bags, her twisted hair moved as if taking on a life of its own. “Having prepared meals will work well once I go back to work.” Natasha stopped placing bunches of fresh herbs on the countertop. “When will that be?” “Not right now, but soon I hope,” Jordan said. Kyle Chatham had told him to call back in a couple of weeks, after he’d had time to consider Jordan’s request to join his firm. A couple of weeks had passed and Jordan still hadn’t called. Natasha flashed a dimpled smile. She was standing in the middle of the gourmet kitchen of the most incredibly sensual man she’d ever met. Despite his wealth, she found him to be friendly, approachable and unpretentious. He’d offered her a position as his personal chef when he didn’t have to. And she spent the night tossing and turning restlessly because she’d concluded she liked Jordan Wainwright. The liking wasn’t because he’d afforded her the means to make enough money to pay for her last’s year tuition and room and board. “How would you like to learn to cook?” Jordan’s unshaven jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” “No. Once I return to school you’ll be able to cook for yourself instead of ordering or eating out, which I might add, isn’t that healthy for you.” Taking a step, he towered above Natasha. The top of her head came to the middle of his chest. “I’m quite healthy, thank you.” “But you could be healthier.” Tilting her chin, Natasha stared into a pair of luminous green-gray eyes that were mesmerizing. Nothing on Jordan moved, not even his eyes. “Are you saying you’re going to take care of me?” She wrinkled her pert nose. “I’m going to teach you how to eat properly and therefore take care of yourself.” “How long do you think it’ll take me to put together a meal?” Natasha lowered her gaze. “That will depend on how quick you learn.”

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“I’m a very slow learner,” he replied, but Natasha knew he was lying. She sensed it was his quick mind, the ability to retain whatever he read or saw that had made him an outstanding litigator. “That means you’ll have to stay after school for remediation.” Throwing back his head, Jordan let loose with a peal of laughter that seemed to come from his diaphragm. “If you throw in detention, then you have yourself a willing student.” Without warning, Natasha sobered. She was aware where the conversation was going. In another three months she would return to Rhode Island to complete her education and begin her life anew. If Jordan Wainwright wanted to work, pay and play, was she amenable? Throwing caution to the wind, going on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth over his. “School is now in session.” Wrapping his arms around her waist, Jordan lifted her off her feet, while deepening the kiss and leaving her mouth burning with an intimacy that promised more. A slight groan escaped him when her arms went around his neck, holding him fast. A haze of passion threatened to swallow them both whole. “Jordan!” “What is it, Natty?” She pulled back. “I can’t. I like you, but…” Natasha’s words died on her lips when Jordan raised his eyebrows. “Can we take this more slowly?” she continued. A smile spread over Jordan’s face like a ray of sunlight. “Take all the time you need.” He kissed her again, this time on her forehead. “But I’m ready for my first lesson.”

Chapter Five Jordan stood up when he spied Kyle Chatham’s approach. He had arranged to meet his former colleague at his favorite Japanese restaurant. Kyle had asked him to call him back in a couple of weeks, but sensing his friend’s hesitation, Jordan had given the Harlem-based attorney a whole month to think about his request to join his firm. The two men shook hands while exchanging a rough embrace. “You look incredible, Chat.” Smiling and flashing straight, white teeth, Kyle patted Jordan’s back. “You’re not looking too bad for a slacker.” “Sit down, Chat.” He waited for Kyle to sit, then retook his seat. Jordan hadn’t lied to Kyle Chatham. His former mentor was what women referred to as tall, dark and handsome. An angular face, high, chiseled cheekbones and slanting gold-brown eyes drew women to the attorney like bees to honey. If anything was different about Kyle, it was the noticeable flecks of gray in his cropped black hair. “I’ve given your proposal to work with me some serious thought, Jordan. Don’t you think a Park Avenue or Wall Street firm would be more suitable for your Ivy League education than the humble undertaking I’ve set up in Harlem?” “Cut the humble crap, Chat,” Jordan replied. “Besides, there’s no way I’ll ever go back to defending the fatcat thugs who line their own pockets because of some warped sense of entitlement.”

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Kyle laughed softly, then sobered. “It’s very different from what we did at TCB, because our clients are different. They may not have the earning power of those we represented at TCB, but they’re as important to me as someone on retainer.” “What types of cases do you handle, Chat?” Kyle angled his head. “We have petty assault, solicitation, burglary, armed robbery, possession with intent to sell and resisting arrest.” “No murder or manslaughter?” “No.” Jordan appeared deep in thought. “Then it should be easy.” “Yes and no. But I do have a landlord-tenant case that’s a little more complicated.” “Who’s the landlord?” There came a beat as Kyle stared directly at Jordan. “It took a lot of digging, but my paralegal discovered it is a Wainwright Developers holding company.” Leaning back in his chair, Jordan gave Kyle a long, penetrating stare. “Now I know why you were hesitant to bring me on board. Do you actually believe I wouldn’t take on a case that involves my family?” Kyle rested his elbows on the table, pressing his palms together in a prayerful gesture. “I’d thought about it.” “What was there to think about, Chat?” “First of all, you would be faced with a moral dilemma. Do you go after your family? And secondly, would you be impartial enough to talk the talk and walk the walk when it came to defending Harlem residents?” A muscle in Jordan’s jaw twitched when he clamped his teeth together. “People are people regardless of where they live, Kyle.” Kyle knew Jordan was angry because he’d called him Kyle rather than Chat. “You just made your first mistake. You got defensive. Remember, whenever I was first chair on a TCB case, my race was never an issue, because the clients trusted me to keep their asses out of jail. It is going to be different with the clients represented by K. E. Chatham Legal Services. Most of them are distrustful of the legal system because historically they’ve not been given a fair shake. It’s going to be up to you to prove them wrong. Every client we take on is treated with the same respect and dignity we offered those at TCB. If you want to work with me, then be prepared to accept whatever I’ll throw at you, and that includes suing your family’s company. Use whatever resources you need to make your granddad and the holding company’s slumlord bastard pay for what they’ve done to the eighty families who live in their hovel.” Jordan nodded, smiling. “I’ll make it a priority. When do you want me to start?” “I’m closing the office on Monday to give the staff a four-day weekend, so you can start Tuesday. By the way, what are you doing this weekend?” “I’d planned to go to Maryland. My mother is hosting a fifty-fifth birthday celebration for my father, and I promised her I would come down.” He hadn’t been to the Ranch Club since the Memorial Day weekend. Most weekends he and Natasha went out to eat, or either took in a movie or spent time touring Central Park. She came to his apartment several times a week to cook, packaging and labeling portions he could reheat in the microwave. She’d also taught

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him how to make an omelet and grill chicken and fish. It had only taken four weeks to substitute coffee for herbal tea and fresh-squeezed fruit juices, and his fruit choices included whatever was in season. Jordan enjoyed an easygoing relationship with Natasha that had been missing with other women with whom he had been involved since Debora had ended their romance, and it had nothing to do with paying her to prepare his meals. The truth was, he was beginning to like her—a lot. Over sake and sashimi, Jordan brought up the possibility of Kyle making him partner, offering to cover the expense of running the law office for two or more years, while expanding the staff to include a full-time legal researcher and law clerk. Kyle didn’t reject the offer outright, but told Jordan he would have to prove himself first. There was no doubt he would prove himself worthy of a partnership because he’d learned from one of the best and brightest. At TCB, Kyle had become Jordan’s mentor. Kyle was an excellent teacher and Jordan a rapt student who held on to every word and nuance of a man who, despite their six-year difference, gave him what Edward Wainwright lacked—self-confidence. The two men reminisced about cases they’d taken to trial, ninety-eight percent of which they’d won. Lingering over entrées of grilled salmon with miso-basil, yasai soba with vegetables in a hot broth, tempura shrimp and vegetables, Jordan and Kyle lapsed into a familiarity that was apparent when they’d worked together as trial attorneys. Kyle picked up the tab, and Jordan left to hail a taxi. Jordan exited the cab in front of his apartment building, while Kyle continued uptown. Going in the front door for a change, he nodded to the doorman on duty. “Good evening, Luis.” “Good evening, Mr. Wainwright. Miss Parker is waiting for you.” “Thank you.” Taking long strides, Jordan walked into the lobby to find Natasha sitting on a settee. He’d given her the rest of the week off because she’d cooked enough meals to last until the weekend, and they’d planned to meet later at a jazz club in Greenwish Village, so her showing up at his building was a pleasant surprise. Natasha stood up when she saw Jordan. He looked different and it took several seconds for her to realize he was wearing a suit. His tailored attire made him appear less approachable, even more formal than usual. Jordan kissed her hair. “You look very nice tonight.” She wore a white slip dress, ending at her knees, with floral-print ballet-type shoes. Even her hair was styled differently. She’d secured the twists in a ponytail, displaying her rounded face to its best advantage. She gave him a sidelong glance. “Thank you. Do you mind if we don’t go out tonight?” “No, I don’t. What’s the matter?” “I’d rather stay in and take it easy.” Jordan went still. “Are you saying I’m working you too hard?” “No, Jordan. It has nothing to do with you.” “Then what is it, Natty?” “I’m also volunteering at a soup kitchen. I’m not getting paid, but it will look good on my résumé.”

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Natasha stared up at the man who paid her to cook for him when he didn’t have to. Instead of coming to his apartment to cook every day, she would prepare enough for two to three days. Her feelings for Jordan had changed and she found herself torn by conflicting emotions. He was gentle, generous and the consummate gentleman. Whenever they were out in public together he treated her as if she were a fairy-tale princess and he her prince, granting her every wish. She saved most of the money he’d given her, except for what she gave her cousin toward rent. In two months the summer would end, and so would her association with Jordan Wainwright. He was the perfect man for the perfect woman. Unfortunately, she wasn’t that woman. However, what she would do was enjoy the short time she had with him. Going on tiptoe, she kissed his chin. “Remember when I told you we were moving too quickly?” He nodded. “I’m ready now.” “Are you sure about this?” Jordan’s face was void of expression. Twin dimples kissed Natasha’s dark-brown cheeks when she smiled. “Yes.”

Chapter Six Jordan unlocked the door to his apartment, then turned and pulled Natasha gently into the circle of his arms. Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth over hers. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss until her lips parted under his. The tip of his tongue touched hers tentatively, as if testing her response. Natasha opened her mouth, losing herself in the man and the moment as she surrendered to a kiss that was tender, sweet. Jordan’s lips were warm, coaxing with an awakening intimacy she had forgotten existed. It had taken her thirty years to straighten out her life, to try to get it right, and meeting Jordan Wainwright was a reminder that not all men were liars, cheaters or thieves. She didn’t know if he was seeing other women, and it was of no import to her. Jordan could not become a part of her future, as she could not his. They were like ships passing through the night. They were there and then they were gone. She curved her arms under his shoulders, holding him as if he were her lifeline. Jordan’s heart rate quickened, his breathing deepened and he felt the familiar rush of blood in his penis as it filled with dizzying desire. He wanted Natasha, had wanted her the first time they exchanged a smile in the kitchen in Maryland. Their so-called outings weren’t outings but dates. She always came to meet him and the doorman would hail a taxi to take them to whatever restaurant they’d decided upon beforehand. And they would talk about anything and everything but themselves. They held hands during a movie and cuddled on the grass at the park. He always took her back to her cousin’s co-op, giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek or forehead before she opened the door. His hands circled her waist, lifting her effortlessly off her feet. “Natty!” Natasha buried her face between his neck and shoulder as her arms went around his neck. She felt the hardness in his groin pressing against her, and she knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “Jordan.” His name was barely a whisper. “Can we do this?” He kissed her hair. “Yes, we can.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. “It will change everything.” “It will only change us.” She couldn’t think. Not with his hot breath in her ear and his erection throbbing against her thighs. Her emotions vacillated. The sensible Natasha told her to run as far away from Jordan as she could get, but the

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not-so-sensible Natty wanted to take her clothes off and lie with a man who had the power to make her dreams come true with the scrawl of his signature on a check. “I don’t have protection on me.” There. She’d said it. Natty had given Jordan consent to make love to her. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of everything.” A shiver swept over Natasha when she realized what was going to happen. She was going to sleep with a man who was unofficially her boss, a very wealthy man whom she viewed as a stranger. They’d met for the first time a month ago, and she didn’t know any more about the very private Jordan Wainwright than she did before he’d hired her. Their relationship behind closed doors was the opposite of what they presented in public. She called Jordan to let him know when she was coming over. He would schedule a time when he was available to let her in. Afterward he’d retreat to the health club in the basement to swim and work out, leaving her to work undisturbed. Then there were the times when he joined her in the kitchen whenever she wanted to show him how to make a salad dressing or sauté vegetables. Natasha gasped when Jordan swung her up in his arms and carried her out of the foyer, across the living room and up half a dozen stairs that led to the master bedroom suite. There was still enough daylight coming through the silk sheers on the floor-to-ceiling windows to make out an enormous bed with an elaborately carved mahogany headboard. The other carefully chosen furnishings in the suite faded as Jordan placed her on the bed, his body following hers down. Supporting his weight on his elbows, Jordan cradled Natasha’s face. “You just don’t know how difficult it’s been to keep my hands off you.” Although his face was in the shadows, Natasha could make out his eyes glowing strangely in the muted light. “I—I didn’t know,” she stammered. “I didn’t want you to know. It was only when we were out in public that I felt it safe to touch you, because I knew nothing would happen.” She closed her eyes against his penetrating stare. “Are you willing to start something knowing it’s going to end in a couple of months?” Lowering his head, Jordan placed tiny kisses around her full lips. “Yes, Natty. I’m willing even if it ends tomorrow.” And so was she. Jordan had promised her tomorrow and this fit perfectly with her future plans. He had also promised to give her enough money to cover the balance on her tuition and room and board, and she could only promise companionship and passion. She opened her eyes and smiled. “Let it begin.” Despite the raging desire racing through his body to the point where he feared embarrassing himself, Jordan took his time undressing Natasha. He searched under her left arm for the zipper to her dress. It gave way and he slipped the narrow straps off the shoulders. He felt as if his fingers were all thumbs. There had been a time when he could undress a woman and himself in under sixty seconds, but he wanted this to go slowly, slowly enough that he’d be able to recall everything about her after she left New York to return to Rhode Island. It was his turn to gasp when he gazed at her tiny, compact body. Her dark brown skin glowed like a chocolate confectionery. She looked and smelled delicious, the scent of coconut wafting in his nose. He tasted the skin on her silken shoulder and exposed throat, then moved down to the small, firm breasts with pert nipples that stood at attention.

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“Why didn’t you leave yourself off the menu?” he whispered. Natasha stared at Jordan, baffled by his query. “What are you talking about?” Going to his knees, Jordan eased her dress down her hips and legs. “You look like chocolate mousse, taste like toasted coconut and your breasts are miniature cupcakes topped with chocolate kisses.” She giggled like a girl. “I’ve never been compared to food before.” “It could be that I have a very discerning palate.” Natasha made a move to sit up, but Jordan stopped her when he placed a hand over her belly. “Don’t move, Natty. I always like an appetizer before my entrée.” Bending over, he untied the silk bows of her bikini thong, dangling the triangle of silk between his teeth as he slipped out of his suit jacket and tie, removed the gold cuff links from the shirt’s French cuffs before shrugging it off. His gaze met and fused with Natasha’s as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his suit trousers and briefs down his hips. He saw her gaze go to his jutting erection, and he knew Natasha was waiting for him to protect her from an unplanned pregnancy. He wasn’t ready for marriage and definitely didn’t want to become a baby daddy. Moving over to the edge of the bed, he reached into the drawer of the bedside table and removed a condom from the supply he kept on hand. “Thank you,” Natasha whispered when his sex was sheathed in latex. She’d chosen badly when it came to men, but she’d never fallen for their pleas to make love to her without using protection because it felt “unnatural.” Unnatural or not, she hadn’t wanted to contract an STD or find herself pregnant when she wasn’t able to take care of herself. When it came time for her to become a mother she wanted to be able to provide for her child with or without a man. She opened her mouth, legs and arms when Jordan lowered himself over her body, sighing when she felt his weight pressing her down to the firm mattress. Her sighs and moans escalated when his rapacious mouth charted a course that began at her hairline and journeyed south to the rapidly beating pulse in her throat, her armpits, over her breasts, belly and stalled between her outspread thighs. Her attempt to move her hips was thwarted when he cradled her buttocks. Floating in and out of a sensual fog that threatened to swallow her whole, Natasha pleaded with him to stop. And he did, momentarily, as his erection replaced his tongue when he pushed into her celibate body. Jordan knew Natasha was small, but he hadn’t expected her to be that small. Not wanting to hurt her, he took his time pulling back and thrusting gently until he was fully sheathed inside her. He’d had the appetizer, and now it was time for the main course. Everything was magnified in the muted shadows: the scent of their lovemaking mixing with their scented bodies, the soft sounds of sexual pleasure and the differences between the texture of smooth, silken skin and hair-roughed skin. Heat, chill and waves of ecstasy swept over Natasha as she struggled vainly to keep from crying out from the passion sweeping her to a place where she’d never been. Gasping and her body arching, she felt the first ripple of a long-forgotten orgasm grip her, followed closely by another, longer and stronger than the first. Waves of passion swept over her and she threw her head back, screaming when Jordan’s driving thrusts touched her womb. His groans overlapped hers, his breath coming in long, surrendering gasps when they climaxed simultaneously. Jordan collapsed on the tiny body under his as he struggled to catch his breath. Natasha Parker had become a tattoo. Her scent was in his nostrils, stamped on his skin and on his tongue. He’d known from the beginning that if he did become intimately involved with Natasha it would be just for the summer. But now that he’d slept with her he wasn’t sure he would be able to let her go. ***

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Natasha didn’t go home that night or the following night. She went to bed with Jordan, and woke up with him. She prepared scrumptious breakfasts, snacks and gourmet dinners. They lounged in what had at one time been a maid’s room that Jordan converted into an office/den, where they watched movies, followed by an in-depth discussion of plot and character motivation. Like all good things, it came to an end when Jordan announced he was going to pick up his car from the garage because he was going to Maryland for the holiday weekend. They had their first disagreement when Natasha refused his offer to drop her off at her cousin’s complex. She told him she would get the doorman to hail a taxi for her, but Jordan was so insistent that she walked out, leaving him staring at her departing figure. He’d started out after her, then stopped and closed the door. The image of his impassive expression lingered with her for days. Natasha knew sleeping with Jordan Wainwright had been a mistake, because it would make it more difficult for her to walk away from him when the time came for her leave. No matter her deepening feelings for Jordan, she knew she could do it. If she’d found the strength to walk out on her husband, then she was certain she could do the same with her lover.

Chapter Seven Jordan sat in the sun-filled office in the three-story nineteenth-century brownstone in Harlem’s Mount Morris Historic District. In the two weeks since he’d joined Kyle’s firm as an associate he’d discovered the Harlembased law practice was anything but humble. The brownstone had been renovated to include the offices of two of Kyle’s closest friends. Duncan Gilmore’s financial-planning firm occupied the first floor, K. E. Chatham Legal Services the second and Ivan Campbell’s psychotherapy practice took up the entire third floor. The street-level space was reconfigured to include a gym with showers, a state-of-the-art kitchen, a dining room and a game room, which meant the building employees had everything they needed at their disposal. After the first week Jordan began taking lunch outside the building. It gave him the opportunity to tour the surrounding Harlem community and put together a plan of action to bring down a slumlord. Jordan returned his attention to the file on his desk bearing the label of the One Hundred Fourteenth Street Tenants’ Association. He’d filed the documents suing Wainwright Developers Group on behalf of the tenants, but knew it would take months before it would appear on the landlord-tenant docket. There had to be another way to humiliate Wyatt’s holding company. Reaching for the telephone, he punched in the number for the leader of the tenants’ association. The call was answered after the second ring. “Mr. Mills, I’m Jordan Wainwright from K. E. Chatham Legal Services, and I’m calling to ask how difficult it would be for you to get the members of your tenants’ association together on very short notice.” He’d introduced himself as Wainwright because the tenants weren’t aware that his grandfather owned the buildings with double-digit violations. “All I have to do is make a phone call,” said the deep baritone on the other end. “What’s up, Mr. Wainwright?” “I’ve come up with a plan that will not only get the landlord’s attention but also that of the mayor and every city resident.” “What’s that?” “I’m going to try to get you on television.” “Hot damn! Mr. Wainwright, I like the way you work.” Jordan smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Mills. I’ll get back to you as soon as I get the word it’s a go.” He ended the call, then dialed the number for Katrina Nichols, an investigative reporter he’d dated briefly back in high school.

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A landlord-tenant tug-of-war was an everyday occurrence in the city, but learning that the landlord was Wyatt Wainwright—and that his grandson was representing the tenants—caught Katrina’s attention, and her producer’s. She called Jordan a week later to inform him that she and a camera crew were scheduled to meet him and the members of the tenants’ association on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard near 114th Street. Jordan alighted from the taxi to find a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk by the television van. Buttoning his suit jacket, he walked into the small eatery where he’d told Mr. Mills to meet him. The cacophony of voices faded when he stood at the entrance. “I’m Jordan Wainwright. Is Mr. Mills here?” A tall, light-skinned man with red dreadlocks and freckles stepped forward. “You’re not what I expected.” Jordan’s expression did not change. “And you’re not what I expected. It’s the red hair,” he said in explanation. Joseph Mills extended his hand to the tall, slender man with the shimmering eyes and sun-browned face. “I’m Joe.” He shook the proffered hand. “Jordan.” “Where’s Kyle Chatham?” “He’ll be here. But he won’t be on camera.” Throwing back his head, Joe Mills laughed loudly. “You are going to represent us?” “Yes.” “You’ve got to be shittin’ me. You come up to Harlem with your fancy suit and fancy talk and expect us to trust—” “I don’t care what you think, Mr. Mills,” Jordan said through clenched teeth. “And don’t let the fancy suit or fancy talk fool you, Joseph. I haven’t spent the last three weeks going over every piece of paper in your file to have you get in my face because I don’t look the way you want me to look. Now, back the hell up and let me do my job.” Katrina walked into the tiny coffee shop, a tiny microphone pinned to the lapel of her tangerine-orange linen suit. Her dark hair floated around her pale face in sensual disarray. “Jordan, we’re ready.” “We’re coming, Katrina. Aren’t we, Mr. Mills?” Jordan ran a hand over his cropped black hair, then walked out into the late-afternoon sun. A cameraman held up his hand, lowering a finger one by one as Katrina affected her professional visage. “We’re live in Harlem to call attention to the plight of a group of residents who have taken on a Goliath named Wainwright Developers.” A soft gasp followed her statement. It was apparent Jordan hadn’t told them it was his grandfather who owned the buildings where they were paying rent to live in squalor. “Wainwright Developers Group is the second-largest real-estate company in the East. What makes this lawsuit so unique is the man who has offered to represent the tenants. He is Jordan Wainwright, grandson of CEO Wyatt Wainwright.” She shifted closer to Jordan. “Mr. Wainwright, why did you decide to bring a suit against your family’s company on behalf of the One Hundred Fourteenth Street Tenants’ Association?”

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“I didn’t bring the suit. The association did. I’m here as their legal counsel.” “Do you admit they came to you even though they knew you have ties with Wainwright Developers?” Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have ties with Wainwright Developers. I work for K. E. Chatham Legal Services. When the case came across my desk I accepted it as I would any other case. I want everyone to know that these tenants have not brought a frivolous suit. It’s been more than six months since they have had hot water. They’ve had to heat water to bathe and wash dishes. And they use their ovens, risking carbon monoxide poisoning, to heat their apartments during the winter months.” He held out his hand to Joseph Mills, who passed him a stack of photographs. “What you see in these photos is unconscionable. There are missing bathroom tiles and there are holes in the floors of the bathrooms and kitchens where one is able to look into the apartment below. These show rotten window sashes and walls covered with mold. Insect and rodent infestation is pervasive—yet building management demand they pay rent to live in squalor. They’ve called 3-1-1, filed complaints and aside from a few cosmetic repairs, none of the major problems has been corrected.” He peered directly into the camera. “I’m ashamed to be a Wainwright when I see people living in conditions not fit for human habitation. I promised these tenants that I’m going to personally pay for new windows and provide air-conditioning units for every apartment. I’m also going to underwrite the cost of a new heating system for two buildings. I will spend whatever it takes to make the eighty units habitable. Meanwhile I’m going to sue the hell out of Wainwright Developers Group. I have one more thing to say—shame on you, Wyatt Wainwright!” Turning on his heels, he huddled with the tenants, then, en masse, they walked into the restaurant to rousing applause from the crowd that had gathered. Katrina had to raise her voice to shout her name and station call letters to be heard over the escalating noise.

Chapter Eight It had taken nearly three weeks, but Katrina Nichols’s station aired the exposé in its entirety, including a subsequent attempt by the investigative reporter to interview Wyatt Wainwright, with no success. The news that Wainwright Developers Group was a Harlem slumlord swept through the gentrified community like wildfire. Wyatt had issued explicit instructions to the Wainwright building security to eject reporters from the premises. Jordan had watched the footage with Kyle on the wall-mounted television in the brownstone’s reception area. He hadn’t regretted his decision to publicly embarrass his grandfather, but Kyle had once warned him that motivation fueled by revenge can force you to take unnecessary risks. He’d taken the risk, and it had paid off. He and Kyle met with Wyatt, who’d admitted he wasn’t aware of the violations and promised to personally handle the situation. What shocked his grandfather more than being exposed on the local news was Kyle’s revelation that K. E. Chatham Legal Services was now Chatham and Wainwright, PC, Attorneys at Law. His name was on the new brass plate on the wall of the historic brownstone and on the newly designed letterhead. His unorthodox method of winning a case before it appeared on a court docket, and a partnership in the firm, had become the highlight of his professional career. A soft knock on the door garnered Jordan’s attention. Glancing up, he saw Kyle standing in the doorway to his office. “What’s up, Chat?” Kyle walked in and sat on a chair next to the exquisite antique mahogany desk Jordan had purchased to celebrate his partnership. He placed the latest edition of the Amsterdam News on the desk. “Tell me now if you plan to go into politics.”

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Jordan’s brown eyes widened as he read the weekly’s headline: Wainwright Black Sheep Goes Gangsta! Picking up the paper, he perused the article. The reporter had interviewed Joseph Mills and other officers of the tenants’ association. Joe was quoted as saying that Jordan Wainwright, gangsta sheriff of Harlem, could roll with the best of them. “Didn’t I tell you that you were gangsta?” Kyle teased. Jordan flashed a sheepish grin. “I didn’t have a gangsta bone in my body before I met you, Chat. I used to watch you when we were at TCB, and you were the best when it came to intimidating a witness. You were so good that neither the opposing attorney nor the judge was aware of what you were doing.” “But you were, so that meant it takes one to know one.” “It’s all good, Chat. It’s all about getting justice for our clients.” Kyle stared at the young, brash attorney, seeing a little of himself in the man whom he at one time had mentored. He’d been the teacher and Jordan the student, but along the way the student had become as good as or better than the teacher. “The clients like you and so do the ladies.” Jordan blushed under his deep summer tan. “I thought we’d settled that.” When he’d started working at the firm the women from Ivan Campbell’s and Duncan Gilmore’s offices would stop by to either wave or to ask if he needed anything. At first he was amused with all the attention, then it became a distraction and he’d begun closing his door. The closed door was a temporary stopgap, because then he was besieged whenever he ate in the building’s dining room. The only solution was to take his lunch outside the office, though he told himself that was to get to know the neighborhood. When Kyle was apprised of the situation he took him to task, telling him if he wanted to make partner, then he had to assume a more take-charge stance. He’d made partner and with it came a change in attitude. He was now more assertive and supremely confident. “When is Natasha leaving to go back to Rhode Island?” He’d invited Kyle and his fiancée, Ava, over to the apartment for dinner weeks earlier, and Natasha had prepared an exquisite meal. “Next week.” Kyle leaned closer. “I wouldn’t let it be known that you’re available—or do you intend to carry on a longdistance relationship with her?” Jordan closed his eyes for several seconds. When he opened them he stared at the solid-gold scales-ofjustice cuff links in his shirt’s French cuffs. “I know from past experience that long-distance relationships don’t work, and I’m not certain whether I want the same with Natty.” He smiled. “Now, if Ava has a single friend I’d be willing to go out with her.” Throwing back his head, Kyle laughed loudly. “Damn! You’re a real homeboy when you want to date Harlem honeys.” The light went out behind Jordan’s eyes much like someone pulling down a shade. “What’s so funny, Chat? Don’t forget Natasha is an East Harlem honey.” Kyle sobered quickly as if it suddenly dawned on him that Natasha Parker was African-American, and whenever he saw her and Jordan together he got the impression they were more friends than lovers.

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“I’m sorry, Jordan. Somehow I got the impression that you weren’t that close when she told me that you hired her to become your personal chef. And I remember you always saying that you never mix business and pleasure.” Jordan was never one to kiss and tell. “Natty is a very special lady.” “Speaking of special,” Kyle said, deftly changing the topic of conversation, “I’m going to host an open house to formally introduce you to some of the community’s businesspeople and politicians. It will give them the opportunity to meet the new sheriff in town.” Jordan shook his head. “Which one am I—black sheep, sheriff or gangsta?” The seconds ticked by as Kyle stared at his law partner. “All three, Wainwright.” The two men laughed until their sides hurt. They were still laughing when Jordan’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller’s name on the display. “Excuse me, Chat, but I have to take this call.” Waiting until Kyle walked out of the office, closing the door behind him, Jordan pushed the Talk button. “Yes, Natty?” “Can you come home?” A frown creased his forehead. “Now?” “Yes, now.” “Where are you, Natty?” “I’m on my way to your place. I’ll probably get there before you do. I’ll be in the lobby waiting for you.” Jordan called his secretary and told her he would be out of the office and if she needed him, then she should call his cell. Reaching for his jacket, he walked out the office and into the warm September afternoon. He walked to the corner of Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard to flag down a passing taxi. “Yo, gangsta! Wassup? Yeah you, gangsta lawyer. You did real good with yo’ no-good grandpappy!” Jordan tried not to smile, but he was unsuccessful. A man sitting on a wooden box in front of a corner store had recognized him. And now that his photograph was pasted on the front of the Amsterdam News there was no doubt he would become even more recognizable. He nodded. “Thanks, man.” A taxi skidded up to the curb and within seconds of getting in and closing the door the driver took off. “Where to, buddy?” “Ninety-eighth and Fifth.” *** Natasha, chewing her lower lip, sat on a high stool in Jordan’s kitchen watching as he poured a liberal amount of cream into a delicate china cup filled with steaming black coffee. She was the aspiring chef, but he consistently brewed the best coffee she’d ever tasted. “Here’s your coffee.” Jordan placed the cup and saucer on the countertop in front of Natasha. He didn’t want to tell her, but she looked awful. Her usually neatly twisted hair stuck out at odd angles on her head and the puffiness under her eyes revealed that she’d either been crying or hadn’t slept.

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Natasha took several sips of the warm brew before she worked up the nerve to tell Jordan something that would destroy their fragile bond. Although she’d earned the money she needed to complete her education, she and Jordan continued to sleep together. There were no declarations of love or promises of tomorrow. Natasha didn’t want tomorrows but yesterdays—an opportunity to right the wrongs, a chance for a do-over. But there were no do-overs in life. She had to either accept the hand she’d been dealt or not play the game. Jordan eased the cup from her hands. “Now, tell me what has you so upset?” Tears welled in Natasha’s eyes, but she blinked them back before they fell. “I got a call last night from my mother-in-law.” Jordan’s expressive eyebrows shot up. “Your mother-in-law? You’re married?” “Not really.” “Either you are or you aren’t, Natasha. Which one is it?” “I’m married, but I’m also separated.” “Legally separated?” Jordan asked. He didn’t want to believe he’d been sleeping with another man’s wife. “No. I met my husband five years ago not knowing he was addicted to drugs. He told me he had sickle cell and there were times when he would get so sick he couldn’t get out of bed for weeks at a time. His friends would come by to look in on him whenever I was at work, but I wasn’t aware they were bringing him what he needed to stay high. There was one woman in particular who not only supplied the drugs but was also sleeping with him. One day I went to the bank to get a blank check to pay my tuition. I had a mini breakdown in the bank when the teller told me that my husband had closed our joint savings account the day before.” Jordan cradled Natasha to his chest and rested his chin on the top of her head. He listened intently when she told him she went home, packed her clothes and moved in with her parents. It took her another two years of working sixteen-hour days to save what her husband had taken. Her life changed when she was offered a partial scholarship at Johnson and Wales. “Trey’s mother called to tell me that he was in a horrific car accident earlier this morning with a drunk driver.” “Was he high, Natty?” “No.” The single word came out in a sob. “His mother said he’s been clean for more than a year.” She sniffled. “I promised his mother I would come and be with her.” Easing back, Jordan cupped her chin. “Where is he?” “He was airlifted to the Robert Wood Johnson hospital.” Natasha touched her fingertips to the corners of her eyes. “I have to go, Jordan, or I’ll miss my train.” “You shouldn’t have to take a train. Let me call a car to take you to Jersey.” “No. You don’t have to do that.” “I want to. It’s the least I could do for my personal chef.” He patted her cheek. “Now, go and clean up your face while I call a car service.” Eyes glistening with unshed tears, Natasha leaned closer and brushed her mouth to his. “Thank you.”

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Jordan helped Natasha off the stool. A sixth sense told him that it would be the last time he would see her. He’d helped her and she’d helped him. He left the kitchen and made his way to his home office. It took less than five minutes to arrange for a car to pick up Natasha to take her to New Brunswick, New Jersey. Sitting at the desk, he scrawled a message on a monogrammed thank-you card. He slipped the card into an envelope with several checks, and then sealed it. He met Natasha as she walked out of the bathroom, handing her the envelope. “The car will be here in ten minutes.” She stared at the envelope. “What’s this?” “A thank-you note.” “I should be the one thanking you, Jordan. You really didn’t need a personal chef.” Cradling her face, Jordan pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Go handle your business, and if you need anything, then call me.” He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “‘Your lips like sugar, this candy got me sprung,’” he crooned, mouthing the hook of Flo Rida’s “Sugar.” Natasha smiled for the first time since her mother-in-law’s phone call. Jordan listened to more hip-hop and R & B than she did. “I’ll let you know when I open my restaurant.” He winked at her. “You do that.” “I’m going to say goodbye now.” “Not goodbye, Natty. Later.” “Later, Jordan.” She walked away from Jordan Wyatt Wainwright, feeling the heat from his gaze on her back. The driver had just pulled up in front of the high-rise when she made her way across the lobby. It wasn’t until she was seated in the rear of the limousine that she opened the envelope. Her chin quivered as she read what Jordan had written, then gasped loudly when she saw the checks. Jordan had written: Graduation gift in each of the memos. Natasha closed her eyes. She would save the money for the restaurant she planned to call Jordan’s. *** Jordan waited until he was certain Natasha was gone, then closed and locked the door to the maisonette. He asked the doorman to hail him a taxi. Within minutes he was seated in the cab on his way back to Harlem, a community that had welcomed him, a community where he felt as if he’d come home.

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The Playboy’s Baby by Crystal Green

Chapter One “Mr. Pierce? I’ve been sent here to introduce you to Tommy. Your son.” Morgan instinctively crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at the petite young woman. She was waiting on the porch of his mansion-like cabin. Her direct hazel gaze, not to mention the baby riding on her hip, indicated that this was no joke set up by his prank-loving ranch workers. A barrage of questions spun around his brain. “A son? Mine?” he asked. The child pursed his pink lips, smacking them. Then he reached out to grab a handful of the woman’s chestnut chin-length bob. Morning sun beamed out of the Montana sky, bathing them in a pool of light and innocence. Morgan wasn’t so used to either of those things. A baby. His? When...where...who...? She gently grasped Tommy’s hand and untangled his fingers from her hair. “You know...” She laughed. “I was rehearsing my first words on the plane ride, but they came out wrong anyway. His mother wanted me to ease into the bombshell, not blast you with it.” Flushed, she was eagerly searching his face, gauging him. Morgan shifted his position, leather boots creaking, worked-in jeans just about cutting off circulation to his head Baby Tommy fixed his Gerber peepers on Morgan, also taking his measure. Could he see everything Morgan had left behind? Champagne nights and silk-clad women with names and faces he couldn’t recollect at times? As Tommy flashed a toothless smile, something inside the ex-playboy’s chest flexed - a muscle coming to life. “Let’s get you inside,” Morgan said, guiding them over his threshold, away from the October chill and the yard workers who’d moved into hearing range. A wisp of flowery perfume tickled him as she entered and offered her free hand. “Let’s start again. I’m Rosemary Robbins.” Her palm settled in his. Warm. Soft. So tiny. His fingers wrapped around hers, cherishing the feel of her out of habit. A habit he was doing his damnedest to break. When their eyes locked, she quickly looked away and let go. The contact had stabbed a twist of heat through his gut. Great. He’d tucked himself away in this desolate Remington, Montana, ranch to escape his old, meaningless lifestyle - not to renew it with the first pretty stranger who knocked on his door. Hell, she seemed too angelic for him, anyway, especially with a baby gurgling in her arms. His baby, she’d claimed. He’d see about that. They settled in his rawhide-and-granite family room near the crackling fire. She positioned herself at one end of a leather couch, and he at the other. Tommy had a fistful of Rosemary’s no-nonsense jumpsuit, still ever watchful.

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“I suppose I should explain,” she said. “You could say Tommy was dropped on my doorstep. I’ve taken full responsibility for him.” “Where’s his mother?” Rosemary stiffened, and Tommy laid a pint-size hand on her cheek. “His mom’s not ready to meet with you. I’m here to see if you’re willing to be this child’s father.” “Not to be contrary, but I’m slightly suspicious of any woman who shows up out of nowhere and claims to have possession of my...” The baby stared at Morgan, and the man couldn’t help holding his breath at the family resemblance. “...son.” “I don’t blame you. But -“ He held up a finger. “Before we go any further, I’d like to know, Ms. Robbins, are you playing some kind of game with me?”

Chapter Two “Game?” Rosemary’s stomach flipped. Another one of her rehearsed answers stuck in her throat. She’d made a promise not to tell Morgan Pierce about Tommy’s mother. Not until she was sure the notorious playboy was suitable to raise the baby. As they sat on the couch, Tommy razzed his lips, spraying spittle onto her cheek. She smiled and wiped off the moisture, kissing him. “True, there’s no reason for you to trust me right off the bat,” she said. “But I’ve got to know if you want your son to be a part of your life. His mother isn’t interested in child support or money. She wants your time.” Morgan’s clear green eyes darkened, rivaling the black of his hair. His daredevil body, so tall and intimidating, went on alert, rough muscles clenching, wide shoulders hunching forward protectively. “She doesn’t want money? Sure." “It’s true.” She settled a restless Tommy onto her lap. “I need to know how you feel about being a father before Tommy’s mom comes into it. Please. You have to believe me.” Boy, she was quaking all over; she had been since Morgan had opened his door to allow them inside. A perma-blush had swallowed her right up, beating over her skin with the cadence of an army marching toward a lost cause. He speared a gaze into her. “I’m not a patsy.” “I can tell.” In a burst of excellent timing, Tommy let out an “aaahhhh!” Morgan’s eyes lost their fire, slipped down to the baby on her lap, softened. So did Rosemary’s heart. “How old is he?” “Just over six months.” Rosemary held on tightly as Tommy leaned toward Morgan. “He’s sort of crawling now, pushing himself like a frog through water. And the other day he made this funny new face. He looked like W. C. Fields.” “Six months.” He was obviously doing some mental arithmetic. “The summer before last.”

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Rosemary held her breath, poised for him to remember. “That’s right.” Morgan shrugged, tore his glance away from Tommy. “I did a lot of traveling back then.” “I understand.” She’d known that this man had built a reputation on driving fast European cars and even faster women. He’d partied on Mediterranean yachts and in Swiss chalets. That’s what worried her. “South Beach, Florida,” she said. “That’s where you met Tommy’s mother.” The baby squealed again in a bid for Morgan’s attention. He got it. Morgan’s gaze had gone misty, troubled. “How’s his mom doing?” “Very well.” Rosemary took strength from images of Charise, her coworker at Darla’s Beauty Shop in Kane’s Crossing. Her friend had convinced her to come to Remington. Even though Rosemary had been wary at first, Charise had come up with the best plan they could think of. After taking a fortifying breath, she added, “She’d do better if Tommy grew up with a daddy, though.” The baby held out his arms to Morgan. The rugged man glanced at Rosemary in surprise. “Do you want to hold him?” she asked. “Ah, sure. I guess.” Morgan inched toward her, and Rosemary handed Tommy over. She couldn’t help crossing her arms to chase away the emptiness. The child seemed so small in such huge hands, against such a massive chest. Morgan held him like wedding china, obviously afraid Tommy would break. “So,” Morgan smiled at her, as if he was amazed that he hadn’t dropped Tommy yet, “not to be ornery, but how can his mother be sure that he’s my son?” Rosemary compared their black, ruffled hair, their green eyes. There was no question. But how could she tell Morgan that, genetics aside, if she decided the playboy wasn’t fit to be a dad, she would go to extremes to protect Tommy?

Chapter Three For years, Morgan had known he was missing something in his life. It took holding this small child to tell him what it was. His son. Who could have predicted this? A baby had the power to make him feel useful for the first time in his existence. Amazing. Tommy joyfully gasped at him, flapping his hands. The little boy was a dead ringer of himself at that age. Thousands of scheduled, posed photographs in the stiff arms of his parents testified to the baby’s uncanny resemblance to Morgan. “How about a paternity test?” he asked.

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Even from his seat on the opposite side of the living room, he could detect Rosemary’s flinch. “If you need one, we’ll arrange it.” “I’d like all doubts erased.” Tommy started to climb Morgan’s chest, groping at his nose, his ears. “He likes you.” “Of course he does. I’m a decent sort.” He was getting braver, lifting the baby away from his lap. Tommy let out a joyous, “Eeeeee.” “There’s more to raising a child than playing sky jumper with him.” “So what do you need? My criminal record? None - oh, except for the time I had some trouble with the L.A. police for...” She raised a brow. “Go on.” He grinned, then spoke to Tommy. “Can’t offer the details right now. But let’s just say it has to do with a moonlit beach and clothes. Or lack thereof.” “And a starlet, more than likely,” she muttered. “I’m not proud of that. Growing up with parents who have too much money can make for a strange life.” “So that’s a roundabout way of saying you’re financially secure. Got it. But there’s something even more important that I want to know. How would you react if you knew Tommy was definitely yours?” Morgan paused. “I’ve liked being a bachelor, making the most of my money and freedom.“ He sat Tommy on his lap, allowing the child to grip one of his thumbs. The claiming contact warmed the edges of his heart. “But, frankly, I’m exhausted by the effort of going through the motions.” Rosemary cocked her head at an angle, her chestnut bob making her seem like the dreamy bookworm next door. He added, “I guess you could say I retired from superficiality four months ago when I decided to live in Remington. I don’t socialize much now, and even though I feel better than I have in years, something’s not right.” Tommy rubbed one of his eyes and blinked up at Morgan. “Or, at least, something wasn’t right.” “I wish I could ask you a million questions,” she said. “Fire away.” “In due time.” Rosemary held out her arms for Tommy, and the child reached out for her, making himself comfortable in her embrace again. “This one’s getting tired.” Morgan didn’t know what to do with his hands now that they didn’t have a purpose. “Can you just tell me what his mom is like?” The fire sn