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 snapped in its grate, lending her a moment’s hesitation. “She’s responsible, believe it or not. When she was with you, she lost her head...only one time, though. Luckily, her reward for that was Tommy.”

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His reward, too. “Responsible, huh? I didn’t usually gravitate toward the prim-and-proper type. Not back then, anyway.” She bit her lip. He couldn’t help flirting, even a little. “Gosh. Look at the time.” As she stood while clutching Tommy, Rosemary’s cheeks took on a cute strawberry hue. The baby’s head drooped onto one of her shoulders. “Remember, his mom only wants her son to have a good father. It’s important to her.” A father. Astoundingly, he was one of those. Maybe. “Where’re you staying?” “With my...” She hesitated, then smiled. “My Grandma. At the Maverick Motel, room 3. But...” The smile faded. “I’ll contact you. Okay?” Without another word, she turned and exited the room. As she left, Morgan waved at the sleepy baby. He was surprised that he didn’t want to see them go.

Chapter Four “I’ve thought about it a million times already,” Rosemary whispered to Charise the next morning. “Does Morgan Pierce deserve Tommy?” Her blond coworker - otherwise know as “Grandma” - was still half asleep in one of the beds as the baby snoozed away in a portable crib in a corner of the musty motel room. Eisenhower-era floral wallpaper guarded him in the curtain-shrouded darkness. Yesterday, she and Charise had analyzed much of the meeting with Morgan. Still, she had no idea what sort of father the man would make, even if he had taken well to Tommy and vice versa. Charise shook her head. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. How long did you spend with him? An emotionladen half-hour? That doesn’t tell us anything, even if he does look promising.” Rosemary wandered over to the baby. Tommy’s mouth puckered, as if sucking on a giant dream-enhanced pacifier. Every move the child made was enough to convince Rosemary that she wanted ten babies. If she could find the right man to make a family with. “You’re right,” she said. “Morgan needs to prove he’s changed. If a kid doesn’t have a real father, he’ll feel incomplete.” “Then we agree.” Her friend hesitated. “So what’s the verdict on that paternity test?” “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” “Maybe we can stall...just until we’re sure about the guy.” Sighing, Charise cuddled into the mattress, closed her eyes. “I want to know more about the millionaire playboy. Much more.” Rosemary let her friend rest, knowing the stress had only just begun. She could feel for Tommy, even if he wasn’t old enough to realize he didn’t have a father living with him. For twenty-five years she’d wondered where her own dad had gone, why he’d left her and Mom. “What do you want in a daddy?” she whispered to Tommy. “Would you want him to be like Morgan Pierce? You seemed to fancy him.”

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The baby slept on. Rosemary envied his serenity. Morgan had scrambled her insides, and his every glance unsettled her. Heck, her skin was still burning from his handshake. How bizarre was that? “Well, sweet pea. Maybe you’ll get your dad as an early Christmas present. And maybe someday I’ll get...” What? A gorgeous man who adored children? A guy like Morgan Pierce? Resting her head on the cushioned crib, Rosemary shut her eyes, her breathing evening out with Tommy’s. A shrill ring from the sixties-style phone jabbed her awake. Tommy and Charise heard it, too, so she scooped the baby up, told Charise she’d take care of everything and answered the call. “Ms. Robbins?” said Morgan’s voice. Adrenaline pumped her heart until it throbbed in her ears. “It’s Rosemary.” Charise watched through one half-opened eyelid. “Rosemary.” His tone had softened. “I know you wanted to contact me first, but I... Well, I want to see Tommy again. My cook whipped up some food, and I was wondering if you two wanted to go for an old-time country picnic.” She bit back a smile. “What’s the difference between a new-fangled picnic and an old-time one?” “You’ll see.” “Now I’m intrigued.” She was trying to remember that the purpose of her visit was Tommy, not...anything else. “I’ll pick you up at noon?” He sounded so hopeful, so unlike her perceptions of a playboy who had a smooth line for every situation. “You know I’m going to grill you,” she said. “You can ask anything you want. I’m an open book.” And you’re not, he seemed to imply. But there was good reason for her to be secretive. She didn’t want Tommy to be stuck with a tomcat father who’d grow tired of him after the novelty wore off. “Come and get us,” she said, hugging the baby to her. Then she hung up. “He wants to see Tommy again.” Charise sat up, held her hands over her mouth. “Don’t worry,” said Rosemary. “I’ll get to the bottom of Morgan Pierce.”

Chapter Five Morgan had promised Rosemary an old-time picnic, and she was going to get one.

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After picking her up at the Maverick Motel, securing Tommy in his safety seat and driving them back to the ranch, Morgan had ushered them to the back patio. There, the scent of Douglas firs and the warmth of heat lamps accompanied a spread of fried chicken, potato salad, homemade vanilla ice cream and lemonade. “But this isn’t all, “ Morgan said. “I’ve still got something up my coat sleeve.” The unseasonably mild air had nipped Rosemary’s cheeks. “Until then, are you up for my questions?” “Ready when you are.” She tweaked Tommy’s nose. The baby wore a stocking cap and bib and was seated in a high chair that Morgan had purchased earlier from a nearby superstore in Billings. Drawn by their obvious affection for each other, Morgan dragged his chair toward the duo.

“Want to feed him?” She stirred some rice cereal and mashed bananas in a bowl. “It’ll be the highlight of your day. I promise.” He wasn’t sure if he trusted her promises yet&nbs;&#!51; especially because she was so stubborn about revealing anything regarding Tommy’s mom - but Morgan decided to chance it. As he took the bowl and rubber-coated spoon from her, his index finger brushed hers. A flash of awareness tore up his arm, prickling his skin. She jerked her hand away, then tucked a strand of reddish-brown hair behind an ear. “Have fun.” “Hey, I’ve got it covered.” He hunkered next to Tommy. “Remember me?” The child’s cherubic face glowed with his smile. “Ehhhhhhhh.” “So you know how to...?” Rosemary made a feeding motion with her hand. “Can’t be that hard.” “All right.” She settled back in her chair, evaluating him once again. Grinning. He piled the gooey paste on the spoon. “Maybe a bit too much?” she said. As he adjusted the amount with a mock-affronted glance in her direction, she said, “I got the feeling from our conversation yesterday that you’re open to starting a family.” Morgan shrugged, but even though he’d just met them the day before, he’d missed them after they’d left. Did that mean he was ready to commit? Hell, yes. Already, the thought of Tommy clasping his father’s finger in his little hand made Morgan feel more complete than ever before. Ironic. Without realizing it, Morgan Pierce had done something worthwhile: he’d made Tommy. And even though he hadn’t known where to find happiness, it had stumbled upon him. Morgan made fire engine noises as he aimed the food at Tommy’s mouth, but when he got there, the child didn’t open up. Finally, Morgan got him to take a little cereal, but most of it plopped onto the bib. He laughed, then said, “I haven’t exactly grown up in a nurturing environment. My dad was on the road a lot of the year, and my mom was always on location.” “I read somewhere that your dad was an NFL quarterback.” Rosemary ate a healthy spoon of ice cream. “And everyone knows the famous jet-setting actress Lucretia Pierce. How did you handle them never being home?”

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He watched her enjoy the dessert. “I went wild, that’s how. No one was around to really care. I thought it’d always be that way, but then I realized that life didn’t have to be a string of premieres or soirees. I’m into quality now. Not quantity.” “Ah, soirees.” She sighed, thick lashes fluttering over her daydreaming gaze. Then she seemed to toughen up, to lose her smile and bookish peace. There was a slight dab of ice cream by the tip of her full lower lip. An overwhelming hunger seized him - a combination of loneliness and libido. He leaned toward her, and those good-girl eyes widened.

Chapter Six As the taste of vanilla ice cream lingered in Rosemary’s mouth, Morgan’s gaze grew more intense, traveling from her eyes to her lips. It was the look of a man who wanted to kiss her. Her pulse jumped, causing her heart to crash against her rib cage. Is this what she wanted? Proof that he was still hitting on women he barely knew? Or did she want something else altogether? He rested a forearm on the picnic table, broad shoulders tilting toward her, mouth quirked in a softer version of that cocky grin she’d come to know so well in such a short time. Mind-scrambled, she hitched in a breath, her eyes closing in anticipation. She could feel him, inches away. All that separated them was a purring electricity. A whisper. “Careful,” he said, his voice as low as the hum of a live wire. She’d always been careful, especially around men like Morgan Pierce. Peeking through her lashes, she caught the swipe of his index finger before it touched the tip of her lips. Burning her flesh. Without thinking, Rosemary grasped his wrist, her eyes flying open, her skin flaming with embarrassment. He wiggled his ice-cream smeared fingertip in front of her nose. “You’re worse than Tommy when it comes to getting food down the chute.” “So my table manners lack couth.” Her fingers were still gripping him. She could feel the beat of his veins pounding into her own skin. Clearly amused by her inability to break contact, Morgan deliberately stared at her hand, like a living charm bracelet around his wrist. She loosened her hold, folded her hands on the table. “Don’t worry,” he said. “In spite of my reputation, I’m not going to pounce on you. I’ve developed some restraint during my self-imposed exile, you know.” Too bad, she thought. Oh, no, no, no. Actually, this was good. Tommy needed a man with self-control and maturity to raise him. She said, “And what makes you think I was expecting you to...pounce?” He laughed, rubbed the streak of ice cream between a thumb and forefinger, cocked a brow. Rosemary instinctively parted her lips, then shut them.

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This man could read her yearning like a neon sign, couldn’t he? A loud slapping noise reminded her that Tommy was three feet away, banging on his plastic table with glee. She picked up a cloth and managed to still her trembling hand enough to wipe his face. “Is that what worries you the most?” Morgan asked. “That I’ll go back to my wild and woolly ways?” “It did cross my mind.” “All right.” He settled back in his chair, kicking one boot over a jeans-clad leg. “Straight shootin’. I haven’t enjoyed a careless affair since...” He paused. “Well, since I saw a lot of my so-called friends burn out and wither away to nothing. It didn’t take a genius to realize I wasn’t traveling in any productive direction; that I was going to end up an old man who never experienced anything real.” “That was enough to shake you up?” His gaze turned hard. “I saw a man who was supposed to be my friend overdose at a party. The next day he was at it again, but this time the O.D. was lethal. That was enough.” Rosemary stopped cleaning Tommy’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “Not as sorry as I was.” He straightened in his chair, Mr. Rough-and-Tumble once again. “So all those rumors you hear about princesses and socialites? It’s over. I’m a changed soul.” She searched his face for any sign of deception, but all she saw was a man who’d lived through a moment that had beaten him into awareness. A man who’d grown up. He said, “I can stick to the family life, all right. A child. A wife.” Shifting forward, he added, “I’m a regular onewoman guy now.” Her mouth went dry. “So...do you think Tommy’s ready for a surprise?” he asked.

Chapter Seven The baby’s mouth had formed a big O when Morgan introduced him to Engine 54. Now Morgan slowly drove his vintage 1945 Ward LaFrance Pumper fire truck on the dirt road near a stream that ran through the ranch. Tommy kicked and “aaaayyy”ed while Rosemary enveloped him in her arms, leaning back her head, taking in the big sky, the cottonwoods, the muted afternoon sunlight. He couldn’t forget the way she’d avoided that near kiss, and her wariness stumped him. Turning to him, Rosemary tucked her bobbed hair behind an ear. “How many more engines do you own? Do we get to see all of them?” “Whoa, Miss Enthusiasm. This is it, I’m afraid. Old Engine 54 needed a home, and I couldn’t say no to a stray.” “Tommy’s eyes really lit up when he saw this thing. I think he likes the red. And the ladder, too.” Morgan ran a tender gaze over his son. Yeah. His. Tommy’s appearance had struck lightning and changed his life in an instant, just as his friend’s overdose had done.

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He said, “Well, if Tommy wants more fire engines, he’s got them.” “What else do you collect?” She cocked her head. “I mean, this thing is kind of a quirky choice. Most guys are into Harleys or beer bottles or dust bunnies.” He laughed. “Frankly, I haven’t given much thought to collecting. I never even stayed in one place long enough to gather moss.” “Duly noted.” Rosemary tickled Tommy, and the baby squirmed. “An old-time picnic. You certainly came through, Mr. Pierce.” “Morgan.” It came out a command, not a request. She nodded, smiled. “I suppose we’re beyond formalities at this point.” “Well, Rosemary.” Her name tasted as sweet as that vanilla ice cream he’d caressed from her skin. “I guess that means I get to ask you some personal questions now.” “I don’t matter in this scenario. I’m here to decide -“ “- what kind of father I’ll be. I know, I know. But we’re joyriding along at one mile per hour. We’ve got time to kill. Indulge me.” She seemed doubtful. “I reserve the right to stay silent.” “Duly noted.” He couldn’t stop the compulsion to reach over and smooth a lock of Tommy’s dark, downy hair away from his forehead. “I notice you’re real good with this little guy. Do you want children yourself someday?” For a second he wasn’t sure she was going to answer. But she did. “Yes. I love kids.” “You’re close to him.” He gave Tommy’s fist a squeeze, then paid full attention to driving again. “It’s strange, but there are times I can’t help wondering if you really want me to accept him.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why would I want you to turn Tommy away?” “Every time you give him to me to hold, to play with, to feed, it’s almost like you’re half empty. Like you miss him, even though he’s still in plain sight.” “I told you. I want children. My maternal urge has kicked in.” “You’re young. You have plenty of time.” An uninvited yet thoroughly tempting image crashed into his mind: Rosemary standing before him in an angelic, lacy nightgown. Her head was tilted back, eyes half closed, just like this afternoon when he’d wanted to kiss her. This dream girl was ready for some baby-making, all right. Maybe with him. Morgan shook himself back to reality. The weight of her curious stare rested on his shoulders, but he didn’t shrug it off. Instead, he asked, “Now tell me. Am I daddy material? Have I passed all your tests?”

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Chapter Eight After the picnic Rosemary was still a-flutter. Moonlight peeked through a slit in the curtains in her motel room as she paced the floor. Charise was holding Tommy, amusing him with silly faces and unruffling Rosemary’s feathers at the same time. “Take a moment from the drama,” said her blond coworker. “It was a good day. We found out a lot about Morgan Pierce. And his papa résumé is looking better by the hour.” “It’s only been two days, Charise.” Rosemary stopped wearing a hole in the carpet and plucked at her white flannel nightgown. “I’m still not convinced he’s a reformed bad boy who’s just cooling his motor. What if the party gene sparks up again and he flits off to Monaco tomorrow?” Charise looked pained. “Do you think he will? Really? Is that what your brain’s telling you?” “No, that’s what my emotions are telling me. But you’re right. I do need to listen to logic central, not my heart.” Tommy fussed a bit, and her friend stood, swaying back and forth to assuage him. “So common sense has cast its vote. But what’s your gut feeling?” Charise asked. Watching her friend and the baby together brought an ache to Rosemary’s chest. She couldn’t let them down by trusting her haywire emotions. Tommy was living proof that listening to the heart instead of the mind led to consequences. Good consequences, in this case. “I still can’t pin Morgan down,” Rosemary said. “Once a player, always a player. That’s the overriding commonsense theory. And you of all people know what he did right after Tommy was conceived.” “So that’s the end of it? The man is unacceptable? Then I guess it’s time to go to Plan B. The ‘Gee, come to think of it, Morgan, Tommy’s mom was with more than one man that summer, so we’ve got other possibilities to explore’ option.” Rosemary walked over, held Charise’s free hand. “It’s a lie.” “It’s a way out if you think he’s irresponsible.” A soft knock on the door interrupted them, and both women stared at each other, two deer in the headlights of discovery. “That’s him,” Rosemary said. Tommy waved his hands, squealed. “You think so?” Charise placed Tommy in his crib and moved toward the bathroom. “If it’s the motel manager I’ll tell you to come out. Just...” She ushered her friend toward the hiding place. “Here. Out of sight.” The blonde shut the door, leaving Rosemary to rush to the front, asking, “Who is it?”

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“Morgan. I was taking a late drive and...” She opened up, peeking through the crack. “That’s your best excuse?” He was wearing a sheepskin coat and those faded jeans. His black hair was windblown. “Can you blame a man for wanting to tuck his boy in for the night?” “Oh, that’s sweet, but...Tommy’s already asleep.” “Oh.” He jammed his thumbs into his pockets. “So, does that mean you can come out to play?” Play. Good girls like her didn’t climb in the sandbox with the Morgans of the world. But he’d already eased open the door a sliver more, revealing Rosemary in her pristine gown. He glanced away while she blushed. After a loaded pause, he slid out of his coat, took her hand and led her outside. There, he draped the sheepskin around her shoulders. Her slippers crunched over gravel. “Grandma?” he said, aiming a soft voice through the door’s crack. “We’re stepping out.” Moonlight spilled over them as he wrapped her hand in his, leading her toward the shadows of a pinewooded field.

Chapter Nine “Where exactly are you taking me?” Rosemary asked, a tremble in her voice. Morgan reassured her with a squeeze of their clasped hands. Their fingers were entwined, and he’d never felt so connected in his life. Sad, but courting hadn’t ever been his forte. They arrived at the moon-bathed field, watched over by an endless sky of stars and possibility. Swept away by the flower-tinged scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin, he shifted her into his arms. All he wanted to do was to feel her next to him, to seek her comfort, to absorb her wide-eyed way of experiencing the world. “Maybe I can look in on Tommy later?” he asked, grinning, swaying to the rhythm of night creatures and peaceful Montana air. Her petite body tensed and, for a moment, he thought she’d draw away. But then she relaxed into him, still wary, her hands spread over his chest. “Let’s leave Tommy to sleep tonight, okay?” She glanced up at him, her face touched by silver. “Can I ask a really personal question?” “You want to know why I actually came here?” “No...I... You didn’t want to see Tommy?” He chuckled. “Definitely. But I kind of wanted a glimpse of you in the bargain.” “Well, that’s certainly honest.” She paused, smiled a little. “Actually, I just wanted to know if you’ve ever been in love. If there’s a woman in the picture.”

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Morgan froze, but he still held her. “That’s a big word for a guy like me. I don’t think I can even pronounce it.” “Be serious, Morgan.” “All right. Daddy-test question number eighty-seven.” He sobered, pained to admit to the truth. “I can’t say I’ve experienced love. But...” “What?” She looked so vulnerable, so hopeful. He wished he could say yes. Would it make him a better father in her view? “There was one woman. I never knew her name, but she felt...right. Ah, that sounds like a damned fairy tale.” “No. Keep going.” “It’s tawdry.” “Not so far.” He brushed a short chestnut lock from her cheek. “I remember her hair the most. Long, pale... I buried my hands in it when I bent down to kiss her.” “What made her different from the rest?” “Who can say? Maybe it was the way she touched my jaw or the way she couldn’t let go of me afterward. It was...” Beautiful? Unlike any of the women who’d agreed to have meaningless sex for one night, then left the next morning? So why hadn’t he held on to her? “Morgan?” Rosemary was clasping both his hands, strengthening him. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He didn’t deserve to. “Don’t think I was some prince of romance. We were both wearing masks at a party, so I had no idea who she was.” Her grip loosened, but he felt a shiver steal up her arms. Morgan adjusted the coat around her. “It’s getting cold. Maybe we should -“ “Do you believe in love?” More than any question she’d already asked, this one rocked him to the core. He’d never seen evidence of it with his absentee parents, never seen it in his social circles. Still... “Maybe I could.” She smiled up at him, and he lost control. With deliberate ease, he leaned down, testing the space between them. All he wanted to do was kiss her, to sip from her warmth and find comfort in her touch. This time she didn’t stop him.

Chapter Ten It seemed as if she’d wanted this kiss to happen forever.

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As Morgan’s night-shaded form loomed over her, drawing closer, Rosemary contained a shudder. The warm vibration melted down her spine, like a drip of honey soaking her body. Why was she letting this happen? How could she not? The danger in his leathery scent persuaded her to slide a hand around his neck, to tangle her fingers in the flyaway hair at his nape. To stand on her tiptoes so his mouth could press against hers that much sooner. Heat spread over her lips, suffusing her skin, covering her neck, her chest, the tips of her hardening breasts. He took his time, tasting her, nipping at the corners of her mouth as if she still had droplets of ice cream decorating her face. As he slipped his fingers into her hair, Rosemary moaned his name, pressing against him, losing strength. Losing herself. It’d been so long. Too long. They came up for air, breathing in rhythm, his forehead to hers. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said. “It was worth the wait, but...” He sighed. The humid air bathed her neck, prickling goosebumps over her skin. “But now you’re wondering if I kiss every woman within pucker range,” he said. His voice was dragged down by something she couldn’t identify. Shame? Disappointment? She grabbed on to the lapels of his thick flannel shirt. “I want to believe you’ve changed.” “What can I do to convince you?” Her heart was knocking, inviting her to answer. But she couldn’t. She had no idea what it would take to make her believe he was a different man. Maybe she was the problem. Her and the distrust that had spread through her soul after her father had left. “Kiss me again,” she said, surging against him, flattening her chest to his, capturing his mouth with a hungry rush of need. They were bound to each other, tangled, his hands in her hair, her limbs threaded through his. When he used his tongue to lick her lips, she opened for him. The kiss turned slick, a little wild and out of control. She coasted her palms down his chest, over his ribs, knowing he was aroused because of the straining ridge in his jeans. Her knuckles brushed over his belt buckle. That’s when he ended it, cupping her face in his hands, laughing softly. “Maybe you’re not so much of an angel?” Jerking back from him, she looked at her hands. At him.

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What had she been doing? “I’ve got to go,” she said, starting toward the motel. “Rosemary?” She didn’t want to glance back, but she did. Morgan stood alone, a towering, dark shadow, palms turned upward as his arms rested at his sides. “I can still see Tommy again. Right?” His voice broke on the last word. She nodded, then ran the rest of the way. Don’t look back again, she thought. Don’t lose your grip. When she bolted back into the room, Charise and Tommy were seated on his blanket on the carpet, playing with toys. “You told him I was your Grandma?” the blonde asked, a cynical eyebrow raised. “I’m still in the bloom of my youth.” “He remembered the masquerade, Charise.” Her friend froze, then lowered the stuffed cow she’d been using to tickle Tommy. Rosemary nodded. “It’s time to tell him.”

Chapter Eleven Even by the next afternoon, Rosemary still hadn’t chased away the aftershocks of Morgan’s kiss. Or Charise’s words: Don’t you dare tell him about Tommy’s mom yet, she’d said, shocked that Rosemary had been considering it. You’re not thinking straight. Her friend was right, so Rosemary had made an appointment at a testing center in Billings and had resigned herself to waiting. Hopefully she’d have enough faith in Morgan by the time the paternity test rolled around to reveal Tommy’s mother. After all, she should have the opportunity to take part in the process. But Rosemary still couldn’t trust him. She was trying to calm herself by shaking a tin-foiled popcorn pan over a stove burner while Tommy and Morgan amused each other. Funny to see a big man handling a tiny baby with such care. The contrast in sizes somehow made Morgan appear stronger, more virile. Gentle. “Here it comes,” Morgan said, stretching his strong arms, poising Tommy in the air. “The Millennium Falcon, fastest ship in the galaxy. Zooooom.” Tommy gaped, entranced, flying. When the popcorn was ready, Rosemary dug around Morgan’s state-of-the-art kitchen for a bowl, then transferred the snack into it. “Glad to see you know your way around my home,” he said, sitting in a chair with Tommy on his lap.

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“I adapt well.” Rosemary popped a kernel into her mouth and entertained Tommy with two miniature stuffed Maltese dogs. “I’m an excellent traveler.” She was trying so hard not to glance at him, to see the echo of last night’s kiss in his gaze. The avoidance pained her, tempted her to take up right where they’d left off. “Is that what you enjoy?” Morgan asked. “Traveling?” “Yes. I wish I could do it more, but there’re bills to pay, and that means I need to work. Life’s a chain reaction of excuses, I guess.” “What do you do, Rosemary?” The sound of his low, sexy voice uttering her name forced her to glance up at him, a puppet on a string. “I’m a hair dresser at Darla’s Beauty Shop in Kane’s Crossing. Nothing too glamorous.” “Glamour isn’t everything.” He smiled, and she just about withered into a puff of smoke. “What do you do,” she asked, “besides hide from society?” Hefting Tommy up to a shoulder, Morgan patted the baby’s back, clearly comfortable. “I invest in real estate, some fine art. But I wouldn’t call it a collection. I’ve never really inspected my holdings.” He didn’t say anything for a moment, merely ate some popcorn. Then, “Maybe I’ll take a good look in the near future.” “I think you might be surprised about how art can make you feel. Not that I’ve been exposed to a lot of it.” “Well, you’ve traveled. Have you been to New York - to the Met? The National Gallery in London...?” “I’m not the family adventurer.” A sting of memory caused her to sigh. “Back in Kane’s Crossing, I heard every rumor imaginable about my dad’s travels. Some people say he ran off with a contortionist when the circus passed through town. Or that he hopped on an empty train car then took a boat to South America. What a legend, right?” Morgan slid a hand across the table, clasping her own. “He never came back?” She shook her head. “It’s all pretty boring, actually. My mom says he left when she was pregnant because he couldn’t deal with the pressure. He’s living in Kansas City or something. Who knows?” Silence filled the room. Tommy had fallen asleep, his head nestled against Morgan’s shoulder. Rosemary’s throat tightened. “I won’t do the same thing to Tommy, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Morgan squeezed her hand. She returned the gesture, but didn’t respond otherwise. “Come on.” He stood, making her rise with him. “I’ve got something to cheer you up.”

Chapter Twelve

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Morgan held Tommy to his chest and led Rosemary up the stairs, down the long hall of his mammoth cabin. The sound of their footsteps bounced off the high walls. “I came home last night and I couldn’t sleep,” he said softly, stopping in front of a door, catching the flush of remembrance as it bathed her delicate face. So she couldn’t forget that kiss, either. He added, “I ended up doing what any red-blooded man in his prime would do. I took a cold shower then put myself and an unfortunate house assistant to work by hauling things out of the attic.” He swung the door open, revealing a fantasy nursery with a hand-worked crib and changing table, an antique treasure chest bulging with stuffed animals and toys, plus an heirloom mini-carousel designed for infants. Rosemary gasped. “This was all stored in your attic?” “Not all, but I’d remembered seeing the chest and carousel up there. I also took a trip to Billings that first day for baby stuff. Now I’m going to polish up the furniture and get that merry-go-round working.” He guided her inside. “The salesladies told me what to buy, so I hope I got everything.” As she broke away from him to wander the nursery, Rosemary seemed so lost. So small and lonely. “You did all this for Tommy?” He leaned his cheek against the baby’s downy head. “Of course.” “Morgan.” She slowly shook her head. “Hey.” He walked toward her. “I want to make Tommy comfortable. That’s all.” “What about the paternity test?” Suspicion knifed at him. “Shouldn’t I trust your claims?” “Of course, but we’ll still keep our appointment, just so you know for sure.” Resolutely, she straightened her spine, her hazel eyes red-rimmed. “As you said, there shouldn’t be any doubt.” His tentative hold on a happier life slipped. “I don’t want to hear about doubt. I know I asked about the test at first, but can’t you see me written all over Tommy? I can show you pictures of me as a baby....” It was obvious by the slump of her shoulders that he was tearing her apart without even knowing why. He asked, “Does this have to do with Tommy’s mom?” Hadn’t he earned the truth yet? “I wish I could come right out and tell you now,” she said. “You can. What’s stopping you?” She drew in a great breath, then exhaled. “Time. Patience. Wisdom.” “I can give him anything his heart desires.” Morgan moved toward her, touched her shoulder, briefly wondered about the consequences for daring to get closer. “But what would Tommy’s mom think if I could give my boy a stepmother, too?”

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Her gaze fixed on him, wide, fearful. “Don’t say anymore. Please.” “I’ve changed in a lot of ways, but I can’t change my tendency to be blunt about what I’ve been missing - and that would be a sweet, good woman in my life.” “Morgan -“ “Have dinner with me tonight. Have Grandma take care of Tommy so we can talk things out as...I don’t know...two people who need to resolve something that’s pulling us together. You’ve felt the attraction, too. Don’t deny it.” She didn’t. “Things are more complicated than you know.” “Why? In order to take in Tommy, do I have to sign a paper saying I’ll marry his mother or something?” She closed her eyes, blocking him out. Had he hit a mark with his facetious comment? “Is that the only way I can be a father to him, Rosemary?”

Chapter Thirteen This afternoon in the nursery, Rosemary knew she’d be dining with Morgan tonight. There was no way she could say no, especially after what he’d insinuated about wanting to be with her. Her. The polar opposite of a playboy’s woman. A good-girl type with efficient clothing and a definite lack of flirting experience. Before she’d dressed in her new gown - a turquoise, off-the-shoulder chiffon number she’d purchased that day - Charise had offered instruction and advice. Be careful. Stay strong. Be certain of his miraculous redemption before you go and spill the beans. Now, as they sat at a table in his palatial cabin’s solarium, Rosemary was having trouble eating the filet mignon. Guilt played with a girl’s digestion, all right. Candlelight flickered over his face, making his eyes glow like a predator’s. “I’ve failed.” “You have?” “Yeah. Here I am, trying to make you forget about our impasse for a couple of hours, but it obviously isn’t working.” She attempted a perkier face. “Everything’s perfect. Thank you for inviting me.” “You know why I wanted to have you here, so don’t make this sound like high tea.” Gulp. “I thought you’d stopped your womanizing.” “I have. There’s a difference between you and the women I used to...enjoy.” “Really?” She leaned her elbows on the table, wondering just what he saw in her. “Name the differences, why don’t you.”

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“All right. First, you’ve got a halo circling your head.” She pretended to feel around that area. “It seems to be missing.” “No, it’s there. You’re just too used to it.” He swept her that off-kilter grin again. “Second, you’re able to talk about more than the latest runway styles or last week’s big bash for Vanity Fair.” “That just makes me provincial.” “It makes you fascinating. Third...” Morgan turned his head slightly, and his tousled dark hair gave him a raffish slant in the candlelight. “You seem...I guess ‘fresh’ is the word. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve never had your heart broken by anyone.”

Rosemary laughed in surprise. “That’s a giant assumption.” “Am I right?” She didn’t want to dance around the truth. Not anymore. “No. I’ve been in love with someone for a long time. My heart’s been hurting for a while now.” Something in his eyes clicked, like a gear shifting downward. “Two out of three ain’t bad, I suppose.” “I thought it was fruitless, this crush, this eternal torch...whatever you want to call it.” “Are you still in love with him?” She fiddled with her napkin. “Hopelessly.” “Aw, now. Damn.” He got out of his chair, stood above her. “You’ve gotten sad on me.” “I’m sorry.” “Here.” He helped Rosemary to her feet and pulled her over to a burbling fountain. A lily pond stood next to it, reflecting moonlight from the glass panels. “Look.” He pointed to the water, and she peered into it. Her reflection stared back at her. A stranger. A waif with sad eyes and foreign hair. An efficient style she’d selected because she wanted to be a proper girl. “There’s the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said softly, skimming her hair back. “Smooth talker,” she said, and she wasn’t kidding. The words were scary. Was the playboy taking him over again? Taking her over? “No.” Morgan’s fingers drifted to the back of her neck, coasting over her skin, shivering it. “I’ve never been more sure of what I wanted. You’re the type of lady I’d like to grow old with.” Blood had pumped to her brain, flooding it, sending tidal waves of heat into places that had been left cold. “What I really want,” he added with a seductive whisper, “is a nice girl.” Rosemary lost control, forgetting about prudence, patience, paternity. Their lips met again, but this time, fire took over.

Chapter Fourteen

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During their explosive kiss, Morgan picked up Rosemary. Cradling her in his muscled arms, he carried her out of the solarium and up the stairs to a bedroom. There, he laid her on a mattress, then stretched his long body over hers. “I don’t make many quick decisions anymore,” he said, breath rasping, heating her cheek, “but I know what makes me happy. And that’s you.” “You’re impulsive,” she said as he dragged his teeth over her neck. She squirmed beneath him, a sharp hunger gnawing through her belly. “I’ve spent a lot of time being wrong, but I’m right this time.” But would he still be right when she gave into him, becoming “naughty” instead of “angelic”? His mouth pressed against hers again, demanding, and she gave everything in return, moaning with the loss of control. He slipped off her dress, the material whispering against her responsive skin. His kisses trailed the chiffon, every touch a singe of heat and possession. Panting, she helped him take off his clothes, too: the formal jacket, the crisp white shirt. Halfway done, she couldn’t help pausing, her heart pounding at the sight of his tanned, corded chest, his strong shoulders. As she gazed at him, she touched her lips, felt the melting numbness, the taste of fine wine and leather. “More,” she said, crossing over to a side of herself that she’d tried to keep hidden. Bad girl. When he stood and stepped out of his pants, Rosemary couldn’t breathe. Instead, she held out her hand, wanting to touch him, to connect to him. The mattress dipped as he returned to her, skin slick, coasting over every inch of her body. He traced his tongue around her crested nipple, tenderly sketching his fingertips under the swell of her breast. It was so sensitive that Rosemary bucked under him, holding his head to her. He turned his attention to the other one, stroking one hand downward, over her ribs, her stomach, between her legs. There, he coaxed her to readiness by slipping inside, around, up, down. At the same time, he used his thumb to drive her senseless. “Rosemary...” He was hard against the outside of her leg. She ran her fingers over the length of him, and he cursed under his breath. “Come into me.” She’d said those words before, a lifetime ago. Only one man had heard them. An agony-filled moment passed as he searched for a condom in a nightstand drawer. Then he sheathed himself, more than ready. He eased into her, treating her body like delicate lace, worshipping it, holding it gently. But she’d built up too much yearning throughout the past months, and she urgently wiggled her hips, inviting him deeper. Groaning, he filled her, and she drove him on. She rocked against him, all remnants of the good girl burning, joyously destroyed.

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This is how she’d pictured the act of making love - with her body bared to him, her face hidden in the crook of his neck, covered by him and nothing else. She was vulnerable, but safe. Wicked, but innocent. He came, shuddering into her, but she still needed more. As if he’d explored her body a thousand times before, Morgan kissed his way down her skin, nestling between her legs, loving her with his mouth. Rosemary held back a scream while she burst into flame, her heart shooting into the sky and freefalling back down, gathering speed. Her body spasmed, crashing. Exploding into a million pyrotechnic sparks. The soft strum of his fingertips on her belly welcomed Rosemary back. His breath was warm on her thighs as he watched her, smiling, an affectionate light in his green eyes. She held her arms out to him, and he slid upward, snuggling. “You feel so good,” he said. “Almost like I was made to be here.” “You were.” This time, she wouldn’t let go. He kissed her collarbone. “I’ve never felt this way. Not since...” Morgan stiffened. Her breathing stopped as she realized that he’d recognized her body. “You’re Tommy’s mom,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen Morgan’s mind was a collage of images: Rosemary with the bobbed chestnut hair and heavenly eyes. A mysterious woman at a South Beach masquerade, dressed as an angel with long blond hair. Tommy. Rosemary tightened her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you earlier.” “Why not?” He came to his elbow, needing the advantage because she’d already slapped him down with her dishonesty. “You lied to me.” She grabbed the tousled bedspread and wrapped herself into its protection. “I wanted Tommy to be safe...to...” She sighed. “If you were the playboy I met in Florida, I wasn’t sure you’d be a good father. But at the same time, I wanted so badly for him to have one. His real one.” Morgan flinched. “If you don’t trust me, why did you just make love with me?” “Call me a fool, but I’ve always been in love with you.” She turned her face away. “Ever since the masquerade.” A bolt of pure happiness shocked him, and he almost buckled from the force of it. So then why couldn’t he reach out and smooth a hand over her cheek, alleviating her distress? The anger quivering in his gut answered his question. A tremor worked its way through his voice, dividing his emotions. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”

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She sniffled, then sat up, still covered by swaths of material. He mirrored her movements, tracking her intentions. “Some of the girls in town thought it’d be fun to go down to Florida for a bachelorette party. We hadn’t traveled much, being from a small place and fairly sheltered from the big mean world, but my friend, Charise, took it upon herself to plan everything. She’d moved to Kane’s Crossing from the city, so she knew the ropes. “We went to the shore, took in the local color and ended up in South Beach. Word was that the rich and famous liked to hang out there, so we were curious. Charise met a local man at a bar and he landed us invitations to this fabulous masquerade. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to mingle with people we’d seen on E! Television and in the movies.” “Your hair,” he said. “You weren’t wearing a wig that night.” “No. Long and blond - that was me. All the girls said I looked so pure that I should wear wings to the party, so I did. “When I got back to Kane’s Crossing, I cut my hair and dyed it. I changed myself. Tried to get far away from what I’d done in Florida.” A brittle laugh escaped her. “Funny, but the Southern heat must’ve gotten to us. We were all a little wild, did things we’d never do back home.” A vivid flash of memory swiped his heart: He’d seen her across the room and had been instantly charmed by the halo, the white of her dress, the anonymity. “I thought you were one of the usual crowd,” he said. “I didn’t know.” “I didn’t want you to. I was living a dream. But I knew who you were the second you walked up to me and touched my hair. I’d seen you in magazines, had a crush on you. Just a fantasy crush, though.” She traced the bed cover’s pattern. “But then we talked all night, and even though our faces weren’t revealed, I thought our meeting was magic. You kissed me...” “So innocent,” he murmured. She shook her head. “We kept our masks on then, too. You wanted it that way.” “We all have our fantasies.” She’d been an angel, just for that night. He’d always wanted something good in his life, and seeing her face would’ve ruined the illusion. And that illusion had been so powerful that he’d forgotten to use his typical protection. But Rosemary was unmasked now, open to him. Heaviness tightened his chest. Did he already miss his innocent version of her? Did this lie make her just like the other women he’d known, after all? “Afterward,” she said, “you left and told me you’d be away for just a minute. I wanted us both to show our faces so badly, but you never came back. That’s when I looked for you.” Morgan knew what was coming next, and his gut clenched with shame.

Chapter Sixteen As Rosemary huddled beneath the bed covers, her heart cracked in two. What she’d found the morning after she and Morgan had first made love had caused her to bolt, to return home where she could be herself again.

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“I found you in the living room,” she said, “and there was already another woman wrapped in your arms.” Morgan looked so stern, so disappointed in the both of them, as he hunched over, resting his arms on his thighs. “I remember that night. Would it matter if I said nothing happened with that woman? She was reckless, like me, and this was one occasion when I had to talk her down from a string of tragedies.” “She didn’t have any clothes on.” One of his hands fisted, then relaxed. “That wasn’t my doing. I’ve apologized for my lifestyle, Rosemary.” “And I’d give anything to be one hundred percent sure you’d never go back to it.” “That doesn’t excuse lying to me about you and Tommy.” The situation was slipping through her fingers. “You’ll never know how sorry I am to have gone about introducing Tommy like I did. But, truthfully, Morgan, a small-town girl hunts down a famous playboy and tells him he fathered her child? Besides that, he’s never even seen her face? Wouldn’t you have been cautious if you were in my shoes?” A shadow passed over his eyes, and he didn’t have to respond. She wanted to touch him again, to know that he was still within her reach. “When I returned to Kane’s Crossing and found out I was pregnant, I still nursed a silly little dream. I used to fantasize that you’d sweep into town one day because you’d been searching for me all over the world. Ridiculous, I know. But, in the mean time, I treasured every moment with Tommy because he’s such a blessing - no matter how he was conceived.” “I know.” Even if they’d agreed on something, he was still so far away from her. She said, “I’ll apologize a thousand times if that’s what it takes for you to forgive me. But don’t let my miscalculation affect the way you feel about our baby. Please.” “I know he’s mine. This doesn’t change how much I adore that boy.” His hand touched her bare shoulder, seeking, and Rosemary quivered. She added, “I told myself I’d never lose my head again. But here I am, huh? Right back in South Beach, thinking with my crazy hormones.” He dropped his hand to the mattress. Hadn’t he said he wanted a nice woman to settle down with? Had she shattered some buried need within him by steering clear of her innocence and giving in to his seduction? Rosemary kept her hands to herself, afraid to touch him because he might turn her away. “One day I looked at Tommy and I realized he was your spitting image. I thought about my own dad and how his absence scarred me. In that moment, I promised Tommy that I’d try to contact you. And when I read that you’d withdrawn from your old way of life, I knew the time had come.” “So you devised a plan to test me out.” “Yes. Me and my best friend, Charise.” “If I turned out to be unsuitable, you’d be justified in lying about his paternity. You were ready for me to be a jerk.”

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She met his gaze straight on. “And I’d do it again, too, even though I’m sorry about how that makes you feel. Very sorry.” Morgan paused, his body wooden. Then he said, “I’m just sorry you can’t get past the way I used to be.” Wrapping himself in a sheet, he hesitated, a flash of naked disgrace crossing his face. Then his gaze hardened, shutting her out. He left the room. She tightened her arms around her knees, drawing into herself. Heart heavy, she wondered what other sort of reaction she’d been expecting from Morgan. By definition, playboys never stuck around.

Chapter Seventeen Morgan hadn’t slept a wink all night. With doubts weighing him down, he’d asked one of his house assistants to drive Rosemary back to the motel. Her confession - and how he’d reacted to it - had thrown him into confusion, leaving his body a hollow shell. Now as the morning sun slouched through the nursery window, Morgan lingered over the intricate crib, the blue blankets, the toys he’d purchased for Tommy. “So you’re a basket case, too.” Morgan turned around to find a blond woman leaning against the doorframe, watching him. “Hi,” she said, sticking out a hand in greeting, “I’m Charise. But I suppose you can call me Grandma.” “I’ve heard about you.” He shook her hand but without much spirit. “I hope it’s okay that one of your men let me in.” Her light brown eyes searched him. “I’ll be in enough hot water with Rosemary when she finds out I’m playing referee.” “How is she?” he asked, stomach flipping just at the thought of her. “Sad. She told me all about your romantic night. The ill-timed confession of motherhood. The way you sprinted out of the room.” Exactly. That’s how the old Morgan reacted to uncomfortable situations: running from hard times and seeking a place that held no responsibility or care. “I understand why she wouldn’t come clean with me,” he said. “I’d do the same for Tommy. But I can’t help feeling betrayed all the same.” Couldn’t help feeling like dirt because she’d lied to him in order to protect their son. From him. Charise inspected a rainbow-hued mobile that was hanging over the crib. “I’d hate for this shaky start to ruin a bright future.” “It’d be easier if she hadn’t pretended to be someone else.”

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“I’m the one who came up with the idea of omitting the truth at first. She was reluctant, but she knew it was the best thing for Tommy.” “You’re right. It was.” She considered him, probably sensing his wounded feelings, his doubts about being man enough to deserve a family. “There aren’t many people who still believe in true love in this day and age,” she said. “Rosemary’s stayed true to that one night with you, even when half the men in Kane’s Crossing were knocking down her door, thinking she wouldn’t be so hard to get after all, what with that bun in the oven...” He believed true love could happen. He also believed it could be taken away, just like a flash of lightning splitting a tree apart. “I keep wondering if she’ll always be thinking the worst of me,” he said. “Maybe you just need to erase the doubts last night brought out.” Morgan’s mind started whirring with ideas, with the fear that he might fail to live up to Rosemary’s expectations. “Who knew I could lose my heart twice in the space of a few days? Once to a baby I didn’t know I had, and once to a woman who’s too good for the likes of me.” “Hey.” Charise held up a finger. “From what I know, neither you or Rosemary were raised by real fathers. Are you going to let an inferiority complex stand in the way of a family for Tommy?” “Never.” Morgan straightened. “I know I can be a hell of a dad. I can be with Tommy. I’m just not sure about Rosemary.” How could he tell Charise about those deep-seeded Pollyanna fantasies? His longing for a woman who could keep him away from his dark side with her optimism and light? But Rosemary had turned out to be a mere human, after all. And Morgan couldn’t help missing the woman who’d appeared on the front porch with Tommy. The innocent. Charise blew out a breath, hands on hips. “I still don’t get why you’re not knocking down her door. Rosemary’s heart is pure through and through. If you don’t want her, it’s your loss.” The comment smarted, leaving a heated imprint on his soul. When he didn’t respond, she shook her head, muttered something about “stupid men” and vacated the room. Morgan touched a stuffed giraffe, his chest tight. He would be an incredible father to Tommy. He just wasn’t sure what kind of a husband he’d make.

Chapter Eighteen “Not to be a pessimist,” Charise said, “but what are your plans if Morgan doesn’t come around?” She was packing her suitcase while Rosemary and a crib-bound Tommy watched. Even though her doubts about his past had returned after last night and Charise’s conversation with him this morning, Rosemary still couldn’t bring herself to start packing. “He’s going to want Tommy in his life,

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Charise. That’s a given. I’m not so sure about me, though. Not judging by the way he distanced himself after I told him who I was. And not after my confession of boundless love.” “That’s how you work, honey. When you love, you do it all the way.” Charise smiled sadly. “I wish I could, too.” “I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to forget my unrealistic feelings for him and deal with reality. After all, maybe that’s part of the reason last night ended on such a downward note - he doesn’t want the actual me.” “Don’t say that, Rosemary. Maybe the guy just needs an anchor in his life, someone to keep him on the straight and narrow.” Guilt still lingered about that one steamy Florida night. Was this a punishment? Finding out that Morgan couldn’t accept the woman under the angel’s mask? “I can’t believe he recognized my body, of all things.” Again, she thought of the women who’d come before her. Sometimes the sheer number made her feel insignificant. But the way he’d held her wiped his past from her mind. Until he’d walked out of the room and proven her wrong. “Well,” Charise said. “I tried my best to talk some sense into him.” Charise shut her suitcase and continued. “Maybe you and Morgan just weren’t meant to be. Maybe love at first sight really doesn’t exist.” Rosemary didn’t want to believe that. Too bad the evidence pointed to the contrary. ”I guess I should pack up, then contact Morgan by phone to see how to handle visitation.” Charise and Tommy merely stared, and Rosemary held back the ache. “You’re sure?” asked Charise. Rosemary thought about how they could make each other laugh. How they could talk for hours. How they both loved Tommy. How their bodies made each other spark and burn. “No,” she said, “I’m not. I don’t understand why two people can’t just fall in love without troubles, without doubting each other. I don’t...” She covered her eyes. “Oh, Rose.” The women hugged until they were both tearing up. Then they pulled away from each other, Charise rubbing Rosemary’s back in sympathy. All that was left to do was to collect Rosemary’s belongings now. They’d almost finished when a loud noise from outside made them both jump. “That sounds like a siren,” Charise said, collecting Tommy from the crib. Knowing her child was in good hands, Rosemary peeked out the curtains. What she saw jammed her heart in her throat.

Chapter Nineteen “He came back,” Rosemary said, swallowing around the twist in her voice.

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Charise moved next to her. “I think my faith in the male race has just been restored.” Morgan Pierce stood on the driver’s side of Engine 54, waiting for her. The noise and the bright-red vehicle had drawn other motel guests into the waning sunlight. “I know he’s better late than never, but for heaven’s sake - go!” Charise lightly pushed Rosemary, sending her toward the door. Tommy added his two cents by letting out a long, heartfelt squeal of delight. Rosemary exhaled, trying to calm the bippity-bip of her pulse. She could barely walk straight, much less open the door and greet the cooling air. When Morgan saw her emerge, his face lit up, even as he still managed to appear a bit sheepish. “I got here as fast as I could,” he said. “I thought you never wanted to see me again.” “Wrong. I decided that I couldn’t live a minute more without Tommy. Without you.” Without realizing it, her hand covered her heart. “We’ve got a lot to work out, don’t we?” “Love takes a little effort.” He offered that devastating grin. “Or so I’ve heard.” Small children had gathered around the engine, and Morgan greeted them with genuine warmth. His smile chipped away at her doubts, but didn’t destroy them. He alighted from the vehicle, jumping down to the ground and taking Rosemary’s hand in his. “You did take me by surprise last night.” Last night: sizzling kisses, slow caresses, a life-altering afterglow. “I wish the truth had come out more gracefully.” “Presentation won’t change the fact that I’ve fallen in love with you.” “Love?” What about the way he’d left her last night? “You don’t think I want a woman like you?” He stroked a finger over her jaw, his head tilted. “You’re everything, Rosemary. A diamond with different facets. Your friend talked some sense into me this morning, helped me sort out those cluttered mental files gathering dust in my brain.” Rosemary glanced at Charise, who was standing by the motel room door with Tommy in her arms. “Would you ever consider settling for a guy like me?” he asked. A guy like him. She still wasn’t sure what sort of a man he was. “Are you willing to take the risk with me?” he asked. Oxygen escaped her, but she gathered enough to answer. “I keep thinking of our parents.” “Don’t. They have no bearing on how we feel toward each other. On how we want Tommy to grow up safe and happy.”

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“This is all happening so fast. How can -“ “- I told you before,” he said, “I know what I want now.” He dropped to a knee, holding her hand between both of his own. “And I want you to be my wife, Rosemary. Will you spend the rest of your life with me?”

Chapter Twenty Four months earlier, Morgan wouldn’t have waited on bended knee in front of a woman. But that was a lifetime ago. He peered up at Rosemary as she bit her trembling lower lip. “Oh, darlin’,” he said. “When a man asks you to marry him, you’re supposed to be happier.” “I am happy. I’m...” Her voice choked off. He brought her down to him, sitting her on his thigh, wrapping her in his arms. The people who’d come outside to stare at the fire engine retreated, waiting by their rooms to watch the proposal. But Charise had brought Tommy closer. The blonde gave him to Rosemary, who cradled the baby. “Good luck,” mouthed Charise, winking at him. Morgan lightly pushed Tommy’s button nose. “Hey, tough guy, can you tell your mom that you want us all to be together, too?” Rosemary wiped her cheek. “Maybe we’re mistaking passion for something more meaningful.” “You know that’s not true. Through a strange twist of fate, I’ve always been in love with a part of you. Remember when I’d told you that there was one true moment in my life? That a masquerade angel held me afterward like no other woman?” Rosemary hesitated, then a change came over her. Brightness suffused her hazel eyes, and a smile lit over her mouth. “You stopped being a playboy months ago?” “You set a metamorphosis into motion. I can’t go back to being the old Morgan now.” She laughed, kissed Tommy, then him. “Maybe true love can exist, even with us.” With a burst of joy, he buried his face in her hair - so sweet. With his other hand, he held Tommy’s chubby leg, forming a circle of promise. “We’ve got a lot of time to make up,” Rosemary said. “Just as long as we share all our secrets.” “I don’t have any more. Do you?” “Yeah.”

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She blinked. “Oh.” “Don’t worry.” Morgan laughed, feeling the vibration travel through Rosemary’s body. “I’ve planned a secret trip for us. You know, a honeymoon?” “Kind of cocky, aren’t you?” “I always will be. But it’s tough when I haven’t heard a yes from you yet.” “Yes.” She threw back her head and raised her voice, the words braided with laughter. “Yes, yes, yes!” As the scattered pieces of Morgan’s heart crashed back together, making him whole, he brought his grandmother’s ring out from his pocket. He’d found it in the attic, along with Tommy’s carousel and toy chest. Thank God Rosemary was allowing him to decorate her finger with his love. Their small motel audience “awww”ed and applauded, then started moving back into their rooms. Even baby Tommy knew something was going on, because he was trying to clap his hands, too. “I’m the luckiest man alive,” he said, and Rosemary kissed his cheek. Her touch was a benediction, a loose end tying into a knot, closing. Bonding. Using Tommy’s hand to help him, Morgan slid the ring onto Rosemary’s finger and said, “Here’s to true love.” “And love at first sight,” she said. “Love that grows beyond a fantasy.” They smiled at each other, silent vows contained in their gazes. A flash caused them to blink their eyes. “Got you,” Charise said, holding an instant camera. The picture whirred out of the device. “A historic moment captured in color.” Before going back to the room, she gave the keepsake to them. Both Rosemary and Morgan held the edges, showing Tommy the magic. Before their eyes, a happy family took form. “Look at that,” Morgan said. “There’s our future.” Rosemary stroked his neck. “I love you so much,” he said. “And I love you, too,” she sighed, resting her cheek against his. “All sides of you.” Even if she was coming to terms with what he used to be, this moment convinced Morgan that the playboy was long gone. As he glanced at the photo again, he saw a whole new Morgan Pierce. He saw a father holding his happy family. As the sun set over Remington, a new day dawned for all of them.

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The Road Back by Samantha Hunter Caryn Howard should have known better than to believe in fairy-tale endings. In real life, rich men like Thomas Falcon don’t end up with ordinary women like her. When Tom implicated her younger brother, Dirk, in an arson investigation, Caryn realized the millionaire was filled with prejudice against her working-class roots, and her pride forced her to call off their engagement. Newly employed as a personal assistant for society matriarch Angelina Malone, Caryn is trying to put the past behind her, and now that Tom has finally stopped calling and writing, she might be able to do just that. So imagine her surprise when her employer’s new chauffeur turns out to be none other than Thomas Falcon! Tom claims he can be a regular working man for one week. After all, he got his start as a limo driver—even if it was while learning the ropes of his family’s tour company. But will his gesture be enough to convince Caryn that he’s changed—and to win her back?

Chapter One “I’ve gotta go, Dirk,” Caryn Howard said to her brother, interrupting his five-minute phone rant about how that arrogant bastard Thomas Falcon was responsible for Dirk’s latest pink slip in his latest new job. “Hang in there, kiddo. It’s going to get better. It has to.” Her throat aching from straining to sound positive, Caryn hit End, then carefully set her cell phone’s ringer to Silent. Dirk called whenever he needed to vent. Several times a day. Caryn understood she was the only sounding board he had left, but she couldn’t afford to lose her own job by taking too many personal calls. Still, it was hard to deny Dirk any comfort she could give. She had protected him most of their lives. And in a way, she felt responsible for his situation. If only she hadn’t fallen in love with Thomas Falcon in the first place… She should have known better. She should have known that, in real life, Cinderella stories ended badly. Dirk should know better, too. Ordinary people like the Howards didn’t get revenge on big shots like the Falcons. They couldn’t make Thomas suffer. The best they could do was render him irrelevant, at least in their lives. She was proud of how successfully she’d managed to erase him from her own. In the three months since she’d ended their engagement, as she watched her brother struggle to put back together the life Tom had exploded, Caryn had blocked her ex-fiancé’s e-mails and phone calls. She’d tossed his letters, unopened. His persistence had been amazing. He and the word no were obviously strangers. His letters had stopped arriving only a couple of weeks ago. She was just now beginning to hope it was finally over. Maybe now she could quit dreaming about him. Maybe she could really begin to forget. “Caryn, am I keeping you waiting?” Angelina Malone’s crisp voice, which sounded so much younger than her seventy-five years, floated down the curving staircase. “I’m sorry. Belinda says I absolutely must change to a different dress, which is a damned nuisance with this cast. It’ll take ten minutes, at least. Can you tell Sidney, please?” “Sure. We’ve got plenty of time.” Caryn had to smile at her employer’s old-world manners. Angelina didn’t owe anyone an apology, least of all Caryn. As Angelina Malone’s assistant, it was Caryn’s job to wait wherever the woman wanted, as long as she wanted.

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She glanced out the bay window, where Sidney’s gleaming black limo waited at the end of a curving, begonia-lined drive. In the background, Richardson Bay glimmered under the glamorous silvery-pink Marin County sunset. She couldn’t tell if Sidney was in the limo, or still in the carriage house where he lived. He probably wouldn’t even know Angelina was running behind, but she’d said she’d tell him, so she opened the door and headed out toward the car. Caryn walked with her long skirt lifted in one fist, watching the spiky heels of her evening shoes so they didn’t catch in the bricks. The deep blue California spring dusk was balmy. The breeze—less aggressive than usual—let the salty scent of the ocean ride in on its back. She took a deep breath. It was so peaceful here. So unlike the noisy, claustrophobic midtown day care center where she’d been the administrative assistant for the past five years. Until Dirk’s arrest. Until someone decided she couldn’t be trusted around small children… No, she definitely didn’t want to lose this job. As she neared the end of the drive, she glimpsed Sidney, standing in the shadows at the bottom of the carriage house stairs. He had his back to her, but he was obviously ready to go, his posture more alert and erect than usual, and his cap at an abnormally roguish angle. He was chatting with Colby Malone, the oldest of Angelina’s three grandsons. “Hi, Colby,” she said, waving. She’d worked for the Malones a month now, and calling them by their first names no longer felt strange. For card-carrying members of the Rich and Fabulous Club, they were surprisingly without affectations. “Sid, Angelina wanted to let you know she’d be a little late.” To her surprise, neither man responded right away. Instead, Colby glanced at her with an expression that looked almost…nervous? Surely not. The Malones didn’t do nervous. Why should they? They had the world by a string, and they knew it. Colby muttered something to Sidney, gave Caryn a weak smile, then pointed vaguely toward the house. He stuck his hands in his pockets, whistled softly and moved off with exaggerated innocence. “Anything wrong with Colby?” Caryn came up behind Sidney, watching the other man slink away. “He looked distracted.” It was only then, when she was mere inches from the beautifully cut navy blue blazer of the chauffeur’s uniform, that she realized something wasn’t right. Her instincts prickled. The shadows had been deceiving. The dimensions of the man in front of her were too virile to be a fifty-five-year-old man. The shoulders were too broad, the nipped waist too narrow. The hair that curled under the cap wasn’t salt-and-pepper, but chocolate-brown, glossy and full. His scent lacked even a single whiff of Sidney’s sinus-clearing arthritis cream. Instead this man smelled all male, a touch of lime, a hint of sea air… Her shoulders tensed. No. Her heart knocked. Her pulse skittered, knowing before her brain did. The worst of her nightmares had just come true. “Sidney?” As if he were in a film set to slow motion, the man pulled off the chauffeur’s cap and turned around, one inch at a time.

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Finally her brain caught up. “I’m sorry, Caryn,” Thomas Falcon said with the smile that had always melted her like ice cream in a microwave. “Sidney’s not here. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Chapter Two For a long, dry-throated moment, Caryn didn’t speak. Five minutes ago, she’d been half wishing Tom were here, so that she could personally throttle him for ruining Dirk’s life. Now… Now she couldn’t even lift her strangely tingling hands. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t catch any of her thoughts. “Tom.” She took a deep breath and a step back. “What are you doing here?” One corner of his smile tucked in a little deeper. “I told you. I’m filling in for Sidney.” Caryn’s reactions were still on slow motion, so after a polite pause Tom kept talking. Casually. As if there were nothing strange about this. As if they’d parted yesterday, instead of three months ago. As if they’d parted with a kiss instead of tears. “You knew Sid’s daughter in L.A. was expecting her first baby next month, right?” She nodded. “Mary.” She’d heard all about it, of course. Sid could hardly wait for his vacation. He’d planned to take a week off so that he could help his daughter, whose husband was in the navy, when she first brought the new baby home. It hadn’t occurred to Caryn to worry about who would replace him. She’d assumed some agency somewhere would just send out another steady, professional driver. “Yes. Mary.” Tom looked pleased that she’d provided the name. “Well, Mary went into labor early. Colby took him to the plane an hour ago. I offered to pitch in.” “Pitch in?” Her words fell out heavy with incredulity. She let her gaze flick over his jacket, which, she now noticed, was not really like Sidney’s uniform at all. It was just a navy blazer. And unless she missed her guess, that butter-soft wool and flawless tailoring cost more than everything in Sidney’s closet. “Damn it, Tom. Is this your idea of a joke?” “No.” He tugged at the button of his cuff, affecting an affable indignation. “I do know a little something about cars. I started out driving a limo.” Very funny. As heir to Falcon Tours, the largest tour company in the San Francisco Bay area, he’d been taught the business from the ground up. He’d probably spent six months as a driver when he was a senior in high school. These days, when the signature Falcon Tours buses sailed by, instantly recognizable with the powerful swoop of deep-brown falcon wings painted against a sky-blue background, Tom’s only involvement was cashing the checks. Her hands had clenched into fists, but she kept her voice low. “I can’t believe you’ve put me in this position. I need this job. But now…”

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“Now what?” One corner of his wide mouth tilted up. “Surely you won’t quit your job just to avoid seeing me?” “I’m not quitting anything. You are.” She looked toward the house, where Angelina had just emerged. “Oh, God, what a mess! Do the Malones know…everything?” “About us?” “Of course about us.” He nodded calmly. “Colby and I have been friends, or at least business friends, for years. So when he told me Sid was leaving, I asked him to let me fill in. Of course I had to explain why.” She groaned softly. She could imagine what that conversation had been like. “He would have told his grandmother eventually, I’m sure. But neither of us had any idea Sid would have to leave so unexpectedly.” Tom glanced toward the house. “He’s probably giving Angelina the details now.” Sure enough, Colby had just taken Angelina’s arm from Belinda, the pretty young housemaid who helped her maneuver her crutches down the stairs. As Belinda disappeared into the shadows of the foyer, Colby bent toward his grandmother and began to speak rapidly. Oh, God… “I have to talk to her,” Caryn said, her voice strangled. “I have to explain that I had no idea you were—” “Caryn, wait.” Tom’s tanned, strong hand touched her forearm. She stared daggers at it, and he let go instantly. “It’s just for a week. One week, and then if you still want me to go, you win. I’ll go away, and you won’t ever hear from me again.” “You’ll go away now. It’s so ridiculous I can’t believe…” She could hardly bring herself to look at him, she was so furious. “What did you think you could accomplish by this…farce?” “Time with you. Time to explain, to show you I’ve changed. There was no other way. You wouldn’t take calls, you wouldn’t answer letters—” “And doesn’t that tell you anything?” “It tells me you’re angry. You’re hurt. Maybe it tells me you hate me.” His lean, elegant face was somber. “But it doesn’t tell me you don’t love me anymore.” Her fingers dug half circles in her palms. “Okay, then, let’s see if I can spell it out. I’m not hurt, Tom. I’m through. One-hundred-percent finished trying to make this impossible relationship work. We tried to get past what happened, but we just couldn’t. We come from different worlds. You don’t respect mine, and frankly I don’t respect yours.” She had forgotten to breathe while she spoke, so she’d run out of air. She inhaled deeply, and met his piercing brown gaze. Three months, and she hadn’t forgotten a single detail. Not the slivers of hazel and green, not the black fringe of lashes, not the dark swoop of brow above. In spite of the quiver that started deep inside, she refused to look away. “And just to be sure we’re clear,” she added carefully, “I don’t hate you. But neither do I love you. It’s over, that’s all.”

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To her surprise, the pronouncement didn’t seem to faze him. He looked at her a long moment, taking in every inch of her face. And then he nodded. “Fair enough. But if that’s true, then this week should fly by, don’t you think?” He put the cap back on his head, at the same sexy angle. The shadow of the rim fell over one eye. “I don’t think you heard me, Tom. I—” “Sure I did.” He smiled. “No love, no hate, no problem.” *** Explaining the mess to Angelina was not easy. It took at least ten minutes, though Angelina was a good listener, interrupting only when necessary. They’d gone back into the house, leaving the men outside. Angelina sat in the largest armchair, beside the bay window. Her cast-covered foot stretched out in front of her, nearly obscured by the folds of her long, silver gown. Her face revealed little while Caryn talked, which was unnerving. Caryn knew the sad tale sounded sordid. It was sordid. So out of place here, in this graceful, efficient home. “Good heavens,” Angelina said when Caryn reached the end of the story. “All right, let me be sure I understand. When your brother Dirk’s girlfriend’s hair salon burned down, Dirk was suspected of arson. Tom Falcon, who was your fiancée at the time, believed he saw your brother at the scene, and he informed the police of that fact, in spite of your assurances that Dirk was not involved. Subsequently, another young man confessed to the crime, and your brother was exonerated, but not before a great deal of damage had been done.” Pretty succinct, Caryn thought. A bloodless, sanitized retelling that left out the ugly parts—the fights, the tears, the insults, the sleepless nights. Dirk’s idiocy in getting mixed up with a sleazy tramp like Vanessa in the first place. Dirk’s attempt to bash in Tom’s head. Violence to prove he wasn’t capable of other violence? Brilliant. “Yes,” she said as calmly as she could. “Dirk lost his job when he was arrested. He did maintenance work for a private school. They felt they couldn’t risk the children’s safety.” “You lost your job, as well, didn’t you? That seems a bit unjust.” “I worked around children, too. A day care center. Children are vulnerable. People think—” “I know what people think,” Angelina interjected. “I also know that sometimes people don’t think. To lose your job because your brother was accused of something…not convicted, mind you, just accused. Absurd.” Caryn felt her cold hands begin to thaw a little. Angelina’s tone was as indignantly protective as if she were talking about someone mistreating one of her own beloved grandsons. “What about your engagement to Tom? Who broke it off? You?” Caryn nodded. “Why?” Angelina narrowed her eyes. The light from the window cast strong shadows, so her face was not easily read. “Because he was a disloyal bastard and a stubborn fool?”

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Caryn laughed in spite of herself. The profanity sat comfortably on Angelina’s tongue, as if the ultraelegant matriarch had no problem using the right word at the right moment. “It was a terrible time,” Caryn explained. “Emotions ran very high on all sides. We tried, for a while, to see if we could get past it. But I guess that, deep inside, I couldn’t forgive him for being able to believe Dirk was capable of arson. I knew what that meant.” “What did it mean?” “It meant he thought we were…” She wasn’t sure how to put it that wouldn’t sound like a stereotypical case of class envy. “He thought we were beneath him, not just in income, but in values, as well. As if our morality existed in direct relation to our paychecks.” Her comment was followed by a small silence, but somehow she didn’t feel she’d offended Angelina. The older woman tapped her fingers lightly on the marble table next to her chair. After a few seconds, she turned her head to gaze through the window. As the sunset deepened, the landscape lights had blazed on. They could clearly see Colby and Tom, who had strolled to the edge of the lawn and were staring out toward the Bay. If the men worried about the decision being reached in here, it didn’t show. Finally, with a sigh, Angelina turned back to Caryn. “Men can be very stupid,” she said. “But they do sometimes learn from their mistakes. Have you considered the possibility Tom has learned from his?” “I doubt it. More likely he can’t reconcile himself to being rejected.” Angelina nodded. “Yes. Possibly. But have you considered what a terrible mistake you’ll be making if you’re wrong? I… Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but it’s fairly clear you still love him.” Caryn flushed. She opened her mouth to deny it, but closed it again. What was the use? She’d already learned that Angelina was almost preternaturally astute when it came to reading people. “That may be true,” she said. “But I’ll get over it.” “I wonder.” Angelina folded her hands in her lap. “Years ago, my grandson Colby did a very stupid thing. Even worse than what Tom has done. The girl he loved left him because of it, and she didn’t merely break his heart. She took it with her. He breathes, he laughs, he even makes love. Frequently. But all without a heart.” The subdued anguish in Angelina’s voice shocked Caryn. She had naively assumed that this family must always have basked in the glow of a guardian rainbow. That such sorrow could lurk behind Colby Malone’s sparkling smile or Angelina’s gracious poise was almost inconceivable. She didn’t have a comeback. Angelina lifted a hand and beckoned Caryn over. She continued to extend her pale fingers until Caryn took them. “Maybe you should consider giving him the week he wants. He’s willing to humble himself, which might be a dose of the very medicine he needs. When the week is over, if you still want to send him away…at least you’ll have the luxury of being absolutely sure.” “But…” Caryn wondered if Angelina could understand. She’d already endured three months of withdrawal pains. She didn’t want to start over. “If he—if we—”

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Angelina smiled. “I know. That’s the risk, of course. If you want him gone, Caryn, say the word, and I’ll fire him. But if I’ve learned anything in my years, it’s this. No matter how much you’d like to be rid of it, love is difficult to kill.”

Chapter Three Tom thought he’d lose his mind, waiting to hear what Angelina and Caryn decided. Colby was great fun at dinner parties, and a hell of a captain when they went sailing, but in a situation like this he was an epic fail. His idea of moral support was to scribble some names on the back of an envelope. Female names and phone numbers. The rest of the details he passed along orally, with a knowing smile. Tom wasn’t sure whether that was supposed to be a joke. Probably. Colby hadn’t seemed surprised when Tom handed the envelope back with a thanks, but no thanks. “Oh, well,” he said. “It’s your funeral. But I’m telling you, Caryn is a no-go. Did you see her face? That is one woman who does not have mercy on her mind. And talking to my grandmother won’t help.” “Damn it, Colby,” Tom said for the tenth time. “Why didn’t you tell Angelina about me before I got here? She probably thinks I’m insane. A garden-variety stalker.” “Well, it all happened pretty fast. Besides, I told you it was a bad idea.” Colby grimaced. “Caryn’s not going to forgive you for what you did to her brother. And even if she did she’d just hold it over you forever.” “I don’t care.” “You would, after a few years of being guilt-tripped to death.” Colby put his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “Look, I’m serious. You’re gripping this pole, fighting to reel in nothing but a lifetime of heartache. You know what they say about the sea. Why don’t you cut the line and let this fish go?” Tom managed not to growl. “I love her. The word may not be in your vocabulary, but look it up sometime.” Colby sighed. “I never saw anyone so hell-bent on—” He broke off. Tom turned, knowing what that must mean. The jury had deliberated, and the verdict was in. Sure enough, Caryn was walking across the lawn, which was olive green in the twilight, shamrock green in the artificial lights scattered around the estate. He hadn’t realized how dark it had grown while they waited. He couldn’t read her face. She moved gracefully, her straight brown hair swaying, her long blue skirt in her hands. The pale, flickering glimpses of ankle and calf were absurdly tantalizing. As she approached, and her grim expression grew clear, Colby muttered under his breath. “Uh-oh. Hammer time.” “Shut up.” “Hi, Caryn,” Colby said politely as she reached them. “I was just leaving.” “Thanks,” she said without inflection. She stopped a few feet from Tom and waited for Colby to make good on his promise. When he was ten yards away, she turned and faced Tom.

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Though her brown eyes, full lips and freckles still added up to the same gorgeous package he’d fallen in love with, her expression was stone-cold. “All right,” she said. “You have your week.” He didn’t smile, didn’t let his relief show by even a twitch. “Okay.” “But I have two conditions.” “Okay.” “One, when the week is over, you do exactly as you said. You go away, and you leave me alone. For good.” He nodded. “If that’s what you want when the week is over, that’s what you’ll get.” “And two. When the week is up, you write a check for ten thousand dollars to Dirk. He’ll use it to start the plumbing business he’s always wanted. He’ll pay you back over the next five years, at six percent interest.” “Okay.” She hesitated, as if she weren’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He repeated it, just to prove he had. If she’d expected to scare him off by asking for money, she was reading him all wrong. She could have said ten million, and he wouldn’t have blinked. He smiled. “Anything else?” “No.” She lifted her chin. “Well. Except…if you’re really going to be the chauffeur here, please get the car ready. We’re late for the party.” *** Because of Angelina’s broken leg—which would be in a cast for another month—she took Caryn with her everywhere, including the splendid parties, the boring meetings and even the endless doctor visits. They were always in the car. Always just a couple of luxurious, leather-lined feet behind the chauffeur. Which had been fine when it was Sidney. Now, Caryn was exhausted from trying not to meet his eyes in the rear-view mirror, not to touch his arm as he helped her into the backseat. The first twenty-four hours were torture. To calm herself, she concentrated on Dirk. She hadn’t expected Tom to agree to her terms. But, probably out of sheer obstinacy, he had. So she tried to focus on what poetic justice it would be for him to provide the loan that might change Dirk’s life. By sundown Thursday evening, when Angelina asked her to find Belinda, Caryn had decided she might survive. She looked first in the housemaid’s room. Belinda and Caryn were the only live-in employees, and their rooms were side by side, just down the hall from Angelina. Several dresses were strewn across Belinda’s bed, and the vanity was a mess, but the room was empty. After checking the rest of the house, Caryn decided to try the backyard, where Belinda sometimes sneaked a cigarette and a harmless flirt with whichever Malone grandson was on the property.

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Sure enough, there she was, off by the carriage house. Of course. The grandsons rarely slept here during the week, so Belinda would naturally check out the new resident hunk: the chauffeur. Odd thing was, as Caryn got closer she realized the area was buzzing with activity. Belinda was sweeping the bricks, which were covered in mulch and mud. Four dirty young men were yanking mangled plants out of the flower bed. Another two muscular guys bent over the limo, polishing scrapes from the bumper. Tom walked among them, gesturing here, guiding there, all while keeping his cell phone propped between ear and shoulder, and issuing clipped orders about renegotiating leases and retrofitting fleets. He didn’t seem to notice Caryn’s arrival, but Belinda did. “Does Angelina need me?” She groaned with relief and handed Caryn the broom. “Saved by the bell. Your turn.” “For what?” “Cleanup duty. Tom ran over the begonias as he was pulling out, and we’re trying to get things replaced before anyone is the wiser.” Belinda laughed as she brushed mud from her hands. “Ugh. Give me a nice piece of silver to polish any day.” Caryn had no choice but to take the broom. Otherwise it would have clattered to the bricks. Belinda was already halfway to the house. Of course, Tom chose that moment to look in her direction. He wore supple jeans and a long-sleeved, beige T-shirt that was as soft as a cloud. She knew, because she used to love to run her palms over it. He didn’t have a speck of dirt anywhere. His eyes widened when he saw her holding the broom. “Let me get back to you on that, Chet, okay?” He spoke into the cell phone, but he held her gaze. “Just tell him he’ll have to wait.” A rapid-fire protest made it clear that Chet didn’t like being dismissed, but he had no choice. People who dealt with Thomas Falcon rarely did. Tom snapped his phone shut and slid it into his back pocket, giving Caryn a curious smile. “Have you joined my disaster-relief team?” “Not a chance,” she said, handing him the broom. “I came to get Belinda, that’s all.” “Too bad. I could use another pair of hands. And I thought you might enjoy seeing what a fool I’d made of myself.” He surveyed the wrecked flower bed with a sheepish smile. “I clearly forgot how wide the turning radius is on a limo.” It did look pretty bad. But it was reforming before her eyes, with six strapping men at work. “You aren’t a fool, Tom,” she said. “You’re just a fraud.” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty harsh. You’ve never bumped a begonia?” “It’s not the accident. It’s… It’s that you have no idea how to be a normal guy, a guy who makes an hourly wage and has to clean up his own mistakes. Being a millionaire is like knowing magic. Poof. One phone call, and it’s all fixed.”

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“No.” He frowned. “Caryn, look, I—” His cell phone began to ring again. His hand went instinctively toward his pocket, then froze. The expression on his face was one she’d never seen. The great Thomas Falcon didn’t know what to do. She laughed. “Go ahead. Answer it. That’s what millionaires do.” She turned toward the house. She could feel his gaze boring into her from behind. This round clearly had gone to her. The victory felt nice, but she knew better than to count Thomas Falcon out yet. One day down. Six long days more to go.

Chapter Four By God, Tom wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. He couldn’t afford to. He didn’t have time. Sidney’s daughter and the little premature granddaughter were fine, thank goodness, but that meant the chauffeur would be back at work right on schedule. Which meant that Tom had only a week to storm the fortress behind which Caryn had barricaded herself. He was beginning to realize that he’d grossly underestimated the difficulty of the task. As he stood beside the parked limo Friday night, listening to the gathering thunder as he waited for Angelina and Caryn to emerge from a charity concert, he gave himself a serious thrashing. He shouldn’t have taken her surrender for granted. Caryn Howard was no pushover. Never had been. He had fallen in love with her because she had spunk as well as sparkle, grit as well as glamour. He should have anticipated that she’d use that determination and grit against him now. But the problem was even worse than that. He’d come here determined to prove to her that he’d changed. And, in only one day, she’d shown him the truth: he hadn’t. Not enough, anyhow. Last night, he’d been a fool all over again, using his magic wallet to buy his way out of trouble. Showing one more time just how profoundly he was disconnected from real life. Her life. The thunder growled, as if it were disgusted with him, too. Finally, just as he couldn’t stand another minute alone with his thoughts, there she was. The rain had begun to fall in fat, cold splats, and she darted along the sidewalk, dodging them. He got to the door just in time. He held it open and she slipped in with a rustle of silk and a trace of orchids and sandalwood. He bent his head into the warm backseat. “Does Angelina need help?”

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Her face was flushed. “No,” she said stiffly. “Apparently she’s going to spend a couple of days with friends. Belinda’s already there, waiting for her.” She pushed her damp hair out of her face. “I guess she forgot to tell me.” If Angelina had been there, he would have kissed her. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. He didn’t gloat, though. Opportunity was only half the battle. And, judging by Caryn’s set jaw and compressed lips, she didn’t intend to make this easy. “I guess it’s just you and me, then,” he said in a neutral tone. She didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him. She worked at fluffing out her skirt, which the rain had flattened against her knees. But her fingers trembled, and that gave him hope. He shut the door, loped through the rain to his own door and started the limo with a purr. The rain was coming down harder now, so he put on the wipers, front and back. He cocked his head. “Home?” “Yes.” She met his eyes, adding awkwardly, “Thank you.” They made it halfway across the bridge before the torrent started. From then on, gusts lashed at the car, rocking it sideways. Water drummed on the roof. The windshield was as white as if it were raining milk. Visibility went down to almost nothing. He thought about pulling over, but he knew she’d think it was a ploy. He took the turns carefully. Once again, though, the turning radius fooled him. On a tight corner, he felt the back passenger wheel clip the curb, hard. He crossed his fingers that it wouldn’t be a problem, but fifty yards later, his luck ran out. The tire began to knock and thump. “Damn it,” he muttered as he slowed the limo, pulling to the shoulder. A bolt of lightning zigzagged across the horizon, followed by a cymbal crash of thunder. Of all the times to make such a rookie mistake… Did he even remember how to change a limo tire? He vaguely remembered that if he put the jack on the wrong spot, he’d bend the frame, a costly error. The cell phone in his pocket seemed to burn against his thigh. It would be so easy…so blissfully easy…to pull it out and call someone. He had a thousand employees, and any one of them would be happy to give the boss a hand. But his gaze slid, as if magnetized, to the rearview mirror. Caryn was watching him. Her eyebrows were raised almost imperceptibly, and he knew she was waiting to see what he’d do. He sighed inwardly. Surely even a real chauffeur would be allowed to call AAA at a moment like this. He wrapped his fingers over the door handle. He felt silly, like a high school kid accepting a dare just to impress his girlfriend. “This won’t take a minute.” He shoved open the door, squeezing his eyes against the needles of rain that assaulted him. For the first time, he was glad to have this ugly cap and jacket. It was cold and mean out there.

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Two seconds, and he was drenched to the skin. He opened the trunk, found the jacks and the spare, spit out the water that drove into his mouth and got down on his knees. He levered the jack under what he hoped was the right spot and began to pump. The other cars sped past them, kicking up scalloped waves of cold, dirty water. His hair dropped over his eyebrows in dripping hanks. The damn jack was so old-fashioned it probably had the same birthday as Sidney. And either the lug nuts were frozen, or his fingers were. He hoped she was watching. He hoped this was “real” enough for her. He couldn’t see into the car through the cascading rain. The storm was deafening. Rain battered his cap, the car, the pavement. Thunder kept roiling closer, until the flash of lightning and the noise that followed were almost simultaneous. He gritted his teeth and forced the last lug nut to let go. But as the world lit up from another bolt of lightning, he couldn’t help thinking… If he died changing this tire, would she forgive him then? The idea struck him as funny, and finally he began to laugh. He rocked back on his heels and turned his face toward the sky, suddenly accepting the rain, the humiliation of a tour company owner being so damn bad at changing a tire, the whole ridiculous thing. It was actually kind of exciting. Kind of fun. The car jiggled oddly, bringing him back to reality. Hell, had he messed up the jack after all? But then he saw Caryn making her way slowly around the back fender, bent against the onslaught of rain. “Tom! Tom, can’t you hear me?” Her slinky blue dress was so wet it looked like a coat of fresh paint. Her mascara had begun to run around her eyes, and her hair streamed down her back in long cascades of shining mahogany. He stood and instinctively began shedding his jacket, although he knew it was drenched, too. “Caryn, get back in the car.” While he draped the jacket around her, she took his arm with liquid fingers. “You get back in the car. You’re going to get struck by lightning!” Her smudged eyes were wide, and her hand was shaking, more from cold than fear, undoubtedly. But still…she was afraid. She didn’t want him to get electrocuted. He chuckled in spite of everything. Pretty pathetic, when that was the best he could hope for. “Tom, don’t be a moron.” She kept her hand on his arm, and the spot where they touched generated a little bit of heat. “You’ve proved your point. Come back inside.” He crooked his elbow, and because she didn’t let go, that brought her closer. He adjusted the jacket, pulling the collar together at her neck. Her lips parted, and rain traced them, collecting in the corners. “Tom,” she said again. But the word was soft, and she didn’t pull away. Slowly, he bent his head to hers, and their bodies formed a circle of shared warmth that magically repelled the rain. Her perfume steamed off the pulse that throbbed at her neck. It drove him a little crazy. It was too soon. He knew it was too soon.

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But he had no choice. He was going to have to kiss her.

Chapter Five Outside, the lightning still zapped the earth white, and the thunder still echoed off the foothills. The black skies still poured freezing torrents, and the passing cars still sprayed dirty curls of water against their legs. But the rain weaved a magic cocoon around them, and inside, where they touched at forehead, hand and hip, everything was quiet, and completely focused on the gleaming fullness of her lips. He needed permission, though it was killing him to hold back. He could taste her already, and he was burning with wanting more. “Caryn?” Did she nod? Did he feel her smooth brow shift against his? He groaned, knowing he was at the end of his willpower. But then, as he made his decision, as he began to lower his lips, the world lit up again. It wasn’t lightning. This was different. This was right behind the limo. Bright, like spotlights. Like headlights. He lifted his head and saw the truck. Saw the man climb down from the cab. He glanced at Caryn. She bit her lower lip. And then, almost sheepishly, she smiled. “I called Triple A,” she said. *** Saturday mornings were noisy at Angelina’s house. Colby, Matt and Red, Angelina’s grandsons, showed up early, frequently bringing friends for a weekend of swimming, sailing, football, feasting and fun. Often they brought highly decorative females. Other times, the house was full of toddlers, old folks and everything in between. The Malones were a gregarious clan. This Saturday seemed different. When Caryn woke up, a little late, she noticed that the house was silent. Part of that was Angelina’s absence, but not all. Had she slept through the arrival of the horde? Where they already out partying? She tossed back the downy comforter, went to her window and scanned the horizon. No glimpse of the Malones’ white sails against the blue sky. Technically, Caryn had the weekend off, but lazing in bed meant more brooding on last night, and that reckless near kiss had already haunted her dreams enough. She needed to keep busy, so she dressed quickly and headed down to the kitchen. “No, actually,” a man’s cold voice was saying, “I don’t want to hear your side of the story.” She stopped before she could be glimpsed. It was Colby, and it clearly wasn’t anything she wanted to burst in on.

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“Please gather your things and be cleared out before my grandmother returns tomorrow night. You’ll get no reference, but I’ll write you a check in lieu of your two weeks.” Her hand clenched around the doorknob. Who was Colby talking to? Surely not Belinda. Though the housemaid was flirtatious and sometimes irreverent, she was smart and decent and worked very, very hard. Caryn squared her shoulders. If it was Belinda on the carpet here, Caryn was going to speak up. She hadn’t ever disliked Colby before, but the contempt in his educated voice was painful, like hearing someone whipped. Then she heard another man’s voice. It was Stephen, the gardener. She couldn’t decipher all the words, but the tone was unmistakable. He was begging for another chance. “No. This isn’t a negotiation, Stephen. It’s over.” Caryn flinched. She didn’t know the gardener well, but she’d heard he had four children, all under the age of six. And now no job. She moved away, heartsore. She closeted herself in Angelina’s office, transcribing the shorthand notes she’d taken last week. Angelina was writing her memoirs, and Caryn was taking dictation. A couple of times she tried to call Dirk. Hearing the gardener get the ax had reminded her of how often her brother had suffered similar blows. But Dirk didn’t answer. She hoped that meant he was out having fun. Or even having a job interview. Wouldn’t that be nice? After a few minutes of quiet concentration, she heard the front door shut. In spite of her determination to remain secluded, she found herself at the open window. The gardener was nowhere to be seen, but a crowd had collected on the side lawn, the Malones’ favorite spot for touch football. Colby and Red were already tossing the pigskin back and forth, laughing in the sun like the black-haired, blue-eyed princes they were. Matt, the middle brother, might come later, she knew, but he was in charge of a big expansion of the family business and didn’t have as much playtime as usual. They wouldn’t miss him today. More muscular, tanned young lions were arriving by the minute. They entered the fray with uninhibited abandon, trying to steal the football, hollering insults to one another as they launched, missed and landed on the lawn with comic tumbles. Off to the side, a dozen women in butterfly-colored T-shirts gathered in graceful arrangements on the grass. Caryn had seen this tableau before. Some of the women would play, eventually, bored by the mindless assignment of looking lovely, but they weren’t ready to sacrifice their makeup and hairdos just yet. “Tom!” Colby’s voice rang out and, without warning, the football sailed across the driveway. “Go long!” Before Caryn could react, Tom appeared from out of nowhere, running effortlessly, with the natural grace of a panther. He extended his arms at the final moment, lifted into the air and came down with the football right at the edge of the lawn, within feet of her window. She didn’t even have time to pull back. He jogged the last few strides, and then he was smiling straight at her, so close she could feel the warm exhale of his breath. “Hey, there,” he said. “Come play.” All eyes were watching her, male and female. She could feel the curiosity radiating from them like laser beams.

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“No, thanks, I have work to do,” she said, hating how priggish she sounded. He rolled the ball off the tips of his fingers and let it fall into his other hand, then repeated the motion easily, as if he were juggling. He kept his gaze on her. “Come on. Don’t you get a day off, even when Angelina isn’t here?” “I have work to do,” she repeated. There were so many reasons why this would be inappropriate. Why didn’t he see that? Somewhere out there Stephen the gardener was packing up his things and wondering how he’d tell his wife he’d been fired. If Caryn started playing football with the family instead of transcribing her dictation, how long before it would be her turn to stand on the carpet and get the ax? “Hey, Falcon, stop hogging the ball,” Red Malone hollered with his usual carefree gusto. He wasn’t worried about the employer-employee boundaries. He never bothered to read between the social lines. “Come on, Caryn, say yes. If you can catch a pass, I’ll take you on my team. Colby sucks.” “Sorry,” she called back, smiling politely but not pretending to possess their lighthearted joie de vivre. “I’m on the clock today.” Red had already turned away to chase a woman who’d decided to scoop his cap from his head and dart off with it. Caryn transferred her apology to Tom. “I really do have to work today.” “Okay.” He tossed the football back toward Colby, then put his hands on the windowsill. “Tomorrow, then?” She glanced toward the others. “I don’t play football.” “No, not football. Something else. Just us.” She hesitated. “Why?” “Does there have to be a why? Can’t it just be fun?” She gave him a steady look. “Okay.” His face sobered. “Because I want to talk to you. We made a deal. You said I could have a week. Surely that implies at least one honest conversation.” “Tom!” The crowd was growing restless. “You in or not?” “Yeah, I’m in. Hang on.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well?” The curiosity deepened the longer he stood here. If only to make him go away, she finally nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow, then. We’ll talk.”

Chapter Six He woke up early, cleaned the limo and ran six miles, trying to work off some of the nervous tension. He had to get this right. Today was more than a date. It was his last chance.

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They’d decided on three o’clock, and she met him at the carriage house, as polite and punctual and unenthusiastic as if she were reporting for a doctor’s appointment. She looked wonderful, as she always did, though she obviously hadn’t gone to any great pains. She was one of the lucky women who didn’t need a lot of artifice. He’d wanted her desperately the other night, when she was coiffed and gowned for Angelina’s party. But today, he wanted her more than ever. Barefaced, in nothing more exotic than jeans and a sweater, with her hair loose and natural down her back, she could bring him to his knees. This had been his once. He couldn’t believe he’d ever been arrogant enough to risk losing it. “You ready?” “I have to be back by seven. Angelina’s coming home then.” That didn’t give him much time. He’d asked one of the office runners to bring his car over, so they didn’t have to use the limousine. They got in without speaking. It gave him a small kick of pleasure to see that she hadn’t forgotten the quirky way the seatbelt hitched if you pulled it wrong. He had to laugh at himself. Of all the wonderful, sexy things he hoped she would remember… She gave him a quizzical look when she saw that they were headed to the marina. He had a forty-foot cabin cruiser moored there. She hadn’t ever liked boating much, but she’d frequently asked if they could eat at the diner at the end of the public pier, intrigued by its ramshackle charm. Though he hadn’t ever exactly said no, somehow he’d always managed to avoid it. Today, belatedly, he intended to grant that wish. The greeter escorted them to a waterside table, with its rickety bar stools, waterproof red-checked tablecloth and up-close smell of dead fish and gasoline. Caryn ordered the clam chowder, and he did the same. After Friday’s rain, the weather had turned cold and clear. Too cold for them to have much company. They were alone, except for the scream of seabirds and the occasional putter of a boat slowly motoring into its slip. He took a minute, wondering how to begin. The explanations he had to make were complicated. It wasn’t a matter of defending himself. His actions toward Dirk were indefensible, and today was about admitting that. Today was about convincing Caryn that he was ready to change. She sipped her hot tea, played with the handle a few minutes while she watched the silver-green water. Finally, she turned her gaze to him. “I appreciate this gesture, Tom—coming here. I really do. But you are aware that our problems run deeper than whether you’ll occasionally slum it for a meal or two, right?” Inadvertently, she’d offered the perfect opening. “Yes,” he said. “I do know that. But we don’t have problems, plural, Caryn. We have just one problem.” She smiled. “Really? And the one problem is…”

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“Me.” He’d surprised her, clearly. But she wasn’t impressed. “That sounds a bit glib.” “I mean it. Over these three months, especially since the police found the man who really set the fire, I’ve spent a lot of time searching my conscience. Searching my heart.” She had stopped smiling. He knew that look. She had started to listen. “And?” “And I saw some things I didn’t like. I found a whole mess of…of prejudices. Subtle things. But I know they influenced me that night. They made it easy for me to believe I was looking at Dirk.” The wind blew her hair from her face. It made her look young, and oddly vulnerable. “I’m listening,” she said. This was the hard part. He had to describe a man he wasn’t proud to have been. “I saw that I was influenced by so many things I was only dimly aware of. Like most people who have never been vulnerable, I assumed the police wouldn’t target a man unless he’s guilty. For the same reasons, I subconsciously believed that a hardscrabble life is the perfect training ground for crime. Because I have money, I imagined that poorer men must always be trying to find ways to take it.” “All true,” she said. She ran her fingers along the inner rim of the cup. “And don’t forget the basic elitist’s distrust of torn T-shirts, dirty fingernails and crude table manners.” He nodded. That was a good description of Dirk, on a bad day. “Yep,” he admitted. “That, too.” Because of all these things, Tom had made a terrible mistake that night. He had seen a brown-haired, twenty-something, six-foot-something young man loitering outside a salon that later burned down. The salon owner was Dirk’s girlfriend, a woman hip-deep in money problems. Two and two had melded with the prejudices…and had added up to a perfect five. Five charges of arson, fraud, conspiracy. Five years in jail, if convicted. Five times Caryn had tried to talk him out of going to the police. Five times Dirk had denied it. And five times Tom had been a fool. A dangerous, pigheaded fool. For a long while she said nothing. She continued to trace the rim of her cup, as if it helped her think. “But now what, Tom?” She finally looked up, her eyes sad. “I already knew all that. I’m glad that you’ve recognized it, too, but where does that get us? We both know deep-rooted attitudes don’t change overnight. Mostly, no matter how hard you try, you can’t change them at all.” “But I am trying. Surely that counts for something, Caryn.” “Does it?” Her eyes were shining now. He couldn’t tell if it was the wind or the threat of tears. “I wish I could make you understand, Tom. I can’t go back to the way it was, torn between you and Dirk, stung by every little comment, listening for slights behind every word.” “I won’t make those comments, Caryn. I won’t ask you to choose between us. I understand so much more. If we can try again—”

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“I can’t.” She shook her head firmly, but slowly, as if she were trying to keep the tears from falling. “I don’t believe it can ever work. The things we’ve said…there’s been too much damage done. I can’t go back to loving you, only to fail again. It hurt too much to get over you the first time.” His heart sagged, like one of his boat’s sails when the wind capriciously turned. “What do you want, then?” She ran one finger under her lower lashes and flicked the moisture away, onto the weathered planks of the pier. “I want to go home.” *** At midnight, after she and Angelina had worked for at least two hours on the memoirs, Caryn discovered she still couldn’t sleep. In fact, she hadn’t had a full, dreamless night’s sleep since Tom arrived. As she tossed on the satin sheets, she kept going over today’s lunch in her head, analyzing everything he’d said, every microexpression, every nuance of tone and wording. Had he meant it? Had he been sincere? And the biggest question of all—had she been right to refuse to try again? Was she being practical, sane, mature, all the things she wanted to be? Or was she just being a coward? In her effort to avoid pain, was she going to lose her one chance at happiness? She flicked on the light and decided to try calling Dirk again. A night owl, he was always up at this hour. It might help her sleep if she could reach him. He hadn’t called her to vent in four days. Unheard of. And for the past two, she’d been calling him every few hours, getting nothing but voice mail. It was starting to make her nervous. But where was her cell phone? The nightstand was empty, except for her glass of water and her book. She grabbed her purse and rummaged through it quickly. Nothing. She imagined the phone ringing, ringing, ringing, wherever it was, as Dirk tried to get in touch. He often got the blues at night, especially since he and Vanessa had split. He’d been fired again only four days ago, a difficult time for anyone. Her heart raced. She dragged her hair out of her face and tried to think. Where had she last used it? And then she remembered. At the marina, while they waited for the valet to bring the car, Tom had excused himself to take a business call. She’d quietly walked to the edge of the pier, dialed Dirk’s number and left another voice mail. They’d already stood up from the table. Which meant the phone could be only one place.

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In Tom’s car. Thank goodness it was still here. She’d seen him ease it into the other side of the garage that evening. She slept in shorts and a T-shirt, so there was no need to do more than add a robe and slippers against the cold spring night. She was careful to be silent on the stairs, and she entered the security code carefully, hoping Angelina would not wake. He didn’t lock his car when it was garaged, and she had Angelina’s electric opener in her own car. She should be able to get in and out without attracting any attention. The air was colder than she’d thought, and she was shivering by the time she hit the driveway. She tightened the robe across her chest and walked as fast as she could, tucking her chin into her breastbone to protect her neck. That was probably why she didn’t see him, sitting in the backseat of the limo, a polishing cloth in his hand. She froze in place when she spotted the dim blue track lights of the limo’s bar. And the glint of dark eyes, watching her. “Tom,” she breathed, as her heart settled. “You scared me.” “Sorry.” But he didn’t sound sorry. Had he been drinking from that well-stocked bar? The moonlight sparkled against a hint of even white teeth. He extended his hand, and the same moonbeams found the angles of a small, metal rectangle. Her phone. “Any chance,” he said softly, “that you’re looking for this?”

Chapter Seven Something vibrated inside her, a little trill that seemed to be warning her to go inside. She knew she had nothing to fear from Tom. He was a master of self-control. He’d been bred to it from the crib. But what about her own impulses? Tom Falcon was her weakness. His green-flecked eyes, his thick, tickling hair, his deep, honey voice and his long, magic fingers. He was every one of her X-rated dreams. Perhaps she’d subconsciously chosen to leave the phone in his car, hoping for a meeting just like this. And here he was, looking at her the way a hungry lion looked at dinner. Could she be trusted to do the smart thing, to follow her head no matter what her heart was saying? Not to mention her body. It was Sunday night… No, already Monday morning. His week was up on Tuesday. She might never in her life be alone with Tom Falcon again. She continued to shiver, every inch of skin prickling, every vein sizzling. “Yes, that’s my phone,” she said. She walked toward him. “Thank you. I wondered where it was.” “I was going to bring it to you,” he said, his voice low and full of…something. “I have been sitting here an hour, trying to talk myself out of going to your room.”

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She took the phone from him. That should have been her signal to walk away, but she didn’t. He didn’t move, either. He still sat sideways in the limo’s huge backseat, his legs on the driveway, his hand draped over the door’s armrest. She knew it was dumb…crazy…dangerous… But how could she leave? How could she lose this one last chance? Without speaking, she moved in slowly, until the tips of his fingers grazed her hip. He caught her gaze and held it. “Caryn?” She didn’t answer. She just stood there, holding her breath, trying not to think what a stupid thing she was about to do. “Caryn,” he said again, his voice as dark as the starless night. Then, shutting his eyes, he began to move his hand, lightly tracing the edge of her body. His fingers drifted down slowly, along the length of her thigh. Then, with equal deliberation, he let his hand slide up, outlining the curve of her breast. The touch was so delicate, and yet so fiery. She exploded in shivers as he came down again, slipping his fingers around her waist and finally gliding them across her stomach. He opened his eyes, and they burned, starry and hot. As he watched her, he drew a slow, imaginary line from her belly button to the aching place between her legs. The place no one but Tom had ever touched. The place she’d thought he’d never touch again. She gasped as he pressed the tip of his finger against her. Compared to the heat that burned between her legs, his hand was cool, and the shock of it almost sent her over the edge. She moaned under her breath and held on to the door, for fear her legs would give way, and she would fall. He knew her body well. He knew the signs. He knew how close she was, so his hand suddenly stilled, giving her the choice. She could pull away now, or she could stay and let it happen. But her mind wasn’t working. She couldn’t really remember anymore why she had told herself they mustn’t be alone together like this. Had she been afraid that, if he touched her, she’d start loving him again? But she’d never stopped loving him. She’d never stopped wanting his hands on her body, his lips on her mouth, his heart next to her heart. “Just this once,” she whispered, as much to herself as to him. Could it really hurt to make love one more time, before he left? “Just once, and then never again.” She heard him draw in a ragged breath, and he started to pull away. But she took hold of his wrist and brought it back. “Please,” she said. “You want me, too. I know you do.” “Damn it, Caryn,” he said with a strange harshness. “You know once is not enough. But heaven help me, it’s better than nothing.”

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And then he stroked across her, just a whisper, a fraction of an inch, but with such perfect pressure, such hypnotic rhythm. She felt herself begin to glow. His subtle fingers made tiny, perfect movements, and she started to shake. “Yes,” she said. Her core trembled. “Yes.” And then the phone began to ring. All motion stopped. The frigid darkness swept back into place. It couldn’t be true. The fates wouldn’t mock her like this… She looked down at the phone, which blinked off and on, carelessly insistent. She looked at him, still halfdazed… With a raw edge that sounded slightly mad, he began to laugh. He stood. He lifted her hand and moved the blinking chunk of warm metal toward her ear. “Here, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s for you.” And then, still laughing that cold, black laugh, he simply walked away. *** She hadn’t answered the phone in time, but Dirk had left a message. He sounded pretty good. He said he’d be there Monday afternoon, probably around five, when she got off work. He wanted to talk to her about something, he said. She hoped it wasn’t more trouble. She had enough to handle. Angelina and Tom were gone all day, making the rounds of Angelina’s speeches for her various causes. For some reason, she preferred to leave Caryn at home, working on the memoirs. Perhaps Angelina sensed her assistant’s agitation, or perhaps Tom had asked for a break. Caryn didn’t feel comfortable asking, and Angelina didn’t volunteer an explanation. Maybe it was just as well. On a primitive level, Caryn wanted to see Tom, but she had no idea what she’d say. Her emotions were jumbled, a stew of confusion and regret. Somehow, between now and tomorrow, she had to sort things out. Unless his dark departure last night meant that it was too late. Perhaps he didn’t care to be rejected at lunch, then petitioned for a one-time sexual release at midnight. Maybe that struck him as irrational, selfish and even a bit unbalanced. It certainly struck her that way. She didn’t understand herself right now. Tired of running the emotional rat’s maze in her brain, she was glad when Belinda popped in to the study to dust. “Whoops. Sorry. I thought you’d gone off with Angelina,” Belinda said, preparing to back out. “No, stay.” Caryn closed the folder of papers she’d been editing. “Talk to me. I need a break.”

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Belinda never needed to be asked twice. She bounced in, dragging the vacuum behind her, and jumped onto the desk to get comfortable. “Okay. Let’s gossip about Stephen. Now that he’s gone, we can be honest. Have you ever met a bigger perv in your life?” “Stephen?” Caryn frowned. “Stephen the gardener?” “The former gardener, thank God. Honestly, it had come down to either him or me. The man would not keep his hands off me.” Belinda grinned and fiddled with the papers nearest her hip. “So I told Colby. And boom. The perv is no more.” She sighed, picking up a photo of the three Malone boys as teenagers. “I swear. Colby Malone is my hero.” Caryn stood, her hands braced on the desk. “Belinda, slow down. What are you saying? Colby fired Stephen because you asked him to?” Belinda laughed merrily. “Well, not precisely. Colby fired Stephen because he was harassing the staff. And by staff I mean me, I guess. He never groped you? Not even once?” “Not even once.” But Caryn wasn’t thinking about Stephen anymore. She was thinking about Colby. About how quickly she’d assumed the worst. How quickly she’d come to the conclusion that he was firing Stephen unfairly, without justification and without compassion. And why had she been so quick to judge? Because Colby Malone was rich. Nothing more. Nothing less. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, putting her hand to her throat. Belinda frowned. “Hey, it’s okay. Maybe Stephen just prefers blondes. Besides, believe me, you don’t want this creep putting his hands on you. It’s not sexy. It’s disgusting.” “No, no.” She didn’t have time to explain. She had to call Tom. She needed to tell him she’d finally seen the truth. He wasn’t some kind of arrogant monster because he had mental blind spots. Everyone had prejudices. Everyone. Including her. Tom had been willing to overlook hers. He’d been willing to let her be human. But she hadn’t been willing to do the same for him. She had required sainthood, then hated him when he fell short. She picked up the phone and hit the speed-dial number for Tom’s cell. It rang, and it rang, but no one answered. And then, in an eerie synchronicity, the house line began to ring. Belinda tried to answer, but Caryn waved her away. She kept her cell to one ear, listening for Tom’s voice mail to pick up, and held the house receiver to the other side. “Hello?” “Caryn, it’s me.” Angelina’s voice sounded weak, quavering. So unlike her usual sturdy self that it sent a ripple of fear through Caryn’s midsection.

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“Angelina, hi. I was just calling Tom. Where are you?” At her other ear, Tom’s recorded voice began to speak. You’ve reached Thomas Falcon, but I can’t get to the phone right now… “I’m at the hospital,” Angelina said slowly. “We’ve had an accident. A drunk driver, on the bridge.” “Oh, my God.” Caryn forgot about the beeping sound inviting her to leave a message for Tom. She forgot about everything except the image of a car slamming into the gleaming black limo. “Are you all right?” “A few broken bones, but I’ll live.” Angelina drew a hitching breath. “I’d better go. I’m not supposed to be making calls. But I think you should come down here, Caryn. It’s Tom who took the worst of it.”

Chapter Eight “Where is he?” Caryn got to the hospital in record time and badgered every uniformed person she saw until she found the waiting room filled with Malones. Angelina wasn’t with them, and the three handsome faces that turned toward Caryn were lined with worry. Matt frowned, as if he only half remembered who she was. “Where’s who? You mean Tom?” Colby moved forward, his hands outstretched. “He’s going to be fine, Caryn,” he said kindly. “I saw him a few minutes ago. He has a couple of broken ribs, and his face is pretty damn ugly right now, but he’ll live.” She took her first deep breath since getting the call. “Can I see him?” “I think so.” Colby looked around, as if trying to find the doctor. Then he turned back to Caryn. “How did you know he was here?” “Your grandmother called me. She told me to come down.” “Nana Lina called you?” Matt and Red materialized at her side, as if the sentence had been a magnet. “How is she? No one will tell us anything.” Colby laughed. “Obviously, she’s fine, the old devil. Doesn’t bother to call her family, though she’s gotta know we’re going nuts, waiting to hear. Instead, she decides to play Cupid.” “Cupid?” Red pulled on his ear, looking perplexed. “Oh.” He smiled at Caryn. “You and Falcon?” “Maybe,” she said, smiling in her relief. “I hope so. If it’s not too late.” “It’s not too late,” Matt assured her. “Colby saw him, Caryn. Really. He’s fine.” Of them all, only Colby understood. “Not that kind of too late,” he told his brothers. He paused to let them catch up. “The other kind.” Two handsome faces registered the solemnity of that. “Okay, then,” Matt said. “Let’s get her in there.”

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They immediately began canvassing the area, peeking behind curtains, waylaying candy stripers and sweettalking the nurses into divulging which E.R. suite currently housed one bunged-up chauffeur named Thomas Arthur Falcon. It proved something about handsome, confident men that they were able to pull it off. Or perhaps, she thought with rising joy, it meant that Tom really was well enough to have visitors. They took her right up to the correct curtain. Colby squeezed her hand as she prepared to enter. She squeezed back, grateful. Then she slid back the white drape that had been giving Tom at least some semblance of privacy. Colby had been right. Tom looked horrible, his nose and lips swollen, a lump the size of an orange on his forehead, and bruises mottling every inch of skin. At the same time, he looked wonderful. He looked alive. “Tom,” she said softly, resting her hand over his, one of the few parts of his body that appeared to be unharmed. “Are you awake?” “I hope so,” he said thickly, clearly trying to smile with those sad, swollen lips. He didn’t open his eyes. “You show up in a lot of my dreams, though, so I can’t promise anything. I also think I’ve had a crazy amount of morphine, so my reality meter isn’t all that reliable.” She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so she did both, quietly. She pulled up a chair. She intended to hold his hand a long, long time. Like forever. “Well, let’s see. Maybe we can do a test and figure it out. Dream or reality.” “Okay.” She squeezed his fingers softly. “In your dreams, can I actually touch you?” He grinned, a loopy, half-sided thing that was probably supposed to be salacious, but which she found adorable. “Damn straight you can.” “Okay.” She smoothed his hair from his injured forehead and fought the urge to kiss the discolored, lumpy parts. “In your dreams, can you hear me talking?” He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Want to know what you say?” He smiled again, dreamily. “I’ll try to take out the dirty parts, if you want. But they’re the best parts.” “Maybe I can guess,” she said. She looked at the various dripping, beeping machines that were monitoring his condition, and said a prayer of thanks that he was still alive to need them. “In your dreams, do I tell you that I love you?” “Yes,” he murmured. He wrapped his fingers tightly around her hand, as if he had begun to comprehend that she was really here. The machine registering his pulse beeped harder, faster, louder. “Yes, you used to tell me that you loved me.” “And do I tell you that I want to be with you the rest of my life? That I want to be your wife?”

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He didn’t answer. She checked his pulse. Fast, but steady. “Do I tell you that I’m sorry I’ve been such a fool? That I’m ashamed of what I’ve put you through? That I hope you’ll forgive me for being so hard-hearted, for being so blind?” Finally, he opened his eyes. They were slightly dazed, unfocused from the drugs and the pain. But they were locked on her. “No,” he said. “I’ve never heard you say anything as ridiculous as that. In my dreams, I’m always asking you to forgive me.” Her tears spilled over again, and they fell onto the place where their hands were braided together. “Well, then,” she said, trying to smile. “I guess that’s our proof. This isn’t a dream. Because I really am asking, Tom. Can you forgive me for being so unfair?” “I could forgive you anything,” he said. He tried to turn toward her, but he groaned. He had to settle for keeping his gaze locked with hers. “But can—” his brow furrowed in pain, and he had to start over “—can you forgive me?” She nodded. “Anything.” Her cell phone, which she’d slipped into her pocket after Angelina’s call, abruptly shrilled into the silence. “God.” Tom closed his eyes, chuckling shallowly, clearly all his broken ribs would allow. “I hate cell phones.” It was Dirk. He was at Angelina’s house, and he’d just heard the news. “Belinda, the maid here, said she didn’t know whether Tom was going to make it,” Dirk said, his words stumbling over themselves. “He can’t die, not before I tell you. He asked me not to, but if he’s going to die, you should know. He gave me the seed money, Caryn. For the plumbing business. Twenty thousand dollars. He told me not to tell you for a week, not till tomorrow at least. But damn it, Caryn, if the guy is going to die— ” “He’s not going to die,” she interrupted finally. She looked at the bruised, beautiful man on the gurney. He’d given Dirk the money—double the money—on that very first day, even before she kept her end of the bargain. “Unless I decide to kill the both of you for keeping this secret from me.” Tom might be drugged, but he was alert enough to understand that. Though he kept his eyes shut, the corners of his bruised mouth tilted subtly. “It was none of your business,” he muttered. “I owed it to him.” “Caryn.” Dirk was following his own anxious train of thought. “I mean it. If he’s gonna live, don’t tell him I told you. I swore I wouldn’t.” “Tell you what, Dirk,” she said slowly, as she watched the monitor register Tom’s gradually calming heartbeat. He was falling back asleep, and she was glad. She didn’t want him to have to wake again until the pain was gone. “I’m going to let the two of you work this out. I think brothers should be able to do that.” “Huh?” Dirk sounded confused. “Brothers?” “Yes, brothers. Well, brothers-in-law, anyhow.” “What? You’re kidding! You’re going to marry him after all?”

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“Yes. I’m going to marry him. I love him. If he’ll have me, I’m going to be his wife.” Tom smiled in his almost-sleep, and then, as the drugs took over, his fingers finally let go of hers. “I’m going to be your wife,” she whispered. She hoped it was the last thing he heard.

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Naughty All Night By Leslie Kelly Wild child Josie Marino, owner of Nail Me nail salon, is thrilled that the opening of the Tremaine cousins’ wicked new sex shop will liven up her conservative hometown. She’s the kind of girl that’s up for any kind of adventure - which is why nice, safe Deputy Mike Kincaid is the antithesis of her type of man. So why does his hot, hard body keep showing up in her lust-filled fantasies? Just because Mike’s a well-adjusted, small-town guy, that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in taking a walk on the wild side now and then. He’d especially like to take that walk with his outrageous neighbor - and landlady - Josie, the woman who appears nightly in his most erotic dreams….

Chapter One “Aww, nuts, I got handcuffs. I was hoping for one of those neon, glow-in-the-dark vibrators.” Josie Marino sighed as she pulled the pair of faux-leopard-fur–lined cuffs from her goody bag. She’d been unable to resist peeking inside as she prepared to leave Bare Essentials, the sultry new store in town, after tonight’s pre-grand-opening party. Diane Tomkins, who’d also stayed to help clean up, grimaced. “When I saw those green vibrators, my first thought was of a bunch of poor little Martian eunuchs running around.” Josie chuckled, not correcting her friend on eunuch anatomy. They weren’t merely being nice in staying late to help Kate and Cassie, the Tremaine cousins, who owned the store. Staying meant they got to spend more time ogling the sultry products the women would sell. It also gave them a chance to get to know Daisy Arnett, who’d stayed, too. Josie had decided to like Daisy when the redhead had playfully swung around a dildo the size of a summer sausage, thinking no one was looking. “I’d rather have gotten undies like yours.” Josie glanced at Daisy’s bag. “Though nobody’d ever see me in them.” “Same here,” Daisy murmured. Diane rolled her eyes. “I had so much more imagination than you two when I was your age. Ever heard of cops and robbers?” Josie snorted. Cops and robbers had been her least favorite game as a kid, particularly after one of her ratfaced cousins had “jailed” her by tying her to a tree blocks from home. He’d left her there for two hours. Her mother still blamed Josie’s dislike of authority figures on her cousin Lou. Of course, now, as an adult, she could picture enticing variations on the game. There were worse fates than having a hot, hunky guy play big bad cop, cuffing her, leaving her vulnerable to all sorts of naughty patdowns and full-body searches. Or, better yet, having him play the perp, letting her do the cuffing, patting, and searching. Unfortunately, there was no man in her life, hunky or otherwise. As the image of a dark-haired, ruggedly handsome man flashed through her brain, she thrust it away. Mike Kincaid was not in her life, even if he did practically live under her feet. So what if they shared an adjoining wall in their separate apartments? Who cared that she could sometimes hear him singing in the shower, or smell his spicy cologne in the hall? Big fat hairy deal that she sometimes woke up at night after having another incredibly erotic dream about the man. Sure, those dreams left her shaking, needing something she’d done without for a long time...a non-vibrator-induced orgasm.

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It didn’t matter. Because Mike Kincaid really was a cop, the epitome of authority figures. Plus, he wasn’t her type. And she wasn’t his. Mike was an old-fashioned guy, born and raised here in Pleasantville, Ohio. The poster child for the wholesomeness of small-town America. The kind of man who’d want Betty Crocker in the kitchen, and Mrs. Brady driving the kids to school in the minivan. Not a punked-out nail salon owner who changed her hair color monthly, had several piercings, and wore black engineer boots with filmy dresses. Not a slim 24-year-old who got carded when trying to buy beer because she looked like a teenager. Not someone like Josie Marino. Besides which, Mike was too darn nice, too conservative, polite, and easygoing. Not the kind of wild, provocative man she’d always pictured herself with. Certainly not the kind of man she’d ever have expected to inspire instant, unrelenting desire. Somehow, though, he’d done just that. She was still thinking of her neighbor and unrelenting desire when she got home ten minutes later, to her apartment above her salon. She’d inherited the building, and its tenant in the second apartment — Mike Kincaid — last year. After changing into a tank top and pair of cotton boxers, she pulled the handcuffs out and slipped one over her wrist. “Oh, officer, how can I convince you to let me go?” she whispered saucily. Then she snapped the cuff shut. The fake fur eliminated any discomfort. “Enough.” After being surrounded by sexual items, she suspected her dreams would be especially vivid tonight. She glared at the wall that separated her bedroom from Mike Kincaid’s. “You stay out of my head tonight, mister hotshot deputy. An average, run-of-the-mill dream will suit me just fine.” Reaching for the tiny key that had come with the handcuffs, she began visualizing her favorite movie stars. She’d just pictured Heath Ledger and Freddie Prinze, Jr. arguing over who’d get the honor of nibbling on her pretty toes when she realized something. The key didn’t work. *** Mike Kincaid was the last guy on the force to fall victim to the 24-hour bug that had grounded most of the deputies in town this summer. He’d been all set to brag about being too in-shape and healthy to be sidelined by a pesky virus that caused fevers, chills, and fatigue. Then he’d started sweating, shivering, and feeling as though he’d been run over by a truck. He’d spent the entire day flat on his back. Frankly, he could think of a hell of a lot of ways he’d rather spend a day in bed. Most of them, unfortunately, involved the one woman in town who looked at him like something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe: Josie Marino. His landlady. They’d gotten off to a bad start when they’d met, after he’d made the mistake of cracking a Josie and the Pussycats joke. It had been pretty unoriginal, but in his own defense, the woman had flustered him from the minute he’d laid eyes on her. She was just so...different. Larger than life, though petite in stature. Sweetly innocent though saucy and outrageous. She had a comeback for everything, played a constant game of shock and evade. If he commented that he liked her hair color, she’d change it the next week. When he’d asked her if it had hurt to get her ear pierced so high, she’d driven him frigging nuts by saying it hadn’t been as painful as some other body parts she’d had pierced. The mental image of what other body parts she’d been talking about had been torturous. It seemed the friendlier and more polite he’d been toward her, the more she’d withdrawn. The more she’d pulled back, the more determined he’d been to get through to her. So he supposed it was no huge surprise that Josie had starred in his hot, feverish dreams all day. He just wondered as he lay on the couch, reaching for his water glass, if he’d be able to keep her out of his head during the coming night.

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Probably not. Particularly because as he fell back to sleep on his living room couch, he felt pretty sure he called out her name. *** “No, this is not possible.” But it was. The key wouldn’t unlock the cuff, which dangled off her wrist in all its fake-animal-pelt glory. Since it was past ten, she couldn’t call someone for help. Diane had had a look of anticipation in her eye tonight. She and her husband were probably busy trying out whatever had been in Diane’s goody bag. She remembered seeing a light on in Mike’s front window. If anyone might have a spare handcuff key lying around, it was a cop. Taking a deep breath for courage, she left her apartment. She stood outside his door, wondering if she had the guts to face the guy she’d had such intensely seductive dreams about. Nope. She didn’t. About to turn away, she paused when she heard a man’s deep, throaty moan. “Oh, God, he’s got someone in there with him.” Shuddering, she closed her eyes in dismay, ready to dart back to her place and tug a pillow over her head to block out any potential sex noises. Bad enough hearing anyone having a great time between the sheets when hers were so completely barren. But for some reason, it almost felt painful to imagine Mike Kincaid with another woman. “Stupid. He doesn’t even know you’re alive,” she mumbled. Before she could leave, however, she heard him call out a name. “Josie.” She froze, completely shocked, thinking she must have been mistaken. But when she heard a thump, curiosity drowned out the voice of caution whispering in her ear. Unable to help herself, she reached for the doorknob, somehow not surprised the sexy deputy trusted his small-town world enough to leave his door unlocked. Uncertain but determined, Josie pushed the door open, and stepped into Mike Kincaid’s apartment.

Chapter Two Mike Kincaid was naked. Gloriously, stunningly, mouthwateringly naked, lying sprawled on his sofa, a single white bedsheet tangled around his feet. “Holy moly,” Josie whispered as she stood, open-jawed, in the doorway of his apartment. She examined his body, which was gently illuminated by the muted glow of a light left on in his kitchen. He didn’t respond. He didn’t open his eyes or give her any indication he knew she was there, even though he’d called her name moments before. A better woman, a nicer woman, would have left immediately. Only a very wicked one would remain frozen, wide-eyed, not even daring to move to wipe the drool off her chin. Josie had never considered herself wicked, but right now, at this moment, niceness could go take a flying leap. He was big. She’d seen that even when he was fully clothed. But she’d never quite imagined just how broad those shoulders were. Nor could she have pictured the perfect swirl of dark hair on his rippled chest. One of his thick arms was arched back to cushion his head, and the other was draped across his slim waist. She continued her visual survey, her gaze tripping down the taut layers of muscle on his stomach, and the narrow jut of his hips. When she finally worked up the nerve to look lower, she sucked in a deep breath and had to lean back against the door for support. “Oh, my God.” The man definitely had every right to be cocky. He was, quite simply, magnificent.

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“Josie.” Caught. Busted. A peeping Tomasina. “I’m sorry, I heard a thump and I…” “Fell off the couch,” he mumbled. “Barely managed to get back up here.” Finally she noticed that Mike wasn’t opening his eyes, wasn’t sitting up to talk to her. Closing the door, she took a tentative step closer, until she saw the color in his cheeks. The glow on his golden skin hadn’t been merely caused by a haze of lust in her brain. A sheen of moisture covered his entire body. “Are you okay?” Dream? He thought she was a dream? “Mike, I’m really here. Can I do anything to help?” Steeling herself to avoid sneaking more peeks at this gloriously helpless man, she reached out and touched his forehead. His skin was slick and hot. At her touch, his eyelids fluttered open. Mike’s chocolate brown eyes had never been more knowing and intimate than right now as they stared into hers. “Josie?” “Yes, I’m here. When’s the last time you took something for the fever?” He shrugged. “I ran out of aspirin.” “I’ve got some at my place.” Before she could turn away, he’d grabbed her hand, showing surprising strength for a man who appeared so weak. “Stay, Josie,” he ordered in a sultry whisper, his voice sending shivers through her even as his touch electrified her skin. “Stay with me.” “I’ll be right back.” He closed his eyes again and sighed. “I know you will. You’ve been here all day.” *** Mike supposed it was possible Josie really had just been standing beside him, instead of him just picturing her here, as he sometimes did. But he somehow doubted it. If she’d really been here, she would never have touched him with those soft fingers. No, she maintained a strict physical barrier toward him, which really rankled when he saw how huggy and friendly she was with other people. And she’d have been wearing some wildly patterned, loose dress to hide the slim body that had been the subject of his fantasies for months. No, it was only in his hot, erotic dreams that she’d wear something as sexy as the outfit she’d had on. That spaghetti-strapped tank top was thin enough for him to see the dark, pouty nipples of her perfect little breasts. He’d felt hungry…starving for a taste of her. And the boxers had clung to that curvy, pert butt that had the most enticing wiggle when she walked. Not to mention those legs… The fantasy Josie was back in what could have been a minute or could have been hours, still wearing her sexy as hell underclothes. She fumbled around in a purse. “Here, take these.” She shoved some pills in his mouth and held a glass to his lips. He swallowed. “You came back.” “Of course I came back. Did you think I wouldn’t?” He forced a smile to his lips. “You always do the opposite of what I hope you’ll do.” “That’s not true!”

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“Yeah, it is. And by the way, I hate your hair. Go back to orange.” Her mouth dropped open and her hand shot up to touch the short spiky layers surrounding her face. Jet black. God, when he’d seen her the other day in the new color and style, he’d almost fallen at her feet in a puddle of lust. Frankly, Mike had never bought into the whole Snow White thing. He’d always considered himself more of a Rapunzel kinda guy. But seeing Josie’s perfect, pale skin, so stark against the black hair, with those springtime green eyes that dominated her face, and her full, rich red lips, well, he’d been a goner. Or, at least, more of a goner than he already was. “Are you really awake?” she asked suspiciously. “Hell if I know.” “Well, then, I guess it’s safe to assume you probably won’t remember me telling you to take your opinions about my hair and shove them…” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute, you hate my hair, you want me to dye it orange again, but you think I always do the opposite of what you say?” He was too fuzzy-headed to follow her lightning fast reasoning. He just liked lying here, watching the sparkle in her eyes and the way that perfect lower lip of hers quivered when she was mad. Like now. A tiny smile told him her anger had evaporated. “So you do like my hair?” “Dye it orange and I might have to lock you up,” he admitted. When he saw the way her smile widened at his unthinking admission, he continued. “All I’ve been able to think about is the way those black curls would look against the white sheets on my bed.” *** Josie could barely remain standing after Mike’s heated confession. Of course, two seconds after he made it, he closed his eyes again, drew in a deep, steadying breath, and fell back into a fever-deepened sleep. “Oh, Mr. Nice Guy, are you gonna regret saying that in the morning.” If he remembered, which he might not. But Josie definitely would. She had a feeling the husky whisper, the raw look of need and desire in his eyes as he’d spoken, would remain in her brain for many long, sleepless nights. Since she really hated to leave him alone to possibly fall off the couch again, tonight looked as though it would be one of them. “You could have at least passed out in your bedroom,” she grumbled as she drew the sheet over his body to keep out the chill without overheating him. And to remove the temptation to peek at him some more. Her hand trembled a bit as she remembered his comments about picturing her in his bed. She obviously wasn’t the only one who’d been doing some fantasizing. How unexpected from the oh-so-polite deputy. She’d only stay long enough to make sure the aspirin worked and his fever went down. Strictly nursing-backto-health stuff. There would be no hunky-cop fantasy lust, even if she did have a slightly kinky-looking handcuff dangling off her wrist. Still, as she sat on the carpeted floor, she couldn’t help dropping her head back onto the sofa where he lay. Her hair brushed against his side. She shivered, thinking how easy it would be to turn and nibble on that perfect, golden skin. To kiss her way up his body. To slide onto him, curl into his arms and sleep there, safe in the belief that he probably wouldn’t remember in the morning. But Josie wasn’t quite that wicked, she reminded herself as she dozed off.

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Which made it really hard to understand, when she woke up a short time later, why she was lying on top of him.

Chapter Three Mike didn’t know how he ended up back on the floor later that night. He didn’t remember choosing to leave the sofa, and hadn’t been jarred awake by falling again. He only knew he was stretched out on the carpet, and something deliciously soft was brushing against his chest. The contact almost made him shiver, but not from chills. From pleasure. It was Josie’s hair that touched him, her warm breath that sent awareness rushing through him. Whether he was dreaming or this was reality, he savored the sensation of being entwined with her as intimately as a longtime lover. Her head rested on his chest, her arm across his waist. One slim leg nestled between his thighs. He could no more resist touching her than a kid could resist nibbling on a forbidden piece of candy. If he was dreaming, well, he’d only be doing what he’d done so often in his deepest fantasies. And if this was real, if by some strange circumstance Josie had come into his apartment and curled up against his naked body, then that meant she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Unfortunately, if she was real, she had lousy timing. Because he couldn’t make love to her - not the way he wanted to - when he was as weak as a kitten. He couldn’t kiss her deeply, not without risking making her sick, too. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the hell out of having her here, where he’d fantasized about her for so long. Even though he was a little out of it, and his body, warmer than normal, he just had to touch her, to stroke her shoulder, and toy with the strap of her top. “Josie,” he whispered. When she didn’t respond, he gently ran his fingers through her spiky curls. Then he leaned down to kiss her temple, to inhale the sweet flowery scent of her perfume. She moaned and rolled back, silently offering him the vulnerable flesh of her throat. He tasted her there, skimming his mouth across her collarbone. “If this is a dream, honey, I hope I don’t wake up until I find out exactly where else you’re pierced.” She sighed, not opening her eyes, then took his fingers in hers. “Here,” she mumbled, guiding his hand down her body, across her flat stomach, to the bottom of her shirt. He held his breath, wondering if she’d lead him even lower, beneath the waistband of her shorts. His heart tripped over a beat or two as pure anticipation coursed through him. He was dying to touch her, to slide his fingers into the hot, sweet place between her thighs, to stroke her and watch her come apart in his arms, since he couldn’t do much more to satisfy her until he was sure he was recovered. If he found she’d pierced that delicious part of her body with any damned piece of metal, he’d spank her. After he got his strength back. After he’d made love to her. And after he’d used his mouth there to make sure she had a memory of pleasure instead of pain. Instead, she twisted, tugging at her shirt. He helped her, pulling the fabric up to bare her midriff. “Ahh,” he said with a smile. Relief washed through him when he saw the flash of gold on her stomach. She wore a tiny belly ring, as delicate and lovely as the body it adorned. Easing his arm out from under her, he moved down, his mouth following the same path his hand had taken, skimming over the pert breasts straining against the cotton. Then lower, until he had sampled the skin around her pierced navel. “Where else?” he asked as he kissed his way up her stomach, baring her inch by inch. “Tell me you didn’t pierce something as perfect as your breasts.” She laughed throatily, and arched toward him, silently inviting him to find out for himself. A monk couldn’t have refused that invitation, and Mike Kincaid definitely wasn’t a monk. He pushed the material up and out of the way, then looked his fill at her delicate breasts, tipped with dark, puckered nipples. “Not pierced. Thank God.” He lowered his mouth to taste her, feeling a shudder wrack her entire body as he touched the sensitive flesh with his tongue. Josie moaned, pushing against him, wordlessly ordering him to roll onto his back in an age-old signal of feminine demand. She eased her top over her head, dropping it to the floor, then slid up onto his body to

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straddle him. He didn’t know that he’d ever seen a more glorious sight than this...Josie leaning above him, her hair tousled, lips swollen and pouting, her breasts drawn taut, begging for attention. All he needed to make his fantasy complete was that look of pure devilment she usually had in her eyes, and two words. I’m yours. Unfortunately, her eyes were firmly closed. “We’re not dreaming, are we?” he asked as he reached up to cup her breasts and stroke her belly. He played with the elastic waistband of her shorts, hissing as she wriggled against him, rubbing the hot center of her body over his raging erection. That part of him was definitely not weakened by the virus. He pushed up against her and was rewarded with her gasp. Her eyes flew open. But instead of the words he most wanted to hear, she said, “What the hell is going on?” *** Josie had been totally into the flow of her dream — the most intense ever — right up until the time she realized that powerful bulge between her legs was too hard, and too big, to be anything but real. Thrust into wakefulness, she instantly realized where she’d fallen asleep. Right beside a naked Mike Kincaid. Now, she was on top of a naked Mike Kincaid. Sans shirt. Grinding against him with an easy rhythm a lap dancer would envy. If not for the cotton barrier of her boxers, that wickedly luscious part of him would probably already be deep inside her. Her first impulse was to howl at her own stupidity for having put on the boxers. Of course, he looked more than ready to pull them off. No. Absolutely not. She was not about to assuage her sexual need with a man who frowned on everything about her. No matter how perfectly delightful his strong, lean hips felt between her quivering thighs. No matter how often she’d dreamed about this happening over the past year. “Are you conscious?” she snapped, using anger to dispel her erotic frenzy. “I sure as hell hope so.” “Crap.” She slid off him. “That was not supposed to happen.” “I’m not complaining.” “You should be. You’re sick.” She cast him a suspicious look, then nibbled her lip. “As a matter of fact, you’re delirious. You’re feverish.” She studied him intently, trying to mesmerize him with a monotone voice that probably sounded nothing like the hypnotists’ she’d seen on TV. “You’re dreaming. None of this happened.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he’d go back to sleep. He narrowed his eyes and grinned. “No way am I falling for that.” She reached over to touch his forehead, checking his temperature, feeling the heat of his skin. But his eyes were even hotter…because they were completely focused on her still-bare breasts. Snatching her hand away, she covered herself with her arm. “Perv.” “You’re the one who took your shirt off.” His smile broadened. “I definitely remember that part.” She winced. “You’re very hot. This wasn’t real. Besides, you won’t remember I was even here in the morning.” She didn’t know who she was trying harder to convince - Mike or herself.

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Reaching for her shirt, she felt around for it on the floor, the clink of the dangling handcuff the only sound other than her own nearly frantic breaths and the insanely out of synch pounding of her heart. “There’s one way to make sure I’ll know this wasn’t a dream when I wake up.” Because she was convinced he was weak and still half-asleep, Josie didn’t anticipate his next move. It never occurred to her what he might do, not until she heard the clink of the other handcuff…. Which he’d attached to his own wrist.

Chapter Four Josie was trapped, firmly connected at the wrist to a gloriously aroused, mouthwatering man she wanted without reason. Who fell back to sleep as soon as the click of the handcuffs had sealed her fate — she was stuck here, cuffed to a gorgeous, naked, helpless man. In other circumstances, she could definitely see the possibilities here. But not here. Not tonight. Not with him — Mr. Perfect! “If I could reach a weapon, I’d kill you, Deputy Kincaid.” Mike sighed, his eyes closed. He appeared peaceful, confident he’d ensured she couldn’t escape during the night. No way could she pretend he’d had some feverish fantasy, not when he’d wake up in the morning and find her handcuffed to him. Topless! Spying her shirt, she reached for it, tugging Mike’s arm with her. She had to stretch to nab the cotton between her fingers. Unfortunately, she couldn’t put it on, at least not properly. Not with one hand connected to the powerfully built, unmoving man beside her. Just looking at him, remembering the way he’d felt beneath her moments before, and she got hot and hungry all over again. “Put your eyes away, Josie Marino,” she whispered. “Check the lust at the door.” She’d never make it through the long night ahead without climbing back on top of him if she didn’t look away and think of something else. Pronto. But, hell, a nun couldn’t have prevented her stare from devouring him. He’d been breathtaking when naked and unconscious earlier. Now he was naked, unconscious…and aroused. Very aroused. She gulped, imagining that hard, powerful shaft buried inside her, touching her where she hadn’t been touched in forever. Oh, no question, he could bring her to the heights of pleasure with his strong hands, his sultry mouth, and his big, pulsing… “Don’t,” she snarled. Josie tightened her legs together as another flood of moisture dampened her thin cotton boxers. “You bastard, not only did you handcuff yourself to me, you got me so wet I’m almost sticking to the floor.” Though he slept on, she almost thought she saw the shadow of a grin curl those sexy, soft lips of his. His lips were the only soft thing about the man. Which reminded her… Her eyes shifted lower again and she quivered. Nothing had changed. “Buddy, you must always have to lie on your back if this is how you sleep at night. Talk about a built-in kickstand. God, no wonder I’ve been drooling for you for a year, even though you’re so disgustingly normal, nice and conservative, and the most unlikely guy for me to be attracted to!” Enough! Lusting after a sick, helpless, delirious man. Josie Marino had hit rock-bottom.

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She turned her attention back to her predicament — how to cover herself. Bending down, she began to maneuver her shirt over her feet. Every move was inhibited by the unyielding pull of her cuffed hand. She worked the fabric up her body while doing a writhing shimmy on the floor. When she got the thing as high as her hips, it stuck on her briefs. But with a jerk and a yank, she finally got it over her breasts. She even managed to slip her free arm beneath a strap. There was no way to get into the other one, so she kept her arm down, holding it in place. The top had been stretched out while traveling over her hips and butt, and it sagged a little, partially exposing the curve of her left breast. No, it wasn’t a big curve, by any means - not that Mike had seemed to mind. Don’t even go there! Still, whether he liked her body or not, she didn’t even want to imagine Mike opening his eyes in the morning and being greeted by her peekaboo nipple. He’d gotten quite enough of a show from her when she’d climbed onto that kitchen table masquerading as his chest. No way was she going to give him another one. Thank heaven he’d been sleeping so soundly for the past several minutes. *** Mike had watched Josie’s entire performance through half-lowered lashes. Damn, she was adorable. Funny and sexy. Sassy and seductive. He’d nearly given up his pretense at sleep when she’d made the wet comment…. Every ounce of blood not already throbbing in his groin had rushed south at that one. Watching her clothe herself had been torture. Because while his mind…not to mention his penis…were screaming yes, the rest of his body was a few paces behind. He couldn’t kiss her, not without exposing her to his virus. And he didn’t want to make love to her without being able to kiss her senseless. Especially since her sultry, full-lipped smile had been the first thing to steal his breath - and part of his heart - when they’d met. He’d waited too long for this, tried too many times to break through the barrier she’d erected between them. He was not about to louse things up now, when he finally had a chance to make her look at him…Mike Kincaid, the man…not Deputy Kincaid, whom she loved to goad. It didn’t take a genius to see Josie’s disdain of convention. Her clothes, her hair, her attitude, even the name of her business…Nail Me. The woman liked being outrageous and wouldn’t let herself fall for someone too ordinary. Someone like him. A guy who still lived near where he’d grown up, who’d only moved away for his last two years of college - having commuted the first two. What Josie hadn’t realized yet - couldn’t have realized, since she’d never given him a chance to prove her wrong - was that though Mike had returned to this small, old place, he didn’t have small, old dreams. He didn’t have small, old conventions. He lived here. But this town didn’t define his existence. Contrary to what Josie would probably believe, he loved her wicked sense of humor. He enjoyed listening to her head-banging music rattling the walls. He read thought-provoking modern fiction. He wanted to travel to wild locations, to experience all the fantastic, dangerous adventures he could. To indulge his deepest fantasies. With her. So he still wanted the connection to a place - this place. That didn’t mean he couldn’t see the value in exploring all the other places the world had to offer. And he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather do that exploring with than Josie Marino.

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She thought him a conservative, nice, good old boy…the kind of man she could never get involved with. In the morning, when he was strong, healthy, and more alert, he planned to show her just how wrong she was. *** During the night, when Josie realized she was curling up against Mike in her sleep, she climbed over him and got on the couch. She ignored the niceness of his skin against her legs, and ruthlessly tugged at his arm, making him cross it over his chest so she could get comfortable. He deserved the discomfort, not her!

But no sooner had she closed her eyes than she realized how warm his body had felt as she’d slipped over it. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was after two. Several hours since the aspirin. She sighed, yanking her purse off the table behind her head. As she did so, something came flying out and hurled across the room. “Oh, no.” It was the aspirin bottle. And it now lay somewhere in the darkened hallway of the apartment. Leaning down to test Mike’s forehead, she knew he needed to take something. But she couldn’t escape him to retrieve the aspirin, and he didn’t look ready to wake up. An idea struck. Digging in her purse, she found what she was looking for - another bottle. Reading the label in the shadowy light, she figured it would work. She leaned over, nudging Mike. “You’re hot again. Take these.” He’d probably have a cow when he found out what kind of medicine she’d given him, but there was no help for it. He barely opened his eyes as she slid two pills between his lips, brought the glass up and helped him sip. Then he fell back asleep. Josie wasn’t so lucky. Though it would be hours until morning, she couldn’t stop picturing those laughing brown eyes of his when he triumphantly made her admit what had happened between them during the night. She was in no way ready to have that conversation. Because that could lead to a lot of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. Questions like how she felt about him, how attracted she was to him. Had she been dreaming of being in his arms for almost a year…. No. She needed her defenses up, needed to be alert and ready to talk her way out of this one. She also needed to come up with a distraction - something to divert his attention when he woke. As she leaned over to put her purse back on the table, something else fell out in her lap. A wicked grin crossed her lips. Yes, there was definitely something she could do to distract him, kill some time, and get a little payback for the handcuffs. She just hoped he wouldn’t kill her when he saw what she’d done to him while he slept.

Chapter Five Mike awoke to a bright morning. His skin was warmed by sunlight, not blistered by fever. For the first time in hours, he felt normal. Then he tried to move his hand, to push his sleep-rumpled hair out of his eyes…and couldn’t. “What the hell?” He glanced down and spied the silly handcuff. A slow smile crossed his lips. Not a dream. Just to make sure, he shifted his gaze to the other hand caught in the cuff. Pale, slim, fragile…her fingers were inches from his, her nails brushing the hair on his chest. The contact was electric. He continued to stare, looking at the delicately boned wrist, the long, feminine arm, the curved shoulder. Then at the beautiful, bare breast, with a sweet, dark nipple he felt pretty damn sure he’d been licking a few hours ago.

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“It really happened,” he whispered. Josie shifted on the couch, sound asleep, unaware her top had betrayed her and gapped away. He watched her face, noted the length of those thick, black lashes resting on her creamy cheeks. The way her full lips parted as she breathed. She looked beautiful. Enticing. And, most important, approachable, without the attitude she usually copped around him. He wanted to keep her that way. He glanced at a clock. “After nine.” Thankfully, today was his regular day off. Though slightly weak from hunger, he felt more than up to dealing with the challenge of the day: seducing Josie. First things first — a shower. Difficult, since they were hooked together, but even that could lend itself to seduction. He just had to convince her he couldn’t unhook the flimsy handcuffs, which would break with one good yank. Before closing his eyes again, Mike caught sight of a flash of color from the vicinity of his feet. Blinking, he wondered if he was still feverish. When he saw the nail polish bottle on an end table, he knew he wasn’t. “She painted my toenails,” he muttered. Not just painted them, she’d spotlighted them in a raucous pink that would have looked garish on a showgirl. He swallowed a laugh, knowing she hadn’t intended to amuse him. No, she’d probably meant to punish him or, more likely, distract him from confronting her about what had happened between them. He could deal with that. He didn’t need to confront her about what had happened…he merely needed to seduce her into letting it happen again. *** Josie woke quickly. She opened her eyes and sat up. Feeling cool air on her naked breast, she said a quick, silent thanks that Mike was still asleep. Clutching at her top, she reached out to feel his forehead. He felt normal and looked better. At some point during the night, he’d pulled the sheet up to cover his body, so she wasn’t able to check him out all over in the bright light of day. Rats. “Hey, Josie?” he mumbled, opening his eyes. “You’re really here?” She nibbled her lip and nodded. “Man, I was out of it,” he continued. “I didn’t know if I’d dreamed you or not.” “I came over to ask you for help and found you in pretty bad shape.” “And you stayed to take care of me? I appreciate it.” He tried to move, and immediately noticed the handcuffs. “Uh, do I want to know how we ended up like this?” He doesn’t remember. Relief washed over her. It was just as quickly replaced by regret that Mike really wasn’t going to remember their encounter. She had a feeling she’d be thinking about it for months. “I won them, and one got stuck on my wrist. That’s why I came over, to see if you could help me get it off.” Sitting up, he glanced at his own wrist and raised a questioning brow. Josie tried to keep her attention focused on Mike’s face, not on the miles of bare chest and stomach exposed when the sheet had fallen to his lap. And definitely not to the bulges and bumps under that sheet. On that lap. “I think you were sort of delirious and for some reason hooked yourself to me.”

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“Gee, I’m so sorry.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “I put you out, keeping you here all night. I hope I didn’t say or do anything to offend you.” Drat, he was being so nice, so considerate and apologetic. She was really having some serious regrets about painting his toenails while he slept. Thankfully, because of the sheet, he hadn’t yet noticed. “I feel fine now, though. Thankfully it’s a quick virus, with just fever and fatigue. The fever was the worst. Did you get me aspirin? I thought I ran out.” She nodded, lowering her lashes. “About the aspirin…” “Yes?” “You did run out, so I went to get my purse.” She jingled the cuffs, “Before this. But, during the night, the bottle went flying across the room.” She jingled the cuffs again. “After this.” “Oh?” “So I had to improvise when your fever spiked again. I’m sure it’s fine. I read the label - the only active ingredient is acetaminophen.” He raised a curious brow, still relaxed and calm. She rushed on. “I gave you Midol.” His brown eyes widened and flashed. She steeled himself for him to blow his stack. She knew the medicine wouldn’t hurt him, for heaven’s sake, but a man probably wouldn’t see it that way. “I see,” he finally murmured. “Well, I guess it worked. Thank you, Josie.” His voice was reasonable, if a little gruff. But his glorious, broad shoulders remained stiff. Okay, now was definitely not the time to mention the nail polish. “So, do you think you might have a spare key around to get us out of these things?” His brow furrowed. “I don’t think I have a key that would work.” She sighed. “But I can come up with something. I might have to track down the right tool. It’ll have to be stiff enough, and just the right size to fit inside that tight little opening. It might take some lubrication.” If he wasn’t looking so adorably boyish and innocent, she’d have thought there was some serious sexual innuendo in his comment. That, of course, was where Josie’s thoughts had wandered. Gutter mind. Mike was too nice, too small-town, too open and friendly to be playing sexual word games like a smooth stud. Mike didn’t have to seduce women - he was in the crosshairs of a lot of the single females of Pleasantville. They wooed him with homemade cakes or tried to trap him with bogus calls about kitties up trees. But, to her knowledge, he had never been called a lothario. He didn’t need to be one when women fell at his feet all over the place. She frowned, suddenly not feeling so bad about the nail polish.

“I am pretty sure I have something that would work in the tool kit in the trunk of my squad car,” he continued, oblivious to her naughty imaginings. “Look, I know you’ve already really been put out, taking care of me and all, but do you think…would you mind if I took a quick shower before we go try to find it?” He sounded so endearing, looking sheepish and embarrassed at having to ask for the favor - when she’d been the one who’d climbed on top of the sick, helpless man during the night! “Of course, that’s fine.”

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He smiled. “Might be a little awkward.” She followed his pointed stare at the cuffs and gulped. “Uh, if you want to wrap up in the sheet, we can go to the bathroom together. I could, uh, just…stand outside the shower with my arm extended.” Oh, God, please no, please don’t make me have to have my hand inches from his beautiful, bare skin while he runs soap all over his body, making himself slippery and wet and clean and delicious. “That’d be great.” Penance. She was doing penance for trying to take advantage of him in his moment of weakness. She didn’t even want to fathom what erotic torture awaited her in Mike’s shower.

Chapter Six Normally, a naked man and a shower would have sounded delightful to Josie Marino. Throw in a pair of handcuffs for a bit of kink factor and she’d be one happy — satisfied — woman. But this wasn’t a normal situation. She was handcuffed to a man who drove her dizzy with pure desire, but one she’d already decided was so not her type. A responsible, respectable, nice guy who would never be interested in a relationship with someone like her. He was sexy as hell, yes. But he was safe. Gentle. Predictable. They were polar opposites. Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t want him like crazy. This shower was going to be agony. She just prayed he’d keep every inch of his masculine skin away from her hungry, helpless fingers. Mike’s bathroom wasn’t very large, so Josie was able to stand outside in the hall to give him a few minutes of privacy. After he’d brushed his teeth, he stuck his head out. “I’m sorry, I can’t even reach the faucet for the shower with you out here.” She followed him into the bathroom, looking everywhere but at the white towel draping his hips. The sheet he’d wrapped around himself for the short walk down the hall was crumpled in a corner. She preferred the sheet. It covered more. “I wish I’d cuffed my other hand to you,” Mike said with an innocent smile. “It’ll be awkward to wash lefthanded.” Josie came within an inch of offering to help. But any woman who’d offer to do that might as well offer to stake herself out, spread-eagle, naked on a man’s bed. It’d be less dangerous and less sensual than sliding her hand over Mike Kincaid’s wet, firm body. He kept the towel on while he turned on the water, and while he stepped into the tub. After he’d drawn the curtain, the towel appeared on top of the rod. She gulped. “Mmm, this feels really good. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, Josie.” She closed her eyes, trying to focus on anything but the sound of the sizzling jets of water striking that luscious male flesh. “I was pretty tense. All bunched up and hard.” God save me. “Even my feet were aching.”

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His feet. He was going to be washing his feet at some point. No way would he miss seeing the polish. Thinking frantically, she smacked at the light switch on the wall. Mike’s head popped out from behind the curtain. “Bulb must have blown,” she explained weakly. He shrugged. “It’s okay, I can see with the light coming from the hall.” He gave her a sheepish look. “Though, I can’t really wash my hair one-handed. Do you mind?” She felt a pull on the handcuff and stepped closer. Then closer still, until she stood toe to toe with the edge of the tub. When he moved his hands up to lather his hair, still hidden behind the mostly drawn shower curtain, her fingers brushed against the rough, unshaven stubble on his cheek. She couldn’t prevent herself from lightly rubbing his earlobe, caressing a bit of skin on his neck. At his low, throaty moan, she froze, certain he’d realized she was sneakily caressing him. Then he said, “God it feels good to be clean, to wash off the sweat.” Nope. He hadn’t noticed. He also apparently hadn’t noticed that he’d finished shampooing his hair, and could probably complete his shower left-handed. She almost reminded him…almost. But when she felt him pulling her hand down, so he could run a soapy washcloth over his chest, his shoulders, his thick biceps, she remained silent. With every touch of his hand on his own body, hers touched, too. His skin was slick, wet, making her think of other slick, wet things. Like the hollow place between her legs that ached for him to touch her the way he was touching himself. Thoroughly. Carefully. Deliberately. Her legs began to shake. The smell of the soap filled her nostrils. Her eyes had adjusted to the low lighting so she could easily make out his broad silhouette through the curtain. The sizzling hiss of the water drowned out every other sound except her own deepening breaths. Josie moaned, wondering how much more of this sensual torture she could take. God, did the man have absolutely no idea how erotic this was? Was he really such a nice, trusting guy that he didn’t know he was currently the object of every lustful fantasy his wicked landlady had ever envisioned? If she did what she was dying to do…slide her hand down and help him wash that big, thick shaft she’d drooled over last night…how would he react? She couldn’t be so bold…not with him, Mr. Polite. But she did give herself over to sensation, letting herself touch him, imagine him touching her in return. The soap and water eliminated friction, leaving only the pleasure of touch. Josie was so completely caught up in her senses that she didn’t even notice he was opening the curtain until he’d pushed it all the way aside. Before she could say a word, he’d reached out, picked her up around the waist, and lifted her into the tub with him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she sputtered as warm water cascaded over her, saturating her hair, her face, her skimpy clothes. He cast one hot, masculine stare down her body, pausing to watch as the thin cotton tank top grew wet and stuck to her breasts. It clung to nipples that got noticeably harder under his gaze. Then he looked lower, to the loose boxers, already dripping, sticking to her thighs and the shadowy place between them. “I’ve just been trying to decide something, Josie,” he replied evenly, not revealing a thing about his intentions. She was almost afraid to ask. “What?”

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“Well, you turned out the light on purpose not caring if I fell and cracked my skull open in the shower.” His eyes narrowed. “You painted my toenails aging-whore pink.” He shook his head, tsking. “You gave me period medicine when I was half-dead.” Then his voice grew throaty and thick. A slight smile, as if of reminiscence, crossed his lips. “You whipped off your shirt, climbed on top of me and practically begged me to suck on those perfect little breasts of yours.” His gaze strayed briefly downward before he finally murmured, “Now you’re copping feels while I’m taking a shower.” She couldn’t speak. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in shock as she realized he’d known exactly what she’d done. He remembered everything. He knew all. And oh, my God, he definitely hadn’t been polite in letting her know it. Her pulse sped up, excitement ratcheting through her at the dangerously confident tone in his voice. “So, you see,” he continued in a smooth, sultry purr, “I’m just a bit confused over what I’m going to do first.” “First?” she asked breathlessly, almost not recognizing this sultry, provocative man who still held her firmly around the waist. “Yeah, Josie. I don’t know whether to start by spanking your pretty bottom…or proceed directly to taking you now, right up against the wall.”

Chapter Seven As the shock in Josie’s eyes gave way to pure, raw excitement, Mike let a smile cross his lips. He had her. She wanted him…wanted them…as much as he did. He should have realized long ago that politeness, asking, would never work with Josie Marino. He’d been playing the gentleman. Turns out she wanted the man…no gentle about it. “Hmm,” Josie replied to his taunting suggestion that he either spank her or take her. “Considering you’ve been sick, I doubt you’ve got the strength for either one.” He lifted her by the waist and held her against the tiled wall of the shower, leaning close to nip at her neck. Grinding into her, he let her feel how strong he was, how ready to make good on his threat. She whimpered, pressing back against him just as hungrily. “Whatever you decide,” she whispered, “kiss me first. Okay?” He didn’t need to be asked twice; kissing Josie was exactly what he’d been dying to do for hours. He slipped his hand up to cup her head, tangling his fingers in her wet hair, tugging her face to his until their lips were a breath apart. But before they met, he growled, “Don’t think this gets you off the hook for the spanking.” She giggled, then slid one arm around his neck, tugging him close. Kissing Josie was everything he’d ever thought it would be. Sweet, wet, hot. She parted her lips, letting her tongue mate with his as he pulled the strap of her tank top off her shoulder. “Let me.” She wriggled out of the top, and her boxers, kicking them out of the way until she stood nude in front of him. Her body was as perfect, delicately boned, pale, and inviting as he’d imagined it would be. “Touch me, Mike,” she moaned as he moved his mouth to her throat, inhaling deeply to imprint her scent on his brain. “Where?” he growled as he nibbled a path along her collarbone. “Touch me where I’m wet.”

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He smiled, and began running his hands all over her…her shoulders, her arms, her fingertips. “No.” “You’re wet everywhere, babe.” To prove his point, he followed a droplet of water as it descended down her shoulder, over her breast, until it clung to her nipple. Unable to resist, he lowered his mouth to her and sucked deeply, holding her hips as she bucked in response. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” he mumbled against her body as he bent down, finally dropping to his knees to kiss her stomach, nibbling on the tiny gold earring. Then, finally, he dipped to taste the secret flesh hidden behind the lovely dark curls between her legs. She quivered, then groaned. “So have I,” she admitted. “Don’t make me wait any longer to have you inside me.” As much as he loved the taste of her, Mike couldn’t wait to make her his. Grabbing the condom he’d removed from the medicine cabinet earlier, he tore it open with his teeth. He hung on to his last remnants of control as she helped him put it on. Then she lifted her leg, slid it around his wet hips, tilting back and offering herself to him. Bracing her against the wall, he slid into her with one long, slow thrust. And felt as if he’d finally found his permanent home. *** Mike didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed a shower more. Or a nap. Or a breakfast. They spent the day making love, eating, sleeping, making love again…all while handcuffed together. Josie had no appointments that day, so she wasn’t bothered about not opening her shop for the day. Late in the afternoon, though, they realized they were both starving and neither had much food. “Maybe we could go to the Rose Café for a bite?” she suggested. He raised a brow. “Think anybody’d notice the cuffs?” “Yeah, I guess we ought to try to open these first,” she admitted. She looked down, not meeting his eyes. Mike sensed her pulling away, and nearly kicked himself for bringing up the outside world. “We can stay connected and feed each other at the café.” He nuzzled her neck, trying to tease her back into her former good mood. She shook her head and sighed. “I don’t imagine you’d want Sheriff Taggart hearing one of his deputies was walking around town, handcuffed to a woman he hadn’t arrested.” Mike suddenly understood why she’d grown cool. She didn’t think he’d do it. In spite of everything they’d shared today - all the wild, erotic ways he’d shown her he wasn’t the conservative, nice guy she’d thought he was - she still didn’t believe he would walk out the door, in public, handcuffed to her. She thought he could be one man in the privacy of his home, but wouldn’t show that face to the rest of the world. He hid a smile. She was so adorably easy to disconcert. And he couldn’t wait to once again show her how much she’d underestimated him. ***

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Though he tried with various tools and spare keys, Mike couldn’t get the cuffs open. “Look,” Josie said, “why don’t I call Kate Jones, one of the owners of Bare Essentials, and ask her if she has another set. They probably all have the same key.” He lounged on the couch, wearing only a pair of shorts, while she called Kate. After carefully explaining her predicament, she suffered through Kate’s long, low laugh. “So do you think you can get us another key?” “Meet me at the store in a half hour,” the woman said, still chuckling. “Can I admit I hope you run into lots of people on Magnolia Avenue, so the gossips will have someone else to talk about, other than the Tremaines, for a change?” Knowing Kate and her family had long been a source of scandal for the town of Pleasantville, Josie didn’t take offense. “Kate, you get me a key that works and I swear, I’ll even teach you how to cheat at Bunko.” Kate, who had experienced her first raucous Bunko night with some of Josie’s friends the week before, instantly agreed. “See you in an hour.” *** Mike could have broken the cuffs. One solid yank and they would have torn apart as easily as perforated paper. But he wasn’t about to do it. First, because it was just too much fun watching Josie try to maneuver herself into her clothes to venture outside. Second, because he had something to prove to her. And finally because, dammit, he had her exactly where he wanted her - by his side, in his arms, in his life - and he wasn’t about to give her up. He was absolutely completely crazy about her. He didn’t plan to let her go until she’d admitted she felt the same way. They helped each other dress before going out, deciding the easiest course was to rip one sleeve of a tank top for her, and a muscle T-shirt for him. Then they re-pinned them. Josie draped a jacket over their wrists, then held his hand while they walked down the stairs and out onto the street. A few passing people nodded. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary. When they reached the new store, Bare Essentials, Mike saw a stunning, petite brunette waiting in the doorway. She greeted Josie with a hug and stared at the jacket over their hands, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m Kate. You must be Mike,” she said. “I never realized those cuffs were so strong, Deputy.” He smiled, knowing she knew damn well he could have gotten them out of the things anytime he wanted to. But she didn’t tell Josie. “Did you find a key?” Mike asked. Kate looked back and forth between them, as if contemplating her answer. Finally, when Josie said, “Oh, please say you did,” the woman nodded. She held the small key out and put it in Josie’s hand. “I have a bunch of handcuffs, but only one of the brand you got. This key should work - but it’s the last one. So don’t lose it, whatever you do. Have fun, kids.” She winked before walking into her shop. Josie glanced at him through partially lowered lashes. “Okay, we’re set. We can do this right here, if you want.” “Let me have the key,” he said.

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When she pressed it into his hand, he leaned close to nibble her earlobe. She flinched, as if shocked he’d make such a public display of affection but he heard her tiny sigh and knew she still wanted him. Badly. “Josie?” “Yes?” “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Not even pausing, he flung the key several feet away, toward the street, and nodded with satisfaction as it pinged right down into an open storm drain.

Chapter Eight Josie couldn’t believe Mike had thrown away the key, ensuring they were going to remain stuck together. “Are you crazy?” “Crazy about you.” She ignored him. “Didn’t you hear what Kate said? That was the last key!” “Yep. Still hungry? Let’s go to the café.” What was the man thinking? He’d thrown away his chance to separate them, to keep from humiliating himself in public by being seen chained to the wild chick who owned the scandalous nail salon. Conservative, nice guy Mike Kincaid should have leaped at the opportunity - not tossed it away! “You’re still feverish.” “I’m definitely on fire.” He pressed his body against hers. “For you.” He didn’t seem to care that all around them people passed on the sidewalk or drove by in their cars. Jerking his arm, he intentionally dropped the jacket to the ground. Then, entwining his fingers with hers, he backed her up against a light pole, twisting her arm behind her back so he could pull her closer to him. “You’ve lost your mind.” “No. Just my heart.” “I see the sheriff across the street.” “Did you hear what I said?” She’d heard. She just wasn’t listening. Because the nice, conservative, well-loved Deputy Mike Kincaids of the world didn’t go crazy over the smart-aleck, pierced, wild child Josie Marinos. “It’s fever. Sickness,” she said desperately. He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her cheekbone, then lower, until he brushed his lips against hers. “I want you so much,” he whispered, pressing against her hard enough to make her quiver at the feel of his big, strong body. She went liquid and weak, aching for him again though she’d left his bed only an hour before. “Okay, it’s lust. That’s why you were so…different…when we were at your apartment. But this is the real world!” “Lust, yeah. Definitely lust.” He grinned wickedly. “But lust isn’t what makes me like you so much. Lust isn’t why I sometimes sit in my apartment, listening to you move around in yours, wondering if you’re okay, if

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you’re reading, if you’re smiling. It doesn’t make me want to watch you sleep, want to hear you laugh, want to make you happy.” She nibbled her lip. He lowered his voice. “Lust didn’t make me throw away the key. It’s not what’s making me determined to keep you connected to me until you see what I’ve seen for a long time…that we’re a perfect match.” “We’re too different,” she whispered. “I’m a guttersnipe.” He raised a brow. “Guttersnipe? What the hell’s that?” “And you’re so…respectable,” she muttered. He rolled his eyes and muttered an obscenity. Then he hauled her onto her toes and caught her mouth in the hottest, wettest kiss she’d ever experienced. Right there on a public street in broad daylight. When he finally pulled away, he looked over her shoulder and nodded to someone. “’Afternoon, ladies,” he said pleasantly. She heard giggles but didn’t turn around. “I might be an even-tempered man, Josie. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend the next fifty years doing every wild, outrageous thing you can dream up for us to try.” “Fifty years?” “At least. I love you. I know you aren’t ready to hear it, but I do. I’ve loved you since you threatened to neuter me if I ever made another Josie and the Pussycats joke.” She began to believe, began to accept. “Oh, hell, Mike, you big, nice jerk,” she finally replied, almost wailing as she acknowledged the truth, “I think I love you, too!” *** Mike was able to eat some fries with his left hand, but Josie had to help him with his burger. They laughed throughout their entire scandalous meal at the Rose Café. Plenty of people hailed Mike but stammered and stared when they saw the handcuffs. He seemed to enjoy the notoriety. “What can I say, Tag?” he asked Sheriff Sean Taggart - his boss - who stopped at their table to say hello. “She’s relentless. Locked me up and threw away the key, wouldn’t let me go until she had her wicked way with me.” Josie sunk down in her seat, but couldn’t go far since her arm was stretched across the table, attached to Mike’s. “Let me guess.” Sheriff Taggart raised a brow. “You got the cuffs at the new store in town?” Nodding, Josie remembered the rumors about the handsome young sheriff and Kate’s cousin, Cassie Tremaine Montgomery. Tag shook his head as he turned away. “Why am I not surprised?” After they finished eating, Mike led her outside. “Tell me about this store your friend owns. They actually sell things like these cuffs?”

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She smiled. “Oh, they sell a lot of things.” Then she sighed. “But they’re not open yet. Heat flashed in his eyes. “You think Kate might let us do a little preopening shopping? As repayment for the key trouble?” “I think that’s an excellent idea!” They walked into the front door of the store, immediately spying Cassie sitting on the floor folding lacy underpants. Mike seemed no more affected by the beautiful blonde than he had been by Kate, her darkhaired cousin. But he did like the thong panties. She heard him murmur his approval as he shot her an intimate glance. Josie’s heart skipped a beat as she pictured modeling something provocative for him. If they ever got uncuffed, of course. “Cassie, I’m sorry - I know you’re not open, but the item in my goody bag was defective. I think you ought to let me pick out something else,” Josie said with a mischievous grin. “Are you telling me none of those gift bags turned out?” Cassie replied. Josie cast a look at Mike, whose hand lay possessively on her hip. “I never said that.” Then she noticed Cassie had not been alone in the store. Daisy Arnett was also doing some preopening bargain hunting. A handsome guy stood beside her, looking besotted. “I never said that either,” Daisy said. Hmm…sounded as though they’d both been pleasantly surprised by how much they’d liked their gifts. Josie suddenly remembered the creamy lace panties and bra that had been in Daisy’s bag. And pictured Mike pulling them off of her…. With his teeth. “Well, then, what are you saying?” Cassie asked. Daisy told Cassie she wanted another goody bag…one she’d be willing to pay for. Judging by the look in her boyfriend’s eyes, he looked ready to haul out his gold card and get her any damn thing she pleased. Considering Mike’s wide-eyed stare at the sultry, sexual products surrounding them in the store, Josie had a feeling he was ready to do the same thing. She gulped. “Me, too. I want to buy something else, too.” “Well, speak up,” Cassie said. “I’m busy. What is it you want?” Hmm…sex toys? Erotic videos? Motion lotion, appliances, crotchless tights, or, God, wouldn’t she love whatever Kate Jones had been wearing under her dress at the mayor’s reception Saturday night, when rumor had it she’d practically had an orgasm in the middle of a crowd of people? Unfortunately, Kate had told the ladies at the party that that particular item wasn’t ready for distribution. Josie had put her name on a waiting list. Finally, she met Daisy’s eye and saw the satisfaction in the other woman’s face. “Your lingerie seems to have done wonders for you.” She lifted her wrist, bringing Mike’s hand up with hers. “And trust me on this. These worked wonders, too.” Mike squeezed her fingers, then brought her hand up to his mouth to press a soft kiss on it.

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Josie grinned. So did Daisy. “I’ll take what she got,” they both said in unison. Cassie chuckled, looking pleased at having played matchmaker, even if unintentionally. “I’ll just take you,” Mike whispered in Josie’s ear while the other couple took some handcuffs from the store owner and walked out. “Take me where? Shopping? To bed? To a locksmith?” “Anywhere you want to go, Josie. Any way you want to get there.” Leaning up to gently kiss his lips, she smiled, then giggled. “Okay…how about to Tibet. With monks and yaks. Or is it llamas? Or to the desert…on a motorcycle. Or naked hang-gliding…or…” He ignored her rambling, tangled his fingers in her short, spiky hair and pulled her close for another of those mind-numbing, leg-weakening kisses. When he finally pulled away to let her draw in a deep, shaky breath, he said. “How about home?” Josie nodded and melted into him. “Home sounds darn near perfect.” He eyed a wicked-looking red lace teddy. “And Josie?” “Yes?” He grinned and shook the handcuffs. “You can just forget about any locksmith.”

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A Father's Sins by Hannah Alexander Read this exciting sneak peek of the Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense series — a sequel to Hannah Alexander's Safe Haven! No longer unfamiliar with dangerous situations, Dr. Karah Lee Fletcher knows she has to take care. When a stranger arrives in Hideaway, Karah Lee is suspicious — particularly after treating him at the Hideaway Clinic, and later discovering he has claimed a false identity. She also gets the strangest feeling that she knows him from somewhere…or is that just because he's following her all over town? Despite their recent breakup, Taylor Jackson, forest ranger and paramedic, works alongside Karah Lee to try to find out who this man is — and more important, what it is he wants.…

Chapter One In thirty-four years of living, Dr. Karah Lee Fletcher had seldom known true fear until the past few months. She hadn't felt fear when her parents divorced, only a deep sadness. She hadn't felt much fear after her mother died of cancer and she was on her own in med school. During residency, she had been accused of having the strength and stamina of a California sequoia — even her hair was as red as the interior of those majestic trees. But tonight, as she unlocked the front door of the Hideaway Clinic, she felt neither strong nor fearless. Fear, in fact, had become a habit with her lately. She made one final check up and down the shadowy, empty street for the patient who had made the emergency call to meet her here. No one. When she'd spoken to him over the telephone, his wheezing had been apparent. Had he run into trouble on his way here? She had urged him to tell her where he was calling from, but he'd insisted on meeting her at the clinic. The silence was broken only by the splash of water down on the shore of Table Rock Lake, and the call of a loon, lonely in the darkness. She entered the quiet building, scolding herself for her skittishness. What was wrong with her tonight? The tiny village of Hideaway had only been dangerous one time. Typically, it had more small-town charm than nearby Branson, since the tourist crowds were not so large. Hideaway was safe. More important, she knew nothing would happen to her unless God allowed it. But she'd seen Him allow a lot of things. Bad memories died hard, and her brush with death barely four months ago in this very clinic had left her spooked. She hated that. She particularly missed Taylor Jackson's company at times like this. "Stop it," she muttered as she rushed through the clinic, turning on all the lights. Taylor had made a strategic mistake recently. He'd asked her to marry him. He was better off without her, but she'd had a lot of trouble believing these past two weeks that she could happily live without him. Nevertheless, when she calculated the number of marriages in her family that had failed, the prospect of marriage continued to frighten her. Breaking up with him just gave her one less fear with which to contend. She was picking up the telephone to call a nurse to the clinic when the front door gave its familiar squeak. She froze with the receiver in her hand. Why hadn't she called before coming down here? Karah Lee, you need to start thinking ahead. She turned, and caught her breath.

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The tall, broad-shouldered man that entered had a neck, cheeks and forehead splotchy with a bad case of hives. His lips were swollen. But the swelling and redness didn't mask the face of the man who'd seemed to be everywhere she was in the past couple of days. She'd seen him on the boat dock across the street two days ago. Several times she'd seen him in the dining room of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast, almost as if he'd been watching for her to arrive. Twice he'd managed to sit in the table next to hers, and he always seemed to be watching a little too closely. Earlier this evening he'd even tried to start a conversation with her. And now he was here? She heard the wheezing as he stepped up to the reception window, and she felt badly for being so suspicious. He was truly in trouble. It wasn't a setup. Why would she expect it to be? The man was possibly an inch or so taller than her six foot frame, with dark gray eyes and hair as black as a rain-drenched night. He didn't seem to be a threat in his present condition, though the slight swelling around his eyes made him look a little sinister. "I take it you're the Jerrod Houston who called?" He nodded, shooting a glance at her, then looking away as if he was shy, or very self-conscious about his appearance. "Come on back. I'll put you in exam room two. You sound as if you could use some treatment." She gestured for him to step through the open doorway between the waiting room and the clinic proper. She had left the door open when she entered. For a moment, he hesitated, looking at her again, almost as if he was in a daze. She watched him, irritated by the frisson of alarm that skittered down her spine. "Are you okay?" she asked. He nodded again. She took the stethoscope from around her neck. "Then let's get you checked out." She led the way back, hearing not only the wheeze, but stridor, which was an respiratory whistle that meant his breathing was definitely not good. A person couldn't fake that, could he? Why hadn't she called for backup before coming to the clinic? It was protocol. But tonight this man had sounded rough over the phone, and she'd run out of the cottage with no more than a quick word to Fawn, her foster daughter. She'd thought about calling Taylor, but had decided against it. Too painful this soon after the breakup. Stupid move! "Have you had trouble before with anaphylaxis?" she asked. Jerrod nodded. "Allergic to peanuts." Though his voice over the phone — and earlier in the dining room — had been a medium baritone, it was now a thin reed of sound. "Do you ever carry an epi pen with you?" "I've already used it." That meant he was worse than she'd thought. Epinephrine wore off pretty quickly. She sized him up. He was a young guy; he could take another shot. "I'll need to do an assessment on you, but let's get you feeling better first." She reached for the epi syringe. "Are you allergic to anything besides peanuts? Drugs of any kind?"

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He shook his head, obviously eager to get on with treatment. "I haven't eaten any peanuts. Don't know what happened." "I saw you eating black walnut waffles in the dining room. If you're allergic to peanuts, it's possible you've developed an allergy to other nuts." He blinked in surprise. "Black walnut waffles?" "Bertie Meyer's famous for them. You must not be from around here." He shook his head. "I just saw the waffles on the buffet, and they looked good. Friday night's a strange time for a breakfast buffet." "Bertie's breakfast fare is famous, and a few months ago she gave in to public demand to keep the breakfast flowing all day on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. In town for a visit?" He shook his head. "Unfinished business." She grabbed an ampoule of epinephrine, 1-1000 strength, popped off the top to reveal the rubber stopper. After withdrawing all the fluid from the vial, she glanced at her patient again. "Is there someone traveling with you who can keep an eye on you tonight?" "No." She switched needles on the syringe, then gave him a subcutaneous injection in his upper left arm. "Let's hope you're feeling some better in the next few moments," she assured him. He didn't appear to be in anaphylactic shock. Yet. She put him on high-flow oxygen, then listened to his breathing, automatically studying his features. As before, she had the strange impression of familiarity, and yet she couldn't remember seeing him up until a couple of days ago. The wheeze continued. She pressed the bell of her stethoscope over his neck and picked up the stridor more clearly. He was moving air, but still not as well as she would like. He stared up at her, and again she felt uncomfortable. Often, a patient with breathing problems remained focused on the medical provider, desperate for rescue. Stop being so skittish, Karah Lee. The poor guy just wants to breathe. Of course, she was overly sensitive lately. Her father was coming to town Sunday night to make a speech Monday morning and charm the people into voting for the tax levy that would enable this clinic to have a hospital designation. He would, of course, be as critical of her as he always was. If the great State Senator Kemper MacDonald's constituents had to endure the edge of his tongue as often as his own younger daughter did, would they continue to vote for him? "Stick out your tongue," she said. He did as he was told. It was slightly swollen, but not bad. "Tingly?" He nodded. "That's typical, but we won't take chances." She checked his blood pressure, then heart rate — which was slightly increased due to the stress of his condition and his epi. "Now for the IV solumedrol," she said, reaching across to the computer terminal in the exam room to take it out of hibernation.

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After establishing an IV in Jerrod's arm and placing him on a heart monitor, complete with blood pressure cuff and pulse oximetry unit, she punched her password into the computer and started a new file. While waiting for it to pull up her screen, she excused herself and went into the reception room to call Jill, the clinic's head nurse. Jerrod would need to be kept at least for a couple of hours, or until he was completely out of danger. Karah Lee wanted company. And it was protocol. A movement drew her attention toward the plate glass entry door, and she saw the outline of a human shadow in the darkness, just past her own reflection. Her blood ran cold. Who was out there?

Chapter Two Taylor Jackson controlled his irritation with difficulty as he watched Karah Lee through the plate glass door. How many times had he told her to call for backup when she had an evening emergency? And yet, how many times had she snapped at him to stop nagging her? With Karah Lee, he had found that impossible, because she constantly took risks. His irritation with those risks had caused too many conflicts, and that was one reason they hadn't seen each other — at least socially — for over two weeks. Actually, it had been two weeks, one day, thirteen hours and twenty or so minutes. And it had felt like a couple of years. Chagrined by the look of fear he saw on her face, he reached for the door and pulled it open, silently thanking God for his little spy. Fawn Morrison, Karah Lee's precocious, seventeen-year-old foster daughter, had taken personal responsibility for the love life of her guardian. Taylor knew a good thing when he saw it, and he shamelessly allowed the teenager to run interference for him, especially since Karah Lee had been firm about avoiding him. When he stepped inside, recognition and relief chased each other across Karah Lee's expression…and a hint of some other emotion. Sadness? Tension? "Taylor, what are you doing here?" Yep, tension. Even irritation. He had to suppress a satisfied smile. If she didn't still love him, would she be so ill at ease with him? He resisted the urge to reach out and comb his fingers through those luxuriant red waves of wayward hair. "Just saw the lights on and thought I'd check things out." He knew she hadn't recovered from the attack last summer. He also knew she was aggravatingly independent, and that this new aspect of her character — vulnerability — annoyed her. "Need some help?" She hesitated, glancing toward the phone. He could read her thoughts. "Why call Jill and disturb her evening when you've already got backup right here on the premises? Let me help out. Where's the patient? What's going on?" "He's in exam two." She glanced in the direction of the exam room, and Taylor caught the slight frown. Something about the patient disturbed her. "Bad allergy." "What do you need me to do?" "I've already taken care of the necessities, and it doesn't look as if he's getting worse at this time." "So he isn't anaphylactic?" "It could become that way. I want to keep him for a couple of hours."

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"Then I'll hang around." She hesitated, nibbling distractedly on her full, luscious lower lip. Amazing. Karah Lee Fletcher at a loss for words. It was a memorable moment. Later, when they'd been married for forty years, he'd remind her about how diligently she had fought to avoid matrimony. Please, God, let us be together in forty years. As he followed her to the exam room he could barely keep his gaze from flitting to her every few seconds. He felt like a starving man who had gone too long without the hope of food. It only proved to him how accustomed he had grown to the thought of permanence with Karah Lee Fletcher. He loved her indomitable will, and yet she was very much a woman, complete with a tender, breakable heart. If only she could realize that he did not intend to break that heart. And that fighting didn't mean impending loss. How could he convince her they could work it out? He watched her as she spoke softly to the patient. Something about the tenor of her voice, however, alerted him. This man was making her nervous. Why? "Jerrod Houston," she said, "meet Ranger Taylor Jackson. He's also a paramedic, and he helps out here at the clinic when he isn't fighting fires or making rescues." Her lighthearted small talk seemed to fall flat. Jerrod nodded, his heavy lids drooping with obvious lethargy. Karah Lee most likely had given him a hefty injection of Benadryl. It seemed apparent, however, that even though the man was fighting the grogginess, his attention was focused intently on Karah Lee. What was up with this guy? *** By the time Karah Lee entered the patient's scanty history onto the computer, he had begun to snore. She noted his breathing sounded much better. Taylor continued to hover over her like a protective watchdog, even though it must have been obvious to him that Jerrod wouldn't be a threat to anyone in the near future. "Mind telling me what it is about him that's bothering you?" he asked. She entered the final bit of information in the computer. Any other time she wouldn't have hesitated to tell him. "Everything's fine, Taylor." She could almost feel the faint strum of his irritation. Big, strong Taylor had to be able to fix every situation or he wasn't happy. "If you don't mind, I'd like to hang around for the next couple of hours," he said. She nodded. She didn't mind at all. Ever since a hired hit man had nearly killed her and Fawn in this very clinic, Taylor had been very protective of them. It made her feel cared for. Still, there were doubts. Always, there were doubts. Every man wanted to be a hero, and Taylor was definitely that. But there came a time when the glamour wore off and a man was left with the plain, day-afterday experience of living with a woman. Wives weren't nearly as exciting as helpless damsels in distress. Love always cooled, and often turned to dislike. Then the fighting began. Karah Lee and Taylor had already reached that stage. What hope did they have of a good future?

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She knew all about that, because her own parents had fought for years. Dad had, in fact, reminded her of that very thing when she last spoke with him on the phone. Hadn't her own sister proven that even the best of relationships didn't last? Like father, like daughter, Shona was in the painful throes of separation, as well. And that had been a marriage Karah Lee thought would last forever. "Are you sure you can stay?" she asked. "I mean, you might get called out." The love in those gray hazel eyes nearly melted her heart. In that strong, freckled face, she saw a man who was ethical, dependable and tender. "I was off duty ten minutes ago," he said. "That's perfect." She scooted her chair back and stood. "No need for both of us to hang around, and Fawn needs help with homework. We've already got the blood pressure cuff on his arm and the pulse ox on his finger." "Can't Fawn bring her homework —" "Take a reading every fifteen minutes. You know my number, and you know I'm just down the road. Call me if you need me." She left him standing in the middle of the exam room, relieved to get out of the clinic.

Chapter Three On Saturday morning, bright sunshine failed to lift Taylor's spirits as he entered Hideaway Clinic. Karah Lee had returned last night in time to make a follow-up appointment with their patient and release him. Then she'd smiled sweetly at Taylor, thanked him for staying and dismissed him, as well. Just like that. Frustration didn't begin to describe the way Taylor felt, and he wanted to catch her before any patients arrived. They needed to talk. He shouldn't have been so quick to leave last night. Blaze Farmer sat at the reception desk, frowning at the computer. "Morning," he called, obviously distracted. Taylor returned the greeting. "Anything wrong?" The seventeen-year-old high school senior looked up, his ebony face filled with confusion. "I tried to download a medical text onto the computer this morning and it wouldn't allow me on." "Why not?" "It said there was an illegal entry, but that's crazy. Either this computer's lying to me, or Karah Lee's been putting in a lot of hours here at night and she messed it up again." "We had an emergency last night. Karah Lee and I took care of it. Maybe she didn't shut it down properly." "We don't shut down the computers at night, we put them into hibernation." Blaze shook his head. "This shows Karah Lee's entries from the terminal in exam room two yesterday evening, but did she come back this morning at four o'clock for some reason? Did we have two emergencies in one night?" Taylor glanced at his watch. "Whose password was entered?" "Karah Lee's. Jill said she didn't get any calls last night. You were the only other person on call. Karah Lee knows after-hours calls require a support staff backup." "Were any patient files pulled up?" Taylor asked.

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"Nope, but this is weird. Karah Lee's personnel file was accessed." Blaze's eyes widened. "You don't think she's trying to update her info for some reason, do you? You know, to look for another job?" The suggestion jolted Taylor momentarily. Would Karah Lee be so determined to avoid him that she would look for a position elsewhere? "She's contracted to work here until next June." Blaze gave an expressive shrug. "Can't contracts be broken? I mean, if Karah Lee just wanted to check out her file, why sneak into the clinic in the middle of the night to do it? I don't know why you two are feuding, but you'd better patch it up fast, or we might lose us a good doctor." *** Karah Lee balanced her cup of coffee on top of a bakery box and reached for the front door of the clinic. It came open before she could touch the handle. Taylor Jackson, looking tired and grim, stood holding the door for her to enter. "Thanks. You're up and around early this morning." She took note of the set of his jaw and the look in his eyes. "Is something wrong?" "That's what we need to find out." He took the items from her hands and carried them to the reception desk, where Blaze manned the computer. Before she could follow and rescue her coffee and a chocolate éclair from the box of pastries — Blaze shared her taste in breakfast food and drink — Taylor had returned to steer her back outside with a gentle hand on her elbow. "We need to talk." "Why? What's going on? Is everyone okay? Has something —" "Everyone's fine, don't worry. This is between you and me." Oh. "Taylor, can't it wait? I have patients in twenty minutes, and I haven't had breakfast, and I'm not in the mood for another fight." "No fighting, I promise, but this is important. You didn't call for backup last night when you should have, and I think that's because of this…friction between us lately." "I know, I'm sorry. I should have called, but you know how I hate to disturb someone at home when I can handle the situation by myself." With his hand still warm on her arm, he guided her across the nearly deserted street toward a gazebo that overlooked the lake. Early morning sunlight glittered like diamonds across the surface of the water. "I was on call, and you didn't want to call me. And then when I did show up, you wouldn't even stay in the clinic with me for a couple of hours." Karah Lee could hear in his voice that her action had hurt him. "I wasn't lying about Fawn's homework. She's trying so hard to catch up and graduate, and she needs me. I can't let her down." He tilted his head sideways, considering her for a long moment. "That's the only reason you left?" She turned and strolled toward the water's edge, bypassing a pastel blue and white gazebo — one of several that dotted this broad lawn between the town square and the lakeshore. This was one of her favorite places to come and think about things. Right now, she could barely focus on walking, much less thinking. That was what Taylor did to her. He caught up with her. "Karah Lee, I'm sorry. I have no right to make any demands on you. We haven't made any promises. I'm not going to force anything."

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"I thought you said we wouldn't fight." "This isn't a fight, it's a discussion. The problem we're having isn't just about us; it's about your father. That man did a number on you. He isn't representative of all men." "Don't try to tell me again that marriage is all sweetness and light." She reached the water's edge and looked up at him. The morning sunlight glinted highlights across his bronze auburn hair, and etched more deeply the lines of fatigue around his eyes. "I've never tried to tell you that," he said quietly. "But I know how satisfying and good a real marriage is. I've seen my parents happily married for many decades. We could have that kind of marriage." She heard the sadness in his voice. His first wife had left him after the death of their only child. Karah Lee knew Taylor would never have been the one to leave. He was a hopeless romantic who believed marriage was forever. He needed to join the real world. A car pulled into a parking spot in front of the clinic. Soon the patients would start arriving. "I have to get to work," she said gently. "First will you tell me if you're looking for another job?" "Why on earth would you ask that?" "Blaze noticed you returned to the clinic very early this morning and accessed your personnel file." "I left last night about two minutes after you did, and I never returned until you met me at the door and took my coffee and box of pastries — half of which Blaze has probably eaten, by the way. That kid eats more than everyone else in the clinic combined." "The computer doesn't lie." "Well, the computer is wrong this time. Cheyenne would roast me over an open fire if I even tried to look for another job. Besides, I have my own copy of my resume — I don't need to break into the clinic files for that."

Chapter Four Taylor sat at the staff table in the break room facing a dejected teenager and a hungry doctor. Blaze had made a habit every evening before closing to double-check front and back entrances of the clinic. Ever since fugitive Fawn Morrison had spent the night undetected in the clinic in June, Blaze had grown serious about clinic security. "I can't believe I could've left a door unlocked," Blaze said. "Don't be silly." Karah Lee sipped her coffee, which she had rescued just in time from Blaze's hands. "I'm the one who locked up last night after our patient was discharged." "Did you check the back door?" Blaze sank his teeth into the chocolate éclair Taylor knew Karah Lee had hoped to save for herself. The kid caught her expression and his dark, thick eyebrows rose with a question. He nudged a cruller in her direction. She picked it up with a grimace. "I had no reason to." "You made an appointment last night with Jerrod. He's due in at ten?" Taylor asked her. "We may need to ask him a question or two."

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"He wasn't in any shape to go snooping last night," she said. "We can't just go accusing patients of breaking and entering." Taylor nodded. The man had done nothing while he was here except sleep, and he'd done it loudly enough for Taylor to hear it all the way from here in the staff break room. "Everybody knows the senator's coming to town Monday to encourage a good vote," Blaze said. "Maybe something's up with that. A few people don't want the hospital here." "So why check out Karah Lee's file? Few people know Kemper is Karah Lee's father." Taylor understood that Karah Lee desperately needed to separate herself from her father's overbearing shadow. When she came to Hideaway this past summer, she purposely kept her father's name quiet. A state senator could garner a lot of attention, and this particular state senator tended to be outspoken and controversial. He was a rogue. A popular rogue with the citizens of Missouri at the moment, but one from whom Karah Lee preferred to distance herself. She had deep scars from past history. "There's no evidence of a break-in," Blaze said. "The doors and windows were locked when I arrived. Unless the intruder had a key, it would be impossible to lock a door or window behind him." "I'll call the sheriff," Taylor said. "We'll check it out." The nurse opened the door and stuck her head in. "First patient's ready, Karah Lee." *** Karah Lee was taking a rare break with a second cup of coffee at her desk when the nurse, Jill Cooper, slipped through the door and closed it behind her, holding a chart in her hand. "You say the name of your patient last night was Jerrod Houston?" Karah Lee set her cup down and pushed back from the desk. "Is he here for his appointment?" Jill placed the chart in front of her. "Young guy, maybe late twenties, early thirties, good looking, black hair?" "Yes." Karah Lee felt a renewed spurt of anxiety. "What's wrong?" Jill leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Did he show you any kind of ID? Insurance card or anything?" "He was a cash patient." "I don't think his name's Jerrod Houston." This can't be happening. The whole thing was getting more and more spooky. "Why would he lie about his name?" Especially after stalking her for two days? Jill slid into a chair across from Karah Lee. "Unless my eyes are deceiving me, that guy went to school right here in Hideaway. He was a few grades behind my kid sister. He always followed her around like a puppy dog — like half the boys in school. He was quiet, even morose. He flushed bright red whenever she talked to him." "If you don't remember his name, why don't you think he's using the right one?" Karah Lee asked. "Houston is a memorable name. Maybe I'll give Noelle a call when things slow down a little and see if she can tell me anything."

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Karah Lee picked up the chart. "You want me to accompany you?" Jill asked. Karah Lee hesitated. Yes, she did. What was this man up to? "I'll be fine, Jill. I'm sure there's a logical explanation." *** Taylor knelt on the ground outside the back door of the clinic beside Fawn Morrison, checking for footprints, fingerprints, tool marks on the lock or signs of forced entry on one of the windows. The clinic wasn't the most secure place in town, even after the June debacle. The general consensus had been that no alarm system could have kept that armed hit man from forcing his way into the building. So far, though, there'd been no sign of illegal entry. "When you spent the night here last summer," Taylor asked Fawn, "you slipped in this door before they locked up that night, right?" "That's right. Karah Lee's still avoiding you, isn't she?" "Let's focus on the issue at hand, okay? How did you escape Blaze's notice that night when he locked up?" "I hid in the hot water closet in the bathroom, but he checks that now." The girl gave Taylor an impudent grin. "Karah Lee doesn't like me talking about you, either." When Karah Lee agreed to be Fawn's guardian this past summer, she couldn't have realized what she was getting into. Not only had Fawn been a sixteen-year-old runaway from an impossible home life, but she had become a fugitive when she witnessed a murder in Branson. Sick and frightened, she had ended up here at the clinic. If not for Karah Lee, she would be dead now. Karah Lee was the only person Taylor could think of who was headstrong enough to handle this independent child, but they had formed a strong bond. "She needs more time," he said at last, glancing up toward the second story windows. Could someone have found a place to hide when the clinic was open, then done their snooping after it closed? The sheriff had fingerprinted all the computer terminals. It could be awhile before they had any results. "She loves you, you know," Fawn said softly. "She's been bummed ever since you broke up." "I didn't do the breaking up," he muttered. "She's got issues with marriage. Now she won't even let me go out on a date with this cute guy from church. I mean, she acts as if I'm going to elope or something." "I'm sure you told her what you thought about that," Taylor said. "I told her not to take her disappointing love life out on me. Just because she's too scared to make a commitment doesn't mean —" "Ouch! Don't you think that's a little rough?" Fawn grimaced at him. "I don't know why I try so hard for you. If you and Karah Lee get married, that'll make you my foster father. Then it'll be two against one." "That'll even the odds a little."

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She was silent for a few moments, then said, "So you wouldn't mind putting up with me if you marry Karah Lee? You won't make me leave?" She tried to sound casual about the question, but Taylor heard the vulnerability beneath the words, and he saw the carefully averted gaze as she waited for an answer. Time to be serious. "You know I lost my son, don't you?" She nodded, looking up at him, her blue eyes narrowed against the sunlight that had edged over the top of the building. "Well, I would've liked more kids. I have this theory that once you've had children, there's always space in your heart for more. At least that's the way I feel." She studied his expression for a few seconds, eyes still narrowed. "You're saying I'm a child?" He grinned. "What I'm saying is that you would always be a welcome part of my family." Something in her expression relaxed. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Dad. Now if you'll just convince Mom what a happy family we could be." He remembered something Karah Lee had said a few weeks ago. When she and Shona were growing up, they never seemed to have a happy family because someone was always fighting. If he and Karah Lee married, would they have a happy family?

Chapter Five Jerrod Houston was settled on the exam bed in two when Karah Lee forced an expression of calm assurance on her face and entered with his chart. His lightly tanned face was no longer splotchy. He was a good-looking man, with a strong jawline, high cheekbones and dark gray eyes beneath well-arched, dark brows. Who was he, really? She should have called Taylor to meet her here last night. The guy could be a serial killer, for all she knew. Killers had found this tiny lakeside town before. "Sorry about last night," Jerrod said. His voice was full and mellow, no sign of wheezing or hoarseness. "For being sick?" She set his chart onto the desk, stalling for time, willing her heart to stop its racing. "Don't apologize for keeping us in business. How are you feeling today?" He shrugged. "It took a loud alarm clock to get me here." "That isn't unusual. Allergies can do that, and so can some of the medication I gave you last night." She studied his features more closely. Of course, she didn't know the man, but he wasn't making a lot of eye contact this morning. Shy? Or did he have a hidden agenda? Why had she rejected Jill's offer to accompany her in here? And why was she suddenly so frightened by him? Despite her fear, he still looked familiar. Was it possible she'd seen him somewhere before? "I heard an interesting rumor today." She paused and swallowed. Did she really want to get into this? "You know how rumors are in small towns, don't you?" He blinked, then nodded. His eyes narrowed slightly, and she heard a momentary pause in his breathing. "You've…lived in a small town before?" she asked.

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"Sure have." Leave it alone, Karah Lee. Let someone else handle it. But she had never been one to back away from a confrontation, and she wasn't going to go all skittish now. "This one, maybe?" He looked up at her. "Does it matter where I grew up, Dr. Fletcher?" She flinched at the sudden chill in his expression. Don't show the fear. "Karah Lee," she said, wondering if he could hear the tremor in her voice. "We're pretty casual around here." He held her gaze for a tense moment. She was on the verge of leaving the room when he said quietly, "I wouldn't know. We didn't have a clinic in town when I was growing up here. Old Doc Glass had an office upstairs, but I didn't see much of him." "So you did live here?" "I don't anymore," he said. "And where I grew up has nothing to do with my allergy attack." She suddenly remembered his comment last night about unfinished business. What kind of business could he be talking about? Why did she get the impression that it might concern her? The look in his eyes when he looked at her? Or maybe the fact that he seemed to have shown up wherever she was the past couple of days. "It doesn't matter to me whether or not you grew up here." She tried to keep her voice casual. "But I get curious when someone tells me his name, and I find out later that isn't it." There you go, Karah Lee Fletcher. Jump in with both feet. Kemper MacDonald isn't the only rogue in this family. "I didn't lie to anyone." Impatience sharpened his words. "My name's Jerrod Houston now, okay?" Every instinct told her to get out of the exam room now and let law enforcement check him out. But her instincts were a little skewed lately. She resented the fear that seemed to attack her at every awkward situation, every off-key word or comment. She refused to allow her fears to shape her life or her actions. She completed her exam, which revealed no residual complications from last night's emergency. "I hear the great state senator's coming to town," Jerrod said as she sat down at the terminal to update his online chart. "That's what they say." She kept her voice casual. "And I hear you're related to him." She typed for a moment, made several mistakes, had to go back and correct them. "It's a small town. You're likely to hear all sorts of rumors flying around." "Would that one be true?" It sounded like an accusation. She pivoted on her stool. "Don't tell me you're a reporter out for a story on the senator's visit. If that's why you've been popping up wherever I've been the past couple of days —" "Did I whip out a recorder and interview you last night?" "No, and you're not going to do it now, either."

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"So you are his daughter? And yet, you don't share the same last name. That might make a person curious." There was a touch of sarcasm in his voice as he mimicked her earlier comment. "But there's a difference," she snapped. "I've never approached you, sought you out, or tried to strike up a conversation with you in a restaurant." She completed his chart, logged off and stood to escort him from the room. "You're in good shape. I'll just have to advise you to avoid nuts of any kind until you're tested by an allergist. I don't think a follow-up appointment will be necessary, but I am going to write you a prescription for an epi pen. Call the clinic if you find you're in trouble again." She left the room, handed the chart to Blaze and went to her office, relieved to be out of the man's presence. *** Karah Lee looked frazzled that afternoon when she stepped out of the clinic. She stopped when she saw Taylor standing on the sidewalk, waiting for her, and holding up a peace offering — a chocolate éclair from the bakery. He'd known she couldn't resist. Her expression revealed the process of her thoughts. At first was the joyful smile that lit her golden amber eyes the way they must have lit at Christmas when she was a kid. Then came the obvious silent reminder, Oh, yeah, we're not seeing each other anymore. "If this is a bribe, it's working," she said, taking the éclair he held out to her. "Better believe it. Where are you headed?" "I'm going home to check on Fawn. She still needs a lot of help on a major homework project this weekend." "I'll walk with you. Anything on Jerrod?" "Like what?" There was an unusual sharpness in her voice. "Oh, I don't know, maybe a real name, where he lives, what he's doing back in Hideaway." Her steps slowed. She frowned up at him. "You sure get around." "I've asked a few questions here and there. Jill put me in touch with her kid sister, Noelle, and she told me Jerrod's real name in school was Jerry Clark, so Jerry would be short for Jerrod." "Any idea why the change of name?" "Could be the fact that his father, Lester Clark, went to prison for murder when they lived here." With a swiftly indrawn breath, Karah Lee stopped. "Murder?" "Now do you understand why I don't like you meeting patients alone at the clinic at night?" Her face paled. "Taylor, I think this man specifically singled me out. I've seen him too many times in the past couple of days for it to be coincidence. I was just beginning to convince myself he was a reporter out for a story, because he asked about Dad's upcoming trip down here." Taylor hesitated to tell her the rest — she was already spooked. But the sheriff would need to know what transpired between Karah Lee and Jerrod. "What is it?" she asked softly. "I know that look. What aren't you telling me?"

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He met her gaze. "Tom ran 'Wants and Warrants' on Jerrod and his alias. There were none noted. But he did find one interesting tidbit of information. Jerrod got a permit for a new handgun two weeks ago." "Oh…" She reached for his arm the way a child would reach for her father, for protection. "Last night I asked what he was doing in town. He said he had some unfinished business. What if Dad had something to do with Jerrod's father's conviction? Or what if Jerrod thinks he does?" "I don't like this," Taylor said. "I know you don't want to be controlled by your father's actions in any way, but you need protection, at least until Kemper leaves Hideaway." She frowned, shaking her head. "I don't need a bodyguard, if that's what you're talking about." "You realize, don't you, that he's probably our best suspect for this morning's hacking, until proven otherwise." "Tell Tom and Greg to increase the security for Dad when he arrives. The only reason Jerrod would come to me — if he's even doing that — is to get to Dad for some reason." He walked beside her in silence, knowing she was fighting fear. But would she admit it to him? No. He was afraid for her, and he knew that she knew this. Sometimes they seemed so in tune it felt as if she could tell him what he was thinking before he knew it himself. When they weren't fighting. Karah Lee wasn't usually the one who picked the fight, he was. He worried so much about her. And it was only getting worse. He didn't have the strength to back off. But if he wanted to keep her in his life, he would have to, wouldn't he? Please, Lord, keep her safe. She's in your hands. And please heal this relationship. I believe You meant for us to be together.

Chapter Six It had become a habit for Karah Lee to eat at the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast after the Saturday morning rush at the clinic. Today the buffet held all the scrumptious delicacies for which Bertie's place had become famous. It included traditional breakfast fare, but their specialty was black walnut waffles with strawberry topping, Karah Lee's favorite food in the world. She was just picking up a plate when someone spoke behind her. "I thought I'd find you here." She stiffened, feeling a shock of fear run through her. Jerrod stood behind her, studying the food instead of looking at her. Was he carrying that gun Taylor said he'd purchased? Keep it calm, Karah Lee. "Have you had more allergy symptoms?" "I'm fine." "Stay away from the waffles unless you have a death wish." She pushed her tray forward, hoping he would take the hint and leave her alone. She placed two waffles on her plate, then drizzled them with fresh strawberry syrup. Within seconds, she saw him approach her again from the corner of her eye. "They didn't have this place when I lived here, but then we never had the money to eat out much when I was growing up." She picked up her tray and searched for a table. There was only one empty, and she made her way toward it. She had barely settled with her food when she looked up to see Jerrod coming toward her.

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"Look, I'm sorry I was rude to you in the clinic," he said. "I'm a little touchy about some things, but you seem to be, too. I can explain." She hesitated, and though the dining room was crowded, she felt physically vulnerable. Still, if he had something to say to her, better to do it here than when she was alone. She nodded toward the chair across from her. "Have a seat, then, if you'll promise me you're not a reporter looking for an interview about Kemper." Or something worse. "I'm no reporter." He settled awkwardly across from her. "Why don't you tell me what you're really doing in Hideaway?" she asked. "Obviously, your mother felt the need to leave town after your father was convicted of murder." "You've been talking to your ranger friend?" "He makes it his business to keep me safe. And while you're explaining, you might tell me about the gun you purchased recently." Amazingly, she lost her appetite after the first bite of waffle. "My girlfriend got mugged a month ago when she was walking out of the mall at night. I wanted her to have protection. You can have the police go through all my things if you want. I don't carry a gun." At this point she wasn't ready to believe anything he said. "Fine. Tell me your story." While Karah Lee sipped coffee and poked at her food, Jerrod quietly told Karah Lee about the tyrant of a man who was given to fits of rage, whom everyone in town hated, and who terrorized Jerrod and his mother. The man went to prison for murder when Jerrod was fifteen. "Why did your mother stay with him?" Karah Lee asked. "Why does anyone stay in an abusive relationship? She was more afraid of being on her own with a hard-tohandle kid than she was of him. She divorced him and remarried not long after his sentencing." "And then?" Karah Lee prompted, aware that this man could tell a convincing story. Was it just that? A story? "And then I spent some time at a boys ranch across the lake." The boys ranch was a place where incorrigible kids were sent for breaking the law. How incorrigible had Jerrod been? "Were you there long?" "Only about six months. I had a pretty bad temper as a teenager." And how was his temper now? "'Why are you back in Hideaway?" He met her gaze. "I remember seeing you here all those years ago." Anxiety tightened a band around her stomach. Karah Lee and her family had loved to vacation here when she was growing up, before her parents divorced. "Mom pointed you out to me," he said. "Why would she do that?"

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"Because you were Kemper MacDonald's daughter. You and your sister were walking on the square with your father. You had all that curly, bright red hair. Hard to forget that hair." He paused, a long, thoughtful silence. "Your father was famous even then. My mother was an amateur photographer, and she took a lot of pictures. She kept a photographic record of your father's career." Time to leave, Karah Lee. This is a case of "Like mother, like son." "Why would she do something like that?" "I guess when a woman is married to an abusive man, she's going to look for someone else to admire." "Don't make my father out to be a hero. He'll let you down, just like your father did." "Oh, I'm not doing that," he said softly. "You don't remember me, do you?" Leave now, Karah Lee. He's unbalanced. "Is there a reason why I should?" "I spoke to you one day when you were in town. I think you were about twelve at the time. I was eight. You walked out of the general store, and I had been waiting for about thirty minutes for you to come out. You were with Shona and Kemper, and you smiled at me and said hello. Shona didn't even notice me, and neither did the great Kemper MacDonald." She couldn't miss the sarcasm, the bitterness in his words, but neither could she miss the sadness of a little boy with a horrible home life, standing out on the street, waiting for someone to notice he existed. "You remember that after all this time?" "Did you know that a picture is worth a thousand words?" He reached back, as if to pull something from the pocket of his jacket, then his gaze shifted to something behind her, and he stiffened. She turned to see Taylor coming toward them. Her rescuer was at it again, and this time she didn't mind at all. *** Taylor was not typically a violent man, but when he found Jerrod seated across the table from Karah Lee, he prepared for battle. "Hello, Jerrod. Glad I found you here. Could I have a word with you, privately?" Jerrod blinked up at him, hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure, I guess. Karah Lee, it was good talking to you." He paused, as if wanting to say more, then got up and walked from the dining room with Taylor. "I've heard some interesting things about you today," Taylor said as they stepped from the Victorian building and across the flagstone steps toward the street. "So I understand." Was that a trace of defeat in the man's tone? "News travels quickly in this town." "Lots of old-timers around here," Taylor said. "I know a few things about your past, but not much about your present. For instance, what do you do for a living?" "I'm a mainframe system designer for a private company in Kansas." Jerrod preceded him across the street. "Interesting," Taylor said. "Computer system designer. So you must really know your way around computers. I spoke with our deputy sheriff, who also knows a few things. He's been complaining for quite some time that our clinic computer system is so ancient we're susceptible to any good hacker who might want to find information about a patient." "Hacking into patient files is against the law." Jerrod's steps quickened as he reached the sidewalk that encircled the town square. "I take it there's a point to this conversation."

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"I noticed last night that you had a neat little gadget in your shirt pocket. At first I mistook it for an ink pen, but now that I think about it, I've decided that could well have been a tiny video camera." Jerrod stared. "In fact, if someone needed a password and user name of a doctor, all he'd have to do is make a doctor come in after hours for an emergency, then possibly use a small video camera to record the doctor's fingers as they strike the keys. Later, since the computer system remains on all night, our hacker can simply use his laptop in the privacy of his own hotel room to break into the system." "That person would have to be pretty stupid to intentionally eat something he knew could kill him on the off chance he would have the opportunity to do that." "Maybe. I'm trying to figure out why a complete stranger would want to hack into our clinic computer just to pull up Dr. Fletcher's personnel file." Jerrod stopped in front of an antique shop on the square — Vintage Treasures — and reached for the door handle. "I'm sorry I can't help you. Maybe you should ask the friendly people of Hideaway a few more questions."

Chapter Seven Later that afternoon, Taylor found Karah Lee sitting on her favorite bench on the lakeshore, watching the sun as it slipped past the horizon. A blaze of red and gold rimmed the trees on the far shore and reflected from the surface of the water. Taylor sank down beside her on the bench. "Security has now been tripled for your father's arrival, and you will also have a bodyguard when your father arrives." Karah Lee shrugged. "Why am I not surprised? Taylor, I think Jerrod is a second-generation stalker. His mother took pictures of Dad, though I don't know to what extent. Jerrod mentioned photos of our family, and I'm wondering if he was issuing a veiled threat." "Could his mother have been a blackmailer?" "Possibly. If so, there's no telling what she could have caught on camera." "I had a talk with Jerrod," Taylor said. "I think he was the one who looked up your information on the clinic computer. He didn't deny it." "I think he was just trying to find out if I was really Kemper's daughter," she said. "How I wish I weren't." Taylor picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water, shattering the smooth surface into a cauldron of sparkling color. "Not all men are like Kemper MacDonald." "Of course they aren't. Some are worse." He suppressed a sharp retort. "Some are better." She sighed. "I know that, Taylor. I have no doubts about you." "I thought both of us had managed to get beyond the bitterness of our pasts."

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"It's hard to get over the past when you don't know everything about your past. My father has lied to so many people, pulled so many strings to suit his own desires that I can't help wondering what he's done to attract a blackmailer." "Why should that affect us? We're still who we are. You know I'm not going to hurt you as your father has. And I know you are stubborn enough to make a marriage work no matter what it takes." She sat quietly as they watched the sparkles of color smooth and deepen across the lake once more. Then she chuckled softly. "You make marriage sound like a lifelong wrestling match." He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward him. "I love you, Karah Lee. I don't want you to forget that. I never thought I'd be as happy as I have been since I met you." "And I have never in my life been as lonely as I am now when I'm not with you," she said dryly. "I'm not sure that's such a good development." "It's a great development. It means we need to spend more time together, not less." He gently touched her cheek, and lowered his lips to hers. For just that moment, she gave him hope. *** Karah Lee had almost reached her cottage Saturday evening when Jerrod Houston stepped from the shadows like a silent wraith. Then he spoke. "The man who lived with my mother and me wasn't my father." She stopped, too startled to feel fear immediately. "Jerrod, what are you —" "And the reason I remember the day I saw you was because it was the only time my own sister ever voluntarily spoke to me." Karah Lee's lungs failed her for a brief few seconds. "Your mother told you that?" This can't be happening. This man needs to be locked up in a psych ward. "She never told your father about me," he continued, "but she never wanted me to think I belonged to that jerk she was married to." "You can't expect me to believe you." She turned from him, suddenly desperate to escape. He reached for her hand. She jerked away. "What I think you've been telling me today is that you've stalked me ever since I was twelve, and that your mother stalked my father. Look, I don't know who you really are, or what you're up to, but I want you to stay away from me!" "Please, just listen to me for a minute." "Get away!" She scrambled to keep an arm's length between them. "I'm not going to hurt you, Karah Lee! Please, all I ask is that you look at a couple of pictures. I've tried to find the courage to show them to you sooner, but I couldn't do it. I'm doing it now. If you don't believe me after you've seen them, then I'll never bother you again." She glanced toward the door of the cottage. She couldn't go in there and possibly lead him to Fawn. "You promise you'll leave me alone?"

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"I promise." There was no threat in his expression, only sadness that looked weathered into his face. In his hands he held a billfold, and from it he slid a photo of a beautiful, dark haired woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. "Does this person look familiar to you?" It's a trick, Karah Lee. People can do anything to photographs these days. "That looks like Dad's second wife, Irene. Anyone could have taken this picture." "Look closer," he said handing her the photo. "That woman's name was Margaret. She was my mother. She died three months ago. She always wanted me to get to know my father and sisters, and I don't have any other relatives on her side. Except for you and Shona and Kemper, I don't have any family. You can't possibly understand how that feels." "Look, you can't just go claiming family ties because of a resemblance in a picture." "I've seen a photo of your mother with you when you were little. Our father apparently had very specific tastes." He pulled another snapshot from the billfold and handed it to her, as well. "That's my mother and me when I was ten." Karah Lee took it, then caught her breath. Despite the gender difference, this could be a photo of Shona as a child, with the dark hair, the dark gray eyes, even the same tilt of the eyebrows. No wonder she'd thought he looked familiar. "I'm not the son of a murderer," Jerrod said. "I'm the illegitimate son of a philandering politician, which is almost as bad. I dare you to confront our father with that picture." *** State Senator Kemper MacDonald was a tall, broad-shouldered lion of a man with a thick mane of auburn hair liberally streaked with silver. He had piercing, golden brown eyes and could usually undermine Karah Lee's confidence with a few well-chosen words. Early Sunday evening, however, he sat in the executive suite above the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast lodge as he stared at the two photographs on the coffee table in front of him. His typically ruddy complexion paled. "Where did you get these?" he asked. "From him." She pointed to the little boy in the picture. "He's four years younger than me." Kemper looked up at her sharply, his eyes narrowing. "The worst thing about this is that I can't help wondering how many other people might approach me in the next few years claiming to be a sibling of mine," she said. Kemper closed his eyes and slumped back in the club chair. "Where is he now?" "I don't know if he's even still in town." "Trust me, he didn't come all the way here just to give you a couple of pictures. He's somewhere in Hideaway, and he'll be sure to show up sometime during my speech tomorrow. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to see his mother here, as well." "His mother is dead." Pain flashed briefly across Kemper's expression.

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"Did you love her?" He rubbed his face wearily, sighed, shook his head. "I barely knew the woman." She could tell he was lying. "You slept with a woman you barely knew?" He glared at her. "How many others has he told about this?" "Jerrod didn't say." "Haven't you learned by now that people come out of the woodwork when they think you have something they want? It would take more than a couple of snapshots to convince me of any paternal responsibility. Those things could be doctored." "Haven't you seen how much he looked like Shona at that age? The family resemblance is still there, Dad. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think he's telling the truth." Kemper stood up and strode into the kitchenette. Karah Lee followed him. "You haven't denied having an affair with Margaret." He reached into the cabinet for a couple of mugs. "Coffee?" "This isn't something you can ignore or dismiss." He put the mugs down on the counter. "If you hadn't gone into medicine, you would have made a good prosecuting attorney." "You haven't denied the possibility that Jerrod could be your son." "No, Your Honor, I have not," Kemper drawled with that Missouri twang for which he was well known. "And if I'm going to keep my reputation, it would behoove me to keep my mouth shut about it." "So you're telling me your political career is more important to you than your family." "I didn't say that." She collected the photographs from the coffee table and left the suite without another word.

Chapter Eight Karah Lee stood beside her sister, Shona Tremaine, slightly apart from the crowd Monday morning at the park. It seemed as if all of Hideaway and perhaps half of Branson had congregated to hear their father endorse Hideaway Clinic to be designated in the future as a hospital. His voice boomed from all the strategically placed speakers, and he looked polished, as usual. "Did you select his suit for him?" Karah Lee asked Shona under the cover of his words. "And write his speech and arrange for lodging and prompt him on the ride down?" "Watch it," Shona said, reaching up to tame several strands of black hair that blew in the breeze. "Your claws are showing again." "Why do you still let him dominate your life the way he does?"

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"You should talk. You seldom even see him, but your resentment of him affects everything you do." "He broke up your marriage," Karah Lee said. Shona gave a quiet sigh, her dark gaze automatically studying the crowd with all the focus of a secret service agent. "I broke up my marriage. I made the wrong choices. I have only myself to blame." "Have you seen Geoff lately?" "Every night on the news channel. He's an anchorman now." "When is the divorce final?" Karah Lee asked. Even grimacing, with the sun in her face, Shona was a stunningly attractive woman, whose appearance concealed well her thirty-eight years. "There's been no date set. I'm tired of being reminded about the divorce. I'm not pushing it, and neither is Geoff. Let it rest. If you'd stop blaming Dad and get on with your own life —" "I'm getting on with it." And it was true. Although Taylor didn't know it, their discussion had stayed with her. She'd sat with him on that same bench so many times, arguing and debating, sharing and praying together. She hadn't realized it so clearly until last night, but they had begun forming a strong bond months ago. A bond… She found herself automatically searching the crowd for a glimpse of the one person she most wanted to see. "Last summer my relationship with Taylor seemed to kick into high gear when we started praying again, after years of avoiding God. To me it proved that a relationship is strongest when God is a vital part of it." "Well, there you have it, then." Sarcasm weighted Shona's voice. "We can blame all our family problems on our godless heritage." Though their mother had been a church-going Christian, Kemper only gave lip service to God when he wanted the vote from that sector of the population. "How do you explain all the divorces that take place among Christians these days?" "Studies show that among couples who pray together daily, only one in a thousand ends in divorce. How often did our family pray together when we were growing up?" The crowd laughed at something their father said, and Shona was obviously relieved at the chance to change the subject again. "If your relationship kicked into high gear, then what's this problem between you now?" "How do you know there's a problem? You just got here last night." "Fawn told me." "Of course. I don't think the problem between us is as big as it appears," Karah Lee said softly. They had something going for them that she hadn't considered. It was what could give them lasting strength. It was God. Kemper roused the crowd to still another round of cheering and hearty applause, then waved at the people and stepped down from the bandstand. Karah Lee finally caught sight of Taylor, and to her shock she saw Jerrod with him. As Kemper continued to wave at the crowd, Taylor and Jerrod approached him. "Warning," she said to Shona. "Fireworks about to erupt."

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Shona nudged her arm. "Come with me and be amazed." She led the way through the dispersing crowd toward their father. "Are you a glutton for punishment?" Karah Lee exclaimed. "Dad and I had a talk last night after you showed him those pictures. He's actually eager to meet his son. He wants to take responsibility for what he did." "That wasn't what he told me." "You don't have a lot of patience. You left before he even had a chance to think about it." She turned her attention to Jerrod as they approached the men. "So this is our long lost brother," she said, ever in control in even the most awkward of situations as she took Jerrod's hand. *** As Kemper MacDonald drew his son aside, Taylor took Karah Lee by the arm. "Could we talk for a few minutes before you go to work?" She glanced toward her father and hesitated, as if she thought she might have to intervene in a fight. "They'll be fine," he said. Finally, she relented and walked with him. "Somehow I get the feeling I've missed out on some interesting action." "You could say that. To begin with, your brother finally admitted this morning to hacking into your personnel file, though he told me he did not intentionally eat nuts to make himself sick. He simply took advantage of the situation. Given his intentions — and the fact that he also offered to program security into the system — I don't think there's a need to press any charges. And as for him and Kemper…well, you were the one who got the ball rolling in the first place. This morning your father called and asked me to find Jerrod and arrange for a meeting after the speech." "Did he say why?" "Yes, and my estimation of your father has had to undergo a major overhaul." "He's ready to admit Jerrod's his son?" "More than ready. He told me this morning that he was ashamed of many things he's done in his life, but he's not going to apologize for Jerrod's existence. He wants to get to know his son. He had a change of heart, Karah Lee. People can do that, you know." For a moment she was silent, then she said, "You're right. People can change their minds." "Even someone as stubborn as a MacDonald." "You're pushing it." "Sorry." Again, she walked a few more steps in silence, head bowed, studying the grass in front of them as if it were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

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"Taylor," she said at last, "I've fought hard my whole adult life to be independent of my father's money and influence. Because of his interference in the past, I still question how much of my career I've earned on my own terms and how much input he had on my grades and my school rank." "You are an excellent physician, caring and bright. Your father had little to do with that. He also had no input when I asked you to marry me." She looked up at him. "Did you know that a bond of three cords is not easily broken?" He reached for her hand. "Where did that come from?" "When I was talking to Shona a moment ago, I remembered a verse I chose to memorize when I was a kid because it was short. Or so I thought. I think God had other ideas." "Our bond would have three cords." She gazed into his eyes, and he realized something had changed. He no longer saw the telltale sign of wariness in her expression. What he saw was love and trust. "Does that mean you think we should get married?" she asked softly. "That's what it means." "A bond of three cords?" she asked. He took her into his arms then, not the least bit concerned that half the town was probably paying a great deal of attention. "Exactly." Her smile lit her whole face. He couldn't resist. He kissed that face, cheek to cheek to forehead to lips. A bond of three. It was the perfect prescription for happiness.

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Bad Boy Blues by Pamela Yaye Handsome Adam Kincaid might look like Renee Scott’s dream man, but personality-wise, he’s the complete opposite of what she’s looking for. The Hollington physics professor is serious, scholarly, uptight—and obviously looking for a serious relationship. The last thing Renee wants is to settle down. What she wants is a bad boy, someone confident and spontaneous to cut loose with—no strings attached. Adam has known that Renee is the complete package, the perfect woman for him, from the moment he first laid eyes on the new college registrar. Can he convince her that a long-term relationship with him would be anything but boring?

Chapter One “Adam Kincaid’s a hottie, but he’s definitely not my type,” Renee Scott announced, coiling the phone cord around her fingers. As she leaned back in her leather swivel chair, she glanced outside her office window. Willow trees shielded the Hollington campus from the blistering sun and students rushed around at the same frantic pace as commuters at Grand Central station. “Really, Kyra, I don’t know what you were thinking setting us up. We have absolutely nothing in common.” “You can’t expect Adam to be like all those L.A. guys you dated,” Kyra Dixon admonished, her voice losing some of its cheer. “He’s nice and—” “That’s the problem. I don’t want nice. I want someone wild and spontaneous.” “Bad boys don’t commit, Renee.” “Good, because I’m not interested in settling down.” Staring at her desk calendar, she mentally reviewed her last two dates with the esteemed college professor. They lacked spice, pizzazz, flavor, and their conversations were plagued with long, awkward silences. “I’m looking for a confident, take-charge guy who isn’t afraid to cut loose. Not a quiet, uptight one.” “Don’t be so hard on him. He was probably just nervous. Adam’s had a crush on you ever since you started working at Hollington, you know.” “Lucky me,” she quipped, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes it takes time for chemistry to develop. Give him another chance.” “The bottom line is we’re ill-suited for each other and—” She heard a knock on her office door. Straightening, she spun around on her chair. The color drained from Renee’s face. Adam Kincaid was standing in the doorway, watching her. How much had he heard? Adopting a professional tone, she quickly ended her conversation with Kyra. “I have to go, but I’ll meet you in the faculty lounge at eleven-fifteen.” Without waiting for a response, she hung up the phone. Crossing her legs, Renee watched Adam adjust his thin, pin-striped tie. It was a shame that such a good-looking man was so serious. Attractive, in a scholarly way, the thirty-five-year-old physics professor reminded her of a taller, darker version of her favorite CSI actor, and Lord help her if he didn’t have the hazel eyes, too. Six feet, with fine hair and smooth skin, Adam had been blessed with chiseled features and a hard body. If he ditched the glasses, he’d be even sexier, she thought, wetting her lips. As she reflected on their first date, Renee wondered why after such a boring time at the Boys & Girls Club charity fund-raiser she’d agreed to go out with him again. Because you’re attracted to him, that’s why. Renee concealed a smile. She’d always had a fixation with dark, broad-shouldered guys, and Adam Kincaid was the physical prototype of her dream man.

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Deciding to remain seated, she clasped her hands around her knees. Renee wondered again how much of her conversation Adam had heard. Should she apologize now or wait to see how he was going to play it? Apologizing would imply that she’d done something wrong, and she hadn’t. Having a private conversation with a friend wasn’t a crime, and she refused to feel guilty. But when their eyes met, Renee knew that Adam Kincaid had heard every scandalous word she’d said.

Chapter Two Boring? Adam’s heart caved in his chest. Like a muzzle clamped over his mouth, his jaw stiffened and the muscles in his neck grew tight. Maybe he’d misheard her. The entire college was anxiously awaiting the return of Terrence Franklin and loud, high-pitched voices carried down the hall into the registrar’s office. President Morrow was giving the ex-NFL running back a hero’s welcome later that day, but Adam wanted no part of it. Not because he wasn’t a fan, but because he was more interested in spending time with Renee. Openly admiring Hollington’s new twenty-nine-year-old registrar, he strode confidently inside her office. Instantly charmed by the scent of her perfume, he inhaled deeply. She smelled like honeysuckle and jasmine. Rich, intoxicating, fresh. Then, there was how stunning she looked in her sheer blouse and cream pants. Super fit, she followed a strict diet and exercised in the staff gym every day from five to six. That’s where he’d first seen her. He’d taken the machine next to her, introduced himself and made small talk while they jogged on the treadmill. It was a challenge holding up his end of the conversation, but he’d asked questions, listened to her answers and managed not to make a fool of himself. Adam didn’t believe in love at first sight, and never imagined that he could have such strong feelings so soon, but he did. They’d only been on two dates, but it had been enough. Enough for him to realize that this beauty with the titillating voice and charming personality was the woman he’d been searching for his entire life. “Hello, Adam. What brings you by?” Her light brown eyes glowed like the sunshine flowing through the windows. As he admired Renee’s butterscotch tone and thick, lustrous hair, he thought back to last night. Was she right? Had working long hours and marking too many homework assignments turned him into a bore? Is that why she didn’t want to go out with him again? He’d thought their date had gone well; so well he felt confident enough to visit her in her office this morning. But obviously, she saw things differently. I don’t want nice. I want someone wild and spontaneous. Adam straightened to his full height. Starting today—no, starting right now—he was going to show the Atlanta native another side of him. A strong, assertive side. Before this week was over, Renee Scott would know that he meant business. “Good morning.” Adam retrieved the drink tray from where he’d set it on the side table. “I brought breakfast.” Her eyebrows drew together in a suspicious slant. “Have you been talking to Kyra?” Adam laughed, unwilling to confirm or deny her inquiry. For the past month, he’d taken meticulous notes of Renee’s likes and dislikes and knew what she ordered from the cafeteria every morning. Since he didn’t have a pair of high-powered binoculars he couldn’t be classified as a stalker, but even he had to admit that he was walking the line. “I have pastries, fruit and Swiss cheese.” Adam opened the bag, allowing the mouthwatering aroma to fill the air. “I’m starving,” Renee confessed. “I slept in again and there was no time to eat.”

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“It’s another gorgeous September day, so let’s sit outside. And we can be the first ones to see Terrence Franklin. President Morrow said he’d be here any minute now.” Renee sprang from her seat. “What a great idea!” Helping herself to one of the coffee cups, she rushed past him, saying, “Thanks. I owe you one, Adam.”

Chapter Three When Renee sat down on the wooden bench, Adam almost knocked over the groundskeeper in his haste to sit beside her. Their arms touched, sending his pulse into overdrive. Staring down at her, he wondered if she’d felt that bolt. That charge. It was so powerful, so devastating, he needed a moment to right his thoughts. “So, tell me more about working in the entertainment industry. Did you enjoy it?” “I loved being a hairstylist. Once, I flew to Paris to do J-Lo’s hair. Can you believe it? And, I was invited to the after party, too. There was champagne, caviar and…” Adam chuckled when Renee confessed to passing out after her third cocktail. Honest and unapologetic about her past, she spoke about her crazy Hollywood days and the A-list celebrities she’d worked closely with. “It sounds like you had a great life back in L.A.,” Adam surmised, glancing over at her. Renee licked the icing off her cinnamon bun and his brain went dead. Finally, after several seconds, he regained the use of his tongue. “If you were so happy out west, why did you return to Atlanta?” “My grandmother got sick, so I came down to help take care of her. She’s doing better, but I thought it might be a good idea to stick around for a while. I’ve known Kyra for years, and when she told me the college was hiring, I decided to apply,” she explained, taking a sip of coffee. “I’m definitely going back to L.A., though. I love it there. What about you? Where are you from?” “I grew up here.” Moving in on her, he stretched his arm along the bench. Nice. Now he was close enough to smell her shampoo. “I know all of the best places to hang out, so if you ever need a tour guide, just give me a call.” “I was only gone for a few years, Adam. I still know my way around the city.” “This weekend’s supposed to be a scorcher,” he continued, forcing himself not to stare at her cleavage. “I’m going Jet Skiing with some friends. You should come.” Frown lines wrinkled her brow. “You Jet Ski? I’m surprised, you seem so…so…” He watched her grapple for the right word, and offered one of his own. “Boring?” Renee’s face crumpled like a sheet of paper. “Adam, I never said you were boring. It’s hard making friends around here, and I’m glad we got to know each other.” “Me, too.” Concealing his true intentions wasn’t easy, especially when she was sitting so close, and looking so damn good in those figure-hugging pants. Her scent aroused him, seduced him, made him want to devour her with his lips. “Being single isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. My best friends are all married with kids, and most nights I cruise around on my bike searching for something fun to do.” “You have a motorcycle?” “Yes, a Suzuki V-Strom.” The lie rolled off his lips with ease. “It’s a sleek, black cruiser with silver chrome and more horsepower than a Mack truck.”

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“It sounds like a sweet bike,” she said, flashing him a smile. “I’m going to have to keep my eye on you, Professor Kincaid. You’re full of surprises and I like that!” Adam chuckled. The registrar was a witty, thrill-seeking type who was always up for a good time. That was his Renee. Pride welled up in Adam’s heart. He liked that. And by the time he was done seducing her, that’s exactly who’d she’d be—his Renee.

Chapter Four “Frequency Nightclub is throwing an old-school bash on Saturday night,” Adam said, taking a fleeting look around the campus. Hollington College had a Georgian architectural feel to it and the rustic buildings gave the prestigious coed school personality. “If you’re not busy, you should come and—” “Are you implying that I’m old?” Feigning anger, Renee folded her arms rigidly across her chest. “I still get carded when I buy wine coolers you know!” Adam lowered his mouth to her ear. “I’m not surprised. You don’t look a day over twenty-one.” His voice, deep and strong, sent tingles racing down her spine. What was the matter with her? Why was she making eyes at Adam? The guy she’d called uptight not even ten minutes ago? “The truth is, I’d rather go shopping than exercise, but looking good is all that matters in L.A.” “You’re perfect,” he praised. “Intelligent, lively and incredibly beautiful.” Unable to wipe the smile from her face, she decided there was no harm in flirting with Adam. They were friends, and now that the tension between them had lifted, he seemed more relaxed. “That’s the good thing about being a guy. You can lounge around all day eating junk food and nobody says boo when you gain weight.” “That’s not true. Being healthy is important to me, and I work hard to stay fit.” It shows. His shoulders filled out his designer suit jacket nicely, and his chest was firm, hard, perfect for caressing, and stroking. Averting her eyes didn’t stop Renee from lusting. Adam looked sharp in his charcoal suit. No, better than sharp. Fine. Hot. Head-turning. He’s going to give some woman the cutest babies, she thought, admiring his even skin tone. “It’s almost nine o’clock. I better walk you back to your office,” he said, tossing their garbage into the blue trash bin. “It’s too bad Terrence Franklin didn’t show. I know how anxious you are to meet him.” Renee shrugged. “We were so busy talking, I forgot all about him.” “That’s good to hear. It means my plan is working.” Intrigued, she held his gaze. Her body felt damp, hot, flushed with heat. All eyes, she watched as his mouth closed in on her. Panic ballooned in her stomach and surged through her body like a raging wildfire. Was he going to kiss her? Here? Now? In front of the administration building? “I’m bringing breakfast tomorrow. Same time and place.” His grin was deadly. “Be here, or I’ll come looking for you.” Renee watched as he lifted her hand to his mouth. She came apart at the seams when his lips touched her flesh. Her face warmed and her legs shook like leaves in the wind. Adam stared at her with such longing, with such hunger, Renee felt her head throb. Pound, was more like it. She’d seen another side of him today, and when he smiled at her, Renee wondered if she’d been too quick to write him off.

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“I’ll be here,” she promised, “but don’t forget the cream for my coffee this time!”

Chapter Five “I’d love to take you out sometime. How about it?” To keep from answering the concert promoter’s question, Renee lifted her glass to her mouth. Taking a sip, she glanced around Frequency Nightclub. Bright studio lights shimmered off the hardwood floors, elongated mirrors were suspended above the granite bar and the intimate seating areas had cozy suede couches. Sighing, Renee stared absently at Marquise Jackson. He was the type she’d usually go gaga for but for some reason, she just wasn’t interested. Her friends were in the ladies’ room, and without them running interference, she was stuck with the loquacious bachelor until someone more interesting came along. Someone like Adam Kincaid. Her pulse quickened at the thought of him. For the past four days, he’d brought her breakfast, and had gotten into the habit of sending her funny e-mails throughout the day. It was scary how much they had in common, and when she checked her watch for the third time, Renee realized that she was anxious for Adam to arrive at the party. “I have access to all of the hottest clubs and restaurants in town.” Renee faked a smile. The concert promoter was cute, but she didn’t like the way he was ogling her chest. Adam never did that. He looked at her face and nowhere else. Renee liked that. Made her think the physics prof took her seriously. “So, can I get your number or what?” Considering his offer, she stirred her straw absently around her cocktail glass. Maybe she should give Marquise her number. It couldn’t hurt. And going out with someone else might stop her from thinking about Adam 24/7. After all, she wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. When she rattled off her cell phone number the concert promoter broke into a slick smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll set up something for…” The crowd broke into shrieks and whistles. Renee wheeled around, curious to see who was causing a stir at the entrance. It must be Terrence Franklin or some other hotshot celebrity. Adam had introduced her to the former bad boy of the NFL during yesterday’s faculty reception, and even though he was buff, ripped and wickedly handsome, Adam was the one who had impressed her. Not only was he fun and charismatic, he was one of the most down-to-earth guys she had ever met. He’d brought her a plate of delicious appetizers and stayed by her side the entire afternoon. Then, there was the way he stared at her, as if he were reading her innermost thoughts. A group of men entered the lounge, and when Renee saw who was at the head of the pack, her mouth fell open. It was Adam. Her Adam. But he looked different. No glasses, no dark stuffy suit, no loafers. His five o’clock shadow gave him a tough, rugged look. One she was instantly attracted to. But it wasn’t just his appearance that left her feeling hot and weak-kneed. Adam had swag. Charisma. Sex appeal. He moved like a man who had the world at his feet, and as Renee slid off her bar stool, she noticed that everyone in the room was staring at him. Women drooled, men glowered, and when their eyes met through the crowd, Renee felt a deep yearning in her soul. Renee tried to look normal, unfazed, but her body was inflamed with desire. Tonight, Adam was the essence of cool. She loved his all-black ensemble, loved how casually he moved through space. These days, Renee didn’t know what to expect from the physics professor, and seeing him again thrilled her.

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Breathing deeply, she drained her glass, pushed it into the concert promoter’s hands and marched toward Adam Kincaid.

Chapter Six “Hey, Professor. How’s it going?” Adam felt a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of Renee in a clingy, V-neck dress, his pulse hammered in his ear. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” “They’ve been promoting this event like crazy on Hot 107.9, so I thought I’d come down to see what all the hoopla was about.” Her full, glossy lips curved into a smile. “Thanks for inviting me. You were right about everyone here being real chill and laid-back.” “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Taking a swig of his vodka, he stepped forward until their arms were touching. Gracefully slim and toned, with killer curves, Renee was the ultimate male fantasy. She radiated charm, sensuality and sophistication. “Would you like something to drink?” “Sure, I’d love a glass of Chardonnay.” “Wine’s boring. Live a little.” Adam winked at her, then turned toward the bar and ordered her a tequila sunrise. A minute later, he paid the bartender and handed her the shapely cocktail glass. Their fingers touched, and he saw her quick intake of breath. Eyes locked, they stood as if frozen in time. Her scent overpowered him, and for several seconds he couldn’t think. His mind was blank, empty. “This used to be my favorite song!” Renee exclaimed, swaying to the beat of the music. “I’d ask you to dance, but I bet your dance card is already full.” “You’ll never know unless you ask,” she teased. “Who knows? I just might say yes.” A grin tugged at his lips. “Are you always this saucy?” “What can I say? I like giving guys a hard time.” Adam put his tumbler down on the bar. Enough standing around. This was his opportunity to show Renee that he was assertive. Spontaneous. Hip. Did people even use that word anymore? he thought, leveling a hand over his button-down shirt. “Dance with me,” he said, reaching for her. Her body stiffened. “B-but the dance floor’s empty.” “Good, then we don’t have to worry about anyone stepping on our toes.” As Adam led Renee through the lounge, he noticed the curious expressions on the faces of the other partygoers. Fear and excitement churned in his stomach. He was a good dancer, but he had a habit of freezing up around Renee. What if he embarrassed himself? Or worse…what if—Adam gulped—people laughed?

Chapter Seven Dumbfounded, Renee stared wide-eyed at Professor Kincaid. This wasn’t Adam. Adam was a quiet, laidback type, not a bossy, outspoken guy who made demands. She thought of returning to her seat, but when a sultry Donna Summer groove rang out from the speakers, Renee lost herself in the music. Mouthing the words to the song, she rotated her hips, loving the way Adam rocked his body sensuously against hers. His moves impressed her, and made her wonder what kind of lover he’d be.

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His mouth grazed her ear, and she quivered uncontrollably. Passion kindled, birthing a tingly sensation in her core. A moan rose in her throat, and tumbled off her lips. Thankful the sound was concealed by the loud, pulsing music, she dropped her hands from around his neck. A flood of people rushed the dance floor, pushing them even closer together. Five minutes ago, the dance floor was empty and now it was as crowded as a tourist beach. “I’m going to sit this one out,” she announced, fanning her face with her hands. “They’re doing the hustle and I don’t want to embarrass myself.” Adam put his hands on her waist, preventing her from moving a muscle. “Just follow my lead. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.” Pressed flat against his chest, Renee moved in tune to the music, imitating his fluid dance steps. Being so close inspired visions of kissing, caressing and making love in the middle of her satin-draped bed. They danced until the end of the set, and when Adam dipped her, Renee shrieked with laughter. “What are you trying to do, turn this into an X-rated party?” “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” His voice was level, smooth. Like a man who was used to having his way with the opposite sex. “Renee, you’re an incredible woman who I enjoy spending time with very much.” His sensuous caress along the nape of her neck set off a series of moans. For a long moment they stared at each other intently. There was a hunger—no, a wildness in his eyes that shook her. His gaze seized her in its powerful grip, rooting her high-heeled sandals to the floor. Rubbing her lips together, she watched him, thankful he didn’t have the power to read her thoughts. Her body was on fire. Burning. Searing. Hot enough to light a match. One kiss isn’t going to kill me. And when Adam smiled at her, Renee realized there was nothing she wanted more. Closing in on her, he tilted her chin up, drawing her face to his mouth. His lips were moist, tender, evoking feelings of total pleasure. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right, so intensely divine. Shivers of excitement tore through her. His tongue possessed her, consumed her, filled her with a hunger so fierce she could hardly control herself. Nothing Renee had ever seen in movies had prepared her for this, and she had to grip his forearm to keep from sliding to the floor. Conflicted voices whirled in Renee’s brain as his hands slid slowly down her back. This couldn’t be happening. She was kissing Adam. Adam Kincaid. The man she’d called uptight just days earlier. But most shocking of all, Renee didn’t want the kiss to end.

Chapter Eight “What do you mean you accidentally kissed?” Kyra quit jogging. “How do you accidentally kiss someone? The last time we spoke you were dead set against dating Adam, and now you’re telling me you—” Renee cut her off. “Keep moving.” A sprinter was powering around the corner of Hollington’s indoor track and she didn’t want to get knocked over. “It just happened. You know how these things are sometimes.” “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” Concealing a smile, she tried not to remember how good it had felt being in Adam’s arms. The kiss had transcended her expectations and her heart raced just thinking about it. “I think all those old-school love songs went to our heads.” “Well, don’t leave me in the dark. How was it? Is Adam a good kisser?”

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Is he ever. Renee closed her eyes as the memory of his kiss swept over her. It had been five minutes of pure ecstasy. The professor had put it on her, and she wanted—no, needed—more. Truth was, he’d made love to her mouth and now her whole body was lit with desire. “Renee, you’re glowing,” Kyra squealed, her eyes brighter than a casino slot machine. “So that must mean it was real good. Are you guys going out again?” “No plans.” What Renee didn’t tell Kyra was that they’d kissed three more times at the bar, and again after he walked her to her car. Calling him had crossed her mind, but she didn’t want Adam to think she liked him. Even though she did. A lot. More than any of the guys she’d dated back in L.A. “We’re attracted to each other, but that doesn’t mean we’re exclusive. I’m not hung up on him, the way you are on Terrence Franklin.” Kyra belted out a laugh, but Renee could tell by the girlish twinkle in her eye that she had a crush on the exNFL running back. “Stop trying to change the subject. We’re talking about you and Adam, not my association with Terrence.” “Is that what it’s called?” Renee studied her colleague’s profile. “Don’t play dumb, because I’ve seen the way you check him out when you think no one’s looking.” Silence fell between them as they finished their third lap around the track. “Renee, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you’re the kind of woman Adam needs. He wants to settle down and you’re still playing the field.” “But you said we were perfect for each other,” she reminded. “Isn’t that why you gave him my phone number in the first place?” “Well, yeah, but then you said he was boring and—” Renee interrupted. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I never said he was boring.” “Okay, calm down. You don’t have to rip my head off. I was just trying to make a point. You said you weren’t looking for a relationship. Adam’s a great guy and if you break his heart you’ll ruin him for the next girl.” “We’re both free to date whoever we want. In fact, I have a date tonight with a guy I met at old-school Saturday," she explained, wearing a mischievous smile. "And I have a feeling Marquise Jackson is going to help me forget all about Professor Kincaid.”

Chapter Nine “I should’ve stayed home and waxed my legs,” Renee grumbled, climbing into her Toyota Highlander. Slamming the door, she started the engine and tore out of the restaurant parking lot. What was Marquise thinking, wearing a Lakers jersey to a classy establishment like Dolce? The man had no sense of fashion or proper etiquette, and when she saw him slip the female bartender his business card, Renee faked a headache, excused herself from the table and practically sprinted through the front doors. Staring at the digital clock, Renee considered what to do next. If it wasn’t for her date from hell, she’d be back at Ashton Kutcher’s restaurant, hobnobbing with all of the beautiful people. Instead, she was driving around aimlessly, looking for something to do. Renee wondered where Adam was. The college professor was a welcome change from the men she usually dated. He had a sweet nature, a kindness, a gentleness that most guys were missing in this day and age. Adam Kincaid was hard to resist, and she was attracted to his mind and his gorgeous body. The chemistry between them was real, profound, more intense than anything she’d ever experienced, and at the memory of their first kiss her body flushed with the most delicious heat. It was too bad he was the relationship type….

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At the intersection, Renee dug around in her purse for her cell phone. Locating Adam’s number, she hit Send and waited anxiously for the call to connect. He answered on the fifth ring, sounding dangerously sexy. “Hey, Renee. What’s up?” Excitement filled her stomach and rippled down her thighs. This was the first time they’d spoken on the phone, but Adam was acting like it was no big deal. Like they talked every day. Calm, and back in control, she asked, “How are you doing?” “Better now that you’re on the line. Where are you, beautiful?” She heard the smile in his voice, and felt herself melt into her soft, cushy seat. “I’m, ah…” trailing off, she decided against telling Adam about her date. He’d probably laugh at her for going out with such a loser, and she didn’t want to be teased. “I’m heading home.” “My dinner just arrived from The Tavern. Are you hungry? There’s plenty.” “I couldn’t.” “You can’t, or you won’t?” His tone deepened to a gruff, throaty whisper. “Come over. I’ll make it worth your while.” Renee’s mouth dried. That was an offer, a challenge, one tempting invitation. Thanks to the staff directory tucked inside her day planner, she knew exactly where he lived and decided a visit was definitely in order. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Chapter Ten “I never said all men are liars,” Renee explained, studying Adam over the rim of her coffee mug. “I said most. That’s why I prefer to keep things casual. No attachments, no heartbreak.” “If that's true, then why aren't you off somewhere partying with a high roller?” I was, she thought, glancing at her wristwatch. Three hours ago, she’d been at Dolce, plotting her escape from a loud, obnoxious concert promoter. Now, she was in Adam’s kitchen polishing off a second slice of key lime pie. “Love’s overrated,” she announced, crossing her legs. “I’ve been lied to and cheated on so many times, I have a hard time believing anything a man says. Even Dr. Phil, and I love him!” “A guy would have to be crazy to mess around on you. You’re the complete package, Renee. Everything a man could ever want or desire.” “I’ve heard that line before,” she quipped. “If I had a penny for every time a guy said—” “It’s not a line. It’s the truth.” Sexual tension pulsed between them and when Adam took her hand, Renee had a hell of a time remembering what they were talking about. His touch was divine. Exquisite. Out of this world. Now, if only he’d move his hands a little lower. “If you were my girl you’d never, ever have to worry about me lying to you.” “My ex professed his undying love, but he cheated on me every chance he got.” Renee didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until she saw his eyes fill with concern. Angry at herself for saying anything, she withdrew her hand, picked up her fork and resumed eating her scrumptious dessert. “Another cup?” he asked, tilting the coffee pot toward her mug.

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Nodding, she watched him pour. Liking the way he fit into his Ed Hardy T-shirt and cargo pants, she wondered if he was going to try to kiss her again. They weren’t slow dancing, and the lights weren’t dim, but the chemistry between them was as strong as ever. “Are you going to the alumni mixer at Cork reunion weekend?” “I haven’t decided yet. Are you?” “I will if I can wrangle up a date.” Raising her eyebrows suggestively, she donned a wide, innocent smile. “Interested? I promise not to cramp your style. It’ll just be two colleagues attending a work function together.” “I’d love to be your date, but is that all we are? Colleagues?” Renee struggled for an answer. What was the matter with her? One minute she was flirting with him, batting her eyelashes and licking her lips, and the next she was wary of him, withdrawn, intent on keeping her distance. Her mouth wouldn’t function, and when he came around the center island, her heart skipped a beat. “I’m not going to ask what happened in your past, because it doesn’t matter,” he said, tenderly caressing her cheek. “Life’s too short to waste on regrets.” “I couldn’t agree more, Adam.” Then, she kissed him.

Chapter Eleven Who was seducing who? Adam thought, stunned by the intensity of the kiss. Her mouth was moist, delicate and flavored with lemon. Hungry for more, he lifted her onto the counter, his tongue mating fervently with her own. “You’re amazing, stunning, perfect from head to toe,” he whispered, stroking the nape of her neck. “Renee, you’ll never have to worry about me hurting you. I’m not going to do what those other guys did.” “No promises, Adam.” Inching closer, she slid a hand under his shirt and stroked his chest. “After tonight, we don’t have to see each other again if we don’t want to.” Her words didn’t compute. “A one-night stand? Is that all this is to you?” “Less talking, more kissing,” she teased, rubbing his shoulders. Adam steeled himself against her touch. He wanted her, but not like this. She’d opened up to him tonight, and their bond was growing, deepening. Having sex would ruin all the progress he’d made. And making love on the kitchen counter wasn’t the romantic setting he’d envisioned for their first time together. Renee deserved the finest things in life, and he was determined to give them to her. Rap music filled the air. “That’s my cell.” Hopping off the counter, she pulled her phone from her pocket and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?” To give her privacy, he went into the living room and flipped on the TV. Seconds later, her rich, infectious laugh captured his attention. He peered inside the kitchen and watched her for several seconds. Had he ever met a woman so captivating? So full of life? When Renee ended her call, she came in and joined him on the couch. “Talk about a mood killer.” Slapping her cell phone shut, she smiled apologetically at him. “I’m sorry about that, but if I don’t pick up when my grandmother calls, she panics.”

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“And how’s granny doing?” “That’s Mrs. Eunice to you,” Renee warned, poking his shoulder playfully. “I look forward to meeting her and the rest of your family.” Encircling her in his arms, he pulled her tightly to his chest. “Any idea when that might be?” “We’ll see what happens.” “You can trust me, Renee. I’m not going anywhere.” She lifted her mouth to his ear. “Let’s go for a ride.” “We can’t. My bike’s—” Adam shuddered when her nipples grazed his forearm. “It’s…in the shop,” he lied, stumbling over his words. “Maybe next time.” “That’s too bad.” Eying him, she slowly undid the top button on his shirt. “I had plans for you, me and your motorcycle…”

Chapter Twelve Stone Mountain Park was inundated with the scent of wildflowers, and the sky was awash with shades of deep orange, red and purple. Renee breathed in slowly, deeply, awed by the splendor of the soaring mountain peaks. “Hurry up, Professor.” Gripping the handlebars of her all-terrain bike, Renee shot a look over her shoulder at Adam. “You’re moving slower than my grandpa, and he’ll be seventy-nine on his next birthday!” His throaty chuckle echoed through the valley. Beside her now, he glanced at his Guess sports watch. “It’s time we head back.” A frown pinched her eyebrows. Renee wasn’t ready to leave. Not when they were having such a good time biking through the scenic trails. “Why are you so anxious to leave? Do you have another date lined up or something?” Their eyes connected. His gaze pierced her, made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years. Passion. Hunger. Lust. She craved him, desired him, needed him like air, and the more time they spent together the more she fantasized about making love to him. Adam was honest, completely himself and not afraid to open up to her. And that was damn sexy. “I’m grading papers tonight. Come and keep me company.” “I did that last night,” she reminded, “and the action movie you rented was terrible.” So, they’d made out again instead. His touch warmed her, aroused her, reminded her how good it felt to be desired. Snug in his arms, she’d rested her head on his chest and sighed in contentment as he tenderly stroked her shoulders. When they reached the parking lot, Renee was surprised to find only a handful of other cars. “You’re the only woman I know who looks cute in a bike helmet,” Adam said, lifting it off her head and chucking it into the backseat of his SUV. Placing his hands on her hips, he leaned over, lowering his mouth for a kiss. Renee curled her arms around him, enjoying the way he moved his tongue expertly around her mouth. Before her desire was satiated, he pulled away. “You are such a tease. Just when things get good, you shut it down.”

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Adam chuckled. “Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with you.” Just love me. Startled by the thought, she shook her head to clear her mind. “I don’t want to go home yet. It’s so calm and peaceful here.” Opening the passenger door, he stepped aside and waited for her to enter. “I wish we had time to finish the trail. The view on Stone Mountain is stunning, and it’s definitely the most romantic spot in the park. Next time we’re here, we’ll have to climb to the top.” “Why not now?” “Because it’s almost nine o’clock, and we have to work in the morning.” “You’re not scared of the dark, are you, Professor?” He laughed from the pit of his stomach. “I’ve never been scared of anything in my life.” “Good.” Renee slammed the passenger door. “Now, let’s go check out that view!”

Chapter Thirteen If we don’t get there soon, I’m going to pass out, Renee thought, blowing the air out of her cheeks. “Babe, are you okay? You’re panting so hard, I can’t hear myself think!” Renee didn’t have the energy to laugh. “I don’t know why I even suggested this. My legs feel stiff, and I can hardly climb up this hill.” He offered his hand. “Hang in there. We’ll be there soon. I promise.” Seconds later, they reached the clearing in the forest and a small log cabin came into view. Still holding her, he led her around to the front of the neatly groomed property. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, pushing open the door, “because I arranged dinner.” “Sure you did, and I’m Little Red Riding…” The lights came on, and her voice faltered. Eyes big and wide, she covered her mouth with her hands. A white, thermal blanket was spread out on the living room floor, and plates, wineglasses and food containers covered the surface. “You tricked me!” she said, suddenly giddy with excitement. “How did you pull this off without me knowing?” He winked. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” Seated side by side on the floor, they enjoyed their meal and talked about work, their families and reunion weekend. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” “Renee, you’re a very special woman,” he said, staring at her, “and I wanted you to know how much I care about you.” Blinking away tears, she looked down at her hands. No one had ever treated her with such kindness. Not her family. Not her friends. And certainly none of her loser ex-boyfriends. “Thank you for doing this, Adam. It’s a great end to another wonderful date.” He touched her hand. “It’s been my pleasure.”

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To keep from throwing herself at him, she selected one of the plump, juicy strawberries from the plastic fruit tray. “Want a taste?” Renee popped the fruit into his mouth, and he drew her fingers inside, sucking on them eagerly. It was the most erotic moment of her life, and reduced her to silence. Renee came undone when Adam kissed her. His touch set off a series of explosions in her body. Arching her back, she raked her fingernails over his head and down his shoulders. Positioning himself on top of her, he stretched out onto the blanket, clutching her fiercely to his chest. Breaking off the kiss, Renee shot up off the floor. Staring at the front window, she listened intently for several seconds. “Did you hear that? That scratching sound?” “Nope.” Adam kissed the hollow of her throat. “Don’t worry, baby. Everything’s fine.” “There aren’t any curtains on the windows. What if someone’s watching us?” “Trust me, no one’s out there.” Holding her face in his palms, he nuzzled his stubbly chin against her smooth cheek. “Renee, stop worrying about all the things that can go wrong, and just let me love you.”

Chapter Fourteen When Adam saw the anxiety in Renee’s eyes his confidence wavered. Isn’t this what he wanted? To experience the pleasure of being inside her? But as they kissed he realized it was more than that. Much more. He felt a stirring in his heart, an awakening of sorts, and Adam knew instinctively that he’d never be the same again. This was love. This raw, acute emotion coursing through his veins was love. And tonight, he was going to show Renee just how much she meant to him. “Someone’s out there, and I don’t want to put on a show for some sick, peeping—” He kissed her, stealing the rest of her sentence and crippling her willpower. Caressing the slope of her neck, he eased his tongue between her full lips. For the next hour, they touched and played, eagerly feasting on each other’s mouths and bodies. Lust barreled through Adam when Renee licked his ear. He stared down at her, suddenly overwhelmed by the strength of his feelings. He’d felt the connection the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Instantly, he knew there was something special between them, and now, all he could think about was loving her in the most intimate way. Adam whipped off her tank top and flung it aside. Greedily cupping her breasts, he sucked a nipple into his mouth. Renee clutched the back of his head, holding him in place. Fumbling with the buttons on her shorts, he muttered a curse, then frantically tugged them down her hips. Next came her pink thong panties. Taken aback by the sight of her naked body, Adam stared, marveling at how utterly perfect she was. Kissing from her earlobe to her navel, he used his index finger to gently probe her bud. Slipping in and out of her sex, easing two, three fingers inside her, caused Renee to groan. Adam soaked up the sound, loving the way her voice ricocheted off the cabin walls. Her eyes shut, her head thrown back, she writhed beneath him, whimpering, squirming, ready to fall apart in his arms. Adam needed her in the worst way. Had to have her. Here. Now. Before he lost it. Before reason sunk in. “Open your eyes,” he demanded. “I want to see you come.” Renee obliged, the corners of her lips rising in a coy smile. She rubbed her pelvis against him, as if issuing a challenge of her own. His heart, beating thunderously loud, jumped up in his throat. Digging into his pocket, he retrieved the condom packet, then quickly shed his clothes. Driven by lust, he slid the barrier over his erection. Nudging her legs farther apart, he clutched her waist, then entered her in one swift motion. Renee coiled her legs around his torso as his length filled her. The

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heat, the tightness, the wetness of her sex brought Adam to the brink of delirium. “I’ve dreamed of this…of being inside you…since the first time I saw you,” he confessed, burying his hands in her hair. “You were made for me, and no one could ever make me feel the way you do.” Holding his face in her hands, Renee studied him for several seconds. Adam was the right man for her, and she loved everything about him. His strength, his confidence, how he moved and smelled and laughed. Kissing him, she raised her hips as he thrust deeper inside her. Adam gave Renee what she was craving, fulfilling his own desires as their bodies moved together as one. Increasing his pace triggered her release, and as she quivered softly beneath him, he fell victim to the most explosive orgasm ever.

Chapter Fifteen “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in days.” Resting the case of beer on the patio table, Adam sat in the chair beside his brother, Julius. “It’s the start of the fall semester and things are really crazy at school.” “You missed poker night two weeks in a row, which can only mean one thing—you’re gettin’ some tail!” Chuckling, Julius broke the tab on his beer. “Who is she, what does she look like and most importantly, can baby girl cook?” She can cook, all right. A smile spread across Adam’s mouth as he thought about Renee. Making love had solidified their relationship and they’d been joined at the hip ever since. If his brother hadn’t threatened him with bodily harm, he’d still be at her place watching TV on her queen-size canopy bed. “Remember that woman I was telling you about? The one I work with?” “Five-eight, long hair and fit, right? You said she was a ‘smart, captivating woman.’” Shaking his head, Adam marveled at his brother’s acute memory. He’d told Julius about Renee weeks ago, and not only did he remember every detail of their conversation, he’d memorized her physical attributes, too. “We’re dating now.” “You’re doing a lot more than dating,” Julius quipped, raising his eyebrows. Adam chuckled. “I need a favor, bro. Can you ask your friend Marquise to score me some tickets to the J-Lo concert? My girl’s a huge fan.” “That’s two months away. Do you think you’ll still be together?” “Definitely.” Adam didn’t want anyone but Renee. She was a good soul, beautiful on the inside and outside, and he needed someone like her in his life. “Call him and ask.” “There’s no need. Here he comes.” Standing, Julius beckoned Marquise over. “Speak of the devil, and in he walks!” The men nodded in greeting. “Adam, how’s it going?” Marquise asked, straddling his patio chair. “I saw you at old-school the other night, but I had so many chicks on my tail I couldn’t get a moment’s peace.” Images of Renee’s sultry dance moves flooded his mind. Suddenly thirsty, Adam grabbed a beer and took a gulp.

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“I had a hell of a good time.” Marquise cocked his head to the right, a mischievous glint in his coal-black eyes. “I met a sister so fine, I’m thinking of turning in my player card.” “You said you’d rather die than commit to one woman,” Julius reminded, frowning. “I know, but that was before I met Renee Scott.” A sneer claimed his lips. “That girl can do things with her tongue that could make a grown man cry!” Beer spewed out of Adam’s mouth, pelting his brother’s friend in the face.

Chapter Sixteen Adam’s tongue felt wet, grainy, as if it were coated in cement. Renee was dating Marquise Jackson? What the hell for? To loosen the knot wedged in his throat, he held the beer can to his lips and drank until it was empty. “You know Renee Scott?” Marquise finished wiping his face. “I took her out last week and she couldn’t keep her hands off me,” he boasted, popping the collar of his Sean Jean shirt. “That chick’s one sexy hot tamale and I gave her exactly what she was looking for. I had her screaming my name and…” Adam gripped the arm of his chair to keep from punching Marquise in the face. Adrenaline shot through his veins and if he didn’t get out of there soon, his brother would be pulling him off the lewd concert promoter. Standing, he said, “Julius, there’s something I need to do. I’ll talk to you later.” In his car, he considered everything Marquise had said. It shouldn’t surprise him that Renee was dating the slick-talking ladies’ man. He was exactly her type. A real, genuine bad boy with tattoos, motorcycles and an enormous ego to match. His cell phone vibrated, derailing his thoughts. Adam glanced down at the screen. It was Renee. For a moment, he considered not answering. He was only minutes away from her apartment, but decided to take the call. “Hello.” “Hey, baby,” she greeted, her voice bright and cheerful. “What kind of wine do you like with your steak? All I have is white. I hope that’s okay.” Turning into the Lexington Apartments parking lot, he pulled alongside the curb and threw his SUV into Park. For a moment, he sat slumped in his seat, unsure of what to do. He couldn’t go up to her apartment. Not like this. He was liable to break something, or worse, punch a hole in the wall. “Something came up. I won’t be able to make it for dinner tonight.” “You’re playing another round of poker, huh?” Renee’s sweet, girlish laugh floated through the phone line. “Adam, you can come by any time. I don’t mind waiting up.” “Don’t bother.” His tone was sharper then he intended. Clearing his throat, he stared up at her third-floor apartment, images of their Monday-night date scrolling through his mind. They’d had drinks on the balcony, and when she’d straddled him on the lounge chair, grinding her hips against his groin, he’d seen stars. “I’m going home.” “Oh, okay,” she said slowly. “I’ll bring breakfast tomorrow. Same time, same place.” “Forget it. I have an appointment in the morning.” Adam watched Renee step out onto the balcony. He felt a twinge of pain when he saw the troubled expression on her face. Steeling himself against his emotions, he averted his gaze. Coming here had been a bad idea, and all he wanted now was to get away from her apartment and his memories. “I have to go.”

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“Are you sure you don’t want to come by? You sound—” “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” Adam disconnected the call. And as he pulled out of the Lexington Apartments complex he determined in his heart to forget all about Renee Scott.

Chapter Seventeen Face screwed into a tight grimace, Renee stared down at the cordless phone in utter disbelief. What was wrong with him? Why was Adam acting cold and distant all of a sudden? They’d been inseparable for the past two weeks, staying up late and making love all over her apartment, and now he was giving her the brush-off. Determined to get to the bottom of things, she hit Redial. “Adam, talk to me,” she said when he picked up. “Something’s bothering you. I can hear it in your voice.” The silence was long. “Marquise Jackson was at my brother’s house tonight and he had a lot of interesting things to say about you. Things I had no idea about.” Renee’s stomach turned and flopped. “You should have told me you were dating other guys.” “I’m not… I…” Renee thought for a moment. She had to make Adam understand. Had to make him see the truth. “Three years ago, I thought I met my soul mate,” she began, her voice solemn. “I moved to L.A. to be with Shayne, but it didn’t work out. He left me for his secretary, and married her last year.” “So that’s why you like dating bad boys,” Adam said, after a lengthy pause. “You can keep things casual, and there’s little chance of you ever getting hurt again.” The tears that burned her eyes prevented Renee from speaking. “You were right all along. We’re ill-suited for each other and we’re better off as friends.” Renee shook her head. “Don’t say that, Adam. It’s not true.” “Yes, it is. You want a bad boy, a risk-taker, someone who likes living in the fast lane, and the truth is I’m just not that guy.” When he spoke again, there was a tinge of sadness in his tone. “I don’t even have a motorcycle. I just said that so you’d give me a chance.” Hearing the vulnerability in his voice made Renee want him even more. She enjoyed Adam’s company and wanted to spend all her free time with him. And when they were together, feelings of love and affection grew. Renee started to speak, but broke off when she heard his line beep. “There’s another call coming in. I have to go.” “Can we meet somewhere to talk?” she asked, reluctant to get off the phone. “I can be at The Tavern in fifteen minutes.” “Not tonight. I’m not up to it.” Refusing to give up, she tried again. “Well, can you call me back when you’re finished on the other line? You have the wrong idea about what happened between me and Marquise and I really want to clear the air.” “I’ll try.” But when Adam abruptly clicked off the phone, Renee knew that he wouldn’t.

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Chapter Eighteen “Sir, can I interest you in a glass of ’99 Dolcetto?” Adam swooped the goblet off the tray and downed the drink. The alumni reception at Cork Wine Bar was in full swing and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. He stood off to the side, glancing around the room, trying not to ogle Renee. Her hair was in a tight bun, but in a pencil skirt, milk-white blouse and leopard-print heels, she looked like a naughty librarian. Adam had two choices. Pretend he didn’t see her, or go over and say hello. Ignoring her seemed puerile, but he didn’t want to look desperate. Bad boys didn’t chase down women. Not even beautiful ones like Renee Scott. And after their argument the other night, it was important he keep his distance. Hang back. Play it cool. Hell, let her chase him for once. Decision made, he worked the room, talking and laughing with all of the esteemed guests in attendance. Adam caught Renee staring at him, and felt himself go hard. Only a few nights ago, they’d made love out on her balcony and he couldn’t shake the images from his mind. She’d clamped her legs around his neck, drawing him lower, deeper, and screamed his name as his tongue pulsed deep inside her sex. “Adam, I’ve been looking all over for you!” Someone called his name, but the voice didn’t belong to Renee. Concealing his disappointment, he turned and greeted his colleague. “Hi, Vivian, how are you?” “We haven’t talked since the charity fund-raiser and I was hoping you could give me some feedback.” Fluttering her eyelashes, she stepped forward and snaked an arm through his. “What were your impressions of the event?” Renee looked stunning in her strapless burgundy gown, he thought, remembering the black-tie fund-raiser. “The program ran long, but all in all, it was a great night. I certainly had no complaints.” Adam didn’t know how it had happened, but they’d moved in front of the small raised stage, just inches away from Kyra and Renee. Her fragrant perfume filled his nostrils and when Renee touched his arm, the quickfire beat of his heart drummed in his ears. “It’s good to see you both,” he said. “This is a really classy affair, Kyra. Well done.” The light in Renee’s eyes faded, but he pretended not to notice. Their argument had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and the more he thought about what Marquise said, the more determined he was to move on— without Renee. “Adam, my goblet’s empty,” Vivian trilled. “Let’s go to the bar and grab another.” Happy to leave, he turned away, but not before seeing the malicious expression that fell across Renee’s face. The heat of her stare pricked his flesh, and instantly made him feel guilty for being with Vivian. It’s true what they say, he thought, striding off. A beautiful woman does make a single guy more appealing.

Chapter Nineteen “That was awkward,” Kyra said, glancing at Renee. “What’s going on with you two?” “We’re good. At least I thought we were. We made love and then—” “You slept with Adam!” Renee jabbed her in the side. “Speak louder. I don’t think President Morrow heard you.”

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Kyra apologized, but her eyes were glowing with excitement. “How did a few accidental kisses lead to you guys making love?” “I was completely wrong about him,” she confessed, after describing the romantic night they shared in the cabin. “Adam’s fun and spontaneous and he makes me laugh.” Renee surveyed the scene across the room. Looking very soigné in a camel coat and dark pants, Adam stood against the bar, chatting with the curvy African dance teacher. Ripe with anger, she fixed the couple with an icy stare. Why was Adam trying to make her jealous? Surely he wasn’t still angry about what that loser Marquise said, was he? When Renee saw him exit the room a few minutes later, she made her move. “Adam, wait up! We need to talk.” He glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t stop walking down the corridor. As if she hadn’t spoken, he pushed open the door to the men’s room and stalked inside. Renee charged in after him. “I never imagined we’d have this conversation in the john, but if you’re game, so am I.” “You can’t come in here.” “Just watch me.” After locking the door, she whipped around to face him. “I’ll leave once we straighten a few things out. Starting with why you stood me up tonight. I waited over an hour, but you didn’t show.” “I decided to come to the party solo,” he said, averting his gaze. “Now, would you please leave? I need to use the facilities. Alone.” “Go on, I’m not stopping you.” Head slanted to the right, she lowered her eyes with calculated slowness. “Adam, I don’t know why you’re being so uptight. It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.” “Why are you here?” he spat, scratching his chin. “It’s over between us and as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing more to say.” “You and I weren’t a couple when I went out with—” “That’s not the point. You should have been honest with me. If I knew you were messing around with other guys, I never would have asked you out.” Taking exception to his tone, she propped her hands on her hips. “Nothing happened between me and Marquise that night. Why don’t you believe me?” His hazel eyes, dark with pain and anger, narrowed dangerously. “Because he said you slept together.”

Chapter Twenty Renee burst out laughing. Laughed so hard her vision blurred and her mouth ached. “You’re joking, right?” Adam shook his head. “Marquise said you were all over him. Said you practically begged him to make love to you that night.” “Well, he lied. It never happened. I left the restaurant before our appetizers arrived and I haven’t seen or talked to the creep since.” “Then why would he tell me that you were lovers?”

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She brushed aside his concerns with a shrug. “Marquise probably saw us together at Old-School Saturday, and decided to stick it to you because I refused to go out with him again. Honestly, I don’t know what his reasons are for lying, and I don’t care—” “I’m too old to play this ‘he said, she said’ game,” Adam announced, sticking his hands into his jacket pocket and jostling the coins inside. “I hate to admit it, but you were right from day one. We have no business dating each other.” “And what spurred this sudden change of heart?” Examining him, she allowed her eyes to glide over his chest and down his legs. “Just the other night, you were moaning my name in bed, and now you want to break up?” “I won’t share you, Renee.” She met his gaze. “You won’t have to.” “Are you sleeping with…other guys?” “No.” Her legs quivered as she crossed the room toward him. His cologne drifted over her, reminding her of all the times they’d kissed and touched and held each other close. “Adam, if I can’t have you, then I don’t want anyone.” “I want to spend my life with you, but if you can’t make a commitment to me, right here, right now, then we should go our separate ways.” Renee licked her lips. “Mmm, you’re even sexier when you take charge!” She folded her arms around his neck. “Let’s go to my place. Now.” He cracked a small smile. “This isn’t a joke, Renee. This is serious. I’m a relationship type of guy and I can’t handle you being with anyone else—” The kiss knocked the wind out of him. Had him stumbling back against the tiled wall. Holding him tight, she drew his tongue into her mouth with her own. The passion, the urgency and the spontaneity of the moment thrilled her, but more than anything, she wanted Adam’s undying love. “Being with you feels like the most natural thing in the world.” Confident that he would understand, she spoke truthfully, straight from the heart. “You make me feel loved and respected and I find myself wondering what it would be like to be Mrs. Adam Kincaid.” Adam raised an eyebrow. “Is that a proposal?” “It is,” she said, nibbling on his bottom lip, “as long as you get that Suzuki motorcycle, and a pink helmet for me!”

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Yuletide Peril by Terri Reed Tabitha Grant can’t deny she has feelings for her boss—handsome, successful, charismatic sports agent Jonathan Spangler. But she’d never compromise her integrity or her job as his personal assistant by becoming involved with the playboy millionaire. Her sense of professionalism and her strong faith in God will let her settle for nothing less than a true, lasting love, and Jon is clearly enjoying his life as one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors. But when a man crashes the company Christmas party claiming to have life-or-death information about her estranged sister, Tabby is forced to turn to Jon for help. And Jon is forced to face his true feelings for his assistant, and reexamine his own faith!

Chapter One “You have to let me see Tabitha Grant! It’s a matter of life and death!” The gruff, masculine voice heard over the mingling of guests’ conversations and background Christmas music drew Jonathan Spangler’s attention away from the congressman in front of him to the doorway of the main pavilion area. The indoor event space was right above home plate inside Boston’s historic Fenway Park and the perfect place to host a holiday party. A security guard grappled with a disheveled elderly man who was trying to enter the private event being hosted by Jon’s company, Spangler Sports Management. Mrs. Davidson, the congressman’s wife, leaned toward Jon with a furrowed brow. “Oh, my. What do you think that is all about?” Irritated by the uninvited man’s display, Jon forced a smile. “Excuse me while I find out,” he said and stalked toward the double doors. The harried security guard, a young man with a pockmarked face and spindly arms named Andrew, valiantly struggled to restrain the older man. He grimaced as Jon approached. “Sorry, Mr. Spangler. Not sure how he got up here.” Jon narrowed his gaze on the agitated party crasher. Though clean, his cheap suit, old-fashioned tie and worn Florsheims piqued Jon’s interest. This couldn’t be Tabby’s father, could it? “Are you a relative?” “No.” The old man jerked away from the young security guard and latched on to the lapels of Jon’s customtailored Brioni suit. “I’ve gotta speak to Tabitha Grant. It’s about her sister.” Jon’s gut clenched with a mix of surprise and hurt. Tabitha was Jon’s personal assistant. She’d worked closely with him for nearly five years now. But he hadn’t known she had a sister. In fact, she rarely mentioned her family. His all-business assistant kept her life very private, while Jon’s life was an open book to her. Prying the man’s fingers off and stepping back, Jon said, “Let’s talk outside, shall we?” He didn’t give the old man an option. Grasping him by the arm in a tight grip, Jon tugged him out of the doorway and pulled him far enough away from the entrance that they couldn’t be seen or heard by the guests. “What is this about Tabby’s sister?” “You gotta let me talk to Tabitha.” “She’s my employee. You can tell me.” Distrust flared in the man’s bloodshot eyes. “No! I gotta make sure she knows.”

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Jon had the feeling the guy wouldn’t leave unless he spoke to Tabby and something in his urgent manner sent an internal alarm pulsing through Jon’s brain. “Take him to my suite,” he said to the hovering guard. To the man, he said, “If you go with Andrew here, I’ll bring Tabby to you.” The old man nodded and allowed the security guard to lead him away. Jon returned to his party, casually weaving through the sports players with their agents or managers, the political figures and various other guests who in one way or another were connected to Jon’s business. Jon smiled with pride for the business he’d started on a whim after being discharged from the army. He’d had no real direction when he’d left the military, but a chance meeting with a young hockey player trying to decide his future had changed Jon’s life. He’d offered to represent the young man, had negotiated a sweet deal with the Boston Bruins hockey team and a career was born, for both of them. He found Tabby talking to one of his newest clients, a young athlete from California who’d just signed a lucrative deal with the Red Sox. They stood near the garland-festooned floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ballpark. The two of them made a striking picture. Griffin had everything required of a professional athlete these days—looks, talent and charisma, but Tabby had those same star qualities, too. Tonight she looked stunning and very elegant in a floor-length blue shimmering gown with her blond hair twisted up in some fancy do. The zing of attraction flared through Jon as it always did when he strayed too close to his lovely assistant. Tabby was still as much a mystery to him as the day she’d walked into his office five years ago and informed him that he needed her. So brash, so bossy. And so right. He did need her. He’d come to rely heavily on her business savvy, her attention to detail and the way she made each and every client feel special. Just as she made Jon feel special every day, yet very neatly kept him at arm’s length. The only part of her personal life she’d opened up about was her deep faith in God. Jon admired her commitment to God, even if he didn’t quite understand it. Though he’d grown up going to church in his Midwest suburb, Sunday services were more about social gathering than any kind of spiritual enlightenment. He’d tried in the beginning to take things to a more personal level with his assistant, but he’d quickly realized that not getting involved with her was the smartest thing to do. Tabitha was the kind of girl who captured a man’s heart and didn’t let go. Jon had no intention of having his heart trapped. Ever. He’d seen what that did to a man. He wound his way through his guests, nodding and murmuring Merry Christmas, nice to see you, thank you for coming, as he went. He reached Tabby’s side and touched her elbow. Her attention shifted from the handsome ballplayer who clearly had it bad judging by the goofy, lovesick expression on his baby face. Blue eyes sparkling, Tabby said, “I was just explaining to Griffin the intricacies of living in Boston and surviving the winters.” “I’m sure Griff needs all the advice he can get,” Jon said and then turned his attention to the young man. “Excuse us, please.” “Uh, sure, Mr. Spangler, sir. No problem.” Griff’s neck turned beet-red and he quickly walked away. Jon drew Tabby farther into the corner and lowered his voice. “We have a problem.” She frowned. “What? Are we running out of food or drink? Is the waitstaff not staying on top of bussing the tables?”

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Jon shook his head. “Nothing like that.” He paused. He’d never pushed her boundaries before but the situation warranted doing so. “Do you have a sister?” She blinked and tucked in her chin. “Yes. Why?” “There’s a guy saying he needs to talk to you about her. I’ve stashed him in my suite.” Panic flashed in her eyes. “Who is he? And what about my sister?” “He won’t talk to anyone but you.” Turning, she started toward the door, her long legs carrying her quickly as she dodged her way through the crowd. Jon stayed right on her heels. “Why didn’t I know you had a sister?” “It didn’t come up,” she replied over her shoulder. Once they cleared the crush of guests, he stepped even with her. “That’s odd, don’t you think? What’s her name?” She spared him a troubled glance as she moved out of the pavilion and into the hall. “Beth. She ran away from home when she was fifteen. I was ten. We never heard from her again until recently. She showed up on my doorstep out of the blue.” “Where had she been?” Jon asked, feeling unaccountably hurt that Tabby hadn’t confided in him. She shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s a nomad. She said she saw that spread People magazine did on you and noticed the picture of us. That’s how she found me.” As they approached the Spangler Suite, a private seating area with a clear view of the field below, Jon frowned. The security guard wasn’t stationed outside the door. Jon glanced down the hall, but there was no sign of the guard. At the very far south end a cleaning lady mopped the floor. Where was security? Moving in front of Tabby, Jon opened the door and stepped inside. For a moment he thought the old guy had left but then his gaze fell on the body stretched out on the floor. A pool of blood darkened the carpet around the old man’s head. Beside Jon, Tabby gasped, her face paling. “Is he…dead?”

Chapter Two “That’s all I can tell you about my sister,” Tabby said to the homicide investigator, who’d introduced herself as Detective Carlucci. “I didn’t see or talk to the man. I don’t know what he wanted to tell me.” “Any idea where your sister might be staying?” the detective asked. Tabby gave a negative shake of her head. “I don’t. Since I hadn’t heard from her again I figured she’d moved on.” “When she contacted you, what did she want?” Still feeling the sting from the visit, she sighed. “Beth was having a cash-flow problem and asked if I could help her. I gave her what was in my purse, which wasn’t much. Then she was gone. I really don’t know

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anything more.” Tabby glanced toward the suite where a gurney with a sheet draped over the dead man was being wheeled out. “Do you know what killed him?” “Blunt force trauma to the head.” Turning her attention back to the detective, Tabby asked, “Why would someone do that? Who is he?” “It’s my job to find out.” Detective Carlucci flipped her notebook closed and dug out a business card from the side pocket of her tailored, expensive-looking suit jacket. “If you think of anything else, give me a call.” Taking the card, Tabby nodded. “I will.” The detective moved to confer with her partner, a tall, blond-haired man with sharp, vivid green eyes that seemed to take everything in at once. “You okay?” Jon asked as he came to stand beside her, his handsome face full of concern. The crispness of his white dress shirt against his olive skin made his square jaw and high cheek bones more pronounced. Tonight he’d swept his dark hair back in a controlled style that complemented his tailored black suit, though she much preferred the more tousled way he normally wore it. She resisted the urge to lean against his broad shoulders for comfort. He was her boss. And that was a line she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cross. Not even because of a dead man. She shivered. The creepiness of the turn of events made her skin crawl. “You’re cold. Here,” Jon said and draped her wrap around her shoulders. “It’s just so sad. Who do you think killed him? And what did he want to tell me?” “I don’t know. But the police will figure it out. Let’s get you home.” “But the guests!” She didn’t relish rejoining the party and having to field questions, but doing so was part of her job. “We can’t just leave.” “Don’t worry. I’ll come back and make sure everyone’s had a good time,” he said, his dark eyes alive yet so tender as his gaze touched her. The unmistakable buzz of a cell phone on vibrate reverberated around them. Jon patted his breast pocket. “Not mine.” “It’s mine,” she said, gesturing to the blue beaded evening bag dangling from the crook of Jon’s elbow. Amid such grim circumstances, an amused smile played at the corners of her mouth. Jon was the only man she knew secure enough in his own masculinity to hold a women’s purse without embarrassment. That was one of the many traits she enjoyed and appreciated about her boss. With a rueful grin, he slid the bag to his hand and held it out. She opened the latch and fished out her small red cell. She glanced at the number, didn’t recognize it. “Hello?” “Listen carefully and do not react. I’m watching you,” said a muffled voice, whose sex was indistinguishable. “If you ever want to see your sister alive again, go home and await instructions.” The line went dead. Terror chomped through Tabby but she forced herself not to let it show, even though it sounded like her sister had been kidnapped.

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Quickly, she closed the phone, took her bag from Jon and said, “You’re right. I need to go home. You stay and make sure the guests are happy.” Without waiting for a response, she hurried toward the elevator. To her chagrin, Jon matched her pace. As the elevator doors slid open, she put her hand on Jon’s chest to stop him from entering. She felt his heart beating, the tempo nearly matching her own. Awareness of his proximity sent shivers of a different kind sliding over her skin. “Really. You stay,” she managed to say. Capturing her hand and pulling her into the elevator, he said, “Really. I’m not.” The elevator doors slid shut, blocking out prying eyes. Tabby bit her lower lip. How was she going to get rid of Jon? “Spill it,” he said. “I… What are you talking about?” He grabbed her purse. “Hey!” He undid the clasp, reached in and dug out her cell. “You received a call that upset you. Who was it from?” He checked the call log. Staring straight at the door so he couldn’t see the panic in her eyes, she said, “It’s none of your business.” Reaching past her, he hit the stop button. The elevator ground to a halt. “We’re not leaving until you tell me what has you so spooked.” Frustration and panic vied for prominence in her mind. She needed to get home. She needed to be there when the call came in about her sister. Even though they weren’t close, Beth was still family. Over the years, Tabby had prayed her sister was safe and happy. And when Beth appeared out of the blue, Tabby had wept with joy that God had brought her sister back to her. Tabby tried to ignore the disquieting knowledge that Beth wasn’t like the girl who’d run away. The cold, hard person standing in her kitchen hadn’t wanted a warm and fuzzy reunion, only money. Confused and hurt, Tabby had done what she could for her sister. As she would now. After all, they shared the same blood and Beth obviously needed her. “I can’t say anything,” Tabby said, looking up at her strong, handsome boss and yearning to confide in him, wishing she could slip into his embrace and forget the horrible events of the night. But he was her boss and there was no way she’d ever jeopardize her job or her integrity by becoming just another notch on his belt. Though eight years her senior, Jon had a youthful exuberance for life that made him good at his profession and also a desirable catch. Touted as one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors, Jon had his pick of women. And usually dated several at a time. Another reason she would never let herself fall for him. She wanted a love that would last a lifetime. So far, she hadn’t found it. Jon stepped closer, his six-foot frame crowding her into the corner. “Who called and what did they want?”

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“Please, I have to get home.” He reached out to run his knuckles down her cheek. “Trust me, Tabby. I can help you.” “You’re really not going to let me out until I tell you, are you?” He shook his head. “Fine.” Conceding defeat in the stubbornness department. “The caller said if I want to see my sister alive, I need to go home and wait for further instructions.” Jon straightened, his expression darkening. “Was the caller a man or woman?” “The voice was digitally altered, so I don’t know.” She shivered again as fear traipsed up her spine. “And the person said he or she was watching me!”

Chapter Three For a moment Jon was quiet. Then he hit the button on the elevator control panel and got the car moving again. “Okay, this is what we’ll do. You go to your car and drive home. I’ll wait a few minutes and then meet you there. Unlock a back window.” “But what if the person is watching?” Jon’s smile was grim. “Don’t worry. No one will even know I’m around.” Uncertainty arced through her as the doors to the elevator slid open. She’d never felt so out of control and vulnerable. Jon put his hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be there soon. I promise.” Knowing that to Jon a promise was unbreakable, she nodded and gave him a smile full of gratitude for sharing her burden. “Thank you.” He walked her to the exit. “I’ll make sure you reach your car safely before I go back upstairs.” Glad to have him watching her back, she hurried out of the building and across the parking lot to where she’d left her coupe. The cold winter air had a bite to it that sent chills rattling over her. As she slid into the driver’s seat of her car and started the engine, she silently sent up a prayer that she wasn’t making a mistake by not going directly to the police. And that trusting Jon didn’t get them all killed. Or fatally wound her heart. *** Jon parked his sedan around the corner from Tabby’s small Cape Cod–style house in Newton and walked around the block before approaching. This late at night the deserted street was peaceful and pretty with a new dusting of fresh winter snow. And there weren’t any out of place vehicles with occupants keeping watch over Tabby’s place. Tugging his navy wool overcoat tighter, Jon kept to the shadows as he moved along the hedges to the back of Tabby’s house. He found a bedroom window unlocked, easily gained access and entered. Silently, he made his way down the dark hall, grateful his leather-soled shoes didn’t make noise on the runner beneath

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his feet. The soothing fragrance of vanilla and sweet flowers hung in the air. Scents he associated with his assistant. Her office held the same fragrances. He entered the living room where he found Tabby sitting ramrod straight on the couch in her evening gown, her cell phone in hand and notepad and pen at the ready. So typical of his lovely assistant. Always prepared. She must have sensed she wasn’t alone. She jerked around, her eyes widening as she opened her mouth to scream, which came out a soft yelp when recognition bloomed on her face. Her hand went over her heart. “You startled me. Boy, you’re quiet.” Good to know his military training wasn’t rusty. He removed his overcoat and laid it on the back of a nearby chair. “They haven’t called yet,” she said as she returned to her vigilant posture. His heart twisting at her obvious upset, he sat beside her and took her hand. “We’ll get through this.” Her big blue eyes teared up. “I feel so bad for her. She was always troubled when we were kids.” “Tell me about her,” Jon prompted, hoping to keep her mind off waiting. “She and our father fought constantly. If he said the sky was blue, she’d insist it was red. And there was no reasoning with her. I remember one time, about a year before she ran away, my parents took her to see a doctor. When they came home, she was so subdued and compliant. It was weird.” She shuddered. “Years later I found out the doctor had put her on lithium for manic depression.” “She’s bipolar.” He knew little of the disorder other than it was manageable with medication. “That was the diagnosis.” Sadness entered her eyes. “Unfortunately, her forced peacefulness only last a few days. She refused to continue with the drug, which at the time was the only option. She flew into a rage. Destroyed the house. My parents found me hiding in the closet. And I never saw her again.” Sympathy squeezed tight in his chest. “I’m sorry. That must have been very scary.” “It was. But what was worse was after Beth left, my parents—” She shook her head. “I don’t know. They sort of imploded. We lost the house. Their marriage fell apart. Though they’ve remained married, they aren’t a couple. If that makes sense.” “Like they were going through the motions, but not really feeling it?” Oh, how well he understood. “My parents were like that. They stayed together until my little sister graduated from high school and then called it quits.” She squeezed his hand. “That’s hard.” “Yes.” He still felt the sense of loss, like something precious had died when his parents divorced. They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts when the cell phone in Tabby’s hand trilled. She jerked as if the instrument had bitten her. “Steady now,” Jon said. “Take a deep breath and let it out.” She did as instructed. “Good. Now when you answer it, push the speaker button.”

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She did. “Hello?” A disembodied voice, clearly disguised to prevent determination of sex, said, “If you want your sister alive, bring a hundred thousand dollars in cash to the T subway stop at Fenway Park.” Tabby’s eyes widened. “I don’t have that kind of money.” “Get it from your boss,” the voice said. With a quick glance at Jon, Tabby said, “I can’t ask him for that much cash.” “Sure you can, considering he’s sitting right next to you.” Jon’s gut clenched as he met Tabby’s shocked gaze. How did they know he was there? Unnerved, Jon looked around, searching for some way the caller could be watching. Though nothing looked out of place or odd, somehow the caller must have planted a video feed. Jon nodded to Tabby and motioned for her to answer affirmatively. She shook her head and mouthed, “No.” “Come on, make a decision,” the voice demanded. “Why do you think my boss is here?” Tabby asked. “I told you. I’m watching you. I have eyes everywhere.” Jon spoke up. “You’ll get your cash. How do we know you really have Beth?” They heard movement on the other end. A moment later, a weak female’s voice filled the air. “Tabby? I’m so tired. What’s happening?” Tabby gasped. “Beth, are you okay? Have they hurt you?” More movement and then the muffled caller returned. “She’s unhurt and alive for now. Bring the cash to the stop by tomorrow morning and don’t forget your phone.” “I don’t have that kind of cash on hand,” Jon said, his mind racing. They’d have to call the police and get a stakeout on the T stop. “The earliest would be noon on Monday. I’m sure it will take the bank a few hours to release that amount of money.” “Noon on Monday or she dies. And no cops!” The line disconnected. Tabby’s pale complexion made Jon suspect she was in a bit of shock. He took the phone from her hand, turned it off and laid on the coffee table. He drew her to his chest and slipped his arms around her. She began to shake. Protective instincts surged and a wellspring of tender emotions rose in his chest, nearly choking him. Oh, no, he was going to a place he’d sworn he’d never go with any woman. He’d do what he could to get her sister back. And in the process he would protect Tabby only because it was the right thing to do. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Chapter Four

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Jon had to get her out of this house. It wasn’t safe here. “Come on,” he said, coaxing her to stand. “You’ve got to pack a bag. You’re not staying here.” She drew back. “I’m not going to let them run me out of my home.” He admired her fire and determination, but he wasn’t going to be waylaid. “They obviously have a video feed somehow connected in here. Who knows how long they’ve been watching you. Are you really okay with that?” Straightening her shoulders, she shook her head. “No, I’m not.” “Grab enough clothes for the rest of the week,” he said as he propelled her toward her bedroom. At the door, she paused and glanced back at him. “Where will I stay?” “We’ll figure that out. Later,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. He didn’t want to reveal too much in case the caller had audio as well as video into the small house. Understanding crossed her pretty face and she hurried down the hall. A few minutes later, she returned to the living room dressed in well-worn jeans that hugged her curves and a maroon Boston College sweatshirt. She carried a pink-and-brown-striped duffel bag that was bursting at the zipper. Her blond hair had been brushed out and was now held back with a black headband. Liking this casual side of her, so unlike her normal buttoned-down work demeanor, Jon smiled with approval as he took the duffel from her hands. From the front entryway closet she grabbed a long black wool coat and then slipped her sock-clad feet into a pair of tan Uggs. “Ready?” Jon opened the door. “After you.” They left her house and walked around the corner to where he’d parked his sedan. Once they were in, with the engine running and the heater cranked high, Jon said, “We need to call the FBI.” “No! They’ll kill her if we do.” Jon had figured she wouldn’t go for calling in the Feds. So he proposed another option. “Then we have to call Trent Associates.” She frowned. “The personal security company? We don’t need a bodyguard.” “The Trent team does more than just guard people,” he said. “Tabby, we need some reinforcement here from people who are trained to handle situations like this.” She considered for a moment. “You’re right. But you have to make it clear, no cops.” “Understood.” He drove them out of Newton and back toward downtown Boston. When he pulled up to the parking garage for his high-rise condo, Tabby said, “I’m not staying here.” He pressed the automatic opener attached to his sun visor and drove inside. “Yes, you are. This place is totally secure.” She looked a bit panicked. “But I can’t stay with you.”

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“Why not? I have tons of room and, besides, Mrs. Marsh will love doting on you.” He could just imagine how delighted his live-in housekeeper would be to have his assistant in residence since the two women worked so well together organizing his life. He shifted a sidelong glance at his companion. Oh, yeah, Tabby already had a special place in Mrs. Marsh’s heart. Bringing her home was going to make his housekeeper’s year. He’d just have to be careful that he didn’t let his lovely assistant get too embedded into his heart as well. *** Minimalist furnishings in soft earth shades and the replicated impressionist masterpieces adorning the walls of Jon’s condo brought the same calming serenity to Tabby they always did as she followed Jon inside. A woman in her late sixties bustled out from the kitchen. She blinked at Tabby a moment before a smile burst on her lined face and shone in her kind green eyes. “Miss Grant!” Mrs. Marsh gave Tabby a bear hug. “So good to see you.” She turned to Jon and gestured to the bag in his hand. “Guest room?” “Yes,” Jon said. “Tabby will be staying with us for a few days.” Mrs. Marsh clapped her hands in delight. “Wonderful. You take that bag on in and I’ll be there in a moment to ready the room.” “Please don’t go to any trouble,” Tabby said, a bit overwhelmed by the welcoming response of Jon’s housekeeper. “No trouble at all,” Mrs. Marsh replied. “Are you hungry? Jon usually comes home from these functions starved because he tends to forget to eat with all his talking.” Tabby laughed. “Yes, he does do more talking than eating. And yes, I’m hungry.” Mrs. Marsh led the way to the kitchen where the center island counter was covered with all the fixings for sandwiches. “What would you like?” “Oh, I can make my own,” Tabby said quickly. Mrs. Marsh sighed. “Self-sufficient, just like Jon. Well, I’ll leave you to it while I put fresh sheets on the guest bed.” She bustled out, her ample hips swaying with each step. Taking advantage of the moment alone, Tabby closed her eyes and bowed her head to pray. Lord, please watch over Beth. And let us get her back safely. Thank you for Jon and his willingness help. I would be so lost without him. In so many ways. Spangler Sports Management had become the center her world revolved around. But at the core was Jon. Always Jon. Admiration and affection filled her. She knew if she wasn’t careful the protective barrier she’d built around her heart would crack and she’d find herself longing for the impossible. Jon’s love. He was a playboy and her boss. Two very good reasons to keep emotion and sentiment from entering their relationship. A whisper of movement beside her let her know she was no longer alone. She quickly finished her prayer with a hasty amen and then lifted her gaze to find Jon staring at her, curiosity in his dark eyes. “I’m sorry. You were praying. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” “No worries,” she said and reached for a plate.

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“Were you praying for your sister?” “Yes.” She bit her lip. “I hope she’ll be okay until we get her back on Monday.” “You don’t trust God will keep her safe?” Guilt pricked at her. “Of course I do. It’s just… It’s hard not to worry.” One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “That I can understand.” “I was also thanking God for you and your generosity.” The revealing words were out before she could censor them. She held her breath and waited for his reaction. For a moment he looked taken aback and then pleased. “Okay. Wow.” Tears of gratitude gathered at the back of her eyelids. “I really am grateful, Jon.” He held her gaze, his dark eyes warm and penetrating. “You’re welcome.” The moment stretched as something elemental arced between them. A smoldering flare glowed in the depths of his eyes. An answering flame ignited within her. Her heart jolted and her pulsed pounded. Extremely conscious of his magnetic appeal, she forced herself to look away and fumbled with the sandwich fixings. Getting caught up in the moment wasn’t a good idea. “I’m starved,” he said and reached past her to take a plate, a sliced roll, and began building a sandwich. “I called James and he’s sending someone over tomorrow afternoon.” Keeping focused on her task, she forked a pickle from the jar and laid it on her plate. “You and James served in the army together, didn’t you?” “We did.” “Was he an MP like you?” Jon paused. “How did you know I was an MP?” “It’s my job to know everything about you, Jon,” she replied as she finished making her sandwich. He arched an eyebrow. “Everything?” Her cheeks heated at his suggestive tone. “Well, everything that is pertinent.” “Hmmm. I wonder,” he said and took a bite out of his sandwich creation. Not sure what he meant and determined not to ask, she said, “Tomorrow morning I want to go to my church service. Will you come with?” He choked on his sandwich. “Uh, sure.” She took a bite of her sandwich to hide a satisfied smile. She hated that it took her sister’s kidnapping to bring this opportunity about, but she wasn’t going to waste it. Jon had always declined her invitations to church. But he’d said he’d go with her tomorrow and that could only be a good thing.

Chapter Five

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Jon walked out of the Newton Community Church building and into the mid-morning air still humming the last song the band had played. Who knew churches had bands with electric guitars, electric piano and mean drums? Tabby’s church was nothing like the one his mother had dragged him to when he was a kid. Mom’s church had been somber and depressing with hymns sung to an out-of-tune organ and uninteresting sermons. Today had been a different experience. The pastor had talked about setting one’s hope in Jesus rather than the material items of this world. A theme Jon had heard before, yes. But the presentation of the message wasn’t one of judgment and condemnation for having material possessions, but rather that this world’s pleasures could be gone in a heartbeat. Whereas hope could never be taken away. For some reason Jon found that very comforting. “Thank you for coming with me,” Tabby said as she slipped her arm through his. “I really needed that today.” He smiled at her, liking the way the winter sun touched her golden hair as they made their way across the parking lot to his sedan. “I enjoyed it. I might come with you again if you’ll let me tag along.” She beamed. “Of course you can. I’d love that.” And for some reason pleasing her pleased him. *** Monday morning Tabby was a nervous wreck. All night she’d dreamed of Beth, the dreams mixing with old memories and awful scenarios. She awoke feeling more anxious than ever before. She couldn’t eat the wonderful scones Mrs. Marsh served. Even the gourmet coffee didn’t appeal. Jon was on the phone talking with the bank when the man from Trent Associates returned. Tabby wasn’t sure what to make of the young man with his nearly white hair and tanned skin. He looked like he should be out catching a wave on some tropical beach rather than sitting on Jon’s couch. Yesterday when they’d explained the situation, he’d jotted down notes in a notebook much the way the two homicide detectives had when they’d questioned her and Jon about the dead man in Jon’s suite. Shuddering at the memory, Tabby now asked, “Do you think the kidnappers killed that poor man?” “Most likely. Though why…” Kyle shrugged his wide shoulders. “Maybe he was motivation to get you to cooperate.” “It worked,” she mumbled. “What about the security guard?” “The police found him unconscious in the janitor’s closet,” Jon said as he joined them in the living room. “Someone hit him from behind.” “Poor man,” Tabby said. “The bank will have the money ready by eleven,” Jon said. “What’s the plan, Kyle?” “This is how we’ll play it. Once you get the cash, I’ll rig it with a tracking device,” Kyle said. Tabby frowned. “Won’t they expect that?” Kyle grinned. “They’ll never find it.”

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“Are you sure?” she asked. Worry that something would go wrong and her sister would end up dead gnawed at her stomach. Kyle gave her a patient look. “I’ve done this many times. Trust me. There’s no way they’ll find the device. Plus, you’ll be wearing an audio wire and a video camera.” Jon took her hand. The warmth of his skin next to hers was reassuring and calming. “So then we’ll go wherever the money ends up and find her sister?” “In theory. But we’ll also have a team of people in place to follow the pickup person.” He handed Tabby a manila envelope. “Here’s your phone back. I made some modifications so we can hear the conversation when they call and also do a trace.” “This is all so overwhelming,” she said, feeling a tad light-headed. “We’ll get through this,” Jon reassured her. “So when they call, what do I do after I get my instructions?” she asked. “Oh, you won’t be taking the call,” Jon said. “I’ll be making the drop.” “But they’re expecting me. I don’t want to put Beth at risk.” “They won’t be surprised to see me since they already know I’m providing the money.” “They said I had to be the one,” she said, hating the thought of something happening to Jon, too. “I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” he said, his tone adamant. “Isn’t that why we called Trent Associates, to minimize the danger?” “She’s right,” Kyle interjected. “It’s better if she makes the drop.” “I don’t like it,” Jon said as he ran his free hand through his hair. “There’s no way to control the situation. We should call the FBI.” Jon’s obvious upset and desire to protect her touched and pleased Tabby deeply. She squeezed his hand. “I trust God will protect me.” Jon met her gaze. Worry reflected in his dark eyes. “I wish I had that kind of faith.” “You could,” she said softly, sensing the need to tread lightly. She didn’t want to push him to believe. He needed to want it from his heart. “God is waiting for you to invite Him in.” For a moment Jon stared at her as if trying to comprehend her words. Then he brought her knuckles to his lips and placed a gentle kiss there. “Let’s hope your trust isn’t misplaced.” “It’s not,” she whispered, her eyes riveted to his well-formed mouth. Longing to lean closer and kiss him hit her like a blast of winter air, shocking in its intensity. His gaze held hers, his eyes darkening as if he could read her thoughts. Heat rose up her neck but she couldn’t look away. For a second she thought he moved, his head dipping slightly. Kyle cleared his throat, shattering the moment into a million pieces.

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Whoa. She really had to get a grip. Jon was her boss. And getting involved with him was not on her list of goals in life. No matter how much her heart wished otherwise. *** “Please, be careful,” Jon said to Tabby before she left the safety of the plain white van parked a half a block from the Fenway Park T stop. The thought of something happening to her sent dread and anxiety rushing through his veins. His stomach was a mess of knots and his shoulder muscles were pulled so tight he could barely move. She gave him a small smile that barely wobbled. “I will.” Admiration for her brave front galvanized him to capture her hand and pull her close for a kiss. She gasped slightly before melting against him. He put all the worry and affection clogging his veins into the kiss. When finally he eased up, he rested his forehead against hers. “Come back to me.” Her blue eyes were a bit glazed as she touched his cheek before stepping away. From the cab of the van, Kyle said, “Can you hear me, Tabby?” She touched her ear where a small, flesh-colored receiver had been inserted in her ear and nodded. “Yes.” Squaring her shoulders, she turned away. “Here we go.” Jon fought the urge to rush after her as she walked down the block. Instead, he closed the side panel door and then slid into the van’s passenger seat. Kyle sat in the driver’s seat and was talking into a small mic. “She’s heading to the stop. Jay, you got her?” A man’s voice reported back, “I’m on her.” To Jon, Kyle said, “Jay’s cover is a homeless guy Dumpster diving.” A video monitor with feed from the microscopic camera embedded in the button of Tabby’s coat gave them a clear view of anyone approaching Tabby. Off to her left a man digging through the trash could be seen. Tabby stood at the top of the steps leading down to the subway platform. People moved passed, but no one came within reach of her. Then her cell phone rang. Inside the van it sounded close enough to touch. Her voice shook slightly as she answered, “Yes.” A muffled voice instructed her to get on the approaching bus going north on Park Drive. The line went dead. Jon’s heart sped up. He didn’t like this twist. Too much could go wrong.

Chapter Six Impatience rocketed through Jon as Kyle conferred with his team, then Kyle said into another mic that would be picked up by the small earpiece in Tabby’s ear, “Go ahead and get on the bus. A brunette in a jogging suit will get on with you. She’s one of ours.” Tabby stepped onto the bus, paid the fare and moved down the aisle to an open seat next to an elderly man wearing a plaid sports coat and a brown fedora on top his balding head. The bus began to move. Tabby’s cell rang again. The tinny sound echoed in the van.

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“Yes?” The muffled voice said, “So far so good. Get off at the next stop.” A few minutes later the bus halted and Tabby got off. Why had the kidnapper made her take the bus for only a few blocks? Jon’s breath stalled. “Where’s her protection?” Kyle was frantically talking to his people, trying to get someone else close. “Stacie can’t get off or they’ll make her. Michael, where are you?” “Riding up as we speak,” came a man’s reply. “Shift to your right, Tabby,” Kyle said softly into her earpiece. She did, showing a man getting off his bicycle for a drink of water. Jon’s breathing eased. He hated being on the sidelines like this, depending on others to protect the woman he loved. The astounding thought ricocheted around his head and landed with a sharp pang in his heart. He did love Tabby. He had for a long time, but just hadn’t wanted to see it. He hadn’t wanted to mess up the relationship between them. What a fool he’d been. “Now what?” Tabby said into the phone. “Go inside the church,” the voice said. Tabby pivoted so the camera had a great view of the big, redbrick church. A tall white-tipped steeple with a black-faced clock embedded in the brick rose toward the sky. Jon’s stomach dropped. If she went inside the church they would lose her for sure. *** Tabby stared at the beautiful old church as trepidation crept up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering how her guards were going to follow her inside. She doubted the kidnappers would buy a random cyclist deciding he needed to pray. “What are you waiting for?” the voice on the other end of the cell phone said. Realizing the kidnapper was watching her sent a ribbon of fear unfurling through her veins. She forced herself to stay calm as she moved toward the wide double doors. The right-side door of the church swung open. Into the phone, she said, “Is my sister inside?” The line went dead. Tabby debated whether to continue to hesitate and jeopardize her sister’s life or to go in. She couldn’t wait for the Trent team to find a way to follow her inside; she had to make a decision. She decided to take her chances. Her sister’s life depended on it. She stepped through the doorway.

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The door slammed closed, the loud sound reverberating like shock waves cascading over her flesh. Someone slid up behind her and jammed something hard against her ribs. A gun! She jerked as terror slammed a fist into her gut. She’d walked into a trap. “Don’t make any noise,” a man’s voice said near her ear. The duffel bag was ripped from her fingers. Her arms were bent back behind her and secured with something thin and tight. A soft fabric bag was placed over her head and cinched around her neck. Panic stole her breath as the oppressive material clung to her skin. She thrashed about, trying to get loose and in the process dislodged the earpiece. It fell somewhere inside the confines of the bag. “Stop it,” the man demanded, giving her a violent shake. “Let’s go.” She couldn’t make out the interior of the church through the dense material as she stumbled along behind the man. Her thoughts raced. Was her sister even alive? Would this man kill her and take the money? Would she never get to see Jon again? That thought more than the others sent a fresh wave of despair and anxiety rushing through her. She didn’t want to die without telling Jon how much she cared about him. Practically dragging her, the man led her through the church and out another door. The cold air outside didn’t penetrate the inside of the bag. She grew dizzy from her own carbon monoxide. She was pushed into the backseat of a car. “Hurry up. Before someone sees,” a second male said in a thick Spanish accent. Tabby squirmed to a better position so that the camera concealed in the button of her coat could capture what she couldn’t make out. She took shallow breaths, hoping to conserve her air. The first man got into the car and slammed the door shut. The driver started the engine. The car vibrated with an irregular rumble as if the vehicle needed a tune-up or something. The driver accelerated and made several turns. Feeling disoriented and overheated from the hot air blowing through the car vents, Tabby had no idea which way they were headed. She sent up a silent prayer. Lord, please keep me safe. Let Jon find me and Beth. Alive. *** “It was a trap!” Jon slammed his fist into the dashboard. “I should never have let her do this!” Tabby was now at the hands of her sister’s kidnappers and it was his fault. He should have insisted on making the drop and not putting Tabby in danger. If anything happened to her… He couldn’t bring himself to even think it or he’d go mad. “Can’t you make this bucket of bolts go any faster?” “Any faster and they’ll make us,” Kyle replied in a calm, controlled voice as he drove, weaving his way through the midday traffic and keeping the dark blue sedan in sight. The soft bleep of the red blip on the monitor indicated Tabby’s movements. They could hear her shallow breathing and the men’s conversation through the small mic. Jon’s cell phone rang, making him flinch at the shrill noise. Boy, his nerves were shot. He pulled the phone from his pocket and pressed the answer button. “Yes.” The same muffled voice he’d heard coming over the line on Tabby’s phone, filled Jon’s ear. “Now we have both sisters. We want another hundred thousand. Tomorrow. Same time, same place. And don’t get any bright ideas about involving the cops.” The line disconnected. Jon relayed the message to Kyle. “This is good,” Kyle said.

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“Good! Are you nuts? They have Tabby now.” Fear and dread clawed at his throat. “As long as they think they can get more money out of you, they will keep the sisters alive,” Kyle said. “Hey, didn’t you say Tabby lived in Newton?” “Yeah,” Jon said as his gaze snagged on the passing scenery. With a little shock he realized they were following the kidnappers back toward Tabby’s neighborhood. When they headed down her street, Kyle pulled to the curb and killed the lights. Stunned, Jon watched as the kidnappers’ car turned into her driveway and disappeared into the garage. “They are going to Tabby’s place!” “Do you know the layout of her house?” Kyle asked. “I do.” A spurt of hope jolted his heart rate. “Good. Because we’re going to rescue your assistant and her sister.”

Chapter Seven The car stopped. Tabby heard the unmistakable sound of a garage door closing. A moment later, the back door of the car jerked open and she was yanked out. Led by the arm, she stumbled up two stairs and into what she assumed was a house. The familiar aroma of vanilla and rose-scented candles twitched at her nose. Stunned, she realized she’d been brought back to her own home. She heard the scrape of her dining room chair being dragged across the cherry hardwood floor. Her captor pushed her down to sit on the chair. A rope was tied around her waist, securing her in place. The bag was untied and removed. Tabby blinked and gulped in fresh air. Her mind refused to accept what she was seeing. Her sister sat curled up in the overstuffed armchair by the window, looking unharmed and wearing Tabby’s clothes. “Beth, are you okay?” Tabby asked. Beth’s smile didn’t reach her bloodshot eyes. “I’m fine. And you? My friends didn’t hurt you, did they?” Surprise siphoned the oxygen from Tabby’s lungs, making the world tilt slightly. “Your friends?” Tabby glanced at the closed kitchen door that muffled the sounds of the two men raiding her cupboards. “I don’t understand,” Tabby said. “Why are we here? What’s going on?” Dropping her feet to the floor, Beth smirked. “What’s going on?” She shook her head. “Tabby, Tabby. I came to you in need and you wouldn’t help me. So I found two people who would.” A deep sense of dread knotted Tabby’s stomach. Beth held a nasty-looking gun. “I gave you what I could. Beth, what have you done? You weren’t kidnapped at all, were you?” “You catch on quick.” “But why?” “Why?” Beth rose and stalked closer. “Because you have so much. It isn’t fair. You have everything they took away from me.” Mind reeling with this turn of events, Tabby struggled to track what her sister was saying. “Who took what away?”

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“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Beth waved the gun as she pivoted and moved to the mantel over the fireplace. She picked up a picture of Tabby and her parents on her college graduation day. “They did this to me.” “What are you talking about? You ran away. It broke Mom and Dad’s hearts,” Tabby said as anger clogged her throat. “Your disappearance tore our family apart. Now you’re trying to shred my life. Talk about not fair.” Beth’s expression twisted with pain and rage. She aimed the gun at Tabby. “Is that what they told you? That I ran away?” Barely able to breath, Tabby nodded. “Figures.” Beth slammed the picture down, breaking the glass. “They locked me up in that nuthouse. And then when I was released, they told me I couldn’t come back. They had to protect you.” Shaken by her sister’s words, Tabby’s mind rewound the years since she’d last seen her sister. The lack of funds, her parents’ arguments and the way they refused to talk about Beth. The gnawing sense that her parents were keeping something from her. With a start, Tabby realized her parents had never actually said Beth had runaway, only that she was gone. Tabby had assumed Beth had left of her own accord. She’d never guessed that her parents had sent her sister away. To a hospital for the mentally ill. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Tabby whispered, her heart aching with betrayal. Why hadn’t her parents told her? Why had they kept Beth’s whereabouts a secret? And why was Beth now trying to hurt Tabby? “Doesn’t matter now,” Beth said. “I just want the money and then I’m gone.” “But this is wrong, Beth,” Tabby said. “You can’t do this.” “I already have.” Beth came to sit on the coffee table facing Tabby, the gun a specter of death between them. “Your boss has agreed to another hundred thousand for your safe return.” Her words were like a blow to Tabby’s gut. “Why drag Jon into this? He hasn’t hurt you!” Beth cocked her head with a puzzled look. “I didn’t bring him in to this. You did when you told him about the call. This is your fault.” Guilt clawed through Tabby’s fear. Beth was right. Tabby had dropped this mess on Jon. He didn’t deserve this. “Don’t worry, little sister, when I get the money, you’ll get to see your boyfriend again.” “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my boss,” Tabby snapped. A sly smile curved Beth’s lips. “Doesn’t look that way to me. You two seemed pretty chummy the other night at that fancy party.” Images of the dead man in Jon’s suite assaulted Tabby. “You killed that man, didn’t you? Why?” Beth rolled her eyes. “William turned out to be a liability. So I had to off him.” “A liability?” A feral gleam entered her sister’s gaze. “William was supposed to lure you away from the party, not get himself locked in a room with a guard. I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t crack if pressed so…whap.” She made an arcing gesture in the air with the gun.

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Horror filled Tabby’s mind. “What about the other two men? Are you planning on killing them as well?” Beth gave a negligent shrug. “If need be.” Dismayed, Tabby asked, “Why would they help you?” “I’ve promised them a cut of the money.” Tabby had a feeling trusting her sister to keep her word wasn’t an option. She didn’t know this woman sitting across from her. How could Tabby be sure Beth wouldn’t just kill her once she got more of Jon’s money? *** “Jon, this is Special Agent Mark Gorman,” Kyle said. Jon jerked his attention away from the video monitor. The image of Beth Grant, the same cleaning woman he’d seen at Fenway, holding a gun on Tabby burned in his mind. It took a moment for Kyle’s words to register. Surprise rocked through Jon as he met the hard-eyed gaze of the agent standing next to Kyle. He was mid-fifties, with dark hair that had a sprinkle of gray at the temples. He wore a flak vest beneath a jacket with the FBI logo emblazoned on the breast pocket. “You called the FBI?” “Trent Associates works closely with the Feds,” Kyle replied. “When an arrest needs to be made, the FBI takes over.” That made sense, sure. But Jon wouldn’t feel better until Tabby was safely back in his arms. “What happens now?” “Using infrared heat imaging, we’ve placed the victim and one lone kidnapper in the living room—which corresponds with the audio and video feed and two more accomplices in the kitchen,” Agent Gorman said. “Our people are in place. We’ll be moving on the premises shortly with a two-pronged approach, hitting the kitchen and the living room simultaneously.” “I’m going in with you,” Jon said, determined to make sure Tabby survived this unscathed. “Sir, you’ll have to wait here. We can’t have a civilian interfering.” Jon held up his hand to stop the protest. “I’m ex-military. MP.” “Then you’ll understand that you hold no legal authority to be involved in this extraction.” “I’m going in, with or without your okay.” Gorman’s eyes narrowed. “I can have you forcibly detained and placed under arrest.” Jon stared him down. “I don’t care.” Kyle stepped between them. “We’re all here trying to accomplish the same objective. Let’s work together. There’s no need to arrest anyone. He’ll stay at the perimeter.” To Jon he said, “Let the Feds do their job. Once they’ve secured the premises, then you can go in.” Better than nothing, Jon supposed. And at least he’d be close by if he was needed. “If anything happens to Tabitha Grant, I’ll have your head.” Gorman gave him a grim nod. “Understood.” He turned to another agent standing a few feet away. “Beck, get Mr. Spangler a vest.” To Jon, Gorman said, “Just in case.”

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The agent’s words hung in the air. A boulder-size lump of anxiety, dread and fear pressed down on Jon’s chest. A deep need to reach out to God swelled within his soul. God is waiting for you to invite Him in, Tabby had said. He turned away from the other men on the pretext of donning the flak vest. Closing his eyes, he allowed the need to overwhelm him and heeded Tabby’s words. And he prayed. *** Beth jumped to her feet. “Did you hear that?” Tabby stared at her sister. Was paranoia part of her illness? “I didn’t hear anything. Beth, please, just let me go. You have some money now. Why can’t that be enough?” “Because it isn’t!” Greed drove Beth now, Tabby realized with a start. This wasn’t about her or their parents. This was about money. The root of all evil. Pity filled Tabby, making her sad for her sister. Beth grabbed Tabby’s hair and yanked her head back. “What is that look about?” A shaft of fear hit Tabby, but she forced it aside. “Beth, I’m scared for you. Scared about what this is doing to you.” Pulling harder, Beth said harshly, “Your concern is touching. But I—” The front door burst open. A deafening noise reverberated through the room and a bright flash blinded Tabby. Terror stabbed through her mind and pierced her soul. Please, dear God! No! She wasn’t ready to die.

Chapter Eight Beth’s scream echoed inside Tabby’s head. Her sister released her hold on Tabby’s hair. Tabby blinked as tears formed from the nauseating smoke curling around them. Her mind tried to make sense of the chaos. Men’s voices filled the air. “FBI! Drop your weapon!” Beth crouched behind Tabby, using her body as a shield. “Don’t move or I’ll kill her!” Beth shouted and pressed the gun into Tabby’s ribs. Through the haze of smoke Tabby could make out three armed men filling the room. One of the men, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, made a gesture with his hand and the men lowered their weapons. Tabby swallowed back the terror that rose to choke her. She could feel Beth working at untying the rope holding her to the chair. When the rope fell away, Beth grabbed Tabby by the arm and forced her to stand. “Beth, please, just give up!” “Never!” Keeping Tabby in front of her, Beth dragged her toward the front door. “We’re going to walk out of here and you’re not going to stop us,” Beth shouted. “There’s nowhere for you to go,” the man in charge said, his voice smooth and commanding. “The place is surrounded.”

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“Beth, please. Do as they say,” Tabby pleaded, hating to think how this could end. One or both of them dead. “Shut up!” Beth fumbled with the doorknob. She flung the door open. “Back off!” she shouted to the agents out front as she pulled Tabby out the door and closed it behind her. “Anyone moves and she dies.” Movement to her left drew Tabby’s attention. Jon crept through the rosebushes toward them. Fear for Jon pushed at Tabby’s mind. She mouthed the word, “No”. He edged closer. Fear for her own safety fled as terror for Jon ripped through her mind. What was he doing? He was going to get himself killed! “Miss Grant, we have the money you asked for,” Kyle said as he stepped forward and dropped another duffel bag at his feet. “All you have to do is let your sister go.” Grateful for the distraction, Tabby kept her gaze riveted on Jon. Dear Father, please don’t…oh, please don’t let anything happen to him. “You think I’m crazy?” Beth shouted. Her fingers dug into Tabby’s flesh. “She’s the only thing between me and a bullet.” “No one will shoot you,” Kyle said, his voice soothing. “Get the car from the garage,” Beth demanded, her voice hard. “We can do that.” Kyle sidestepped to the right, drawing Beth’s attention away from Jon. Tabby’s mouth went dry as she met Jon’s gaze. He gave her a slight nod before springing up and grabbing for Beth. She jerked, swinging the gun in his direction. “No!” Tabby screamed. Fearing Beth would shoot the man she loved, Tabby flung back her head and connected with her sister’s nose. A loud snapping noise barely registered as pain burst through Tabby. Bright dots danced before her eyes. She heard Beth screaming from what seemed like a long distance. Then Jon was there, his handsome face coming into focus as he scooped Tabby into his strong arms, carried her down the porch and away from the chaos as her sister was taken into custody. Her two accomplices were also cuffed and led to a police car. It was over. Gulping sobs racked Tabby’s body. Jon was safe. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him and wanting to never let go, but deep inside she knew she would have to. She couldn’t go back to being just his assistant. Because she loved him. *** “There you are!” Jon exclaimed as Tabby walked into his office five days later. He’d missed her terribly, but had tried to understand when she’d told him she needed a few days to get her head together after that horrible night. Her sister had been taken away and admitted back to the psychiatric hospital. Her accomplices would be doing time for kidnapping in the Massachusetts State Prison. And Jon had his cash back. But most importantly, Tabby was safe.

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Tabby’s slight smile didn’t reach her blue eyes as she stopped just inside the doorway. She wore black slacks and a red sweater that complemented her pale complexion. A red clutch was tucked beneath her arm and a matching red bow captured her hair at her nape. She looked impossibly younger than her twenty-eight years and even more gorgeous than she had just a few days ago. Tenderness and love welled in his heart. He’d never get tired of looking at her. Able to read the nuances of her mood, concern raced through him. He rose, came around his desk and stopped in front of her. Reaching for her hands, he said, “You’re upset. Talk to me.” She dropped her gaze. “I…” She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to meet his. The determination and resignation he saw in her gaze confused and concerned him. His pulse picked up speed. From the inside of her purse she handed him an envelope. “What’s this?” “My resignation.” His stomach plummeted. “Your… I don’t understand.” “After everything I put you through I can’t continue to work for you. It wouldn’t be right.” “That you put me through?” He drew her to him. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. This wasn’t your doing.” For a moment she seemed to melt into his embrace but then she pushed back to stare into his face. “I shouldn’t have involved you. I had no right to ask you to put your life at risk for me.” “You didn’t ask, remember? I insisted.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I’d walk through fire for you, Tabby. Don’t you know that?” Her eyes widened. “You would?” “Yes.” Love filled his heart and echoed in his voice. “I love you, Tabitha Grant. I think I’ve been in love with you since the first day you stormed into my office saying I needed you working for me. I didn’t realize then just how much I do need you. I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve shown me what real faith is.” Her eyes brightened with tears. “I love you, too.” Words to live by. “Tabby, the only way I’ll accept your resignation is if you agree to become Mrs. Spangler.” A small gasp escaped from her parted lips. “You’re asking me to marry you?” Her stunned expression made him smile. “I am. What do you say?” Joy beamed in her expression. “I say yes.” Then a mischievous glint entered her gaze. “On one condition.” He arched an eyebrow. “Negotiating a marriage proposal, Miss Grant?” She grinned. “Yes, Mr. Spangler.” He grinned back. “Let’s hear your condition.”

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“I get to keep my job.” “Yes!” Delighted to the tips of his soul, he dipped his head and captured her lips, sealing the best deal of his life.

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The Story of Us by Susan Wiggs My mother always warned me about men on motorcycles, so I suppose that was why, as a fresh-faced college girl in the 1980s, I found them so intriguing. Bikers in general, and Steve Bennett in particular.

On the day I met him, I had no idea a great adventure awaited us. On that day, in fact, I was feeling lost. This was pretty unusual for me, for I had spent my whole life up to that point doing what was right. I got good grades in school because it was easy, and because it pleased my parents. I dated Travis Hunt because he was kin to the Hunt brothers, and in Texas, that meant money and prestige. I attended Trinity University in San Antonio, because it was exclusive and according to my parents, I’d be likely to meet the “right” sort of people.

It was the summer of my junior year, and I’d managed to bitterly disappoint my family by failing to attain, in addition to my B.S. in business, the vaunted “Mrs.” degree they wanted for me. Although I still had a year to go, I felt the weight of their expectations pressing like a yoke across my shoulders. When you’re the only child, you bear so many hopes and dreams alone, it’s a wonder you don’t collapse.

I had no idea at the time that my life was about to change. The spring semester had just ended, and I went home for the weekend to laze around Eagle Lake with two of my sorority sisters. The three of us drove the sun-baked back roads of the Texas hill country in RaeLynn Cullen’s cherry red vintage Ford Fairlane convertible with the top down and our shirts off to display bikini tops that would make the Delta Delta Delta house mother blow a gasket if she knew.

The three of us - RaeLynn, Trudy Long and me - had a favorite swimming hole on the north shore of the lake near the revival camp of the Halfway Baptist Church. In May, the sun was still a kindly presence in the wide blue sky rather than a roar of deadly heat, which it would be when August arrived. The spring-fed waters of the lake were downright chilly, and we took our time easing in.

I put off the inevitable plunge by sitting on the dock for a while, staring out at the flat, bright water and thinking of nothing. The sun warmed my head and a light breeze shimmered through the trees, and I busied myself by contemplating my toes. I’d tried a new shade of polish called Tangerine Dreams and I liked it a lot. The fact that I was thinking about nail polish at all was a pretty darned clear indication of my own discontent. Here I was, twenty years old, a mature college girl, and for the life of me, I couldn’t decide what to do with myself.

“We can’t make up our minds between Cozumel and Acapulco,” said RaeLynn, who’d been my best friend since fourth grade at Edenville Elementary. She was quitting school to marry her boyfriend, who had just graduated. “Dallas says the golf is better on the west coast of Mexico.”

“It’s a honeymoon,” I pointed out, squeezing a tube of sunscreen and rubbing the sweetish scent of coconut oil on my shoulders. “He shouldn’t be thinking about golf at all.”

RaeLynn laughed. “You have no understanding of the male brain, Grace McAllen.”

“She’s right,” said Trudy, outgoing president of the Tri Delts and my second-best friend. A year older than RaeLynn and me, she possessed the special, almost Yoda-like wisdom of a brand-new college graduate. “You don’t, Grace. How is RaeLynn going to shop if he’s not out golfing?”

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“He can go shopping with her,” I pointed out.

“That’s about as likely as me playing golf,” RaeLynn said with a laugh. “We’ve got it all worked out, Grace. Marriage is one big process of negotiation and compromise.”

“Then it’s no wonder I’m one of the few in the house who’s going to get through college without getting married. I’m not into negotiation and compromise, much to my parents’ despair.”

Trudy took off her sunglasses to put lotion on her nose. Her brown eyes regarded me with a kindness so sincere it hurt, almost. “So they still haven’t forgiven you for dumping Travis Hunt last semester.”

The sting of my parents’ disapproval over my broken engagement to The Perfect Man was unexpectedly intense. According to my parents, I had blown an opportunity for high society, the best of everything, a golden future. A Hunt, my mother had railed in exasperation. You could be marrying a Hunt, becoming one of the most important women in Texas. My grandmother, whom I’d always regarded as an ally, had been disappointed, too, though she tried to hide it. My father pointed out that as a Hunt, I’d be set for life, never being subjected to the worries of a mortgage, a family. I could have had a life of leisure.

You don’t talk to a twenty-year-old about being leisurely. I was full to bursting with restless energy and vague but colorful dreams that were trying to take shape in my imagination. My parents didn’t understand that I wanted...more. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but there was this sense inside me of reaching, of burning, of embracing the richness of life as it unfolds. I just hadn’t figured out what that meant for me. Believe me, it made for pretty weak dinner-table arguments.

I steeled my nerves and dove into the lake, hoping the shock of cold water would wash away the bothersome thoughts. But the water was even too cold for that, so I howled and scrambled back onto the dock.

“Lordy, that’s brutal,” I told RaeLynn and Trudy, vigorously scrubbing myself dry with a towel. Then I pulled on my cutoffs, lay back on the warm wooden planks and looked out at the stark majesty of the hill country. Sandstone crags and grasslands covered with wildflowers framed the intensely blue, mirrorlike water, the surface as blank, vast and empty as an unwritten page. “That didn’t help at all.”

“Help what?” asked RaeLynn.

I combed my fingers through my damp hair. “Still thinking about my parents. I try not to let them bother me. But in their eyes,” I confessed, “I’m a failure already.”

“Listen to you, Grace,” Trudy said, putting her shades on and leaning back on the heels of her hands. “Here it is, 1985, and you’re still expected to be the little woman. It’s like you’re in a time warp or something.”

“That’s my parents. They mean well, I suppose.”

“I wish you had a racy big sister to get in trouble so you could fly under the radar,” Trudy said. “Having Paulette pave the way always helped me enormously.”

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Last I heard, Paulette had turned vegetarian and was living in Austin with two guys, both of whom were honky-tonk musicians. She embodied my parents’ great fear that if I didn’t find an appropriate man, I would wind up in some terrible situation like that.

I tried not to think about the disappointment in their eyes and the displeasure in their voices when I told them that not only did I not wish to marry Travis Hunt, but I also didn’t intend to move back to my sleepy little hometown after graduation. And finally, when I made it clear to them that the likelihood of me marrying a man they approved of was slim to none.

Yet I did want things. I wanted a husband and family, I wanted a life filled with passion and purpose. Unfortunately for me, I had no idea how to go about finding it. I just knew it wasn’t waiting for me like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, right here in Edenville.

Braving the chill water, Trudy and RaeLynn went swimming to wash off the heat of the day. I wandered back to the car to get the novel I was reading, Lucky by Jackie Collins. I sank into the story, wanting to be Lucky Santangelo, prowling the glittering casinos of Vegas and having all sorts of imaginative sexual adventures. Heavens, who wouldn’t want that?

Far in the distance, up on the county road, the rumble of a powerful motor intruded into the quiet lapping of the lake upon the shore.

I remember glancing up in the direction of the road, seeing the dark silhouette of a motorcycle rider, backlit by the late afternoon sun. The girls were still paddling in the water and chatting, but I stayed on the shore, caught by something I couldn’t quite define.

Did I know even then, with that first glance? It seems impossible, given that we hadn’t seen each other’s faces or exchanged a single word.

But there was this feeling, deep in my gut. It was a twist of certainty and I can’t say it was pleasurable, but it was very intense. At any rate, I must have sensed something. Because at that moment, my thoughts rang crystal clear.

He’s here. At last.

I felt the rumble of the Harley’s engine deep in my gut, and with the sunlit dust rising in a cloud, the rider looked like something out of a dream. Down at the lakeshore, my girlfriends didn’t notice him the way I did. I think that might have been because at that point, their lives were set. RaeLynn was going to marry Dallas Sitwell, and Trudy was headed off for a summer of travel before law school. I was free, still searching for what my life was to become, and for that reason, I was open to anything. Especially if it was a black-clad stranger on a Harley, driving straight toward me. I had always been a rational, no-nonsense person. Raised the way I was, I learned early on to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground and my head out of the clouds. Still, at that moment, as the stranger crested the hill leading down to the lake, I felt a strange shifting inside me, a tightening in the pit of my stomach. The girls were still oblivious, splashing water at each other and laughing. I walked toward the road, completely intrigued by the approaching rider. The dusty Harley shuddered like a live thing as he brought it

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to a stop a few yards away from me. Stirring up a swirl of caliche dust from the road, he planted his feet, in knee-high boots, on the ground. Despite the heat of the day, I felt a chill pass over me like a breeze. Do men remember what they were wearing on certain occasions the way women do? I doubt it. Women always do, though. I can recall, with the clarity of a photograph, what I had on for any significant occasion of my life. I wish I could say I had on something like Lucky Santangelo might wear, a leopard print bikini and gold mules maybe. However, on this particular day, I was wearing faded cutoffs and a blue bikini top, flipflops and a shiny coating of sunscreen. No makeup other than toenail polish, and my hair in a ponytail, which made me cringe. This was supposed to be an all-girl weekend and we had dressed accordingly. The stranger, on the other hand, looked spectacular in black jeans and those tall boots. A shiny helmet and aviator shades gave him an air of mystery. I didn’t recognize the ganglike insignia and the logo “VAQ 465”on his black T-shirt, but the cryptic symbols only added to the enigma. "Howdy, ma'am," he said, polite as you please. I asked, “Are you lost?” A mundane question on the surface, but given everything that happened after, it was strangely prophetic. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a voice as smooth as melted butter, “I believe I just might be.” Then he took off his helmet and shades, and I saw his face for the first time. A light-brown beard stubble beautifully accentuated the lines of his jaw, chin and cheekbones, and even though I couldn’t tell from a distance, I somehow knew his eyes would be blue. Just as I was getting nervous - what if he’s a gang member, an outlaw? What if my mother’s right after all? - a wonderful smile unfurled, a funny half grin that caught at my heart. “Um, can I help you? Where are you headed?” I asked. "I'm looking for someone..." he said with an unexpected awkwardness that was curiously endearing. "But I’ve forgotten who. My God, I can’t even think straight. You are just about the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.” For a few seconds, it didn’t register that he was actually flirting with me. I actually whipped a glance behind to see if he was talking to someone else, but no, he was looking directly at me. Grace McAllen, Grace the invisible, Grace the overlooked. I never thought of myself as pretty, you see. Nice-looking, that was me. Nice-looking Grace, who had never done anything noteworthy in her entire life. When I finally figured out that he was offering me a compliment, I blushed, of course. And I hate blushing. It makes some girls look becoming, but on me, it’s just a heated rush of color staining my face like a sunburn. I couldn’t bring myself to thank him. “What can I do for you?” What can I do for you? Lordy, Grace, I scolded myself, could you maybe be a little more obvious? Yet somehow the stranger made it all right, letting that half smile stretch into a grin. With unhurried movements, he removed his leather gloves, took out a surprisingly white cloth handkerchief and slowly, deliberately, without taking his eyes off me, wiped his hands. Then he stuck out one hand toward me. “My name’s Steve Bennett.” Like Elizabeth Bennet in my favorite novel. It must be a sign, it had to be. I put aside my practical nature and suddenly believed everything was a sign - the way two herons rose from the water and arrowed toward the sun, the nodding branch of a redbud tree arching over the road, the backfire blast of a passing truck. It was like the universe was telling me to pay attention, this was an important moment.

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Life does that, I’ve come to believe. Life hands us moments, brings us to turning points, and it’s up to us to make what we will of the situation. Right then and there, I could have turned away, murmured that I needed to get back to my friends. Or, I thought, I could stay right there and see where the moment took me.

I stayed. Nothing could have turned me from him at that point. I never did remember to thank him for the compliment. I was simply too flustered. It was all I could do to introduce myself. “Grace McAllen,” I said, and put my hand in his. His touch was electric, even though it was only a handshake. The very air around me felt electric, too, humming with possibility. I took my hand away just so I could think straight. “I’m looking for a town called Edenville,” he said. “Would you happen to know where that is?” “As a matter of fact, I do.” “Then I’m not so lost after all.” He was definitely Texan, with that accent, although the tags on his bike were from Florida. “Not really.” “I’m on my way to visit a fellow named Bud Plawski. You happen to know him?” Know him? As it happened, I had grown up on the same street as Seymour “Buddy” Plawski, and deemed him the most annoying boy in Hayes County. A year older than me, he was one of those skinny, restless kids who was always getting into trouble in school because he couldn’t sit still. Yet he was fiercely smart and zoomed through the toughest math and science classes Edenville High School had to offer. He once got in trouble for climbing the water tower, not to spray paint “Seniors 1980” like everyone else, but to shoot a homemade rocket at the sky. We were all shocked when the time came to go to college, and Buddy was offered an appointment to the United States Naval Academy. It was rare in Edenville for a boy to aim himself so high, and we all looked at Buddy through new eyes. On those rare occasions when he did come home for a visit, we didn’t just look, we gawked. He’d bulked up like a bodybuilder, razored his hair in the style of a seasoned recruit. The physical changes were one thing, but it was the change in his demeanor that I always found so dramatic. Although he used to be an awkward boy, he now had confidence, even a swagger, and an air about him that set him apart from ordinary mortals, like a priest, maybe, or an astronaut. “Yes,” I said. “I know him. He lives on my street, as a matter of fact. I mean, he doesn’t anymore and actually, I don’t live there anymore, but...” I paused and admonished myself to quit babbling. “Anyway, our parents live on Alamo Drive, and Buddy’s at home. According to his mother, he’s recovering from an injury. Maybe you know he’s in the U.S. Navy? He was hurt in a flight training accident.” Steve Bennett didn’t seem to mind the babbling. In fact, he seemed perfectly happy just standing there, checking me out, and I’m not ashamed to say I liked it. I became aware that in the background, my sorority sisters were whispering and giggling, having finally noticed the stranger. I didn’t ask him how he knew Buddy, where he’d come from or how long he was staying. None of that mattered to me, and I suppose a part of me was afraid to push. It was like not wanting to awaken from a magical dream for fear of losing it.

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Anyway, I had no idea what lay ahead and I wasn’t about to question fate. All I saw was a man who took my breath away.

I was always the good girl in my sorority house. I was the designated driver, the one who made excellent grades and didn’t get caught up in all the passions and dramas of college life. At the end of junior year, RaeLynn had jokingly made a sign for my door that designated me the “Oldest Living Virgin of Delta Delta Delta.” My friends thought I had been born well-behaved. I’m sure my parents like to believe it was their training. But what nobody knew was that I never was a good girl. I was just waiting for my chance to be bad. Steve Bennett was that chance, even though he didn’t know it the first day we met, and even though being bad with him was the best thing that ever happened to me. When he said he needed directions to Bud Plawski’s house, I made it sound overly complicated on purpose: take the lake road past the broken rock at the entrance to the Ryder fishing cabins, and head into town on the old farm-to-market road.... As I spoke, I could see him taking it all in, and he probably could have navigated his way through town to Alamo Drive just fine. But I was feeling bold and maybe just a little bit bad, so I said, “I could show you right where your friend lives, but I don’t have my car.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of RaeLynn's convertible. I knew what he’d ask. Lord help me, I was hoping he’d ask it. “Ma’am, I'd be obliged if you’d show me.” “Ma’am” to a twenty-year-old. He was definitely a Texan. “Show you. You mean, ride with you?” “Yes, ma’am.” He probably expected me to say no. Even though I was more than ready to be bad, I still looked wellbehaved on the outside. And he had to know how he looked - big and muscular, clad in all black, riding a Harley Softail. I smiled at him and said that would be fine, and then I went to tell my friends. You would have thought I’d told them I was going to start selling my eggs or move to Detroit. They were mortified. “You can’t just hop on the back of some guy’s motorcycle, Grace,” RaeLynn said. “It’s not safe.” “What if he abducts you?” Trudy demanded. Oh, please, I thought. Please let him abduct me. “I’ll be fine,” I assured them. “He’s going to see Buddy straight-arrow Plawski, of all people.” Not good enough for my girlfriends. They approached Steve Bennett and peppered him with questions, thus learning more from him than I'd managed to extract in my tongue-tied state. He was on a rare two-week leave from the Navy and had ridden all the way from Pensacola just because he felt like it, and because a friend had invited him. I felt foolish for not concluding he was in the Navy as soon as he said he was a friend of Buddy.

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He told my girlfriends he’d ridden all day from Pensacola, Florida to see him. It was a shock to hear that he’d driven straight through, stopping only for a nap at a rest area outside Lafayette, Louisiana. He must be dead tired, I thought. "Let's go," I said to him boldly. With my friends’ protests growing fainter in my ears, I put on a blue denim shirt and my grubby Adidas sneakers. I always used to wear Adidas because, unofficially, the name is an acronym for All Day I Dream About Sex. Which, as the oldest living virgin in my sorority house, I pretty much did. Steve Bennett probably realized I’d never been on the back of a motorcycle before. He was kind enough not to ask, but my inexperience was pretty obvious. I mean, I fumbled with the spare helmet, unsure as to how to put it on. I couldn’t figure out the footrests until he showed me, and I wasn’t even sure which part of the seat to straddle. Riding with someone, anyone, on a motorcycle is a strange situation of forced intimacy. Our pelvises fit together like spoons, and my bare legs were snuggled next to his muscular thighs. At first, I put my hands demurely on either side of his waist. “You’re going to need to hold on a lot tighter than that,” he said and pulled my hands all the way around his thick, hard torso. Finally, he turned on the motor. I felt the jolt of power course through me, and I clasped him even tighter. “Ready?” he yelled over the sound of the motor. “Ready.” The bike rolled off its kickstand as my sorority sisters stood in the roadway, calling warnings I couldn’t hear and wouldn’t have heeded even if I could.

When I rode into Edenville on the back of Steve Bennett's Harley, I felt like a different person. The ride from Eagle Lake into town was short, but it took me on what was to be the first step of the longest journey of my life. With my arms around his tree-trunk middle, I dared to press myself against his back, and then he wasn't the only one who was lost. I was, too. I grew dizzy with his smell and with the feel of the wind in my face and the roar of the motor in my ears. At that point, I didn’t know anything but his name, and that he rode a Harley, was in the Navy and had ocean-blue eyes. It’s funny that I could see a blue ocean in my mind’s eye, because the only saltwater I’d ever actually seen was the gray-brown Gulf of Mexico from the seawall of Galveston during wild-girl weekends from college. Yet though I knew little about him, I understood something deep inside - this chance meeting was changing the course of my life. I pointed the way to Alamo Drive and wondered if he was amused by the quirky names of things - the Halfway Baptist Church, Adam’s Ribs B-B-Q and the Celestial Café, the filling station with its hand-lettered sign, “We sell gas to anyone in a glass container.” Until I went away to college, this had been my whole world. It was imminently, almost oppressively safe, as small and tightly knit as a Catholic school uniform. Back then, the sight of a Harley roaring across the courthouse square brought on glares of righteous disapproval. People in those parts still talked about hippies and beatniks as though the countercultures were still a threat. Maybelle King came out to stand under the awning of Eve’s Garden Shoppe, planting her hands on her hips in consternation. I laughed aloud. No one knew it was me on the back of the bike, but I wouldn’t have cared if they did.

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Buddy Plawski’s house came up far too quickly, in the neighborhood where I grew up. When I got off the Harley, I still felt the buzz of the motor deep in my bones. Alamo Drive hadn’t changed in decades, and for all I know, it’s still the same: a quiet lane shaded by live oaks and lined with genteel Victorian-style houses and white picket fences. After Steve parked the bike and took off his helmet, he looked around with a puzzled expression. "Not what you expected?" I asked, handing over my helmet. "It's fine. I can't imagine growing up here." "Where did you grow up?" He had such a fine, gentle smile. "Honey, you don't want to know." "What, is it a secret?" "Nope. Just depressing." "I'm a very cheerful person. Bet I can handle it." He also had a long, slow way of eyeing me that made my spine tingle, I swear it did. "I bet you can, too." But he didn't say anymore. Instead he said, "Let's talk about you, Grace." And with almost embarrassing eagerness, I told him the sum total of who I was - born and raised in Edenville, the only child of parents who expected much of me, the only grandchild of a widow who expected nothing but love and honesty from me. Twenty years old, a business major at Trinity. In turn, he told me virtually nothing. This was surprising to me. Most men would be quick to whip out their most impressive credentials and most women, myself included, would be quick to be impressed. However, at that moment, I had nothing from him, nothing but that brand-new incessant tingling inside telling me to step through the door he held open. "Thanks for the help," he said. "You're welcome." I racked my brain, trying to figure out a reason to linger. "Didn't you say you lived near Bud?" "Right down the street." I pointed out my house. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked. The girls and I planned to see the brand-new movie Back to the Future at the Lone Star Drive-In and stuff ourselves with popcorn and syrupy Dr Pepper. “Nothing,” I said. “Let’s go out,” he said. “I thought you were here to see Buddy.” That unforgettable grin flashed. “Not anymore.”

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As I got ready for our first date, my parents bombarded me with questions. They were convinced that I had ruined any chance I had at a decent future by dumping Travis Hunt, and they were determined to dislike anyone else I might bring home. I had no answers to the questions they fired at me, so I dodged them, saying simply that tonight's date was someone I’d met recently and that they’d meet him when he came to pick me up. I worked for a good two hours getting ready. Shampoo, hot rollers, makeup, the works. After much internal debate, I settled on jeans, cowboy boots and a pink T-shirt from a Willie Nelson concert up in Luckenbach. I wanted to look casual, as though going on a date on the spur of the moment was nothing new to me. Steve looked wonderful when he showed up, freshly showered, wearing clean jeans and a cowboy shirt and boots. In fact, he looked so good I almost wished I'd dressed a little better myself. Like in a white organdy gown with a twelve-foot train, I thought fancifully. I was slightly disappointed to see he’d borrowed the Plawski’s Plymouth instead of bringing the Harley. During the overly long conversation in the parlor, where my mother served iced tea and the frosted lemon bars my grandmother had made that afternoon, I squirmed in my chair. My father opened fire with the questions at Steve Bennett. "Where'd you grow up, son?" "Houston, sir." Everyone waited for him to elaborate, but he simply sat patiently while I squirmed. "And who are your people?" asked Gran. Oh, lord. My grandmother still lived in a different era. Steve gave a quick, enigmatic smile, though he looked Gran in the eye. “Ma’am, I have no family to speak of. I was a ward of the state and lived in a series of foster homes until I was old enough to enlist in the Navy.” A shifting, uncomfortable silence greeted this disclosure. Kids grew up in foster homes for a variety of reasons, none of them good. I felt an odd ache in the pit of my stomach as I tried to read between the lines of what he'd said. A person's childhood defined him, didn't it? I wondered how deeply those early years had shaped this man's character. What was etched on his soul? Gran said, “How sad for you, having no family.” My mother was silent, but I could feel her disapproval growing and swelling like an invisible tumor. My father cleared his throat. “So you’re in the service.” He jumped right on that. I could tell he was toying with liking Steve Bennett. "Yes, sir." “And what do you do in the Navy?” my father inquired. “I’m a second lieutenant, sir. I’m finishing up pilot training.” Well, well, well. I sat up a little taller on Aunt Mamie’s Duncan Phyfe divan, which she’d given to my mother before going to live at a retirement home. An officer and a pilot. My instincts about this man were even better than I thought.

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People toss around the term “whirlwind courtship,” but I don’t think anyone really understands what it means unless they’ve experienced it. Surely that’s what happened to me, right at a moment in my life when I didn't think anything interesting would ever come along. Whirlwind. It's one of those words you take for granted, assuming you know what it is. Well, I certainly found out first hand the weekend I met Steve Bennett. I had the sensation of stepping out into a storm during hurricane season, swept up into a dizzying rush of tingling emotions. Falling in love with him was easy. Too easy, perhaps. I was incautious, willfully so. I wanted everything he was and all that he stood for and never paused to consider if a headlong rush was the best way to shape my future. That night, we went to Armadillo World Headquarters in Austin. Townes Van Zandt was playing. His mournful, thin-voiced rendition of “Pancho and Lefty” brought tears to my eyes, and when I looked over at Steve, I saw a faraway expression on his face and wondered what he was thinking. Then, as if he felt my stare, he reached over and squeezed my hand. That was it. That was the moment I started to love him. It felt so real to me. I’ll always keep that moment folded away in my heart, like the pressed flowers of a homecoming corsage. I remember perfectly the twang of the guitar and the notes of the sad song, and gazing into a face that was new to me, yet that I felt I’d always known. My hormones raged. There was such a sense of wanting in me that I could hardly catch my breath. I wondered if it was as magical for him as it was for me. I suppose men think differently. Maybe they don't count the moments the way a woman does. We held hands for a time and then went to the beer garden annex to share a pitcher of Lone Star, clinking our frosty mugs together. Then he asked me to dance, and that was a surprise. The men I’d met at college didn’t dance. He did, though. He gave me that spectacular grin and said, “I learned in officer training school.” Social graces were only one of the many small ways the Navy shaped him. As we got to know each other, I learned more about all the things that came his way through the Navy - a life, a home, a purpose, a sense of belonging. Lacking all of that in his early life, he found it in the service of his country. I admired his ambition so much. It was one of the first things I loved about him. I never stopped to consider that one person's ambition might create tensions when there were two people to consider. But on our first night together, all of that was far from my mind. I was lost in him, and in the dreams that were igniting fireworks in my heart. At the end of our date, Steve drove me home and walked me to the door. We stood together on the front porch, holding hands and facing each other, making small talk in order to put off saying goodbye. I was grateful that my parents no longer waited up for me, and had no fear that they’d be hovering on the other side of the door when I walked inside. That, thank goodness, ended with high school. I wanted him to kiss me but was too shy to say so. Four years older than me and more experienced than I could possibly know, he wasn’t shy at all. With exquisite delicacy, his hands cupped my face, and a soft darkness fell between us as he leaned down and touched his lips to mine, lightly, with a restrained passion that turned to fire. I forgot to breathe, and grew light-headed with the heat that surged through me. "I'd better go," I said, never wanting to leave his arms. "I'll call you." "Yes," I said.

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When I went inside, there was a light on in the parlor. I was surprised to see that my grandmother was still up, sitting in her chintz-covered chair and watching Johnny Carson on TV.

Gran came to live with us when I was in high school, after Granddaddy died. She had a suite of rooms at the back of the house, and they were cluttered with mementos of her sixty-year marriage. There was a shelf of sepia-toned photographs of her as a young bride, and a series of pictures of my mother and Uncle Kyle, growing up in Edenville. Gran had a collection of thimbles from all the places she’d been - New York City, Hollywood, Miami, Mexico City, Niagara Falls. She had a passion for knitting and the soap opera As the World Turns, and it was no secret that the money in our family came from her. She was the daughter of an oil field roughneck who struck it rich, married a genteel Daughter of the Republic of Texas and became genteel himself. It wasn’t a huge fortune, but enough to allow the next generation to live well in the slowpaced small town world of Edenville. Despite her old-fashioned ways, my grandmother possessed a deep and subtle wisdom about life. She rarely gave advice or even offered her opinion, but when she did, she was always right. “Are you okay?” I asked her. “Couldn’t you sleep?” “I’m fine, Grace,” she said, turning down the TV. “How was your date?” “Perfect,” I said. “I think I’m already falling for him.” “Then,” she said with a sparkle in her eye, “what are you waiting for?” *** I took my grandmother’s advice to heart and flung myself headlong into this relationship. Was I naively premature to call it a relationship? Steve and I spent nearly every waking moment together for the rest of the weekend. We went swimming in Eagle Lake and then lay together in the shade of a cypress tree, looking up at the sky through the branches. Later we sat on the wicker divan on my parents’ front porch with Asleep At The Wheel playing on the radio. On Sunday, we went to a pancake breakfast at the firehouse, and my sorority sisters gave him the third degree. Trudy Long, even before she entered law school, had a way of prying information from people. Thanks to her, I learned that the Navy paid for him to attend Texas A&M, the best school in the state. I learned that he was in training to fly carrier-based aircraft. At the time, I didn’t know how dangerous it was to launch a jet from the deck of a moving ship, and, even more dangerous, to land on the four-hundred-foot runway, praying the tailhook would catch a wire and stop the plane. It all sounded terrifically romantic to me, and I loved his dream so much that it seemed like my own. Everything about that weekend was precious to me, every moment sharp-edged and distinct. He asked me what I planned to do after college. “Interview for a job, I suppose,” I said. “What I’d really like to do is go into business for myself.” “What sort of business?” “I’m still trying to figure that out.” I leaned my head on his shoulder - I was comfortable with him already, my body learning how to fit into the space of his. “I just want a life that I love, but I’m not really sure what that means.”

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However, by then I was starting to get a picture in my mind’s eye, and Steve Bennett was the main focus of that picture.

After Steve left Texas to go back to Pensacola, I spent every waking moment thinking about him, and I dreamed about him when I slept. I lived for his calls and would lie on my bed late at night, whispering into the phone and picturing him in my mind’s eye. That summer, I worked at a transport company in San Marcos, and I was good at my job, though everything seemed inconsequential. My parents, of course, advised me to forget him. They saw no future for me with a man in the service, a man whose fate was controlled by the dictates of duty. He was a passing fancy, they said, not a sound plan for the future. I was sitting on the porch one evening in late June when I heard a faint rumbling sound and felt a subtle change in the atmosphere, like the tinge of rain in a coming storm. I jumped up and rushed to the porch railing. In the street, hazy with the colors of sunset, he rode toward me on his motorcycle and suddenly my world came back into focus. I rushed out to meet him and flung my arms around him, feeling the heat of the day in his shoulders, and our kiss was filled with yearning, passion and promise. He’d ridden all day to see me, nearly five hundred miles with only stops for gas. I’d never been that important to anyone before. After he got cleaned up, I brought him a glass of iced tea. Since my parents were gone for the day, taking Gran to Austin for new bifocals and tea at the Driskill, we had the house to ourselves. We took full advantage, kissing long and hard, working ourselves into quite a state. “I came to talk to you about something,” he said, and he seemed nervous. “I’m being transferred to Naples.” “Naples,” I said, thinking of a golf resort in Florida. Then my mind, sluggish from kissing him, grasped what he was saying. Naples, Italy. What did I know about Naples? Pizza and vaporetti, lemon groves and traffic and antiquities. It was half a world away. “Italy. You’re going to Italy. For how long?” “A few months, and then I'll be transferred somewhere else, probably Virginia.” “Well,” I said. “Well. Send me a postcard.” “That’s not going to work for me,” he said. It wasn't going to work for me either, but who was I to stand in the way of such an opportunity. “I wish you weren’t going away,” I said, my heart on the ground. “We’ve only just met.” “That’s why this is so crazy. I’m in love with you, Gracie. I swear I am.” Those words lifted my heart up to the stars. “Really?” “Yeah. You took me by surprise. I never thought - never expected I’d find someone again.” For some reason, the “again” didn’t register. All I heard was “I'm in love with you.” Maybe I should have probed deeper, asked him about the word “again.” But I was flying high and this feeling felt so new and fragile that I didn't want to disturb it. I said, “The day I met you, I told my grandmother I was falling in love with you. She didn’t think it was so crazy.” He smiled at me, and there was such joy and relief in his face that I hugged him. Then he said, “I want you to come with me, Grace.” “To Naples?” It was surreal, a concept beyond my grasp.

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“To Naples. And everywhere else I go.” He was awkward as he went down on one knee and took a small velvet box from his pocket. “Grace McAllen, I want to marry you.” I forgot how to breathe for a moment. Then I cried, with relief and trepidation and with the absolute certainty that this was exactly what I was supposed to do. I collapsed against him, and he sheltered me in his arms, and a great warm wave of calmness came over me. “Yes,” I said. “I want to marry you, too.”

Most people would consider it a coup to marry an officer in the U.S. Navy, but the McAllens counted it a failure on my part. Some fathers would even thank their daughters for eloping, but that was not the case for me. I heard nothing but displeasure and bitterness. Dropping out of college for a man I barely know, gallivanting off to a foreign country to live among strangers. Where had they gone wrong? They didn’t want to hear about my happiness, my excitement about our future. They didn’t believe me when I said I’d finish my degree. They didn’t trust Steve when he said he’d take care of me. I was mortified that he had to face my parents’ stiff disapproval and their dour predictions that we were making a disastrous mistake. I admired him for facing their skepticism with calm fortitude. In private, he told me, “If this is going to drive a wedge between you and your family, we’ll find another way. Maybe we should wait—” “We could wait until doomsday and they’d never come around. I don’t want to wait.” Only my grandmother gave her blessing, wishing us joy and reminding us to be good to each other. I considered the possibility that my parents’ extreme reaction was caused by fear of losing me. Unfortunately, I never really believed that. Their disappointment was so deep and bitter that we never recovered from it or breached the rift. In a way, that was their gift to me. Now I was free to devote all my energy to loving Steve and making a life with him. As for my parents, they seemed willing to write me off. It was their loss, I told myself. They never had the chance to know Steve. I promised to keep them in the loop, sending photos and cheerful letters, but only Gran seemed to appreciate my efforts. It hurt to be forced into making a choice between the man I love and what my parents wanted for me. My heart paid a toll when I became estranged from them in this way. "I feel like an orphan,” I said to Steve. “Welcome to the club,” he said, and pulled me into his arms. Then he told me about his own mother, a drug addict living in a crummy apartment on Telephone Road in Houston. She had simply drifted away one day when he was little, and the neighbors turned him in to child welfare. I was horrified by that. I couldn't imagine a mother who would turn away from her child for any reason. My parents threw me away because I refused to live the life they wanted for me. That wasn’t my job, but that’s what they raised me to do. Steve was abandoned by a mother who couldn’t help herself. Mine was completely rational when she turned her back on me. In our own ways, we each paid a toll. Sometimes we felt like two shipwreck survivors, adrift in the world. My heart was heavy, but as the miles sped back on the journey to the Naval Station at Pensacola, I counted my blessings and my anticipation soared. Like all girls, I pictured myself as the bride in a grand wedding. Was I let down by the private ceremony conducted by a Navy chaplain, attended only by Steve's friend and fellow officer Whitey Love, who stood up as witness? Honestly, I was not. The marriage ceremony was merely a formality to be dispensed with as

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soon as possible so we could start our life together.

My wedding night, spent in a room at the Navy Lodge overlooking Parking Lot B-19, more than made up for the low-key ceremony, the lack of pomp and circumstance. That night, there were fireworks and comets and whirlwinds, and I found such joy in the arms of my bridegroom that I was overwhelmed with emotion. When I admitted my inexperience, he seemed startled and perhaps even moved. He kissed me tenderly and said, “I didn’t know you’d saved yourself for marriage.” “I didn’t,” I said. “I saved myself for you.”

Steve and I had no honeymoon, but that hardly mattered. Every day with him was a honeymoon. No luxurious resort could have made me feel more pampered, more special, more in love with my new husband. Since we knew we’d be going to Italy soon, we lived in a tiny furnished apartment. Quickly realizing that the garage sale was a huge part of Navy life, I learned to shop for the sort of household items you don’t really want to spend much money on, but that you know you’ll like having around - that extra radio, an unopened box of candles, the odds and ends that might sit around a civilian household for years. In a Navy household, a possession had to earn its right to be there, to be wrapped, moved and unwrapped over and over again. Sometimes I couldn’t resist a whimsical item. I found a thick ceramic pitcher in the shape of a chicken, its mouth open to form a spout. However, when the time came to pack our belongings and move overseas, the pitcher just didn’t make the cut. I sold it in a multifamily garage sale a week before we left. Naples was a revelation. People had warned me about the dangers of thieves and scam artists who haunted its medieval stepped alleys and crooked streets, but I never felt vulnerable there. We explored the entire hill of humanity together, wandering hand in hand through the Spanish Quarter and Spaccanapoli, or along the seafront area called Lungomare. We handed coins to accordion players in the Funiculare, fended off hustlers and explored the breathtaking antiquities of Pompeii and Pozzuoli. At a candlelit chapel, a sculpture of the Veiled Christ moved me to tears, and at a cameo factory in the Sulfatara, he bought me a pair of earrings. I swore I would treasure them always. The Italians are a demonstrative people, and around every curve in the hilly streets, we found embracing couples lost in each other. Our new marriage and the wonder of discovering each other made us fit right in with these postcard lovers. I learned enough Italian to go from shop to shop each day, preferring this to the commissary. I bought milk and butter at the cremeria, bread at the panetteria, vegetables fresh from the earth, sold by a farmer in a three-wheeled flatbed truck. As the weeks flowed by, I grew bold enough to brave the pesceria, where mounds of gleaming fish, shells and octopus lay in big tubs. Buckets of silvery sardines, tanks of clams and whole swordfish inspired me to try my hand at cooking, with decidedly mixed results. Steve seemed proud that I’d learned Italian. He devoured plates of spaghetti alle vongole and melanzane parmesan. We celebrated the successful attempts and weathered the failures with humor and a soothing glass of vino di tavolo, and each night we made love for hours. With no television and spotty phone service, there was little else to occupy us. I developed a passion for taking photographs. I took snapshots of the old men outside the tabacchi. They were immaculately dressed in pressed trousers and freshly shined shoes, hands resting atop their canes. I made shot after shot of the swags of laundry strung across narrow alleys, women bringing up their groceries with buckets on ropes. I also pursued darker subjects, things that troubled and frustrated me. I disliked the preponderance of litter on the streets, and it hurt to see the tiny children forced to beg for coins. The stray dogs, rummaging in garbage and dodging taxis were a heartbreaking fact of life.

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And I phoned home, for what it was worth. In Italy, the phone system was so poor that our home phone was all but useless and I'd make a weekly quest out into the city to find a pay phone that worked better. My parents gave me nothing but warnings about traipsing around the globe like a gypsy, but Gran, bless her, got it right. "Such an adventure," she would say. "You're making memories for a lifetime." I hope she knew how much that meant to me as I stood in the rain at the waterfront, hunched against the wind, shouting my greetings to her into the cold steel receiver of a pay phone. One day I tried to rescue a dog that followed me home. It was a little lop-eared mutt, typical of the streetsmart dogs of Naples. And, in the way of dogs, it never lost its innate happy-go-lucky trust in humankind. Over the weeks, I’d learned not to encourage dogs by petting or talking nonsense to them, but this particular dog followed me anyway. At a busy piazza, a delivery truck nearly ran over him, so I snatched him out of harm’s way. That night, Steve came home to find us both waiting for him. The dog had been freshly bathed and given its shots at the vet, and I was excited to show him our new addition. All day long, I’d imagined the companionship a dog would give me. By the time he walked through the door, I’d almost settled on a name for him. His reaction was less than delighted. "Ah, honey. Dogs aren’t allowed on base. There's no grass for them." "He's just a little thing. He doesn't need much." "I didn't make the rules." "Then let's move off base." "We can't do that, either. I don't want you alone in the city when I'm away." "But you're here with me. You're not away." "Gracie. Sometimes I have to go. It's my job." "If I keep the dog, I won’t be alone," I pointed out. The logic didn’t work on Steve. "We can't keep it. You'll have to give it up or you'll get hurt," he said. "I don't ever want to see you hurt, Grace." We took the dog to his friend Whitey, who had a wife and two kids in the little town of Bacoli. When I saw the dog in the tiny walled yard with two happy boys, I couldn’t deny that it was the best situation all around. Still, I wanted that dog. I wish I’d fought harder to keep him. I wouldn’t call that our first quarrel. But it was...something. Like a hairline fissure in a ceramic piece, harmless unless brought under pressure. Steve worked long, hard hours at the base at Agnano, and I came to realize that pursuing his dream carried a huge price tag - for both of us. He described his workweek as six Mondays in a row, but he never complained, and neither did I. If I felt any prickle of discontent when he left our bed before dawn and often came home after dinner had grown cold, I pressed it down and shoved it into a corner of myself, leaving it unacknowledged. Most of the time, we found a rare, heart-soaring bliss as we discovered each other. Steve was funny and sexy and strong, and he was devoted to the Navy and to me.

We were in a lot of ways two strangers bound by a wedding ring, getting to know each other. I experienced doubts, excitement and lord knows, passion. Sometimes in a quiet moment, I'd wonder how this could

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possibly last a lifetime. My love for Steve felt as beautiful and fragile as a soap bubble, and I had to treat it with caution. I felt as though I was peeling away his layers, finding more to love as each new facet was revealed. On a warm September weekend, Steve surprised me with a three-day leave. In our tiny yellow Fiat 600 we drove away from the city with the windows rolled down and opera music playing on the tinny radio. The winding, impossibly narrow road along the sheer edge of the Sorrentine Peninsula was treacherous and exhilarating, the oncoming traffic a challenge around every curve. Scooters, pedestrians and the occasional herd of goats crammed the motorway. The lumbering local buses had scratches along the sides from cars trying to squeeze past them. Tiny towns clung to the rocky hillsides, the houses and shops stacked like sugar cubes in white and pastel hues. Each town had its duomo with bells that rang every hour. In Ravello, where we stayed, the duomo contained a vial of blood from St. Pantaleon in a vessel amid the stonework of the altar. Although the vessel was never touched, the blood was said to liquefy on the saint's feast day in June. The locals swore that this was so, and who were we to argue with their sturdy faith? We found a place of magic there, in an ancient town perched like an eagle’s nest atop craggy mountains. The sea was a deep and dazzling azure. The hills were banded by terraced groves of lemon and olive trees. It seemed that every square inch that wasn’t rock had been cultivated. The stone halls and splendid gardens of the ancient hilltop villas seemed to whisper to me, and I sensed the presence of ghosts. Steve smiled at me when I told him that, but he never laughed. The Villa Ilina, where we stayed, was a tiny house done in the Moorish style, with white plaster arches and floors tiled in blue and green painted ceramic. We wandered the winding streets and stone staircases, pausing often to look out in wonder at the scenery. Somehow, these stops always ended with a kiss, and in Italy, that was normal behavior. We drank wine with dinner each night and when the stars came out, we sat on the patio, sipping ice-cold limoncello from tiny glasses. Then we made love, of course, late into the night and again in the morning with the sun falling across the bed. These are the moments that define us, not the grand gestures or anniversaries, but the small things we hold in our hearts. I knew I'd always cherish memories of the kindness of Steve's smile and the way he held me as though I were precious and breakable. When we drove back to Naples, replete with great sex, good food and sunshine, I didn’t think anything could mar the perfection of our life together. I was wrong, of course.

When we returned home from our time on the Amalfi Coast, Steve showed me a thick folder stuffed with documents. "We've got orders," he said. Just like that, our time in Italy was done. Over the next two decades, I would hear “We’ve got orders” nearly a dozen times, often without warning.

Sometimes it happened like that. Plans changed, orders came quickly. It was an adventure, I told myself, and tried not to feel overwhelmed and frustrated as we settled in Norfolk. This was my way of life now. It was strange and mostly wonderful for a small-town Texas girl. Like diving into the cold, clear water of Eagle Lake back home, I plunged into the unfamiliar culture of military life. I tried not to dwell on the uncertainties and usually succeeded.

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That's what love did for me. Come what may, I knew I was blessed because I had a husband who was my lover, my best friend, my whole world. I learned to read his moods, to know whether the lines in his face appeared there from laughter or fatigue. Then one day, I sensed a difference in him. A strange tension hung in the air of our small apartment, and that night I discovered the reason. He held me and kissed me, and then spoke the word that would make all the difference in the years to come. Deployment. It’s not in most people’s vocabulary and if it is, it’s an abstract concept. But to a Navy wife, the word is chillingly real. It means she is being left by her husband. Instead of being a married woman, she’ll exist in some strange limbo, married but alone. As a Navy wife, I knew I'd take pride in the crisp uniforms, the ceremonies, the powerful sense of duty that drove my husband. I also knew there would be times of loneliness and uncertainty, and perhaps a heady sense of being completely on my own. Gossip was rampant around the base, as it always is before a big deployment. So much secrecy surrounded the mission of Steve's battle group that I imagined the worst - that his duties would put him in harm’s way. What I eventually came to understand was that in carrier aviation, personnel were always in harm’s way. The very nature of the work was perilous. Whenever I confessed those worries, Steve would tell me how rigorously the Navy trains its personnel in every operation, for every eventuality. “Promise me something,” he said the night before he left. “Promise you’ll still be here when I get back.” I thought he was joking, so I laughed. “Where else would I be?” “I mean it, Gracie.” I caught a note in his voice I’d never heard before. Some of the more experienced Navy wives I’d met had told me that predeployment was a tense time in a marriage. Tempers wore thin, stressed by the upheaval of preparation and unspoken fears about separation. Perhaps that was why he seemed so intense, I thought. “Of course I’ll be here,” I said. “It’s what we signed up for, and we’ll get through it.” I hugged him, pressing my cheek to his chest. Ah, it was such luxury to love this man, to feel his body close to mine. I would miss him every moment. “I swear I’ll be here waiting for you, Steve.” And with that, the moment passed. I never thought of it again. As Steve packed his gear and laid out his crisply pressed dress uniform for the next morning’s farewell ceremonies, I felt such love and pride that my chest ached. It was terrible and strange and exhilarating all at once. I knew I was watching the person I loved going for his dream.

On the day Steve left for a six-month deployment, the docks were crowded with couples and families saying goodbye. Yes, I felt it, the sense of pride and purpose. How could I not, surrounded by such splendid ceremony? Still new to this military life, I think I was a little stunned. The reality was closing in fast. At the end of the day, the families of these men and women would be faced with long separations - and this was only the first of many to come. I watched Steve's face, tried to figure out the right way to say goodbye. I had already decided he'd hear no complaints from me. In order to come home safely to me, Steve needed to feel confident that things on the home front would be all right. I never wanted him to feel distracted or worried about me.

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And, of course, I had no idea how very much he would worry about his wife at home. But even that did not interfere with his goal. He was off to follow his dream and do his duty, and my duty was to support that. I was fearful and excited for him. For me as well. What sort of person would I be on my own? Although I would miss my husband, I was interested to find out. I'd gone from my parents' house to the sorority house to this marriage, and I'd never been completely on my own. This was going to be my time. Behind him the crowd rolled out, filling the entire area. I saw school-age children clinging and crying, and pregnant women trembling with the knowledge that their husbands wouldn’t be by their sides when they gave birth. Some women seemed to face this farewell with a curious sort of relief. Once he was gone, they'd be in charge again. "What are you looking at?" he asked. I flushed, realizing my attention had strayed even though I still clung to his hand. "Just...everything. This is all so new to me, and seeing everyone here, well, I suppose we're seeing our future, aren't we?" I gestured at the pregnant wives, the kids of all ages, older people saying goodbye to their sons or daughters. "It's what we'll become one day, don't you think?" For some reason, that made him nervous. "Is this a problem?" I smiled and touched his cheek. Sometimes the terrible childhood he'd endured still haunted him. He hadn't learned to trust in love for the long term. "It looks exactly right to me. It's a life that I want, Steve. I can tell it won't be easy, but it feels right. So that's what I was looking at." He picked me all the way up off the ground and into his arms, kissing me with intense, abiding passion. Then he set me down and we held each other, and I felt his hands moving over me as though committing me to memory. I wondered how long the imprint of his kiss would last. There were whispers that grew increasingly urgent as time ran out: I love you, I’ll miss you, please write to me...but we’d said everything important already, and in the end there was only silence between us, lips pressed together one last time, tears held in with iron-willed control. This was to become the rhythm of our years. Steve leaving, me saying goodbye, both of us turning away to hide our anguish from each other. In all the times I’ve said goodbye since that first deployment, there are two words I’ve never spoken aloud, not when I was pregnant with twins, saddled with three toddlers or facing a cross-country move by myself. Sometimes, I admit, I had the thought but I held my silence. Despite the fact that the wish was ringing in my head, I never said, “Don’t go.”

When my husband went to sea, there was an almost complete lack of communication. In the early days of our marriage, email, satellite phones and conference calls were unheard of except for communication at the very highest level of command. My only hope of talking to Steve was via ham radio, when we happened upon a friendly, anonymous operator somewhere who was willing to hook us up. There were calls on the few occasions he made port. That our marriage survived the stress, excitement and uncertainty of long separations is sometimes a wonder to me. One of the key elements of our survival was something I was never aware of as a civilian the support system of spouses and families, which is the Navy’s gift to us. During deployment, my life was transformed, not just by my husband's absence and my new-found independence, but by a special society very few are aware of - the world of the Navy wife. When I married Steve, I was automatically inducted into a sisterhood far more intense and real than my college sorority. This was a revelation to me. We were women from all walks of life, balanced upon a single common denominator - the United States Navy.

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I was gratified by the swiftness with which my sisters embraced me. There were welcome coffees and farewell teas, sightseeing and shopping expeditions, baby showers and family socials. We learned to make friends quickly, knowing our time together was limited. These women were my guides through the intricacies of Navy life. I felt as though I had moved not just to another country but to a new plane of existence. I quickly made friends with Alicia Romano of San Diego, who was six months pregnant and who was a master of fantastically detailed counted cross-stitch. Her father had been in the Navy, and she taught me the art of shopping on base at the Navy Exchange and the commissary, dealing with gas coupons, red tape and banking. The wife of Steve’s commanding officer was a dynamo named Rachel Weeks, who had four children, and, though barely forty, had appointed herself mother hen of the squadron wives. At Captain Weeks’s Change of Command ceremony, I watched her fasten the Command Pin on her husband, and I finally understood the role the wives - and very occasionally, the husbands - played. It’s her job - her duty - to be willing to send him off in the service of his country, even if that meant sending him into harm’s way. We junior officer’s wives were a needy lot, many of us away from home for the first time. I don’t think I could have survived that first deployment without the company of these women, each of whom knew exactly what I was going through. As is true for any group of women, we were a diverse bunch. Along with the Alicias and Rachels, there were gossips and back stabbers, women who drank too much and women whose husbands fooled around. Affairs were strictly forbidden - and predictably rampant. Saddest of all were the wives for whom their husbands’ absences were too lonely to bear. As for me, I was determined to do more than wait. I wanted to live a rich, full life. That’s what I learned from my fellow Navy wives. The ones who suffered and sometimes failed during deployment were those who allowed themselves to be defined entirely by their husbands. They could not imagine any sort of life beyond their role as a wife. That, I quickly discovered, is the kiss of death when it comes to marriage. Any marriage, even a civilian one. The women who thrived even while their husbands were gone were those who did what my instincts have always urged me to do. They cultivate lives that fulfill them even when their husbands are far away, assuming their husbands tolerate this. I’m sorry to say that some men don’t. They expect their wives to do nothing but wait and hope and worry about them.

I’m proud to say that Steve always encouraged me to be an independent wife. If he felt threatened by a woman with a mind of her own, he never let it show. Over the years, when he was away for months at a time, I learned foreign languages, taught myself to cook, learned to serve coffee to a crowd of fifty women. Despite the dire predictions of my parents, I finished my degree. I stayed active in the Officers’ Spouse’s Clubs worldwide, a path which has had a significant impact on me. In short, I made a life for myself, one that works whether or not my husband is by my side. Sometimes, I admit, there were things I found very appealing about deployment. I was in charge. It was up to me to determine how that day would go, and that sense of control has always felt natural and right. Each time Steve returned, I welcomed him with open arms. But sometimes I struggled to surrender control to him, biting my tongue when he organized the bathroom his way, rehung pictures on the wall, made dates and appointments without checking with me. As a wife, I felt the tension of mixed messages. When my husband was gone, I was strong, independent, sure of my ability to deal with things. Upon his return, my role shifted to that of partner and helpmeet. Small things, really, a pebble in the shoe. For the most part, life was a joy. It was the adventure Gran wanted for me.

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I wrote letters to her and to Steve. Sometimes I would lie awake at night and, against my will, I’d find myself imagining the very events a military man is trained for - enemy strikes, explosions, plane crashes, bombings, terror attacks. At those times, I’d pull my pillow over my head, shut my eyes tight and pray. I’ve never met a Navy wife who didn’t know how to pray. Both Steve and I greeted my first pregnancy with a sense of tenderness and awe. This was exactly what we wanted, to bring a child into the circle of love we’d created. Then when we discovered I was carrying twins, I longed for him to beg for a deferment from the next deployment. Having a baby alone was a frightening enough concept. Having twins was, well, doubly terrifying. However, by then I’d learned the ways of a Navy wife. “We’ll be fine,” I told Steve with a brave smile. And we were, of course. Brian and Emma were born while Steve’s CO’s wife gripped my hand in the delivery room and encouraged me. Three years after that, back in Pensacola once again, our little Katie joined the family while Steve was in special training to face the terrors of Desert Storm. Did he lose something by not cradling those brand-new slippery bodies in his strong hands and watching our children take their first breaths? Does it matter that he never saw our newborns take on the flush of life and open their eyes for the first time? Oh, I hope not. Missed milestones and moments have always been our reality. The year the twins were born, we went into debt to get the best videotape recorder money could buy, and we’ve done that several times over the years. I’ve never regretted that investment. Another acquisition during our second stay in Pensacola was that same old chicken pitcher. I had bought and sold the silly thing when we were first married and, walking along, pushing three children in their doublewide stroller one day, I found it again. I knew it was the same because of its imperfections, and I bought it again, vowing I’d keep it with us from now on, no matter where we went. It was like a talisman or affirmation of some sort. When you rediscover something you’ve lost, it’s a good idea to take care of it.

Of all the places we’ve lived over the years, my favorite is the place we moved the summer before the twins’ senior year in high school. We actually talked about letting them stay in Texas for senior year, but they’re Navy kids. They were ready for the next adventure, too. So we moved as a family to Whidbey Island, Washington, a long narrow island in the glittering blue waters of Puget Sound. As we stood on the deck of the ferryboat from Seattle, I looked at Steve and said, “I’m in love.” He kissed me, and even after all the years we’d been married, I still had the same reaction. “Oh, ick,” said Katie, now fourteen and righteously mortified by her parents. We shared a grin. Steve made an expansive gesture. “What’s not to love, Grace? Look at this place.” Brilliant white-capped mountains rose straight out of the sea, the sky a dazzling deep blue, majestic evergreens lining the shore. I’m going to like it here, I thought. No, I’m going to love it here. That sentiment proved to be small comfort when I made a suggestion Steve never expected. I wanted to buy a house. I wanted to live here on this magical island, not just for this tour but forever. A legacy from my grandmother, combined with income from a small business I intended to start, would make it possible. He opposed the idea, and when he was deployed, for the first time in our marriage, we parted on bad terms.

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We swore we would never do that, but it was, as the Navy would term it, a mishap - an unanticipated disaster. I think every woman imagines a variety of disasters in her marriage. Navy wives in particular. We are, after all, people who have a great deal of time to imagine the worst-case scenario. Left on my own, I’m facing changes that, for the first time ever, are starting to scare me. My two older children are leaving the nest. In a few years, Katie will be gone, too. I have to figure out what my life will be when I’m not the mom, the CEO of a busy household. What am I then? I think about that adventurous girl I was when I first married. I am not her anymore, but I still want adventure. Not by following my husband around the globe. I’m grateful for that part of my life, but now it’s my turn. There’s a dream that I’ve had for a long time, one I never let myself take seriously or pursue because it would mean settling down and staying put. Trying to go for that dream while Steve went for his was a recipe for frustration, since there was only room in our lives for one big career. Still, it must be a powerful dream, because in twenty years, it’s never died. Something has happened, a slow and inevitable need has built inside me. I suppose I could keep ignoring it, but why? It’s my turn to take my own shot.

I just turned forty. The flower delivery that should have been from Steve turned out to be from someone quite different, someone I’ve never met but who has become important to me. He’s a client, the first and most important client of my newly incorporated firm, Grace Under Pressure.

I’ve never been the sort of wife who puts life on hold while her husband is away. It’s certainly true of this deployment. I’ve made some changes: buying a house Steve has never set foot in, joining a gym, changing my image and starting a small business. I’ve found a new sense of purpose and, in a lot of ways, reinvented myself. Here’s a paradox. The very thing that helped us survive and thrive during this adventure as a Navy family is in fact the thing that might just be our undoing. However much I anguished and missed my husband, I was also cultivating my independence in his absence. Such a trade-off. The sworn duties that prevented Steve from being present at all the children’s milestones, big and small, also enabled us to live a life of rare privilege and adventure. It’s been an honor, not a burden, and together we’ve weathered storms and crises that would tear many families apart. After nearly twenty years as a Navy wife, I ought to be prepared for any sort of disaster to come our way. We’ve weathered the storms of separation, upheaval, both Gulf wars and changes that occur at the drop of a hat. Somehow it never occurred to me to prepare for a disaster in our marriage. I’ve gotten good at lying awake. I take inventory of the things I know, the things I can trust. And of the things I can’t trust. Steve Bennett brought so much into my life. Passion and adventure, the dizzy joy of homecomings and the wrenching pain of farewells, contentment and pride in our children, opportunities most people only ever dream about, perils that civilians never consider. But there are other things he brought, secrets and evasions, a past I knew nothing about. I always told myself that our differences were what made our bond of love so strong, but of course, as I’ve come to find out, I’ve been wrong before. When I look back at all we’ve done, all the places we’ve been the past two decades, I feel a profound fulfillment. Yet when I look ahead, the picture isn’t clear to me. It’s like I’ve come to a crossroads with no sign to point the way.

It’s hard to believe the twins are about to graduate high school now. They’ve become the young adults Steve and I raised them to be. They’re ready to go off to college next fall.

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Brian, as the eldest and only boy, is very well aware that from the moment he was born, his father wanted him to go to United States Naval Academy at Annapolis. Years after my own parents had both passed away, I can still remember what it felt like to bear the weight of family expectations in that way. When Steve gets home from this deployment, Brian has news for him, but I’ll let him tell it. He’s certainly earned the chance to speak his piece. I hope Emma has some news for her dad, too, but at the moment, she really just seems to be drifting. My beautiful Emma has changed these past months, and I’m not quite sure I understand what’s going on with her. Does any adult understand what’s going on with an eighteenyear-old? She seems very adult lately, yet pensive and quiet. Perhaps she’s struggling with her decision about what to do after high school. Perhaps she needs her father most of all. And Katie. What can I say about our little Katy-did, our youngest? She’s a daddy’s girl through and through, which is sort of tough when her father is away so much. She is immensely happy here, on this blue-andgreen island where we’ve found our first real home. She’s one of only three ninth-graders who made marching band, has a group of friends she adores, and I think she might even have a boyfriend, though she hasn’t said anything yet. The prospect of being torn away from here when the next orders come is unthinkable to her. I find myself thinking more and more about the dreams I put aside all those years ago to follow Steve on this journey. Right or wrong, I didn’t let myself embrace those dreams or even confess them to Steve because his seemed so much bigger and more important. Now I understand that the human heart can’t survive without dreams. Sometimes life hands us moments. We can let the moment pass, or explore and embrace the chance we’re given. Right now, life has handed me a new moment. I don’t know what will happen when Steve comes home this time. I keep trying to envision what will happen, but I don’t have a crystal ball. How do you tell the story of a marriage? When my grandmother was still alive, she sent me an article she’d saved from a 1975 issue of Redbook magazine, underlining her favorite passage. On it, Gran had written, “I was married for sixty years. I’m not ashamed to say that sometimes, this was the reason.” The article was by a wise writer named Judith Viorst. The words Grandma had underlined are these: "One advantage of marriage, it seems to me, is that when you fall out of love with him, or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you maybe fall in again." I think about that a lot these days.

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Hunter and Hope by Lenora Worth When Hunter comes home to settle his father's estate, he is surprised to run into his high school sweetheart, Hope — and even more surprised to find her in labor by the side of the road!

Chapter One "I should be back in Atlanta by the end of the week." Hunter McCord held the cell phone close, then glanced over at his twenty-six-year-old brother, Chad. The kid seemed to enjoy riding in a BMW sports car instead of a tractor for a change. Chad slapped his hands against the dashboard as he sang along with the classic rock tune on the radio. Hunter watched his brother mouth the words, "Good to have you home." Nodding, Hunter agreed. For the first time in a long time, it was good to be home, but this trip wasn't for pleasure. Their father, Jared McCord, had died a few months earlier and Hunter, being the oldest son, had come back to help Chad settle their father's affairs. It would be a monumental task, considering Jared McCord had died a very wealthy man. The small town of McCord, Georgia, three hours south of Atlanta, had been founded by his family over a century ago. And Jared McCord had carried on the family tradition of owning almost every building and piece of prime real estate in sight. His father had worked hard building the family assets, but he'd died hard-hearted and bitter, Hunter thought, regrets clouding his weary mind. Shaking off the dark memories, Hunter continued his conversation with his secretary. "Just tell Mr. Singleton that his investments are solid and he has nothing to worry about. And set up a meeting for the first of next week." Hunter turned the steering wheel with one hand, while shifting the phone with the other. Chad laughed and kept on singing off tune. "Okay, Mandy, I'll see you —" Hunter looked up to find a car stalled on the road ahead. Slamming his foot on the brakes, he braced himself for impact. Throwing the phone down, he grabbed the wheel with both hands and managed to steer the small car to a skidding halt about a foot away from the other vehicle. "That was close," Chad said, prying his white-knuckled hands away from the dashboard. Then he glanced at the other car. "Hey, that's Hope Lewis. She must be having car trouble again." Chad opened his door, preparing to get out. "You coming, big brother?" Hunter nodded, but sat there for a minute. "Hope? What's she doing back in McCord?" Chad glanced over at him, his manner hesitant. "She moved back about a month ago. I didn't mention it because...well, you know." Yes, he knew. Hope was a forbidden topic. Hope Lewis. Hunter stared at the late model economy car parked at an odd angle just off the shoulder of the road. Through his dark sunglasses, he studied the woman sitting at the wheel. Although she had her head turned away, he recognized Hope immediately. Shoulder-length, sun-streaked light brown hair gleamed against the springtime sunshine. He remembered that hair, remembered how soft it was, how it curled in natural waves, how she used to fuss with it. How he used to muss it on purpose just to see her blue-green eyes go all soft and teasing. But that was twelve years ago. A lifetime ago, he reminded himself as he opened the door and climbed out. Besides, he'd thought Hope didn't even live in McCord anymore. She lived about an hour away in another

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small farming town. Or at least, she had, last he'd heard. Although they'd been high school sweethearts, Hope was happily married now. And he was happily single. Still. Hunter got out of the car, dread making his steps slow. "Let's see if she needs any help," he said to Chad as they rounded the car and came up to Hope's vehicle. Chad didn't waste any time. He rushed up to her, calling through the open window. "Hey, Hope. You okay?" Hunter took off his shades as she turned to face them. Their eyes met briefly, then she glanced away. She looked upset. Was that because of her car problems, or because of him? "Chad," she said, sounding breathless. "Am I glad to see you." Hunter moved toward the car, wondering why she looked so flushed. It was a warm day even if it was early spring. Maybe she'd become overheated, sitting there in the bright sun. Once again, she glanced from his brother to him, her eyes filled with...worry? Fear? Was she afraid of him? "Hi, Hope," he finally managed to say. "Looks like you need help." She let out a deep breath, as if collecting herself. "Hunter. I heard you were coming back...to settle things. I'm so sorry about your father. I only learned recently that he'd died." "Thanks." Still puzzled, he leaned closer. "Want us to give you a ride?" She managed a chuckle, then glanced at his two-seater. "In that tiny thing? I doubt I can fit in it." He wondered why she'd say that. She looked as slim and pretty as ever in her loose floral dress, even if she was breaking out in a sheen of sweat. "You can take her to town and I'll stay here with her car," Chad said, a meaningful look crossing his boyish face. My brother, ever the romantic, Hunter thought. Then he reminded himself Hope was a married woman. "Did your car break down?" he asked her. "Want us to check under the hood?" She suddenly went pale and clutched at her stomach. "It's not just the car," she said between gritting her teeth. Chad started fidgeting then, his sky blue eyes going wide. "Oh, boy. Hope, is...is it time?" "Time for what?" Hunter asked, completely confused by the way she was acting and the way his brother seemed to be dancing a nervous jig right there on the road. Hope didn't answer. Instead she slowly opened the car door. Then with a look of pure pain etched on her face, she got out of the car. Hunter's heart tripped double time. "Are you hurt? Did you have an accident?" Again Hope didn't answer. She slowly slipped out of the seat, then stood up, her hands on her rounded stomach. "Not an accident, Hunter. Just a baby. I think this little one is ready to come into the world." She moaned, her eyes widening as she bent double and clutched her stomach. "You've got to help me. I think I've gone into labor!"

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Chapter Two Hunter sat in the hospital waiting room, thinking how fast life could change. He'd returned to McCord to help his little brother deal with their father's estate, and instead, he'd run right smack into the past he'd tried to forget. And the woman he'd once loved. His high school sweetheart, Hope Stanton, now Hope Lewis, was married to someone else and she was about to have a baby. It shouldn't matter so much. He shouldn't feel so lonely and confused right now. And he shouldn't be sitting here worried. He wanted to be in there with Hope. But they wouldn't let him. He wasn't the father, after all. The father. In the mad rush to get Hope from her stalled car to the hospital, he didn't even bother to ask her if she wanted him to call her husband. They didn't talk much on the short trip across town. Hope was in too much pain, and being crunched down inside his tiny sports car didn't help matters. Hunter got up to once again question the stern woman at the nurses' station, but before he could say a word Chad came rushing up the hall. "I got the car cranked," his brother said. "How's Hope?" "I don't know," Hunter replied, running a hand through his hair. "They took her right in and...I can't seem to find out anything. I was about to call her husband. Do you know how to reach him?" Chad looked surprised, then shook his head. "Oh, man, you don't know, do you?" Hunter stared over at his brother, wondering what else he was behind on. He hated admitting it, but since he'd lived in Atlanta for the past eight years, he hadn't made much effort to keep up with the small-town happenings in McCord, Georgia. When he talked to Chad, it was usually regarding business. "Know what?" he asked. "About Hope's husband, Roy. He was killed in a car accident last fall. Hope had just found out she was going to have a baby and then..." Chad stopped, shrugged. "That's why she moved back here. She's living with her mom and dad." Hunter actually took a step back. "Hope is a widow?" At his brother's nod, he continued. "All alone and pregnant?" Then he lowered his voice. "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Chad gave him a harsh look. "Because each time I mentioned her in the past, you got mad, remember? I decided you didn't care." He cared. He'd always cared. He just couldn't bear to think about her before. "Is she okay? I mean financially? How's she doing?" Chad kept his own voice low. "Not too well. Roy was a hard worker, but you know how it goes with farming. They had a couple of bad years, cropwise. After he died, Hope found out just how in debt they really were. She had to auction off everything and move in with her parents — just until after she has the baby. She's got a little money tucked away, and she says she's going to find a job when the baby gets a little older." Hunter couldn't believe Hope's picture-perfect life had turned so tragic. Or that his brother had kept in touch with her, while Hunter had tried to forget her. He glanced at Chad. "Should we call her parents?" "I'll do that," Chad said, nodding. "They worry about her — I know they'll want to be here. It'll be rough without Roy. From what Hope's told me, he was really excited about this baby." Hunter could only imagine how Hope's husband must have felt. What man wouldn't be excited about having a child with a woman like Hope? He wondered if Hope was all right, how she was handling the birth of her

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child without her husband there to share the joy. When a nurse came hurrying through the delivery room doors, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Mrs. Lewis? How is she doing?" The nurse gave him an indulgent smile. "Are you the father?" "No," Hunter said, a shred of regret moving through his mind. "I'm a friend. But...I'd like to see her. Her husband died a few months ago and, well —" The nurse's eyes filled with compassion. "Oh, how sad. She could probably use a friend right now. Why don't you go in for just a few minutes?" "Thanks." Hunter hurried through the doors, moving in the direction the nurse indicated. He knocked on the partially closed door, then after hearing Hope's voice, entered the room. "It's me," he said, slowly moving through the semidarkness. "How you doing?" Hope looked up, a feeble smile shining through her pale skin. "I'm okay right now. Just had a major contraction." Hunter stared at all the monitors and gadgets. "I never knew having a baby involved so much equipment." Hope managed a chuckle, but it quickly turned into a grimace of pain. "Having a baby involves a lot of things." She waited a couple of breaths, then asked, "What about you? No children?" Hunter shook his head, then grinned. "Don't I need a wife first?" "No wife yet either? I guess Chad has mentioned that to me a couple of times." She smiled then glanced away. "So you never married?" "Nope. Came close once, but the woman involved wised up to me before it was too late. Work — that's what I do. That's my life. Just work." The words sounded hollow to Hunter. He'd always thought work was important. Since getting away from the yoke of his father's overbearing control, he'd vowed to make his own money, on his own terms. Now that he had done exactly that, he had to wonder why he'd put work ahead of everything else. Standing here, looking at Hope, made him wonder about a lot of things. "I've taken some time off, though. To get things settled here." Hope nodded, then gripped the bed railing. "Oh! Here comes another one." She gritted her teeth, her hand flailing in the air. Hunter caught her hand in his. "What can I do?" "Just let me hold on," she replied, her words coming between breaths. "But don't let me break your fingers." "Don't worry about that," Hunter replied, thinking he would let her break his arm if it would help the pain. "I won't let go." Hope looked up at him then, her blue-green eyes brimming with tears of pain and...sorrow? Did she question that promise, since he'd let her down all those years ago? She held his hand, her breathing coming in great little puffs. When the contraction was over, he saw tears streaming down her face. "Hope, are you all right?" Hope wiped a tear away, frustration etching her face. "I thought I could do this," she whispered. "I thought I could get through this, you know? But...it's so hard without Roy here. We tried for so long to have children. I never dreamed I'd be all alone when my baby came."

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Hunter's heart went out to the woman he'd once loved. Once? Truth be told, he probably still loved Hope. He'd loved her and lost her. So he'd tried to stay away, for her sake. But now he was back, and Hope was single again. Which changed everything. "You're not alone anymore," he said.

Chapter Three Hope couldn't believe what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She'd given birth to a beautiful baby girl. And Hunter McCord had been her birth partner. Hunter McCord. The man who'd left her alone all those years ago. We were so young, she thought, memories of high school proms and long walks by the lake clouding her mind. Yes, but they'd also been in love. Until Hunter had chosen college and a career far away from the small town of McCord, Georgia, over his love for her. "Maybe he never really loved me at all," she whispered. And yet, he was back now and he'd stayed right here by her side, holding her hand during the long hours of labor. Once he'd decided he wasn't leaving, he'd asked a nurse for a childbirth instruction book. In about thirty minutes, he'd skimmed the whole thing, and had managed to do exactly what an expectant father should do. She could still hear Hunter telling her to breathe, breathe. She could still remember Hunter's hand holding her head as he fed her ice chips and encouraged her to rest up between contractions. She shouldn't be surprised. Hunter had a photographic memory — he'd breezed through high school and from what she'd heard, graduated at the top of his class in college. He was a brilliant man, good with numbers, and obviously very successful at managing other people's money. And obviously, he'd only stayed because he felt sorry for her. Still marveling at how he'd managed to sweet-talk the doctor and nurses, Hope smiled down at the tiny child in her arms. "Rachel, your mother has a big problem." Rachel kept on sleeping, content now that she'd been fed. "Your father would be so proud of you." The door opened to reveal a huge tan teddy bear wearing a pink ribbon. "Hello," came an animated voice. "Is this the room of Princess Rachel Lewis?" Hope had to laugh. "Please come in, Mr. Bear." Hunter peeked around the two-foot-tall bear, his grin only reminding her of how devastating his smile could be. "How are my girls?" Hope swallowed the lump in her throat. They weren't really his girls. But the term of endearment made her miss her husband and served to clear her mind and heart of any lingering feelings she might have for Hunter. This was not Hunter's child and she couldn't let him get caught up in her life. She had a new daughter, which meant new responsibilities. And she had a long road ahead of her. "We're fine," she said, her voice strained. "Thanks for the teddy bear, Hunter. He's adorable, even if he will take up most of the bedroom at home." Hunter eased the big bear onto a nearby chair. "I talked to your mom outside. She was beaming with pride." Hope rubbed a hand over her daughter's soft cheek. "My parents have been wonderful since Roy died. Their church helped me through the rough spots with prayers and support, then gave me a baby shower and brought over food to help Mom and Dad out." She stopped, took a deep breath. "I don't want to be a burden to them, though. As soon as Rachel is older, we're going to get our own place and I'm going to find a job."

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"I heard," he said as he settled on the foot of the bed, his gaze moving over her face. "And I wanted to talk to you about that." Hope could see him calculating. The serious look brought back memories. Hunter had always tried to protect her, and in doing so, he'd often overstepped his bounds. Used to having money and power, he'd never given her a chance to prove she could do things on her own. Perhaps that, along with his need to prove himself to his father, had been their downfall. The very thing Hunter hated in his father had been the very thing Hope had disapproved of in Hunter. Both father and son could be a bit overbearing at times. "There's nothing to talk about," she replied. "I have a little money tucked away. And once I find work —" "Hope, you know how bad things are around here. Unemployment is at an all-time high. And what about the baby?" Feeling the sting of his less-than-optimistic words, she replied, "Look, Hunter, I appreciate what you did for me. I don't think I could have made it through last night without you. But Rachel is my child and my responsibility. We'll manage." He scowled. "On minimum wage, working at some fast-food joint or the nearest truck stop out on the interstate?" Hope flushed, but kept her tone low so she wouldn't wake little Rachel. "I don't have much choice. I need a job. And you really don't need to concern yourself with this." "So you just want me to back off," he asked, hands in the air. "Just like that, after...after witnessing this child being born? You want me to walk away and forget that I was ever a part of this?" "Yes, that's exactly what I want you to do. You came home to settle your own affairs. Your father left Chad and you a lot of money and assets — everybody in town knows that — and Chad only wants to farm the land. He doesn't want the trappings of that kind of wealth — that's your department. So deal with that and let me get on with my life." He stood, his expression rigid. "I had no idea everyone around here had such a handle on my business, but then that's one of the reasons I left this place. How do you know what Chad wants anyway?" She leaned back on the pillows. "Chad has been a good friend to me since I came home. We've talked a lot — Roy was also a farmer, so I understand what Chad's been going through, trying to juggle the farm and the finances. You don't know much about the land, Hunter. But farming is hard on a man, hard on a family. To you, it's all about numbers, the bottom line, the money." "You don't know a thing about me," he said. "But you're right. Chad can't do this on his own and I don't expect him to. I came back to McCord to make some decisions and see where things stand. And that's why I'm in a position to offer you help, Hope. I can loan you some money — just to get you on your feet, or find you a position at one of our companies." "No," she replied, the one word stunning him. "Thank you again for helping me, but I think it'd be best if you just do what you came to do, and stop worrying about Rachel and me." He came close, his eyes so blue-black they reminded her of a sky at dawn. "I can't do that, Hope," he said, all traces of anger now replaced with a kind of frustrated longing that confused her and thrilled her at the same time. "I can't just walk away." "You did walk away," she reminded him, bitterness easing the ache in her heart. "You made your choice a long time ago, Hunter. And so did I." He brushed a hand down his face. "I had my reasons for what I did. But things have changed. My father's gone now and so is your husband."

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"So you think we can just pick up where we left off?" "I think we should consider our options, maybe get to know each other again." "That can't happen. I have to think of Rachel now." "I am thinking of Rachel," he said, reaching out to grasp her daughter's tiny finger. "I just want to help you, Hope." "I appreciate that," Hope told him, sincerely thankful. "But I need to do things my way. I can't depend on you." "Why? Because you depended on me once and I let you down?" She realized he was probably right. If she caved in and let Hunter take care of her, the way he'd always done before, she'd only resent him all over again. And it had taken her so long to let go of the pain and bitterness of his departure. Roy had filled that void, but he was gone now. She had to stand on her own. "No, because Rachel and I are not your responsibility. We have plans. And I have to be the one to see those plans to fruition." Looking defeated, Hunter turned toward the door. Then he glanced back at her. "You know if you ever need anything —" "I know," she said with a soft smile. "I'll never forget you being here to bring Rachel into the world, Hunter." "Neither will I," he said. "And I'll give you fair warning. I don't intend to walk away this time. I'll be here through Easter at least, so you'll be seeing a lot of me." Hope watched him leave, her heart pounding an alert. Hunter had always been determined. And he was used to getting his way. "Not this time," she said, sending up a prayer for strength. "No matter how tempting he is."

Chapter Four "Hunter, it's so good to see you again." Hunter stepped into the living room of the Stanton farmhouse, memories pouring over him. "It's good to be back, Mrs. Stanton. This place hasn't changed at all." "Oh, everything's a bit older, I'm afraid," Hope's mother said, chuckling. "Including me." He was older, too, Hunter thought. And wiser. Since finding out his high-school sweetheart was now a widow, and then helping her deliver a beautiful baby girl just a few days ago, Hunter had wised up about a lot of things. Which was why he'd come to see Hope. "Well, both you and the house look lovely," he told Hope's mother as he shifted the bag he was carrying. In her sixties, Audrey Stanton was still a pretty woman with soft features and clipped brown hair. Hope looked a lot like her mother. "And you're still a charmer," Audrey said, urging him down the two steps into the den where a spring breeze drifted through the screened windows. "I'll tell Hope you're here." She turned at the hallway. "Want to stay for supper?" "If that's fried chicken I smell, then yes," he said, grinning.

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She left, giving Hunter time to glance around the cozy room. He'd always loved this old house. The furnishings were mismatched and outdated, but somehow this seemed more like a home than his father's Georgian mansion sitting on a grassy knoll a mile down the road. This house was where he and Hope had shared so many dreams. But none of those dreams ever came true, he reminded himself with a bitter edge. And now, it seemed Hope had other dreams. But she needs you. He wanted to believe that. He intended to convince Hope of that. It wouldn't be easy. Hope came up the hall, her eyes wide with surprise. "Hunter?" Hunter got up, feeling as awkward as he had the first time he'd come to pick her up for a date. "I...I brought you some stuff. Things you and Rachel might need." He shoved the bag at her, then glanced past her at her mother. Audrey Stanton gave him a reassuring smile then headed to the kitchen. Hope looked inside the bag. "Oh, how thoughtful. Diapers, baby powder, shampoo, and...what's this?" She pulled out a bottle of scented lotion. "Rachel is a bit young for something so extravagant, don't you think?" "That's not for Rachel," Hunter said, his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants. "The sales clerk said you might appreciate something nice — to pamper you while you're adjusting to motherhood." Hope stared at the bottle for so long, he felt compelled to speak again. "It's loaded with Vitamin E and aloe...and cocoa butter, too. All the things you women think you have to have to look beautiful." Hope sat down, then placed the lotion on the table. When she looked up, tears misted her eyes. "If you don't like it —" She lifted a hand. "No, I love it." She indicated a chair and waited for Hunter to sit. "It's just that...oh, I guess my hormones are going crazy right now and the doctor says I'm probably suffering from postpartum blues. Everything makes me cry these days." "Especially me," he said, wishing he had gone with his first instinct, which was to stay away. "It's not you either," Hope said, sniffing. "It's just that... Hunter, this is so sweet. So very sweet. I haven't been pampered in so long." She stopped, looked out the window. Hunter crossed the space between them, sinking to his knees. "I didn't mean to upset you." "I'm okay. I miss Roy." She missed her husband. Hunter felt the stab of that admission deep in his heart. "You two...were happy?" Hope bobbed her head. "We were." She took a breath, then looked into Hunter's eyes. "It took me a long time to get over you. I went to the community college, took business courses. I started working at the farmer's co-op — doing bookkeeping and secretarial work. That's when I met Roy. He came in with his loads — peanuts and corn. We were the nearest market. He had to drive a long way just to get here, so we'd chat with each other while he waited around for his loads to be weighed. One thing led to another —" "And you fell in love with him." Hunter didn't want confirmation. It was obvious Hope had loved her husband.

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"Yes. Roy was a good Christian man who tried to be fair. But the world pushed him down so many times. Yet he never let it show. He had such a great attitude about life, about the land." Not like me Hunter wanted to say. His attitude had always been bitter and hostile. And he'd never cared about the land or the town his family had built. "It was a freak accident," Hope said. "He was on his way home from helping a neighbor and another car just pulled right out in front of him on the county-line road. He died instantly." "I'm so sorry," Hunter said, taking her hand. "If there was any way I could make things easier, you know I would." "I know that," she said. "And you've helped me so much already." "But you don't want my help any more," he said, stating what he could see in her eyes "It's not about what I want. It's about what I have to do. Roy didn't leave me a lot of money, but he left me a beautiful daughter. And I have to do what's right for her. Even though I lost everything we had together, I still have to take care of her — I owe Roy that much." "I understand that, Hope. But there's no shame in letting others help out when times are tough." "I have a good support system," she replied, waving a hand in the air. "Mom and Dad are great. And our church members have stepped in, offering me everything from a house to all sorts of jobs. I'm going to enjoy a couple of months with Rachel, then I'll decide." Hunter saw the brave front. Hope had always been brave. And independent. Some of their worst fights had happened when he tried to convince her to do things his way. Hope had resented his interference, his insistence that she listen to his advice. She'd always wanted to stay in McCord and have a simple life. While he'd wanted to move away. But he'd always intended to come back for her. Only now that he was here, she still didn't want his advice or help. "Any ideas about your future?" he asked, raising a hand. "I promise I won't interfere. Just asking." She relaxed. "Mom and I love crafts — you know — making things like door wreaths and pillows, quilts, and pottery." "You always were talented," he said, nodding. "You won first place at the state fair for one of your quilts, if I remember correctly." "Yes, I did," she said, her eyes going dark with memories. "I still have that quilt, too. Remember, I said one day I'd make a quilt for our baby?" Hunter went still. And so did she. For a minute, they just stared at each other, lost in what might have been. "I remember," he said, his voice husky as he lifted her chin with one finger. "How could I ever forget?" The sound of the screen door flapping open pulled them apart. "Well, if it isn't Hunter McCord." Hope's father walked into the room, his gaze anything but cordial. "Come to dinner, McCord? Or come to break my little girl's heart all over again?"

Chapter Five Hope looked from her father to Hunter, wondering if they'd get into a fistfight. Her father had never forgiven Hunter for jilting Hope after high school, and he wasn't happy that Hunter was back in town — and back in her life.

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"Charles Stanton, mind your manners," Audrey said, a dish towel in her hands. Giving her husband a warning look, Audrey took him by the arm. "Well, I'm just surprised to see him standing here," Charles said. "I mean, all things considered. And I'm still trying to figure out why she let him in the delivery room." "Daddy, it's all right," Hope said, embarrassed. Her father and Hunter had never been on the best of terms anyway. "Hunter brought some things by for the baby and he was just leaving, right, Hunter?" She got up, hoping he would take the hint. But her mother's next words stopped Hope from pushing Hunter out the door. "Actually, I invited Hunter to dinner. And it's just about ready. Who wants iced tea?" "Dinner?" Both Hope and her father said in unison. Hope looked from her father's frowning face to Hunter's questioning one. "I don't have to stay," he said, his eyes centered on her. "If I make you uncomfortable —" "You do," Charles said, ignoring his wife's hand on his arm. "You make all of us uncomfortable with your fancy ways and that expensive sports car parked beside my old pickup. We don't know how to act around a city fellow." "I'm not...a city fellow," Hunter said, defeat in the statement. "Look, I'll just leave." "No," Hope said, shooting her father an imploring look. "If Mom asked you to stay for dinner, then you can stay. We'd love to have you." "Speak for yourself," Charles said, shaking his head as he turned toward the kitchen. "But don't say I didn't warn you, girl." Hope pivoted back to Hunter. "I'd like you to stay." She felt the heat of his gaze washing over her. Why hadn't she combed her hair and put on a fresh shirt and jeans, at least. She was tired and seriously sleep-deprived and she hadn't worn makeup in months. Suddenly, Hope wished she'd taken better care of her appearance. Not that it mattered. She was just being polite by asking him to stay. And in the meantime, she should heed her father's advice and be forewarned. "Are you just being polite?" he asked, echoing her thoughts so closely she almost jumped. "I'll only stay if you say so." "I want you to stay," she said. "To thank you for everything — helping me in the hospital, the supplies." She reached for the expensive lotion. "And especially for this." "It reminded me of you," he said simply and with a shrug. She could only nod. "Speaking of this, I should at least freshen up before we eat. I wasn't expecting company. You'll have to excuse my appearance." "You look fine to me," he said, that heated gaze never wavering. "But I don't want to impose." "No imposition," she said, backing toward her bedroom. "I'm going to check on Rachel and do a quick change."

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"Do I make you uncomfortable, Hope?" His words caught her off guard. But she owed him an honest answer. "Yes," she finally said. At his hurt look, she added, "You make me feel...unsettled. But then, you always did make me feel that way." "And I still have that effect on you? Even after all this time?" Hope wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. "Hunter, this is awkward. We used to be as close as two people can be...but that was a long time ago and we were a lot younger. I'm different now. I've changed. And yes, having you back in my life at a time when my emotions are already in turmoil — it does make me uncomfortable." He stalked to her, one hand reaching out to push back a wayward strand of her hair. His fingers brushed over her cheek, making her long for another time. "Maybe I've changed, too. Maybe I need a second chance." Hope backed away from his touch. "I don't have the energy for this right now. I...I have to concentrate on Rachel." "Rachel will be fine. You'll be a great mother." She lowered her head. "Yeah, living with my parents, unemployed. I don't have a whole lot of qualifications." Hunter forced her head up. "You have the most important qualification of all. You have so much love to give. You always did." Hope refused to listen to the soft, coaxing sound of his endearing words. "Well, right now, I only have enough for that little girl in there. I hope you can understand that. I can't...I can't get caught up in something I'll regret." "Do you regret us?" Again, she had to be honest. "I did, after waiting for so long. I held out hope —" "And then you gave up on me." "Yes." "And my being back is confusing?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Well, I'm confused, too. But Hope, since the day Chad and I found you there on the road, I can't seem to think about anything else. I'm here and you need me. That's all I know." "I don't need you," she said, angry that he would automatically assume she was a helpless ninny. "Just because you have money and power, doesn't mean you can make me happy, Hunter. I don't need that kind of attention." She saw the pain in his eyes at her remarks and instantly regretted her cruel words. "I'm sorry —" But he only held up a hand. "Your father is right. I shouldn't be here. I never belonged here and it's wrong of me to think I can just pick up where I left off." Hope watched as he walked toward the door. "Tell your mother thanks for the offer, but I just remembered...I need to be someplace else." "Hunter?"

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She followed him out onto the porch, but he kept on walking. "Hunter, I'm sorry. Really, I didn't mean —" He turned, his hand on the door of the sports car. "I know exactly what you meant. It's too late for us. I was crazy to even think I could make amends, that I could actually explain the past. Crazy to think we might be friends, at least." Her heart hurting, Hope watched him drive away. "We could never be just friends, Hunter," she said into the afternoon wind. "That would be crazy." But she could still feel the touch of Hunter's fingers brushing her cheek. She held the bottle of lotion to her nose, sniffing the delicate scent of vanilla and honeysuckle. Some things a woman could never forget. And some things a man always remembered. Hunter had remembered this was her favorite scent. Even after all this time. Did that mean he still cared about her? She knew that she still had feelings for him. But was it too late for them? Did he have a good reason for leaving her, after all? A sweet torment tearing through her heart, Hope went inside to her daughter. And wondered if she should give Hunter a chance to explain.

Chapter Six A few days later, Hunter found Chad in the backyard with his girlfriend, Amanda. Chad leaned close to give the pretty blonde a sweet peck on the cheek. It reminded Hunter of Hope and him all those years ago. It also reminded him of how they'd left things last time he'd visited her. Hope wanted nothing to do with him. What had happened to their love? His father had successfully driven a wedge between them, but Jared McCord hadn't always been bitter and distant. After their mother's death, he'd turned into a cold, unyielding man. The family physician attributed it to depression. Hunter attributed it to his father not having his wife's calming influence. Ellen McCord had been a pillar of strength and faith. Once she was gone, they'd all drifted away from their faith. And each other. Hunter missed the good times. Now that he was back in McCord and near Hope, he realized he'd missed out on being married and having a family. Hunter pushed thoughts of Hope away as he opened the glass-paneled door to the terrace. "What are y'all up to so early on a Saturday?" Amanda smiled and waved. "The Easter egg hunt at church." Chad elbowed his brother. "Hope's gonna be there." "Oh, really?" Chad had been very verbal about his belief that Hunter and Hope should be together. Hunter was surprised his younger brother even remembered them being sweethearts, but then Chad probably did remember the terrible fights between Hunter and their father. Marcus McCord had deemed Hope unfit for a McCord. He could still hear his father's words. "You will go to college and return here to take over the business, then you will marry someone deserving of your status in this community. That doesn't include Hope Stanton."

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Hunter had gone to college, but he'd purposely defied his father by making a career in Atlanta. And Chad had turned to the land for solace, all the while having to endure their father's disappointment. What's stopping me this time, Hunter wondered. He'd run out of excuses. "Okay, I'll go. Just tell me when and where." Chad slapped him on the back. "The church — you do remember it, right?" "I'll be there," Hunter promised. *** An hour later, Hunter stood by the craft booth. Hope was wearing a pretty floral dress and a big straw hat. When she looked up from face-painting the last child, her eyes locked with Hunter's. "What are you doing here?" "Don't sound so shocked. Maybe I want a daisy painted on my cheek." "Sure," she said, reaching toward him with a wet brush. Hunter caught her hand. "How are you?" "I'm great." She put the brush down. "So why are you really here, Hunter?" "I wanted to find the prize egg." "One of the Tatum girls beat you to it. She's sampling her treasures even as we speak." "Guess I'll have to settle for lunch with the prettiest girl here then. Want to share a picnic blanket and some potato salad with me?" Hope hesitated, glancing away. "I'm only asking you to share lunch, Hope. Just some chicken and coleslaw." She gave him a knowing look. "I do need to eat." "What are we waiting for, then?" He pulled her toward the long table underneath the trees. "I don't know," Hope said, her hand gripping his. Hunter thought he saw a spark of realization in her eyes. He took that as a very good sign. *** Much later, they sat stuffed and content with Chad and Amanda. It was nice to sit and enjoy the spring afternoon. But while Hunter wanted to be alone with Hope, he had other things on his mind, too. "Chad, have you thought about what we discussed yesterday?" Chad's blue-eyed grin turned to a frown. "Yeah, I've thought about it. And you know how I feel. I'm a farmer. Daddy didn't like it, but he lived with it, because I brought in money. And now you don't like it, but that's tough. I'm sticking to the land. You can deal with the rest."

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Hunter let out a frustrated sigh. "The rest helps finance your farming." Chad's face turned red. "I've never asked for a dime I didn't return twofold. If you'd been around, you might have noticed that." Wishing he hadn't brought it up, Hunter nodded. "We'll talk later. But I want you to think about this — it's your inheritance, too." "Fine," Chad replied on a flat note. "I'm going to put up tables." "I'll help." Chad raised a hand. "No, you stay with Hope. We'll manage." Amanda waited until Chad walked away. "He misses you, you know. And he's still grieving for your father." "Aren't we all," Hunter replied, thinking they'd lost their father long before he'd died of a sudden heart attack. "Just...cut him some slack." Hunter saw the love and concern in the girl's eyes. "You two are getting pretty serious," Hunter said, changing the subject. "We want to get married," Amanda admitted. "But if I'm going to teach, I have to finish college first." That statement sounded with a haunting clarity as Hunter's eyes locked with Hope's. He'd wanted to finish college, then come back to Hope. As the years had gone by, he'd drifted further away from that goal, simply because he didn't want to live under his father's rule. Or put Hope through his father's wrath. He'd waited too long. Smiling at Amanda, he said, "Well, I hope you make it." "We will. We love each other." Hunter wanted to tell her that sometimes love wasn't enough, but he couldn't say that in front of Hope. "She makes it sound so simple," he said after Amanda left. "It is simple, for some people," Hope said. She was clearly frustrated with him. "But things are complicated between us, right?" She got up. "Not really. We've just chosen different paths. You chose college and a career. I chose the simple life. I intend to keep it that way." "What would it take to change your mind?" She looked baffled. "You can ask that, after you sounded just like your father, badgering Chad? You tell me what it would take to change things and make them right between us." Then she turned and walked away. Her words were like a slap in the face. An awakening slap.

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What would it take for him to return here and run the business end of things while Chad farmed the land? It would take winning Hope back. And in order to do that, he'd have to keep things simple and uncomplicated, the way she'd always wanted them. Maybe love could be enough, if he'd listen to his heart, for once, instead of his head. He looked up at the church steeple. It had been a long time since he'd lived by faith. Maybe it was time to change that, too.

Chapter Seven Hunter was in church the morning after the egg hunt. He waved to Hope's scowling father and pleasantly surprised mother. Hope gave him a shocked look, obviously still perturbed at him. She didn't know he was trying to change, but Hunter intended to show her. After church, he found her outside. Glancing down at the baby, he said, "Can I hold her?" Hope hesitated, while he caught the scent of the lotion he'd given her. "Of course," she finally said. Hunter took the tiny girl, the pink ruffles of her blanket contrasting sharply with the dark fabric of his suit. "She's so beautiful." "Yes." Hope looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "I never knew I could love this way. It's so fierce. I want to protect her and cherish her, but I also want her to be strong and independent." "She will be strong and independent. And beautiful. Just like her mother." Hope blushed. "I don't know about that. But I do have some good news." "What's that?" he said as he gently rocked the baby back and forth in his arms. "Mom and I found the perfect place to open a shop. You know that tiny Victorian house just around the corner from the bank on Front Street?" "Sure I do. A widow lived there for years, right?" "Right. She died about two years ago. It's been vacant since, but now her children want to sell it. It's affordable and Daddy's going to help us secure a loan to buy it. I think we have a good chance, since the city council and the chamber of commerce are both trying to revitalize those old buildings downtown. Our plan is to sell antiques and crafts." "I could help," Hunter said. "My family does own the bank, remember?" "No." Hope reached for Rachel. "I didn't mean to imply — I wasn't asking for any favors." "Hope, this would be a business deal. Trust me, my family didn't build that bank on favors. We could work out the details in a legitimate contract." She gave him a pleading look. "You have to understand what this means to me, Hunter. I want to do this on my own." He held up a hand. "Let's not get into this here. Will you have dinner with me tonight? Just to talk. We need to get things straight between us."

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She looked down at Rachel, then at him. "All right. Dinner. As friends." "As friends." But as he watched her walk away, Hunter knew he wanted so much more. Now he just had to convince Hope of that. *** Hope took another sip of water, then studied the man sitting across from her. Hunter McCord wasn't the same boy she'd fallen in love with. He was a grown man. He'd changed. They'd had a good discussion about her business venture and he had offered solid advice on what she needed to do, without actually telling her what to do. She appreciated that. Hope glanced out over the lake beyond the window. "I haven't been back here since our senior prom." That brought a smile. "You wore that yellow dress with the ruffles." She put her head in her hands. "It was so awful." "You were so pretty." Hunter finished his coffee, then took her hand. "Do you ever wish we could go back?" "Sometimes. But we can't." He held her hand tightly, his eyes as blue-black as the water. "Will you let me explain?" Hope looked at him. "What did I do wrong, Hunter?" "It wasn't you." He glanced around. "Let's go walk by the lake like we used to do." Hope followed him, her heart doing a double beat. But it was a lovely spring night and she needed to listen to him. She owed him that, at least. They found a spot on the water's edge, then Hunter turned to her. "I loved you so much. You have to know that." She didn't say anything, so he continued. "But my father was determined to send me to college. I only agreed because I thought I could give you more if I had an education. I planned on coming back." "But you stopped writing me. You turned away from me." He nodded. "Once I was away, I felt so free. I had to learn how to handle things without my father's domineering advice. I realized that I'd been overbearing — treating you the way I did." "You mean, always telling me what was best?" "Yes — and you're right. I did — I do sound just like him." He pulled her into his arms. "I missed you so much, but I didn't want to come back here. And I didn't want to hurt you." "So you stayed away for my sake?" "I stayed away...to give you space. You always wanted to stay in McCord. I realized I couldn't do that. If we lived here, my father would never give us any peace. If I forced you to move away, you'd resent me. I was torn, but in the end I decided to...just let you go."

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"Well, you did that. And you left me wondering and waiting. And I'm still wondering and waiting, Hunter." "I never stopped loving you." "No? If you'd loved me, you would have found a way." "I thought I was doing what was best for you. And...you were happy with Roy, right?" "Yes. I loved him." "Well, I thought I was happy. My last year of college, I realized I still loved you, so I decided I would come back here to ask you to forgive me. But on the day I graduated, my father told me you were engaged. He took great pleasure in letting me know. After that, I couldn't come back — that would have torn your life apart. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you married to someone else. I waited too long, so I...just stayed away." Hope felt her heart breaking bit by bit. "Why did you wait so long? We stood in this very spot and pledged our hearts to each other. Then you left and I waited and hoped. I finally gave up. And now you're telling me you never stopped loving me?" "You were engaged to another man. I thought I was doing the right thing." She pulled away. "I don't regret marrying Roy. I have a beautiful daughter because of him and I will always love him in my heart, but Hunter..." She stopped, bringing a hand to her mouth. "We should have been together." He tugged her closer. "I know that now. But maybe we didn't belong together back then. Maybe we had to go through all that pain and separation to bring us back to this spot." "What do you mean?" "I mean...now, Hope. We missed out the first time around, but now...we've been given another chance. And after witnessing Rachel's delivery, I feel as if I've been reborn. Can't you see that?" Before she could answer, he kissed her. His touch brought everything rushing back — all their dreams, the sweet memories of being in this spot on a special night, and all the hurt and pain of losing him. She loved his kisses, loved him still. But she couldn't let him hurt her again. Pushing him away, she searched for her next breath. "I can't do this, Hunter. Not now, when I'm so mixed-up and lonely. You have to get back to your life in Atlanta. And I can't...I won't watch you walk out of my life again." "I'm not leaving this time," he said, his hand on her arm. "I don't have a life in Atlanta. My life is here now, with you and Rachel." Hope held her arms wrapped against her waist. She wanted to believe what he was telling her. But before she could give in to these frightening, wonderful feelings, she had to be sure. "What if you change your mind? What if you realize you're just caught up in the past?" "This isn't about the past. It's about the future. Our future." She reached out a hand to touch his face. "Before we can have a future, Hunter, I think you need to make peace with the past."

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"I'm trying to do that." "Then there's something else you need to do. You need to forgive your father. And you need to forgive yourself."

Chapter Eight "So you're leaving tomorrow?" Hunter turned to find his brother all dressed up for the Sunday church services. "Yes. I'll be back though. Until I relocate here permanently, I'll take care of most of the paperwork via the computer, but I've talked with the bank and the lawyers, so if anything comes up, they'll call me instead of you." "So you don't mind me sticking to the farm?" Hunter admired the quiet strength in his brother's eyes. "You've turned a profit when most farms around here are going under. I'd be crazy to make you give that up." "It's all about the money, then? Is that why you're coming home?" Hunter put down the toast he'd just buttered. "No. It used to be. But Hope said something to me last weekend that made me do a lot of soul-searching. She said I sounded just like our father, badgering you about becoming more involved in business." "Hope's a smart woman, even if she is in love with you." "And my little brother's even smarter. How do you know she's in love with me?" Chad grabbed the toast Hunter had planned on eating. "I don't think she was, before — she loved her husband. But you showing up now, after she's been alone, then helping her with Rachel's birth — you, birthing a baby —" His grin said it all. "Pretty amazing," Hunter admitted. "You didn't think I had it in me?" "I never pegged you for a family man. You seemed to run from that kind of responsibility." "So you thought all I cared about was money?" "I know better now," Chad said, chewing on the toast. "You and me, we've always been different. But we can complement each other. I appreciate that you're willing to work with me, to do what's best, businesswise, that is. Now if we can just get you on the right road lovewise." "And what's that supposed to mean?" Chad clasped Hunter by the arm, then urged him toward the stairs. "Just that you should go upstairs, get dressed, and find the woman you love. She'll be there at church." He glanced out the window. "And man, look at that sunrise. Have you ever seen a prettier morning?" Hunter looked outside. The big sprawling backyard was filled with a brilliant arc of beaming yellow-tinged sun rays parting the morning mist. And suddenly, the mist clouding Hunter's head and heart parted, too. "You're right. I've waited too long to be with Hope. Not many men get a second chance like this." "Seize the day," Chad said, laughing. Then he pointed up toward the heavens. "With Him, you always have a second chance, brother."

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Hunter prayed Hope would see things that way, too. *** Hope came out of church filled with an inner peace. After a week's worth of sleepless nights, she'd decided to put her troubles back in God's hands. Her daughter was healthy and safe, and it was a beautiful spring day, filled with vividly blooming azaleas and dogwoods and an earthy green beauty that spoke of new beginnings. Maybe God would give her a new beginning, too. Hunter stood at the bottom of the church steps, waiting for her. "Hi," she said, her heart opening up like a blossoming flower. "I saw you in church." "I saw you, too. You'd be hard to miss in that pretty yellow hat and dress." "Dad insisted I buy something new for Easter, and I had yellow on my mind." "You look great." "Thanks." She hesitated on the step above him. "I hear you're leaving for Atlanta soon." He nodded. "I have to tie up some loose ends, turn in my resignation, put my condo up for sale." Confused, Hope gasped. "You mean —?" Hunter put his hands on her waist and pulled her down beside him. "I mean, I'm moving back to McCord, for good. And I mean, I love you, Hope, and I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life loving you and Rachel. And maybe give her a little brother or sister one day." Hope felt dizzy and giddy, just as she'd felt so long ago, when he'd said similar words to her. "Do you really mean it this time?" "I mean it," he said, his hands cupping her face. "And I won't interfere in your new business — except to offer you professional advice. I won't give you any special favors at the bank, either. But I have to warn you, if you marry the president of the bank, your loan is pretty much secure." He kissed her, a soft peck on her lips. "What I really mean is...whatever it takes to win you back, I'm willing to do it. If that means you want to run your store on your own, then I can live with that. If that means you need to take some time before you say yes, I can live with that, too. I want you to be sure —" "I'm sure," she said. "I love you, Hunter. And I want you to know — I don't love the boy who left here confused and miserable. I love the man you've become. It's almost like falling in love for the first time, all over again." She saw the relief and the love in his eyes. "So you like the new Hunter McCord?" "Even better than I loved the old one," she said, kissing him. Hunter inched away to whisper, "Well, I sure like the new Hope Stanton Lewis, soon to be Hope McCord, maybe?" She nodded. "I'm here to stay." She kissed him again, just to seal the deal. When they heard laughing and clapping, Hope broke the kiss to find half the congregation gathered around them. "I take it the town approves." "Everyone except your father," Hunter said, shooting an eyebrow toward the scowling Charles Stanton. "I'll work on him," Hope whispered, "while you work on getting back here as fast as you can."

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His eyes lit up. "Then that's a yes?" "Yes, but...I do need to take this slow, Hunter. I want to enjoy being courted again." "To relive the past?" She ran her fingers through his hair. "No, to start our future." Hunter lifted her in his arms, spinning her around in a tight hug. "Isn't it a beautiful morning?" Hope nodded, grabbing her hat. "Like being born again." "Or starting over," Hunter said. "Let's go get Rachel. I want to tell her that one day soon, I'm going to be her new daddy." "I think she already knows that," Hope said. Then she looked up toward the sky, silently sending Roy a final smile. From a nearby tree, a creamy dogwood blossom floated down toward her, and catching it, Hope held it to her heart. She had another chance at happiness. This time she didn't intend to let it get away.

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Wishful Thinking by Mindy Klasky Aspiring actress Kelly Reilly’s world is sent into a tailspin when her longtime boyfriend and fellow thespian Rob Cornell gets the opportunity of a lifetime—an opportunity that doesn’t include her. Kelly’s sympathetic father doesn’t have any sage advice to offer, just a tarnished old…lamp? To Kelly’s surprise, she’s soon got a genie at her beck and call—a gender-bending, wisecracking and very real genie! The perfect solution to her problem, right? But with each wish Kelly makes, the situation gets more and more complicated, and she quickly realizes that even a charmed life has its imperfections….

Chapter One I was in the weeds. I'd only been working for two hours, but Mike's Bar and Grill was packed. My father had named his restaurant after himself, but everyone called it "Mephisto's." With Dad's red hair he looked like the devil, and his burgers were good enough to lead anyone down the path to Hell. Tonight, I felt like I was halfway there, myself. I should have chosen an easier career path. I never should have become an actress. Dropping off a round of Cold Spring Ale to one of my tables, I barely resisted the urge to crash my tray against a customer's creeping fingers. I had to mind my manners, even if he didn't. He was a director. He might cast me in a play one day. Me, or my boyfriend, Rob Cornell. Speaking of whom… I craned my neck to find Rob in the crowded dining room. The only other waiter that Dad had scheduled to work that night, Rob had spent most of his time serving customers in the private rooms at the back—the Shakespeare Room and the Mamet Room. Frustrated by my demanding patrons, I was ready to quote some choice Mamet lines myself. Before I could put together a string of perfect curses, though, Rob emerged from the curtained party space. My annoyance immediately turned to a smile, an automatic response to Rob's unruly black curls, to the banked fire of his cobalt gaze, smoky even across the crowded room. Without conscious thought, I raised a hand to wave at the only guy I'd ever kissed. He had the power to make my entire disastrous night one hundred percent better, if only I could lure him into the pantry for about thirty seconds of stolen kisses. Rob ignored me. I'd like to say that he didn't see me, but that was impossible. He'd been staring right at me. And let's face it— my flame-red hair makes me sort of hard to miss. No, the kid I'd pushed down the slide when we were both three years old, my grade school sweetheart, my high school boyfriend, my college beau, Rob pretended that I was nowhere in the room. Just as he had when he came on for his shift. When we'd passed each other going in and out of the busy kitchen. When I'd caught him talking with Dad at the restaurant's bar.

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Before I could name the knot tying itself in my stomach, I turned toward my father. I was surprised to see his features creased into a frown. Mephisto Mike never frowned. He never had a care in the world. Except, tonight he did. He gestured me over with a flick of his head. In response to my questioning look, that rare frown turned into a scowl. A scowl that was tinted by something…sadder. "Kelly." He sighed. "Something tells me you're going to need this." Before I could respond, he set a cardboard box on the edge of the bar.

Chapter Two I turned on the overhead light in the pantry, looking over my shoulder as if I had something to hide. Dad had shoved his cardboard box into my hands, telling me to take it back here, to the closest thing the restaurant had to a private space. Sighing, I pried open the flaps of the box. Crumpled newspaper nestled around a gleam of metal. Puzzled, I lifted out a brass lamp. Its sides swelled gently, tarnished in the light from the bare bulb. The spout was delicate, almost fragile. I held the oil lamp above my head, looking for some mark, some explanation, some reason that my father would have given me such a gift. Before I could find anything, though, the door to the pantry opened. Without conscious thought, I shoved the lamp onto a high shelf, hiding it behind a row of industrial-size canisters of salt. Rob ducked in. "Oh," he said. Trust me. He's usually much wittier. "Hi," I said, suddenly feeling like we were back at the eighth grade Harvest Dance. Except I didn't have braces. And he had grown into his comically huge puppy-dog hands and feet. And there was something wrong, something way beyond typical tween embarrassment. "Your father sent me to get a bottle of Grey Goose." I wrinkled my nose, more at my father's interference than at Rob's gullibility. "This is a hamburger joint," I pointed out. "Dad doesn't stock Grey Goose." Nevertheless, Rob seemed determined to find the vodka on the shelves. He looked intently at every horizontal surface in the pantry. Looked intently, in fact, at everything but me. I stepped toward him and settled my fingers on his wrist. Maybe it was my imagination, but his pulse leaped like a team of wild horses. "Hey," I said, forcing myself to smile. "It's okay. Whatever's wrong, it's me you're talking to." "That's the problem," he said, and he didn't need to use his superb acting ability to convey the fact that he was miserable. Honestly, totally miserable. A shiver crept down my spine, as if someone had opened the door to our first Minnesota blizzard of the season. "Rob, are you all right?" "I'm fine," he said immediately, with the same gruff disregard for his own well-being that had served him so well in our high school production of South Pacific. He had played Emile de Becque (with a lot of makeup.) I had played Nellie Forbush.

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"What's going on, then?" I forced myself to sound like the incarnation of reason. "Kelly." He finally met my eyes for the first time. "I am so sorry." He raised a hand to my cheek. I knew what his palm would feel like against my skin. I knew exactly how he would cup my face, just before he leaned in for a kiss. He shook his head, though, and backed away, dropping his hand awkwardly to his side. "You're going to hate me for what I have to say."

Chapter Three "What is it?" I asked, my voice sharp. Rob's grim look alone would have frightened me. But combined with the stress I'd seen on my father's face? And the strange brass lamp that Dad had given me? What was going on here? Rob took a deep breath, counting to five before exhaling. The action was achingly familiar—I'd seen him do it hundreds of times, warming up for a play. I half expected him to launch into one of the tongue twisters we used to further loosen up. "Tomorrow-morning-I-leave-for-New-York-to-play-the-lead-in-New-Day-Dawning." If I hadn't known the guy for more than twenty years, I might not have been able to pick out what he'd said. As it was, I could discern the words, but I couldn't grasp their meaning. Rob was going to New York? Tomorrow? For a play? Without me? Without even mentioning it to me? "But New Day Dawning closed last week." He stared at me miserably, his eyes darkened to indigo. "Our production did. But Randolph is picking it up for New York." Gerry Randolph, legendary Broadway producer. The man who had come to see us—Rob and me—as we debuted New Day Dawning in a workshop production at the prestigious Twin Cities Rep theater. We had fallen into the show—Rob had worked with the director the year before, and he'd wrangled an invitation for me to audition. The entire production staff had been struck by how well Rob and I worked together, how smoothly we handled the perilous emotions of a husband and wife on the brink of divorce. Weeks of rehearsal had brought us closer as a couple, annealed us into better actors than we'd ever been before. The play had garnered great reviews, and I'd let myself believe that we could choose whatever roles we wanted next—maybe even perform at Minneapolis's world-renowned Landmark Stage. Except, I'd miscalculated. Rob had been catapulted to whatever role he wanted. Randolph had chosen him. And Rob wanted New York. But that wasn't the real problem. That wasn't the real surprise. I forced myself to say the words that spun through my head like a carousel out of control. "You accepted Randolph's offer, without even talking to me first?" "He said he couldn't wait! He had to know, right then. Besides, we've always supported each other's careers!" He had the words ready, but he couldn't look me in the eye. "'Support' doesn't mean making final decisions! You should have asked me. We should have talked."

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I thought about the sympathetic look Dad had given me. He had known what Rob was going to say. Rob had talked to my father before he'd told me. Twenty years of growing up together, of being in love, and he hadn't spoken to me first. "Kelly, be reasonable." I said the most reasonable thing I could think of. "Get out of here, Rob! Go to New York! Alone!"

Chapter Four I knew I was being unreasonable, but my feelings were hurt. This was the guy I loved, the guy who'd always said he loved me. Not only had he decided to move halfway across the country without even telling me, he was moving for a job that would advance his career. Advance him far beyond my own pathetic hopes. Without me. "Kelly," Rob said. He sounded so miserable that I almost reached out for him, almost slipped into the familiar circle of his arms. Arms that were going to be 1,500 miles away, come tomorrow. "Leave me alone!" I curled my fingers into a fist, hoping the motion would stop my voice from shaking. "We should talk." "Now you think we should talk?" I whirled toward the pantry shelves behind me, fumbling for the nearest solid object—a canister of salt. This was eerily like New Day Dawning; I was slipping too easily into the role of jilted wife. Not that Rob and I were married. Yet. In the play, I threw a book at my onstage husband. In real life, Rob ducked out of the pantry before I could find out if I would actually throw something at him. Even as the door slammed closed, I shoved the salt back onto the shelf. The motion jostled the brass lamp that I'd hidden away. I barely caught it before it could clatter onto the floor. I hadn't realized I was crying until I saw a tear shimmer on the tarnished brass. I bit my lip and scrubbed at the metal, trying to eradicate the watery proof of my emotion. My fingers buzzed as they connected with the lamp. Pain jangled up my arm, burning like a thousand bee stings. I swore and dropped the metal, not caring as it clattered on the pantry's bare floor. A cloud began to pour from the brass spout. Glints of light swirled in the air around me—sapphire and topaz, ruby and emerald. The shimmer spun in front of me, coalescing into a sparkling mist roughly the size of a human being. Astonished, I blinked. And when I opened my eyes, I was staring at a ballerina. She was six feet tall, and her body seemed carved of alabaster, long and lean and strong. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, framed by a diamond tiara that shone even brighter than the jeweled cloud. Those diamonds were echoed in the severe lines of her leotard, in the froth of her tutu. The classic perfection was offset by an unlikely tattoo around her wrist—a brilliant wreath of flames. "What—" I started to say, but I couldn't finish the question.

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The dancer looked around the pantry and arched one eyebrow in wry amusement. "So now I am trapped in a grocery store?" Her words were heavy with a Russian accent. "Who are you?" I managed to choke out. "Jaze," she said, extending one perfect hand. "I am your genie, molodaya devushka."

Chapter Five "Genie?" I gaped. Under other circumstances, I'd have thought I was crazy, that the stress of Rob's sudden announcement had pushed me over some mental precipice. I would have believed that I needed a serious mental health evaluation. Or at least a good, stiff drink. (Forget the Grey Goose—Stolichnaya suddenly seemed more appropriate.) But I had to accept what I was seeing. My father wasn't the practical-joke type. He'd known the bombshell that Rob was going to drop on me, and he'd seen fit—somehow—to help me through the shock, to introduce me to this…genie. The ballerina—Jaze—waved her tattooed wrist through the air and produced a sheaf of papers. Another swipe, and she held a jeweled pen that looked like it had been rejected by the Fabergé egg factory for being too gaudy. "Now we sign the papers, da?" What else could I do? I took the pen. Jaze flipped through the document, muttering Slavic curses as she perused the minuscule type. A half dozen times, she indicated where I should initial key clauses, all written in English. On the last page, she showed me where to sign my name. I had no idea what the papers said. But, really, why should I care? I mean, it wasn't like I had any bargaining power. This was just like being an actress, hoping for a role, desperate for a lucky career break. Ultimately, powerless. Or at least, dependent on others. Jaze snapped her fingers and made the pages disappear. "Your first wish, then?" Looking back, I guess I should have tried to do something amazing with Jaze's magic. Created world peace. Eliminated poverty, or at least starvation. Invented a free, clean energy source. But those possibilities honestly never crossed my mind. Those things just couldn't be possible. After all, Dad would have done them with his own wishes, right? I certainly hadn't noticed any major changes on the international front, so I had to assume that Jaze's magic worked on a more…personal scale. And what could be more personal than saving true love? As soon as my thoughts fell back to Rob, I knew what I had to wish for. "I wish that Rob would stay," I said. Saying the words out loud, I felt selfish. He was an actor. New York was his dream. Our dream.

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There would be lots of other shows, other chances at New York. New Day Dawning wasn't a fluke. It was the launch of a brilliant career—our brilliant careers. We'd forget about manipulative Gerry Randolph. We'd create even better opportunities. Together. After a little joint planning. Jaze's stare was as sharp as the diamonds on her tiara. She was clearly asking me if I was certain, if I knew what I was doing. Shoving down my apprehension, I caught my lower lip between my teeth and nodded. Jaze raised her fingers to her earlobe, making her tattoo flames flash. She tugged twice and said, "As you wish."

Chapter Six Four hours later, the electric jangle had finally disappeared from my fingers, just as Jaze had disappeared from my life. She'd said that she was allowed to gallivant around town while I considered my remaining wishes. I could get her back by pinching my thumb and forefinger together, saying her name out loud. Faint tattooed flames on my hands argued that she was playing fair. Which was more than I had done with Rob. He was waiting for me after work, ready to drive me to my tiny apartment, apparently prepared to overlook my anger in the pantry. As soon as I saw him in the parking lot, I was swamped with remorse about my wish. I had to tell him everything that had happened. I had to tell him about Jaze. I had to confess my wish. But the words caught in my throat. I couldn't say Jaze's name or mention the lamp. I was knocked mute each time I tried. Rob sighed at my spluttering inarticulateness and shoved his key into the car's ignition. Halfway home, I realized that Rob's sigh hadn't been about my inability to speak. He had something to say, himself. Something that made him nervous, if the raking of his fingers through his curls was any sign. "Go ahead," I finally said, after he'd pulled into the loading zone outside my apartment building. He stared straight ahead, as if the Saab in front of us was the most fascinating vehicle in the world. "Rob?" I finally prompted. "You were right," he said at last, each word rasped over sandpaper before it left his throat. "I should have talked to you before I accepted Randolph's offer." "Thank you," I said, relief and gratitude swirling uneasily into the pool of guilt excavated by my wish. I shoved aside my conflicting feelings and leaned across the gearshift, ready to bury our argument with a kiss. Rob shook his head, though, and I realized we weren't through talking. "I should have talked to you, but you should have supported me. You should have realized what the opportunity meant to me." I edged away from the queasy tangle of guilt his words roped around my belly. "Meant?" "I'm not going to New York." Yes! My wish had been granted. But Rob went on. "I don't know enough about Randolph, about the show he's staging. It might all be pie-inthe-sky. A disaster."

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"It could be," I said, flooding the words with relief. I covered his right hand with my left and squeezed, giving him a goofy leer. "Why don't you come upstairs? We can talk about the next step that's right for both of us." He shook his head. "Kelly, no. There isn't any 'us.'" "What?" I felt like I'd forgotten how to speak English. "You heard me." He gritted his teeth and leaned against his door, putting as much distance between us as his ancient Corolla permitted. "We're over. Through. I'm breaking up with you."

Chapter Seven A lot of couples fight. They say terrible things to each other, rant, rave, break up a dozen times a year. Not Rob and me. We always just…agreed. We thought the same about all the important things, and we shrugged off the myriad tiny details that didn't matter. And so, I had no idea how to respond to his breaking up with me, no clue what to say. My mind was reeling as I collapsed onto the couch in my apartment. I pinched my thumb and forefinger together and said, "Jaze!" I poured all of my anger and fear and shame into the single syllable. Immediately, colored motes swarmed in front of me. Copper swirled around silver; gold dove beneath bronze. I caught my breath at the intricate dance, and when I exhaled, I found myself facing a football player. Not a ballerina. A linebacker, complete with shoulder pads and helmet. And a football. Oh, and he was huge. The only familiar thing about the guy was the tattoo that glinted on his wrist as he drawled, "No need to shout." "Um, Jaze?" I asked. "You expectin' somebody else?" He settled his fists against his hips and looked around, as if I might actually have some other brass lamp lurking in my apartment. "No, it's just…" I trailed off, wondering what I should say. "I told you I was gonna check out what's happenin' in town." He sounded exasperated, as if he were talking to a stubborn child. "But as a football player?" "You got somethin' against football players? What, you think we're all stupid or somethin'?" "No, it's just…" I couldn't figure out where he'd been, dressed like that. But what did it matter? What did I care, what my genie looked like? So long as he could make things right. "Jaze, I need to take back my wish." He snorted in amusement. "Yeah, right." "Come on! It's only been, what, four hours? Five, tops?" He stared at me, narrowing his eyes as if he were weighing the possibility of throwing me downfield. "Haven't you read any fairy tales, girl? You don't get a do-over on wishes."

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"But everything happened so fast, back at the restaurant. You took me by surprise! I didn't have time to think things through!" He sighed in obvious disgust. "I've got a schedule to keep, girl. Goals to meet." He produced a scrap of paper from thin air, waving it in front of my face so vigorously that I could barely make out the tangle of arrows and Xs and Os. "There's a plan for me, y'know? A pattern." I'd never understood football. Rob didn't watch the game. It was one reason that we got along so well. Had gotten along so well. "Please?" I begged, horrified to feel tears welling up. Another one of those deadly stares. Then, through lips as tight as his uniform pants, Jaze announced, "Three. You have three wishes left. Don't make any more stupid mistakes."

Chapter Eight The following afternoon, I stood before a stainless steel table in the kitchen at Mike's Bar and Grill. Dad always made lunch for the waitstaff before the evening shift. Once again, Rob and I constituted the entire staff. But Rob hadn't shown up for lunch. Dad pretended to be surprised. I wasn't astonished, but I had hoped, dreamed, wished with all my might that Jaze's retraction of my magical misstep had patched things up between Rob and me. I should have cut to the chase and wished for Rob to love me again, to love me as simply and easily as he had for all the rest of our lives. Having failed to use my genie to my best advantage, though, even on a second try, I’d have to take matters into my own hands. I'd win Rob back with a Tower of Love sundae. I couldn't remember which of us had been the first to build a Tower. Our special dessert was born out of the sad-but-true fact that most people don't know how to make a proper ice cream sundae. Most people prefer hot fudge. A few choose caramel. Almost everyone uses vanilla ice cream. Rob and I were the only people we knew who preferred strawberry sauce, mixed with pineapple. Over coffee ice cream. With slices of barely-ripe banana and mounds and mounds of whipped cream. No nuts. Definitely no nuts. Don't knock it till you've tried it. We'd shared Towers when we'd been cast in the plays of our dreams. When we'd missed out on treasured roles. When we'd buried our geriatric childhood pets, Fluffy and Mittens and Rex. I was adding the final dollop of whipped cream when Rob came into the kitchen. His curls looked like they'd braved all the winds of the seven seas, and his eyes were bloodshot. I was willing to bet that he hadn't slept the night before. Neither had I. "Rob—" I said. "Kelly," he said, at the same time. I edged the fluted sundae dish toward him. I'd already placed it on a saucer to catch the inevitable spillover of sauce. I stared at him steadily. "I'm sorry," I said. When he didn't reply, I held up a pair of spoons.

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He closed the distance between us with an urgency that made my heart pound. He snatched the spoons from my hand and clattered them onto the table. Before I could say anything more, before I could react, he clutched my arms, pulling me close. His mouth on mine was hot, and I was startled by his urgency as he tangled his fingers in my hair. He leaned into me hard, and I felt the metal table, cold against my spine. Shocked, I finally remembered to kiss him back. And kiss him. And kiss him. And then, without warning, he stepped away. I saw the look in his eyes—shock at what he'd done. Remorse. I felt the bitter knife of disappointment before he said a word. "I'm sorry," he gasped, casting a wild glance at the already-melting Tower. "That was a mistake. Kelly, I shouldn't have—I mean…goodbye." And before I could stammer out something, anything, he was gone.

Chapter Nine I had just dumped the entire ice cream, syrup and whipped-cream mess in the industrial-depth sink when my father came back to the kitchen. I tried to pretend that I wasn't crying, but he knew me too well. Silently, he tore off a length of paper towel and passed it to me. I continued lying to myself, pretending that the sound of running water could drown out my sobs. Ever the good father, Dad didn't contradict me. Instead, he waited until I was ready to wipe my eyes, to blow my nose, to return to some semblance of normalcy. "Dad?" I croaked like a dying frog. "Hmm?" He busied himself with setting up his cooking station, laying out plates, checking the temperature of the fat in the fryer. "What did you use your wishes for?" Aha! Jaze's magic didn't keep me from asking my father about the genie. He was already in on the secret. Dad topped off a massive pepper grinder, taking a long time to screw the gadget back together. When he finally looked at me, his jaw was set, stubborn with the same determination I'd often seen in my own mirror. "Some things should be kept private, Kelly." I thought about my mother, halfway across the country after she'd discovered that she preferred living on an Oregon commune to raising four girls in Minnesota. I thought about my younger sisters, making their own ways through the jungle of the Twin Cities theater scene. When had Dad made his wishes? How long had he kept Jaze's lamp a secret, waiting to pass it on to me? Years? Months? Only a few days? I sighed and fished my notepad out of my apron. I might as well see if we had any customers. Dad wasn't going to say anything more about our genie. But I was wrong. "If I had one wish left…" He sighed. I whirled to face him before he could let the thought drift away. "Yes?" I prompted.

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"I didn't get around to asking for help with the restaurant. Business was fine, back when I was making wishes—I never thought about asking Jaze for help here. But now, with the economy the way it is… I worry about staying open. And I worry about keeping jobs available for all you actors around town." "Oh, Dad," I said, giving him a quick hug. He'd always had a soft spot for us idiots foolish enough to pursue theater as a career. Nearly all of my acting friends had survived on a Mephisto paycheck at one point or another. He sighed and flashed me his famous devilish grin. "So, how many wishes do you have left?" He obviously wanted to change the subject. I glanced at the door to the dining room, knowing that Rob was waiting out there. Rob, who had taken the brunt of my first ill-planned wish. "Three," I said with firm resolve. "But I think I know what to ask for next."

Chapter Ten This time, I braced myself for whatever identity Jaze adopted. I hardly blinked as I summoned my genie, pressing my fingers together, calling out his, her, whatever's, name. I was prepared for the swirling colors. I was braced for the coalescence into a living, breathing apparent-human. And I barely skipped a beat when I realized Jaze was getting in touch with her feminine side. Her very feminine side. That leather corset would have had trouble covering up her…assets, even if it didn't have those slashes that bared her rib cage. Fishnet stockings had to leave her legs freezing in the October wind. At least she had a blanket of tattoos to cover her exposed flesh—she sported so much ink, I barely recognized the flames around her wrist. I wasn't sure if she was supposed to be a street walker or a refugee from some downtown nightclub, but I was determined not to let her appearance derail our conversation. "I'm ready to make a wish," I announced. She tossed her mane of dyed black hair out of her eyes, pausing to pick something from between her teeth, using one of her scarlet talons. "I'm all ears." Well, that was obviously a lie. Jaze obviously had a lot more than ears. For some reason, I felt like I needed to justify myself. "I know I got in trouble with my last wish because I was being selfish. But I really did mean to help someone else. To help Rob." I swallowed hard, determined not to think about the restaurant shift I'd just finished, the longest eight hours of my life. Rob had said nothing all night long. Well, nothing of consequence. He told me when I picked up his black-and-blue burger for table seven by mistake. And he let me know we were out of Cold Spring. But he certainly didn't mention the kiss that we'd shared in the kitchen. I shuddered, determined not to think about that as our last kiss. Grimly, I pulled myself back to the conversation at hand. "I want to do something for someone else." Jaze's sharp features twisted into a grin. "Any particular someone?" I nodded. "My father." My genie's eyes slitted with the shrewd suspicion of a hooker—or a party girl, for that matter. "Giving up on your boyfriend?"

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"No!" My shout was loud enough to surprise us both. "I—I just need a little time to patch things up there." "Patch," Jaze said with a leer, and I didn't even want to think about whatever she was imagining. "Uh-huh." "Look, I'm ready to try this wishing thing again, okay?" "Oh, yes," Jaze said with a suggestive wriggle. "I'm yours to command." She was a hooker. Definitely. I'd thought this wish through. I'd measured out the implications. I wasn't going to get blindsided, the way I had the first time. "I wish that Mike's Bar and Grill would become the most successful restaurant in the theater district."

Chapter Eleven I'd expected restaurant success the moment that Jaze said, "As you wish." I thought that I would walk into a full dining room the next afternoon, that Dad would have hired a dozen actors to wait on full tables, to manage the line of eager patrons that already stretched halfway around the block. Not exactly. The restaurant looked the same as ever as I tied an apron around my waist. Dad was back in the kitchen. Rob was making himself busy in the Shakespeare Room, obviously still avoiding me. Same old, same old. Until I seated David Golden. The David Golden. Restaurant critic for the Minneapolis Star Tribune. I smiled and led him to our best table. He ordered an Angry Planet Pale Ale. After a quick study of the menu, he asked for a burger, bacon and Swiss, and a side of sautéed mushrooms. I barely made it back to the kitchen before squealing in excitement. Rob looked up from the plates he was balancing on one forearm. "What?" "David. Golden. Out. There. Now." My father clattered a basket into the deep fryer. "In my dining room? This I've got to see!" "You can't!" Rob and I said at the same time. "Just cook up your best burger." I said. "Give him fries and onion rings." Dad nodded and settled into his role. He didn't dig in the back of the fridge, seeking out perfect mushrooms. He didn't slice into a new brick of cheese. He didn't hand-pick strips of bacon. He just cooked. Like he always did. When I turned back toward the dining room, Rob was waiting for me. "Ready?" I asked. He nodded.

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I ducked behind the bar and pulled Golden's beer, making sure that it had a perfect head of foam. Rob stopped by the critic's table with a flawlessly casual greeting, setting down fresh bottles of ketchup and mustard, adding extra napkins. I gathered up some of the magazines that Dad kept behind the bar for slow afternoons. Pasting on my best stage smile, I approached and asked, "Would you like something to read while you wait?" I thought that Golden's twitching eyebrow was a gesture of approval. Like magic, everything fell into place. Dad's burger looked like a work of art and smelled like heaven. Every fry, every onion ring had a perfect golden glow. The tables next to the critic remained open, giving him peace and quiet to enjoy his meal. And enjoy, he did. He polished off every bite—every crumble of bacon, every fry and onion ring. He ate with the gusto of a man who has a standing appointment with his personal trainer. Golden paid in cash, leaving behind a twenty percent tip. As the door closed behind him, I realized that Rob and I were standing next to each other, side by side, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. I felt calm. Accomplished. Victorious. Rob sighed and said, "There's only one thing wrong."

Chapter Twelve "What's wrong?" I asked, concern fogging my voice. Rob sighed. "You're going to take this the wrong way." "No, I won't. I promise." When he stayed silent, I settled a hand on his arm. "Rob, we talk to each other, right? We're boyfriend-girlfriend." Whoops. Technically, we were still broken up. Sure, he'd given me the kiss of my life, the afternoon before. And we'd just proven that we could work as a team, in front of the most demanding audience in the world. But he cringed when I said those stupid twosyllable words. "Come on, Rob! Am I the only one who takes twenty years of dating seriously?" Again, with the sighing. And the hand through his curls. And those incredible eyes blinking. "That's the thing, Kel. It's all too serious." "What do you mean?" "Everything I say, everything I do, it's all loaded with too much meaning. We serve a customer, and it's make-or-break for Mephisto's. I kiss you, and it's like I'm proposing. I worry about what to say to you, every single word. It's too serious. Too hard. I want things like they were before we fought. Before Randolph offered me the play, before I changed my mind." "But we've always made serious decisions together, without any problem. We decided to go to the U together! We decided to live a block apart from each other. We've balanced our audition schedules, rehearsal calendars, even our shifts here at the restaurant!"

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He refused to look at me. Instead, he spoke to his beat-up Converse All-Stars. "Don't you see? We avoid the difficult stuff. If we really trusted each other, trusted our relationship, wouldn't we have tried different schools? Or wouldn't we have moved in together, instead of keeping separate places? Wouldn't we have let our careers move ahead, without worrying about who has the lead in every single production?" I was stunned. His questions made sense. I understood what he was asking, what he was saying. But I disagreed, with my entire body, mind and soul. We hadn't done those things precisely because we were right for each other. Because we belonged together. Because we didn't have anything to prove to anyone. To ourselves. Except, now we did. The silence stretched, and I finally said, "What did you mean just now? What's the one thing wrong about Golden reviewing Mephisto's?" Rob still talked to his shoes. "He's going to say it's amazing. You know that. And the place will be busy again, busier than it's ever been before. And you and I will work harder than we ever have before. And a year from now, two years from now, five, I'm going to look back and say I was the best damned waiter Minneapolis ever saw." He finally looked at me. "That's the problem. I don't want to be a waiter, Kelly. I want to be an actor. With or without you, I want to—I need to—succeed in the theater."

Chapter Thirteen With or without me. Those words ran through my head the entire evening shift. The entire drive home. The entire time that I stood beneath a steaming shower, washing away the scent of burgers and fries and onion rings. The more I repeated those four words, the more I realized that Rob hadn't actually been talking about his success in theater. He and I could work out professional goals. We could figure out ways for him to achieve his theatrical dreams. No. Rob was questioning me. Us. For the first time since we'd started fighting, I truly understood. Rob didn't know if he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. I'd thought that pushing him down the playground slide had bound us together for life. He wasn't convinced. Hadn't been convinced, despite high school homecoming. Despite college graduation. Despite two years in the outside world. He didn't know if he loved me. Without making a conscious decision, I tugged my terry bathrobe tighter around my waist. I straightened the towel that bound my hair, pressed my thumb and forefinger together and called out, "Jaze!" This time, he was a clean-cut lawyer, freshly shaven, wearing a navy pinstriped suit and carrying a briefcase. As soon as he saw my robe and towel, though, he giggled in a most unlawyerly way and exclaimed, "Oh, goody!"

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He tugged twice on his ear, and the courtroom attire was replaced by a robe of sumptuous white linen. A snowy towel draped around his neck like a terry cloth cravat. "Ready for a sauna, girlfriend?" "Jaze, cut it out. I don't want to play your games." He cocked his head to one side. "Really? What do you want?" I sighed. "I want Rob to love me. You can do that, can't you? Grant my wish and make him love me forever?" "Stop right there!" Jaze held up a hand, as if he were conducting traffic on Lovelorn Freeway. "I don't usually say this to a human, so listen carefully—that would be a terrible wish to make." I was astonished by his vehemence. "Why?" "Been there, done that, girlfriend. You'll end up hating yourself. And him. And me." "It seems like such a simple solution!" He shook his head so hard, I thought his towel was going to fall off. "It isn't. If it were simple, I'd let you make it, and I'd be one step closer to the Garden." "Garden? What are you talking about?" He sighed. "I thought you were on such a roll, I wasn't going to have to tell you about it." He muttered to himself, "Two wishes in twenty-four hours…I figured we'd be done in record time. You'd be happy, and I'd be that much closer to the Garden. But no. You stall out, two wishes down. Goodbye, Garden!" "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Jaze raised buffed fingertips to his earlobe. "Brace yourself. It's easier to show you, than to tell."

Chapter Fourteen One moment, we were standing in my apartment. The next, we were nowhere. Nothingness stretched as far as I could see. I glanced down, and my bare feet were planted on a colorless floor. The air wasn't hot, wasn't cold, but goose bumps rose on my arms. "Jaze?" I called out, my voice quavering. His voice came from behind me. "Over here, silly!" I whirled to face him. I was strangely relieved to find that he still wore his linen robe, that his towel still hung around his neck, slightly askew. At least my genie hadn't transformed into something hideous and unknown in this bizarre place. Jaze curled his hands around something in front of him, invoking the presence of a fence with the most perfect bit of mime work I'd seen since a theater workshop Rob and I had completed in college. "Ah, the lilacs are out! Don't they smell wonderful?" If he was pulling my leg, I wasn't in any sort of mood to play along. "Jaze, I don't smell a thing."

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"Damn!" He turned to face me. "I thought that maybe, just possibly, you were one of the Perceptives." I shook my head. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." He sighed. "You know that genies can grant wishes." I nodded. "Genies who grant enough wishes are rewarded with a trip to the Garden." He waved at the empty space behind him. "It's beyond this fence, just through this iron gate. A tiny fraction of the humans we serve are able to perceive the Garden. They can hear the nightingales, smell the freesias, feel the sunlight dappling through the trees. They can truly understand why we genies work so hard to grant wishes. To get inside." And, for just a moment, I did understand. Oh, I still couldn't see the flowers. For all the birdsong I heard, the Garden might have been stocked with offkey crows. We could have been surrounded by cardboard, if my nose was any guide. But I heard the pure longing in Jaze's voice. The desire. The uncomplicated love that he felt for the Garden, for life beyond those invisible iron posts. There were rules, of course. Jaze couldn't take shortcuts. He needed to grant all of his wishes before he could enter. And I couldn't take shortcuts with Rob. I couldn't force him to love me; even Jaze, wanting to get into the Garden, thought that was a terrible idea. And he was right. I'd never trust Rob, never know if he stayed with me because I'd bound him through magic. Jaze said, "I brought you here because I thought you might be Perceptive." I shook my head. "Sorry," I said, smiling ruefully. "Not the way you mean." He sighed and looked over his shoulder. "I don't suppose I can convince you to make two other wishes? Really quickly?" "Not yet." I shook my head, but I vowed that I would figure out what was worth wishing for. Really quickly.

Chapter Fifteen Two weeks later, I was no closer to making my two remaining wishes. I was just too busy to concentrate on what my genie could do for me. Determined to carve out a theatrical life independent of Rob's, I'd gone to two auditions. One was for a production of Anna Karenina. When I found out it was a children's theater production, I left. I couldn't imagine how they were going to stage the tempestuous affair, much less the train wreck of an ending. By contrast, the other show was Alice in Wonderland. I quickly discovered, though, that the director wanted to build an adult audience for the classic—and he was going to do that by having us all perform in the nude. I ducked out before the Red Queen could shout, "Off with his head!" So much for my flourishing independent theater career. At least business at the restaurant was busier than ever. As Rob had predicted, David Golden's review was a rave. Dad wasted no time hiring extra staff, all actors. I knew most of the folks, but one guy was new to me: Drew Myers. Drew's tousled hair was dark blond, brightened by perfect golden streaks. His dark brown eyes sparked with green highlights. He was gorgeous, and funny, and easy to be around.

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And he was dumb. He forgot half his orders before he got a chance to write them down. He auctioned off food at the tables, not even attempting to remember who had requested what. He was zealous about keeping glasses full, but he regularly topped off diet pop with regular, and vice versa. I quickly realized that Drew wasn't going to last in Mephisto's hectic atmosphere. But he was fun to look at, while he stuck around. I wish that I could have written off Carmen Rodriguez as easily. Carmen's thick black hair and creamy complexion made heads turn. Her lilting Venezuelan accent cajoled customers into supplementing their orders; she sold more appetizers and desserts than the rest of us combined. She wore her jeans tight and her T-shirts tighter, and she made sure that she reached across male customers' tables early and often. As if to prove that the universe is never fair in distributing its gifts, Carmen was a genius as well. She had a master's degree from Yale Drama. All of which I could have ignored. After all, Carmen was just a coworker. She'd stay at Mephisto's for a while, and then she'd land a starring role in some blockbuster play. Or so I thought. Until I stepped into the kitchen after one particularly long night spent correcting Drew's countless mistakes. Until I saw the freezer door standing open in the kitchen. Until I saw a sundae bowl sitting on the counter. Until I heard Rob say, "I know it sounds terrible, Carmen. But you have to try it! Strawberry and pineapple sauce over coffee ice cream. Bananas, but no nuts. And lots of fresh whipped cream."

Chapter Sixteen I didn't wait until I got home. Instead, I tugged on my winter coat and hurried out to my car. The temperature had dipped well below freezing on this late October night, and my breath fogged up my window as soon as I slammed the door closed. I was so furious, I barely felt the chill. I squeezed my thumb and forefinger together. "Jaze!" I was used to it by now—the glitter of magic dust, the swirl into a human shape. I barely blinked as I registered the outfit du jour: an Arctic explorer. Jaze wore a bubblegum-pink parka, and her matching moon boots barely fit in front of the passenger seat. She took off massive goggles and said, "You rang?" "I wish I had a perfect body," I snapped. Silence. "Did you hear me? I wished for a perfect body." "Oh!" Jaze exclaimed. "You're serious? I thought you were joking." "Ha-ha." I was in no mood for games. "No one agrees on what makes a body perfect." I thought about Carmen Rodriguez, eating my sundae. I pointed at my perfectly average chest and said, "Let's start with some double-Ds." "On your frame?" Jaze's laugh only tossed fuel on my rage.

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"Don't tell me—" "It's like outfitting a sled for the Iditarod," she said with exaggerated patience. "If you start with a lightweight frame, you can't expect to pack on—" "I am not a sled!" Wow. I hadn't realized how loud echoes could be inside a Ford Focus. As soon as my ears stopped ringing, I said, "And before you share any more nifty analogies, I need to lose about fifteen pounds." "Anything else?" "My hair needs to be longer. Twelve inches, I guess. With waves, extra body." Jaze nodded. "And my eyebrows need to be waxed." Why go to a salon, when I had a genie at my beck and call? "And my teeth. Can you bleach them?" "How about fingernails, while we're at it?" "Great idea! I've always wanted long fingernails." "Of course," Jaze said, rolling her eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" "A lot of men find long fingernails attractive. Brings out the animal in them." She growled suggestively. "I'm doing this for myself," I protested. "I deserve to be happy." "And this perfect body will obviously make you very happy." "Yes!" I wasn't going to let Jaze talk me out of this. It might be cheating to force Rob to love me, but I was allowed to be noticed, right? Especially with Carmen sucking all the air out of Mephisto's. "Come on, Jaze. You're the one who wants to get into your precious Garden. I'm ready to make my wish." "All right, then. No skin off my nose." She stripped away a mitten and found the tip of her earlobe. She stared at me, her eyes asking a silent question. "Do it!" I said. "As you wish." Jaze tugged, and my body was folded into a blanket of sparkling lights.

Chapter Seventeen A week later, no one had noticed the change. Sure, I'd caught Drew leering at me when I carried plates in and out of the kitchen. But I'd come to realize that he gave every woman a complete appraisal, his attention always lingering on her chest. He didn't seem to care what he saw—melons, oranges, or eggs. Fried. He just enjoyed the view. No, I was the only person who seemed aware of my transformation. I was the only one who noticed how hard it was to keep long fingernails clean. I was the only one who realized I'd purchased an entire aisle of hair-care products at Target. I was the only one who skimmed through People, obsessing that heavy

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eyebrows would come back. I was the only one who smiled, then became self-conscious about my blindingly white teeth. Over and over, I caught myself waiting for Rob to say something. After all, he'd been the first person to buy me caramels after my braces came off. He'd given me ladybug earrings to replace my gold piercing studs. He'd found a floppy hat for me on a spring break beach trip when my highlights turned out a little too…high. But he didn't say a word about my new body. I suspected that the silence was a side effect from Jaze's magic, like my inability to talk about the genie. No one could realize that I'd transformed overnight, or the cat would be out of the magical bag. It didn't matter, I told myself. I hadn't made the changes for anyone else. For Rob. I'd made them for myself. To bolster my self-confidence. To make me happier. I didn't really believe that. But I felt marginally better than I would, admitting I'd made a mistake with yet another wish. Matters weren't helped by the fact that autumn was the slow season for auditions. It was too late for Christmas plays and too early for summer froth. Every theater in town seemed to be scaling back their casts. On the one hand, that was great for Mephisto's. Dad had his pick of hapless actors to hire as his restaurant business burgeoned. But for me, and my hopes of advancing my professional career? Not so great. I finally found a show to try for. Silent Stage was new to me, but they'd received a fair amount of press for their creative productions. The company mounted shows without spoken words, music or any other aural trappings. I couldn't imagine what they were going to do with The Music Man. But I had to try. I had to land some role. I made it down to the theater with plenty of time before the audition actually began. I was nursing an oversize coffee and giving myself the pep talk of my life. Marian the Silent Librarian was exactly what I needed to turn around my luck. I'd almost convinced myself. But then Rob walked through the theater door. With Carmen.

Chapter Eighteen I almost didn't recognize Carmen. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a prim bun. She wore some sort of shapeless broadcloth blouse, tucked into a hideous ankle-length skirt that looked like a refugee from the seventies. Her limpid eyes blinked behind granny glasses. She was the very embodiment of Marian the Librarian. And it wouldn't matter that her speech lilted with a Venezuelan accent. Not for Silent Stage. Of course, she saw me immediately. She dragged Rob over so that she could deliver a cosmopolitan kiss on each cheek. "Cara," she purred, after I stammered out a greeting. "Will you excuse me? I see an old friend." Her smile was flawless as she darted over to the director. Rob and I watched her fall into animated conversation with the man who would decide our theatrical fates. "Hi," I finally said to my once-beloved, when the awkwardness had become thick enough to cut with my father's meat cleaver.

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"Hi," he said. Twenty years of constant chatter, and we were reduced to this. "There aren't a lot of auditions these days," Rob finally said. "No. There aren't." Sheesh. If I were a director, I'd throw both of us out, for being the most stilted, uncomfortable couple in the history of American theater. Not, um, that we were a couple anymore. I didn't know what we were. "You look great this morning," Rob managed, and I couldn't help but beam. "Did you cut your hair?" No! I wanted to scream. It's twelve inches longer. By magic! So much for wooing him back with my perfect, genie-created body. What a stupid idea that had been. And that's when I realized what I had to do. Dad had intended to help me when he'd passed along Jaze's lamp. He'd meant to get me through a rough patch, to comfort me when Rob went to New York as a brilliant theatrical success. But Dad wasn't responsible for the wreck I'd made of things. Truth be told, Jaze wasn't either. And Rob was totally innocent; he'd just been caught in the magical backlash. I could fix things. Now. Before they got any worse. "I'll be back in a sec," I said. Rob nodded. He knew that I always had to go to the bathroom before auditions. Rob knew everything about me. I saw the relief on his face. He was being spared more of our horrible, awkward conversation. Fortunately, the bathroom wasn't occupied when I got there. Everyone else was waiting to strut their stuff onstage. Every woman there was wasting her time, though. Carmen was a shoo-in. But that didn't matter now. Nothing mattered, except making my fourth wish. I raised my hand in the flickering fluorescent light, studying the almost-invisible flames on my fingertips. What would happen to them, after I called Jaze for the last time? There was only one way to find out. I pressed my fingers together and said my genie's name.

Chapter Nineteen "It's about time," Jaze grunted. He was a farmer. His plaid shirt was obscured by faded coveralls, and his John Deere cap had been green sometime in the distant past. His hands were huge. Fresh dirt was creased into his knuckles, rubbed into the tattooed flames that burst beneath the frayed cuff of his sleeve. Deep ruts set off his eyes, as if he spent most of his time outdoors, in the sun. Bits of straw glinted in his hair.

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I wondered if he'd been practicing for his time in the Garden. Somehow, I didn't think so. The place he'd described in that field of nothingness seemed much more refined. I shrugged. Jaze, and his farm, and his Garden weren't going to be my concern much longer. "I've chosen my fourth wish," I announced. "You sure rushed that. Just in time for the kale harvest." I thought he was being sarcastic, but I wasn't sure. I didn't know the growing season for kale. "Well, go ahead! Think I'm going to stand here till the cows come home?" I knew less about dairy farming than I did about raising kale. But what was I waiting for? I raised my chin and looked steadily at Jaze. "I wish that Gerry Randolph would cast both Rob and me in his New York production of New Day Dawning." I was taking a risk. The play might flop. Rob and I might never regain our familiar footing. I might hate leaving the Twin Cities, abandoning my father and my sisters and the only home I'd ever known. But it was time to take a risk. What I had wasn't working. "Yup, that's a good one." Jaze raised one mammoth hand to scratch his neck before he narrowed his eyes. "That's your last, you know." "I know." He cocked his head to one side, and a sliver of straw spiraled to the floor. "You're sure?" "I'm positive." "All right, then." He took a step back, shifting his right hand to capture his fleshy earlobe. "As you wish," he said, and he tugged hard, twice. Once again, I felt the electric shock that had announced Jaze's arrival. Once again, the air filled with lights. Once again, I blinked. But this time, I opened my eyes to find my genie gone. I raised my tingling fingers, only to discover that my shadowy tattoos were missing as well. My days of debating about magic were over. I stared at my transformed self in the bathroom mirror and wondered why I didn't feel more of a loss. In the silence, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I'd set it on vibrate so that I wouldn't disrupt the Silent Stage audition. I fished it out and stared at the unknown 212 phone number. This was it. "Kelly Reilly," I answered. A woman's nasal voice twanged, "Hold the line, please, for Gerry Randolph." My heart started pounding as I waited for the famous producer to invite me to my future.

Chapter Twenty

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Rob was standing in the lobby. He snapped his cell phone shut, amazement widening his sapphire eyes. "I don't believe it," he said. "I know." I glanced at the closed doors to the theater. We'd missed the beginning of auditions. I wondered who would play Professor Harold Hill opposite Carmen. I didn't really care. "I can't believe Randolph called me back," Rob said. "Not after I blew him off a month ago." "I guess he really wants you." "Us," he said, putting enough emphasis on the word that my breath came short. "He wants us." Before I knew what was happening, Rob closed the distance between us. His arms folded around me, pulling me close, and I realized that I'd missed him even more than I thought I had. I could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, and I tried to remember how many times we'd stood like that, how many times I'd felt our breathing match, how many times we'd started to laugh at the exact same instant. How many times he'd kissed me with so much heat I thought my knees would buckle. His fingers were tangled in my newly luxurious hair when I forced myself to step back, to look him in the eye. "What about Carmen?" A flicker of doubt flirted with his lips before he frowned. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was angry with you. Confused. I'd wanted you to be happy for me, to support me—" "I should have—" I started to explain, but he cut me off with another kiss. When we could speak again, I said, "I'm sorry." "I'm sorry, too." I consciously changed the topic. "I can't believe they want us out there by Wednesday." "Your father will throw a fit." I smiled. "I don't think so. Somehow, I don't think this will be such a surprise to him." Rob glanced at the closed theater doors. "Ready to get out of here?" I didn't want to be the voice of reason, but someone had to be. "How will Carmen get home?" Rob shrugged. "She'll grab a ride with someone. She's friends with half the world." "The male half," I said. The words slipped out before I could stop myself. Rob cupped my face with his palm. "You know, Carmen and I were just friends." "Yeah, right." My glib denial hurt, but not as much as I expected it to. "Seriously. I knew early on that she was never going to be the woman for me." "When?" I asked, curious despite myself. "The first night I tried to get her to eat a Tower of Love sundae. She said coffee ice cream was disgusting with the strawberry and pineapple. And she hates whipped cream."

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I laughed, even as my stomach rumbled with hunger. "Hey, let's go raid the freezer at Mephisto's! A Tower of Love would make a perfect breakfast." Rob pulled me close as we stepped outside, and his whisper was for me alone: "As you wish."

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Shattered Trust by Margaret Daley Maddy Greene has faced her share of tragedy, but thanks to her strong faith, she’s still able to see the good in the world. Wanting to make a difference, she’s started volunteering at a local women’s shelter, and she takes her role very seriously—even when it brings her into conflict with jaded Detective Sean O’Neal! Sean O’Neal has seen the worst the world has to offer. His dedication to his job as a cop and his loss of faith cost him his marriage. So when he meets Maddy Greene, he’s not sure what to make of her generous nature and trust in God. He’s amazed by her willingness to put herself in danger to help a stranger in need. And even though he’s terrible at relationships and is married to his work, he can’t help but want to spend more time with her….

Chapter One Detective Sean O’Neal crossed the foyer of the McKinney Women’s Shelter, intent on only one thing: interviewing the victim of an assault. “What is your business here?” A lady no more than five feet three inches tall moved to block his path. The blonde tried to interject toughness into her words, but Sean pressed his lips together to keep his chuckle to himself. A regular pit bull with a lilting voice. He delved into his inside coat pocket and withdrew his Cimarron City police badge, flipping it opened then closed. “I’m here to see Penny Nelson.” He started to stick his shield back in his pocket and skirt around her when she said, “Not so fast. I’d like to check it out.” Her mouth puckered into a frown. He presented his badge again. Concentration creased her forehead while she took his police identification and studied it. “Do I pass?” “It looks real.” “That’s because it is. If you have any doubt, get Kelli McKinney and she’ll vouch for me. I’m her brother’s partner.” “Kelli isn’t here.” She remained in front of the doorway. “Then call the station and check with them.” Sean glanced at his watch. “I’m on duty and don’t have a lot of time for chitchat.” She checked the badge and ID once more. “You’ll have to sign in before I’ll buzz you inside.” After gesturing toward a clipboard on a nearby desk, she thrust his shield toward him. “I can’t be too careful. One of the other volunteers told me about a woman’s abusive boyfriend impersonating a cop.” Sean stepped to the desk and signed his name on the sheet of paper. “Are you new here, Miss…?” “Maddy Greene, and yes, this is my first week volunteering.” She pushed a button on the side of the desk, and a clicking sound echoed through the foyer. “Well, you’re doing a good job guarding the door.” He started to go around her, intent on seeing Penny to get her statement then meet his partner, David Russell, at the crime scene of another case. “Don’t patronize me.” She straightened her small frame and locked gazes with him.

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He paused, taking in her short haircut that feathered her oval face and highlighted her sky-blue eyes. Eyes at the moment dark with a mounting anger. “I’m sorry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” As he passed her in the entrance, a whiff of her scent—like an apple pie his grandmother used to bake— caught his attention and for a few seconds he was pulled back to his childhood. When the world was simpler. As he strode into the large recreational room where several women sat, he suddenly realized he didn’t know where Penny Nelson was. He’d only been here one other time, when he and David had brought Penny to the place and David had introduced him to his sister, Kelli, who ran the shelter. At that time Penny had refused to press charges against her husband. Now she was considering it, and he’d offered to come talk to her. He’d also hoped to get Penny to flip on her husband and his side business of stealing cars. When he didn’t see Penny, he turned back to the little pit bull standing in the entrance to the rec hall, watching his every move. Anger still lit those blue eyes. He covered the few feet separating them. “I don’t see her down here.” “Did she know you were coming?” “Yes.” “Then I’ll call her room and let her know you’re here. Men aren’t allowed past the rec hall.” What would she have done if Penny hadn’t known he was coming? Drag him back into the foyer? “I’d appreciate it. I’m Detective Sean O’Neal.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. For a few seconds she stared at it before she fit hers within his and shook it. “I know who you are. Remember I’m the one who does a good job guarding the door. I read it on your police ID card.” “I shouldn’t have said that.” She pivoted and strode toward the desk. “I’d rather be known for that than the opposite.” After punching in three numbers, she rotated away from him and spoke low into the phone. Too low for him to hear. Which irritated him. She doubted him even now? Being one who had trust issues, he could identify with Maddy Greene. And yet, being treated with mistrust needled him. You can’t have it both ways, O’Neal. “She’s coming. Her son just went down for his nap.” “Thanks.” He headed back into the main room, glancing over his shoulder to see if Maddy had regained her post in the doorway. Yep, she was there, tracking his moves. He grinned, gave her a salute and winked. A flush stained her cheeks, and she turned away. He chuckled and swung around to find Penny coming into the rec hall. A black eye and her arm in a sling attested to the kind of husband she’d married. He hoped he could convince her to testify against the man. *** Heat still scored her face as Maddy thought about Detective Sean O’Neal and his cocky attitude. Someone had to protect these abused women. Her eyes had been opened when a friend from church had been put in the hospital because her boyfriend hadn’t liked an answer to a question. That was when she’d decided to do something to help. This place offered her the perfect chance to do that. So three mornings a week, she manned the reception desk—the gatekeeper to the shelter.

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Maddy checked her watch. He’d been in the rec hall for half an hour. All she knew about Penny Nelson was that she’d been here for almost a week and kept to herself. She had a little boy who was three, but she didn’t gather much in the common areas with the other women. The door to the inner part of the shelter opened. Exiting, the detective closed it behind him, his face set in a serious expression that made Maddy wonder if his conversation with Penny had gone well. “Did you get what you needed?” she asked and wanted to snatch the words back the second she said them. His serious expression evolved into a frown. It wasn’t her business, although she would make a point to befriend Penny if possible when she was relieved from the reception desk later. He crossed to the desk and slid a card and a photo toward her. “If this man shows up, don’t let him in and call me immediately. I put my home number on there, too.” “Who is he?” “Bart Nelson, Penny’s husband. Bad news.” Having seen the woman and the condition she was in physically and emotionally, Maddy had to agree. “I’ll let the other people who staff the desk know about the man. Sadly, we have others we have to keep an eye out for.” “Yeah, the world is in sorry shape.” The jaded edge to his words touched Maddy. She supposed he saw a lot of the bad side of people because of his job, but as long as the Lord was in the world, there was hope. The light in the dark. “Have a good day, detective.” She smiled. He grunted and left, throwing her a puzzling expression right before he shut the outer door. Sighing, she settled back in the chair and tried for the next hour to get Detective Sean O’Neal out of her mind. She hadn’t been very successful when the outer door opened again. A deliveryman with a bouquet of flowers entered and started for the locked inner door. Maddy rose to intercept him when recognition dawned on her. He was Penny’s husband.

Chapter Two “This robbery gang is getting bolder.” Sean strode away from the crime scene—a ranch-style house in a quiet neighborhood. “Hasn’t even been two days since the last one a street over,” said his partner, David Russell, pocketing his notepad. “Which means they should move on to another area, but they’ve fooled us in the past.” Stopping at his red Camaro, Sean turned to David. “I went to see Penny Nelson this morning at the shelter.” “She gonna press charges?” “Changed her mind from the time she called me to when I showed up.” David chuckled. “You mean your persuasive charm hasn’t worked yet?”

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“Ha. Give me time.” Instantly a picture of a petite blonde popped into Sean’s head. And just as quickly he shoved it away. He had no business becoming interested in any woman after his failed marriage. According to his ex-wife, he’d been married to his job. Maybe she was right. “I’ll get my sister to help. She’ll convince Penny to put her husband behind bars.” “Let’s hope. But we’ve both seen Penny’s brand of fear.” Too often. “I’ll see you back at the station. I’ve got to run by my sister’s. There’s been a minor crisis with my teenage niece. Something about skipping school. I’m not sure what Kelli expects me to do. I’m not married and I don’t have children.” David headed for his car that was parked behind Sean’s. “I can’t help you there. I don’t know the first thing about kids.” And that was the way Sean wanted it. How could he bring a child into this world when it was so messed up? His ex-wife had wanted children, but the longer he was a cop the more he hadn’t. He supposed that’d been the beginning of the end for them as a married couple. Sean slipped behind the steering wheel and started the engine. His ex-wife was right. He shouldn’t be married. As he pulled away from the curb, his cell rang. “Detective O’Neal.” “This is Maddy at the shelter. Penny’s husband just tried to get in to see her. I stopped him and he left, but he wasn’t too happy about it. Just thought I’d let you know.” “Lock the outer door. I’ll be there in ten.” Sean pressed his foot on the accelerator and headed toward the women’s shelter. He didn’t trust the man to stay away, especially if he knew his wife was inside. Ten long minutes later, he pulled up in front of the building and hurried toward the front door. It hung wide open. A crashing sound from inside spurred his steps even faster while he retrieved his cell to call for backup. *** “I’ve called the police. They’re on the way.” Maddy pressed against the side of the desk, using her body as much as possible to shield the button that unlocked the interior door. The tall man, covered in tattoos with a buzzed haircut, advanced on her, his huge arms slightly curved at his sides with his hands fisted. “Unlock that door or I’ll tear it down.” Maddy stared into the dilated eyes of Penny’s husband. Rage looked back at her. Fear mushroomed to a fever pitch as she glanced around. She had nowhere to go. Lord, help. She sidled away, trying to draw his attention to her face and away from the button by saying, “I don’t know who Penny Nelson is. She isn’t here.” Suddenly his arm snaked out, and he gripped hers with bruising fingers. He dragged her up against him, thrusting his face into hers. “She’s here. I know it.” “I’ve never seen—” The brute slapped her across the face, snapping her head back. Her mind swirled from the force of the hit. Her ears rang.

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Through the clamoring of her heartbeat, she heard, “Police. Let her go.” The man’s nostrils flared, his eyes darkening, narrowing. A tic jerked in his jaw as he whirled around and yanked her in front of him—all so fast it made her thoughts spin. She faced Sean O’Neal with a gun leveled at them. Her knees went weak. She sagged toward the floor. Bart Nelson wrenched her up against him, one arm across her neck, choking the breath from her lungs. “If you don’t back off, I’ll snap her neck,” he yelled. “You aren’t gonna do that because then I’ll be forced to kill you.” The sight of the detective’s gun wavered before Maddy as her oxygen-deprived lungs screamed for more air. The rapid staccato of her heartbeat added to the pressure building in her chest. Suddenly from the corner of her eye, Maddy glimpsed the inner door opening. Her captive loosened his grip on her briefly, turning slightly toward the entrance. She went slack, pulling all her weight down. Her head slipped through the crook of his arm as Sean charged him. Maddy flung herself to the side, collapsing against the edge of the desk. The scuffling sound to her left drew her attention as Kelli, holding a baseball bat, and several more women poured through the doorway. Sean pinned her captive against the floor, rolled him over and secured handcuffs around the man’s wrists before Maddy inhaled several gulps of air. “Are you all right, Maddy?” Kelli helped her to stand upright. Maddy swayed against the desk and used it as a support. Sean threw her a glance over his shoulder, the concern on his face riveting her to him. For a long moment she couldn’t take her gaze off him. Finally he broke eye contact as he hauled Penny’s husband to his feet. Bart locked his stare on someone in the entrance to the shelter, and suddenly he tried to hurl himself forward. Sean tightened his grip and the man came to a halting stop. Maddy looked around and saw Penny in the doorway. She stepped back, hiding behind several other women. Her heart ached for Penny. “Maddy?” Kelli’s gentle touch finally drew her to her friend. “I’m okay.” Maddy took another deep breath, the constriction around her chest easing. Two police officers entered the building, and Sean handed Bart over to them to take down to the station. Then he was at Maddy’s side, that earlier concern leveled at her. “I’m taking you to the hospital to get checked out.” “No.” “That’s not an option. He hit you hard.” His grounded-out words and the hard set to his jawline emphasized his determination. A shout of rage boomed through the foyer. Sean peered toward the man wrestling with the two officers who were trying to remove him. Sean started toward the trio when finally Maddy’s attacker settled down enough to be taken from the building.

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Sean swept his attention, intense and determined, back to Maddy. “After you’ve been checked out at the hospital, I’ll drive you home.” Maddy stood up, squaring her shoulders. “No.”

Chapter Three Surrounded by people in the shelter foyer, Maddy faced Sean, tilting up her chin. “No, I won’t go to the hospital. I avoid them as much as possible.” Her husband had spent so much time in one, especially toward the end. Sean twisted his mouth into a frown. “Then I’ll take you home.” His commanding presence threatened to overwhelm her. She needed time to quiet her reeling mind and riotous nerves. Clasping her hands together to keep the trembling from showing, she said, “I can take care of myself.” His frown strengthened into a scowl. Ignoring the glare, she turned toward the drawer where she kept her purse. The rotating motion made the room spin. She gripped the desk’s edge and slid her eyes closed for a few seconds, then retrieved her bag and dug through the contents for her car keys. As she withdrew them, her hand shook so badly they clanged to the tile floor. Sean leaned over and snatched them up. “Yes, I can see you’re all right to drive.” Kelli came to stand next to her. “Please let Sean take you home. You’ve been through a traumatic experience.” The thought of navigating the noon-hour traffic suddenly swamped her. Her brain shut down, and she nodded. “I’ll be just a minute. I want to have a word with Penny, then I’ll be ready to take you home.” Sean moved off toward the doorway where the women still clustered. “Are you sure you’re okay? That you shouldn’t be checked out?” “Not you, too, Kelli. I’m just shaken.” Maddy clutched her purse to her chest. The thought of what could have happened if Sean hadn’t come when he did knotted her stomach. “Understandably. This makes it even more important to install a better security system. I don’t want any more incidents like this. I’m gonna call the company and see if they can come this week instead of next.” Sean approached and took hold of Maddy’s elbow. “Ready?” She started to tell him she was capable of walking by herself, but the feel of his fingers on her skin sent an awareness through her that surprised her. Calmed her. Suddenly she liked the idea that someone was taking care of her—it had been more than two years since she’d felt that. Exiting the building, Maddy drank in the sunshine that warmed her face. The hint of fall hung in the air. Sean guided her to a red Camaro parked out front and opened the door for her. “Where do you live?” “In Oakcrest Estates.”

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He whistled. “Those are big homes.” “My husband was quite successful.” “Was?” “He died two years ago from a congenital heart defect.” She slipped into the passenger side of his vehicle. “I’m sorry.” Sean slammed the door and rounded the front of the car. So was she. Will had been a good husband. Her best friend. When Sean settled behind the steering wheel and started the car, Maddy glanced at his strong profile while his attention was focused on the traffic. A square jaw. A cleft in his chin. A firm mouth. His face epitomized the strength in the man. He’d wrestled Bart Nelson to the floor in seconds. Thank You, Lord, for that. “I didn’t get a chance to find out how Penny is,” Maddy said to break the silence, although it was not an uncomfortable one. He slid a look toward her. “She’s upset. She won’t testify against her husband and what he just did only made her more adamant about that.” “If she won’t—” the woman’s fear bringing out all the protective feelings Maddy had “—I will. He attacked me. If you hadn’t come…” Her throat swelled around the last words, making them impossible to utter. Through the sheen of tears, she stared out the windshield. “You will?” Again his dark brown gaze swept to her, a smile on his face until he took in her expression. She blinked, and a tear leaked out and ran down her cheek. Brushing it away, she averted her head. “Yes. Someone needs to see him go to jail.” “I was hoping you would say that. I can add your assault to resisting arrest and anything else I can make stick.” “Did Penny have a protective order against him?” “No.” “Then I’ll talk to Kelli about seeing if she can help her get one. I suspect Penny doesn’t know where to turn, but Kelli can help her.” I can help her. No one should have to go through that kind of fear and intimidation. “Good. I advised her to get one, but she hasn’t done anything. I’m afraid she’ll go back to him eventually.” “Unless we give her other options.” At a stoplight Sean shifted toward her, studying her for a long moment. “You’re going to get involved? Most people wouldn’t.” “I’m not most people. When he held me hostage, he crossed the wrong person.” He faced forward and pressed his foot on the accelerator. “All I need you to do is come down to the station and make a statement tomorrow. I’ll take care of the rest.”

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In other words, don’t get too involved. Maddy fell silent the rest of the way to her house. Sean pulled into her long driveway that led to her massive two-story house. It was bigger than anything she really needed, but Will had insisted on a large home for the family they would have. Both of them had wanted a lot of children. He’d hoped to live long enough to have a couple. That hadn’t happened. “You live here by yourself?” On the circular drive Sean stopped near the front entrance. “No, there are a couple of us that roam around this large place.” She angled around to face him. “I haven’t thanked you for being there for me today.” His gaze zeroed in on her. “Just doing my job.” She couldn’t look away. The midnight dark of his eyes held her captive. Her throat tightened and her breathing became shallow. He reached out and brushed his finger gently across her cheek where her attacker had slapped her. “I should have gotten there sooner. When I heard…” His whispered words wrapped about her as though he blamed himself and would make sure no harm ever came to her again. “I’m just glad you were there.” As much as she knew she needed to go inside, she couldn’t look away from him. Finally he broke visual contact and stared out the windshield. “I’ll arrange for a patrol officer to bring your car home from the shelter.” With all that had happened, she’d totally forgotten about that. The incident affected her more than she wanted to admit. “That’s okay. My mother lives here with me, and she can take me to pick it up tomorrow before I come to the station to make my statement.” “Fine.” He exited his car. Before he’d taken a few steps, Maddy climbed from the Camaro. It felt strange having a man walk her to her front door. No doubt her mother would have questions, and she hated to tell her about what happened. As she searched her purse for her house keys, her mother swung the door open. “Kelli called and told me about the man at the shelter. Are you all right?” Her mother’s glance strayed to Sean next to her then returned to Maddy. “This is Detective Sean O’Neal. This is my mother, Shirley Carrington.” “Come in. Kelli told me you saved my daughter’s life.” Her mother moved to the side to allow Sean inside. “I was just there to help.” The sound of a child crying echoed through the house. “Oh, that must be Carrie up from her nap. Nice to meet you, detective.” Before Maddy could move, her mother scurried toward the stairs. “You have a child?” Sean turned toward Maddy.

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Chapter Four When Sean entered the shelter three days later, he half expected to encounter Maddy again, but another lady was at the reception desk. While she called to let Penny know he was there, he couldn’t quash his disappointment it wasn’t Maddy behind the desk. Until he thought about her baby daughter. Not only was Maddy the type of woman who was definitely the marrying kind, but she was a mother, too. She was the type he avoided and had ever since his divorce five years earlier. His ex-wife had certainly let him know he wasn’t the marrying kind. Yet there was something about Maddy that intrigued him. When she’d needed to, she’d kept her head clear and helped free herself from Bart Nelson. The door to the main part of the shelter opened, and Kelli came out. “Penny isn’t here anymore.” “Where is she? She didn’t go back to Bart, did she?” “No. In fact, she got a restraining order against him. She’s at Maddy’s.” “She’s what? What’s she doing there? Bart is out on bail.” “That’s why Maddy insisted this morning that Penny and her child stay at her house. This way Bart won’t know where she is. I was gonna call you later to let you know Penny was gone.” The realization Maddy had placed herself in danger sent alarm bells resounding through his mind. What if Bart found out where Penny was? A repeat of a few days ago flashed into his thoughts with a different result—one that wasn’t good for Maddy or Penny. He had to convince Maddy that she couldn’t have Penny at her house. *** “Why are you doing this?” Penny paced the length of Maddy’s den. “Because it’s the right thing to do. You need a friend.” Maddy looked from the woman to the two children playing with some of Carrie’s toys. Penny’s son, Tyler, needed a chance like her daughter. If Penny stayed with her husband, what kind of life would Tyler have? “But what if Bart finds me?” “He won’t. Besides, I’ve got a safe room and a great security system. My husband wanted to make sure I was protected.” Penny stopped in the middle of the room. “I wouldn’t know what that means. I’ve never had that.” “Well, I’m here now to help.” “Are you sure this is gonna work?” Maddy rose and scooped up her daughter, needing suddenly to hold Carrie. “Yes.” “How?” “I’ve asked the Lord to help you.” The sound of the doorbell resonated through the house. When Penny stiffened, Maddy hurriedly put Carrie down. “I’ll see who it is.”

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She checked the security monitor of the front door. Relief pulsed through her when she saw Sean. For a few seconds she, too, had wondered if Bart had somehow found Penny. She crossed the foyer to the entrance and let Sean into the house. In the middle of the entry hall he pivoted. Anger carved deep lines into his face. He took several steps toward her. “What were you thinking, bringing Penny here?” “That she needed help.” “By putting your own life in danger?” “I have a plan.” He rolled his eyes. “A plan?” Irritated at his high-handedness, she shoved her hands to her hips. “Yes. I talked to my in-laws who live in Tulsa. They’re going to help Penny. I’m taking her there this afternoon. They’ll give her a job, and she’ll live in their guesthouse until she gets on her feet. Do you have a problem with that?” “Yes.” He covered the rest of the space between them. “I’m not going to let you drive to Tulsa by yourself. I’m coming along. In fact, I’ll drive.” Just like a man to try and take charge. Maddy bit the inside of her mouth to keep her retort to herself. She wanted to tell him no, but him coming along wasn’t a bad idea. She couldn’t help feeling safer with him around. “Were you gonna bother to tell me about your plan?” Maddy drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Yes, Penny’s decided to press charges against her husband. She also has information concerning some of his illegal activities that should help your case. I was going to bring her to the station before we left, then right after that get out of Dodge.” His mouth dropped open. “You talked her into helping us?” Maddy nodded. “Once I gave her a way out she wanted to help. He’s been abusing her for several years, and she’s felt locked into her situation. She hasn’t known what to do. Now she has a goal.” “Then let’s get Penny and her son and take her to the station. The sooner she’s away from here the better I’ll feel.” “Fine.” Maddy started forward. Sean clasped her arm and stopped her. “Thanks for talking Penny into helping us.” Her breath caught at the feel of his fingers on her. Warm. Tingling. “You’re welcome.” Her throat closed at the sensations bombarding her—his touch, his male scent of musk, his dark melting look that roamed over her face. *** Sean hadn’t bargained for being in a car for two hours with two toddlers—one at the moment crying at the top of his lungs. Finally only twenty minutes from Tulsa, Penny managed to calm Tyler and the boy fell asleep. She rested her head on the back cushion and closed her eyes.

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In the front seat Maddy glanced at the woman sitting between the two child seats behind her, then gave Sean a grin. “Tyler’s routine has been disrupted. I know how Carrie can be when hers is.” “Sure.” He eyed the two children through the rearview mirror. His gaze lingered on Maddy’s daughter who was asleep and had been for the past hour. A beautiful two-year-old. He saw a lot of Maddy in her—blond, blue eyes with a killer smile. He’d held her while Maddy and Penny had put the extra car seat into Maddy’s SUV. He and Carrie had taken a tour of the garden near the garage and the little girl had pointed at the various plants, telling him that she’d helped her mom put them in. Or at least that was what he thought. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he’d caught a couple of familiar words interspersed among ones he hadn’t understood. “I don’t know much about you other than you’re a detective and work with David Russell. Kelli told me you weren’t married.” The second that last sentence came out of Maddy’s mouth she snapped it closed. “I guess I shouldn’t have admitted I asked her about you.” Her cheeks flushed a nice shade of red. He pressed his lips together to keep his chuckle to himself. She was cute when she was flustered. “I was once but not anymore.” “Any kids?” “No, the timing never seemed right.” “That’s a shame. Carrie has been such a blessing.” “I’ll take your word for it.” But as he said that a memory of the little girl throwing her arms around his neck as they had walked and talked in the garden swamped him. Fifteen minutes later Sean pulled through the gates of an estate that put Maddy’s large home to disgrace. “The security here is top notch. Penny and Tyler will be safe.” Maddy pointed toward a road that led behind the mansion. “We can park back here.” As Sean climbed from Maddy’s SUV, an attractive older woman came out the four-car garage, heading straight for them. “I was getting worried. You’re an hour late.” The lady hugged Maddy. “It took longer at the police station. Betty, this is Detective Sean O’Neal. He offered to drive us.” Sean approached and shook the woman’s hand. “I’ll have my housekeeper make up another room. Any friend of Maddy’s is welcome.” “For the night?” Sean peered at Maddy, then Mrs. Greene. “You can’t go right back. I haven’t seen my granddaughter in several weeks.”

Chapter Five Maddy mounted the stairs to the terrace at her in-laws’ home and spied Sean standing at the stone wall, scanning the sprawling lawn and numerous gardens. Crickets sounded. A bird chirped in an elm nearby. The hint of late-blooming roses laced the air.

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In the fading light of dusk his features were shadowed, but the strength and command she sensed in him reached out and touched her even from several yards away. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. He turned toward her. “Is Penny settled into the guesthouse?” “Yes. Tyler went back to sleep, and Penny is taking the time to unpack and get used to her new digs.” Stopping near him at the terrace wall, she leaned into it, facing the lawn. “Thanks for staying. I should have realized my in-laws would insist. They’re very involved in Carrie’s life.” “It worked out. I’m off duty tomorrow, so I’m all yours.” His casually worded sentence snatched the breath from her. The memory of him brushing his fingers across her cheek where Bart had slapped her inundated her with feelings she’d thought she’d buried with her husband. “Then we wouldn’t have to drive back until late tomorrow?” “Nope.” He rotated toward her, only inches away. “You have a beautiful little girl. She looks just like you.” His compliment heated her cheeks. Since her husband’s death two and a half years ago, she hadn’t been involved with anyone. She’d concentrated on piecing her life back together and being a single mom. Now Sean made her think beyond that—to what a future in a relationship could be like. He made her feel safe. “Everything I do, I do for her,” Maddy finally murmured, her breathing shallow at Sean’s nearness. “Nothing for yourself?” “Volunteering at the shelter is for myself.” “Not quite what I was thinking. Have you dated since your husband’s death?” He moved closer, reaching up and hooking her hair behind her ear. The touch thawed any resistance to the idea of dating again. She forced herself to remain upright when all she wanted to do was to melt into his embrace. “No. I haven’t had a reason to.” Until now. “Since my divorce I haven’t dated much. I’ve thrown myself into my job.” “And has that worked for you?” “There are a few things missing from my life. But with my job I’ve found people tend to let others down. It’s hard seeing the ugly side all the time and not be affected.” “You don’t see good things being done?” She ran her hand along her neck, feeling the pounding beat of her pulse. “Yeah, what you’ve done for Penny is one of them. Most people wouldn’t bother.” “They would in the world I live. Christ taught us to help one another.” “In my work, I’ve tried and had it flung back in my face many times.” “I’m sorry.” She cupped his face. His jaw tensed beneath her fingers for a few seconds then relaxed. He covered her hand with his. “Are you real?” he whispered, almost as though he were thinking out loud and hadn’t wanted her to hear.

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“Yes, very real. And because of you, I’m here unharmed. You can’t tell me there aren’t others like me that you’ve helped.” He shrugged. “It’s my job.” “Don’t belittle what you do because you get paid for it. Being a police officer isn’t easy and not a job for most. I’m betting you went into it because you wanted to help others.” Averting his gaze, he stepped back. Her hand fell to her side. “It’s actually the same thing I’m doing by volunteering at the shelter. Helping people is helping people, whether you get paid or not.” “Don’t make me out as a knight in shining armor. I’m not. Ask my ex-wife.” “And what would she tell me?” “That I’m lousy at relationships, spend a lot of time at work, keep my feelings inside. I stopped going to church when I kept seeing all the evil things people did to each other. How can God allow that? Do I need to say more?” “No, you’re doing a good job expressing your feelings.” She grinned and leaned back against the wall. “And people have free will. God is here to guide us and be there for us when we need Him. When you’re troubled, ask Him for help. He’s a great listener.” “He stopped listening to me when I yelled at him after I processed a crime scene where there was a double murder—mother and child.” He lounged against the wall next to her, his arm brushing hers. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this.” “Did you find the murderer?” “Yes. He’s serving life as we speak.” “Then you did what you could. He can’t harm anyone else.” She pivoted, standing in front of him, his legs caging hers. “Next time, instead of turning away from the Lord, turn toward Him and ask Him to help you through the situation.” “How will that help?” “You’ll see you aren’t alone.” He blinked, surprise flickering across his features. Swallowing hard, he looked away. “I have been most of my life.” “But you don’t have to be.” There was a part of Maddy that referred to the Lord’s presence, but there was a part of her that meant something else—something that spoke to the loneliness in her. The dim light surrounded them in a cocoon as though they were the only two people around for miles. Sean straightened, clasping her elbows and pulling her slightly toward him. Her throat tightened. His intense gaze captured hers and drew her even closer. Inches separated them. “Mama.”

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She heard her daughter’s voice through the haze of heady sensations assailing her from all sides. Suddenly the real world rushed back into focus, and she jerked away, swinging around to see Carrie racing across the terrace. Her daughter launched herself into her arms. “Carrie, where are you?” Maddy’s mother-in-law called out, exiting the house through the French doors. “Ah, there you are. We’ve been playing hide-and-seek.” “We were just waiting for the sun to set.” Maddy peered at Sean who distanced himself even more. “This is the perfect place to watch from.” What had she been thinking? She’d wanted Sean to kiss her. Brushing her finger across her lips, she desperately wished she could erase the sear of his gaze as he’d leaned closer. *** Early the next evening after parking near Maddy’s garage, Sean climbed from the SUV and rounded the front to help her with Carrie. He’d been with Maddy and her daughter almost nonstop for the past thirty hours and couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed himself more. Which scared him. He had no business getting involved with someone like Maddy—the marrying kind, a single mom with a toddler. All red flags that usually sent him running the other way. He removed the diaper bag from the back floor while Maddy unsnapped Carrie and swung her to the ground. The little girl ran toward the side door where her grandmother had emerged. Maddy started to pick up the bag when Sean stilled her movements. His hand lingered on her arm as he asked, “Would it be all right if I stopped by from time to time? You know, just to see how you and Carrie are doing?”

Chapter Six In the middle of Maddy’s driveway, Sean tugged her to him. “Or maybe sometime you and I could grab something to eat?” Nestled in Sean’s arms, Maddy heard his invitation, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Asking her out on a date totally took her by surprise, and from the slight widening of his eyes, she suspected he had surprised himself, too. “Are you sure?” Maddy prepared herself for him saying no. One of his eyebrow rose. “Honestly?” “Always.” She moved back several steps, immediately missing his embrace. “Sure, yes. Ready, no.” “Why?” “You aren’t like any other woman I’ve gone out with. Frankly, you’re too trusting, too accepting. Not jaded.” She tilted her head to the side, trying to make out his features as dusk settled around them and immersed his face in shadows. “Maybe it’s time for someone different.” “That you are,” he said with a chuckle. “So how about going out with me?” “Instead, let me propose something first. Come in and have dinner with us. See what I’m like in my own environment. Then if you still want to go out, I’d be glad to.”

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“A home-cooked dinner?” “Yep.” “How can a guy who hates to cook turn down an offer like that?” Sean picked up her diaper bag. As Maddy strolled toward the house, she wondered why she hadn’t just accepted the date. Was she afraid to get involved? No. Not that so much as she was afraid she would fall hard once they started dating. He appealed to her, and she wanted to make sure he really wanted this. Because he could easily break her heart. *** Later that evening after a home-cooked dinner, Sean held Carrie in his arms as he walked down the long hallway upstairs. “Where’s your room?” “Carrie’s room.” The little girl pointed to the door on his left. Just inside, he started to put Carrie on the floor, but she clamped her arms around his neck and wouldn’t let go. Maddy came through the entrance. “I’m afraid you’ve captured my daughter’s heart. I think the horsey ride around the den clinched it.” “You mean that’s all I have to do to win a lady’s heart?” He grinned over his shoulder. “If only I had known, I could have saved a lot of time over the years.” “Probably doesn’t work on females past the age of three.” Maddy crossed to the bed and turned down the covers. “No bed.” Carrie clung to Sean even more. He tried to dislodge her from around his neck but wanted to be careful. Finally he looked desperately at Maddy. “Carrie Ann, no arguments.” Sean gently placed the toddler on her bed. The child kissed him on the cheek while Maddy pried her fingers apart and Carrie’s arms fell to her side. The kiss stunned Sean as he pulled back. While he watched mother and daughter interact, panic nibbled at his defenses. She was the marrying kind. Could he do this? Ten minutes later Sean sat next to Maddy in the den, having an after-dinner coffee. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner was the only thing that cut through the silence. He lifted his mug and took a sip, the coffee aroma teasing his senses. There were days he lived on coffee. “This is delicious, as was the meal.” “I love to cook and especially like to try new dishes.” His gut clenched. He loved good food and rarely had time for it. What would it be like to have a delicious, home-cooked meal every night? “Well, I’ll be a guinea pig.” He was getting great at spurting out the first thing that came to his mind without really thinking it through. What was Maddy doing to him? “I’ll remember that when I experiment next time.” She angled on the couch toward him, cradling her mug between her hands.

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The open, caring look Maddy presented sent a warning through him that screamed run as fast as you can. Although the top button on his shirt was undone, he felt as though the material around his neck had tightened. “About that date…” “I understand if you don’t—” He put his finger over her mouth to still her words. “How about dinner and a movie this Friday?” He wanted to slide his finger across her cheek to her earlobe. Wanted his lips to follow that trek. He snatched his hand away and shot to his feet. She placed her mug on a coaster on the table then rose—in one fluid, graceful movement that held him captive. Smiling, she peered at him, her eyes gleaming as though a light shone through a dark surface. “I’d love to,” she said, moistening that kissable mouth. He nodded and pivoted away. “I’d better go. It’s been a long day, and tomorrow we’ll be going after Bart Nelson’s car ring.” He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Before he did something that he couldn’t take back. Remember, O’Neal, you’re lousy at relationships. Yeah, but for once he didn’t want that to be true. *** Friday night, Maddy emerged from the movie theater with Sean next to her. He took her hand, and instead of walking toward the parking lot, he started across the street. “I’m still trying to work off that huge dinner,” he said, following the path to the gazebo in the center of a small park. “It’s going to take more than this short distance to work off the meal I had. Thank you for such a lovely dinner, and the movie was great. Funny.” Sean sat on a wooden bench and tugged Maddy down beside him, the glow from a nearby lamp offering minimal illumination. “I needed a good laugh after the day I had.” “What happened?” “Went to arrest Bart today for stealing cars and he’s disappeared.” Maddy straightened. “Think he’s skipped town?” He shrugged and slipped his arm along the back of the bench. “If he was smart, he’d be in Mexico by now. There’s an APB out on him. If he’s here, it’s only a matter of time before he’s caught, and when he is, he won’t get out on bail this time.” “So this is a good thing?” Maddy snuggled against Sean, enjoying the feel of his arm about her shoulders. “I’ll answer the question after he’s apprehended.” The ebony shroud of night lured Maddy into a sense of isolation, as if the world didn’t exist beyond the dark. Tonight had been special. They’d laughed, exchanged stories of their childhood, and he’d even told her

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about his previous marriage. And for the first time she’d talked about her husband’s illness and death. It had felt so right to share it with Sean. As she looked into his eyes, all the defenses she’d tried to maintain to keep herself from caring for this man crumbled. In that moment she realized she’d given him a part of her heart—as though the Lord had led her to Sean to help him learn to trust and finally to heal her pain from her husband’s death. The realization left her speechless. He cupped her chin while his gaze searched her features. “You’re beautiful on the inside and out.” The whispered words fanned her mouth as he cocked his head and leaned toward her.

Chapter Seven On the bench in the park, Sean cradled Maddy to him, his lips brushing across hers, once, twice. His mouth settled on hers in a deep kiss that sent her reeling with feelings she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She belonged in his embrace, and she didn’t want to move away. But reality descended when the sound of a horn honking in the distance finally parted them. His ragged breathing vied with the noises coming from their surroundings—a dog yelping, traffic passing on the street, a chain clanking against a flag pole by the gazebo. How in the world had she forgotten where she was? Sean. He made her forget everything but him. He smiled and rose, holding out his hand for her. “C’mon. I’d better take you home.” As his fingers encircled hers, and he gently yanked her up, all she could think about was his kiss. And how it had left his mark on her heart. *** What had he been thinking? Kissing Maddy in the park? Kissing her, period? Sean turned down her street, her house in sight, when he slanted a look toward her. At that moment she shifted, her gaze connecting with his. A lump lodged in his throat the size of a baseball. He was in over his head. He quickly returned his attention to the road ahead before he had a wreck. Lord, what are You doing to me? My life was great before I met Maddy. Okay, maybe not great, but I was doing all right. No one to answer to. I could spend all the time I wanted working and not worry about letting anyone down. Suddenly he realized he was praying again. The thought stunned him. He slid a look toward Maddy again. Thankfully she was peering at her place. He drove into her driveway and came to a stop in front of her house. “I enjoyed this evening.” Especially that kiss. Suddenly he felt awkward, not sure what to say next. He was a veteran cop who had faced death and come out on top, and yet Maddy had stopped him in his tracks. “Me, too.” She pushed open her door.

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Sean quickly climbed from his vehicle and started for the passenger side. She met him halfway around, in front. What did he do now? If he did what he wanted to do, he’d drag her into his arms and never let go. Walk her to the door and say goodnight, O’Neal. He took her hand and strolled toward her porch. He had some serious thinking to do. In the meantime, he should back off until he decided what to do. He didn’t want to lead her on. That wouldn’t be fair to Maddy. “I’m fixing pot roast tomorrow. Would you like to come for dinner? Nothing fancy.” “Can I bring anything? Some kind of dessert?” What happened to back off? “I’ve got everything covered.” She dug around in her purse and withdrew her keys. Before she unlocked her door, he did what he’d wanted to since he’d tasted her lips. He drew her against him and kissed her as if there were no tomorrow. *** “I hear you’ve been dating Sean.” The following Friday, Kelli McKinney stopped Maddy as she left the shelter after a morning of volunteering. “We’ve been on several dates lately. Where did you hear that?” “David.” “He and Sean talked?” “Just an observation. My brother commented how unusual it is for his partner not to be at the station 24/7. And if you ask me, it’s about time.” Kelli smiled and headed for her office. Maddy made her way to her car in the parking lot behind the shelter. Is it possible to walk on clouds? That’s how I feel. Tonight would be the fourth night they would spend together. Like last Saturday it would be a quiet evening at her house—well, as quiet as it could be with a two-year-old running around, demanding Sean’s attention, which he gladly gave. Glancing at her watch, Maddy maneuvered through traffic as fast as the speed would allow. Her mother had a doctor’s appointment. Maddy would pick up her daughter and take her to the grocery with her. She had a meal to plan and cook for dinner tonight. At home Maddy quickly gathered up her child. After securing Carrie in her car seat, Maddy started out toward the store. She peered out the rearview mirror and saw a navy blue sedan pull away from the curb two houses down from hers. At a stoplight several blocks from the grocery, she noticed the same blue car behind her. Not a big deal. But dating a police officer made her more aware of her surroundings and the fact Bart Nelson still hadn’t been apprehended. The thought of that man made her hands clench tightly about the steering wheel. At least Penny was safe.

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Five minutes later when she spied the store’s parking lot up ahead, she checked the rearview mirror again and the vehicle was still behind her. She fumbled for her purse and retrieved her cell. Punching in Sean’s number with trembling fingers, she released a suppressed breath when he came on the line. “A car has been following me from my house. I’m on Sooner Street near the grocery.” Maddy glanced at her daughter. The very idea Bart might be behind her made her heart slam against her rib cage. She had to protect Carrie at all costs. “Pull into the parking lot near the store entrance. I’ll be right there. I’m not far. It may be nothing.” Just hearing Sean’s reassurances calmed her. She was overreacting. Bart was long gone from Cimarron City. “Okay. Should I stay in the car?” “Can you get Carrie out quickly?” Again Maddy peered at her daughter in her car seat. “No.” “Then stay put with the doors locked, and if the person in the car approaches you, lay on the horn.” She turned into the lot and found a spot near the front doors. Pulling into the space, she glanced behind her and noticed the blue car stopping behind her. After checking to make sure the doors were locked, Maddy watched through the rearview mirror as Bart climbed from his sedan with a tire iron in his hand and quickly headed toward her. She sucked in gulps of air, her pulse racing.

Chapter Eight Bart was right behind Maddy’s SUV. She rechecked the locks, then crawled into the backseat with Carrie, unbuckling her and cradling her in her arms. She had to protect her daughter no matter what. I need help, Lord. Bart pulled on the door—only two feet from her. Panic slammed her heart against her ribs, constricting each breath until her chest hurt. “Where’s my wife and son?” Bart yelled over the thundering in her ears. Maddy flinched away, plastering her child against her. Suddenly the man peered to his right, then pivoted toward the left and fled. Maddy straightened, keeping her arms about her daughter, and glanced behind her SUV. Sean’s car screeched to a halt. As Sean jumped from his Camaro, a police car came barreling into the parking lot, lights flashing. Sean raced after Bart and tackled him to the pavement. Yanking the tire iron from the man, Sean tossed it to the side and cuffed him. Maddy sagged against the backseat at the sight of Penny’s husband being apprehended. Closing her eyes, she inhaled gulps of air, hugging Carrie. The trembling in her hands spread to encompass her whole body as tears streaked down her cheeks. Today could have ended so differently. Thank You, Lord, for sending me Sean.

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*** That evening after Maddy fixed Sean’s favorite dinner of fried chicken, she joined him on her patio to watch the sunset. Since he’d arrived an hour ago, he’d been quiet. Something was bothering him, and she intended to find out what. It couldn’t be Bart. He would be staying in jail until his trial. Maddy settled her hand on Sean’s shoulder. “You haven’t said much tonight.” He pivoted toward her, slipping from her grasp. “Are you okay?” “Yes, thanks to you.” He frowned. “What’s wrong?” “I can’t do this anymore.” “What do you mean?” Maddy took a step back from Sean. “Seeing you.” His expression closed, he clamped his jaw. His words robbed her of any reply. What could she say to that? “Today could have ended badly.” “But it didn’t.” She moved toward him, wanting to feel his arms about her. “I need to go.” Before she could respond, he hurried toward the driveway. Leaving her to stare after his retreating figure. Leaving her, period. The realization struck her in numbing waves. In a short time she’d fallen in love. And Sean didn’t want to give them a chance. *** Late the following Thursday, Sean sat at his desk at the police station, having put in twelve-hour days— anything to take his mind off Maddy. In the past, working had always helped. It didn’t this time. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stop thinking about Maddy. About her smile. Her generous nature. Her strong faith in the Lord. She was the real deal, and he was letting her go. Because he was scared to risk his heart again. What if Bart had gotten hold of her? He couldn’t rid his thoughts of the image of something bad happening to her and leaving him alone again. Wasn’t it better to cut his losses now rather than later? He scrubbed his hands down his face.

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“I thought I would find you here.” His partner came into the room and crossed to Sean’s desk. “Go home. Or better yet, go see Maddy. She’s good for you.” Sean grunted. “So why are you here?” “I just got through with basketball practice. I left something I needed tomorrow morning in court.” “See, I’m not the only one who’s a workaholic.” David leaned against the side of the desk. “My sister keeps telling me there’s more to life than working.” “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.” “When you find someone special, you need to grab hold and not let go.” His partner pushed off. “Ask yourself what you would really want in life if you could have anything you desired.” He rummaged in the top drawer of his desk, withdrew a folder and started for the door. “Go see Maddy.” What do I want? Maddy. Am I willing to risk getting hurt again? Put my trust in Maddy? He had prayed to the Lord when Maddy was in trouble. That prayer had been answered. Sean wanted to trust God—to trust Maddy. *** The silence of her house grated on Maddy’s nerves. Her mother was gone to church and Carrie was in bed, but Maddy couldn’t sleep—hadn’t slept well since Sean left last week. We were good together. Why couldn’t he see that? Pacing her den, she chewed on her bottom lip, trying to decide what she should do. Fight for Sean? Tell him how she felt and risk him still walking away? The ringing of her doorbell echoed through the house. She hurried to answer it before it sounded again and woke her daughter. After checking the peephole, she fortified herself with a deep breath and opened the door. The urge to fling herself into Sean’s arms inundated her, but she held her ground. “Is something wrong?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the serious expression on his face. “Bart isn’t out on bail somehow?” She knew the man had come after her in the grocery parking lot because he wanted to find Penny. “No, that’s not gonna happen.” Sean stepped into the foyer. “I need to talk to you.” “I—I…” Words fled her mind. “Please, Maddy. I need to explain.” She closed the door and waved toward the den. After she trailed him into the room, he swung around and faced her. She halted a foot from him. His musky aftershave taunted her senses. A vivid picture of him kissing her popped into her mind. Her heartbeat throbbed at the memory.

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He plowed his hand through his hair. “I’ve messed up so many personal things in my life. I don’t…” Kneading his nape, he looked away for a few seconds then reestablished eye contact. “I don’t want to mess this up.” “As long as you’re truthful with me and yourself, you won’t.” “Last Friday I was plain scared. That’s the truth and not easy to admit. I’ve thought for years I didn’t want a family, especially children, because of the ugliness I see in the world. But you’ve changed all that. You and Carrie are so special. Being with you tapped into a need I’d been suppressing for years. I want a family.” Hope flared in Maddy, but she tamped it down—afraid she was hearing him wrong. “But the ugliness is still there.” “Yes, but so is the goodness. I’ve been choosing to look only at the bad. I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t like what I was becoming in here.” He thumped his chest. “I need more than my work.” She took a small step toward him. “What else do you need?” she asked in a breathless tone. “You. I want you in my life. I need you in my life.” “Are you sure?” A part of her still held back, needing him to commit totally. “I love you.” His brown gaze reflected his newfound feelings. Finally, she flung her arms around him. “I love you, Sean O’Neal.” He lifted her off the ground, hugging her to him as he swung her around. When he set her feet back on the carpet, he bent and claimed her lips in a deep kiss. When he pulled slightly back, he framed her face between his strong hands, riveting her attention to his love-filled eyes. “It’s been hard for me to trust anyone for a long time. You and the Lord have given me another chance.”

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Degree of Innocence by Kate Donovan To be opened by my attorney, Libby O’Rourke, in the event of my untimely death. Signed, Aurelia Colbert Libby O’Rourke read, then reread the note scribbled across the sealed manila envelope on her desk. It had been delivered that morning by courier, but given Libby’s full day of out-of-town depositions, she hadn’t even set foot in her office until almost 7:00 p.m., hoping to grab a few files and rush home for a long soak in the tub. The package had changed those plans, or rather the notation had, mostly because as short as it was, there were sooo many things wrong with it. First and most important, Libby was not Aurelia Colbert’s attorney. She had met the woman once, recently and very briefly. And while they had admittedly had a lovely chat, it had been nothing more than that. The second thing wrong with the note was the phrase: in the event of my untimely death. Untimely? You’re ninety-two, Mrs. Colbert, Libby informed her absent non-client with a wistful smile. I hope you live to be a million, but untimely? That ship has sailed. Add to that the fact that Aurelia Colbert was the wealthiest woman in town, and one of the wealthiest in the entire state. She undoubtedly had a prestigious and dedicated personal attorney, if not an entire firm, at her disposal, along with a horde of corporate lawyers at Colbert Industries Inc. She needed another attorney like Libby needed more bills! And since when did tax lawyers receive these sorts of packages? This was the domain of estate planners, or perhaps, if this were a Hollywood movie, a criminal defense counsel would be handling it. While Libby’s work often intersected with one or both of those areas, there were other attorneys at her firm who specialized in those aspects of their clients’ needs, so Libby’s involvement was usually limited to a brief consultation. Her gaze shifted to the ornate letter opener she had received as a present for her law school graduation five years earlier. It would be so easy to just rip the package open and figure out exactly what was going on, or more accurately, just how crazy old Mrs. Colbert really was. Except she hadn’t seemed crazy at all during their chat. Eccentric, certainly, but after ninety-two years and gazillions of dollars, who wouldn’t be? There was no denying one fact. Whatever else was confusing about this package, one thing was crystal clear. Aurelia Colbert believed she was in danger of having an “untimely” death. In other words, she felt her life was in danger — which meant, Libby had to do something. She could open the envelope, but that would violate Mrs. Colbert’s wishes. And depending on what Libby found inside, it might just result in her being dragged deeper into this mess. She could send the package back with a polite reminder that she wasn’t her lawyer. If Mrs. Colbert was seeking representation, she should contact the firm’s senior partner who would be more than happy to welcome her as a client, with Libby handling any tax matters that arose. And from an excess of caution, Libby might include a P.S. advising Mrs. Colbert to contact the authorities if she really felt her life was in danger. But what if something happened to the old lady? Libby would never forgive herself for taking the easy way out. And on a more practical note, what if word got out that Libby could have done something proactive to

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prevent the tragedy? She couldn’t afford to be involved in any more scandals. The last one had rocked her world, personally and professionally. Another one would annihilate it. This is nothing like the Dunnigan mess, she scolded herself. You can’t keep letting that play with your head or you’ll go nuts. George Armstrong Dunnigan, formerly Libby’s client and now an inmate of a minimum security facility, had embezzled from his investment firm, using two sets of books, only one of which he had shared with his attorney. When the whistle had blown, it had been loud enough to make Libby’s ears ring. While she had eventually been cleared of any involvement, there had been months of investigations by federal, state and local officials as well as by the state bar association. The eventual verdict? Dunnigan was a felon. Libby was innocent, gullible, naïve and lucky her firm didn’t can her on the spot. No, she couldn’t afford another disaster like that, which meant that returning the package — and thereby doing nothing to help — was not an option. It would be better to just open it, breaching the old woman’s trust but maybe saving her life. Another alternative, but one that made Libby’s stomach knot, was to wait until morning and consult with her senior partner before she made her decision. Unfortunately, he would probably just give her a lecture about talking to rich old ladies in their hospital rooms without their own attorneys present. But maybe she could wander down the hall and get some confidential advice from the only other attorney in her firm who worked this late on a Monday night. In some ways, Josh Beale was the perfect person for this dilemma. He handled criminal defense work for their clients, and what’s more, he loved intrigue and drama of every sort. Unfortunately, he also loved women. Way too much. He had cheerfully admitted that weakness to Libby her first day at the firm, then had followed the warning with a dinner invitation! She had taken a long look at his great build, twinkling eyes and sexy smile and had prudently run the other way, amusing him by her persistent refusal to ever, ever be alone with him again. There had been so many times, especially during the Dunnigan investigation, she had congratulated herself for that decision. Was she honestly thinking about blowing it now? What if the visit encouraged Josh to start hitting on her again? Things were already awkward enough for her around the firm these days. And worse, what if he decided to inform the senior partner about the package himself? Then Libby would get two lectures! She didn’t really know Josh well enough to predict what he’d do. Still, she was fairly sure he’d come at the problem from a different angle, with different expertise. And in theory, that kind of brainstorming was just what this situation needed. In practice, of course, it could be a disaster. “Hey, Josh? Got a minute?” Libby’s sandy haired colleague looked up from his reading and gave her a surprised smile. “What’s going on? Did hell freeze over?” She laughed and walked up to his desk, trying not to notice his big blue eyes and playful dimples. Handing the package to him, she admitted, “This isn’t a social call. I have a situation and I’d really appreciate some advice.” “Sure.” He arched an eyebrow as he read aloud. “To be opened by my attorney in the event of my untimely death? And it’s from Aurelia Colbert? I didn’t even know we represented that rich old bag.”

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Libby grimaced. “She’s actually a very sweet woman. And we don’t represent her. That’s part of the problem. She’s not my client, but apparently she thinks she is. And she thinks she’s in danger. So the question is, what do I do about it?” Josh opened his drawer and pulled out a Swiss army knife. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” Libby snatched the package back from him, then gave a rueful smile. “I forgot you’re a man of action. Can we talk about it first?” He chuckled. “Okay, I’ll try to restrain myself. Have a seat.” When she had plopped into a leather wing chair, he said, “I’m actually flattered you trust me enough to ask my advice. You didn’t come to me for help with that Dunnigan situation.” Libby was surprised by the comment. “I got the feeling you and the others were trying to distance yourself from me, actually. Until you were sure I wasn’t guilty. So I represented myself.” “I never doubted your innocence for a second,” Josh assured her. “So? Tell me about Aurelia Colbert. What makes her think you’re her lawyer?” “Good question.” Libby settled back into her chair. “I only met her once, three weeks ago. But we had an instant rapport. I was at the hospital to visit my cousin who had just had a baby. I heard someone crying out for help from one of the rooms and there were no nurses or attendants around so I poked my head in. There was this elderly woman leaning out of bed trying to get a magazine she had dropped. “I got it for her, and she was very appreciative, asking all about me. When I said I was a lawyer, she told me she wanted to file an age discrimination suit against the cop who had confiscated her driver’s license earlier that day. Right after she rammed her grandson’s car into a fire hydrant.” Libby paused to laugh fondly. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her I was glad she wasn’t going to be driving any more, so I advised her to talk to her own attorneys about the lawsuit. Then she told me the story of her life. It was so fascinating, Josh. She and her husband started out with next to nothing, built a fortune together, and traveled the world. She lost him years ago, which devastated her, but didn’t slow her down. At ninety-two she’s still pretty spry.” “Anyway...” Libby paused to sigh. “We were having a nice visit when her grandson appeared out of nowhere. He wasn’t happy to see a stranger in his grandma’s room, and when she introduced me as a lawyer, he really lost it. He literally ordered me to leave, accusing me of trying to exploit a rich old lady. I would have defended myself, but I was afraid it would upset poor Mrs. Colbert. So I just left. I could already hear her scolding him and explaining things, so I went and found my cousin, chalking the whole episode up to nogood-deed-goes-unpunished.” Josh gave her a teasing smile. “Okay, we’ve discussed it. Now can we open it?” Libby rolled her eyes. “Shouldn’t we consider our ethical obligation to Mrs. Colbert first? Even if she’s not my client, she apparently thinks she is. And if she’s in danger, we should take this to the cops, shouldn’t we? Or I could try to make an appointment with her —” “And tick off Ryan Colbert even more?” Josh’s mood visibly darkened. “I met him once or twice myself, back in college. He’s a power-hungry jerk.” Libby drew back, surprised. “Wow.” “It’s been years, but it still feels pretty fresh,” Josh told her. “I dated his sister, Grace, for about five minutes before he put a stop to it. He was so sure I was after her money....” Josh hesitated, then grinned sheepishly. “Turns out, he probably did me a favor. I’ve heard stories about her over the years. She goes through money — and boyfriends — like a hot knife through butter. But she’s great-looking, which was all I ever cared about in those days.”

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Libby nodded, remembering what a hunk Ryan Colbert was. If it hadn’t been for the steam coming out of his ears that day at the hospital, she might have mistaken him for Benjamin Bratt! As it was, he had seemed more like Atilla the Grandson. “When he gave me grief at the hospital, I thought he was just being protective of his grandma. So in a perverse way, he seemed admirable. Now I’m not so sure. He’ll inherit at least part of her zillions of dollars if she dies, right?” “He runs the company, and he’s probably in line to inherit it, plus a hefty chunk of change,” Josh agreed. “Grace will get half, presumably. But unless she’s had a complete personality transplant since college, she wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less her own grandmother. Shopping and sleeping around are reportedly her only vices. And frankly, I don’t see Ryan as a murderer, either.” Libby bit her lip. “I still think I should try to speak with Mrs. Colbert in private. Then I could clear up the misunderstanding about being her lawyer, and she could explain to me why she thinks she’s in danger.” “That would be a mistake. If you even try to talk to her alone, it gives more support to the idea that you’re taking advantage of her frail mental state to steal her away from Sanderson & Jeffries.” “They represent her? I should have known. They’re the best,” Libby murmured. Then she felt a surge of inspiration. “Maybe that’s what we should do! Contact Jim Sanderson. His reputation is impeccable, right? So we can assume he isn’t part of any conspiracy. We’ll go to him in confidence, then he can talk to her without letting either of her grandchildren know. If he decides Mrs. Colbert has some basis for her fears, he can take steps to protect her. If he determines her suspicions are groundless, he’ll reassure her. Either way, we’ll know her safety and her dignity have been respected.” “Sanderson will want to open the package,” Josh warned. “What if old lady Colbert sent you a big check along with a letter thanking you for all the legal advice you gave her in the hospital? He’ll be livid. He might even report you to the State Bar again.” When Libby didn’t respond, Josh continued bluntly. “She’s ninety-freaking-two, Libby. If someone had wanted to kill her for her money, they’d have done it by now. She’s imagining things, and causing trouble, the same way she caused trouble when she wrecked Ryan’s car. Just because she had a semi-lucid conversation with you in the hospital doesn’t mean she isn’t senile, does it? I mean, I hate Ryan Colbert as much as the next guy, but I doubt he’s trying to kill his own grandmother. Why should he? All he has to do is wait her out.” “I still think I should talk to Aurelia alone.” “They’d never let you near her.” “Oh, really?” Libby eyed him coolly. “According to the note on the package — in her handwriting — I’m her attorney. I don’t think they can keep me away from her.” “That’s professional suicide.” “Is it?” She squared her shoulders. “I’m tired of being intimidated just because one of my clients committed a crime. I didn’t do anything wrong that time, and I haven’t done anything wrong now.” “You don’t have to convince me,” Josh murmured. “But Ryan’s already suspicious of you. When he hears about this package he’ll go ballistic, and you’ll have another scandal on your hands. I guarantee you the senior partners will hold it against you, whether you’re innocent or not.” He handed her the knife. “Open the envelope. If it contains proof that someone’s trying to kill her, you’ll take it to the police and you’ll be a hero. If it’s the senile ramblings of a rich old nutcase, we’ll take it to Sanderson, and he’ll appreciate the fact that we were discreet about his client’s mental condition. She’ll be safe, you’ll be safe.”

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“Right.” Libby stared at the notation on the package, still unwilling to violate Aurelia Colbert’s specific instructions. If only she could talk to her first.... “Libby? I know you want to respect her wishes. But if we open the envelope in front of Jim Sanderson — or worse, Ryan Colbert — and it contains something that incriminates you —” “How could it? I haven’t done anything wrong,” she repeated softly. Then she looked Josh straight in the eye. “Can you get me the number for the Colbert residence?” “Yeah. I probably can. But I’m asking you — no, I’m begging you! — to protect yourself. Open the freaking package and get the facts before you put your career on the line for some senile old woman. After that, I promise you, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Please don’t be a big fat check, please don’t be a big fat check,” Libby chanted as she loosened the envelope flap. Then she reached inside, pulling out several sheets of stationary that had been stapled together. “Phew! It’s just a letter.” “Congratulations,” Josh said with a grin. “Let’s hear it.” “Well, she’s thanking me for...uh oh...” She glanced up to signal impending disaster. “For the wonderful advice I gave her in the hospital.” “I thought you didn’t give her any advice.” “I didn’t think I did.” She took a deep breath, then began reading. “You have such a big heart, and such a good head on your shoulders, I’ve decided to trust you with an important task. I think one of my grandchildren is trying to kill me. It breaks my heart, but I forgive them. The important thing is, if the worst happens, it needs to be handled delicately.” Once again, Libby looked up at Josh, who shrugged to indicate he was confused, too, then motioned for her to continue. “Okay, she goes on to say, ‘That’s why I’m leaving all my money to you.’ Yikes!” Libby stared at the page, hoping she had misread, but there it was. To make matters worse, Aurelia’s letter instructed that when she died, she wanted Libby to investigate her death. If either Ryan or Grace was responsible, Libby should keep most of that grandchild’s share, making sure that the offender had only enough to live modestly. But under no circumstances did Aurelia want either grandchild prosecuted for any crime. And if Ryan and Grace were both innocent, Libby was directed to keep a “generous amount” for herself, then split the rest between the grandchildren, putting Grace’s share in trust so she wouldn’t squander it. The second page of the letter was a photocopy of a handwritten will leaving everything to Libby and revoking all prior wills. “This can’t be happening,” she groaned. “Pay attention, O’Rourke. This is great news. You’re an heiress.” “Are you kidding? I can’t take her money. The poor thing must be bonkers. I’d better call her right away.” “Hold on! It’s almost nine o’clock. My advice is, sleep on it. And my real advice is, put it in the law firm’s safe and leave it there until the old bag croaks. Then waltz into probate court and collect your fortune. I can just picture Ryan’s expression. And with any luck, he and Grace will both be guilty so you can keep every dime.” Libby rolled her eyes.

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Why not?” he demanded. “You were there for Aurelia in her time of need. Her grandchildren obviously let her down. But you came through for her. Just keep quiet about this —” “I’m calling her right away. Tonight. That’s final.” “Unbelievable,” he grumbled. “You want to be poor? Be poor. Make your call, then we’ll go drink a toast to your five minutes as an heiress.” She laughed ruefully. “I’m glad you’re taking it so well. But I’ll need a rain check on that drink, okay? I want to go home, make some tea, then call her for a nice long chat. But tomorrow night —” she paused to give him a grateful smile “—I’ll spring for drinks and dinner. My way of thanking you for being here for me tonight.” *** Libby had her cell phone nearby when she showered the next morning, hoping Aurelia would call. According to the servant who had answered the phone the previous night, “Mrs. C” had already gone to bed. But the maid had promised to personally give her the message, especially when Libby explained it was urgent and confidential.

She was just about to start dressing when someone knocked on her front door. Peering through the peephole, she saw a uniformed police officer, so she quickly tightened the belt of her terry-cloth robe and threw open the door. “Is everything okay, officer?” “Libby O’Rourke?” “That’s me. Is someone hurt? Is it my mom?” “I need you to come with me, Ms. O’Rourke. One of our detectives has some questions for you.” “About what?” When he simply shrugged, she sighed and told him, “I work downtown. Let me get dressed and I’ll follow you in my car.” “We’re not going downtown. I have instructions to bring you to the Colbert mansion.” Libby winced, feeling her career begin to slowly unravel. Just like the last time. “This is about the message I left for Mrs. Colbert? Is she okay?” “I don’t have details, miss. I’m just supposed to bring you. Right away.” “Okay, let me put on some jeans and a sweatshirt. And grab my purse. And...well...I’m going to need an extra couple of seconds. To call my lawyer.” * ** By the time Libby and the officer reached the mansion, she was dying of curiosity, especially when she saw four patrol cars parked outside. Without waiting for Josh to arrive, she hurried up the steps and through the front door, which was ajar. Before she could orient herself inside the posh entry hall that was bigger than her whole apartment, Ryan Colbert strode up to her, his emerald eyes blazing. “If I find out you had anything to do with my grandmother’s disappearance, you’re going to regret it.” Libby stuck her finger in his face and assured him just as forcefully, “And if I find out you killed your own grandma, you’re gonna wish you’d never been born!” Ryan’s handsome jaw gaped open. “What?”

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“You heard me.” Libby exhaled sharply, then turned to address a nearby group of men. “Mrs. Colbert is missing? And you think I had something to do with it?” The most distinguished-looking of the threesome stepped forward, extending his hand. “Ms. O’Rourke? I’m Jim Sanderson, the Colbert family’s attorney. You’ve already met Ryan, obviously. These men are Detectives Johnson and Diaz. Grace Colbert is in the living room. I suggest we join her and discuss this calmly.” Libby nodded, grateful for the courtesy. “How long has Mrs. Colbert been missing?” “We’re told she went to bed at her usual time. But she wasn’t there this morning.” “Is it possible she went for a drive? Like last time?” “A car is missing. But she rarely goes far, and we’ve combed the area.” Josh walked through the front door at that moment, prompting another explosion from Ryan. “What are you doing here? Jeff Beale, right? From Stanford?” “It’s Josh Beale. And I’m Ms. O’Rourke’s attorney, so back off.” Before Libby could say anything, a throaty female voice called out, “Josh? I can’t believe you’re here! After all these years!” Then a petite, dark-haired woman flew by, running straight into his arms. “Someone kidnapped my grandmother! I’m afraid they’ll hurt her.” She began to sob, and Josh patted her shoulder while sending Libby a look that indicated he was stunned by his old girlfriend’s reaction. Then he asked Libby carefully, “Did you tell them about the you-know-what?” “Not yet. We were just about to discuss it.” She could feel Ryan’s questioning stare, and added weakly, “Maybe this isn’t the right time.” “Actually,” the grandson told her with a drawl, “I think this is the perfect time to tell us about the you-knowwhat.” “My client doesn’t have to tell you — or anyone else — a damned thing,” Josh muttered. “Libby? I’m advising you not to say another word.”

Libby wasn’t sure which of the two — Josh or Ryan — looked more annoyed, so when she folded her arms across her chest and arched an eyebrow, it was meant for both of them. “We all want the same thing, don’t we?” she asked. “To find Mrs. Colbert and bring her home safely. If this information can help, that’s all that matters.” “What information?” Jim Sanderson prompted her. “Well...” Libby relaxed her stance and sent Ryan an apologetic smile. “Mrs. Colbert has a fear — irrational, but still very real — that one or both of her grandchildren are trying to kill her.” Ryan’s green eyes widened. “What?” Grace’s reaction was harsher. “That’s a lie! How dare you come into our home and say something like that.” Libby pulled the package out of her purse. “She sent me this yesterday, asking me to investigate her death if it occurs under suspicious circumstances.” She started to hand the pages to Detective Diaz, but his phone rang at that moment so she gave them to Johnson instead.

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After he had scanned the pages, she asked him warily, “Isn’t it possible Mrs. Colbert became so fearful she decided to run off and hide? At a vacation home? Or with a friend?” “Let me see that.” Ryan took the letter and scanned it, his expression growing somber. “Man, this is unbelievable. She really thinks I’m a threat.” He turned to his attorney. “Did she say anything to you about this?” “Not a word.” “Don’t you see?” Grace interrupted. “She was afraid to trust any of us! Because this...this lawyer...convinced her we were trying to kill her!” The granddaughter glared at Libby. “How much did my grandmother pay you for this obscene advice?” “Every penny she owns,” Detective Johnson said simply. Grace turned to her brother. “What does he mean by that?” “Grandmother re-did her will to leave everything to Ms. O’Rourke. We don’t get any until she’s sure...” he cleared his throat, but the words still stuck in it when he said, “...until she’s sure we didn’t kill her.” Grace spun on Libby. “You’ll never get one dime. I promise you that.” “It’s not about the money, Gracie,” Ryan murmured. “Not now, at least. Once we find Grandmother, we’ll find some way to put her mind at ease.” “For once we agree,” Josh interrupted. “It’s not about the money. And we can prove it. Ms. O’Rourke is willing to renounce any interest under the will. Just so there’s no misunderstanding about her motives in all this. Right, Libby?” The suggestion surprised Libby, especially given Josh’s insistence the night before that she keep the money. Was he sensing foul play? Or just trying to avoid another scandal? Then Jim Sanderson surprised her, too, saying, “No one should make any hasty decisions. Like Ryan said, let’s find Aurelia and reassure her. Then we’ll see what she wants to do.” “Whose side are you on?” Grace demanded. “You’re supposed to be our lawyer.” “Everyone!” Detective Diaz had rejoined the group, his tone ominous. “I need your attention. I’m sorry to say, I have bad news.” Oh no... Libby stole a glance at Ryan’s face, and could see from his stoic expression that he, too, feared the worst. “That call was from the sheriff in Bedford. A helicopter pilot just turned himself in. Apparently, the guy is a complete basket case. He says he was hired by Mrs. Colbert to fly her over Crystal Peak last night. She told him she wanted to sprinkle her husband’s ashes there, at a spot where they used to picnic, and she convinced him to set down in a clearing. But after she dumped the ashes off the edge of the cliff, she jumped in after them.” Turning to stare directly at Libby, he added, “Apparently, Mrs. Colbert said the trip was her new attorney’s idea.” *** Still numb, Libby headed home to change for work. The last hour had been a blur — of questions from the detectives; accusations from Grace; desperate pleas from Josh for Libby to stop talking; and deadly silence from Ryan, who had spent most of the time with his back to the group, either too grief-stricken or too furious to participate.

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For her part, Libby had struggled not to sob as she explained how, during their chat at the hospital, Aurelia had shared lovely stories of her courtship and marriage. Many had occurred at Crystal Peak, from first kiss, to romantic proposal, to the time Aurelia gave her beloved Michael the joyous news that she was carrying his child. It was little wonder that on his deathbed, Michael had asked Aurelia to spread his ashes at “their spot.” But she hadn’t wanted him so far away, and had kept the urn on her nightstand for twenty-five years. Aurelia had come to regret that decision, wishing she had taken care of his last request while she was still spry enough to make the trip. So Libby had suggested using a helicopter or airplane, never dreaming that the old woman would make the arrangements alone. She had assumed Aurelia would gather her family around her for the event. But apparently, she had decided to do more than just sprinkle Michael’s ashes. She had decided to join him for all eternity. Grace bluntly insisted to the detectives that Libby and the helicopter pilot were guilty of some degree of murder for having encouraged a senile old woman to undertake such an emotionally draining trip, especially when, thanks to Libby, Aurelia believed the rest of her family wanted her dead anyway! Grace was scathing in her insistence that Libby had used the hospital visit to plant fears about the grandchildren in order to manipulate Aurelia’s affections so that the confused old woman would put Libby in charge of her estate. Finally, Jim Sanderson had suggested that no more could be done until the pilot had been questioned in detail and the search parties scouring the crevices of Crystal Canyon had found Aurelia’s body. The detectives had agreed that Libby and Josh should just go to work as usual, but remain available for further questioning. “And no unexpected vacations,” Johnson had told her, his tone vaguely insulting. But as Libby parked her car in front of her building, she decided a vacation was actually a great idea, specifically, a trip to Crystal Peak to fulfill Aurelia’s last request by investigating her death. Hurrying upstairs, she began digging through her belongings until she located a knapsack and duffel bag, which she filled with camping equipment. Her father had loved the outdoors, taking Libby on adventures, teaching her to fish and shoot. She had given all that up when he died five years earlier, but she still had lots of gear, including her pistol, which she ruefully decided to leave behind for fear of causing someone else’s death. Shaking off a now-familiar wave of guilt about Aurelia’s suicide, she allowed herself to at least bring a flare gun in case she discovered something and needed to summon the search parties. Then she hurried back to her car and began loading her bags into the trunk, wondering as she did so whether or not to invite Josh along. She suspected he’d disapprove of her actions, and while she appreciated his concern, she was beginning to see that they just didn’t think alike on anything connected with Aurelia. “Going somewhere?” a familiar voice asked with a drawl, and she spun to see Ryan standing so close, she could feel the heat from his suspicious green eyes. His gaze shifted to her baggage. “Camping? At a time like this?” “It’s personal.” “No,” he said slowly. “You’re going to investigate my grandmother’s death, aren’t you? Unbelievable.” Before she could respond, he moistened his lips and asked in a soft, almost hesitant voice, “Can I come with you?” “So there we were, getting chewed out — humiliated, really — by this jerk of a coach. Then Grandmother storms into the locker room — all five-foot-two of her — sticks her finger right in his face and gives him hell. Just like you did to me this morning. She got the coach fired, and after that, we won every game, just for her. We all loved her so much.” Ryan’s voice grew hoarse as he added, “It kills me to think she was afraid I might hurt her.” “Just reread that letter she sent me,” Libby advised soothingly. “She didn’t really believe it. She just wanted to rule out the possibility.”

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“Thanks,” he murmured. “And thanks for letting me come with you. It helps to talk about her. Especially to you. She told me at the hospital that you reminded her of herself at a young age. I’m beginning to see the resemblance.” When Libby didn’t answer, he added, “Don’t worry about that stuff Gracie said. About prosecuting you for giving Grandmother reckless advice. You couldn’t have known she’d go off on her own, much less commit suicide. You assumed she’d ask us to go with her to sprinkle the ashes.” “I never dreamed she was suicidal,” Libby agreed, reassured by his words. “She was so upbeat. Like she planned on living another decade at least.” “Yeah. She was a real fighter. Like you.” “Hardly.” “You beat that Dunnigan rap all by yourself, didn’t you?” He flushed, then explained. “After I found you with Grandmother at the hospital, I asked Jim Sanderson about you. He told me what happened. He said the legal community was appalled at the way your firm let you down. But now that I know Jeff Beale works there, I’m not surprised.” “It’s Josh. Not Jeff.” “Yeah, I know,” he said with a laugh. Then he grimaced. “You’re not involved with him, are you? I mean, romantically?” “No. Not really. Not yet.” Annoyed with herself, Libby added firmly, “He’s my friend. And my lawyer. So watch the negative comments.” “Fair enough.” Ryan arched an eyebrow. “What do you expect to find on Crystal Peak?” “Nothing,” she admitted. “But your grandmother asked me to investigate, so that’s what I’m going to do. And like I said —” she paused to sigh “ —she didn’t seem suicidal. When she wrote that letter, she was worried about a quote-unquote untimely death. So...” “So you think she was murdered? By me?” “You asked me why I’m going to Crystal Peak and I told you. But for the record, no. I don’t think you killed her.” “My sister, then?” he demanded. “No way. She and Grandmother had issues, yeah. Mostly because I was getting my half of the money with no strings attached, but a trustee would be in charge of Gracie’s. That really bugged her. But since it was that way under your will, too, she had nothing to gain from killing Grandmother.” “Unless I renounce my rights under ‘my’ will. Then the probate code takes over. You get half, Grace gets half. But hers will be free and clear, not in trust.” “Really?” Ryan cleared his throat. “She isn’t sophisticated enough to know that.” “Unless — hypothetically — someone like Jim Sanderson told her.” “No way! He tried to stop you from renouncing, remember?” “That could have been a ploy, couldn’t it?” “If anyone’s attorney is behind this, it’s yours.”

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Libby bit back a retort, and they rode in silence for a few minutes. Then Ryan said slyly, “Truce?” She smiled with relief. “Okay.” “If you need gas, we’re coming up on the last station before the mountain. I’ll pay.” “I can afford it,” Libby assured him, adding weakly, “Because of my salary, not because of the gazillions.” “You mean my gazillions?” he demanded, but his tone was teasing. Laughing, Libby pulled into the station, where they both got out to stretch their legs. Ryan stared up at the craggy shape of Crystal Peak. “She was ninety-two. I knew we’d lose her soon. But I never thought she’d die thinking her family didn’t love her.” Libby touched his shoulder. “It wasn’t like that. She just wanted to be with your grandpa.” He turned and stared down at her, his eyes blazing. “Thanks, Libb. For everything.” She took a step backward, stunned by the intimacy of the moment. It was as though there was always something explosive — whether grief, anger, loyalty or something more erotic — lurking just below the surface with Ryan Colbert. You’d better start remembering that, she warned herself. Then she told Ryan briskly, “Let’s get going. I want to reach the top before sunset.” *** Although she tried ignoring Ryan’s green eyes for the remainder of the drive, she found herself melting under his scrutiny. And the fact that they weren’t talking anymore just intensified the effect. What was he feeling? Grief, certainly. And gratitude. Maybe even admiration. Maybe even something more. Or he’s trying to decide the best way to kill you and hide your body, she scolded herself. Come on, Libby. You’re supposed to be investigating a homicide, not making goo-goo eyes at the prime suspect! It was a relief to round the last turn on the mountain road and pull onto the shoulder near the picnic area where the helicopter had landed. According to the pilot’s story, he had gallantly escorted Aurelia to the edge of the cliff, and once he was sure she was steady, had backed away to give her privacy while she sprinkled the ashes in the glow of the chopper’s searchlight, never dreaming she’d jump. “Give me a minute to change my shoes,” Ryan said, reaching into the back seat for a leather sports bag he had stowed there. “I’ll just go on ahead if you don’t mind,” Libby murmured, sliding out of the driver’s door, then hurrying to the trunk to get her backpack. “Catch up with me in a few minutes, okay?” “Huh?” Ryan jumped out of the car and came around to confront her. “I thought we were in this together. Are you saying you still don’t trust me?” “It’s not that,” she explained with a sheepish smile. “You’re just kind of distracting. I owe it to your grandmother to concentrate.” He grinned in clear relief. “You’re kind of distracting yourself, you know.”

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“Ryan —“ she began, but he stopped her by reaching out, grabbing her by the waist, and pulling her against him as he lowered his mouth to hers. The crazy mix of tenderness and heat in his kiss reassured her, and she slipped her hands behind his neck, lacing her fingers in his thick black hair and abandoning herself for a long, luxurious moment. Then she pulled free and looked up into his eyes. “Stay here. Please?” “Sure. Whatever you say. Just don’t take too long.” Giddy, she backed away, then pulled herself together and turned toward the picnic area, striding to a spot where the ground had been recently disturbed, almost certainly by a helicopter. The clearing was surrounded on all sides by dense, brambly bushes and trees, with only one narrow gap at the cliff’s edge where Libby knew Aurelia must have stood. Wistful, she imagined how the old woman had felt, returning to this beloved place to join her husband for all eternity. Following in Aurelia’s footsteps, Libby peered over the edge, then drew back, alarmed at the jagged rocks in the crevices below. The thought of Ryan’s grandmother’s body being broken to bits horrified her. And the thought of anyone jumping voluntarily... In that moment, Libby knew it wasn’t true. Aurelia might have been a little senile toward the end, but she wasn’t crazy enough to do this. Not without some sinister urging. As if to confirm that suspicion, a shot rang out, the bullet whizzing by Libby’s cheek, sending her diving away from the cliff, deep into the brambles, cursing herself for trusting Ryan. Her sleeve caught on a branch, and when she tore it free, she spied a second scrap of fabric embedded in the thorns. Soft pink flannel with a rosebud print. Libby had seen that pattern before. On Aurelia Colbert’s nightgown in the hospital. Was it possible Aurelia had tried to get away from the pilot? Maybe she had even succeeded! As Libby clawed her way through the branches, Ryan strode into view. The sight of a pistol in his hand devastated her, and she realized that until that very moment, she had still half believed he was innocent. “Libby! Where are you? I heard gun shots!” Ryan was turning in a circle as he spoke, scanning the terrain. His weapon was pointed downward, but she had no doubt that it was cocked and ready. Digging her flare gun out of her knapsack, she waited until his back was to her. Then she stepped out, insisting, “Don’t turn around. I’ve got a gun and I know how to use it. Just place your weapon on the ground. Gently. Or you’re a dead man.” “Thank God.” Ryan turned toward her, and while he didn’t drop the pistol, he didn’t aim it at her, either. Then his gaze fell on the flare gun and he grinned ruefully. “Unbelievable. Are you okay?” He can be so charming, she thought wistfully. But she wasn’t about to fall for it again. Hadn’t his own grandmother warned her about him? “Drop the gun,” she advised. “Be serious. Why would I shoot you?” “Why did you bring a gun with you?”

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“I collect Glocks. And like you keep saying, I’m worth gazillions. So I keep one in my sports bag, one in my brief case, and another in my glove compartment. Just in case.” His tone grew grim. “We need to take cover, Libb. Whoever shot at you might still be around.” “If you want me to trust you, set your weapon on the ground.” “Sure. Whatever you say.” He dropped to one knee, laid his pistol on the dirt, then rose slowly, his hands in the air. “Okay?” She was instructing him to kick the weapon over to her when Josh’s voice interrupted her by saying, “Great job, Libby. I’ll take it from here.” She and Ryan both spun toward Josh, stunned to see that he, too, had a pistol. And it was pointed directly at Ryan’s chest. “I should’ve known,” Ryan muttered. “Don’t be stupid, Beale. You’ll never get away with this.” Josh’s blue eyes blazed. “One twitch, Colbert, and you’re Swiss cheese. Libby? Pick up his gun, then come over here with me. And don’t worry. I’ve got him covered.” Libby licked her lips, confused. “What are you doing here?” “I got your message about taking the day off to investigate. I knew you’d come here. But I never guessed you’d bring him along. Thank God I got here in time.” “Explain the gun,” she suggested softly. Josh’s face fell at the hint of accusation. “I borrowed it from my brother. I was worried, since you kept insisting the old lady had been murdered.” “That’s a Glock he’s holding, Libby,” Ryan told her. “I recognize it from my collection. Gracie must have given it to him. I didn’t think she was capable of...well, of hurting anyone. Much less Grandmother. Much less me.” Libby studied the two men closely. Josh — her co-worker. Her friend. Her lawyer. And Ryan... Weighing her words carefully, she murmured, “There’s something you don’t know, Josh. I think Mrs. Colbert is still alive.” “What?” demanded Josh and Ryan in unison. But Josh’s voice was full of fear — maybe even fury — while Ryan’s resonated with pure surprise, not to mention disbelief. And in that instant, Libby knew, even though Josh recovered quickly and insisted, “That’s great!” “I know.” Libby gave him a warm smile, then turned to Ryan and glared. “I should have known when you wouldn’t let me stop for gas that you were planning to murder me. Just like you did your poor old grandma.” Ryan gave his trademark scowl, but she knew it was just an act. “Back away.” She switched the flare gun to her left hand, then strode up to Ryan and scooped up his Glock. Then in one smooth motion she fired at Josh — just like her father had taught her to do — and sent his weapon flying through the air.

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“Goddammit!” Josh shrieked, cradling his grazed palm. “Don’t move!” Libby advanced on him, her gun trained on his face. “I swear, Josh. If you move one muscle, I’ll shoot you again.” “Nice work,” Ryan told her as he retrieved Josh’s weapon. Then he pulled out his cell phone. “Keep him covered. I’ll get help.” “Wait, Ryan. Don’t do that. Not yet.” “Huh?” Josh burst into laughter. “Welcome to my world, Colbert. She’s a slave to your grandmother’s last wishes. And the old bag made things very clear — Libby’s supposed to hold on to the money while she investigates the murder. If it turns out a grandchild is guilty, then Libby won’t give him or her their half of the fortune. And that’s the only punishment the guilty grandchild is supposed to get. No police. No charges. No prison. Turn me in, and you’ll be turning Gracie in, too.” Ryan glared. “You think we’re going to just let you go?” “Yep. Tell him, Libby.” Libby sighed. “We need to proceed carefully, Ryan. For Grace’s sake.” “I’m sure the whole thing was Beale’s idea,” Ryan countered. “He used her.” “Give me a break,” Josh drawled. “She was setting you up weeks before I got involved.” He turned to Libby. “Ryan and the old bag treated Gracie like a loser. They made sure she never controlled a dime of her own money. And Grannie’s original will was going to make that situation permanent — Grace would get half, but only in trust, with limited access to the funds. “Then Grannie had an accident in Ryan’s car, and Gracie decided to discredit her big brother by suggesting that he might have sabotaged the brakes, knowing Grannie had a habit of borrowing his wheels. The old bag believed it. But instead of switching her allegiance from Ryan to Gracie, she fixated on you. Told Grace she was going to leave the money to you so you could figure it out. So Grace asked around, found out we were in the same firm, and asked me for help.” “And you told her I couldn’t afford another scandal. Because of Dunnigan.” “Right. All we had to do was follow through on the crazy idea about sprinkling the ashes. I found a greedy pilot, and Grace made sure Grannie snuck away to meet him.” “Right. All we had to do was follow through on the crazy idea about sprinkling the ashes. I found a greedy pilot, and Grace made sure Grannie snuck away to meet him.” “Unbelievable,” Ryan muttered. “You think I’m going to let you — and Grace — get away with this?” “Right. I was gonna be rich. Now I won’t be. That’s my punishment.” “Guess again,” Ryan told him coolly. “Ryan...” Libby began, but he was already dialing his cell phone. Then he grimaced. “No signal.”

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“Ryan,” she repeated sternly, “your grandmother didn’t want her murderer prosecuted. And maybe there wasn’t a murder. Because, like I said, Aurelia might still be alive.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you were just bluffing about that.” “I found a scrap of fabric. From her nightie, I think. That’s why Josh came here. Don’t you see? To find her.” “To find her corpse,” Josh corrected. “Yeah, she got away from that stupid-ass pilot. But no way could she have survived all night on this mountain. She was too —” His words were cut off by Ryan’s fist hitting him square in the jaw, knocking him senseless. Then the grandson asked Libby, “Do you really think...?” "If she found a protected spot —“ “The caves!” Turning away, he stalked up the trail with Libby on his heels. “There are caves up here?” she demanded breathlessly. “Grace and I used to hide in them as kids. And Grandmother knew all about them. So maybe...” He broke off, his face filled with hope, and began climbing again. *** The frail, motionless figure was swaddled in a heavy wool coat that almost completely concealed the flannel nightgown underneath.

“Grandmother!” Ryan gathered her into a hearty embrace. “Ryan...my darling...I knew you’d come...” Aurelia’s eyelids fluttered. “I heard gunfire...” “Everyone’s fine, Grandmother. My God, I can’t believe you survived.” Aurelia’s green eyes filled with tears. “My poor, unhappy Gracie...” “I know, Grandmother. It’ll be okay. Just relax. I’m here now. So is Libby.” Biting back a sob of relief, Libby proffered a bottle of water from her backpack. “Mrs. Colbert? Can you take a little sip?” Aurelia gave a grateful nod. “I still can’t get 9-1-1 on my stupid phone,” Ryan told Libby. “Let’s just get her to the car.” “Okay. But first...” Libby pulled out her flare gun again. “I’ll signal the search parties that we’re on our way.” Ryan grinned. “You’re amazing.” “So much like me,” Aurelia added proudly. Embarrassed, Libby told Ryan, “Just keep her warm. I’ll be right back.”

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“Libb?” She locked gazes with him, thrilled by his use of the simple nickname. “Yes?” “I’m gonna need another kiss. Soon.” “Ryan,” she scolded, trying not to blush again. “First things first.” “You kissed Libby?” Aurelia demanded. “Here? On the mountain?” “Actually, I kissed her on the lips,” Ryan said with a teasing smile. Aurelia laughed, then snuggled into her grandson’s arms. “I think you’re right, darling. Everything’s going to be fine now. And do you know what else?” “What, Grandmother?” he asked, his voice soft with love and relief. Her green eyes — so much like her grandson’s — twinkled wildly. “I think your grandfather arranged this whole thing. Just for you. Just so you’d be as happy as we were.” “Maybe so, Grandmother,” Ryan murmured, reaching for Libby with his free hand and pulling her into a three-way embrace. “Maybe so.”

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Voyage of an Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham Quin MacEgan has been Brenna Ó Neill’s closest friend and protector for three years. He means everything to her, but the feelings of desire he has awakened in her are terrifying. Afraid to become a woman she didn’t want to be—a woman like her mother—Brenna pushed Quin away and agreed to marry another. But when Brenna’s betrothed is not among the survivors of an ill-fated trade voyage, Quin is more determined than ever to make her his wife! Even if it means putting aside his own passions and agreeing never to touch her….

Chapter One Ireland, 1180 Cool spring air rippled the sea, and Brenna Ó Neill pulled her brat around her shoulders for warmth. She stood with her bare feet in the sand, waiting for her betrothed husband's ship. It had become a ritual she'd kept in the four months since she'd promised herself to Aimon—walking along the shoreline in the hopes that he might return. He'd gone on a trading journey that was meant to last a few weeks. Weeks had turned into months, and despite all their best efforts, the fishermen hadn't found a trace of the vessel. She raised a hand to shield her eyes against the setting sun, her heart as cold as the lapping waves. Likely the ship had sunk. Perhaps it was her curse to bear, her punishment for choosing the wrong man. And now, she'd lost them both. As the sun cast its last golden spears upon the shimmering black water, Brenna caught a glimpse of something approaching on the horizon. There were no billowing sails to mark it as a ship. And yet, the massive hulk floated closer, like a ruined fortress. Her heartbeat quickened, afraid of what she might find. The wood was charred black, with hardly a single mast standing. But there could be no doubt it was Aimon's ship. Her hands gripped her skirts, dread rising up inside her. Were there any survivors? A lone figure steered it toward the strand, but the ship was eerily quiet on the water. From her vantage point, she couldn't see who it was. As the minutes passed, the sky shifted to dark violet, the sun disappearing. Voices shouted from the ringfort behind her, and within minutes a small crowd gathered on the shore. Torches flared, and as the vessel drew closer, the excited voices faded into silence. The ship's scarred exterior foretold the deaths of many. But which men lived? One of the survivors trudged through the shallow water, three men following him. Brenna stepped into the edge of the sea, trying to see who they were. When they reached the shore, Aimon was not among them. But Quin MacEgan was. Brenna couldn't breathe when he strode toward her, like a warrior come to claim his conquest. Hardened and fierce, he said nothing to his tribesmen, ignoring everyone else but her. His dark blond hair hung against his bearded face, while green eyes locked with her own. Quin stopped walking when he stood an arm's length from her. In his eyes, she saw the shadowed longing, mingled with pain. His clothes hung in rags, while dirt and blood caked his face. "He's dead, Brenna." The harsh words cut through her, and hot tears welled up in her eyes. It was only the ice frozen around her heart that kept her standing. Kept her from crying out with raw anger and guilt. Aimon had gone on this

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voyage for her, in the hopes of increasing his holdings. Now, his dreams of wealth and glory had ended in death. As a single drop rolled down her cheek, Brenna knew that she was weeping from guilt instead of loss. Weeping because the man she had denied as her bridegroom was standing before her. Quin took her hand in his. Warm and alive, she let their fingers lace together as he pulled her away from the others. She didn't voice a single protest when he took her back to the hut she'd planned to share with Aimon. When at last they were alone, she let herself shatter, grieving for her betrothed. Quin's arms caught fast around her, his strength granting her comfort. Brenna clung to him while he murmured that it would be all right. But it wasn't going to be all right. At last, she broke free from his embrace. "You can't stay here." She crossed the room and opened the door, waiting for him to leave. "I made my choice not to marry you." But Quin didn't move. "You might have made your choice, Brenna. But it was the wrong one." Closing the door behind him, he took a step closer. "And I intend to change your mind."

Chapter Two Críost, he was so tired. Quin hadn't slept in days, while he'd fought to keep the ship from sinking. It was God's miracle that they'd made it back alive, after the foreign raiders had stolen their wool and silver, killing most of the men. He drank in the sight of Brenna, even knowing that she was ready to shove him outside. Her brown hair was braided back from her face, the strands tinted red against the firelight. Stormy gray eyes glared at him with anger. "This is Aimon's home, and I'm not about to dishonor his memory by letting you stay. He wouldn't have wanted that." It bothered him that she was building Aimon into a saint. "You never really knew him, did you? You agreed to marry him a fortnight after you said no to me." "I knew him well enough," she murmured. Then her expression sharpened. "Were you hoping he would die?" "I tried to save him." Quin bit back the arguments, for she would never understand. He'd tried to save Aimon for her. And the failure haunted him still. "I don't believe you," she whispered, sinking down upon a wooden stool. She rested her elbows upon her knees, lowering her head. He kept silent, afraid of saying the wrong thing. He'd have walked upon shards of glass for Brenna, for even a single tear shed on his behalf. The need to touch her, to ease her grief, overshadowed his exhaustion. More than food or water, he thirsted for her. He took a step forward. Then another, kneeling down beside her on the cold earthen floor. Though he wanted to slide the lock of hair over her shoulder, revealing the smooth tear-stained cheek, he kept his hands at his sides. "I'm not going to leave you this time, Brenna." "I won't marry you." She turned to him, her face pale. "My reasons haven't changed." "You were afraid of what there was between us."

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"No." She looked down at her hands again, unable to face him. But her face colored with embarrassment. Quin touched his knuckles to her delicate cheek, leaning in until his nose touched hers. The hushed scent of spring clung to her hair, and he closed his eyes, savoring the closeness. He was alive, here with her. He rested his palm upon her cheek, waiting to see if she would pull away. Instead, her hand covered his. "Quin, you want something I cannot give." "For now, all I want is this." He leaned in and claimed her mouth in a heated kiss.

Chapter Three Brenna yielded to him, her arms grasping his shoulders for balance. Sensual and overpowering, Quin pressed her body against the door frame. He trapped her in place, plundering her lips like a conqueror. Hot and hungry, he kissed her like he'd been starving for her these past four months. Quin had been her closest friend, her protector for the past three years. And though he meant everything to her, he'd awakened a desire inside that she couldn't fight. The feelings he aroused within her were terrifying. She felt herself slipping away, becoming a woman she didn't want to be. And so, she'd pushed him away. His tongue slid against the seam of her mouth, coaxing her to surrender. She tried to hold herself back, but it wasn't worth the fight. He plundered her mouth, and desire poured through her, down sensitive breasts, spiraling to the intimate place between her thighs. Quin's hands twined in her hair, both palms cupping her face while he kissed her. Danu, she had missed him. She'd sent him away, believing that once he'd left, she could lock away her feelings. Now that he was back, she couldn't stop herself from pulling him close, falling under his spell. Like a candle flaring to life, she felt wanton, her instincts roaring into desperate need. I won't do this, she told herself. I can't. Brenna pulled away, turning her face aside. Her heart was aching, even as it pulsed within her chest. "Leave me alone, Quin." Quin's green eyes stared into hers, his gaze unfathomable. "You're running away again." Yes, she was. But he would never understand why she kept herself from him. Why she'd chosen Aimon—an awkward, quiet man who had never kindled a single spark of desire. She'd needed someone who would never expect passion from her. A man who would give her a respectable marriage, allowing her to start again. Her foster parents had tried to shield her from the stories whispered about her, but they couldn't protect her all the time. Everyone knew where she came from. What she was. Her throat ached with tightness, but Brenna opened the door. "I want you to go." "For now." In his eyes, she saw determination that matched her own. And when Quin closed the door behind him, she sank down onto the floor. Her mouth was swollen, her body awakened into a temptation she couldn’t face. Be glad that he's gone, she told herself. Instead, the emptiness seemed to swallow her.

Chapter Four

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The moon illuminated a pool of light upon the burned ship. Quin sloshed through the seawater toward the broken vessel, his mood as black as the wood. He climbed aboard, never minding his soaked trews. Inside the boat, four inches of standing water kept the interior wet. The damage was extensive, and Quin didn't know if the boat could be repaired. Over the next hour, he studied every inch of the remains, trying not to think about Brenna. The kiss they'd shared had left him frustrated and aching for her. He'd savored the taste of her, and the sweet softness of her breasts pressing against him while his hands palmed her spine. Though she denied it, he sensed the fettered desire buried deep inside of her. It abraded his pride, for never once had Brenna admitted any feelings toward him. He'd tried to transform their friendship into love, but she'd fled from his arms at the first stirrings of physical desire. And now, all he had was a stolen kiss. He didn't know if it was enough to rebuild anything between them. Quin reached out to touch a charred beam, and saw the traces of blood upon the wood. The blood of his kinsmen and closest friends. Some were dead, and others had been taken captive. He didn't know if the Moors had intended to sell them as slaves or seek a ransom. But he had to get them back. Somehow, he had to fix this ship and gather a crew of men to seek out the survivors. A noise alerted him, and he saw Dermot approaching. Quin helped him board the vessel, and in exchange, his friend offered a small cloth-wrapped bundle of food. "I didn't see you at the welcome feast." "I didn't go." But Quin opened the bundle and found wrapped venison and bread, along with a horn of ale. He devoured the food, the first true meal he'd had in nearly four months. "I wanted to see about the ship's repairs." "In the dark?" Dermot shook his head. "Quin, let it go. The ship brought us back, and that's all that matters." "It didn't bring all of us back. Or were you planning to forget about the captives?" "I haven't forgotten," Dermot said quietly. "But we should speak with the king. He'll want to send men of his own. And we'll need a new ship." The pointed tone wasn't lost on Quin. But he'd built this ship with his own hands, steaming the planks and fitting them to the frame. Letting it go was like releasing a piece of himself. He knew Dermot was right about speaking to his cousin, King Patrick. Without question, Patrick would offer his assistance. Dermot rested both hands on the side of the boat, his expression grim. "We shouldn't have left the men." "We had no choice," Quin responded, handing back the cloth. "The damned ship was on fire." From the way Dermot studied him, Quin wondered if the men blamed him for slicing the ropes that tethered their boat to the raiders' vessel. He'd made the decision to leave the others behind, to save what men he could. How many raiders he'd killed that night, he didn't know. The nightmare of blood, fire and death haunted him still. But they'd managed to break free, steering the boat out into the open water. "We're going to get them back," he stated. "I won't let them die." "None of us will," Dermot reassured him. "Once we have the king's support, we'll go back." Changing the subject, his kinsman ventured a smug grin. "I saw you with Brenna. Did she offer you a proper homecoming, then?"

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The idle remark ripped apart his temper. "Don't speak ill of her," Quin warned. Dermot raised both hands in surrender. "Peace, Quin. It was teasing, nothing more." "I'm going to wed her. You'd best keep your teasing to yourself." "But…she's a—" "I'd suggest you don't finish that sentence." He knew what others said about Brenna, but it wasn't true. Dermot rephrased. "I meant, she isolates herself from everyone. And she was betrothed to Aimon." Quin crossed his arms. "Not anymore." He'd made the mistake of letting her go, once before. It wouldn't happen again.

Chapter Five Brenna rose to her feet, needing a distraction. At the opposite end of the hut, she gathered a length of wool and a spindle. The mindless task of spinning eased her, while she thought of what to do next. Neither this hut nor the land belonged to her. Though she doubted the chieftain would force her to leave right away, Aimon's brother would claim it soon enough. She could go back to her mother's house, but it held such terrible memories, she didn't know if she could bring herself to enter. The thought made her ill. The creamy wool twisted beneath her fingers, transforming from a mass of fleece into thin, even thread. She imagined the vibrant colors she would dye, weaving the strands into cloth. Perhaps crimson or green. A noise outside her hut caught her attention, but no one knocked. Brenna set aside the spindle and wool, waiting. But there was no longer any sound at all. Had she imagined it? Feeling foolish, she opened the door. Lying on the ground across her threshold was Quin, his cloak thrown carelessly over his body. "What are you doing?" she demanded. He rolled over and lifted his head. "Sleeping. Or at least, that's what I intended before you came and woke me up." "You can't, Quin." What did he think he was doing? What would everyone think of her, if they saw him sleeping outside her hut? "Go back to your own place." "I haven't a place of my own," he reminded her. "The others won't care if I'm gone. Like as not, they'll appreciate the extra space." She remembered that he slept in a common hut with several of the other unmarried men. Or sometimes in a covered shelter, barely large enough to hold the boat he was working on. Her answer was to shut the door. No. She couldn't possibly let him behave like this, like a child who refused to give up until he got his own way. Don’t think about him. Let him remain outside and uncomfortable. It's what he deserves. But an hour later when the strong winds began, she put her spindle aside. Surely he had left by now. Cautiously, she opened the door a crack. Quin was leaning against her hut, holding his cloak over his head. He sat upon the ground, his knees propped up. The darkening sky began to spatter rain, and still he didn't move.

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"Would you like to join me?" he offered. "Thank you, no." "It's a nice, cool evening." He sent her a smile that slipped beneath her resolve and pricked at her conscience. "Why are you doing this?" He stared at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her long to shut the door again. He was looking at her like he had nothing better in the world to do, than to study her face. "You know why I'm here." She did. Longing and guilt intertwined, even as she knew it would be a mistake to let him in. When the lightning slashed the sky, she opened the door wider. "Come inside. And stay away from me." Quin entered the space, rain clinging to his skin. His outer clothing was wet, but he didn't look at all miserable. No, he looked like a man who had achieved his victory, and was more than pleased about it. After she closed the door, he dropped his cloak upon the ground. Brenna crossed to the other side of the hut. Though she picked up her spindle, her fingers were shaking. Quin raked a hand through his wet hair, and chose a wooden stool to sit upon. "Thank you, Brenna." She nodded, pretending not to look at him. Though she stared at the wool in her hands, she was fully aware of every motion he made. He stood, trying to peel back the wet clothing. "May I warm myself by the fire?" She shrugged, but moved to the opposite end. He went over to the peat coals and held out his hands. A moment later, he peeled off the soaked tunic, baring sun-darkened skin. His broad shoulders were ridged with firm muscles, and his chest held the strength of a man who spent his hours bending pieces of wood into the form of a ship. "You're embarrassing me," he said huskily. But she saw the amusement in his face, for he knew she'd been watching. "Put on one of Aimon's tunics," she advised. Covering her eyes with her hands, she waited. "Tell me when you've finished." In front of her, she heard him moving. Heard the rustle of clothing and footsteps coming closer. "Keep your eyes closed," he murmured. Brenna felt his presence behind her. Though he didn't move, her skin flushed. She kept her hands closed over her eyes, even as she heard him kneel behind her. His hands caressed her shoulders, then her nape. She could hardly breathe, her skin half-shuddering with anticipation. It felt so good to be with him, and she hated herself for holding still. Letting him touch. I'm betraying Aimon's memory, she thought to herself. But then, they'd had no memories at all. Though they had been friends, not once had Aimon kissed her. Not the way Quin had. His fingers dug into her scalp, massaging her hair and moving to her temples. When her hands fell into her lap, he pressed them back over her eyes. "Don't look, Brenna. I'm not nearly finished."

Chapter Six

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Quin touched her gently, soothing the fragile skin of her temples. Past the scar that never should have been there. Brenna might have died from the attack. Even now, it infuriated him to see it. The fools had tried to stone her. Though it had happened three years ago, he remembered it with vivid clarity. He'd gone out hunting that day, tracking a deer. Brenna had stood only a few paces away from his hiding place in the forest, picking blackberries. She was alone, as she always was. He hadn't seen or spoken to her since he'd returned from his fostering, for she rarely left her home. Like an angel, she'd lifted her face to the sun, as though trying to absorb it into her heart. Her clear skin appeared luminous, her gray eyes filled with ever-present sadness. Wild brown hair tumbled down her shoulders, touched with fiery red strands. When had she grown this beautiful? The first stirrings of interest had caught him, and he'd remained hidden, fascinated by her. He didn't know how long he'd watched her picking berries, but he heard the light tread of footsteps approaching. A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he spied two boys, Owen and Ulat, striding forward. Both held leather pouches slung across their shoulders. Troublemakers, both of them, though they were only fourteen. The chieftain had warned them, more than once, to stay out of mischief. Quin was about to move forward when he saw Owen hurl the first stone. It struck Brenna on the temple, and Ulat followed with another rock that nicked her cheek. She cried out, covering her head with her hands. Blood streamed down her face, and Quin charged from his hiding place. The instinct to protect her dominated any sense of self-preservation. Ignoring the flying stones, he sheltered her with his own body. "Whore's daughter!" Ulat taunted. But when he threw another stone, Quin caught it and sent it flying back. A moment later, he nocked an arrow to his bow. "Get back," he warned, pulling the bowstring tight. "Or that will be the last stone you ever throw." Ulat stared at him, as though determining whether or not he was serious. Quin shot an arrow into the ground at the boy's feet, as an added warning. With another arrow prepared, he waited for them to make a move. Never had he felt such a vicious rage against mere boys. But his threat worked. They dropped the stones and fled. Quin kept his bow drawn tight until they disappeared from the forest. Brenna was crouched upon the ground, her head hanging low. Blood streamed from her temples, and she wept at his feet. He lifted her into his arms, ignoring her protests. "I'm taking you home." She weighed hardly anything at all, and when he saw what they'd done to her, his fury at the boys magnified. Cursing, he blamed himself for not anticipating the attack. No one was inside the dwelling when he arrived with Brenna. Quin laid her down upon a fur-lined pallet, filling a bowl with cold water. "Don't," she whispered, clutching her head. "You must leave. My mother mustn't find you here." A knot swelled up on her forehead, and he held a damp cloth to the gash at her temple. "They hurt you." She took the cloth from him, meeting his gaze with her own. "I'll be fine. But you have to go." "I'm going to tell the chieftain. He'll see to it that the boys are punished."

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Brenna shook her head. "This wasn't the first time. Likely, it won't be the last." "You're wrong." He leaned in, letting her see the rigid anger coursing inside of him. "I can promise you, Brenna. This will be the last time anyone tries to hurt you." Whether it was her innocent beauty or her lack of protection that lured him, he didn't know. But he couldn't allow Brenna to endure taunts and physical attacks, merely because of her mother. "I'll send the healer," he offered. "Don't bother. It's nothing." Though she tried to venture a smile, it didn't meet her eyes. He took Brenna's hand in his. The skin was calloused, rough from spinning and weaving. "I'm going to take care of you." And he had. For the next three years, he'd kept a close watch over her, letting all the men in the ringfort know that he was her protector. Then, one morning he'd found a wrapped parcel. At first he thought it was a blanket, but when he finished unfolding the triangular shape, he realized it was a sail for his boat. Made of the finest cloth, he tested its strength. It would hold steady against the strongest winds, carrying his boat as far as he dared travel. She'd made it for him. She'd known that, of any gift, it was the greatest treasure she could have given. And on that day, he'd promised himself that Brenna Ó Neill would belong to him.

Chapter Seven "I blame myself for this scar," Quin said, his knuckles grazing the edge. "They hurt you." His voice was so close to her ear, she shivered. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. If she turned her head a few inches, his mouth would rest upon hers. Temptation and resolution warred inside, and she opened her eyes, rising to her feet once more. "Boys do foolish things sometimes." "So do men." He moved in front of her, smoothing her hair behind one ear. He sent her a roguish smile that would charm the wool off a sheep. "If you'd prefer, I can go back outside to sleep." She shook her head. "They already know you're here. I don't suppose the gossip can get any worse." He returned to the fire, studying the flames. "I'm not here to make others think badly of you." "They already think the worst. That I'll be just like my mother, welcoming any man into my bed." When she had returned home after her fostering, she'd spent countless nights sleeping in the forest while her mother had entertained men. On the rare occasions when she'd come back too soon, she'd seen the lust in their eyes. For her. Brenna crossed her arms over her breasts, shuddering at the thought. Thank God they'd left her alone after her mother's death. Whether it was Quin's doing or the chieftain's, she didn't know. But she'd tried to remain invisible to the rest of the clan. "It was your choice to isolate yourself from everyone in the ringfort," Quin continued. "No one blames you."

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Brenna moved over to her weaving loom, adjusting the threads. "They've teased me for as long as I can remember. I don't need them." "They need your skills." He pointed to the loom and the multicolored threads she'd woven. Though she hadn't intended to make a pattern on the woolen cloth, she hadn't been able to resist the bright colors. She began weaving, to give herself an excuse not to speak. For a long moment, Quin watched her. "Why, Brenna? Why did you say yes to him, and not to me?" Because Aimon was safe. Because he would never make me feel any sort of desire for him. Her silence prompted him to crouch beside her on one knee. "I would have given you anything you'd ever wanted." "Not everything." She passed blue thread through the loom, keeping the weaving tight and even. From the corner of her eye, she saw his expression grow tight. She'd made him angry, but he would never understand the fear locked deep inside. If she ever let go of the rigid control over her body, she might become like her mother, losing herself in the need for pleasure. "I'm going to see the king tomorrow," he said, rising to his feet and walking away. "I want you to come with me." She was about to refuse, but curiosity caught her. "Why?" "There were captives taken from our ship. I'm going to ask for men, to help bring them back." Captives? She nearly asked if Aimon was among them, but his taut features made her hold back. Quin had never been one to tell lies. "Where were they taken? And by whom?" "I don't know. The Moors often sell men into slavery in Al-Andalus. If we have any hope of finding them, we'll need a new ship." He shook his head with regret. "My ship wouldn't make the passage without sinking." She set down her shuttle, her heart hastening. "Why do you want me to come with you?" "Because this isn't your home. And I want to bring you to my cousin's ringfort, to keep you safe while I'm gone." He rested his hand against the door. "I'm asking you to wed me. Whatever Aimon promised you, I'll grant the same. Even if it means never touching you." His statement stunned her, and she met his green eyes with uncertainty. He was offering her a home and the vow of his protection, though she'd refused him once before. "What is your answer, Brenna?"

Chapter Eight He could see that she was going to say no. It was written upon her face, and Quin cursed himself for speaking on impulse. It speared his pride, for he'd offered her everything he had.

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"You couldn't make such a vow," she said flatly. "Not to touch me." He forced himself to remain still. "I could. If it meant sharing my life with you, I would do it." "I don't believe you." "Shall I prove it?" He walked in front of her and placed both hands behind his back. "Do whatever you wish. I won't move." Her lips drew into a suspicious line. But she set down her weaving and drew closer. Closer still, until she stood a single palm's distance from him. He could smell the light aroma of the soap she'd used in her hair, and her gray eyes remained wary. It was torment. And when she stepped so close that their bodies touched, he could feel the warmth of her skin against his own. The curve of her full breasts tantalized him, and he couldn't stop his physical response. She froze, suddenly aware that his body was straining for hers. "Not my fault," he said with a wry smile. "I've no control over that reaction." But to his surprise, she didn't move away. "I won't blame you for that. But what I want to know is whether or not you're able to keep your word." She touched his hair, bringing her palm to his face. "I don't think you can." He closed his eyes, gripping his fists at his side while she traced the line of his jaw, over his mouth. It was unbelievably arousing, having to stand motionless while she tempted him. Quin shivered when her thumbs rubbed the corners of his mouth, and her nose touched his. If he dared to touch her, he'd lose her. That, and that alone, was what kept him from moving a single muscle. "I admire your restraint," she said at last, stepping away. "I didn't expect it." "I keep my vows, Brenna." He moved toward the door. "I'm leaving at dawn for Laochre, to speak with the king. If you decide to come…" "I can't answer you yet. Too much has happened. With Aimon gone, I can't think clearly." She turned her back on him, her shoulders lowered. "Why did you choose him?" Quin asked quietly. She'd never told him, and he wondered what her feelings had been for Aimon. She turned back. "Because he was safe. I knew we would be comfortable together." "I would have kept you safe, Brenna." "You don't understand." She rested her hand over her heart. "When I'm with you, I lose myself." Shame covered her face, and it suddenly became clear. She didn't want any part of her mother's past, nor anything that would cast her in the same light. No desire, no lust. Nothing but simple companionship. She wanted a marriage based on friendship, not love. "If we married, would it make any difference to you?"

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She shook her head. "Every time I touch you or kiss you, I'm reminded of how my mother chose to live her life. I can't let it happen to me." He didn't know what to say. He'd never really understood how a woman of her beauty and intensity would blame herself for another woman's sins. "It doesn't have to be that way," he murmured. "I want you, Brenna, more than I've wanted any other woman. For me, there is only you. And there's no sin in that." "I'm afraid," she whispered. "Handfast with me, for a year and a day. And if you're unhappy, you can leave me at any time." She crossed her arms over her chest, uncertainty reigning over her face. "Quin, I don't know." He leaned one hand against the wall. "You can break free of the past, Brenna. If you'll try."

Chapter Nine Dawn slipped beneath her door frame, whispering rays of sunlight filtering inside the hut. Brenna sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. She didn't know what to say to Quin today, now that she'd had several hours to think about his offer. Though he'd proven that he could keep his promise not to touch her, she hadn't missed the tortured expression on his face. It bothered her, knowing she'd caused it. Danu, she didn't know what to do. She'd moved into Aimon's hut after she'd promised to wed him. The walls seemed to taunt her now, reminding her of her disloyalty to Aimon. She couldn't stay here anymore. It held too many memories of the quiet man she'd once thought of as her friend. With a heavy sigh, she began packing her belongings, though she didn't know where she would go now. A low knock sounded at the door. She expelled a sigh, not knowing what to say to Quin. He'd ended up sleeping outside last night and would expect an answer. But what could she say? With reluctance, she opened the door. To her surprise, the chieftain, Lughan Ó Neill, stood before her, his face grim. There was no sign of Quin nearby. "May I come in, Brenna?" She gave a nod, holding the door wider. Lughan spied her packing efforts and took a seat upon a bench. "I was sorry to hear about Aimon." Fresh hurt rose up inside, and she held onto her waist, keeping the sorrow buried. "So was I." "His brother Pól asked me to speak with you." "I know what you're going to say." Though she knew it was rude, she returned to her packing. "I have to leave this hut." "Pól has granted you several days," the chieftain offered. "But yes. As the second-born son of the family, this hut now falls to him. He's invited you to stay with them, if that is your wish."

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The idea of being surrounded by Aimon's family was akin to being smothered. She had no right to be here, not when they had never married. "It's all right. Tell him I won't burden him by staying. He'll want to keep his wife and family here." "I'll find a place for you with another member of the clan," Lughan offered gently. "You needn't return to your mother's hut." She rubbed her arms and shook her head. "Don't trouble yourself." "You are a member of this clan." Lughan's voice grew sharp, and her cheeks warmed when she realized she'd insulted him. "And therefore, my responsibility. I'll let no one go homeless, nor hungry here." "Did Quin speak with you?" she interrupted. Had he told Lughan of his intentions or his desire to wed her? At her query, the chieftain relaxed. "Aye, he did. This morning, he asked for men and horses. He will act as my representative to King Patrick of Laochre, and we'll get the captives back, God willing." Brenna's spirits sank a little, for she'd expected Quin to say something to Lughan about taking her with him. Why would he? her conscience chided. You've given him no reason to believe you'll say yes. Even so, she was reluctant to travel with a group of men. Likely Quin hadn't thought of that or what people would say to hear of it. Just then, the door swung open. Quin's hair was wet, his skin gleaming as though he'd just washed. His green eyes admired her as though she'd just risen from his bed. Her body warmed at his attentions. "Dia dhuit ar maidin." The chieftain returned the morning greeting. "Have you chosen the men to accompany you to Laochre?" "I have. But their wives want to go, as well. I'd forgotten that the queen is hosting an aenach just before the Feast of Imbolc." Lughan laughed. "They don't trust their husbands, do they?" Quin caught her gaze, and Brenna couldn't bring herself to look away. Handfasting was commonplace at festivals, and this aenach would be no exception. Imbolc marked the beginning of spring and the coming of a fertile year. No doubt the wives intended to keep their husbands from roaming. She eyed Quin once more. Handsome and strong, there was no doubt he could capture the attention of any maiden he desired. In her mind, she envisioned him embracing another woman, kissing her and laying her down upon a pallet. The jealous thoughts made her fists dig into the clothing she was packing. To the chieftain, Quin added, "I invited Brenna to come and meet my cousins. With your permission, she may want a change in her surroundings, after what's happened." The chieftain turned to her. "Well?" Her tongue felt frozen in her mouth. Quin's expression was steady, not demanding anything of her. She could go or stay. It was entirely her choice. Though her lips formed the word no, to her surprise, she blurted out, "Yes. If the women are going on this journey, then I will join them." She only hoped she wouldn't come to regret it.

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Chapter Ten After a full day of riding, the afternoon sun drifted into twilight. Brenna's dark hair gleamed with a halo of red while the sun set behind her. Throughout the day, she'd hardly spoken to him, but Quin had caught her staring once or twice. He found himself wondering where she would spend the night. Likely with the women. A pulse of disappointment formed inside, for he'd wanted more time alone with Brenna. He couldn't very well convince her to handfast with him, surrounded by a dozen men and women. When it was time to set up the camp, Quin spoke with the others and the men split up to hunt for the meal. Brenna started to join the women, but he caught her hand. "I want you to come fishing with me." She hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the others. "They'll want my help. We still have to set up the tents and—" "Go on, Brenna," Dermot’s wife assured her. "There are enough of us to manage." Quin sent the woman a grateful look, but Brenna remained unconvinced. He took her hand, not letting her argue anymore. The ground was soft from the rain, the moss beginning to form upon fallen logs and stones. Evening sunlight dusted the branches of the trees, and as he led her deeper into the woods, they followed the stream. "Quin, I don't think there's a pond," she told him. "I doubt if we'll catch any fish at all." "It wasn't fish I was after," he told her. She stopped walking and rested her hand upon an oak sapling. "What do you mean?" He stood before her. "I wanted to speak with you alone, before we reach Laochre tomorrow." Her eyes lowered to the leaves upon the ground. "I'm not ready to give you an answer yet, Quin. Don't ask it of me." He touched the sapling above her hand, their skin barely touching. "That isn't why I brought you here." "Then why did you?" He studied her gray eyes, recognizing the doubts within them. And the fear that he couldn't seem to coax from her. He didn't want that shadow between them, not when he would lay down his life before hurting her. "Because I wanted to spend time with you. Away from everyone else." She eyed him with suspicion. "Doing what?" He guided her deeper into the forest, to a clearing he spied ahead. "Convincing you to wed me, a stór." She stared at him, consternation furrowing her brow. "Quin, we should go back before it gets dark." "It won't be dark for another hour." He stopped walking when he saw a circle of five standing stones in the expanse of grass. Surrounded by trees, the stone ring appeared in the center, as if touched by magic. "Look at what I've found."

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Interest transformed Brenna's face, and she walked forward to examine it. The granite stones were just above her height, and spiral carvings marked it. Quin ran his fingers over one of the stones. "Do you suppose they held ancient rituals in a place like this, long ago?" She gave a tentative smile, reaching out to touch. "Perhaps." Exploring the surface with her hands, she stopped when she reached his palm. The smile faded into more apprehension. But Quin didn't move his hand. Instead, he stared into her eyes, letting her see all the caged desire he felt. Right now he wanted to remove the blue gown she wore, sliding the wool from her shoulders until she stood bared before him. He wanted her with a visceral need, as though she were a part of him that had gone missing. "Quin," she breathed. Her hand reached out to touch his, but even so, he saw the regret in her eyes. She'd already given up on him. And no matter how hard he tried to reshape her future, she was still caught in the past.

Chapter Eleven "You aren't your mother, Brenna," he said. "Whatever choices she made have nothing to do with you." She drew her hand back as if he'd struck her. "I know that. But I'll never be the kind of woman you want, either." She couldn't have been more wrong. Beneath her shield of fear was a woman of compassion, a woman who understood him as no other had. "I've wanted you for three years, Brenna." He guided her back to press against the granite, while he rested both hands on either side of her shoulders. "Nothing's changed." Though he gave her every opportunity to escape the embrace, she startled him by resting her cheek against his chest. "I don't know if that's true anymore." Quin drew her close, a measure of hope dawning. It was the first time she'd willingly come to him. "You were right. I did choose Aimon because I was afraid to marry you." She touched his face, and in her gray eyes he saw the hurt. "You deserve better than a woman like me." "You're the woman I want, Brenna." She stepped out of his embrace and walked toward another standing stone. For a time she stood with her back to him. "But you don't understand me. I've never told you anything about what it was like." "Tell me now." Her shoulders lowered with shame. "I don't know who my father was. Even when I was a girl, my mother would often leave and follow the Norman soldiers. Once, she took me to their camp with her." Quin's chest tightened at the thought of a young girl exposed to such a place. "Did anyone harm you?" She shook her head. "But I saw what she did with them. And I ran away." When she looked back at him, he saw the tears spilling over her face. "If it weren't for my fostering, I'd never have known a family." "But you did." He moved behind her, resting his hands upon her shoulders. "And they took you away from her for years." "I wanted to stay with them." She wiped the tears away. "I felt safe there."

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"You're safe with me," he swore. "And you'll have your own family one day. Your own children, if you'll let me give them to you." She stared back at him, her face stricken. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to let any man touch me. Not in that way." He brought her palms to his heartbeat, and she let them rest, though he felt the tremor in her hands. "Do I frighten you?" "What I feel for you frightens me." Her words dissolved the last of his good intentions. Right now, he wanted to comfort her, to show her that he would never ask more of her than she could give. Quin took her hands in his and brought them around his waist. "Don't ever be afraid when you're with me." He took her face in his hands. "You're mine, Brenna. As I am yours. Ever since the day you wove the sail for me. Since the day I first kissed you." She lifted her eyes to his, filled with such pain. "I don't want to live like this anymore. Help me to not be afraid."

Chapter Twelve Though Brenna suspected Quin was going to kiss her, he didn't. Not yet. Instead, he removed his tunic, letting it fall to the ground. The strong planes of his arms were unyielding and firm, like the ships he created. His stomach was ridged with tight lines, and she spied a white scar near his ribs. Though she tried to put on a brave face, he sensed her apprehension. "I'm offering myself to you, Brenna. There's nothing to fear." He lifted her hands to his chest, letting her touch him. With her fingers outspread, Brenna explored his chest and shoulders, running her hands over the taut muscles. And though her heartbeat quickened, an unexpected languor seemed to spread over her, as though her body were fully attuned to him. When Quin reached for the ties on her gown, she hesitated. In the cool evening air, gooseflesh rose over her arms. Anxiety welled up, and she reached out to stop him. But Quin eased the gown away until he bared her breasts. Brenna longed to cover herself, but he pulled her body to his, skin to skin. Her breasts were small, her nipples tight against the heat of his chest. His hands moved up the side of her arms, grazing her sensitive skin. Between her legs, she grew damp, and he slid his thigh within them, to support her weight. "You're everything to me, Brenna," he murmured, bending his mouth to her throat. "There's nothing to be afraid of." He supported her against the cool standing stone, while his other hand moved to touch her breast. Shyness struck her at the vulnerable position. No man had ever seen her exposed like this, and she desperately wanted to hide herself from his gaze. "You're like silk," he whispered. "So incredibly soft." His thumb caressed the tip, coaxing an unexpected response that pierced her to the core. Gentle, and wicked, he stroked her aroused nipple until she twisted from the deepening sensations.

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When his mouth covered her breast, she couldn't stop the moan that escaped. His tongue caressed her, his mouth suckling in a way that made her press her womanhood against his knee. A shuddering gasp erupted from her throat, and she no longer knew if she wanted to break free or draw closer. Brenna hardly felt the cold anymore, as the wildness rose up once more, like a fever she couldn't control. Between her legs, she craved him. Needed him. She ached, and when he shifted his thigh to caress her intimately, it was too much. The drowning desire was killing her, and Brenna used all of her strength to shove him away. "I can't do this. You have to stop."

Chapter Thirteen They hardly spoke to one another on the rest of the journey. Though Quin had taken her back to the camp without question, she knew she'd offended him. His stance was rigid, like a man enduring physical frustration. Misery dogged her, even when they reached Laochre the following day. Brenna wondered if she should have succumbed to his touch, no matter that she'd grown uncomfortable. But she couldn't bring herself to speak of it. When they arrived at Laochre, she saw that the king had used a Norman design for his castle, similar to the holdings she'd seen in the northeast. With large square towers and walls greater than a man's height, she didn't doubt that King Patrick had the wealth and means to bring back the captives from Iberia. She craned her neck as they passed through the gate, spying an impish boy smiling down at her from the murder hole. Within the inner bailey, a small group of women were practicing archery. They were guided by another woman with dark hair, cropped to her shoulders. To her shock, Brenna spied a sword belt around the woman's waist. "That's Honora MacEgan," Quin answered, nodding toward the woman. It was the first time he'd spoken to her in half a day. "She married my cousin Ewan this past summer." "A female warrior?" Quin shrugged. "Patrick saw it as a way to increase our forces. Only the women who choose to fight are asked to train with Honora. It's not required." Brenna studied the women. They wore modified men's clothing, but their long braided hair gave evidence to their sex. Lean and strong, she saw an air of undeniable confidence. There were several men, presumably engaged in repairing a stone wall, who openly flirted with them. Instead of being embarrassed, the women appeared to enjoy the attention. One sent a taunting smile to the men before pulling back her bow. She held the weapon tight, showing off the honed strength in her arms, before loosing an arrow into the center. A pang of envy caught Brenna. To be admired instead of scorned was something she'd not experienced before. And these women made her all too aware of her own insecurities. Moments later, Quin lifted her down from her horse, bringing her to meet Ewan MacEgan. The dark-haired warrior greeted her, and Brenna noticed the similarity in the men's green eyes. Ewan had a more muscular build, in contrast to Quin's taller form, but both men were undeniably strong. "We received word about the captives," Ewan said. "Tonight we'll meet with King Patrick and discuss our strategy."

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"Will you be wanting women to go and fight?" a female voice interrupted. Honora MacEgan joined her husband, and he kissed her in greeting. "A stór, there's only one woman I'm wanting. And not for a fight." Ewan sent his wife a mischievous smile, and Honora grinned. Brenna found herself warming to the couple, seeing the devotion between them. She looked back at Quin, but his expression was strained. It was her fault, though he'd not spoken one word of blame. Once again, she'd let her fear of desire control her, and she was tired of that coming between them. Time and again, she'd pushed Quin away, as if she didn't believe she had the right to happiness. You're not your mother, he'd said. And she wasn't, not at all. There was only one man she wanted in her life. The man who had stood by her all these years. "I'll arrange for a place for both of you to sleep," Ewan was saying. His expression narrowed, as if trying to determine whether or not to separate them. Brenna took a deep breath and turned to Honora. "Might I ask for your help?" Ewan's wife turned curious. "Of course." Though her heartbeat clamored in her chest, Brenna took Quin's hand in hers. Though shyness made it difficult to speak, she wanted Quin to know her answer. Steeling her courage, she forced the words out. "Quin and I are promised to one another. I would like to handfast with him tonight, before he leaves on the voyage."

Chapter Fourteen After the disastrous evening he'd spent with her in the woods, Brenna's acceptance was the last thing Quin expected. He'd been so distracted, thinking of her during his meeting, that he'd hardly heard a word spoken by his cousin, the king. "You may take a dozen men," King Patrick offered. "Along with horses and two ships." He'd bowed, but Patrick stopped him. "Quin, how many captives were taken?" "Six," he admitted, offering the names of the men. "And how do you intend to find them?" The king's expression grew wary, as though he didn't believe it could be done. "I'll return the ship to where we were attacked, off the coast of Iberia. We'll search along the coastline and find whatever survivors we can. I suspect the Moors wanted to sell the men." "And if you don't find them?" "We will," Quin insisted. "But you can't remain at sea forever," Patrick remarked. "Especially not if you're leaving a wife behind."

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Quin colored at the reminder, while his nerves grew anxious. Though Brenna had agreed to handfast with him, he wondered if she might still change her mind. "You have until Midsummer's Eve," the king commanded. "If you haven't located the men by then, I'll expect your return." Quin nodded and departed the king's chambers. Though he looked for Brenna, Honora and Queen Isabel had taken her away to prepare for the handfasting. He spent the remainder of the afternoon and early evening pacing. When the moon rose over the castle, the king's men escorted him outside the grounds to a smaller circle of stone huts. There, he saw his cousins and friends gathering near a small bonfire. In front of the fire stood Brenna, her hair crowned with purple heather. She wore a moss-colored gown that accentuated the red tints within her brown hair. Though she tried to smile at him, he noticed her white pallor and the way she clenched her hands together. She didn't like being the center of attention. Queen Isabel and Honora stood nearby, their faces bright with anticipation. Flowers decorated the huts, and from the delicious smells of roasting meat, he knew Isabel had spent the afternoon preparing for the ceremony. His cousin's wife loved nothing better than to organize feasts and celebrations. As he reached Brenna's side, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. She gripped his fingers, her mouth compressed with fear. "Are you certain this is what you want?" he asked, beneath his breath. She managed a nod, and as the priest blessed their union, binding their hands together, he never took his eyes from Brenna. Her cool fingers warmed in his, and when he kissed her, it was hardly more than a whisper upon her lips. As the feasting and drinking progressed, he saw that his new wife was becoming more and more overwhelmed. The queen had set aside one of the huts for him and Brenna, decorated with more flowers. "You've had enough of this, haven't you?" he whispered into Brenna's ear. "No, I'm fine. Really." Quin ignored her, lifting her into his arms despite the ribald comments and cheers. Brenna's face turned crimson, but her arms stayed around his neck. As he took her into the bridal hut, everything else seemed to slip away except for her. And tonight, he wasn't about to let her go.

Chapter Fifteen Brenna sat down upon a wooden bench, her heart racing so fast, she was afraid she'd faint. But it was done now. She'd spoken her vow to Quin, and tonight he would become her husband in body, as well as in name. It terrified her, though she trusted him. He barred the door, retreating toward the fire. Minutes stretched, and still he didn't speak. The silence nearly suffocated her, and at last she approached him, touching his arm. Quin spun without warning. "Críost, I wasn't expecting that. I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair, venturing a smile. There was a shadow beneath it, and she knew her behavior the other night had caused his wariness.

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"Are you tired?" She clasped her hands together, not knowing what else to say. "No." He didn't face her, and so she touched his shoulder again. His muscles were knotted, rigid as she caressed him. She marveled that she was able to reach out to him, without any fear of him pushing her away. "Why did you say yes to the handfasting, Brenna?" he asked, pulling her into his arms. He stroked the line of her hair, down to her jaw. "Because I'd rather be with you, than alone." She closed her eyes, inhaling the warm male scent of him. His lazy caresses against her hair were making her relax. Though she hadn't touched any wine or ale, it was as if she'd drunk a dozen cups. Her hands moved up to his tunic, slipping beneath the rough wool. Quin tilted her face up to look at him. "I’m leaving for Iberia tomorrow morning. We've only this night together." She knew it, and it only strengthened her resolve to endure the physical intimacy that lay ahead. To answer his unspoken question, she stood on her tiptoes and offered a kiss. Like a blessing, his mouth came down upon hers. His tongue probed at her, and she opened to him, trying not to be afraid of the arousal rising up within her. There's nothing to fear, she reminded herself. And when she thought of the night she'd pushed him away, she realized that no matter what happened, Quin would never make demands of her. In his green eyes she saw the raw need, the tight control over his body. He was rigid against her stomach, and knowing that she had caused such an arousal was humbling. "I won't run from you this time," she promised. He didn't smile. Instead, he removed his tunic and trews, standing before her naked. Powerful and strong, the beauty of his body was unlike anything she'd expected. The urge to touch him came over her, but she made no move toward him. Instead, she loosened the ties of her gown. Her pulse pounded as she removed her own clothing, standing bare before him.

Chapter Sixteen "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Quin murmured. His words washed over her like an invisible caress. She waited for him to touch her, and when at last he drew her body against his, she shivered with gratefulness. His wide hands moved down her spine, tracing every inch of her. He cupped her bottom, and when she spread her legs slightly, his hands slipped between her thighs. A shudder caught her when his fingertips dipped into the moisture at her center. The brief touch staggered her, and when she stepped away from him, he let her go. "Lie down on the pallet," he ordered. With knees shaking, Brenna obeyed. The pallet was lined with soft furs, and the sensation against her bare skin was heady. Quin strode toward her, his erection bobbing forward. He knelt beside her, and Brenna clenched the furs in anticipation. "Not yet, a stór," he whispered. He spread her hair out, down to cover her breasts. Using the long strands, he rubbed them against her nipples. The silky sensation puckered her breasts, and after that he exposed them to the air. A shimmering breath of desire caught her, and she tried to pull him down atop her.

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Her attempt to rush him met with failure. Quin's dark gaze swept over her body, and he sent her a slow smile. "We've only one first time together, a stór," he whispered. "And I intend to make it last all night." Brenna gave a faint nod, and he leaned over her, kissing her lips…her throat…down to her breasts. As his mouth tasted the hardened nipples, he ran a hand across her ribs and stomach, down to her thighs. She instinctively tightened her legs together, even as her mind ordered her body to relax. This was Quin. He'd promised to take care of her. To guard her with his very life. And though he hadn't said it, she sensed that he might love her. She exhaled a gasp when his hand moved behind her knees, his mouth lowering to her mound. He stopped to look at her, his green eyes heated with desire. "Tell me if anything bothers you. I'll stop." The promise was not made lightly. She knew he was referring to the other night, when she'd lost her courage. "Don't stop," she whispered, pulling his head down for another kiss. He met her mouth roughly, like a man on the brink of losing himself. He pulled her knee up, lifting it over his hip as he kissed her. Against her wetness, she felt his length caressing her. When he moved his shaft, rubbing her intimately, she trembled. But he didn't join their bodies together. Instead, he drew back and lifted her other knee. Moving lower, his mouth nipped at her inner thigh. Then across the other. Brenna tried to close her legs, but he held them apart. "Trust me, a stór. I only want to kiss you again." She waited for him to cover her body with his, but instead of taking her mouth, his tongue slid over her woman's flesh. Wet and sleek, he covered her, setting her senses on fire. "Quin," she gasped, unable to stop the intensity from building. She fought him back, trying not to let the fierce pleasure consume her. But when his mouth nipped at the hooded flesh above her center, sucking hard, her body trembled. "Do you feel it?" he murmured against her body. His tongue licked her, penetrating gently. "Don't resist what's happening to you. Let go, Brenna." "I can't," she whispered, even as his mouth coaxed her to an even higher point of pleasure. It was almost painful, the burgeoning sensation that wound her tight. "You can." With his thumb, he entered her body while he worked her with his mouth. She was almost sobbing, her legs shaking. "No. I need you to stop."

Chapter Seventeen Quin withdrew his hand abruptly. It was hard to breathe, her lungs catching in quick gasps. Brenna's eyes flooded up with shame, for even at this she was a failure. Whatever it was he wanted, she couldn't give to him. She wanted to weep, for she'd let him down once again. Quin studied her, his face unreadable. She half expected him to leave the hut in disgust. But right now she felt ready to break apart. It angered her that she couldn't be the sort of wife he wanted or needed.

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After all these years, she still couldn’t bury the past. But instead of anger, she saw strained patience upon his face. A strange smile flickered over his mouth. "I shouldn't have rushed you like that," he said. "You weren't ready." He stretched out beside her, his body still heavily aroused. His manhood rested against his stomach, thick and hard. "I'm sorry, Quin. I thought—" "No. It's all right," he reassured her. "There will be time enough for this." But there wasn't. He would be leaving with his men in a few hours. She reached out to hold him, resting her cheek upon his chest. Though she'd been uneasy about being naked around Quin, she was starting to grow accustomed to the intimacy. Her hand moved over his skin, stroking a pattern. His eyes were closed, but she didn't think he was sleeping. Her gaze turned to his manhood, and she wondered what it would feel like in her hand. Would it be hard and rough? She reached out tentatively with a single finger. Quin spasmed when she touched him. "Sorry." She pulled her hand back, but he shook his head. "You can touch me all you want, a stór. My body belongs to you now." The idea intrigued her. Perhaps she might be a failure in lovemaking, but she knew there were ways to bring a man pleasure. She cupped the base of him, running her fingers along his length. A sharp exhalation erupted from his mouth and she took her hand back again. "No, Brenna. It feels good." He opened his eyes and she saw the ferocity of his need. "Straddle me while you touch." She felt awkward, but positioned herself atop his hips as she explored the length and head of him. Quin was moving his body in a rhythm in counter to her strokes, and her hand grew wet where she fisted his length. To her surprise, she realized that her own body was beginning to respond in the same way. Her wetness ached to be filled. She wanted to feel him inside her, to satiate the hunger. Slowly, she raised herself up and he met her gaze when she positioned him at her entrance. "Brenna," Quin breathed, his face taut as she slid against him. Her body took the place of her hand, sheathing him. Though it was tight, it didn't hurt as much as she'd thought it would. He was adjusting her hips, lifting her slightly and when she sank down, a jolt of warmth pooled inside her. It was like before, the spicy arousal starting to build. But this time, she was able to control the sensations. Experimentally, she lifted up until only the tip of him remained inside. When she slid down again, an answering shudder pulsed in her womanhood. It felt…good to be joined with him. And as she began to move up and down, she saw the same reactions upon his face. She was giving him the same torturous pleasure he'd tried to give her. And the power, knowing that she was making him feel so good, only drove her to ride him faster. Flesh to flesh, hardness to softness, she increased her pace, her excitement rising. Quin sat up, changing their position so that she sat with her legs around his waist. His mouth fastened over her breast once more, sucking and tasting the nipple. Brenna almost stopped, but Quin urged her to keep taking him inside, impaling her with his shaft.

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The wildness of mounting him, over and over, suddenly took hold. She gripped the back of his head, forcing him to endure the sensation until his face tightened in pleasure. Seeing the ecstasy and fulfillment broke apart her control, and a frenzied climax erupted within. He gripped her hard as she shattered, both legs still wrapped around his waist. Even when he laid her back down, keeping his body joined with hers, aftershocks rippled through her. When at last she managed to open her eyes, Quin wasn't smiling.

Chapter Eighteen Never in all his dreams had he ever imagined a night like this. Even when he was spent inside her, Quin couldn't let go of Brenna. He held her close, stroking her spine and the luscious curve of her bottom. "How do you feel, a stór?" She raised her head to look at him. "Not afraid anymore." "Thank God." But even as he withdrew from her, he didn't let go. It was as if he could make her a part of him by holding her skin to his. He'd known that she was a passionate woman, but he'd never expected that she needed to be in control to find her own release. He kissed her cheek and throat again, his hands kneading the soft flesh that led to the sweetness between her legs. Brenna rolled over, her hands poised against his chest. "What are you doing, Quin?" He sent her a wicked smile. "Making up for lost time. And ensuring that you'll miss me when I'm gone." He penetrated her with his fingers, feeling the warm wetness of her arousal. Though it was too soon for him to make love to her again, he wanted her to experience yet another awakening. Brenna answered his smile, but it was quickly replaced by a sweet moan. She shuddered against his fingers, and he found the place that deepened her arousal. Her hips arched and flexed in rhythm and he exerted pressure, loving the sensation of her wetness around his thumb and fingers. "Will you think of me when I'm gone, Brenna?" he teased, penetrating her again. He stroked her into a frenzy until she gripped him hard, biting back a scream. Ripples of fulfillment overtook her, and Quin reveled in the shocked pleasure on her face. She pulled him down for a deep kiss. "I wish you didn't have to go. And I wish I'd said yes to you, so much sooner than this." "I'll come back to you, Brenna. I swear it." *** Dawn broke through their night of lovemaking. And when he boarded the ship, Brenna stood on the sand watching. A harsh aching took hold of him, seeing her standing on the shoreline, apart from the others. As the waves took the vessel out to sea, he didn't take his eyes from her. His wife. His reason to return. And yet, as the wind took hold of the sail, taking him farther away, he feared he would not see her again.

Chapter Nineteen

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Laochre had become a second home to Brenna. When Queen Isabel had learned of her weaving skills, she'd set her to work creating tapestries for the castle. In time, some of the younger children came to watch, and Brenna found herself instructing the girls. No one treated her differently here, and as Quin's wife she found a new home with the MacEgans. But still, she missed him. She waited along the sand each night, waiting for his ship to return. But month after month passed, and there was no sign of them. Midsummer's Eve came and went, and Brenna feared the worst. Another month went by, and she was at her loom when Liam MacEgan came running in. "Brenna! The ship is here!" She practically threw the skeins of wool across the room, racing toward the shoreline behind the young boy. Already men were sloshing through the water, running to their loved ones. All six captives had been found, and Brenna smiled with thanks that Quin had succeeded. She waited, her heart trembling within her chest as the last man disembarked from the boat. He moved slower than the others, and she raised her hand to her throat when she saw who it was. Aimon. A low buzzing rang through her ears, confusion sweeping through her. But Aimon was dead. Quin had said so himself. Had he lied to her? She couldn't believe he would betray her like that. She didn't want to believe it, but within moments Aimon stood before her. His blond hair was longer, and no longer was he the calm, placid man she'd known. Fury permeated every feature, his brown eyes narrowed upon her. "I thought you were dead," Brenna whispered. She didn't know what to feel right now, for Quin had not emerged from the ship. Aimon's hardened gaze showed not an ounce of sympathy for her plight. "I was wounded. Not dead." He gripped her wrist while several of the MacEgan tribe members watched. "But I hear that you didn't wait for me." She hardly heard what he was saying, so sickened was she to think of what had happened. And where was Quin? Was he hurt as well? Before she could ask, Aimon jerked her forward and Brenna stumbled to the ground. Her hands pressed into the sand, her eyes stinging as she stared up at him. One of the MacEgan men, Ruarc, stepped forward to help her, but Aimon sent the man a furious look. "I spent the last few months fighting to stay alive. For her." Blistering anger ridged Aimon's face. "She was never anything but a whore's daughter. Lucky that any man would want to wed her." He spat upon the ground. "Blood will tell, won't it, Brenna? For you've become a whore yourself." The shocked faces of the MacEgans made her skin flush. She hadn't told any of them about her mother, and Aimon couldn't have humiliated her any more. Honora MacEgan stepped forward and helped her rise to her feet. With her arm around Brenna, the woman glared at Aimon, her hand poised upon her sword. "That's enough. Brenna is wed to Quin now. She's one of us."

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Dermot approached her, his face sober. In a low voice, he offered, "We didn’t know Aimon was alive, Brenna. None of us did." She met his gaze with her own fear, but managed a nod. "Where is Quin now?" "He gave himself to the Moors," Dermot admitted, "in order to set Aimon free." Brenna's heart splintered, for she knew he'd done it on her behalf. Hot tears slid over her cheeks, and Aimon's mouth curled into a snarl. "It would serve her right if he's dead."

Chapter Twenty Summer waned into autumn, and Brenna slipped into a despondency. Though Isabel and Honora tried to coax her into taking part in the tribe's activities, she'd retreated into isolation. Exhaustion and fear were her constant companions now. But that night, she’d risen to her feet once again, her shoulders heavy with despair as she’d walked to the shore. A whore, Aimon had called her. Though the insult meant nothing to the MacEgans and they'd exiled him back to the Ó Neill clan, the word bothered her. For the truth was, she'd gone back into Quin's arms without grieving for Aimon at all. She had betrayed him, not only with her body, but with her heart as well. She'd loved Quin, with every part of her spirit. From the moment he'd rescued her from the boys in the blackberry bushes, to the night he'd helped her overcome her fears of lovemaking, she'd given herself to him. And now, she needed him more than ever. The moonlight slid over the small channel leading to the sea, the waves quiet and calm. There were no ships to bring him home, and though the king had sent men to search for him, there had been no sign that Quin was alive. Brenna stood carefully, familiar tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Only a tiny boat lay upon the water, a fisherman bringing in his catch for the night. Once again, she would return to her hut alone. But something held her feet in place. A familiar shape caught her eye, and she looked back at the small boat. The oars cut through the water at a swift pace, faster than a fisherman would ever move. Fragile hope caught within her. When the moon emerged from behind a cloud, she started to weep. Quin threw the oars aside, running through the water until he reached her side. Strong arms encompassed her, and she gripped him hard. He'd grown thinner, but he was alive and whole. It was enough. "I love you," she whispered, drawing his mouth to hers. Quin kissed her, their tongues tangled in a fervent reunion. Holding him in her arms once more mended all the broken pieces of her heart. When he ended the kiss, Quin cupped her jaw. "I swear to you, I didn't know that Aimon lived," he insisted. "I saw him struck down in battle." "Padraig told me what happened." Brenna covered his hand with hers. "And I vowed I would wait for you, no matter how long it took for you to be free." "I've thought of you every moment for the past season," he swore. "And to find you waiting for me—" His voice broke off, and he drew back.

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In wonder, his hand moved down her body to the rounded stomach beneath her gown. The new life growing inside her seemed to sense Quin's presence, and a slight tremor rippled through her skin as the babe kicked. Quin's hand moved over the child in a light caress, and he enclosed her in an embrace once more. He touched her stomach again, unable to stop his smile. "When will our child be born?" "In winter." Quin appeared awed by the forthcoming birth, and he leaned down to kiss her once again. "I love you, Brenna. Now and always." "I love you, too, Quin." Their hands linked together as they walked along the sand. Brenna kissed his palm in a silent prayer of thanksgiving. "Welcome home."

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Seducing the Vampire by Bonnie Vanak Banished by his mother’s vampire clan a century ago after a liaison with the clan leader’s pureblood daughter, half-wolf, half-vampire Indigo Mercier has made a new life for himself as part of the Draicon wolf pack. Now, Avril Antoine haunts only his most forbidden dreams—until one night she appears, seeking his protection! Avril has endured her own punishment for her affair with the Changling. But with the Anastasia charm—a crystal with the power to grant wishes—about to fall into the wrong hands, she can trust only one to guard it with his life: Indigo Mercier!

Chapter One Crimson droplets welled up from the needle pricking sun-darkened skin. Puzzled by his bloodlust, Indigo Mercier focused on creating the tattoo. An odd tingling warned him something powerful had stirred his sleeping vampire half. I am Draicon wolf, he silently chanted as he wiped Gabriel’s arm with a clean white cloth. Sweat dripped down his temples as the tattoo gun whirred. He adjusted the gooseneck lamp and ignored his rising hunger. Indigo hadn’t taken blood in a full century. Dining on his adopted brother was not a good way to start. “Ow, that hurts,” Gabriel Robichaux pretended to whine. “Shut up and take it like a man,” asserted Raphael Robichaux. “I’m a wolf, not a man,” Gabriel shot back. “Move any more, and you’ll be a wolf with a crooked heart,” Indigo warned. “I told you to ease off the beer. Now you’re bleeding on me.” Indigo’s New Orleans ink shop was quiet this night, one day before All Hallo’s Eve. He did free tats for the Robichaux family. The Draicon pack, unlike his mother’s vampire clan, would never banish him for an innocent love affair. Art came alive beneath his skilled fingers as he inked Gabe’s strong right bicep. He thought about his own tattoo, a symbol of his shattered past, and Avril Antoine. Daughter of his former clan’s leader, Avril was a pureblood vampire. Indigo had taken her blood and virginity a full century ago. Xavier, Avril’s father, had banished him afterward because Indigo was a Changling, a half-vampire, half-Draicon werewolf. Lower class in the vampire hierarchy. He’d fled to New Orleans and met the Draicon werewolves of Raphael’s pack. They treated him as a brother. He had respect and acceptance. “Finished.” Indigo stripped off his gloves and tossed them. He disassembled the tattoo gun, cleaned the needle bar and tube and then placed them in the autoclave to sterilize them. As Gabe and Raphael admired the art, Indigo’s thoughts drifted. Wishes were stupid, and he was a fool. Still… I wish Avril were back in my arms for just one night.

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As the thought faded, a faint sound sent both his werewolf and vampire senses on full alert. “Intruder. Back room,” murmured Rafe, his nostrils flaring. Gabriel’s dark eyes flashed amber, signaling his wolf’s emergence. “Not Morph, not human.” Morphs, former Draicon who turned evil by murdering a relative, could shape-shift into any animal. They killed ruthlessly and absorbed the terrified victim’s dying energy. Indigo motioned for them to remain. Silent as his wolf, swift as his vampire, he crept to the shop’s back. He picked out a shadow rippling across the floor. His six-foot-seven-inch body moved in a silent tsunami of stealth. As the shadow moved, Indigo pounced. Air whooshed from his prey as he straddled the trespasser. Indigo felt luscious curves and his body stirred in instant response. Every sense flared as he inhaled female musk and gardenias. His vampire half responded as fangs erupted in his mouth and his phallus hardened. It can’t be her, he thought in startled realization. My wishes never come true. “What the hell do you want?” he rumbled. A heartbeat of silence passed. Then a soft, melodic voice said, “You, Indigo Mercier. I need you.” Indigo loosened his grip on the slim wrists he’d pinned down. He levered himself off as if the woman beneath him blazed with fire. “Avril?” With a shaking hand, he fumbled for the light switch. Overhead halogen bulbs showed the figure of his sweetest, most forbidden dreams. Avril Antoine stood, her waist-length blond hair spilling down a backside he’d once caressed. All dewy-eyed and still as fresh-looking as if a full century was only yesterday. “Indigo,” she said softly. “I’ve missed you so much. We have to talk.” A knot wound tight in his stomach. He paced over to the wall. Not far enough to escape her lovely scent, forget the taste of her full, wet, red mouth. Tight designer jeans and a lacy white shirt accentuated her lush figure. At six feet tall, she resembled a supermodel—with fangs. She wore a wide velvet choker around her neck. The sight of it enraged Indigo. His, no, her clan’s symbol of a blood-bonded vampire. Avril fed from only one male. Possessive instinct roared to claim her. She had been his in the fullest sense of blood and the flesh. No longer. “This isn’t 1909 anymore. Haven’t you heard of e-mail?” he demanded. “It’s important.” He led the way to the tattoo room. As soon as she spotted Raphael and Gabriel, she bared her fangs. Indigo recoiled, remembering how she’d been conditioned to distrust werewolves. “Draicon. Four-legged fur balls.” She hissed at them.

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“Nice batgirl.” Gabriel turned to him. “Old friend of yours?” “Or enemy?” Raphael studied Avril with a level look. Indigo’s gaze never left Avril. Beneath her intoxicating scent, he smelled fear. “Leave,” he told his brothers. “Now.” The minute Raphael and Gabriel left, Avril ran pale hands across her blanched face. “I forgot how many Draicon live in New Orleans.” “I’m one. Forget that? How about another little reminder? I’m shunned and if you’re seen with me, you risk banishment yourself.” As she neared, his body went ridged and tensed for sex. Indigo put space between them. “I had to come here. You’re the only one I could come to for protection. The only one I trust,” she pleaded. Confusion and concern collided like his two warring halves. “The only one? What kind of B.S. is this? Since when does Xavier’s cherished daughter need me? You have a legion of vampires who readily kicked me out on my ass to ‘protect’ you.” “I’m sorry for what happened.” She paused. “Please. I’m not asking for me.” If he thawed, he was toast, with those sweet violet eyes looking at him that way. Never could resist anything she wanted. Just one bite, Indigo, she’d begged him long ago. I want you to be my first. “What the hell for, then?” Avril reached inside her shirt and pulled free a gold chain. Dangling from it was a triangular-shaped crystal pulsing with an eerie blue light. “This.” He nearly swallowed his tongue. “The Anastasia charm? It’s bunk.” “It’s real and so are its powers to make wishes come true. That’s why I need you, Indigo. I need you to protect the crystal before it falls into dangerous hands. Because if it does, your world will cease to exist. And there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”

Chapter Two “That’s a little over the top, Avril,” Indigo told her. “The end of my world?” Folding his powerful arms across his chest, her former lover leaned against the wall. Beneath his black Tshirt, Indigo had the muscled bulk of a lion. Faded jeans hugged a taut ass and hard thighs. Silky black curls halfway down his back and deeply tanned skin hinted of his Polynesian, Native American and French heritage. A closely trimmed goatee and mustache framed a full mouth she’d once begged to kiss. Her first lover, once her dearest friend. “My world was once yours until your father found out we were lovers. Nice guy, your dad,” he went on. “He told me I’d tainted you. Threw me out.”

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She squeezed the Anastasia charm, which held the power to grant one wish to the bearer. Avril remembered the mark on her neck. “I paid a price as well, Indigo.” “No watching Buffy reruns or late-night raids to the blood bank?” “Look, I know it’s a shock, seeing me again, and I didn’t mean to rock your world, but I need your help.” “Last time you asked for my help, I had to change my address.” Avril turned away. “I’m sorry, Indigo. I thought you were the same so I tracked you here, to find the one person I trusted to keep the charm safe. Guess I was wrong.” Desperation filled her. She could return to the clan, but what then? Females disdained her. Males left when she entered a room. They refused to feed her or take her blood until the shunning ended next week, so how could she ask them to guard the precious amulet? Gentle pressure covered her palm. Indigo unfurled her fingers and took the necklace. Oh, his touch felt so good, she wanted to grasp his hand and never let go. “Chill, Avril. I’m just teasing, chère.” He studied her with a hooded, predatory gaze. “How did you get this?” The Anastasia charm swung from his fingers like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. “I took it for safekeeping.” “You stole it.” “To keep it safe from Victor.” A deep growl rumbled from him. She’d made the right choice. Unlike the rest of her clan, Indigo considered his younger half brother, Victor, nothing but dangerous. Just as the clan reviled Indigo, they revered Victor, the result of a torrid affair between Indigo’s purebred mother and a vampire of distinguished lineage. Indigo had been left in the care of his maternal grandparents for a time while his restless mother lived in New Orleans, returning with Victor in tow. Victor’s father had visited them over the years, impressing even the snobbish Xavier Antoine. In contrast, while Indigo’s father had been a powerful Draicon werewolf with magick powers, he was still just a werewolf in the eyes of his mother’s vampire clan. Despite being scorned, Indigo had remained with the clan after his mother’s death rather than seeking out his father’s pack, making it clear he did so only because of Avril. He never hid his Changling nature. When Indigo handed her back the necklace, Avril fastened the chain around her neck. Hunger flared in his gaze as he studied the charm delving between her breasts. “How did you find me?” he asked. She shrugged. “Your blood is in my veins. I can find you anywhere.” The door banged open. The Draicon who had left stormed inside. “Indigo. Forget to reinforce the shield against Morphs?” asked the Draicon named Gabriel. “What’s up?”

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“A little something something headed this way,” Raphael shot back. Just then, something dark and foul-smelling barreled forward. Gabriel slammed the door shut and he and Raphael pressed against it. “Morph. Go out the front,” Raphael ordered. Indigo thrust Avril behind him. The move startled her. She’d forgotten his fierce protectiveness. Hinges groaned as the thing on the other side tried to claw its way in. “Leave, Avril. Morphs are afraid of vampires, but I’m not taking any chances with you,” Indigo snapped. The rattling stopped. Raphael and Gabriel glanced downward. Shock made her go still. Beneath the door seeped a brown, oozing mass. It flowed like sludge. Avril clapped a hand to her mouth as the smell of decay hit her. “They shifted into sewer worms. Get back,” Raphael ordered. He and his brother moved away as the slimy mass wriggled and elongated into a pack of snarling wolves. Saliva dripped from their yellowed fangs. They blinked. Their eyes were black, soulless pits. “They’re cloning themselves. Avril, run out the front!” Indigo yelled. Instinctively, talons elongated as fangs exploded in her mouth. “Dammit, watch it—their blood is acid,” he shot back. She’d already pounced, slashing at them and vanishing before their blood spurted. Gabriel and Raphael shifted. She drew their clean, fresh scent into her lungs, marking it to differentiate between the invader wolves. “The only way to kill them is to stab them in the heart.” Indigo waved his arms, and a pair of steel daggers appeared in his palms. He tossed her one. Aiming for the heart, Avril lunged at one Morph. The burn was agonizing as blood splashed over her fist, but she ignored the pain. The dead wolf collapsed into gray ash. She, Indigo, Raphael and Gabriel fought with smooth power and hard determination. Soon the invader wolves were dead. Avril set down the dagger, drew in a trembling breath. Never in her clan had she faced such outright enemies. Her family of vampires lived sophisticated, elegant lives and seldom had to fight. Other beings feared vampires. This fight had been a peek into a different kind of lifestyle—dangerous, and yet exhilarating. Sweat dappled Indigo’s forehead. The dagger clattered on the floor as he released it. Fury lit his dark gaze as he glanced at her burned hands, already beginning to heal. “Dammit, I told you to stay back!” he snarled. “You should know I never listen.” Indigo was sweating from fear, not for himself, but for her. He was still the same powerful, protective male. No one had cared for her in so long. She’d forgotten what it felt like.

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“Indigo, it’s all right. I can take care of myself.” He shivered as she gently squeezed his arm. “You shouldn’t have to.” Raphael and Gabriel shifted back, clothed themselves with a hand wave. Raphael studied the Morph ash. “The host is still out there.” Gabriel frowned. “His scent is different. Not like any Morph I’ve ever encountered. Something else is in there.” Indigo inhaled the air, seemed to be trying to place the scent, without success. Raphael tilted his head. “The scent is fading. He’s moving off. Now will you let me reinforce the shield?” Raphael waved his hands, murmuring a beautiful chant in his low, deep voice. Iridescent sparks floated in the air. It was lovely, and a tingle shot down her spine. Very powerful as well. “Rafe, Gabe, favor. Beat it,” Indigo told them. The two Draicon glanced at her and left. His dark gaze piercing, Indigo turned to her. “Odd coincidence how those Morphs happened to come along just after you did. I want the truth. Who’s chasing you, Avril?”

Chapter Three Indigo’s coffee-colored gaze pierced hers, waiting. “Why does that bastard Victor want the Anastasia charm? Is he the one chasing you?” Avril nodded. “I need answers.” Avril explained how her father had removed the pendant from its hiding place. Every 50 years the amulet had to be used or its powers waned. Xavier used the Anastasia charm to help an ailing member of their vampire clan and afterward, Victor “borrowed” the charm. Tension knotted her stomach. “Victor said he wanted to wish me into mating him. But that’s not why I stole it.” “Not reason enough?” “The charm only grants each person one wish. He wanted to destroy all Draicon because he hates werewolves. I think he wanted that more than he wanted to mate me.” “Killing off an entire race? He bluffed,” Indigo asserted. “I caught him saying the words and stopped him.” He cursed softly. Avril pushed at her hair. “You know how dangerous, and determined, he is. You must find a way to keep the charm safe.” He flashed her a mocking smile. “I’m no superman, or superwolf, chère. Why me?”

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“Because you’re the only one I can trust,” she burst out. “Everyone else I know is always out for themselves. You were the only one there for me when I really needed you. I need you now, Indigo.” He approached until he stood barely a foot away. She inhaled his delicious scent of pine and leather. Indigo trailed a finger over her cheek. “You asked me once for a favor, and look what happened,” he murmured. “Are you so certain I’m the right choice again?” Avril closed her eyes. One hundred years ago, and yet the moment was still vivid. She was 18, sitting on the ceremonial bed prior to the Blood Rite. Victor had been chosen to be the first to take her blood. The thought terrified Avril. Alone with Indigo, who’d stopped by to wish her well, she’d begged him to be her first. Indigo had been gentle, his tongue lapping over her skin in soothing caresses. His bite was piercing and erotic. Pleasure escalated until they tore at each other’s clothing. Avril had taken his blood and surrendered her virginity. When the clan arrived for the ceremony, Victor had nearly torn Indigo’s head off. He had convinced her father that Avril was ruined by his half brother’s mixed blood. Avril’s eyes opened. She studied her ex-lover. “Those things, Morphs, your enemies. They kept dividing. What are they?” “Draicon gone bad by killing a close relative. They do it to gain greater power. They have the ability to clone themselves.” She shivered. “Only Draicon? What about Changlings? Could you turn Morph?” No emotion showed in those dark eyes. “I suspect it’d cause trouble for my vampire side. Now it’s my turn to ask questions. How did you stop Victor from making a wish?” “I kissed him.” A low growl rumbled from his deep chest. “You couldn’t have knocked him over the head?” “It wasn’t the kiss that stopped him. I ate garlic. I think he nearly choked.” He burst out into rich, deep laughter. Her shoulders relaxed. Maybe this could work, after all. “Garlic for vampires,” he sputtered. “You always were the jokester.” She offered a small smile. “I don’t taste like garlic now.” “Is that an invitation?” Avril’s heart thudded violently. “Could be.” “Let’s see.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She tasted of hot honey and tangy spice, just like all his dreams. He nearly moaned, feeling her mouth go pliant beneath the subtle pressure of his. Avril trembled as Indigo stroked his tongue inside her mouth. She sighed as she joined in the enticing dance. She brought every dormant sense back to full, raging life. Avril nipped his lip with a fang. He tasted his blood on her tongue, the rush descending to his loins. Kissing her felt like being pumped with gallons of adrenalin. Panting, he pulled away, staring at her with wild frustration.

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Avril had kicked into life his sleeping vampire. Nothing would satisfy him until he had her naked beneath him, his body buried into hers. His fangs sinking into her neck, drawing her delicious, hot blood. He reached for his wolf, but now his Draicon half was dormant. “Indigo?” Her eyes were huge, filled with her own hunger. Fisting his hands, he struggled for control. They needed to get down to business. Not the business his enthusiastic body wanted. “What do you want to do with the charm? Hide it?” Avril recoiled. Then she smiled. “You always were very direct, Indigo. I’ve forgotten how focused you are.” Not as focused as I want to be, he said silently, devouring her with his eyes. Indigo had to fight from pulling her once more into his trembling arms. “Hiding it won’t work. It’s safer with you, Indigo.” She unfastened the necklace and handed it to him. The temptation of the charm’s power pulled at him like a rope wrapped around his waist. How many nights had he wished Avril was in his bed, his forever? It was a stupid fantasy. Yet the charm made such fantasies come true. If he dared to chant the words. The legendary Anastasia charm granted one wish to each person. Indigo knew his wish—to have Avril in his arms for the rest of their lives. Damnit, this was all wrong. He was no better than Victor, desiring to use the charm for personal gain. He held the charm as if it were a black mamba snake. “I can’t keep this. It’s not intended for me—hell, I’m more Draicon than vampire.” Her chin lifted in the stubborn tilt he remembered. “You can guard it better than anyone else. You’re the one person who never let me down and you always had more self-control than anyone I know.” That self-control feels as substantial as paper around you. To placate her, Indigo put on the necklace. She seemed to relax a little. Alarm filled him as he realized how pale she appeared. He caught her slim wrist in his fingers. “When did you last feed?” He didn’t mean to make his voice so rough, but habit, and old protective feelings, died hard. Avril glanced away. “I was in a hurry.” He swore under his breath. “You’ll stay with me until we figure out a plan. On the condition that you feed.” Something flickered in her eyes. She put a hand to her throat. Indigo put on a black leather jacket, shut off the lights and secured the shop. Avril followed him into the cool night, glancing expectantly at him. “We walk,” he muttered.

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How could he explain he didn’t remember how to dematerialize? He’d made the choice to live as Draicon and forget his vampire half. The truth hurt—if he were a full-blooded vampire, Xavier wouldn’t object his mating Avril. “How far is your home?” “We’re heading out to find you a decent meal.” She ground to a halt. “I can’t, Indigo.” “Bourbon has lots of tourists. Most of them tanked up, so if your preference is nonalcoholic, we can head over to the hotels…” “I can’t do this,” she said in a low voice. “Besides, don’t you feel it?” Every cell screamed a warning as he scented the air. It felt tainted and thick with foreboding. Avril looked over her shoulder. “I keep feeling him. I’m sorry, Indigo, for endangering you.” He grabbed her arm. “I have your back. You need to feed. Not even Victor can stop you and if he tries…” I’ll demonstrate exactly what kind of wolf I am. Avril stared at the street. Indigo’s guts tightened. “Chère, what do you want me to do?” His heart lurched at the stark hunger in her expression. “I can’t feed from strangers, Indigo. It’s been that way since you left. Can I…will you let me…feed from you?”

Chapter Four Avril had never forgotten the half vampire, half werewolf who had been her first lover and the first to take her blood. When Indigo left, her father punished her. Only Victor had been allowed to feed her, and the vampire now wanted to mate her. Indigo’s half brother had become her only source of sustenance, when all she’d ever wanted was Indigo himself. Hunger pulled at her, as if someone were wringing her stomach like wet laundry. Fangs elongated in her mouth, ready to pierce and take. Silence dripped between them, broken by the garbled chatter of tourists, and the clacking of stilettos as two women brushed past on the sidewalk. Indigo’s dark eyes regarded her in the waxing moonlight. “You always followed the rules, Avril. Why risk breaking a big one to take the blood of a half-breed outcast again?” Needing the contact, Avril brushed her fingers against his. “I used to follow the rules. Until the day of my Blood Rite when you came into the room. And then I realized some rules are worth breaking.” Hunger grew as she sensed the hot blood pulsing through his strong veins, the life essence she craved. “You made me want to break the rules,” she whispered. “All of them.” He gently laced his fingers through hers. The contact felt electrifying.

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Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a set of green barnlike doors. Indigo unlocked the gates, hustled her inside, bolted the gates. In the narrow corridor was a shiny chromeand-navy Harley Davidson motorcycle. Avril touched a handlebar. Indigo had never conformed to driving the elite, expensive sedans preferred by the clan vampires. They crossed a brick courtyard lined by trees and plants. Silver moonlight dappled a wrought iron table and chairs. “Your house?” she asked. “My friend Jamie’s. The house is divided into several apartments, but she leaves them empty so she and her pack have a place to stay when they visit. She asked me to be caretaker. In return, she gave me an apartment to live in.” “Jamie?” “Now lives in New Mexico with her mate, Damien, who’s like a brother to me.” He unlocked a door and escorted her up a long flight of whitewashed stairs. He unlocked another door and they stepped into a small entry hall. The hall opened to a spacious living room with a butter-soft leather sofa, wide-screen television and overstuffed chairs. Bookcases held a whimsical collection of glass elephants with raised trunks. His broad shoulders shrugged as she gestured to the collection. “Supposed to be good luck.” He settled back on the sofa, thighs and arms spread wide in a confident pose. Tilting his head to one side, he drew back his long curls. “Come here, chère.” Hunger now screamed as her fangs elongated. When she approached, Indigo gave a soft smile. “Take your fill of me. All of me.” Need and anticipation raced through her. He was so sexy, with his big body ready to give nourishment. The vein on the side of his neck throbbed with life. Avril sat beside him. He pulled her into his broad lap. Startled, she drew back. “Relax, I just want to give you what you need.” His voice was a velvet brush of sensual anticipation. On his muscled right bicep was a red tattoo of a broken heart pierced by two vampire fangs. She traced the edges. “Did I do this?” Indigo quivered beneath her gentle touch. “Leaving you did it.” She breathed in his masculine scent. The 100 years of her confinement would end in a week. She would be acceptable to the clan again. But if the clan discovered she’d taken Indigo’s blood a second time, Father would banish her. How could she live apart from her clan? After sleeping with Indigo, she’d always obeyed the rules. Because to do anything else risked losing everything, and she’d already lost so much. Yet she craved Indigo like an addict needing a fix. Needed his hot blood pouring into her.

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As if sensing her hesitation, he tilted his head. “Avril? It’s just you and me. Come here, chère, you’re so hungry, I can feel you trembling.” Instinct took over. Avril bent her head to the strong muscles in his neck. Her mouth nuzzled his skin. She ran her tongue over the throbbing vein, felt him inhale on a breathy gasp. Her fangs sank deep. Indigo trembled as she swallowed nourishment in great, dragging pulls. Avril tasted his strength, his power and intellect, the delicious mixture of vampire and werewolf like a high-octane cocktail. His arms wrapped around her, anchoring her to him. Finally, Avril forced herself to withdraw, then licked and sealed the puncture marks. She blinked at him in drowsy satisfaction. “Thank you.” He brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “My Avril.” The possessive tone sent alarm bells clanging in her head. Once she had been his. No longer. Shifting her weight, she became aware of his chiseled body, the big thigh muscles clenching beneath her. He was tensed, coiled power. Her eyes flew open as the space between her legs met his erection. Indigo was a hot-blooded, muscled male, his blood surging thickly with the need for sex. He ran a finger over her cheek. Passion smoldered in his dark gaze. “I want you, Avril. In my bed, naked beneath me, and I won’t stop until I have you.”

Chapter Five Sexual intent blazed through him. Indigo, the half vampire, half werewolf. His blood was now rushing through her body. He wanted to sink his fangs and his cock deep inside her. Feed from her while possessing every luscious inch of Avril’s lovely body. Watch as her long, silky hair feathered over his pillow, her eyes closed with sheer pleasure as he brought her from one exhausting peak to another. The dominant male roared to take her. Avril licked her lips. Arousal flared in her eyes. Damn, she was ready, too. But how could she return to her clan, the scent of him stamped on her like an ink pad, his bite mark an announcement of their intimate bond? She traced his lower lip with a finger, dipped it inside. He nearly moaned as she touched one fang. Avril raised her brows. “You’re hungry, too.” Stunned, he prodded his teeth. Instead of the wolf canines that emerged when his Draicon self was aroused, these teeth were sharper. “You brought back the vampire in me.” His passion rose at the feel of the warm female curled against him. Her tight, rounded bottom ground against him, making him rock-hard. Her long blond hair was a mass of tousled curls, her cheeks glowed with a rosy flush, her mouth…

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Indigo drew her gently to him, and nuzzled her neck above the wide velvet band. He breathed softly into her ear. Satisfaction filled him as she writhed against him. Kissing her, Indigo cupped her breasts. He kneaded and caressed, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth. He unbuttoned her shirt, smiling a little as he saw the bra’s front clasp. With swift ease, he unhooked it. Passion rose as he watched her pale breasts spill free. A rosy flush of arousal tinted her delicate skin. He took one raspberry peak into his mouth and suckled her, loving her excited whimpers. Avril slid back and forth against his throbbing erection. His tongue flicked circles around the cresting peak, lust spiking into a fevered hunger. Hunger to sink his fangs deep into her. Startled, he recoiled violently, staring at the reddened mark he’d left. The vampire inside was dangerously aroused. Wrestling for control, he gently pushed her off his lap. Indigo moved away from the temptation, trying to erase the fantasy of sliding between her open legs. “Indigo. I want you.” Longing filled her voice, but he heard fear and hesitation, too. “More than the risk of never going back, Avril?” When she made no reply, a heavy weight settled on his chest. He was Changling, shunned by his vampire clan who had always looked down their noses at him. I have a home here. I can’t go back. He pulled free the Anastasia charm, stared at the lovely blue glow emanating from it. This was the only reason Avril had come to him. Even though every cell in his body cried out for her, he had to remember. As Avril dressed, Indigo went to the kitchen. He opened the stainless steel fridge, withdrew a packet of raw meat. Sitting at the glassed table, he ate the beef off a china plate. Her scent hit him like a freight train as she glided into the kitchen a few minutes later. Like all her kind, Avril moved in silence. Curiosity flared on her face as she glanced at the bones he dumped into the trash. “Don’t you have to feed?” Indigo shrugged. “I’m Draicon, sustained by meat. Feeding for me was more pleasure than nourishment.” Appreciation flickered in her eyes as she ran a slender hand over the polished granite countertop. “Your home is stylish. That antique iron headboard is lovely.” “You sound surprised. Why? Because Draicon wolves have no taste?” He dropped the plate into the spotless sink. The clatter echoed his own shattered emotions. Eyes the color of spring blooms narrowed. “Back off, Indigo Mercier. You know I’m not like my clan, my nose up in the air. You always had sophisticated style.” Abashed, he offered a halfhearted shrug. “Except when it comes to clothing. More functional, less fuss.” Avril’s smile punched him in the gut. It radiated warmth and home. Damn, he craved her, and the closeness of having sex with her.

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It clicked. “The headboard… You checked out my bedroom?” Pink flushed her cheeks. “It’s a nice bed, very comfortable-looking.” She hugged herself, her body seeming to fold into itself. “I suppose you’ve had many women in it.” Indigo crossed the distance between them, lifted her chin with one palm. He forced her gaze to meet his. “Never,” he said softly. “I’ve never taken another woman here.” Surprise flared in her eyes. “But you’ve had other women?” “Their places. I’m no celibate, but I wanted only one woman in my bed. And if I could never have you again, then I vowed to sleep in it alone.” Stark longing filled her expression. “Then maybe I should do something about that. No regrets.” The delicate aroma of her arousal sailed straight to his groin. Oh man, she was breathing heavily, her pupils dilated until nearly all the violet vanished. Avril moistened her mouth. No regrets. Indigo took her by the hand and led her into his bedroom. He closed the door, leaned against it. Intent blazed in his eyes. He would claim her and nothing could stop him. It was like halting a locomotive. She wanted him equally. His boots thudded across the wood floor as he neared. Avril raised her chin and looked at him. Indigo’s fingers splayed her head. His kiss was brutal, passionate and claiming, the kiss of a warrior claiming his true mate. She surrendered, sliding her arms around his neck. When his mouth moved away from hers, a vulnerable look entered his eyes. “I’ve felt so alone since I left you,” he quietly confessed, tracing her lower lip. “No matter how many women I’ve had, I could never forget you.” They tore off each other’s clothing. The space between her legs felt wet and open as she stared at his magnificent male body. His cock was long and thick as it jutted out from a nest of dark curls. She fell backward as he pinned her to the bed. He kissed her, stroking the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Her fingers traced his collarbone. His rich musky scent filled her senses. Big hands capable of destruction were gentle as he caressed her. A half sob choked from her as he raised himself up and gazed down at her tenderly. “You’re so beautiful, my Avril. I’ve wished for this moment.” Indigo’s fingers tunneled into the thick, dark curls covering her groin. When he slid a finger across her slick, wet cleft, she twisted and pumped her hips up in nameless need. Each stroke brought her higher and higher, aching as the fires built to an incredible tension. She couldn’t stand it.

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Avril dug her nails into his shoulders and wriggled her hips, trying to push herself beneath him. Indigo slid between her opened legs. She felt the knob of his cock nudge her wet entrance, then he thrust deep inside. He felt impossibly big, the pressure making her flinch at first. Silky hair on his chest rubbed against her sensitive breasts as he moved. Sweat beaded on his temples as he drove his hips harder and faster, her legs anchored around his waist. The pretty iron headboard banged against the wall with the force of his thrusts. “Give it to me, chère, c’mon, let go, let go,” he told her. Sensations pummeled her. The pressure escalated until she felt it overcome her. Avril arched beneath him and sobbed as she came. He growled with satisfaction and pushed into her again, then threw back his head. A loud roar tore from him as his big body shuddered, and the wet warmth of his seed flooded her. He shuddered again, then lay atop her. Indigo rolled off, nuzzled her neck as he drew her to him. Drunk with sensual lassitude, she curled against him, feeling the heat of their bodies. His ragged breath echoed in her ear. “Take it off, chère. I need to see your neck.” Lassitude fled. Avril clapped a hand over the choker. “No.” Indigo’s dark gaze burned into hers. “No secrets between us. If you’re blood bonded, I have to know who it is.” Mouth dry as sawdust, she watched as he removed the velvet band. Indigo’s eyes widened as he gazed at the ugly crimson X on her neck. “That son of a… Your father red-marked you?” Avril looked away, humiliation crawling over her. “After you left, Father prohibited males from taking my blood for one hundred years. The mark is more than a warning to vampires, Indigo. I can’t enthrall humans, either, so I can’t even feed from them. My only choice is to feed from Victor, who volunteered.” Her voice dropped. “You’re the only one who’s ever taken my blood.” “Come here,” he said gently. He rocked her in his arms, resting his chin atop her head. “I’m sorry, chère. I didn’t know they’d condemn you as well.” “The ban lifts next week. After one hundred years of taking only Victor’s pure vampire blood, I’m considered clean again.” Her expression fell. “Father said taking your blood tainted me.” “Why didn’t you leave?” “And go where? You saw the mark. I’d starve. It gets removed next week. Until it does, I’m a pariah.” Indigo drew her close. “I never dreamed I’d cause you so much trouble.”

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She ran a hand over his naked chest. “I’d do it again, for you. I want you to take my blood again, Indigo. I want our bond strengthened.” Instinct flared as she scented his bloodlust. “Take me, Indigo. Put your mark on me,” she whispered. He laid her back against the pillows, the bed soft and warm beneath her. Indigo straddled her body. Cupping the back of her head with one hand, he nuzzled the vulnerable curve of her throat. His tongue swept over her skin, then with a cry that seemed to come from deep inside him, he sank his fangs into her neck. Pain flared, replaced by intense pleasure. Avril slid her arms around him, holding him close. He slid between her legs and inside her once more. He took her blood as his hips drove into her. Trembling with passion, she arched and flexed with each move. She wanted only his muscled body in hers, his fangs sinking into her trembling flesh. Avril tensed and screamed as a climax slammed into her. Indigo withdrew his fangs. He flung his head back and cried out her name, as his powerful body convulsed. When it was over, he rolled off and cradled her to him. She’d never felt more content in her whole life. Or more scared. What would happen when she left him? How could she bear to have her heart broken once more?

Chapter Six His lids lowered, Indigo gently stroked her head. Masculine satisfaction filled him. Avril looked like a wellloved woman. She snuggled against him, resting in the crook of his arm. Silky blond hair cascaded over his bare chest, just as it had in forbidden dreams. “I wish I could stay here.” “Your wish is my command.” He nodded at the Anastasia charm lying on the nightstand. “Go on, use it.” “I can’t. It’s for the clan’s use to fulfill important dreams. The clan needs it more than I do.” “And what about your dreams, Avril?” Indigo rolled over and captured the amulet in his hands. “You can make one wish come true. One dream. Wish something for yourself. Your whole life, you’ve always done everything expected of you.” “Not true. I break the rules as I wish, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else,” she said thickly. “You didn’t deserve what happened when we were found together. I can’t hurt you like that again.” He set down the charm and cupped her heart-shaped face, hating the shadows of worry beneath her eyes. “Chère, I can take care of myself. You have to do what’s right for you. Go after your dreams, and stop worrying about everyone else’s needs.”

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Moonlight streaming through the window silvered her worried expression. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists, as if anchoring herself to him. He nearly groaned as those slender digits began stroking his skin. “I can’t stop thinking about your needs, and how I let you go.” “Not your fault. Daddy dearest banished me.” “My father did it because he worried I might mate you. If I had been more discreet, you would still be with us.” “Secret was never good enough for me,” he muttered, running his thumbs in circles over her hollowed cheeks. “I wanted you at my side, proud to be with me.” Avril’s long dark lashes lowered. “Return with me, Indigo. Please, we can be together if you live close to me.” “In the open, or hiding what we feel?” The answer came in her deep, anguished sigh. Indigo withdrew his hands. “If you would have me, it’d have to be honest, for all to see. I wouldn’t want you hiding my bite from the world, as if my marking you was a cause of shame.” “I could never be ashamed of you.” “But if you had to choose between the clan and me? I live as Draicon now, Avril. Werewolf. The vampire world and its rules are far behind me.” She sat up, the sheet spilling to her waist, exposing her full, pale breasts. “I can’t give up my clan, Indigo, my way of life.” “If Xavier sees my mark, you may not have a choice.” “Oh.” Avril put a hand to her neck and then put on the velvet band to hide it. Torment swirled in her lovely eyes. Indigo’s guts twisted. He hated to see her upset. Even though that look signaled a crashing end to all they’d shared. She would not risk giving up her clan for him. “I’ll never be enough for you, will I, chère? Never enough to fill your life,” he asked in a low voice. His chest felt like someone dumped wet sandbags on it. “It’s not that, it’s… They’re my family.” Her head dropped. “I need to get some air.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, reached for her clothing and dressed. Indigo wanted to charge after her as she left. Then he heard it. Muffled sobs. His heart lurched. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe she needed space. Indigo stared at the Anastasia charm. He leaped out of bed, shrugged into his clothes. The hell with space. His female was hurting, bad, so how could he let her walk out? A low scream sent his blood racing. Indigo raced downstairs, wishing his vampire abilities would return.

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As he headed for the front gates, he hoped he wasn’t too late to help Avril.

Chapter Seven Cool air brushed over her wet cheeks as she crossed the brick courtyard. Avril didn’t bother wiping away the tears. They were a reminder of how she and Indigo could never be together—she the vampire and he the Changling, the half vampire, half werewolf. She had to leave him, before either of them caved in to the impulse of trying to mesh their lives. Their worlds were simply too separate. Or are you simply too afraid to stand up to your father and risk taking a chance? The thought tormented her. The clan was all she’d known. A short walk would clear her head. Then she’d return to Indigo. Maybe they could reach a compromise. Even as she left the house, Avril knew there would be no compromise. On the sidewalk, she gazed at the nearly full moon. The streets were deserted. But an odd chill raced down her spine, the same kind she’d felt back at Indigo’s shop. A foul smell laced with a familiar scent filled her senses. Out of the shadows, a figure stepped onto the sidewalk. She caught a glimpse of wispy hair, sallow skin, and smelled horrible decay. “Where is the Changling?” it lisped. Avril’s pulse raced. The Morph that attacked back at the shop. She turned to run inside and warn Indigo. Something tickled her bare toes. Her heart plummeted to her stomach as she glanced downward. Spiders marched up her foot. Avril brushed them off, but they multiplied. She ran back through the gates, slammed them shut as she beat off the spiders, but they delicately scampered up to her neck. A steady stream poured beneath the door in a snakelike shape, joining those on her leg. Then the shape elongated and thickened around her calf. It shifted into a python, wrapped around her neck, and its powerful muscles squeezed. Air choked out of her. Avril screamed, struggling to free herself. Her vision went gray. She dematerialized, only to find the snake vanishing and reappearing as she did. An outraged snarl sounded as Indigo burst onto the courtyard. In each hand was a steel dagger. Immediately the python let go and dropped to the ground. It shifted into a snarling wolf. Avril gulped down air, rubbed her bruised neck. “You want me, bastard? Come get me,” Indigo taunted.

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But the wolf multiplied. Now Indigo faced ten wolves circling him and snarling. He couldn’t fight them all. But she could. “Indigo, toss me the dagger and distract them,” she croaked out. As the wolves closed in, he did so. Avril dematerialized and appeared in front of Indigo. The dagger in her palm sank home, straight into the wolf’s heart. Instantly, Indigo whirled and stabbed at the others. But each time they killed one, another took its place, until they were backed against the wall, facing six snarling wolves. Her lover’s nostrils flared. He put her behind him, then shifted into a wolf and charged forward. It was a suicide rush. Avril blinked in astonished shock. Indigo the wolf had turned into a tornado with vampire speed. He took on all six, biting their flanks, dodging their teeth and then as each wolf weakened, going for the kill. When he finished, the dead wolves lay on the brick, then turned into ash. Adoration filled her as he shifted back and clothed himself. “I couldn’t have done that. No one in my clan could have, either. You’re Changling, Indigo, special. Better than Draicon or vampire.” Doubt etched his expression as he stared at his hands. Suddenly a leather-clad man strode into the courtyard, lifting his hands and chanting in a low voice. Raphael. Pure white light bathed her in warmth. A tingle raced down her spine at the presence of enormous power. Good power. Raphael gave them a brief smile. “You forgot to shield your place here, so I thought I’d do a little drive-by.” “Thanks, man.” Indigo clapped a palm on the Draicon’s shoulder. Avril breathed in the scent of enormous power. “Your magick is stronger than others, Raphael,” she mused. “How?” “Rafe is the Draicon Kallan, an immortal who can… Well, you don’t mess with him.” Indigo turned to the werewolf. “Why are you here, mon frère? And don’t tell me it’s ’cause you had a hankering for crayfish and beer, ’cause I don’t have any.” The Draicon fingered the gold sword earring in his left ear. “I was out patrolling, scented Morph and followed the trail here. You have a nasty case of someone wants your ass. There’s an odd vibe I haven’t felt since the day you came to us.” “But the Morph attacked me first. Why would it? Indigo said they fear vampires,” she burst out. “Don’t know. And there’s something very odd about this particular Morph.” Her lover scrubbed a hand over his taut jaw. “You don’t exactly roll out the welcome mat, Indigo.” Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “This is more than the usual suspects. Morphs are always after us, but this one is hell-bent on targeting you.”

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“These Morphs, they’re always trying to kill Draicon?” When Indigo nodded, she shook her head. “How can you live like that, knowing your enemies are always lurking in the shadows?” Indigo jerked a thumb at Raphael. “I have new family now. They’re loyal and they respect me. It’s much better than living among a group of archaic, snobby vampires who cling to outdated rules.” Emotions swept through her. “It’s my life, Indigo, please don’t mock it. It’s the only life I have.” “Then maybe it’s time you left it.” His dark gaze glittered. Indigo held out a palm. “Come with me, chère. The outside world isn’t as terrible as your father said.” “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered. He tensed. “Because I’m Draicon? All you’ve been taught about us isn’t true. Haven’t you realized that by now?” Avril slowly nodded. She studied Raphael the Draicon and Indigo the Changling. Marking the proud strength of her lover, his bulky muscles and strong hands that had caressed her with such care and could rip off a man’s head. Something nagged at her. Pureblood vampires had a grace, stealth, and their blood tasted like… “I need to find another vampire, right now. There’s something I have to check out,” she said urgently. Raphael quirked an elegant eyebrow. “They’re not in the Yellow Pages.” But Indigo, bless him, understood her urgency. “Aaron. He’s a friend.” Avril went upstairs and fastened the Anastasia charm around her neck. Minutes later, they arrived at a crowded bar where an enthusiastic band thumped out hard rock. Aaron, the owner, led them to a back room where Avril explained her need. Last year, Indigo had saved the vampire during a vicious fight with demons. Aaron nodded. “For you, Indigo, I’ll do it.” When Aaron extended his wrist to Avril, she bit him. Powerful, sweet blood flooded her mouth. Avril ceased feeding and licked the wound. Rage filled her. “That bastard,” she breathed. “I know what’s going on now. I know where he is. His blood is inside me. This has to stop.” “Avril, stay here,” Indigo ordered. “I’m sorry, Indigo, for everything that happened to you,” she whispered. Then she dematerialized.

Chapter Eight He could not dematerialize to find her. For the first time, Indigo cursed living as a Draicon. Raphael regarded him with his knowing gaze. “What are you waiting for?”

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“I can’t dematerialize.” “You’re part vampire. Close your eyes and remember.” As he did, he reached inside to the vampire he’d long denied. He remembered his fangs piercing Avril’s tender skin, his mouth tenderly nuzzling her as he took her blood into himself. The life he’d denied himself kicked in like an engine roaring to life. Indigo filled his mind and heart with Avril, allowing his vampire to surface. His molecules began to scramble, his body spun through the air. On his next breath, he was somewhere else, senses screeching on overload. He detected the scent of fresh water, the breeze caressing his cheeks. Indigo got his bearings. Jackson Square, near the Moon Walk. Silvery moonlight dappled the leaves on the trees. Indigo breathed in his surroundings and scented Avril, along with something nasty. Damn, hadn’t been around that in a long time. Didn’t make sense. Victor was a pureblood, but this vampire was not. No time to analyze DNA. Breath puffing out in the cool air, Indigo ran toward the river. He ground to a halt as he reached the Moon Walk. Two figures stood silhouetted by moonlight. Victor and Avril. The vampire held Avril by her wrist as he tried to grab the Anastasia charm. All Indigo’s protective instincts surfaced in a roar. As he charged forward, Avril vanished. Victor looked startled, then she appeared behind him and kicked the back of his knees. Indigo sped to Avril’s side as his half brother fell. Victor struggled to his feet. Hatred etched his features as he saw Indigo. “Get away from her, half-breed. You’re not good enough for her. I’d have thought the Morph would have killed you.” Shocked, Indigo stepped in front of Avril to shield her. “You sent that thing?” “It sent itself. The Morph was part of me.” Victor laughed. It made sense now. “He’s Changling, Indigo. I wondered why that Morph had a familiar scent, Victor’s scent. But I couldn’t tell for sure until I fed from a full-blooded vampire,” Avril told him. Victor laughed. “I found and killed my father, that bastard who dared to defile my mother. Just the thing I needed for my Draicon half to turn Morph. I literally divided myself, and now I’m fully vampire. I sent my Morph self after you, Indigo, for a nice little meal.” “You fool,” Indigo said softly. “You thought you did. You only cloned yourself, Victor. The Draicon inside you, the evil now, is still inside you. It’s still there. You can never get rid of it. I should know…I tried for years to abandon my vampire half.” “You sent that thing after Indigo. It nearly choked me,” Avril cried out. “No, I’d never hurt you, Avril. Morphs never attack vampires. They have a natural fear of us,” Victor protested. Rage burned through Indigo. “The Morph attacked Avril. Did you ever consider that that Morph would hurt her to get me riled? If you’re so damn intent on wiping me off the planet, then let’s have it, but leave her out of it.”

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Indigo waved his hands, shedding his clothing and then shifting. Wolf senses took in the dank river water, the scent of Avril’s fury like hot plastic, and felt the cool breeze ruffle his fur. With a snarl, he charged Victor. As he did, he saw the short spike the vampire whipped out from his pocket. He was barreling straight toward it. Pure instinct took over. Indigo summoned all his Changling powers. As his wolf leaped, he shape-shifted into vampire. He dematerialized and appeared behind Victor. It took a few seconds for his brain cells to stop spinning from the double-shifting. He waved a hand to clothe himself. After all these years wanting only to be Draicon, he finally accepted facts. He was Changling—vampire and Draicon. It was about time he embraced his full powers. No more living on the fence. Victor whirled. Indigo lunged forward and twisted Victor’s wrist, forcing him to drop the stake. “It works on vampires, you ass, but not on a Changling,” Indigo taunted. “Only one thing can kill us. A silver dagger.” “I know,” Avril said softly. “That’s why I brought one.” Indigo stared at the dagger in his lover’s hands, then glanced at her hardened expression. She dematerialized and appeared before Victor. The dagger sank partly into his chest, the silver immobilizing him. His half brother cried out in pain and fell backward. Avril straddled him and sank the dagger in a little deeper. “Avril, don’t do this,” Victor pleaded. “You should die for how you ruined Indigo’s life.” “Our mother always admired him because he was honest about his origins. When she returned to the clan with me, I was just a child. She was going to tell everyone who my real father was. I begged her to lie. I couldn’t face life as a half-breed among vampires. She agreed, because she’d seen how the others had treated you, Indigo. So we said my father was a vampire. A close friend of hers from New Orleans even agreed to lie for her and pretend to be my father. He was madly in love with her, but he wasn’t my father.” Victor looked ashamed. The male sucked in a breath. “Please, Avril. I only wanted to use the Anastasia charm to wish you into loving me. I never truly wanted all Draicon to die.” “Because you’d wish yourself into oblivion,” Indigo pointed out. “You’re a Changling. That’s why you wanted me gone. You knew I sensed it, because we are the same.” “No, Indigo. He can never be like you,” Avril protested. “You’re honest and caring and unselfish. You never hid what you were. He doesn’t deserve to live.” Fear etched Victor’s expression as the knife point sank a little deeper. “Avril!” Indigo stared at the half brother whom had caused him so much misery. “Let me do it. I won’t have his blood on your hands.”

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Avril’s gaze never left Victor, her breath easing out in a choking sob. “He’ll always be after you. It will never end.” The knife point sank deeper. Edges of the wound wept crimson in the splash of moonlight. Her face twisted with anguish. He knew the kind of gut-wrenching confusion she felt. The urge to destroy evaporated like mist beneath the New Orleans sun. Suddenly all he wanted was for the one he loved. Avril would never feel the guilt of his brother’s blood on her hands. Only one wish. “Get off him and let me have the charm, Avril,” he told her. Avril complied and tossed aside the dagger. As Victor struggled to his feet, she handed Indigo the amulet. “What are you doing?” “Making a wish.” He clasped the charm. “I wish the Morph evil gone from my brother, Victor Devereux, so he will feel at peace and become what is closest to his heart and to end his torment of being a half-breed.” Suddenly an ugly, foul cloud arose from the center of his brother’s chest. Avril gasped as the cloud rose into the air, and then evaporated. A scream tore from Victor’s throat. It turned into a howl. In place of Victor was a large gray wolf. “Go, my brother. Find your peace,” Indigo murmured. The wolf regarded Avril with sad, yellow eyes, then loped toward the railroad tracks. They watched as he followed the tracks and disappeared from sight. In his hands, the Anastasia charm glowed blue. Indigo glanced at his lover. “If I had one more wish, it would be for you, chère. I’d wish for you, with all my heart, nothing but happiness, love and peace, wherever you will find it, with whomever could provide it.” Tears shimmered in Avril’s large violet eyes. “You’d do that for me?” He unfurled her fingers and gently placed the charm into her hand. “I love you, Avril. I want you to be happy. I’m not Victor, wishing to force you into a life you never wanted.” “I can be happy if you return with me,” she cried out. “Can you? I once tried to straddle both worlds, vampire and Draicon. I can’t anymore, chère. I’m Changling, not vampire.” Gently he brushed a tear sliding down her cheek. “You said you could only live in your world.” She squeezed the amulet. “I have to go. Father needs this. Thank you for setting Victor free. I think he’s at peace, finally.” Avril kissed him, the taste of her like salted honey. “I’ll love you forever.” A faint shimmering filled the air as she dematerialized. For a long while he sat on the Moon Walk, the ache in his chest like a steel stake buried there. Avril would be happy. He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth to ease the haunting grief swelling his chest. ***

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In the week since she’d left Indigo, Avril felt like her soul had faded to nothingness. No longer shunned, she was now the clan’s heroine. Those who once refused to look at her thanked her for protecting their precious charm. Avril had told them that Victor had been Changling, and Indigo used the charm to set free his brother. The clan shrugged it off. They refused to give Indigo credit, while at the same time they excused the fact that her blood had been ritually “cleansed” for 100 years by Victor, member of the very same race. It made no sense. Now sitting on her bed, she palmed the Anastasia charm. Xavier had given it to her to make one wish. The charm’s blue glow spilled over the champagne-colored gown hanging on the door. Tonight her family held a ball in her honor. No beer and crayfish for these vampires. Strictly black tie all the way. Avril glanced at her ordinary jeans and plain T-shirt. No, she didn’t fit in anymore, it seemed. She couldn’t imagine leaving her life. But was this a life when every waking moment was empty? If she chose to be with Indigo, the clan would banish her. Unlike Indigo, she was vampire and could live as nothing else. Yet without him, this life felt stale. She stared at the stone. Indigo’s words came back to her. You always follow the rules, chère. For once, follow your heart. It was about time to make a wish. She went to find her parents. Her father protested, but understanding flickered in her mother’s eyes. “Do what you must, honey,” she said. “Follow your heart.” Afterward, she returned to her room. She made a wish. The stone fell from her outstretched fingers as a tingling shot through her. Seconds later, she stood inside a dimly lit bar. A woman screamed. Avril ignored her. Her gaze centered on the tall, muscled male in the tight black T-shirt sitting alone at the counter. A beer sat before him. The taut edges of his profile were exposed to her. Lines of strains clearly showed. Never had she seen Indigo more distressed. A Draicon standing behind the counter glanced up. Gabriel’s handsome face creased into a broad smile. “Hey, it’s the pretty batgirl,” he called out. She smiled back. “I swear she wasn’t standing there a minute ago! I’m not drunk,” the woman shrieked. “Yes, you are,” Gabriel asserted. He stroked his temple. The woman’s gaze went blank, then she resumed talking as if nothing happened. As Avril approached, Gabriel gave Indigo a nudge. Shock dawned in her lover’s beautiful brown eyes. “You can’t be real,” he murmured. “I wished you were here. But some wishes don’t come true.”

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She took his troubled face into her hands. “Mine did.” Indigo pulled her in between his opened thighs, cradling her tight against his body. His possessive kiss inflamed her with passion. He kept kissing her mouth, her cheeks, kissing away her tears. Indigo leaned his forehead against hers. “You sure this is for you, Avril? A life with me and not your family?” Never had she been more certain. “The Anastasia charm is never wrong. All I wished for was to be with my heart’s desire. It led me straight to you.” The joy on his face, and the secure feeling of being in his arms, filled her completely. “I’m truly home now, and here I’ll stay.”

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Forever, Actually by Karen Templeton As a temporary receptionist at the Armstrong Fertility Institute, Megan Carter certainly isn’t expecting to find romance at the office. And after a painful divorce, she’s not looking for a relationship anyway. Though she can’t help but notice a gorgeous man accompanying one of the patients—fortunately, he’s only an uncle-tobe! Imagine her surprise when the same man turns up for a family dinner, courtesy of her own matchmaking older brothers! It’s too bad Russ Michaels doesn’t seem too fond of children—after all, Meg’s got an eighteen-month-old daughter. Russ Michaels likes order in his life, so "professional temp" and single mom Meg is the complete opposite of what he needs. Or is she…?

Chapter One Generally speaking, Megan Carter did not ogle married men—unless, say, the married man was some celebrity hunk she’d in all likelihood never see in the flesh—but her eyeballs latched right on to the glowering, golden-haired hottie following his wife and Dr. Armstrong out of the elevator. And wouldn’t let go. “You can make another appointment in ten days or so, Mrs. Farris,” the tall, slender doctor—who was no slouch himself—said, smiling. “For your first sonogram.” “Ohmigosh…thank you!” the brunette said, hugging the startled doctor, her sky-blue sundress glowing against the übermodern, steel-and neutrals décor. “Thank you so much! Oh, come on, Russ—” She grabbed Golden Boy’s hand to tug him toward the reception desk. And closer to Meg, who clamped shut her mouth to hold in the drool. “You know this is what Tommy wanted. You were there when we made the decision!” “Nova…I’m trying, I really am. But—” “I’ll be fine, Russ. We’ll be fine.” Nova slid Meg a long-suffering look. “You have brothers?” Wait. Meg was hanging on to her saliva for someone’s brother? A brother who was not, she noted, sporting a wedding band of his own. Huh. “Three,” Meg said, trying not to notice the siblings had the same bright blue eyes. And thick, dark lashes. That the male sibling looked better in his golf shirt and Dockers than most men looked in a tux. That his expression of brooding protectiveness was making her squirm a little in her seat. She forced her gaze back to Nova. “All older.” “Ouch,” Nova said, smiling, and Meg laughed. Until the other woman palmed her tummy and said softly, “My husband and I had wanted a batch of kids. Then we found out he had cancer. So he…made a deposit before the chemo. Except…” She looked at Meg again, gave a tiny shrug. “Hence the backup plan. Some people, however, are having issues with my decision.” Honestly. Barely two hours into her temp stint at Boston’s Armstrong Fertility Institute, and already three people had shared what Meg considered way too much personal information about their reasons for using the clinic’s services. It was like living out an episode of one of her grandmother’s soaps. Except something about this one… “Well, I think you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met,” she said, daring to meet Russ’s gaze. Big mistake. Because that glower? Too darn cute for words. Which made Meg’s tummy go flippity-flop. Oops. “So,” she said brightly, her curls sticking to the back of her neck when she turned to the computer. Hmm. Air-conditioning must be on the fritz. “How’s…a week from this coming Monday?”

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“Great!” Meg printed out the appointment confirmation and handed it to Nova, giving her a full-out, all-dimples-ondeck smile. “Congratulations, by the way. I can tell you’re gonna be a terrific mom.” Nova beamed. “Thanks,” she said softly, tucking the paper into her purse before turning to her brother with another big smile. Still glowering, Golden Boy led her to the exit, his hand hovering at her back, basically treating her like spun glass. Meg allowed herself a long, dreamy sigh. *** “Russ!” Startled out of his musings, Russ Michaels turned to his sister as they walked in the blistering, late-August heat to their cars, parked in front of the Coach House Diner not far from the Institute. “I’m sorry…were you saying something?” Nova lightly smacked his arm, then grinned. “I guess I have been running off at the mouth today. And I know you don’t share my enthusiasm—” “Nove, I’m happy for you, I really am. It’s just—” That I can’t remember the last time a woman’s smile made me feel like I’d been sucker punched. “You’re worried about me,” his sister said softly, giving his wrist a quick squeeze. “I know. But it’s not as if I haven’t thought this through. Or that I can’t afford help after the baby comes. Tommy made sure of that. And heaven knows he or she is going to have the world’s greatest uncle.” When Russ felt his jaw tighten, Nova cocked her head. “I’ve got to move on, Russ. Embrace whatever life has in store for me. It’s what Tommy would have wanted—” “I really need to get back—got a client coming in at one. A big one. Don’t want to be late.” A mixture of annoyance and understanding swimming in her eyes, Nova leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “Tommy would be thrilled with how well you’re handling the business. And you seem…” Her eyes narrowed as she apparently considered her words. “Content enough.” “I am. See you later?” “Oh! Sorry, no—I teach night school tonight, remember? Maybe tomorrow?” “Sure thing. Call me.” Russ watched until his sister drove off, giving him a little wave as she pulled into traffic, before he got into the company truck, all tricked out with the Farris Nursery logo on the side. Nova had already told him she was okay if he wanted to change it to his name, but it was Tommy’s name people knew and trusted, so why mess with what worked? Was he content? One wrist resting atop the steering wheel, Russ sighed. With running his brother-in-law’s garden center and nursery after way too many years of crunching numbers for an insurance company? Yeah, he supposed he was. God knows, a year ago he’d never imagined he’d get off on all things horticultural, but when Tommy’d asked Russ if he’d be interested in taking over the business so Nova could keep teaching, Russ was surprised by how much the idea had appealed. Despite plants being far harder to control than numbers.

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But with the rest of his life? Not so much, to be honest. Not that he’d changed his mind about preferring to go it alone. With relationships came complications. Pain. Heartache. Those, he could do without. However, being alone and being lonely were two entirely different things. Definitely a new wrinkle he hadn’t expected. Just as he hadn’t expected to be shaken up by a bubbly little redhead in a frilly pink blouse that looked totally out of place in the Institute’s austere surroundings. A bubbly little redhead whose sparkling brown eyes and curved mouth seemed to say, “Just say the word, and I’ll let you in on the joke.” Whatever the joke was. Life itself, probably, Russ thought as he pulled up in front of the nursery. A stocky, balding guy with a bright grin approached him the minute he stepped inside. Howie Carter was the middle of three brothers, who with their father owned a fair-sized landscaping business. When their primary vendor went under a month or so back, leaving them in the lurch, they turned to Farris. And Russ had no intention of losing them…even if it meant constantly fending off thinly veiled attempts at fixing him up with their unmarried sister. “Howie, good to see ya,” Russ said, clapping the guy’s hand. “You find everything okay?” “Yeah, I already scoped out the stock, gave the girl our order. Kinda late in the season for planting, but you gotta make the client happy, right? You can get everything over to the Blake estate by first thing Saturday morning?” “No problem. I’ll make the delivery myself if I have to.” “Hey—you free for dinner tonight? Because I know Ma would love to have you.” Russ had to smile. “You don’t give up, do you?” “It’s the Irish in me. Stubborn as hell. Although I hafta warn ya, we’ll all be there. Thursday-night ritual. Ma cooks, we eat. So whaddya say?” What Russ said, for reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, was, “Sure. Why not?” Chuckling, Howie slapped Russ’s back, then scribbled the address on the back of his business card and handed it over. “Don’t dress up, nobody else does. See you at six-thirty!” At 6:28, Russ arrived at the tidy little colonial in North Cambridge. At 6:29, he nearly choked when a certain bubbly little redhead in a frilly pink blouse opened the door, looking every bit as shocked as he felt.

Chapter Two There was no way Howie could have known, Meg reminded herself, ducking into the kitchen as her brother introduced Russ to everyone. Trish, Howie’s perky blond wife, pushed back through the swinging doors, fanning herself with one hand while carting a baby on her hip with the other. “Geezy Pete—didja get a load of that?” Frances, Meg’s mother, shot her daughter-in-law a puzzled look before carting out the buttered asparagus, returning before the door could swing back, her eyes big. Briana and Penny, Meg’s other sisters-in-law, exchanged a glance and followed suit, after which all eyes landed on Meg. “Don’t say it,” she said. Wearily. “Cuh-yute,” pregnant, pixie-haired Briana said, grinning.

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Penny, who’d played basketball in college and was six inches taller than everyone else in the room, rolled her brown eyes. “Cute? Hell, we’re talkin’ seriously hot.” “Hot,” Trish echoed, nodding. “He looks very nice,” her mother said, and Meg laughed. Also wearily. “Actually…I kinda already met him. At the clinic,” she added before they could find their voices. “He’s a doctor?” “No, Ma, he’s—” “Franny, for heaven’s sake,” Penny said, her voice suddenly chilly. Penny had issues. Of many varieties. “If he was at the clinic, he was probably with someone. Hello?” “Then why’s he here for dinner? Alone?” “Ma, everybody! Chill. Russ—” “Russ. Such a nice name.” Meg glared at her mother. “He was there with his sister. She’s a widow who, um, decided to have a baby with her husband’s sperm.” “Oh?” Trish said as Penny’s pale eyebrows dipped. “That’s just so…weird. On so many levels. For one thing, how does she know that’s actually her husband’s stuff—” “Stuff?” Briana said, giggling as she popped a sautéed mushroom into her mouth. “Like I’m gonna say, you know, that, in front of Franny,” Penny said, and Ma said, “Thank you, sweetheart,” and Meg thought her brain would explode. But Penny wasn’t finished. Of course she wasn’t. “There’ve been rumors for years, you know. About the clinic. That maybe there’s something fishy about their practices. All those multiples births, for one thing. And worse.” Her sister-in-law’s lips pursed. “Why you’re even working there is beyond me.” What was beyond Meg, was how the conversation had veered from speculating about the hottie in the other room to the Armstrong Institute’s integrity. Or why she felt compelled to defend where she’d worked for exactly one day. Until she remembered the absolute joy on Nova Farris’s face. “And they’re called rumors for a reason, Pen. Far as I can tell they care a great deal about their patients. Especially Dr. Armstrong. And it’s one of the foremost research facilities in the country for biogenetics—” Penny made a sign of the cross and Meg sighed. At least she’d only be there two weeks. Even she could deal with Penny’s pursed lips for that long. “Dinner’s ready,” her mother said, shooting Meg a commiserating glance before they all trooped into the dining room. Just as she could deal with sitting at the same table with Russ for a half-hour. Never before had she been so grateful her family ate like locusts. Swoop in, devour, move on. Better yet…

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“How’s about I take kid duty in the family room tonight—?” “Hell, no,” Howie said, as they all jockeyed for seats around the dining table. And she just somehow ended up across from Russ. She shot daggers at Howie, who just grinned. Creep. Then the usual chaos descended, the men talking sports and business, the women talking about the kids currently wreaking havoc in the basement below. Until the discussion swerved to politics, and Meg thought, Oh, God…until she realized the man was perfectly capable of holding his own among her opinionated family members. Impressive. Then he deftly switched the conversation back to business, which her dad and brothers lived, ate and breathed, anyway. Good call. Had to admit, guy was a good listener. And an even better sport, deflecting her brothers’ gibes and jabs with a grin and a shrug. Or better yet, zinging one right back at them, much to both their and her sisters-in-laws’ delight. Then she and Russ grabbed for the last chicken leg at the same time, and she saw the “Get me outta here!” look in his eyes. Ah. “Help me clear the table?” she asked. At the precise, and only, moment of total silence since the meal began. “Sure thing,” he said, jumping up to gather dishes. Her own arms loaded with greasy, smeared plates, Meg pushed into the kitchen. Russ followed, dumping his load on the table as she lifted hers to the counter. “Thanks,” he said. “Sorry. They can be a little intense.” Chuckling, he moved past her to start scraping the dishes, loading the dishwasher. Rearranging the stuff already in there with military precision. Even over the scent of hour-old roasted chicken, she could smell him. Soapy. Kinda woodsy. Not at all unpleasant. As opposed to the assorted screeches and bellows echoing up the basement stairs. Trial by fire, she believed this was called. Sure enough, Russ frowned at the open door, then back at her. “And you guys do this every week?” “Voluntarily, even—” The thundering of many small feet preceded a tsunami of children breaching the basement doorway. Russ flattened himself against the counter as the horde surged through the kitchen and out the back door, shrieking their heads off. “Good God. How many are there?” “Ten. And counting.” Apparently recovered, Russ returned to his chore, sorting the flatware into the dishwasher basket. Honestly. “It was just my sister and me. This…”

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“Insanity?” He tossed a smile in her direction. Oh, boy. “Takes a bit of getting used to.” “There’s an understatement,” Meg said, and their eyes met, and she thought, Oh!, before his cheeks colored and he returned his attention to the dishes. Okie-dokie—time to put the dude out of his misery. “Look…I have to apologize.” He looked up. Light glanced off cheekbones. Damn. “For…?” “The fix-up attempt.” The serving fork clattered out of his hand. “You couldn’t tell?” Russ retrieved the escaped fork. Lifted his eyes to hers. Sweet, freaked eyes which effectively canceled out the cheekbones. Sorta. “Look, Meg, I—” “Three brothers,” she said, moving to the sink to wash pots. “All happily married. One baby sister, divorced. Until that little dimple is ironed out, none of them can rest. Why are you laughing?” “Because I kinda figured that’s what the invitations were all about. I just didn’t know—” another sweet, freaked glance “—you were what the invitations were all about.” Meg wasn’t sure what to make of this. Of him. Shoot. “Except…they seem to have missed the memo that I’m not in the market.” Brows dipped. “You’re…not.” “Oh, Lord, no. Maybe someday, waaaay in the future. When the divorce wounds have healed a little more. But not now.” “You’re divorced?” “Yep,” she said, squirting dish soap into the plugged-up sink. “A year ago. Not that I don’t occasionally date—” her eyes cut to his, then back “—but just for, you know, diversion. Not looking for serious—” “Mama! Mama!” Her heart soaring, Meg spun around to scoop up eighteen-month-old Abbie, sudsy hands be damned, to pepper the chubby little cheeks with kisses. “How’s my baby girl?” “That one’s yours?” Brushing back Abigail’s out-of-control curls, Meg turned, her smile fading when she caught the look of utter terror on Russ’s face.

Chapter Three “Yeah,” Meg said, her forehead crunching, the soft laughter in her eyes gone. “This is Abbie. Say hi to Russ, sweet pea,” she encouraged the baby, who buried her face in her mother’s neck, their copper-colored curls tangling. Even from six feet away, Russ knew how they smelled, like flowers and baby powder. Regret fisted in his belly.

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“You don’t like kids?” she asked, mildly enough, and his gut cramped harder. “I’d better go,” he muttered, closing the dishwasher. Knowing he was taking the coward’s way out. Knowing, too, that sometimes evading the truth was the best option. The only option. “Please thank your mother for me.” “Do it yourself, she’s right out in the living room.” Confusion, more than irritation, colored her words. Whatever it was, Russ hated himself for having put it there. Except it was crazy, anyway, his reaction to her. Because she was…bubbly. And he didn’t do bubbly. At least not anymore. “You’re not leaving already!” Disappointment swam in Frances Carter’s amber eyes. “We haven’t even had dessert yet!” “I’m sorry, but I have a contractor coming at seven tomorrow morning,” he lied. “And I’ve got nearly an hour’s drive ahead of me….” “Of course, of course, I understand,” Meg’s mother said, shepherding him to the front door. “But please— any Thursday night you’re free, you’re welcome to join us!” Russ mumbled something about her being very kind, then got the hell out of there while he still could. Before the memory of a mischievous smile underneath a riot of red curls, the innocence in a baby’s calm, gray gaze, could suck him back in. Make him forget. Or worse, make him remember. *** “Ow!” Howie said, rubbing his shoulder after Meg smacked him. “What was that for?” “You know perfectly well what that was for! Honestly, when are you guys—” this was directed at all the brothers “—gonna quit with the fix-up attempts? Or at least vet them a little better. Sheesh!” She turned and stormed back into the kitchen, taking some small satisfaction in Howie’s yelp when the swinging door smacked him in the face. Abbie was outside again, chasing fireflies, too young to know she’d just been snubbed. Although why this was bothering Meg, she had no idea. So the dude wasn’t wild about kids. Like this was news. How many men were? “Meg, I’m sorry,” her brother said, trying to get her attention as she flew around the kitchen, shoving aside assorted sisters-in-law. “I just thought, here’s this nice, single guy, not bad-looking, got his own business and—” “And a) you ambushed both of us, which is not cool. And b) did you happen to feel him out as to how he felt about kids?” At Howie’s frown, Meg sighed. “No. I thought not.” “Who doesn’t like kids?” A genuine question, from him. As it would have been from any of her brothers, actually, all of whom got double—if not triple—doses of the Perfect Daddy gene. But for all Meg’s protestations about not being ready for a serious relationship, the truth was it wasn’t that easy finding somebody gung ho about taking on another man’s kid. Not that Abbie would ever want for good male role models, but the kid needed a father. One who’d love her as much as Meg loved her.

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Somebody who’d love Meg as much as she deserved to be loved. God knows Abbie’s father hadn’t fit the bill on either count. And damned if Meg was going to put herself, or her daughter, through that particular hell a second time. “I can’t believe you’d even ask that question,” she lobbed at her brother. Howie pushed out a breath, raking his hand over his thinning hair. But he gave her the frustrated Big Brother look that routinely drove her nuts. “Not every man’s like The Skunk, you know.” “Obviously not, since I’m related to four of them. But you didn’t see the look on Russ’s face when he saw Abbie.” To her shock, tears stung her eyes. What the heck? She blinked them back. “Not that anything would have come of it, anyway.” “And how many times,” her mother said, “do I have to tell you boys to behave when we have company? What’s the point of inviting a young man over for Meg if you’re just going to scare him off?” Meg almost laughed. “No, it’s not that. Well, not completely.” She sighed. “Open the dishwasher.” After a puzzled glance, her mother did; as a group, her sisters-in-law peered inside. And collectively gasped. “I take it Russ did this?” Briana said, rubbing her belly. “Yep.” Four sets of eyes turned to her. Knowing eyes. Because the family penchant for messiness was legendary. Too many kids, too little incentive to fight a losing battle. Not that any of them let the sink pile with dirty dishes or anything like that, but pristine was not a top priority in any of their houses. Let alone sorting the silverware. For a brief moment, she envisioned Russ’s sock drawer and shuddered. As he would undoubtedly do to hers. If she had a sock drawer, that is. So between that and his quick exit after seeing Abbie… When no one said anything, she rotated her shoulders, held up her head and marched out of the room, secure in the knowledge she’d never see Russ Michaels again. A thought she found strangely unsettling. *** Toddlers, Meg groggily mused as Abbie’s “Get me up!” wail pierced the darkness, did not know from Saturday mornings. Unfortunately. Yawning, she shuffled through a toy-store’s worth of stuffed animals strewn on the floor of her itty-bitty apartment to get to the glorified pantry she’d turned into the cutest baby’s room ever. Standing in her crib, Abbie greeted her with outstretched arms and a huge smile, melting Meg’s heart. Even though it was still dark and the baby didn’t exactly smell like roses. “Phew-wee, little girl,” she said, making a face. “Stin-kee!” Abbie, naturally, thought this was hilarious. “’Tink-ee!” she said, holding her nose and waving the air while Meg quickly changed her diaper and dressed her in a clean Onesie. By this time the sky had pinked up enough to consider it morning, and the day stretched out in front of them. Like an enormous void.

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Not that Meg couldn’t think of a dozen activities to do with her daughter—the park, the zoo, hanging out with the cousins, but… But look at this kid, she thought, smiling as she watched Abbie shovel scrambled eggs—more or less—into her mouth. Wasn’t there someone, somewhere, who’d go nuts for the chance to share this amazing kid with her? And no, that didn’t mean she was still thinking about Russ. Because she wasn’t. Okay, maybe he’d crossed her mind once or twice. Because the more she thought about it, the more his reaction to Abbie bugged her. As though there was something more behind his reaction than a simple aversion to kids. She sighed. Because some paths are simply not worth going down. Meg cleaned up the eggified baby and sprang her out of her high chair; Abbie immediately toddled to the front door and pointed. “Bye-bye?” she said, just as Meg’s cell phone rang. “Did I tell you we’re installing over at Blake House today?” her father said without preamble. Meg smiled. Blake House had been a run-down, abandoned Queen Anne, not far from the Victorian neighborhood where she now lived. She used to dream about one day owning the old house, until a couple from New York beat her to it. Gradually they’d been restoring the old girl—and the ten acres of grounds she sat on—to its former glory to run as a small inn. Her father had been tickled to death to get the landscaping contract. “On Saturday?” “It’s a rush job. They got a wedding coming up, and we wouldn’t get it done in time if we waited. Anyway, you should bring the baby over. They got ducks. And peacocks. The boys are all bringing their kids, it’ll be fun.” Another Saturday with the family, Meg thought on a sigh, then decided—it could be worse. A lot worse. So after a shared bath and a half-hour trying to find Abbie’s sandals, she tossed on a pair of shorts and a babydoll blouse, strapped Abbie in her stroller and off they went, arriving at the old house twenty minutes later. And what should be the first thing she saw, but Russ hauling a tray of full-grown chrysanthemums across the massive front lawn…about the same time he spotted her. She froze, having no clue what to do next. Although running like hell was sounding better by the second.

Chapter Four “Meggie! Over here!” In the moments before Meg’s father called her, Russ had seen the indecision in her face. The panic. Struggling with the impulse to bolt, no doubt. But why should it matter to her, whether he was there or not? Especially considering how badly they’d left things. More to the point, why the hell couldn’t he take his eyes off her as she bumpily wheeled the baby across the uneven grass, ridged with roots from a trio of fifty-feet-tall spruces? Why did his heart knock against his rib cage when he saw her react in feigned outrage to something her brother said, then take off after him, laughing, until the two of them went down in the grass like a couple of overgrown puppies?

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Why did his breath leave his lungs when she sat up, her wild hair flecked with loose grass and spruce needles, holding out her arms to her giggling daughter, toddling across the grass to throw herself in her mother’s arms—? “Isn’t that the receptionist from the Institute?” Nova said behind him. “Uh, yeah.” Realizing he’d been clutching the tray hard enough to gouge his palms, he set it down beside a prepared bed close to the house. Then he frowned at his sister, plopping a specimen rhododendron beside the flat. “And you shouldn’t be doing that.” Nova straightened, brushing off her hands. “I’m pregnant. Not incapacitated.” Shielding her eyes, she looked toward Meg and the baby. “What an adorable little girl!” Russ grunted, stalking back to the truck for more mums. Nova followed. “She knows the landscapers?” “She’s related to the landscapers,” Russ said, jerking the next flat so hard several plants tumbled into the truck’s bed. “Wait a minute…didn’t you have dinner with—” “Yes.” “Wow. Growling, even.” Russ tossed his sister a dirty look. She laughed, then said, “Think I’ll go over and say hi.” And she was gone before Russ could think up a plausible reason why she shouldn’t. Since he doubted The woman scares the holy bejeebers out of me was gonna cut it. *** For the second time in less than five minutes, Meg had to fight the urge to escape. Except Nova Farris’s smile, as she quickly covered the ground between them, somehow sliced right through Meg’s trepidation. “Hey!” she called out, waving. “What a surprise to see you here!” “Yeah,” Meg said, curling her arms around Abbie, sitting in her lap. “You, too.” Nova sank onto the cool grass beside the two of them, smiling for Abbie. “Ohmigosh, she’s gorgeous! How old?” “Eighteen months.” Abbie scootched closer, ducking her face behind Meg’s arm. “And don’t let the coy act fool ya. She’s been known to reduce her older cousins to tears. And I’m talkin’ about the ones already in middle school.” Nova laughed, then looked back toward her brother. Meg resisted for about half a second, then did the same, gawking at all those muscles bunching and shifting as he hefted plants off his truck. Like she’d never seen anybody lug greenery around before. “Russ tells me you guys had dinner,” Nova said. Meg felt her skin warm. “Yeah. Along with eleventy billion of my nearest and dearest. And please don’t tell me you’re trying to fix us up, too.” “Too?”

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Shifting Little Miss Chunks in her arms, Meg shot a look at Andy, her youngest brother. “Apparently the only reason they told me to come on over today was because they knew your brother would be here, too. Even though—” “What?” A sigh punched from her chest. “This little angel in my lap, she wasn’t exactly planned. And her father wasn’t exactly thrilled about that. In fact, he took off before she was born. I didn’t even bother contesting the divorce. So your brother’s obvious aversion to kids…it just struck a nerve, that’s all.” Nova frowned. “What makes you think Russ doesn’t like kids?” “The look on his face when he saw Abbie, for one thing—” “Meg!” her father shouted. “We’re goin’ around to the pond! Wanna come? The others are already there!” “I better go,” Meg said, scrambling to her feet with the baby in her arms. “No, wait—” “Congratulations again,” she said, nodding toward Nova’s middle as Abbie wrapped her arms around her neck. “Raising a kid by yourself, it’s no walk in the park. But it’s worth every second.” “I know,” Nova said, her eyes shiny. Her own eyes stinging, Meg crossed the few feet to the baby’s stroller to plop her in it, then took off toward the sound of quacking ducks, where Abbie’s squeals of delight soothed her aching heart. *** Seated behind the truck’s steering wheel, Russ watched both Meg take off and his sister’s approach, her face all confused and storm-cloudy. “What the heck?” he said as she got in beside him, yanking shut the door. “She thinks you don’t like kids.” Russ started the truck, pulling back into the street to drive around to the large, man-made pond to unload the ferns and hostas Meg’s brother had ordered. “It’s just as well,” he said over the crush to his chest. He could feel Nova’s eyes on the side of his face. “Ohmigosh. You like her, don’t you? Only you’re scared, so you deliberately put her off.” “Back off, Nove. I mean it.” His sister twisted in her seat. “Oh, wow. This is huge—” “For heaven’s sake, I barely know the woman. And anyway, I can already tell she’s not my type.” “Oh, really?” Nova said, turning back around. Smiling. Roughly five gazillion Carters were at the far end of the duck pond—the shallow end—laughing and goofing around, their multitudinous progeny a blur as they swarmed back and forth. Sighing, Russ pulled the truck up beside a bank of gracefully drooping willows fifty yards away to unload the plants, doing his best, as he and Nova worked, to not look. Not yearn. Not…envy.

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“Abbie!” At Meg’s shriek, Russ’s head snapped up…just in time to see the baby tumbling down the incline toward the deeper part of the pond, way too fast to control her chubby little legs.

Chapter Five How could such short legs cover so much ground, so quickly? streaked through Meg’s head as she and her oldest brother, Doug, took off after Abbie, even as she knew they were too far away to catch her before she lost her balance and fell in. One second, the baby had been chasing one of her cousins, the next she’d vanished, panic slicing through Meg like a ragged knife. A knife that viciously twisted when she saw her baby girl gleefully running right toward the water, which to her probably just looked like a big wading pool. “Abbie!” she yelled again, her heart pounding harder than her feet against the grass. “Come back! Come back!” But at the precise moment the baby teetered on the edge of the pond, Russ dashed out of nowhere and snatched her to safety. The little girl erupted into startled tears, twisting around and wailing for Meg. “Oh, God!” Meg ran up to pull Abbie from his arms, burying her face in her baby’s warm curls. “Thank you so much—” “First rule of being a parent,” Russ said, fury snapping in his eyes, “is that you never take your eyes off your child, not even for a moment! What on earth were you thinking?” “Whoa, man,” Doug panted out, trying to catch his breath. “Chill. No matter how careful you are, sometimes kids get away—” “It’s okay, Dougie, he’s right,” Meg said, her heart painfully thumping as her wobbly legs gave way and she sank to the grass, Abbie still clasped tight. Over and over, she stroked the baby’s hair, shaking her head. “I should have kept a better eye on her, I should’ve—” She burst into tears. “Aw, Meggie, don’t.” Just like all her brothers, Doug hated tears. “It’s okay, the baby’s fine—” “I know she is, but…” Sniffing, she looked up at her brother. “Go on back to the others. Just…give us a minute, okay?” “You sure?” “Yeah. Go on.” As Doug trudged back up the hill, Meg looked at Russ. “So now you think I’m a total idiot.” His mouth pulled into a tight line, he glanced away. Blew out a breath. “It was a knee-jerk reaction, sorry. But things happen so quickly…” “Tell me about it. I swear, I looked away for a second and she was gone. I’ve never, ever done that before.” She kissed Abbie, whose tears had stopped, as well. “And I won’t again, believe me.” Silence. Meg took a deep breath and said softly, “You don’t hate kids at all, do you?” A long pause preceded, “No.”

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Meg nodded, then tried to get up, although her legs were still shaky. “I think we’ve both had enough adventure for one day. Thanks again.” “No, wait,” he said after she started off. “I’m done here—let me take you guys home.” “It’s just six blocks, I can manage. Besides…” She glanced at his truck, then back at him. “No car seat.” “Then I’ll walk you.” Meg almost smiled. “You don’t trust me to get the kid home in one piece?” He didn’t smile. But when he lightly touched her arm to say he needed to tell Nova, who’d apparently taken the truck back around to the house, he was leaving, every nerve ending she possessed went kaflooey. Not good, she thought. At all. *** All the way back to Meg’s place, Russ fought to erase the image of his sister’s raised brow and “Oh, yeah?” expression from his brain. He was only remotely successful. Which is more than he could say for the struggle to erase the freaked look in Meg’s eyes when she grabbed her daughter out of his arms. Or his own idiocy of coming down on her so hard. Especially when it was perfectly obvious the incident had scared the stuffing out of her. Seeing them home was the least he could do. “No, I’ll carry her up,” he said when they reached the slightly run-down Queen Anne where Meg had her apartment—on the third floor. So for the second time that day he felt the sweet weight of a baby against his chest, this time the dead weight of a totally sacked-out baby. “Don’t look too hard at the apartment,” Meg said when she unlocked the paneled door. “Tidiness isn’t my thing. Especially with a toddler.” And indeed the place was a mess. Not in a should-be-condemned way, though. Just in a baby-lives-here way; the sunny, wood-floored living room overrun with toys and other kid stuff. What you could see around the pulled-out sofa bed, the boldly flowered sheets a rumpled heap. “You can put her down in her crib. In there,” Meg said, nodding toward another door. The baby’s room was tiny, for sure, but bright and cheerful with a white crib and rocker, a thick, colorful rug on the floor. He laid down the zonked-out kid, a smile tugging at his mouth when she plugged her thumb into her mouth. When he returned to the living room, however, the sofa had been put back together, many of the toys gathered into a large laundry basket beside it. And in the middle of the room, an obviously anxious young woman with big, hopeful brown eyes. “Um…would you like to stay for lunch? If you’re not busy, I mean. It’s, um, the least I could do, considering you saved my baby’s life.” Russ smiled, her earnestness wrenching open something inside him he thought for sure would stay closed forever. “I kept her from falling in the pond, but I think ‘saving her life’ might be stretching it.” Meg’s eyes watered. “It’s deep there. And I don’t swim. And a baby can drown in a frighteningly sh-short amount of t-time.”

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Instinct sent Russ across the room to gather Meg into his arms, absorbing the aftershock, although he wasn’t sure which one of them he was comforting. Seconds later, though, she pulled away, swiping at her eyes. “Sorry,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m a total wuss when it comes to my kid.” “It’s allowed,” he said, and she smiled, and the tightness in his chest eased a little more. “So…are sandwiches okay?” she said, moving into the tiny kitchen. “Mom makes sure I’ve got tons of deli stuff.” He opened his mouth to say, “I really have to go.” But what came out instead was, “That’d be great, thanks.” Because he’d been right—she smelled like flowers. *** Meg had thought for sure offering Russ lunch would send him fleeing. Especially after that hug. Oh, she’d remember that hug for a long, long time. A man who could hug like that… Don’t even go there, chickie. Anyway. That he was still here an hour later was nothing short of astounding. And puzzling. Because, as they worked through the sandwiches, her mother’s macaroni salad and bowls of ice cream, they talked. About everything. Their remarkably similar middle-class childhoods. His sister’s decision to have her husband’s baby. Meg’s extensive Red Sox memorabilia collection, which Russ dubbed “impressive as hell.” How summer had always meant trekking out to Fenway with his dad. “Same here,” she said, averting her gaze to spoon the last bit of mint chocolate chip out of the bowl as they sat on opposite ends of her sofa, the only sound a lone cicada’s drone in the leafy oak outside her windows. Dude was clearly big on family ties. So why wasn’t he married, already? Clunking her spoon into the empty bowl, she said, “I prided myself on being able to heckle the Yankees louder than all three of my brothers put together. Season ticket holders would cower when they saw us coming.” Russ chuckled and their eyes met for a second longer than necessary, long enough for Meg to see the combination of nostalgia and longing in his eyes, to feel something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. And sure as heck had no business feeling for somebody she’d just met. But there it was, an almost physical sensation of the pieces clicking effortlessly into place. This time Russ looked away. “How’d you end up working at Armstrong?” “Oh, that’s just for two weeks. I’m what you call a professional temp.” When Russ frowned, she said, “I like changing jobs every couple of weeks, although some last longer than that. Keeps the brain from going stagnant. I think I’d die if I had to face the same job, day in and day out. Besides, I like meeting new people. Learning new things.” “You got something against stability?” She shrugged. “What can I say, I bore easily.” Russ looked at her for a long moment, then blew a soft laugh through his nose. “Every morning for breakfast I have a bowl of Cheerios with one teaspoon of sugar, half a grapefruit and a glass of orange juice. Can’t remember the last time I had something different.”

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Meg’s brows lifted. “Wow.” Then she grinned. “Bet you never leave the house without making your bed, either.” “Nope.” When Abbie’s get-me-up cry pierced the sharp, uneasy silence that followed, Meg jumped to her feet, nearly knocking her bowl off the coffee table. “Be right back.” Except when she returned, Russ was gone. Meg shut her eyes. Doofus, she thought, then went about the rest of her day, refusing to let herself dwell on things that weren’t meant to be. Until the next day, when she and Abbie got home after church and found Russ sitting on the house’s steps. With a large, funny-looking stuffed bunny. He rose. “I thought…maybe Abbie would like this?” What the heck…?

Chapter Six “Mine!” Abbie squealed, reaching for the toy, which she immediately clutched to her chest. Russ smiled, feeling oddly gratified. Then he turned his gaze to an understandably poleaxed Meg. “Um…am I to interpret that as an apology for running out yesterday?” Yeah, he’d figured that was coming. Meg was nothing if not one sharp cookie. But how could he possibly explain the conflicting impulses about to drive him crazy? That she was about to drive him crazy? That he couldn’t figure out whether he’d be more miserable with her, or without her? So instead he smiled for the baby, currently strangling the hapless rabbit, an image which nearly tore his heart in two. And sidestepped the question altogether. “Nova has this bug up her butt about you and Abbie coming to dinner this evening,” he said, looking back at Meg. “And arguing with a pregnant woman is not on my agenda, believe me.” To his relief, Meg laughed. A warm, wonderful, clearly irrepressible sound that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. “Smart man—” “And maybe the zoo beforehand? It’s not far from there to my sister’s house. Um, I have her car. And a car seat.” She tilted her head. The sun caressed her curls, and Russ ached. “Why are you doing this?” “Because… Because it’s a beautiful day and it’s been far too long since I did something normal like go to the zoo. And going alone sucks.” And maybe, if I spend the day with you, I’ll get you out of my system. Then she smiled, putting the sun to shame, and he thought, Yeah. Good luck with that. *** Although they still chattered at each other almost nonstop the entire afternoon, Meg sensed an edge to their conversation that hadn’t been there the day before. Almost as if this little outing was a test of some sort. But for whom? And what, exactly, was the test?

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Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Russ with Abbie, who was on his shoulders so she could see the giraffes better over the crowd. His ease and competence with her was amazing for someone with no kids of his own, no nieces or nephews or younger siblings to practice on. Unless he’d babysat a lot when he was younger? Or…maybe that whole clicking thing had just been a figment of her overwrought imagination and Russ was actually no more The One than the other losers she managed to attract. Or marry. What are you up to? she wanted to ask. What’s your game? Then he looked over, almost as if he’d heard her, with a half smile and such a weird blend of joy and pain in his eyes she lost her breath. About two and a half seconds before she lost her heart. Which immediately shot to the top of the list of all the crazy, lamebrained, off-the-wall things she’d done in her life. Seriously, even for her this was a doozy. Two hours later, they arrived at Nova’s cute little Cape Cod in Brookline. Nova hugged Meg, then squatted in front of Abbie to give her another stuffed toy. A duck, this time. “You guys really don’t have to do this,” Abbie said, inhaling the mouthwatering scents of tomato sauce and garlic and browning butter. “She’s going to expect every person she meets to give her a toy! Oh! You have a high chair for her?” “It’s…borrowed,” Nova said, touching Meg’s shoulders as she moved to the kitchen. “From the same people who lent Russ the car seat?” “Um, yes, actually. Will she eat lasagna? Because I can always fix her something else.” “Are you kidding? This kid eats everything. Just like her mama.” She laughed. “Now I’m really glad Russ wasn’t up to arguing with a pregnant woman—it smells fantastic in here!” She turned just as Russ tore his gaze away from his sister to give her a quick, nervous smile that set off all kinds of alarms. *** “Ohmigosh—I’ve talked your ears off since we left your sister’s house!” Meg said with a light laugh from the passenger seat. “Guess I’m a little wound up. Fun days and good food will do that to me. So I’ll be quiet now. Your turn.” Nearly back to Meg’s house, the baby asleep in the car seat behind him, Russ glanced over to catch Meg’s irrepressible grin. A grin that was tearing him to pieces. “It’s okay,” he said softly, turning on Meg’s street. “I didn’t have much to say, anyway.” “Yeah, I kinda caught that.” She paused. “Any particular reason?” Where would she like him to start? He was trying, he really was. And Meg was great. Beyond great. Despite the leftover hurt lingering in her eyes when she talked about Abbie’s father, it hadn’t left her even remotely bitter. Cautious, sure, but not bitter. But, see, that was the problem. His problem. Because the more he was around all that unbridled joy and passion for life, the more he felt like a boring old pook who could never really be what she needed.

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A boring old pook with stuff in his past he couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard he tried. How much he wanted to. Yeah, yeah, he’d told himself today was all about getting Meg and Abbie out of his system. Except it had backfired, big-time, as both baby and mama unwittingly wrapped themselves around his little finger. His heart. Now in front of Meg’s house, Russ dragged a hand down his face before forcing himself to meet her questioning eyes. “I haven’t exactly been honest with you.” “Oh?” He looked back over the dark street, smiling a little when Abbie sighed in her sleep. “I had a great time today, too,” he said. “Maybe too great. See, I’ve kinda been out of the loop for a while, too. And you…” He pushed out a sigh, then looked at her again. “I didn’t want you to suck me in, but you did. You and Abbie both. And now that I am…” His lips pressed together, he faced front again. “I can’t do this, Meg. Not to you.” “Do what?” “You’re like…some little wild thing that needs to be free. And I’d be your cage.” She stayed still for a very long moment. “A cage? Or a safe place?” When he didn’t respond, she said, “If this is about sock drawers…I think we could work that out.” He almost laughed. “See…I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” “It’s okay. I do—” “I’m sorry.” He looked at her, seeing his own anguish reflected in her eyes. “I really am.” Several seconds passed. “Yeah,” she said at last, shoving open her door. “Me, too.” “You need help with the baby?” “Nope, I’m good,” she said, yanking open the back door and clumsily pulling the toddler out of the car seat, grabbing the baby bag. Then she slammed shut both doors and marched up the walk, the baby slumped against her chest, not even saying goodbye. Russ had no idea how long he sat there, watching lights go on in her apartment, before he finally pulled away, feeling more wretched than he would have thought possible.

Chapter Seven “I don’t believe this,” Nova said on the other end of the line later that night. “It’s perfectly obvious how you feel about her. Not to mention that it’s reciprocated—” “Nove…don’t,” Russ said on a heavy sigh. “Please. It’s like…we’re on different planes. Not that I wouldn’t mind being on the same one with her, but I have no clue how to get there.” A long pause stretched between them. “You didn’t even tell her, did you?”

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“What would have been the point?” “Oh, I don’t know…maybe so you could freaking move on, already?” “And maybe some of us are better at that than others, okay?” At her silence, he sighed again. “Sorry, that was low.” “Damn straight. Not to mention stupid.” “Yeah, well, that’s fitting, seeing as I’m all about stupid these days.” “No,” she said, more gently. “What this is all about is you not liking messy. And falling for someone that fast is about as messy as it gets. But even you know the best things in life are messy. Cotton candy. Lobster.” She chuckled. “Sex.” “Don’t think this is appropriate brother-sister conversation.” “Dude. If I were a guy I’d go for Meg in a heartbeat. Just sayin’.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “I think you’re making a huge mistake, Russ. Seriously.” But he hadn’t, Russ thought after his sister hung up. What he’d done was save both him and Meg from even more heartache down the road. Really, it was better this way. *** Crying over a guy she’d met three days before was beyond dumb. But once Meg got Abbie to bed, the damn tears just wouldn’t stop. She knew she’d get over it—get over him—but right now, it hurt. Of course, she had no one to blame but herself, letting herself get carried away like that. Seeing rainbows where there weren’t any. “When are you ever going to learn?” she muttered, swiping Abbie’s toys off the floor, a fresh barrage of tears spilling over her eyelids when she got to Bit, the rabbit Russ had given her. Sniffling, Meg sank onto the edge of the sofa bed, hugging the plushy critter to her chest, imagining the thing smelled like Russ. What a weirdo, she thought, holding the floppy thing out to look at it. Buying her kid a toy and then pulling the vanishing act. Frowning, she swiped her hand across her eyes to focus on one of Bit’s paws. Holy moly. You could hardly tell, unless you looked closely, but… She carried the toy over to the end table lamp to get a better look. Yep. That was definitely a worn spot. Great. Not only was the man a world-class heartbreaker, but he gave her kid used toys? Furious, Meg stomped to the kitchen, fully intending to dump it in the trash. And yet, when she lifted the garbage can cover, the poor little bunny looked at her with those soulful button eyes… Ah, hell. However, although Bit won a reprieve from the trash can, over the following week Meg remained more or less determined to exorcise Russ from her thoughts. And her family from her business. On neither account was she particularly successful. Although she might have succeeded, at least on the Russ front, had Nova not come in for her appointment the following Monday and wrangled Meg into having lunch afterward.

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Okay, maybe not wrangled, exactly. More like, Russ’s sister said, “How about lunch?” and Meg said, “Sure,” and ten minutes later they were sitting in the fifties-homage Coach House Diner near the Institute, lusting after every platter of food that sailed past. “I’m a little surprised you agreed to come to lunch with me,” Nova said, backing up to let the waitress set a chef’s salad the size of Milwaukee in front of her. “Not nearly as much as I am that you asked me.” Nova smiled. Then sighed, drizzling creamy Italian dressing over her greens. “I need to know how you feel about Russ.” Meg’s eyes shot to the duplicates of Russ’s in front of her. It hurt. “Why?” “Because I’d at least like to have the facts straight before I meddle.” Over a short, soft laugh, Meg shook her head. “Let’s just say he’s the one who stopped this thing in its tracks. Not me.” “He say why?” “Not really. Other than some jibber-jabber about being afraid of becoming my cage.” Meg dunked her fry in a ketchup puddle. It broke in half. Rats. “Funny thing is, two weeks ago? I would’ve agreed with him. Was no more ready for something solid and real and permanent than I was to fly to the moon. Then I met your brother, and it was like…whoa.” She lifted her eyes to Nova. “Usually when you fall so hard and fast for somebody, it leaves you feeling unbalanced. Dizzy. With Russ, though…it was like…” She laughed softly. “Not realizing how unsteady the ground had been under my feet until it stopped shaking. But it was pretty clear only one of us was willing to take that great big next step. And it wasn’t Russ.” Across from her, Nova smiled. “Except for all his protests, you’re exactly what Russ needs in his life. What he wants, no matter how hard he pushes you away—” “I’m not so sure. Heck, I probably would send him over the edge. Constantly changing jobs, moving the furniture around every week—I bet he hasn’t changed anything in years, right?” “That’s true, but—” “So maybe it is better this way, ending it before we drive each other nuts.” “Meg. Stop.” Smiling, Nova reached for Meg’s hand across the table. “I know you’re what he needs because he’s already had someone like you in his life. And he was happier during those few years than I’ve ever seen him.” Meg stilled. “What are you talking about?” Nova released a breath. “He’s gonna kill me for interfering, but… True, my brother hasn’t rearranged his furniture in two years. But his wife did, every few weeks. And believe me, he’s no stranger to baby toys being strewn all over creation.” “I don’t—” “Russ is a widower, Meg,” Nova said, tears shining in her eyes. “His wife and little boy died in a car crash two years ago.”

Chapter Eight

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After a moment of stunned disbelief, dozens of details began to swirl inside Meg’s head—the magically appearing car seat and high chair, the "used" toys, Russ’s lashing out at her after saving Abbie from falling in the pond. His reaction to kids in general. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered, suddenly not hungry. “Why on earth didn’t he say something?” “Because he was raised to believe that men didn’t talk about their pain,” Nova said drily. “All the months our mom was sick, Dad did the stoic thing. If he shed any tears after her death, we sure as heck never saw them. And yet I know a piece of him died with her.” She forked a chunk of hard-boiled egg into her mouth. “In fact, he was gone, too, within a year.” “Man. You guys… You’ve really had it rough.” Nova lifted her eyes to Meg’s. “On the surface, it would certainly seem so. Except both Russ and I… We both had happy marriages. Very happy marriages. So did our parents. When stuff happens…” She shrugged. “You can choose to let it take you under, or make you stronger. To move on, or not. Obviously I have no idea if you can help my brother or not. If he’ll give you—give himself—another shot. But if there’s even a chance that you could get though to him—” At Meg’s apparently dumbfounded expression, Nova shook her head, her lips curved in a sad smile. “I’m sorry, I’m being totally selfish. I’ve got no right to ask you…” “Yes.” Nova met her gaze. “You could get hurt again.” Meg signaled for a container for the rest of her food. “Not if I know what I’m getting into.” Nova’s smile told her she was doing the right thing. Meg’s stomach, however, wasn’t so sure. *** Russ had lost track of how many times he’d thought about calling Meg over the past week. How many times he’d thought about her and Abbie. Period. He thought this was what they called a losing battle. Because what was he supposed to say? He’d never had to apologize to Sarah; had never made a fool of himself with her. Not this big a fool, anyway. He’d never even thought twice about laying his heart on the line. Because he’d known, almost from the first moment he’d seen her dripping wet, running through the sprinklers on campus, that she’d been exactly what he needed— “Hi.” Out in the greenhouse, he turned so fast he nearly knocked over the topiary beside him. Meg covered her laugh, her eyes twinkling over her hand, and his heart somersaulted. “Hi, yourself,” he said. She lowered her hand. “Nova thinks I should give you another chance.” “Oh, she does, huh?”

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“She meddled. It’s what siblings who care about each other do. I should know.” Russ smiled. “But what do you think?” “I think you should get over here and kiss me before I change my mind.” She didn’t have to ask him twice. A split second later they were in each other’s arms. He lifted his hands to cradle her dimpled, laughing face, her curls whispering over his knuckles as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. She murmured something into his mouth and kissed him back, and something sweet and warm and fierce surged through him, instantly burning off two years of grief and fear and hopelessness. Then she pulled away, frowning, even as she lifted a hand to his face. “Why didn’t you tell me, for heaven’s sake? About your wife and son?” He lowered his eyes. Took a breath. Pressed her hand to his heart. “Because it hurt.” One side of her mouth lifted. “Does it still?” “Not as much as it did five minutes ago.” “Good,” she said, hope shining in her eyes, and Russ drew her close, resting his chin on her curls. “I’m sorry I was an ass.” “So am I,” she mumbled into his chest, then leaned back to meet his gaze. “Bit was your son’s, wasn’t it? And the car seat and high chair…” “Yeah. I kept telling myself I’d get rid of them one day, but one day somehow never came. I honestly don’t know what possessed me to give Bit to Abbie. But it helped.” “Seriously?” “Seriously.” She blew a soft laugh through her nose. “After you left the other night, I very nearly tossed him into the trash. But I couldn’t. Good thing, too, ’cause Abbie asked for him the next morning. They’re BFFs now.” When he laughed, she touched soft fingers to the side of his face. “Tell me about Sarah.” Russ smiled. “In some ways, she was a lot like you,” he said softly. “Funny. Brave. Crazy. She made me… She made me stop taking myself so seriously, which was a very good thing. Then she and Adam died…” He hugged Meg again. “And I didn’t think I’d ever be able to not take things seriously again.” “Is it scary that I understood that?” Chuckling, Russ cupped her face again, touching noses. “But just so you know, I didn’t fall in love with a clone of Sarah. I fell in love with you.” He saw her swallow. “Nobody will believe this, you know.” “So screw ’em. This is about us. Nobody else.” She linked her hands around the back of his neck, her lips curved. “You’re what I need in my life, too. Somebody to keep me tethered to earth. Okay, maybe not always, that would be boring, but without you as the constant in our lives, all the rest of it means nothing. As long as…you’re sure you’re ready for this? For us?”

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“You have no idea how ready I am.” Russ smiled. Then he kissed her again, feeling whole and sane and happy again for the first time in forever.

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A Daddy for Christmas by Laura Bradford The plan was simple: Rick DeSmet would show up, flip the switch on the tree, shake a few hands, then jet back to New York in time for the holidays. Instead, he finds himself stranded in Collingsworth, Texas, as a rare snowfall blocks all escape routes. The only bright side is pretty single mom Caroline Hogan, who offers him a place to stay when there is no room at the inn—or the hotel! Caroline Hogan isn’t fooled by Rick DeSmet’s good looks, expensive clothes and fake smile. The man isn’t happy. And in this season of giving, Caroline is determined to introduce Rick to true happiness, the kind that comes from bringing joy to others….

Chapter One Brushing a thin layer of snow from the wall, Rick DeSmet sat down, the chill of the stone radiating its way up his spine. It was a stupid mistake, one he realized the second his body hit the surface. But still, he sat. He glanced at the display screen of his cell phone for the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes, his mind willing his driver to rescue him from Collingsworth’s annual Christmas Festival once and for all. But still, he sat. The plan had been fairly simple. He’d show up, flip the switch on the tree, shake a few hands, pose for a few pictures and then get the heck out of there—a task that should have taken no longer than an hour. Tops. His secretary knew the plan. His personal assistant knew the plan. His pilot knew the plan. Yet somehow, the driver his family kept on retainer didn’t… Pushing a hand through his burnished brown hair, he exhaled a plume of smoke from his mouth. He’d really hoped to get through the year without giving anyone their walking papers, but actions had their consequences. It was, after all, life. If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t even be there at all. Instead, he’d be skiing with his buddies at his chalet in Tahoe. But when his father had impressed the need for philanthropy upon him, he’d caved, a decision he most certainly regretted. “Mister?” He looked down, his stomach turning at the sight of the little boy with a runny nose and tear-filled eyes. Summoning up his best public persona, he forced his words to sound as friendly as possible. “Yes, little man?” “Did your family really start this town?” “That’s what the history books say, isn’t it?” he mumbled before flashing his megawatt publicity smile at a passing group of local officials. “But between you and me, my ancestors got out at a really good time. This place isn’t exactly happening, is it?” “Are you—” the child swallowed “—are you really rich?” “I do all right.” He looked around, his eyes desperate for someone, anyone, to rescue him from the fairhaired moppet in from of him.

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The little boy’s lip quivered. “My mama is sick. She don’t have no hat. She gave me hers and now she don’t have one.” Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, Rick opened it, his fingers extracting a business card from the front compartment. “Write down your address. I’ll have my secretary send a hat.” The boy stared up at him. “You do know your address, don’t you?” The little boy shook his head. “I can’t help you if you don’t know your—” “Patrick?” A woman appeared beside them, her long blond hair pulled into a misshapen ponytail beneath a soft green hat. Setting a blanket-draped car seat on the ground, she lowered herself to the boy’s eye level, a breathtaking smile carving dimples into her cheeks. “Are you Patrick?” When the little boy nodded, she reached out and pulled the child close. “Your mom is looking all over for you, sweetheart. Why did you run off?” Rick stared at the woman as she spoke with the child, her hand rubbing his tiny back as the words poured from his mouth. “My mama don’t have no hat. And she’s sick.” “She’s sick?” The little boy nodded again, his eyes round as saucers. “Then maybe this will help.” Reaching up, the woman pulled off her hat and handed it to the child. “Let’s give her mine, okay?” Rick’s mouth gaped open. “Don’t you need that?” The woman shrugged, her emerald-green eyes sparkling in the light of the Christmas tree. “It sounds like Patrick’s mom needs it more, don’t you think?” Without waiting for his answer, she motioned to the car seat. “Would you mind watching my princess for a minute? I want to get this little guy back to his mom.” His stomach clenched as he looked down at the car seat, the blanket shielding its contents from view. “My driver is supposed to be here any minute.” The feel of her hand against his made his pants tighten. “I’ll be back before that. I promise.”

Chapter Two Rick DeSmet was handsome. Some might even call him movie-star handsome. But perfectly groomed hair, ocean-blue eyes and a mouth that demanded to be kissed didn’t make up for the one thing that mattered most. Happiness. She saw it in the lack of lines beside his mouth. She saw it in the smile that failed to reach his eyes. She saw it in his wooden stance as Patrick tried to engage him in conversation.

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To most, the celebrity tree lighter’s lack of happiness wouldn’t be discernable. His fake smile, educated dialogue and freshly pressed suit allowed money and confidence to feign happiness. But she knew better. Underneath the picture-perfect exterior was a man who was simply phoning it in. He wasn’t in Collingsworth because he cared one iota about his ancestral home. And he wasn’t there because he had some overwhelming desire to take part in the town’s annual Christmas festivities. He was there, no doubt, on a publicity-seeking mission—one his father very likely pawned off on him in favor of some high-priced holiday jaunt with the mistress of the month. It was a life she understood. And it was a life she wouldn’t return to ever again. Shielding her ears with her shoulders, Caroline Hogan stuck out her tongue in the hopes of catching a snowflake, the sheer notion warming her from within. “Good evening to you, Caroline.” She pulled her tongue back into her mouth and looked around, a smile stretching her face as she locked gazes with the gray-haired gentleman standing beside the Christmas tree. “Hi yourself, Mr. Grady. Don’t you look handsome today.” Clearing his throat, a slight flush rose in the man’s cheeks. “I sure do appreciate this coat. Don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t—” “It fits you perfectly.” She leaned in, planted a kiss on the elderly man’s weathered face. “Like it was made for you.” He glanced down and nodded in agreement. “It does now, doesn’t it?” “It sure does. That soft brown is most certainly your color.” Smiling proudly, he gestured to Caroline’s empty hands. “Where’s that little beauty of yours?” “Emma? She’s over there—” she pointed to the stone wall just beyond the tree “—working her magic on the tree lighter, no doubt.” “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Though that tree-lighter fella might be a tough nut to crack.” With a tip of his hand, the elderly man pulled his coat tighter and shuffled off in the opposite direction. “Sleep well, Caroline.” “You too, Mr. Grady.” For a long moment she simply watched as the man disappeared into the gathering darkness, her mind swirling over his words. So it wasn’t just her. Someone else saw the unhappiness in Rick DeSmet as well. She glanced up at the falling snow, a small wet flake landing on the tip of her tongue. There was beauty and hope everywhere if people would only open their eyes to see it. Getting them to see it was the hard part. Resuming her mission, Caroline rounded the tree, her heartbeat accelerating as Rick DeSmet came into view once again. There were no two ways about it. The man was handsome. He just needed a smile—the kind that started on his mouth and spread to his eyes by way of his heart. It was the kind of smile she’d seen on Mr. Grady’s face when she’d given him his coat. It was the kind of smile she saw when she pulled off her hat and handed it to Patrick. And it was the kind of smile she saw

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every time one of the Collingsworth Homeless Shelter’s kids finally understood their homework and realized they could really do it. But there was something more at work in her wish for the man who held her daughter less than twenty feet from where she stood. She wanted him to know the happiness that came from love, too. Emma had given it to her at a time she needed it most. Now it was her turn to find it for someone else… “’Tis the season of giving,” she whispered as the man turned to face her, Emma’s little hand holding tight to a tuft of his hair as the faintest glimmer of joy flashed behind his eyes.

Chapter Three He couldn’t help but notice the way her jeans hugged her body as she moved between the stove and the tiny café-style table that sat beneath her draft-ridden kitchen window. And he couldn’t help but notice the way his body reacted in return. Caroline Hogan was gorgeous in a girl-next-door kind of way—a kind of beauty he’d obviously failed to give its due in years past. But there was no denying the fact that this woman, in her faded blue jeans and baby pink sweater, sparked his interest in a way no one ever had. Maybe it was the simple fact that she was different—a novelty of sorts. Maybe it was the fact that he was stranded in this backwoods little town thanks to his soon-to-be-ex-driver and a snow forecast that seemed to creep up on everyone except the people of Collingsworth. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he’d never seen a woman who carried herself in the way that Caroline did, which, in the grand scheme of things, seemed ridiculous. He’d dated cover models who walked and moved as if a camera was on them 24-7. He’d dated women born of more wealth than most people could imagine. And he’d dated women who flaunted the fact they could get any man they wanted with a mere turn of their head. Yet there was something about this woman, this single mother with barely a nickel to her name that grabbed his attention and wouldn’t let go. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here. I had no idea this little festival of yours could shut down a hotel,” he said as she emptied a package of hot chocolate into a mug. “My driver was supposed to drop me off at seven and pick me up at eight. That gave me enough time to shake a few hands and light the tree. Apparently, though, he can’t tell time.” “It happens sometimes. Maybe something came up. Something important.” “He had a job and he failed to do it. And because he did, my pilot was forced to leave me behind in the first snowfall to hit this town in, what—five years?” He stared at the mound of light brown powder at the bottom of his cup, his irritation resurfacing. “I’m quite sure my family will no longer be retaining his services.” She turned her emerald-green eyes on him. “You’re going to fire him? Two weeks before Christmas?” He shrugged. “He didn’t do the job he was hired to do.” “Maybe something happened. Something out of his control.” He returned her gaze, the troubled look in her eyes leaving him unsettled. “Then he should have sent word so I could have made alternate arrangements.”

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“People make mistakes, Mr. DeSmet.” “Rick. Please.” He watched as she poured water into his mug, the rising steam swirling around her dainty wrist. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.” “I know. But I want to.” She set the kettle on the stove then returned to the table carrying a ceramic snowman. Stopping beside him, she lifted the head off the body and tipped the base in his direction. “Would you like a cookie? The kids and I made them this afternoon after school.” “You mean there’s more?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “More?” “More than just Emma.” A smile chased the worry from her eyes. “Oh. No. It’s just Emma and me. And she’s not of cookie-making age…yet. She does like to watch, though.” He reached into the jar and extracted a large chocolate-chip cookie. “Wow, this looks delicious.” She beamed even brighter. “The kids will love to hear that.” He took a bite then set it down on the chipped plate she’d placed in front of him. “Who are these kids?” “They’re from the town.” “And they come here after school?” Hopping onto the stool across from him, she nodded. “Keeps them off the street.” He stared at her. “You do know them, though, right?” “I do now.” Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on the table. “You mean you opened your door to perfect strangers?” “I opened my heart, Rick. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

Chapter Four She knew she probably shouldn’t have said it, yet she didn’t feel any regret. She remembered the kind of life Rick led all too well and pretending otherwise would be a lie. “Look, I didn’t mean that to sound so harsh.” Without thinking, she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers, the warmth of his skin sending an unexpected jolt through her body. “It’s just—” She stopped, searched her soul for anything she could think of to slow her heart rate. “Go on,” he said, the gruffness of his voice making her realize she wasn’t the only one who’d felt the charge between them. “Tell me what you see.” “See?” she stammered. “When you look at me.”

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Calling on every ounce of courage she could muster, she told him, the words coming hesitantly at first. “I see myself. The way I was before Emma. And—” she motioned around the room “—before all of this.” “This being…” “A simpler lifestyle.” She felt his eyes studying her but she didn’t mind. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she found it exciting. “You mean you didn’t always live like this?” he asked. “No.” “You had money?” “Well, if my former assistant is right, I still have some.” “Then why are you living here? In this place?” He waved his hand toward the crack that ran down the kitchen wall. “Why not find something better…something safer for your daughter?” She bristled at the implication. “My daughter is safe. And she’s happy. Which is more than I can say for you.” “You don’t know me, Caroline.” A laugh escaped her lips. “Yes, I do. You move through life based on a path that was charted for you by your parents. You work in their company, date their friends’ daughters, escape to their beach house every chance you get.” His mouth hung open as she continued. “And you’ve actually fooled yourself into thinking you’ve got a privileged life. The kind of life people envy.” “I do.” Tenting her fingers beneath her chin, she felt a swarm of butterflies take flight in her stomach as their eyes met across the table. “But have you ever made a difference in someone’s life? The kind of difference that puts a smile on someone’s face and hope in their heart?” “Hope in their heart,” he repeated as his shoulders sagged a hairbreadth. “You mean like you did with that little boy and the hat?” “I guess.” He shook his head. “I hadn’t either. Until I was given Emma.” “Given?” She nodded. “I had everything, just like you do. But then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. The money. The connections. The privilege. I was devastated. I tried every person I thought was my friend, only to have them turn their back when they realized I was no longer wealthy. Then, one day, I met a woman on a train. She’d lost her husband in an accident just weeks earlier and she had just learned she was gravely ill. Yet she reached out and offered me a place to stay and the kind of friendship I never knew existed.”

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“Go on…” “A few weeks later she learned she was carrying her late husband’s child—a child she’d be hard-pressed to deliver, let alone raise. She asked me to adopt her baby and, wanting desperately to give her what she’d given me, I said yes.” Slipping off her stool, she peeked into the living room, her gaze falling on a sleeping Emma. “My life hasn’t been the same since,” she whispered before reclaiming her spot at the table. “It’s better. It’s richer. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.” “But you do have money?” Wrapping her hands around her own mug, she stared into the steaming liquid, her mind traveling back to the phone call she’d received a few months earlier. “I do. A mistake was made and the reality was in my favor.” “Then why live here—” he held out his arms “—in this dump?” “Because a home is more than fancy furniture and a cobblestone walkway. It’s about the people inside. Emma and I have a wonderful existence.” He reached across the table, tugged her hand into his. “Wow. I’m fairly sure I would have gotten out of Dodge and run straight for the bank.” “But would you be happy? Truly happy?” For a moment he said nothing as he looked from her face to her hand and back again. Squeezing her flesh inside his own, he finally spoke. “An hour ago I would have answered that with a resounding yes. But now I’m not so sure anymore.” “And why is that?” she asked quietly. “Because I never realized Dodge could be so appealing.”

Chapter Five He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the sound of her footsteps on the other side of the wall driving him batty. What in the world was he doing? There were other towns in the vicinity of Collingsworth. Towns with hotels—nice ones, even. Yet he was staying in an absolute hole-in-the-wall. Correction. A charming hole-in-the-wall. Somehow, someway, Caroline had managed to create a warm and homey feeling despite the peeling paint, drafty windows and shabby furniture. And it hadn’t taken long to figure out how. Caroline’s bright smile made everything around her glow. No hotel, no matter how nice, could hold a candle to that. A loud thump, followed by a muffled voice, made him roll off the creaking cot and run for the living room, his feet pounding on the cracked linoleum. A large box beside the couch moved. Grabbing hold of the box, he pushed it to the side. “Caroline? Are you okay?” Her sweet laugh filled the room only to be stifled by a hand and a nervous glance toward Emma’s travel crib. When no sound emerged from the baby, she looked back at him and nodded. “Just call me Grace In Motion.”

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“Grace In Motion?” “Or Miss Klutz for short.” He bent down and offered her his hand, his body tingling as she took hold. “What happened?” “The box fell on me.” He made a face. “That part I got.” She pointed to a rickety ladder in the middle of the room before moving her finger upward toward an open crawl space. “I was trying to get some supplies down but they won.” “You could have killed yourself,” he said as he looked from the ladder to the box and back again. “What on earth did you need that badly? At this time of night? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” “Sleeping is overrated. Especially when you have a baby underfoot the rest of the day.” Righting the box, she popped open its lid and began scrounging around inside. “Besides, the kids have been talking about the presents we’re going to make all week long. They’d be crushed if I didn’t have everything ready when they show up after school tomorrow.” “These are the homeless kids?” “They have homes. They just don’t necessarily have a lot of adult interaction.” He peeked into the box just as she pulled out a container of colored fuzz balls. “You get paid for this, right?” She shook her head. “It’s not a job, Rick. I’m just trying to make a difference in their lives.” “Then how do you live?” “Emma’s mother left enough money for us to live on for a while because she wanted her daughter to have me around full-time. It’s not a lot of money. Just enough to keep a roof over our head.” “That’s a matter of opinion.” The second the words were out, he regretted them. He hadn’t meant to sound so judgmental but really, the place had to be in violation of more codes than he could count. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound so arrogant, I really didn’t.” Shrugging, she reached into the box once again, the momentary lull in her smile bringing an unfamiliar tug to his chest. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, her breath on his neck sending shivers down his spine. “I just wish you’d use some of that money you have to make a better life for you and Emma.” Slowly, the smile returned, its presence on her face making everything else in the room disappear. Including his inhibitions. Without thinking, he lowered his mouth to hers, the taste of her lips against his igniting a level of desire he’d never known existed.

Chapter Six She threaded her hands through his hair as the kiss deepened, her lips parting as his tongue pressed against them. In a rush he complied, his moan of pleasure making her body tingle in places she’d almost forgotten.

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Seconds melted into minutes as they clung to each other, the heat of their kiss and the strength of their embrace building in waves of intensity that made it hard to breathe, let alone think. But even as she reveled in his touch, she knew it couldn’t continue. They were different people living very different lives. Slowly she pulled back, her heart pounding in her ears. Why—when she was only trying to show him a level of happiness he didn’t know existed—did he have to show her one, too? “Caroline, I—” She reached up, stopped his sentence with her fingertips. “You don’t need to say a thing. Some things just happen.” He grabbed her fingers with his hand and kissed them. “That’s not what I was going to—” “Please. Don’t.” Stepping back, she covered the distance between them and a sleeping Emma with two long strides. “You and I are different. You look around here—” she spread her arms and turned slowly around “— and see what’s missing. I look around here and see what’s wonderful.” “Then show me. So I can understand. Because you’re right…I don’t get it.” She glanced down at the baby and then back at Rick, her mind warring with the unfamiliar feeling in her heart. Sure, she felt something for this man she hadn’t expected, but just because nothing could come out of it didn’t mean she couldn’t—or shouldn’t—proceed with her original plan… “Okay. But in order to show you, I’ll need you to stay for one more day.” “Sounds promising.” A smile spread across his mouth. “I might be able to arrange that, considering my pilot is busy with my father at the moment.” “It also means staying here—” she gestured around the room once again “—in this dump, as you call it.” His smile faltered. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that—” “No. It’s what you feel.” She bent over the crib and repositioned the tiny pink blanket across her daughter’s pudgy legs. “But, for just a little while, I’d like you to see the part that makes up for the peeling paint and the cracked floors.” He closed the gap between them, his hand brushing the side of her face. “Then show me.” She inhaled his touch into her memory. “I’ll do that.” Looking down at Emma, she rushed to correct her statement. “Actually, we’ll do that. All six of us.” “Six?” “Six.” Crossing the room once again, she dug her hands back into the box and extracted yet another bin of craft supplies. “Any chance I could put you in charge of the hammer and nails?” It flashed across his face like a bolt of lightning in a summer storm; there one minute, gone the next. But still, she saw it. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t be pressuring you into something that holds absolutely no interest for you.” “Are you going to be there?” She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

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“Are you going to be there…when this hammer-and-nails thing is happening?” “Of course.” “Then I want to be there, too.” “Really?” she asked in a whisper. “Really.” “It’ll be loud.” “I can cover my ears if necessary.” “It’ll be a little chaotic.” He shrugged, his smile growing still wider. “Ever seen a voter’s meeting?” “It might get messy.” His mouth closed, his jaw clenched. “Messy?” “Yeah…messy. I do have a baby, after all,” she said, gesturing toward the crib with her chin. “And kids and crafts come with no guarantees.” “It’s only twenty-four hours, right?” “Less.” “Then I’d like to stay.” She peered up at him, his words bringing a flutter to her heart she knew she had to stifle. Twenty-four hours made a day, not a lifetime.

Chapter Seven It took every ounce of restraint not to call the local fire department and request a fire hose for the sole purpose of cleaning the face of the little boy at the end of the table. Seriously, could he not feel the inch of jelly adhered to both sides of his mouth? And the little girl across from him… It looked as if a comb hadn’t met her hair in days…. “Okay. Now that your tummies are full, are you ready to make those presents we talked about last week?” The little girl with the ratty hair nodded, the overhead light picking out amber flecks in her otherwise hazel eyes. “Oh yes, Miss Caroline!” “Then let’s take our plates into the kitchen. Jenna, I’d like you to wash them. Joseph, you can dry them.” “And what about us, Miss Caroline? What do we get to do?” Jelly Face boy jumped to his feet, leaving a trail of jelly across the table.

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“Well, Tyler, you can start by peeking in that mirror over there—” she pointed to one of Emma’s toys “—and see if you can think of something that needs to be done. And Tommy…you can unfold that piece of cloth that’s next to you and put it across the table.” Five minutes later, thanks to a little coaxing and a lot of supervision by Caroline, everything was done—the cloth was on the table, the snack plates had been washed and dried, and Jelly Face boy was void of jelly. He felt her eyes on him and he turned. “Doing okay?” she asked. Mustering what he hoped was a believable-enough smile, he nodded, even though every part of him wanted to track down his driver and knock his head against a well. But then again, if it weren’t for his driver, he’d never have shared that kiss with Caroline…. “Alrighty then.” A hammer, a few nails and four tinfoil pie plates were thrust in front of his face. “We’re making a decoration. Help them hammer dots in a Christmas pattern.” “Dots?” “Just wait. You’ll see.” Shoot me now… To Caroline, he simply nodded and did as he was told. Lowering himself to the floor beside Jelly Face boy, he pointed at the pie plate. “Any idea what kind of decoration you want to do?” The little boy nodded, then pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He looked at the paper. “A Christmas candle, huh?” “Yes, sir. My grandma loves Christmas candles. I can’t wait till she opens it on Christmas morning. She’s gonna be so happy.” His chest tightened with an unfamiliar feeling. “What’s your name?” “Tyler.” “Let’s make your candle.” Thirty minutes and a few mishaps later, they had Grandma’s present. And Rick had a little boy seated in his lap. “Thank you, Mr. Rick. I’ve always wanted someone to hammer with me.” Someone to hammer with me… Swallowing over the unexpected lump in his throat, he looked up, searching the room for Caroline. He found her on the couch with Emma on one thigh and Jenna on the other. And while the baby happily drooled on a rattle, her mother lovingly brushed the older girl’s hair and told her she was beautiful. Sitting there, watching them, he couldn’t help but feel as if the world was shifting beneath his body, showing him a side of living he’d never really seen let alone considered. But could he live it, day in and day out?

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That was the part he simply couldn’t answer.

Chapter Eight Caroline pushed her back against the closed door and released a happy sigh. They’d done it. All four kids had presents to place under their tree when they got home; presents they’d made with love. Looking around the living room, she felt her brows furrow. “Rick?” “Right here.” He stepped out of the kitchen, Emma’s tiny bottom resting atop his forearm as she tugged at the buttons on his shirt. “Are they gone?” “They’re gone.” She blinked against the sudden moisture in her eyes at the sight of her daughter beaming at her from Rick’s arms. From the moment she’d brought her home from the hospital, she’d been determined to give her daughter everything she needed in the love department. But standing there, looking at them now, she realized she’d come up short. He cocked his head. “Well, you were right on the loudness.” She nodded. “And the chaos.” She nodded again. He looked around the room, his shoulders noticeably tensing. “And you were right on the money about the mess.” Pushing off the door, she began clearing the table, the memories of their afternoon with the kids chasing away the momentary sorrow that had threatened to zap her energy. “Messes can be cleaned.” Emma let out a yell. “After babies are fed,” she said, dropping the art supplies she’d managed to collect back onto the table and crossing the room to reclaim her daughter from Rick’s arms. “So what will it be tonight, sweet baby? Mashed turkey with squash, or apples and ham?” The feel of Rick’s hand on her shoulder made her look up, the worry she saw in his eyes catching her by surprise. “You’ve been going nonstop since last night, Caroline. You need to slow down a little. Take it easy.” “I’ll slow down tonight. After Emma’s been fed and played with.” “And then?” he asked as he folded his arms across his chest. “And bathed, and read to, and rocked.” He pointed toward the table that was still littered with remnants from her guests. “And that?” Nuzzling Emma’s nose with her own, she shrugged. “That will get cleaned after she’s asleep.” “After she’s asleep,” he mumbled. “Yes. Now let me get her started on dinner and then I’ll see what I can make for us.”

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He reached out, grabbed her arm with his hand. “No. Not tonight. Tonight we’re going to let someone take care of you.” “Take care of me?” “I’m taking you both out to dinner. So go get cleaned up… You have—” he glided his index finger through her hair, extracting a single strand from all the rest “—a dab of red paint…right here.” “You don’t have to take us out. Really, I’m sure I have something. Do you like spaghetti?” “I do. But not tonight.” He reached over, plucked Emma from her arms. “Now get ready.” She considered protesting further but opted against it when she saw the conviction in his eyes. “Okay. Just give me a few minutes to get cleaned up.” She wandered down the hallway to the bathroom, her heart torn between wanting to hold on to every last minute with Rick before he headed out of town and giving in to the inevitable and simply saying goodbye.

Chapter Nine It was hard not to stare. Caroline Hogan was simply beautiful. It didn’t matter whether she wore a pair of ripped-up blue jeans with paint in her hair or an elegantly simple black skirt with a white satin blouse that hugged her form like a glove. And he told her as much. Smiling at the crimson hue that sprang into her cheeks, he leaned across the table and tapped Emma on the nose. “Do you see that, sweetheart? I made your mommy blush.” The baby squealed then flung a Cheerio on the ground. He stiffened. Caroline jumped up from her chair and knelt on the ground, her hand sweeping up the piece of food. “I’m sorry. I knew this wasn’t the right place for a baby.” “Would you please get up?” he whispered as he looked around the room at the stunned faces of nearby customers. “They have people who do that.” She dropped the food onto her napkin and sat back down. “And it’s my daughter who dropped it. So I’ll pick it up.” He resisted the urge to argue and, instead, focused on the menu. “Today was nice.” “I’m glad you thought so. I know the kids loved having you there.” “They did?” he asked, lifting his gaze from the menu in surprise. “How could you tell?” “Because Tyler rarely talks to anyone, including me.” “What are you talking about? The kid’s a chatterbox.” Her shoulders lifted and fell beneath her blouse. “With you, maybe. Not with anyone else.” Setting his menu to the side, he reached across the table for her hand. “What’s their story?”

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He watched as she smiled at Emma and then looked down at their hands. “All of their parents work long hours just to be able to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. When they get home, they’re too tired to help with homework or hear about their child’s day. So I do it.” “But why?” he asked. “You have enough on your plate.” She looked up, her emerald-green eyes sweeping across his face. “How did you feel when Tyler sat in your lap? And when he hugged you when you were all done?” “I don’t know.” “Did your heart feel like it was going to burst out of your chest?” He pulled his hand from hers and raked it through his hair. “Did you want to run around the house and figure out something else you could do with him?” He slid his hand down his face. “Did you want that smile that lit your eyes to stay around a little longer?” He glanced at Emma. “Well? Did you?” Slowly he pulled his gaze from Emma’s angelic face and fixed it on the breathtaking one seated at the other side of the table. “Yes.” “And how did you feel?” “Happy.” A smile tugged at her lips. “A different kind of happy than you’ve ever felt before?” He considered her question. “Yeah, I’d say so.” “The best kind of happy you’ve ever felt?” Again, he paused. “No…” Her shoulders slumped only to rise upward just as fast. “Well, that’s okay. I guess—” “That kind of happy happened last night.” “Last night?” she whispered. “Last night, Caroline.” Grabbing hold of her hand once again, he continued, his voice adopting a gruffness that made her knees weak. “That kiss… It rocked my world.”

Chapter Ten

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She brushed a gentle kiss across Emma’s forehead then covered her with a blanket. The night’s forecast called for more snow—a rarity in that part of Texas. But she didn’t care. In fact, if she was honest with herself, she was glad. More snow meant traffic nightmares, delayed flights and, subsequently, more time with Rick. And she’d take every extra second she could get. Casting one final look at her sleeping daughter, she headed into the kitchen to find Rick leaning against the counter staring up at the ceiling. “Find something interesting?” she teased. He pointed upward. “Your roof is leaking.” “I know.” She reached across him and grabbed a disinfectant wipe from the container and began wiping the counter. “I’m hoping some of the guys at the center can nail a few new shingles on sometime in the spring.” “That’s too long. Just have someone come in and replace it.” She continued wiping in a circular motion. “I don’t have the money.” “I thought you said you have money.” “I do. But I was hoping to use most of that to put a new roof on the shelter in town. Maybe replenish their clothes and food supply, too.” She felt him staring at her as she dropped the wipe into the trash. “But you need one,” he protested. “They need one more.” And they did. A blanket of silence enveloped the room as he stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts as hard to read as his face. Finally, after several long minutes, he pulled her firmly to his body, the yearning she felt there rivaled only by her own. Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her mouth to his, their lips claiming each other with a burst of passion. Slowly and deliberately, his hands left her face, gliding down her neck and across her shoulders. When he stopped at the buttons on her blouse, he stepped back, waiting for permission to continue. Grabbing his hand in hers, she led him toward her bedroom, his breath close on her neck. When they stepped into the room, he closed the door behind them and reached for her once again, the tips of his fingers igniting her desire with each button he opened. When he’d unbuttoned the last one, he simply stared at her, the longing in his eyes bringing a flush to her face. “You’re exquisite,” he whispered as he ran his fingers over the swell of her breasts before unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor with her blouse. Reaching behind her, he unzipped her skirt and let it, too, fall to the floor, leaving her in nothing but lacy black panties. “Absolutely exquisite.” Slowly but surely, he followed suit, his shirt and then his pants falling into a heap with hers. She tried not to stare but found it nearly impossible. Rick DeSmet was everything she imagined and more. He reached for her once again, his hands and then his mouth finding her breasts as he lowered her onto the bed. Craning toward him, she moaned with pleasure as he pried her legs apart with his knee and entered her, the feeling of his body moving inside hers making her cry out in pleasure again and again.

Chapter Eleven

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The smile was there before he even opened his eyes. And just as Caroline had predicted, it involved more than his mouth. Rolling over, he lifted himself onto his arm, only to stare down at the place where she should have been, but wasn’t. He craned his head to the left, listened for the slightest sound that would indicate where she’d gone. The happy murmuring he heard from the living room told him everything he needed to know. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he grabbed his pants from the pile on the floor and pulled them on, his feet reaching the hallway before they were completely in place. But he didn’t care. All that mattered was seeing Caroline. And Emma. He paused in the hallway, an unforeseen reality washing over him. If he continued seeing Caroline, it meant Emma was part of the package. And the one thing he’d been certain of was his disinterest in ever having children. They cramped a person’s style. But somehow, in the past two days, the towheaded baby babbling away in the living room had tiptoed her way around his resolve and made a beeline for his heart. “Like mother, like daughter,” he mumbled before breaking out into yet another heart-engaging smile. There were no two ways about it. He was hooked. Peeking his head around the corner, he waved at Emma, his heart beating double time at the sight of the woman who held her. “Good morning.” “Good morning, yourself. I hope we didn’t wake you.” “I’d have been crushed if you hadn’t.” And it was true. He didn’t want to waste a single, solitary second with this woman. She gestured toward the window. “The snow stopped. The plows came through about an hour ago. You’re free.” “Free?” “If the plows are dropping salt on my road, you can bet the main roads to the airport are spotless.” Pushing off the couch, she stood and headed toward the kitchen with Emma in her arms. “I bet my friend Sam would take you to the airport. He’s good like that.” “Sam.” He didn’t know why he repeated the name. It was all he could say to a conversation he hadn’t expected. Where were the hugs and kisses? The sly glances about their night together? Had it meant nothing at all to her? “He’s a fellow volunteer at the shelter.” The hurried tone of her voice made him look at her. Really look at her. And that’s when he saw it—the slump to her shoulders, the slight downward tilt to her lips. She wasn’t trying to get rid of him, she was simply steeling herself for his departure. Closing the gap, he took her in his arms, Emma’s tiny hand finding his chin from her spot between them. “I don’t have to leave just yet. I can call in…take a few days off.” “That’s only delaying the inevitable.” He tilted her chin upward and kissed away her words. “It’s enough time to get the two of you packed up.” “Packed up?” she echoed.

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“Yeah. I want you to come live with me. In the city. I’ve got a great place with plenty of room for Emma. Heck, she can even have a playroom all to herself.” She stepped from his embrace, her arms tightening around the little girl in her arms. “We can’t do that, Rick. This is our home.” His mouth dropped open only to shut around clenched teeth. “You’d rather stay here…in this dump…than be with me?”

Chapter Twelve She stared at him. “You still don’t get it, do you?” “What? That you’d rather live in a place that’s the size of a bread box than even consider the notion of living with me? Yeah, you’re right, I don’t get it.” He walked off, only to turn back, eyes blazing. “Is this—” he motioned around the room “—really more appealing? Because if it is, I think you’re crazy.” Was she? Was she really acting on some knee-jerk reaction that was completely wrong? She looked at Emma, then at the hand-me-down crib crammed into a corner of the living room. Was she doing her child a disservice raising her in a place like this when there were better options? “I mean, look at this place, Caroline. It’s falling apart around your head and you’re too overworked to notice.” He nudged the table she’d yet to clean from the craft session the day before. “Too overworked from doing things you don’t have to do.” Her gaze fell on the hammer and nails Rick had used with Tyler less than twenty-four hours earlier, the memory of the little boy’s smile warming her heart. “Things I want to do,” she corrected. “So volunteer at a hospital or a nursery school once a month. Once a month, Caroline. That’s enough.” She pulled her daughter to her chest, brushing the wisps of hair that curled around her tiny ears. “Not for me it’s not. Not for Emma, either.” He whirled around, his hands fisted at his side in frustration. “It’s not enough for Emma? You think she likes sharing her mother with four snot-nosed kids who barely give her the time of day? You think she likes being left with a stranger while you bring some lost kid back to his mom during a festival? You think she likes living in a place with a leaky roof so the shelter down the road can have a new one?” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked from Emma to Rick and back again, her mind incapable of coming up with a response. She knew it was ridiculous; she barely knew him. But somehow she’d been so sure. So sure Tyler had affected him in a way that would open his eyes to another way of living. So sure he felt the love inside their home, a love that more than made up for any cosmetic shortcomings. She wasn’t blind. She knew there were things that needed to be done. The roof did leak. And the windows did let in too much draft. She knew that. And she had every intention of fixing them when it became absolutely necessary. But it wasn’t yet. Not when others needed it more…. Mustering up every ounce of courage she could possibly find, she looked at him over the top of Emma’s head, her heart breaking over the words that needed to be said. “I think it’s time for you to go, Rick.”

Chapter Thirteen

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He couldn’t help but wonder where the camera crew was hiding. Maybe they were crouching on the other side of the bar, their equipment shielded from view by the various carry-on bags of his fellow passengers. Maybe they were hiding on the other side of the terminal, waiting to get yet another shot of his reaction when his flight was delayed for the fifth time. They had to be. There was no other possible explanation for the way his day was going. Surely it was a joke, right? “Tough day, huh?” Rick turned to his left and nodded his head at the white-haired gentleman sitting one stool over. “You could say that.” “Trying to get out of Dodge?” Raising his glass to his mouth, he took a long pull of beer. “The faster, the better,” he finally said as he slid the empty glass toward the bartender. “Only, some unknown force is getting a sick thrill out of stranding me in this town. First by my own pilot and this hit-or-miss weather, and now by the commercial airlines who don’t seem to handle snow any better.” The man waved his hand in the air. “Collingsworth ain’t so bad, really. We got things to do, women to meet.” “If I ever have the misfortune of being in this town again, I will definitely skip the women.” But even as the words hung in the air, he knew they were only partly true. As much as he was hurting at that moment, as much as he wished he could press a button and make it all go away, he wouldn’t take back a minute of it. Except the part where she told him to go. That part he’d definitely change. “Sounds to me like you just met the wrong one.” Clearing his throat, the man caught the bartender’s eye and then gestured toward the wall-mounted television, smiling his appreciation as the screen came to life. A commercial for a pest control company faded from the screen as a teaser for the local news took its place. “Tonight at ten, we’ll take you to the Collingsworth Homeless Shelter where you’ll meet a modern-day Santa Claus…in a skirt.” Rick looked up, his heart thudding inside his chest as Caroline’s face filled the screen, her smile ripping the air from his lungs. “See? You see that? That’s the kind of woman you should go after. Someone special. Someone with a big heart.” Saying nothing, he reached into his back pocket and extracted his phone. The news was set to start in five minutes. “Attention passengers for flight 1596 to New York’s LaGuardia Airport. We’ve gotten the go-ahead to board your flight. If you’re one of our first-class passengers we invite you to board through gate thirty-two.” “Only problem is her eyes,” the man continued as he leaned back in his stool and played with his beard. Rick glanced back at the television only to see another commercial—this one for some independent fastfood restaurant. “What’s wrong with her eyes?” “They’re not happy.” “Not happy? Are you kidding me?”

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The man narrowed his eyes at him. “Watch the screen. You’ll see what I mean.” “Now boarding passengers in groups one and two. Groups one and two for flight 1596.” “I don’t know, I better head out. That’s my flight.” “Looked like it was gonna run as the top story to me but—” the man shrugged “—suit yourself.” He pushed the button on the side of his phone, saw the time light up again. One minute… “Groups three and four for flight 1596.” Groaning, he slapped a ten on the counter and grabbed his bag from under his stool. “I better run. I’ve been waiting for this flight for hours—” “Good evening, welcome to News Five at ten o’clock. In the interest of providing the kind of news you’ve asked for, we’re leading our newscasts this week with a feel-good story, the kind of story that will put a smile on your face. And folks, tonight’s is the best of the best…” He looked from the television to the gate and back again, his heart pounding in his ears. “Then safe travels to you. And remember—” the man gestured toward the television as Caroline’s face filled the screen “—that’s the kind of gal you should be looking for. Problem is, they’re mighty rare.”

Chapter Fourteen Caroline plucked Emma from the travel playpen she’d brought and stepped onto the patio off the kitchen. All evening the crowds had come and gone, elected officials and local business owners touring the new addition to the Collingsworth Homeless Shelter. It had been a year in the making—a tribute to the notion that hard work and perseverance could, in fact, pay off. If only that payoff could have extended to a new roof for the existing building… Shaking the thought from her head, she grinned at the baby in her arms. “Can you believe all the fuss that camera crew made just now? You’d think no one had ever bought coats for people before.” Emma popped a thumb into her mouth and laid her head on Caroline’s arm, her dark blue eyes drooping to a close. It had been a long day. For both of them. A day that started with a torrent of tears as Rick’s ride pulled away and culminated with a camera being shoved in her face as people applauded her for something she never wanted to go public. “There you are—I was wondering where you’d run off to.” Margaret Bolter, the director of the shelter, stepped out of the addition and joined her on the patio, the night sky dotted with what seemed like a thousand shining stars. “I suppose you’re angry with me.” She peered at the woman over her daughter’s head. “Angry with you? Why would I be—wait! It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who called the television station, aren’t you?” “Guilty as charged,” the woman admitted. “But it was long overdue.” “Come on. This is the first time I’ve done anything this big. And I didn’t do it to be noticed. I did it because it’s right. And because I can now.” “Helping in the kitchen twice a week? Encouraging the community to give these folks a chance at work? Soliciting corporations to make this addition possible? That’s big all on its own, Caroline. But fifty new winter

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coats, and money for a new roof…out of your own pocket? That deserves attention if for no other reason than it might inspire someone else to do the same one day.” She hadn’t thought of that. “I won’t hold a grudge.” She flashed a smile at the woman. “Not for too long anyway.” “I’m glad to hear that. Your eyes had me thinking otherwise.” “My eyes?” she asked. “It’s the first time I’ve not seen them smile along with your mouth. So I figured you were mad.” Mad. No, she wasn’t mad. Just hurt. Deeply hurt. And maybe a little on edge. Afraid that Rick was right where Emma was concerned, the evening’s craziness merely providing a glaring example of the legitimacy behind his words. Had she gone too far? Had her desire to make the world a better place overtaken her obligation to be a good mom? She felt Margaret’s eyes studying her and she did her best to meet them with the kind of smile the woman wanted to see. “It’s still not reaching your eyes, Caroline.” The woman moved closer. “Is there anything I can do?” “Do you know how to put a heart back together?” Squeezing her hand, the woman simply shook her head. “I wish I could. But let me tell you this. If it’s true…it’ll work out.” “How can it work if two people are as different as night and day?” “You accept your differences and nurture the areas you have in common. But, above all, you treasure the one thing that means more than anything else in the world.” “What’s that?” she asked as she gently patted Emma’s back. “Love. It’s the one thing that truly matters.”

Chapter Fifteen Rick fished twenty bucks from his wallet and thrust it across the seat. “Keep the change,” he mumbled as he grabbed hold of his bag and stepped from the cab. During the ride over, he’d convinced himself he was making the right decision. But now, standing on the sidewalk, looking at Caroline’s house, he wasn’t so sure. He’d said some really horrible things, not the least of which was the unforgivable way in which he’d questioned her commitment to her daughter. Who the hell did he think he was? Wait. He knew that answer.

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He was a jerk, a first-class jerk. Pulling his cell phone from his back pocket, he looked at the time. Eleven o’clock. They were probably asleep. Then again, he could always tap on her window. If he did it in just the right way, he should be able to wake Caroline without Emma hearing a thing…. Setting his bag on the sidewalk, he strayed off the path and over to the neighbor’s gravel driveway. “Perfect,” he whispered, as he grabbed a stone and headed toward the lone window at the back of Caroline’s home. Footsteps on the sidewalk made him turn. “Caroline?” He squinted through the darkness, his gaze making out a delicately slender frame and a motionless mound in its arms. “Is that you?” She stopped. “Rick?” He jogged across the patch of grass that served as her yard and stopped in front of her, his throat tightening as their eyes met. “I had to see you.” For a long moment she said nothing. “I thought you were leaving,” she finally said as she made a beeline around him and headed for the door. “You know, getting as far away from Collingsworth as humanly possible.” “I couldn’t,” he said as he followed behind. “Why? Did the pilot disappear along with your driver?” “No.” He stroked Emma’s head as he peered into Caroline’s eyes. “I couldn’t leave because you’re still here.” “This is where I belong, Rick. It’s my home. It’s—” she looked down at her daughter “—Emma’s home, too. Even if—” She stopped, turned back toward the door and began fumbling in her purse for her key. “Even if what?” Wordlessly he reached for the baby, took her in his arms while Caroline searched for her keys and led them inside. “Even if you think I’m the most horrible mother in the world.” He closed his eyes as she shut the door behind them, his words coming back to haunt him for the umpteenth time since he walked out her door the first time. “I don’t. Not even close.” “That’s not what you said this morning.” “That was my hurt talking.” Step by careful step he crossed the living room to the crib and lowered the baby to her mattress. When he was sure she would stay asleep, he covered her with her blanket then turned back to the woman who held his heart in her hands. “I may have a lot to learn about a lot of things, Caroline, but there’s one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt.” “What’s that?” she asked, her voice breaking. “That you’re an amazing mother. Teaching a little girl some amazing things. Things I’m hoping you’ll teach me, too. Because I want to learn…I really do.”

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Chapter Sixteen She didn’t realize how long they’d talked until the morning sun poked its way underneath her blinds and across the scarred wooden floor. Rolling onto her side, she rose up on her elbow and smiled down at him. “I’m glad you came back.” “I can tell,” he said as he reached up and traced her cheekbone with his finger. “Isn’t that a little cocky, mister?” His finger dropped to her lips. “Not cocky, just observant.” She opened her mouth, sucked the tips of his fingers for just a moment. “Then tell me how you know.” Rolling his eyes, he groaned as she took his fingers a bit deeper before releasing them from her mouth. “Uh…give me a minute. My mind is in other places right now.” Her laugh put him back on track. “I can tell because of this…” He pointed at her mouth. “It’s finally back where it belongs.” “What are you talking about?” “People smile all the time. I do it. You do it. Emma does it. Everyone does it. But you… You smile with more than just your mouth.” “Oh, really?” she teased, Margaret’s words replaying their way through her mind. “What else do I smile with?” “Your eyes.” “And they’re smiling now?” He nodded. “But that’s not all.” “What else?” “You smile with your heart.” She furrowed her brows. “I’m not following.” “It’s what makes you, you. It’s the way you smiled when Tyler and the other kids were here. It’s the way you smile every time you look at Emma. It’s the way you smiled when you gave that little boy your hat at the festival. And, I imagine, it’s the way you would have smiled when you donated all those coats and opted to put a roof on the homeless shelter instead of this place…if I hadn’t been such a jerk.” “You saw the news?” “I sure did.” He reached over and tickled her side, her laugh bringing a smile to his own lips. “I’m proud of you.” She drew back. “Don’t be. Not anymore, anyway.”

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“What do you mean, not anymore?” Scooting up, she crossed her legs at the knees. “I’m not sure it’s warranted. In fact, I know it’s not.” Inhaling deeply, she looked down at him. “I thought about what you said. About how my need to help everyone else may be shortchanging my own child.” He pulled himself up, too. “Look, I was being a jerk. Please don’t pay any attention to what I said.” “It’s hard not to when I think you’re right. The problem is figuring out how to balance needs and wants.” She fiddled with the bedspread between her thighs. “And I’m thinking maybe you’re right. Maybe moving with you to New York and volunteering once a month will be enough.” “For anyone else, that’s probably true.” He reached across the bed, the feel of his hand on her face making it nearly impossible to think. “But for you, I don’t think that would be enough. And besides, you’ve made connections here in Collingsworth.” “A place you hate,” she quipped before a cry from the other room brought her up short. He stopped her movement with a gentle hand on hers. “A place I thought I hated. But that was before I met you…and that little girl out there.”

Chapter Seventeen He pushed the stroller down one street after the next, the unfamiliar scenery doing little to quiet the thoughts exploding in his mind. There was so much to think about, so much to consider. “Gaaaaaaaa.” Peeking over the handle, he made a face at Emma. “I’m going to have to ask your mom to translate some of these sounds you make, sweetheart. It’s got to be frustrating beyond belief to be talking your heart out to someone who just doesn’t have a clue. But I’m trying… I’m really trying.” “Hey, Mr. Rick.” A little boy wearing black sweatpants, a gray sweatshirt and a white ball cap bounded up the road in his direction. Who the kid was, and how he knew his name, was a mystery. “Where’s Miss Caroline?” The boy stopped beside the stroller and leaned in for a peek. “Well, I…” And then it clicked. Tyler. From the other day. The cap had thrown him off. “She’s taking a muchneeded nap while Emma and I check out the sights.” “That’s cool.” Jamming his hands inside the pockets of his sweats, the little boy hoisted his shoulders up to his ears and shivered. “I hate being cold.” “Where’s your winter hat?” “Don’t have one. Mama had to buy a coat and some gloves for my little sister. Next month will be my turn.” “But it’s cold now,” he protested as he reached over the handle and pulled the baby’s blanket higher on her chest. The boy shrugged. “I have to wait.” He couldn’t help but be glad Caroline wasn’t there. If she were, she’d worry. Kind of like how he was…

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He cocked his head to the side as an idea formed. “What’s your favorite color, Tyler?” “Blue. Royal blue.” “Where do you live?” he asked. “Right over there.” Tyler turned and pointed down the road, his finger ticking off each house until he got to the third one on the left. “Why?” “Just asking.” Wrapping his hands around the handle, he nodded at the little boy. “Emma and I better head back. See if Miss Caroline is awake yet.” “You gonna come to the Secret Santa party tonight?” He stopped. “Secret Santa party? What’s that?” “It’s something the shelter does every year. The people who volunteer there get to write something that they want on a slip of paper. Miss Margaret fixes them to the tree in the hall and people in town get it for them.” The little boy’s face crinkled as a smile spread from ear to ear. “But last year no one could buy Miss Caroline what she wanted.” “What was that?” he asked, curiosity rooting his feet to the pavement. “She wanted to make sure no one ever went hungry again.” He smiled in spite of the impossible request. “Sounds like something Miss Caroline would want.” “My mama said she hopes Miss Caroline gets something special this year. I do, too.” Something special… Feeling the beginning of an idea taking shape, he gave in to an unfamiliar urge and hugged the boy. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

Chapter Eighteen She stepped to the left to let Margaret get a good look, her heart thudding in her ears with the knowledge that he’d come back to Collingsworth—a place he didn’t like—because of her. Her. “He’s cute, all right.” The woman pulled her head back into the room and slid her arm around Caroline’s shoulders. “And he’s a natural with Emma.” “She adores him.” And it was true. Emma had taken to Rick without a moment’s hesitation. For that, she was grateful. It made the decision she’d come to earlier in the day so much easier to justify. Emma needed a man in her life. She deserved that just like every other child did. “How does he know Tyler?” “He was there when Tyler and the others came over the other day. Rick helped him make a gift for his grandmother.”

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“How nice of him to buy Tyler a gift now.” “Buy Tyler a gift?” She leaned forward, scanned the multipurpose room for the two of them. Sure enough, Rick was handing something to Tyler—something royal blue in color. Margaret clapped her hands together. “Oh, how wonderful. I know he needed a hat.” Stunned, she stared at the duo across the room, her heart beating wildly in her chest. “I had no idea.” “Looks like you found a man after your own heart, Caroline.” The lights on the tree began to flicker, further blurring her moistened eyes. “That means it’s time. Time to see what everyone has done for all of you.” Margaret stepped into the room only to turn back once again. “But you didn’t write down one of those impossible-to-fill requests again this year, did you?” She nibbled her lip, shaking her head as she did. “No, not really.” “Good. Then let’s go.” The woman tugged on her arm. “It’s time for a little fun.” One by one the shelter’s volunteers gathered around the tree, their loved ones looking on proudly from chairs that had been set in rows for the evening. One by one, names were called, wishes were read and—in most cases—granted. She smiled out at Rick as he bounced a still-happy Emma on his knee, his wink giving her the courage she needed to see her wish read aloud. Finally it was her turn. Margaret plucked Caroline’s slip of paper from the tree and looked at it, a familiar roll of her eyes bringing a laugh to the crowd. “Well, folks, she did it again. She left us with a wish the average person can’t fill.” Holding the paper in her direction, the woman laughed. “You read it this time, Miss Impossible.” “I can’t,” she whispered. “Yes, you can. Everyone’s waiting.” The woman gestured toward the crowd then shoved the paper into Caroline’s hand. “Read.” Feeling her face begin to warm, she looked down, cleared her throat. “Wait!” Jumping to his feet, Rick jogged to the front of the room, a giggling Emma in his arms. “It seems to me there’s something funny right here on this branch. Something that’s very oddly shaped.” He reached between a row of branches, his hand shaking ever so slightly. Startled, she tried to peer between the branches, but Rick’s hand blocked its final destination from her view. “I don’t see—” Rick’s hand emerged from the tree, a square white jeweler’s box in his clutch. She began to tremble as he dropped to his knee, his hand reaching for hers as excitement bubbled up around the room.

Chapter Nineteen With one hand wrapped around Emma and one hand holding Caroline’s, he was forced to balance the box on his knee as he looked into the emerald-green eyes that had plagued his every thought since the moment he first saw them.

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“I know it’s only been a few days but it feels right. Never in my wildest dreams could I have ever imagined finding someone like you—someone with a heart made of pure gold.” He squeezed her hand as her lip began to tremble. “A week ago I thought I knew what life was. And I lived that life in a manner that matched. But now I realize I was missing something. Something I had no idea existed until I met you.” A tear glistened in the corner of her eye, her gaze never leaving his face. “A week ago I thought love was how you felt about a new car or a really great stock trade. But now I know that couldn’t have been further from the truth.” Slowly, the tear forged a path down her left cheek, followed by a mirrored image on her right. “The reason I was so clueless is because I’d never experienced true love before. It was a foreign concept, something that happened to other people. But you changed that, you and—” he glanced down just long enough to smile at the little girl in his arms “—Emma, here, showed me what love is… What it means to love and what it means to be loved.” The lights of the tree began to blur as tears formed in his eyes, too. “Which is why I’m here. Right now. Staring up at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—a woman whose external beauty is surpassed only by what’s inside.” A choked sob emerged from Caroline’s throat only to be stifled just as quickly by her free hand. He continued on, his hand squeezing hers still tighter as his words began to falter with emotion. “I love you, Caroline Hogan. And—” he looked down once again, his smile matching the one he found looking up at him “—I love you, Emma.” “We love you, too,” Caroline whispered, the emotion in her voice giving him the courage to go on. “I want, more than anything in the world, to be your husband, Caroline. But that’s not all. I want to be Emma’s dad, too. If the two of you will have me, that is.” In an instant she was on the ground, her face mere inches from his own as Emma’s pudgy little hand tweaked Rick’s nose and then Caroline’s. Laughing, they looked into each other’s eyes, the promise of a future together leaving Rick hanging on baited breath, waiting for the answer he hoped she’d give. Finally, it came. “Yes, Rick. Yes, yes, a million times over—yes.” He pulled her to him, their lips meeting as the room erupted in applause. When the uproar stopped, a different sound made them glance down. “Essss.” He looked up at Caroline. “Did you hear that?” She nodded. “Sounds like you got a yes…from both of us.”

Chapter Twenty From the moment she’d first laid eyes on Emma, she’d been so sure she had everything she could ever need in life. She had a child to love and nurture, someone to give purpose to her days. But Rick being in her life showed her something else. It showed her that she, too, could be loved in a way she never thought possible.

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It didn’t matter whether they lived in New York or not. She was still Caroline Hogan no matter where home was. Working with others—trying to make the world a better place—was a part of her. It just didn’t need to consume her every waking hour. She nestled against his chest as the party began to wind down, the youngest partygoer of all fast asleep in her stroller. “I’m okay living in New York. Emma and I will be happy wherever you are.” “And if that’s here? In Collingsworth?” Her mouth gaped open. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I want to stay. I like it here.” “Do you really mean that?” she whispered. “I really do. I crunched some numbers and talked to some people. There’s really no reason I can’t run my company from Collingsworth.” She swiped a hand across her face, catching a tear before it got his shirt any wetter than it already was. “But the house…” “That will need to be upgraded. We’re simply going to need a few more bedrooms.” “A few more bedrooms?” she echoed. “One for Emma, one for guests and one for that moment when we know it’s time to give Emma a sibling.” A sibling. It was an idea she hadn’t even considered, an idea that suddenly gripped her heart, begging to be turned into reality…soon. “Oh, Rick. I didn’t know it was possible to be this happy.” “Neither did I.” She watched as he peeked into the stroller, planting a kiss on his fingertips and gently passing it to Emma’s forehead. “Shall we go?” “Yes. Please.” They’d gone no more than five feet when he took hold of her arm, stopping her midstep. “Wait a minute. You never got to read your wish.” She felt her face warm beneath his gaze. “You really want to know?” “You bet I do.” Exhaling a strand of hair from her forehead, she smiled up at him. “I wished for you.” “Me? Me? But how? You didn’t know me when you filled out your slip.” “Yes, I did,” she whispered. “I didn’t fill it out until the day you left.” He leaned forward, kissing her gently. “C’mon, let’s go home. My driver’s waiting outside.”

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“Your driver?” He nodded. “The driver?” she asked. Again, he nodded. “I thought you were going to fire him.” “I was. But I decided to bring him on full-time and give him a raise instead. After all, if he hadn’t forgotten to come get me, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

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Doubly Dangerous by Rebecca York Test Subject: Zack O’Hara Ability: Currently unknown Weakness: Undercover in the Facility to investigate and bring down Dr. Kenneth Sykes and his operation, O’Hara hasn’t seen outside of his own cell or an examination room in weeks! Can he gather information and break out of the secret laboratory with the help of mysterious lab tech Kendra Sinclair?

Chapter One Zack O’Hara pushed himself up, blinking in the bright light of the overhead bulbs and fighting the spinning sensation in his head. Damn. They’d done it again. Slipped something into his food to put him out. Fists clenched, he fought to stand. Instead, he fell back on the narrow bunk, breathing hard. He’d been in the Facility for six weeks, mostly confined to this tiny cell, and the irony was that he’d arranged to get captured and shipped here. Well, it hadn’t exactly been his choice. He was the only FBI special agent they’d tested who was suitable for the job. Lucky him. Footsteps outside his cell made his heart start to pound. Instinctively, he tried to coil his body, ready to spring. But he couldn’t control his muscles well enough to make anything happen. He couldn’t even shout out a curse as the door opened and a big man strode confidently into the cell. It was the guy named Green. “Ready for another shot?” he asked in a cheery voice. No, Zack screamed inside his mind. Those shots are torture. But no words came out. Green turned to the door, and one of the security men came in, pushing a gurney. They loaded him on, strapped him down and wheeled him into the hall toward the labs. As the cart trundled along, nightmare images flashed in Zack’s mind. He’d been posing as a computer programmer living in Baltimore when Green and another guy called Blue had ambushed him in the parking lot of Marley Station Mall. He’d been on edge for days, waiting for them to pounce. The setup had been perfect. His employee screening at Data Delivery had included medical tests—which had been made available to Dr. Kenneth Sykes, the madman running a secret laboratory dedicated to giving test subjects with the I gene paranormal abilities. That part had worked out great. But since Zack had been captured, he hadn’t learned a damn thing. He didn’t even know where this lab called the Facility was located. How big it was. How many people worked here. So much for gathering useful information. He’d spent most of his time in his cell. And when he was out of it, he was drugged. He fought to hang on to consciousness, but somewhere along the route, he passed out. When he woke up, he shivered with cold. They’d stripped him down to his shorts and attached probes and leads all over his

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body. In the background he could hear machines beeping, recording his vital signs and Lord knew what else. Some of the fog was seeping out of his brain, and he struggled to take in his surroundings. He might not have a picture of the whole complex, but he could report on this lab. If he ever escaped. People in white coats moved around him, busy with various jobs. He heard the low murmur of voices. Then one of the technicians turned. A woman, with auburn hair and a spray of freckles across her cheekbones. Her eyes were green. She was giving him a thorough inspection, making him feel naked and exposed and grateful that they’d left on his shorts. Had she been the one to undress him? He hoped not. She looked over her shoulder, and he followed her gaze. They were alone in the lab. Leaning down, she whispered, “Don’t be afraid.” When she pressed her fingers to his shoulder with casual familiarity, his stomach lurched. He wanted to tell her to take her damn hand off of him, but he knew it was better to act like he was still drugged. Her fingers caressed him, sensual and soothing at the same time. He ordered himself not to react, yet the human contact was tempting him in a way he was afraid to articulate. When the table began to shake, they both gasped.

Chapter Two As the table rocked wildly from side to side, she snatched her hand back and the horizontal surface steadied. “What happened?” she whispered. “You expect me to have an answer to that?” Zack growled, clearly forgetting he’d been playing space cadet. She straightened and they stared at each other across three feet of charged space. Maybe he was angry at himself for responding to her, but the anger was directed outward. “You bitch. What’s a woman doing in this house of horrors? You love torturing people? Having them under your control? Is that how you get your kicks?” She cringed as the harsh words slammed into her. “No,” she managed to say, even when she knew that that was the role she’d been forced to play. He’d already cursed her. What would he say if he knew she was the one who’d arranged to have his medical records uploaded to Dr. Sykes’s computer? “Trust me,” she whispered. He looked like he wanted to laugh in her face. “Trust you? Why should I?” She bit her lip. “I can help you.” “Oh, yeah? Then give me some information.” “Keep your voice down before someone comes running in here,” she cautioned.

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As she looked down into his defiant dark eyes, her heart pounded. She’d caught glimpses of him before. And she’d tried to make contact with him, but this was the first time they’d been close enough to speak, and he probably hated that he was lying almost naked on a lab table while she was wearing a white lab coat. He was a damn good-looking man. And in superb physical shape. He must have been working out in his cell when he wasn’t drugged. His gaze continued to bore into her. Desperate explanations bubbled inside her mind. He might have been here six weeks, but she’d been in this outpost of hell for two years, and she’d volunteered for the job—just like he had. She could move around the Facility, doing her assigned duties, but they didn’t trust her enough to let her leave. The best she’d been able to do was get out some cryptic e-mail messages. The challenging look in Zack’s eyes tore at her. It was tempting to speak. And tempting to make physical contact again. But something had happened when she’d touched him. Something she didn’t understand. “How many injections have you had?” she whispered. “Don’t you have my damn records?” “No. Help me. How many?” “Five,” he ground out. “All of them painful. But then you know that, don’t you?” She nodded, her mind churning. There were other captives at the Facility. At least five, as far as she knew. Four were adults. One was a four-year-old boy. Feeling guilty about manipulating the schedule, she’d gotten into the computer system and tried to make sure that Zack O’Hara was at the bottom of the list for injections. She’d justified her actions because Zack was the one who had to get out and report back to the FBI, but apparently her manipulations hadn’t done her—or him—a damn bit of good. Someone else had come along after her and changed the schedule. Which meant that someone might be watching her. She shuddered. “I told you what you wanted to know. Now give me some information,” Zack demanded. “Like, what’s your name?” “Kendra.” “Kendra what?” “Sinclair.” Before he could ask another question, the door slammed open and Green strode into the lab, a hypodermic needle in his hand.

Chapter Three Green’s sharp tone could have cut through steel plates. “What’s going on? Where are the lab technicians? You’re not supposed to be alone with the subject.” From where he lay strapped to the gurney, Zack watched an expression of terror flit across Kendra’s face. She was scared of this guy. Zack tensed as Green strode forward.

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He saw Kendra swallow, then deliberately turn to face the intruder. “I don’t know where everybody else is,” she said in a voice that he knew she was struggling to hold steady. Green kept his gaze on her for several more seconds before focusing on Zack. “Help me give him his injection.” She hesitated. “What’s wrong?” “I’m supposed to be in Lab Two.” “Then why are you here?” She lifted one shoulder. “I was curious to see the new recruit.” Green laughed. “Recruit. Yeah, that’s a good one.” Zack ground his teeth. So that’s what he was to her? Or was she putting on a show for Green? “I need some help. He gets this one in the spine.” Zack glared at him. “What are you doing to me? What’s this all about?” In fact, he knew perfectly well what was going on in this torture chamber. A Doctor Kenneth Sykes was conducting experiments designed to give people enhanced abilities, and he’d discovered that the manipulation worked best in individuals who carried a certain recessive gene, which he called I, for Ideal. A secret combination of drugs activated the recessive gene, and the individual developed heightened abilities. Sykes had started out working for the U.S. government, but after they’d objected to his methods and shut him down, the bastard had gone underground. The FBI knew about his continued activities because a subject named Jack Maddox had escaped from this secret lab. The Bureau had arranged for Zack to be kidnapped, so he could uncover the operation. So far, all he’d gotten was a series of painful shots. And maybe something else. Like, what the hell had happened when the gurney had started to shake? Was he getting some sort of power? He cursed under his breath. Turning into a freak was all he needed. Kendra had stepped away. When she came back to the table, she was wearing a pair of rubber gloves. Green glanced at them. “You think you’re going to catch cooties from him?” he scoffed. “Just taking precautions,” she answered in a crisp voice. Zack saw her hand tremble as she reached out and loosened the straps on the gurney. They were specially designed to allow him to be shifted without giving him freedom of movement. “Turn him!” She clenched her teeth as she grabbed Zack’s hip and his shoulder. He felt a tingling sensation where her fingers dug into him, but it was muted by the rubber gloves. As she turned him over, tubes and electrical leads flopped against the side of the table. Kendra’s eyes met his, but neither of them spoke.

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Green walked behind him, the needle in his hand. Kendra watched Zack’s whole body clench. She guessed he was willing himself not to flinch as the needle plunged into his spine. She knew what would happen to him now. They’d already given him drugged food. On top of the shot, that was a dangerous combination. In a matter of seconds, he’d feel woozy. She saw him struggling to hold on to consciousness, then lose the battle. Her attention whipped back to Green as he spoke to her. “The director wants to speak to you. I’ll unhook the subject and take him back to his room. You’re to report to Sykes’s office immediately.” Kendra struggled not to react to the implied threat. Green had special status at the Facility. What did he know that he wasn’t sharing with her?

Chapter Four Kendra raised her chin as she faced the man named Green. “Why didn’t you tell me to report to the director if he wants to see me?” “Because, as you pointed out earlier, there’s nobody else here. I can’t turn O’Hara by myself and give him the injection at the same time,” Green answered. Kendra nodded. That made sense, but she was sure Sykes’s pet technician could have called in somebody else. She gave Zack a long look. His eyes were unfocused, and her heart squeezed as she watched him struggle to make his mind function. He was a brave man who had volunteered for this trip to hell. She’d vowed to keep him from getting too many injections so that he could carry out his mission. Well, that hadn’t worked out. He’d gotten enough so that he was developing some kind of powers. Telekinesis, by the feel of it. He’d made the gurney shake, even if he didn’t understand what had happened. But the incident had been odd. Nothing had happened until her hands were on him. What did that mean? Had she been some kind of trigger? She’d been worried about that, which was why she’d put on the gloves. “What are you waiting for?” Green asked. “Nothing.” Quickly she removed her gloves and exited the room, feeling the technician’s gaze boring into her back. But he wasn’t the worst of her problems. If she could help Zack escape, she could get out of here along with him. Now she couldn’t help wondering if they were simply going to end up dead. Struggling to put that thought out of her mind, she headed for the executive offices. Green had given an excuse for not sending her down here right away. But he could’ve been lying. It was clear he didn’t like her. Maybe he’d deliberately held her up so Sykes would be suspicions. “Don’t get wound up with paranoid thoughts,” she murmured under her breath. Talking to herself was a bad habit she’d developed since she’d been here. Because there was no one else to talk to. Or, more accurately, no one she trusted with more than casual conversation.

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What did Sykes want? Did he know she’d been sending out coded messages? Did he know she’d arranged to get Zack in here? She shuddered. She’d thought she could protect Zack once he arrived. Apparently she’d been too desperate to evaluate the situation accurately. “You’re late,” the security guard at the desk outside Sykes’s office said. “Tell the director Green held me up,” she answered, then regretted giving in to playing the blame game. *** Back in the cell block, Green dumped Zack on his cot, none too gently, then backed quickly to the door where he stood studying his captive with a mixture of satisfaction and wariness on his broad face. “How do you feel?” the big man asked. Zack struggled for coherence. “Like crap.” Green laughed. “That’s to be expected, but do you notice anything different about yourself? “Like what?” “You tell me,” Green said in a hard voice. “What if I don’t feel any different?” Green kept his gaze steady. “Those shots you’re getting are designed to change your brain chemistry. If they don’t work on you, we don’t need you anymore. Comprende?”

Chapter Five Zack felt a shudder go through his body. Green’s threat sounded pretty direct. If they gave you the shots and the treatment didn’t have the desired effect, you were dog meat. “See if you can do something different,” the man said, then exited, leaving Zack lying on his bunk. When the door slammed closed, Zack sighed out a breath, glad to be alone. Or as alone as he could be in this place where there was a camera on the wall and the lights were always blazing down on him. He lay back on his thin pillow and closed his eyes. His head was clearing, and he wanted to think about the woman from the lab. He got the feeling that she wasn’t supposed to be there when he was getting his shot. It appeared she’d sneaked in—to contact him. But she hadn’t said anything important. “Who are you, Kendra Sinclair? Are you on my side?” he whispered. “Or are you a spy sent to see what you can get out of me?” Yeah, like what if she was wearing a wire and she got him to admit that the FBI had sent him? He was pretty sure that would be a one-way ticket to the dissecting table. Zack clenched his fists. Too bad he’d been attracted to cute little Kendra. But if they were going to trick you into spilling your guts, a pretty woman was an obvious choice for an undercover agent. Yeah, strip you to your Skivvies, strap you down on a table and send in a sexy woman to make nice. He sighed, thinking he’d be working his regular assignments at FBI Headquarters in Washington, D.C., if he didn’t have the I gene. He’d seen the relief on the faces of the other guys they’d tested. Like Perry Owens.

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He’d sure been glad that he wasn’t being sent here on this undercover assignment. And he’d be delighted when Zack got back and admitted that he hadn’t discovered a damn thing. If he got back. He took a mental inventory, trying to decide if there was anything different about him. “The table,” he muttered to himself, thinking about the strange way the gurney had rocked when Kendra had touched him. What did that mean exactly? Green hadn’t said it specifically, but Zack knew the injections were supposed to give him some kind of enhanced ability. Before he’d left on this assignment, they’d explained what those powers might be. You might be able to see the future. Or read people’s minds. Or send your consciousness to a distant place. Or walk through walls. All of that stuff had made him feel creepy. So had another power—the ability to manipulate things with your mind. Like when the table had moved for no reason that he could figure out. But he hadn’t been trying to shake the gurney. It had just happened. Opening his eyes, he looked around the room and saw a plastic water glass sitting on the edge of the sink. What if he could move that? He focused on the glass, trying to lift it. But he didn’t even know what he was supposed to be doing. He stared at the glass, picturing it rising off the sink. Again, nothing happened. Then he tried to make it rock the way the table had rocked. Still nothing. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought to make something happen. He felt his body shaking with effort, but his mind had no effect on the inanimate object. He cursed under his breath. Green had threatened to kill him if he couldn’t demonstrate any mental power. So far he was coming up with a big fat zero.

Chapter Six As Kendra stepped into the office of Dr. Kenneth Sykes, the man looked up. Slightly built with white wiry hair hanging around his ears, he looked like an absentminded professor or someone’s grandfather. But the unassuming exterior hid a mind that was sharp as a tack, with a single-minded dedication to his horrible experiments. Keeping her voice pleasant, she asked, “You wanted to see me?” A smile flickered on his thin lips. “I have a special assignment for you.” When she heard why he’d called her here, she relaxed a little. “Of course.” “I’d like you to go over the records of all our subjects and do a statistical analysis of the results.” She swallowed hard. “That’s a big job.” “Yes, but you’re the perfect person to do it. I’ve cleared some work space for you in the computer room.” Her stomach churned as he went over more details in his meticulous way. Was he deliberately making sure she couldn’t get in contact with Zack because she’d have no reason to be in the lab area? Or was he simply taking advantage of her statistical training? One thing she knew—fanatical assistants Green and Blue couldn’t handle that kind of assignment. When he dismissed her, she wished she could think of an excuse to go to the cell block to see how Zack was doing. But she had no business there. Instead, she headed straight for the computer room. At least Sykes had done her one favor. She wouldn’t have to sneak in there to send out her coded messages to the FBI. And maybe the bureau could finally make a raid on the Facility.

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She worked for most of the afternoon and evening, making very little progress on her assignment because the statistics made her blood boil. Sykes didn’t care how much he damaged innocent people. He only cared about his success rate. Finally she gave up and headed for the cafeteria—where she caught a lucky break. While she was eating, the Facility had one of its power failures. When that happened, the lights in the whole complex were usually out for twenty minutes. Could she take advantage of the confusion to slip into Zack’s cell and tell him she was going to help him escape? It was dangerous, but she had to risk it. As a dozen security men ran down the halls with flashlights and guns, she joined them, grabbing one of the lights from the emergency boxes scattered around the Facility. She knew the way to the cell block. She knew from the computer records where Zack’s cell was located. She knew that the cell doors weren’t on the main power source, so they would still be locked despite the outage. And, she’d taken a chance and confiscated one of the remote control devices that opened the locks. No one was in the hallway as she hurried to Zack’s door. Quickly she used the remote control to unlock the cell, then slipped inside, taking the remote with her and clicking the lock again. When she shined her light on the bunk, she went stock-still. Zack was gone. Oh Lord, did Green have him again? In the next moment, a hand grabbed her and threw her to the bunk, wedging the light under her stomach as a hard body came down on top of her. “Got ya!” It was Zack. When the hand closed around her throat, she gasped and tried to fight him off, but her strength was no match for his. As she struggled to free herself, she managed to whisper, “Zack, no. Please.” “Kendra?” he asked, his voice betraying his shock. “Yes.” “What the hell are you doing here?” he growled as he shifted his weight off her. She twisted around to face him. “I’m here to help you.” “Okay. Good. Unlock the door and show me the way out of this damn place.” “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Chapter Seven Zack’s anger had surged. When he’d heard the lock click in the dark, he’d bolted out of bed and flattened himself against the cinder-block wall beside the door. All he’d seen was a flashlight beam as someone entered the room, and he’d sprung, taking the intruder down to the surface of the bunk. He’d been about to choke the bastard when he’d realized it was Kendra Sinclair. The flashlight was still trapped under her. In the dark, her arms tightened around him. “Zack, I’m sorry.” “What are you doing here?” he asked again. “Are you working some kind of tease?” “No. I have to talk to you.”

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“Just talk?” His body was pressed to hers, and he couldn’t stop himself from reacting. Or maybe he was trying to prove something to himself. To both of them. In the darkness, he cupped his hand around the back of her head, bringing her mouth to his. She made a muffled sound as his lips touched down on hers. Perhaps he’d meant to show her who was in charge, but in the moment of contact, everything changed. His mouth moved urgently over hers as his hands began to stroke up and down her back and tangle in her hair. She felt wonderful, tasted wonderful, and as she responded to him in kind, he pulled her closer. He needed this woman on a level he hadn’t been able to admit. As they swayed together on the narrow bunk, it seemed that she felt the same way. But somewhere along the way, sanity surfaced, and he rolled to his side. “This is crazy,” he muttered, struggling to catch his breath. And struggling to remind himself why he was in this damn place. He was supposed to be doing a job. With a small sigh, she closed her hand over his shoulder. “Not crazy. We’re both trapped in a nightmare, and we’re reaching out to each other.” “I’m trapped. You can leave anytime you want.” In the darkness, she tightened her grip on his shoulder. “Don’t think that for a minute. I can walk around the Facility. I can do my job here. But I’m not allowed to leave. I’ve been in this place for two years.” He dragged in a startled breath. “Is that the truth?” “Yes.” “How did you get into my cell?” “There are two ways to open the cell doors. With a keypad or a remote control. I used the remote to get in.” “Isn’t that kind of risky? Why don’t you tell me what game you’re really playing.” “I’ve been taking crazy risks since I got here. I’m going to help you escape. But we can’t do it yet.” “Why not? The lights are off. It’s perfect.” “They’ll come back on soon. But I want to make sure you’re ready. And that you’ll trust me enough to come with me.” “Why should I trust you?” “I’m on your side. I’m here for the same reason you are. To shut this place down.” “Why?” “It’s personal.” Before he could press her for more information, he heard footsteps in the hallway outside his cell.

Chapter Eight

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Someone was outside the cell door. What if they found Kendra in his bunk? Was that a death sentence for both of them? Or was this a setup to find out how he’d react if someone pretended to rescue him? Even after the heated kiss, he couldn’t be certain of her motives. Especially after the kiss—yet he wasn’t going to risk the consequences of her being discovered here. Acting on instinct, Zack pulled the blanket from the end of the bed, threw it over both of them and rolled on top of Kendra, hiding her body from view. When the door opened, he lay on his stomach, feigning sleep, but his heart was pounding as he slitted his eyes and saw a flashlight beam skim around the room, then focus on the bed. As he lay there, he prayed that it looked like he was the only one under the covers. Centuries passed before the beam withdrew and the door closed. For long seconds, neither he nor Kendra moved, and he took in the sensation of his body pressed to hers. He was shielding her from view, but it had suddenly become difficult to remember why he was lying on top of her. When he felt his breath quicken—and hers—he figured he’d better put some space between them. He rolled to his side. Now they were no longer front-to-front, but the bed was narrow and they were forced to stay pressed together. As they lay there, he felt something he couldn’t really describe. A tingling through his body. Kind of like energy gathering below the surface of his conscious thought. Did she feel it, too? He wasn’t going to ask her, because he didn’t exactly welcome the sensation. Actually, it reminded him of the way he’d felt when the gurney had started shaking. How long did they have before the lights came on again? Bringing his mouth close to her ear, he whispered, “Are you all right?” “Yes,” she answered in a barely audible voice. “I guess that was one of your buddies, Green or Blue, checking to make sure I didn’t turn into a bat in the dark and fly out the air duct.” He felt her body stiffen. “They’re not my buddies.” “You work with them on this nasty little project.” “They’re Sykes’s pets. I assume they’ve had the treatments.” “What talents do they have?” “I don’t know.” “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I’m a spy. Like you.” “Prove it.” “How can I?” “Tell me something I don’t know about the Facility? Like, where are we?” “I don’t know.” “That’s hard to believe.”

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“It’s the truth. I had to agree to let them put me under before they brought me here.” She dragged in air and let it out before speaking again. “I’m a spy, and I’ve taken too many chances lately. I think Sykes is starting to suspect me.” “Why?” “He just switched me to statistical analysis—instead of any clinical work.” In the darkness, he reached for her hand and knit his fingers with hers. He still couldn’t be absolutely sure he could trust her, yet he sensed her fear. More than that, he felt like he’d bonded with her in some way that he couldn’t explain. Finally he asked the question that he’d been avoiding. “What made the lab table rock?” “I think the injections are working, and your powers are starting to develop.” “Oh, great. I haven’t discovered a damn thing about this place, but I get to be a freak.” “Don’t!” “What would you call it?” “You’re developing telekinesis.” “I couldn’t do it when I got back here in my room. I tried to move the water glass, and nothing happened.” “It comes in fits and starts at the beginning.” Before he could ask another question, the lights blinked on and she drew in a shaky breath.

Chapter Nine As the lights flickered, both Kendra and Zack tensed. Oh Lord, now what was going to happen? Zack bent over her, and she thought he was trying to shield her from the camera that was trained on this room at all times. In the next second, the lights snapped off again, and they both let out the breath they’d been holding. “I have to get out of here,” she whispered. “Yeah, but what if Green or Blue is in the hall?” “Then I’m in big trouble.” She eased off the bed and crossed to the door. Zack was right behind her. “Leave me the remote control.” She turned to face him. “I can’t.” “Why not?”

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“It will be missed. Maybe it’s already been missed.” When he grabbed for her hand and snatched at the device, she tried to fight him. But he was too strong, and he easily took possession of the remote. “Zack, think about what you’re doing,” she pleaded, struggling to speak around the lump blocking her windpipe. “What if you get out of this room? You’ll never get out of the Facility.” “A joint like this has got to have an armory, right? I’ll get weapons from there. I can shoot my way out.” She knew he was speaking from desperation, but she kept her voice gentle as she said, “You don’t even know where to find the armory, or the exit.” “Do you?” “Yes.” She turned toward him and put her arms around him, pulling him close, feeling the tensile strength of his body. He was poised to run, and she couldn’t let him do that because she knew the way this place worked. They’d shoot him before he got near the exit. He’d kissed her a while ago, and it flickered through her mind that she could use that connection again. But she didn’t try to find his mouth with hers. He’d think she was using sex to get what she wanted. And in a way it would be true. So she only clung to him, as much to comfort herself as anything else. Again she felt a buzzing sensation between them. Was that his power trying to break out? “Give me the remote,” she whispered. “I promise I’ll be back soon to get you out of here.” When she felt his hesitation, she murmured, “Trust me.” “I want to. What’s your plan?” “I can’t tell you.” “Why not?” “The less you know, the better.” He made a low sound of frustration. “Time’s running out. If the lights come on while I’m still in here, I’m a dead woman.” He considered that for a moment, then put the remote into her hand. “Thank you. Be ready to leave.” “It’s not like I have to pack.” She wedged her mouth against his shoulder to muffle a laugh that threatened to turn hysterical. Ordering herself to get a grip, she pressed the button that released the door latch. Seconds later, she was standing in the hall, trying to control the pounding of her heart. Just walk normally. Don’t run. Don’t give them any reason to suspect you, she warned herself as she headed for the entrance to the cell block. If she could just get to the main hallway, she’d be home free.

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Before she reached it, the lights snapped on again. This time they stayed on, catching her in a part of the Facility where she wasn’t supposed to be. As the lights flicked on, Kendra felt her breath catch, but she forced herself to keep walking. Slipping the remote into her pocket, she prayed its bulk wouldn’t give her away. Just as she made it to the main hallway, Blue stepped around the corner.

Chapter Ten Kendra wanted to dodge around Blue, but he was a big man, a lot like Green in looks and temperament. She was sure they were brothers, but she hadn’t asked because she’d kept her distance from both of them. Maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe she should have been friendlier. Blue was holding a gun. Raising his arm, he pointed the weapon at her chest. “What are you doing here?” “I’m on my way to my room.” “It’s nowhere near here.” She looked around at the institutional green hallway with its cheap tile floor. “I see that now. But these hallways all look the same. I guess I got turned around in the dark.” As though the subject were closed, she walked past him, then felt his gaze drilling into her back. She was sure he suspected something. What if he stopped her and searched her? He’d find the remote, and then she’d be done for. When she turned the next corner, she let out the breath she’d been holding. She wanted to rush back to her room where she’d be alone. But she didn’t have any illusions that she had any real privacy. She knew that it wasn’t only the cells that were monitored at the Facility. There were cameras in most other rooms. But they might not be manned at all times. *** Zack clenched his teeth. He’d let Kendra out of his cell. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Pushing himself up, he stood for a moment looking around the confined space. Then he dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups. Exercise helped him work off his frustration. It also kept him in shape. Otherwise, he’d be at a big disadvantage when he finally got out of this hellhole. If he ever got out. No, cancel that thought. Kendra had promised to spring him. If she was telling the truth. Now that he was alone, he’d started to doubt her. Too bad he hadn’t acquired the ability to read minds. Or walk through walls. He’d hated the idea of those talents, but he couldn’t help wishing he had them. Or something else that would help get him out of here. *** Once Kendra was in her room, she leaned back against the door, struggling to control her breathing. She’d been making plans to break Zack out of here. Now she was wondering if she’d been fooling herself. Had she cooked up a scheme that was too dangerous? That would be a trap for both of them? She firmed her lips and ordered herself not to start looking for objections. Still, she couldn’t shake the conviction that time was running out—for her and Zack. And she had one more thing to do before she went into escape mode. She’d been collecting information and storing it on a memory stick, which she’d hidden in the computer room. She had to get it back before she left. But at least she’d been assigned to the computer room. Which meant she had a legitimate reason for being there.

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Without taking off her clothes, she lay down on her narrow bed. Almost as narrow as the bunk in Zack’s cell, she couldn’t stop herself from thinking. Once she thought about his bed, she thought about how it had felt lying there with him. About his arms around her. His hands stroking up and down her back. His mouth moving over hers. He’d turned her on. And the memory was doing it again. With a grimace, she ordered herself to think of something else. Like the job she had to do now. After midnight, she got up and headed for the computer room. The memory stick was where she’d left it, taped to the underside of one of the desks. She’d just slipped it into her pocket when a voice from the doorway made her freeze. “Make any sudden moves and I’ll shoot.”

Chapter Eleven The man with the gun was Blue. “Hands in the air.” Kendra struggled to give him an innocent look when her heart was pounding so hard that she thought it might jump through the wall of her chest. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You tell me,” he answered in a harsh voice. “What are you doing here?” “I’m on assignment for Dr. Sykes.” “In the middle of the night?” “I couldn’t sleep.” “Well, neither could I. And neither could the boss. Let’s go have a chat with him.” He motioned with the gun. “Come on.” She wanted to protest, but she knew it wasn’t going to do her any good. “Step ahead of me. Walk to the director’s office.” She did as she was asked, her heart pounding even harder as she turned right toward the executive offices. “Go in.” When she opened the door and stepped inside, Dr. Kenneth Sykes was sitting behind his desk. Last time she’d been here, he’d seemed relaxed. This time she saw the tension in his shoulders. He gave her a long look that was full of anger—and satisfaction. “You’ve just given me the evidence I need to hang you,” he said. “Well, not literally, of course.” “What are you talking about?” she managed to ask. “We’re going to search you and put an end to this nonsense,” Sykes answered. *** After working off some of his frustration, Zack was back on his bunk, trying to relax, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Kendra. He’d given her back the remote and let her go. She’d promised to come back, but she hadn’t said when that would be.

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That had only been a few hours ago. He should stop expecting her to rush back here tonight, but he couldn’t help wondering if she was in trouble. Could he help her? He focused on the door of his cell, willing it to open. But nothing happened. Just like when he’d tried to move the water glass. “Damn,” he muttered, pouring more energy into the effort. But his only reward was a headache. She’d said the talent came in fits and starts after several of the injections. At the moment he felt like they hadn’t changed him one iota. *** Sykes pulled a gun from his desk drawer and pointed it at Kendra, while Blue put his weapon down. She wanted to grab it, but she knew that would just get her shot. “Hands against the wall. Spread your legs,” Blue ordered. Her only choice was to obey. Blue’s hands moved over her roughly and intimately. But he wasn’t just searching for the fun of it. When his fingers encountered the thumb drive in her pocket, he pulled it out and held it up. “Here it is,” he told Sykes. “What’s on there?” the director asked. “Just the statistical analysis you asked for,” she lied. At least she’d left the remote hidden in her room; hopefully they couldn’t connect her to Zack. “I don’t think so. But the contents are easy to check. As easy as collecting evidence of your suspicious activity.” Sykes gestured toward a computer monitor on the console across from his desk. When he turned it on, there were several moments of black-and-white dots. Then the picture snapped into focus and Kendra saw herself hurrying down a long hallway. Next she saw herself in the computer room, making sure she was alone before she began downloading data from one of the workstations. She sucked in a sharp breath. “That doesn’t look like innocent activity to me,” the director said. “Let’s see what else we’ve got.”

Chapter Twelve Kendra’s stomach clenched as she watched Dr. Sykes put the memory stick into the USB port on his computer. After scrolling through the data, he looked up at her. “You’ve copied proprietary information and described this facility.” She shrugged. “Who sent you here to spy on us?” “Nobody.” “You’re lying.”

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“Let me work on her,” Blue said in an eager voice. “I can get her to talk.” Sykes waved him to silence. “Torture is a messy process. We don’t need to get into anything heavy.” He turned back to Kendra. “I know the FBI sent you.” It wasn’t true. She’d volunteered to work with them. But she wasn’t going to tell the director she’d come here on her own. “And Zack O’Hara is an FBI agent.” When Kendra couldn’t hold back a gasp, Sykes gave her a nasty smile. “Capturing him was a little too easy, so we started digging into his background and discovered his computer-programming job was a setup—for our benefit. When we got confirmation, we cut back on his injection schedule.” He looked at Blue. “He hasn’t exhibited any special powers, has he?” “No. I’ve been watching him pretty carefully.” “If you cut back on his schedule, why did Green give him a shot yesterday?” Kendra asked. “He had an injection yesterday?” Sykes asked in a deadly calm voice. Blue gave her a furious look. “That wasn’t authorized,” the director ground out. “It was…in the notes,” Blue said. While the two men were focused on each other, Kendra reached for the memory stick, pulled it out of the computer and shoved it into her pocket. “Old notes. But no harm done,” Sykes answered. “Still, the quicker we get rid of him, the better.” Sykes turned back to Kendra. “You’ve been trying to get together with him, so now’s your chance. Take her to his cell.” Blue gestured with the gun. “Get going.” Kendra gulped as she followed him down the hall. She’d made a royal mess out of this. Maybe on his own, Zack could have done something. But she’d called attention to him. And called attention to herself. Now it was all over for the two of them. Blue marched her down the hall to the cell block. Using his remote, he clicked the lock, opening the door to Zack’s cell. Though she knew it would have been found during the search, Kendra momentarily wished the remote she had “borrowed” was still in her pocket and not back in her room. Blue shoved her inside the cell. She went skittering across the floor and landed at the edge of the bed. Zack jumped up from the bunk, his gaze cutting from her to Blue and back again. “You two spies have been trying to hook up. Well, here you are. Take a few minutes to say goodbye to each other.” When the technician had closed the door, Zack focused on Kendra. “What happened?”

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“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know how closely they’ve been keeping tabs on me. They found the memory stick where I copied some of Sykes’s data.” When he started to speak, she went on hurriedly. “And it’s worse than that. They checked into your background. They know you’re an FBI agent.” He swore. She wanted to reach out and take him in her arms, to give them both a little comfort, but she didn’t think she had the right to do that. Not when she’d messed up so badly. So she pushed herself up and stood facing him, her hands clenched. A hissing sound made them both jump, and then a pungent smell filled the room. “Gas,” she gasped out. “Oh Lord, they’re filling the cell with gas.”

Chapter Thirteen Zack looked down at the vent in the wall between the bunk and the toilet-sink combination. A white vapor was pouring into the little room. With a curse, he turned toward the bed and snatched up the blanket. Going down on his knees, he stuffed the blanket against the vent, pressing his hands flat to hold the shield in place. It helped slow down the white vapor, but he could still see it seeping from around the edges of the blanket. And he could still smell it and feel it burning his lungs. As Zack tried to block the gas, Kendra ran to the door, yanking on the knob. When it wouldn’t turn, she kicked the barrier, but nothing happened. In desperation, she began to pound on the metal surface. “Let us out. How can you do this to us?” There was no response. “Try not to breathe!” Zack shouted. Kendra turned to him, a pleading look on her face, and he felt his chest tighten. The worst part of this was watching her pain and fear. “Use your power,” Kendra gasped out. “Get us out of here.” “I can’t,” he answered, feeling sick and useless as the gas wafted in through the blanket. “You have to! That’s our only hope.” Yeah, and it’s not much of an option. Because it was their only chance, Zack turned toward the door, desperately trying to get them out of this death chamber. Open! he shouted inside his mind. Damn you, open. The door stayed locked.

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Dredging up mental energy, he kept his gaze on the barrier. Open, he tried again. But nothing happened. Of course not. Kendra might think the shots had given him some sort of power, but he couldn’t do anything with it. The gas was filling the room, burning his lungs. Making his vision swim and his head ache. Lord, he’d made a mess of this assignment. Unable to do two things at once, he dropped his hand and the blanket fell to the floor. It hadn’t done much good, anyway. When Kendra coughed, he looked at her, but she managed to say, “Door.” It was a lost cause, but he tried to keep his focus on the barrier as he felt himself losing his grip. Kendra had fallen to the floor. He pushed himself up and staggered toward her, then dropped down beside her, taking her in his arms. They were both going to die, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “Sorry,” he whispered. He’d known this was a dangerous assignment, but he had expected to gather the information the FBI needed and get the hell out of here. It wasn’t turning out that way. Kendra grabbed on to him, holding tight, pressing her face against his chest. As she curved her body to his, he felt something happen. He couldn’t explain what it was. All he knew was that he felt energy surging through his mind—through his body. Like when they’d been lying together on the bunk. Only this time it was stronger. Maybe desperation gave it power. Kendra raised her head, staring at him in wonder, and from the expression on her face, he knew she felt it, too. The gas was fogging his mind, making his head swim, cutting off his breath. He felt Kendra’s head fall to his shoulder. “The door,” she gasped. He turned back to the barrier, pouring every drop of energy he possessed into getting them out of here. But he knew it was too late. He had only seconds of consciousness left.

Chapter Fourteen To Zack’s everlasting astonishment, the cell door blew off its hinges, flying into the hall where it crashed against the far wall. He staggered up, grabbing Kendra and dragging her out of the room, his arms still around her as they both fought spasms of coughing. Gritting his teeth, he picked up the door and wedged it back into place, cutting off the flow of gas. Then he dragged Kendra several yards away. The Facility had a good ventilation system, and the atmosphere was already clearing. Gratefully, he dragged in lungfuls of the untainted air. He was fighting nausea, but he willed himself to steadiness as he looked up and down the hall. It was empty. Probably because nobody on the staff wanted to take a chance on breathing any gas that seeped around the edges of the door. But he knew the video cameras were still running. As soon as they got the go-ahead, guards would be rushing down here to finish them off. Kendra slumped against him. He shook her. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to tell me how to get out of here.”

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For heartbeats, nothing happened. Then her eyes blinked open and she coughed. “Are you all right?” he asked urgently. “Nauseous. Dizzy.” “It will pass.” “What happened?” she whispered. “I thought I was going to black out. Instead, the door blew open.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I don’t think I have telekinetic power on my own. I think the two of us have to do it together.” He watched her process that. “But I’ve never had any shots. How could that be possible?” Scrambling for an explanation, he asked, “Do you have the I gene?” “Yes,” she answered. He wanted to know more. But this was no time for a heart-to-heart. They’d gotten out of the gas-filled cell, but they were still trapped in the Facility. “What kind of place is this?” he asked urgently. “I haven’t seen any windows. The air feels like it’s being recycled. Are we in a basement? What?” He saw her struggle to make her mind function. “I think it’s an old bomb shelter the army used to maintain— under a mountain. With only one exit.” “That’s just great.” “But I know where that is. They get regular deliveries of food and other supplies here. I’ve seen them coming in.” She had been slumping against him, but she straightened. “I hid some stuff we’ll need in the tank room.” “Tank room?” “The water tank. The shelter had its own supply.” “Can you get us there?” She nodded, staggered to her feet and started down the hall. He grabbed her hand and slowed her. “Watch out for guards.” Just as they reached a corner, an alarm bell began to ring. Then a loudspeaker sprang to life. “Attention all personnel,” Dr. Kenneth Sykes’s voice blared out. “One of our subjects has broken out of his cell. Zack O’Hara. A lab technician, Kendra Sinclair, is with him. Use extreme caution. Assume they are armed and dangerous.” “Oh, great,” Zack muttered as the alarm bell continued to clang, and Sykes repeated the information. They kept moving and came to a place where two hallways crossed.

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“Which way?” “To the right.” They were turning the corner when a security guard with a gun came charging down the hall. “Halt!” he shouted. Not likely.” Zack yanked Kendra out of range, where they both stood panting.

Chapter Fifteen From around the corner, Zack heard the crackle of static and knew that the security guard was getting out his walkie-talkie, preparing to report their location and bring reinforcements. “What are we going to do?” Kendra gasped. “Take him.” “How?” “Together.” When she gave him a wide-eyed look, he explained. “Just give me the power you lent me when we blew the door.” “I don’t even know what I did.” Neither did he; not on any conscious level. But he had to act quickly. Clasping Kendra’s hand, he shouted, “Don’t shoot!” Then he stepped around the corner. The guard’s surprise gave Zack the few seconds he needed. Calling up a surge of energy, he focused on the man, willing him off his feet. Just like the door that had blown off its hinges, the guard flew backward down the hall, where he lay sprawled. They rushed after him. Zack bent and scooped up the guy’s machine gun, feeling better with the weapon in his hand. But he knew that they weren’t out of the woods. The alarm was still ringing. Sykes was still broadcasting his message that Zack O’Hara and Kendra Sinclair were on the loose. And anyone could follow their progress through the halls. “The video camera,” he murmured. “We’ve got to shut off the system.” “How?” He laughed. “The same way we blew the door and knocked that guy off his pins. He looked up at the closest camera, focusing his mind as he had on the door. By now, he was getting a better idea of how to direct the process. “Burn,” he muttered. “Burn.”

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The camera began to smoke and went pop. Other cameras down the hall did the same thing. Grinning, he squeezed Kendra’s hand. “Take me to the tank room. They won’t know where we’ve gone.” Kendra led him to the right, down one hall and then another. They were moving away from the labs and sleeping rooms into the part of the lab where the mechanical systems were located. He saw a door marked Danger. Electrical Equipment. Another was labeled Mechanical. “Is the armory around here?” he asked. “No. It’s near the front door.” “Too bad.” Kendra stopped at a door marked Water Supply and pushed it open. They stepped into a room with a huge tank that must have held thousands of gallons of water. Obviously, the Facility had been designed to be selfcontained in the event of a nuclear attack. Inside, the sound of the alarm and Sykes’s blaring message were muffled. “The army gave this place to Sykes?” he asked. “I don’t know.” She locked the door, then led him around the tank to the back, where she’d stashed outdoor clothing and some other equipment. He eyed the heavy winter coats. “We’re somewhere cold?” Zack asked. “Yes. I don’t know where we are exactly, but I can check the outdoor temperature from the computer.” “Lord, you’ve planned for this,” Zack marveled. “I had to,” she said in a choked voice. He turned her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I came in here like a smart-ass thinking I could get the drop on Sykes, but I couldn’t do anything on my own.” He made a low sound. “Too bad we don’t have any information to give the FBI.” She grinned at him and reached into her pocket. “I’ve got the memory stick.” “How?” “I grabbed it while Sykes and Blue were arguing.” “Good going! You are fantastic.” He lowered his mouth to hers for a long, fervent kiss. She clung to him, her hands tightening around his waist, pulling him closer. They drank from each other, their hands moving urgently over backs and shoulders as they shared an intimacy that he couldn’t describe. It came from the danger all around them and from the talent that they were learning to use. He was lost in a sensual fog, until he heard a sharp rap on the door. “Come out of there, or we’ll blast the door down.”

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Chapter Sixteen The knock at the door made Kendra gasp. “How did they find us?” she whispered. His curse rang out inside the little room. “I guess the cameras weren’t off in all the hallways. We only got the ones near us.” Kendra looked around them in panic. “There’s no other way out of here,” she whispered. “What are we going to do?” A desperate plan was forming in his mind. He didn’t know if it would work, but it seemed to be their only chance. “I got you into this, Kendra,” he murmured, deep regret in his voice. “Because I told you the cameras were off. You thought this place was safe.” “Let’s stop assigning blame.” “Right.” He hugged her to him again, wishing he could shield her with his body. “Come out!” the voice called again. “Or we’ll blast our way in.” “Give us a minute,” Zack answered, knitting his fingers with Kendra’s and leading her toward the back of the room where they’d left the coats. “You don’t have a minute. Come out now,” the harsh voice spat out. “We want to say goodbye to each other,” he answered, making his tone sound desperate. As he spoke, he was inspecting the tank. To his relief, he saw a ladder leading up to the top. “Grab your coat and climb,” he said. “You think we can get out through the roof?” “Maybe.” Without questioning him further, she shrugged into the coat and began climbing the metal rungs. He put on the coat she’d stolen for him, wedged the gun into a lower rung and climbed, joining her at the top of the tank, where he crept forward so that he was looking over the front edge. “What are we going to do?” she asked as she huddled next to him on top of the huge tank. When he told her, her eyes widened. “Can we pull that off?” “I guess we’ll find out. But we’ve got to time it carefully. Put your hand on my leg so we’re in contact, and stay out of the line of fire.” From her position at the back of the tank, she closed her hand around his ankle, holding on tightly as they waited tensely. The next few moments were critical, but they couldn’t rush it. The guard on the other side of the door shouted at them again. “We’re coming in!”

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“Get it over with,” Zack whispered, every muscle in his body tense. The door blew inward, slamming into the huge tank in much the same way the cell door had blown off. Only this time, it was from an explosive charge. Dust and smoke filled the room. As it began to clear, he saw armed men in the hallway, their weapons at the ready. Matt’s body tensed, his gaze flicking between the door and the front of the tank. For long seconds nothing happened, then two of the guards stepped into the room, swinging their rifles from side to side, looking for him and Kendra. Zack focused on the front of the tank with the intensity he’d used on the cell door. But before he could have any effect on it, one of the guards looked up and spotted him. “Up there!” the guy shouted. As he fired his rifle, Zack was forced to slide rapidly back. He crouched over the crest of the rounded top where they couldn’t see him. That shielded him from the bullets, but his plan had depended on visual contact, as far as he knew. “We can’t do it,” Kendra whispered. “We have to. Just do what you did before.” He closed his eyes, picturing the front of the tank, focusing all his energy on it, praying he could use his powers from this vantage point. It felt like centuries were passing, and nothing was happening. When another burst of gunfire sprayed up toward them, he wedged his body on top of Kendra’s, still trying desperately to make his power work without a direct line of sight.

Chapter Seventeen Just when Zack was sure they were going to end up full of slugs, the whole front of the tank blew away, sending thousands of gallons of water gushing outward like a tidal wave. It plowed into the men who had entered the room, sweeping them into the hall like driftwood in a flood. As the water poured out, the tank shook and they clung together, waiting on the top until the contents had gushed out of the room. “Come on,” Zack whispered, guiding Kendra back toward the ladder. They climbed down, and Zack picked up the gun he’d wedged near the bottom. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he muttered. “Which way?” Kendra led him past drowned men and others sputtering for air, toward the exit. One more guard charged toward them as they approached the door. Zack and Kendra used his power to slam the man against the wall, where he slid down into a heap on the floor. It looked like they were home free, but just as they were almost to the front door of the Facility, a squad of armed guards came rushing down the main hall. Zack cursed. They were so close to freedom, but the men were between them and the door. Kendra’s eyes were wide. “We’ve got to go back.”

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When she turned, he followed as she wove down one hallway and then another. How well did she know this place? Was there another way to the exit? Could she get them to safety, or was she just leading them farther into the Facility? Behind them, he could hear the sound of heavy boots on the tile floor. Kendra ducked into a small room with rows of shelves holding food and other supplies. Zack looked around. “Is there a back way out?” “Unfortunately, no.” When Kendra ran to the back and scrunched down behind the shelves, Zack followed. When the door opened, they both tensed. “They could be hiding back there,” a voice said. Zack heard two sets of footsteps crossing the floor, the men moving cautiously. He couldn’t speak, but he squeezed Kendra’s hand to warn her that he was going to need her energy again. She nodded beside him. When the first man came into view, swinging his rifle from side to side, Zack gave the shelf in front of them a push with his mind. It began to sway, then fell forward, hitting the shelf in front of it, then the next and the next. The guards cried out as cans and boxes slammed into them, followed by the shelves themselves. When the mass of stuff had stopped falling, Zack peeked his head out. Nothing moved as they picked their way across the floor and into what must be the cafeteria. He hated crossing the wide-open area, but there was no choice. They couldn’t go back the way they’d come. “There’s a direct exit to the main door,” Kendra said as she led him through the kitchen. It was empty, but a huge pot of spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove. They hurried cautiously down a back passage, then came out where they’d been a few minutes before. The main exit. Only this time there was no one blocking their way. When they opened the door, a blast of cold air hit Zack, and he dragged in a startled breath. They were in a winter landscape with piles of snow plowed to the side of a small parking lot. Beyond the parking lot were thick stands of trees and outcroppings of rock rising toward a clear blue sky. He had only seconds to take in the scene before he heard another contingent of guards charging down the hall in back of them.

Chapter Eighteen A delivery van had pulled up near the door, and a man wearing a heavy coat, knit cap and leather gloves was unloading boxes of groceries. “What the hell?” the driver gasped as he spotted Zack and Kendra. Zack sprang toward the man, pushed him inside the building and slammed the door. Then he grabbed Kendra and used his power to block the entrance with several of the boxes. “Get in,” he called to Kendra as he climbed behind the wheel of the van.

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She jumped into the passenger seat and he turned the key, which was still in the ignition. By the time they were halfway across the parking lot, the guards had opened the door and were shooting at them as they headed for a gate. “Put your hand on me,” he told Kendra as he focused on the barrier. It swung open just as they reached it. She gave him an appreciative look. “I guess you’re on a roll.” “Yeah,” he answered as he slammed it shut behind them and kept going. Kendra twisted around. “They’re getting into trucks.” “Then we have to outrun them,” he answered, wondering if they had a chance. He and Kendra were in a delivery van. The men behind him had more powerful vehicles. But they had to get the gate open first, and he thought he had made it jam when it slammed shut. His only option was to keep driving, thankful that the delivery vehicle had good winter tires. As he poured on as much speed as he could, his mind scrambled for a plan. The woods were thick around here. Could he hide in a stand of trees? Maybe. But if he and Kendra got out of the vehicle, they’d leave tracks in the snow. He made several turns, pushing the delivery vehicle to the limit on the freshly plowed blacktop. When he came to a narrow secondary road, he turned, driving along a rutted track that ran through thick stands of pines. “Where are we going?” “I wish I knew.” He was thinking they might have lost their pursuers when he rounded a curve and caught a glimpse of a truck behind them through the trees. Apparently the guards had figured out which way they’d gone. Probably from the fresh tire tracks on the narrow road. The light was low here, and Zack wished he’d acquired some other paranormal power. Like the ability to turn the van invisible. But it was white, and it probably stood out like a lighted signpost in the gloom. All he could do was keep driving. When he saw a huge pile of tree trunks lying in the woods, he realized they must be driving on a logging road. Did that give them a chance? Screeching to a halt beyond the mound of logs, Zack grabbed Kendra’s hand again and focused on the timber. “What are you doing?” she gasped as she looked back and saw a truck full of guards bearing down on them. “Stopping them.” I hope, he added to himself. He began to rock one of the bottom logs, but nothing happened.

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Desperately, he focused on several of them, pushing and prodding with his mental powers. But he was getting tired from using his new ability so many times. Even with Kendra’s help, he couldn’t make anything happen.

Chapter Nineteen Just as the lead truck reached the logs, they began to roll, crashing down on the truck and rolling onto the road like giant pick-up sticks. As the van started up, he heard the sound of gunfire behind them. Some of the guards must have leaped around the logs and were shooting at them. Zack kept going, but when the steering began to wobble, he cursed. “What?” “They hit a tire. I can’t keep going at this speed.” When they rounded another curve, Kendra gasped. The road had come out on a high plateau that faced a drop-off. He pointed toward the precipice. “If I send the van over that cliff, they’ll think I was driving too fast and didn’t make the turn. As far as they know, we’ll be dead down there. Okay?” When she nodded, they both climbed out. Too tired for telekinesis, he moved to the back of the van and pushed it toward the edge. It went over and landed with a mighty crash at the bottom. “Let’s get out of here,” Zack muttered. They started up the road, keeping to the center tracks. He was glad of the warm coat she’d found for him, but his feet were turning into blocks of ice in the shoes he was wearing. And it was starting to snow. Just what they needed. Through the swirl of flakes, he saw a driveway. “We’d better get out of the storm.” She nodded and they tramped up the lane until they came to what must have been a vacation house. No one answered when he knocked, but he found the key under a flowerpot. Inside, he made a fire in the fireplace. When he was feeling warmer, he turned to Kendra, who was staring at him with an uncertain look. “I need to talk to you, before we contact the FBI,” she whispered. The strained look on her face made his stomach knot. “What about?” he asked cautiously. She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Just let me say it before I lose my nerve. My real name’s not Sinclair. I was at the Facility because I’m the daughter of Benjamin Stewart. He was Sykes’s partner before Sykes murdered him. My father experimented on me. That’s how I know I had the I gene. But he thought I didn’t get any powers.”

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While Zack tried to take that in, she went on. “I got a job at the Facility two years ago to try to stop his research. But I wasn’t a very good spy. The best I could do was get some coded messages out and receive a few instructions from the Bureau. Then they asked me to help them get a man inside. It was you. I helped get you into that hellhole.” The sick look in her eyes tore at him. “You think I don’t understand,” he murmured. “But I do.” Closing the space between them, he dragged her close. For a moment she held her body stiffly, then she leaned into him, shaking with reaction. “You don’t hate me?” “Of course not! You were beyond brave to go after Sykes.” “I was so scared,” she whispered. “I thought I’d made a mess of everything. But you got us out of there.” “You know damn well I couldn’t have done anything without you,” he answered. When Kendra raised her face, he met her questioning gaze. Desperate to show her how he felt, Zack lowered his head, finding her mouth with his. The moment his lips met hers, passion exploded through him. They’d been through hell together. Now they were safe. And free to celebrate their feelings. His mouth moved over hers, urgently, possessively. And her heated response fueled his need for her. There was a thick rug in front of the fire, and he took her down to the horizontal surface, pulling her close. They continued to exchange hungry kisses as he pushed her coat out of the way, then his. When his hands came up to cup her breasts, she murmured her approval. He held her breasts in his hands, stroking his thumbs across the hardened nipples. When he pulled up her shirt and buried his face in her cleavage, she reached to unhook her bra, then pushed it out of the way. Gratefully he turned his head first one way and then the other, kissing her, sucking one hardened nipple into his mouth while he took its mate between his thumb and finger. Still, he had enough sanity left to ask, “What are we doing?”

Chapter Twenty “We’re celebrating our escape,” she answered, sliding her hand between them so she could reach for the fly of his pants. They hadn’t given him a belt. All she had to do was lower the zipper of his pants and free him. At the same time he worked on her zipper, and they helped each other undress. They clung together, naked skin to naked skin. Stroking, touching, kissing, greedy for each other. The urgency had them rocking together, frantic to get as close as possible. “Now. Please, now,” she cried out. He rolled on top of her, parting her knees with one of his. They both gasped as he entered her. Then he began to move, driving them both toward climax. When the floor rocked, they both gasped. “What?”

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Zack gave her a little grin. “Like the table that first time.” “Are you doing that on purpose?” she panted. “No. It’s the sparks flying between us.” He stopped talking as the intensity built between them. When she cried out in pleasure, he followed her over the edge, the whole cabin vibrating around them. They held each other for long moments. He wanted it to last forever. But he knew he didn’t have that luxury yet. He kissed her gently. “We’d better go face the music.” “The FBI? You know where we are?” “No,” he admitted. “But I had a homing device on me. That’s how they were supposed to pick me up. But it looks like the damn Facility was blocking the signal. It should be active now.” She gave him an astonished look. “You knew the Feds could be swooping down on us, and you…you…” She huffed out a breath and started again. “They could have caught us just now.” “You didn’t want to make love?” he asked in a thick voice. “Yes. I did.” From above, they both heard the whir of helicopter blades. “Better get dressed,” he said. *** After two days of intensive debriefing, Zack’s head was spinning with new information. Kendra had told him more about her background. She also told him she’d created a Web site showing an eight-pointed star. It was something her father had incorporated into his subjects’ memories, and she wanted to try to use it to contact older test subjects. It had already brought in one man, Jack Maddox, who’d been a captive at the Facility for fifteen years. He and his brother had finally escaped, but the brother was still missing, and Jack was desperately searching for him. One major disappointment for Zack and Kendra was the raid on the Facility. It took forty-eight hours for the FBI to get inside the lab because a snowstorm had blanketed the area. And when an FBI team burst in, the place was empty. All the research and all of the test subjects were gone. Obviously they’d had a quick escape plan in place. Special Agent Perry Owens was in charge of the mopping-up operation, and Zack had a month’s leave coming to him. He knew how he wanted to spend it, but when he found Kendra getting ready to slip away, his stomach clenched. “You’re leaving without saying goodbye?” he asked in a thick voice. “I thought…” Instead of finishing the sentence, she lifted one shoulder. “We went through a lot together. Don’t run away from me.”

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She turned to face him. “We went through an intense experience. It created emotions…” Again she stopped. “Yeah. Emotions. Are you going to pitch them away because you’re afraid of finding out what we really mean to each other? If you can’t go first, I will. I love you.” “Oh, Zack,” she whispered. “I was afraid you’d want to get away from me.” “Never.” He reached for her, dragging her into his arms, clinging to her with all his strength. “I said you were a brave woman. Are you afraid to give us a chance?” “Not when you put it that way.” She raised her face to him and he lowered his head, his lips coming down on hers for a long, greedy kiss, a kiss that told him what he needed to know. She still might not be able to tell him what she felt, but she was giving the two of them a chance, and he was going to make sure they stayed together—for the rest of their lives.

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Her Boss's Private Affair by Emily McKay Rosa Cardona never would have jumped into bed with Caleb Alexander if she’d known he was her new boss! But now she’s unable to resist the intense passion she feels for the powerful, enigmatic man. Still, she insists their affair remain a secret in order to protect her professional reputation as the head of Human Resources! Caleb Alexander has never felt this way for another woman, and he’s ready to take his relationship with Rosa to the next level, even if that means going public. And Caleb is a man who is used to getting his own way….

Chapter One “Don’t look now, but you’re being watched,” Macy Cartwright whispered conspiratorially. Rosa Cardona had sensed Caleb watching her the moment she walked into the party. This was more than mere overactive intuition. These days, he was always watching her. She schooled her features and took a sip of wine before risking a glance over her shoulder. On the other side of the sprawling conference room, Caleb stood talking to a board member and to Tessa Bing from the legal department. From this distance, Rosa couldn’t hear them. The party was in full swing, everyone in the mood to celebrate the release of their new chronic lymphoma drug. The catering staff carried trays of champagne and appetizers through the crowd of boisterous employees. Someone had plugged their iPod into the room’s speakers and Coldplay rumbled behind the chatter. Despite the festive chaos of the room, her attention narrowed in on one man. Caleb Alexander was neither particularly tall nor particularly handsome. He was a little shy of six feet and wore his blond hair too long to be fashionable and too careless to be chic. The scar that ran from his temple to his cheekbone was his most identifying feature. The scar seemed a physical representation of his personal intensity. Everything about him, from the quiet strength of his presence to the attention he commanded, declared he was a man to be reckoned with. More to the point, he was her boss. He leveled his inscrutable gaze at her, as if he enjoyed making her squirm. Rosa straightened her shoulders, refusing to be bullied, even if he did hold her career in his hands. To Macy, she said, “He doesn’t scare me.” Macy snorted her laughter past a bite of bruschetta. “Then I’m pretty sure you’re the only one. Maybe it’s just because you haven’t had the chance to meet him yet.” “He was out of town when I interviewed.” She and Macy had gone to college together. When Rosa had decided to change jobs, it was Macy who had gotten her the interview at Alexander Enterprises. “But I met him on my first day. And I’ve seen him around a few times.” Macy seemed to be waiting for her to say more. Since she couldn’t tell her friend what she really thought of Caleb, Rosa took another sip of her wine and feigned a bored sigh. “He seems pigheaded and domineering.” Macy chuckled. “Most brilliant men are. But I think he prefers the terms determined and assertive.” “They always do,” she murmured drily. “That’s right,” Macy said. “Your older brother is like that, too, isn’t he?” “Ford is my half brother.” She and Ford had grown up in separate households. Their father had a wife and family in one town, a mistress and daughters in the next. He’d played them all for fools. At his death, Ford had done what he could to weave the two broken families into one whole. She admired his determination,

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but knew his wounds went as deep as her own. Trying to make up for their father’s failings, Ford was the consummate older brother, wanting to take care of everyone…without letting anyone close enough to hurt him. Her issues were a bit more cut-and-dried. She never wanted to make her mother’s mistakes. She wanted to stand on her own two feet and make her own way, thank you very much. “But you’re right,” she continued. “Ford and Mr. Alexander are cut from the same cloth. They get what they want, no matter who stands in their way.” “You make him sound unreasonable.” “Not unreasonable. Just convinced he knows what’s best.” Macy looked across the room. “Well, there’s one way they’re different. Isn’t your brother ridiculously handsome?” Rosa followed Macy’s gaze. “You don’t think Caleb is?” “Goodness, no. He’s so…so…” She shrugged, clearly incapable of coming up with an accurate adjective. “Wait a second. You’re calling him Caleb now?” “I…” Momentarily flummoxed, Rosa could only sputter. Caleb? How had she made that slipup? Until now she’d been so careful. “I… Isn’t that what everyone calls him?” “No. Pretty much everyone calls him Mr. Alexander. Except his closest friends and even they call him Alexander.” Her heart thudded, making her feel like a butterfly caught in a net. But before she choked out the lie she’d been concocting, Macy’s eyes went wide. “Hello, ladies.” A deep voice rumbled near her ear. Caleb. Naturally. Macy automatically shifted to make room for him to stand between them. He was dressed in his customary jeans and dress shirt. As always, he radiated that strength of personality that had led Macy to describe him merely as so… The three of them chatted for a few minutes about the release before Macy excused herself. With her lips pressed into a scowl, Rosa watched her friend abandon her. “Coward,” she muttered under her breath. Caleb sent her an odd look. “Did you just call her a coward?” Rosa slanted her gaze to him. “No. Of course not. I would never accuse her of cowardice.” Caleb’s lips twitched. “Are you laughing at me?” “Why do you sound so surprised?” The intensity of his gaze sent jittery heat spiraling through her body, making it impossible to stand still beside him. As she wended her way through the crowd, he fell into step beside her. “You don’t think I have a sense of humor?”

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“No. It seems far more likely that this—” she gestured toward his mouth “—isn’t laughter at all, but some sort of muscle spasm.” This time his lips curved into what was definitely a smile, but there was no humor to it at all. No, there was a wolfish hunger behind it instead. As if she should be clutching her red-hooded cloak and hurrying off to Grandma’s house. It was all too believable that Caleb might tempt a woman from her path, only to devour her whole in the darkness of the woods. He forced his smile wider. “How about this? Better?” My, what big teeth you have. Aloud she said, “Very reassuring. People must think I’m over here telling you knock-knock jokes.” For a second something flashed in his eyes that might have been real humor, but it vanished, only to be replaced by something dark and heated. Another one of those uncontrollable shivers went down her spine. What was it about this man that stirred such a reaction in her? He was the opposite of what she wanted. After her upbringing, she wanted to be with a man who was open and honest. Someone without the power to crush her career would be nice, too. And why was she even thinking about this now, when she should be focusing on making a good impression in her crucial first month on the job? The last thing she needed was for someone to see her flirting with the boss. Or drooling over him. Or trembling at his touch. Not that he had touched her. Oh, no. He’d been very careful not to do that. Thank God. Because if he had, she may very well have collapsed into a quivering mass of Jell-O. Unfortunately, before she could excuse herself, he said, “Since I have you here, something’s come across my desk I’d like to get your opinion on.” She blew out the breath she’d been holding. Work. Yes, they should absolutely talk about work. “Fire away.” His eyes once again lit with that avaricious hunger and he nodded toward the conference room door. “Right this way then.” “Ah, you want to talk in your office.” “It’s a little too noisy in here to concentrate on business. We wouldn’t want to overlook something.” Logic told her she should protest. Despite the noise, they could talk business here. But logic couldn’t compete with the way her blood was suddenly thrumming in her veins. His office was one floor up. They’d be alone. An idea that made her feel suddenly light-headed. Their colleagues were busy enjoying the celebration; no one would miss them. Anyone who did would think nothing of him leaving the party to discuss work. “Certainly,” she found herself agreeing. His hand moved to hover just above the small of her back as he guided her from the room. He hadn’t even touched her, yet her every nerve prickled. Though it couldn’t have lasted more than sixty seconds, the ride up to the executive offices on the sixteenth floor seemed interminable. The walk down the hall to his office even longer. But the instant the door closed behind them and they were alone, he pressed her against the solid oak of the door and plastered his body against hers.

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Chapter Two “You couldn’t get away any sooner?” Rosa gasped out the words the moment Caleb wrenched his mouth from hers. She tasted of red wine, desire and impatience. Of hunger so deep her question barely registered. “No,” he muttered, trailing his mouth to the tender skin of her throat. “Thompson wouldn’t stop talking about our third-quarter numbers.” One floor below his office, the crowd still celebrated. Caleb could hear the steady thump-thump of the music’s bass, echoing the desire thudding through his veins. He shouldn’t want her like this, but that didn’t lessen his need. Rosa was an employee. She’d been with his company for just over a month. Maybe it was wrong for him to sleep with an employee because he had all the power in the relationship. But he couldn’t imagine anyone taking advantage of Rosa. And no matter what his ethics told him, he simply didn’t have the strength to resist her. The buttons of her jacket gave way to his fingers and she shrugged out of it. Beneath her jacket she wore a skimpy camisole. And no bra. The straps slipped down her arm, allowing him to nudge the fabric aside and free one of her breasts. Her body was willowy, slender without being petite, and her breasts matched it. They were neither too small nor too large, but fit perfectly into his hands. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. She gasped as he took her nipple into his mouth. Her head was thrown back, her inky hair spilling over her shoulders, her dark eyes drifting closed. After only six weeks, he knew her expressions well enough to know how aroused she was. He ran a hand up her leg, making her squirm. She wiggled, tugging her skirt to her hips and granting him access to the silken fabric of her panties. He yanked them down and then delved into the folds of her flesh. She was already damp with need, quivering at his touch. The feel of her, the scent of her, spiked his desire. He reached for his belt, but her hands were already there. She slid his zipper down and a moment later cupped his penis in her hand. He stilled as his breath caught and her touch sent a shudder through his body. A few minutes later, he was sheathed inside of her, their bodies moving against each other in rhythmic passion. He was lost to her touch. As she was to his. *** “Do you think anyone missed us?” Her voice sounded gravelly to her own ears, thick with recently sated desire. She lay beside Caleb on the floor of his office, nearly naked, her clothes scattered around her. Her very blood felt sluggish and lazy, so it was all she could do to roll over and drape herself on his chest. “God, I hope not.” His voice rumbled through his chest and she felt the words forming inside of him even as his breath brushed against the top of her head. It was a very intimate experience, listening to someone talk while laying half on top of him. This kind of physical closeness was new to her. It thrilled her as much as it terrified. But she couldn’t let herself think about that now. “I should be very angry with you,” she muttered.

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His hand moved in lazy circles up and down her arm. “Why?” “Because this was supposed to be a quickie. I shouldn’t have been away from the party this long.” Though only an hour had passed, she couldn’t possibly go back now. After a quickie in his office, she might have been able to repair her appearance. But not now. Her hair, which took so long to straighten every morning, was helplessly mussed. Her clothes were wrinkled beyond repair. And worst of all, the last time he’d made her come, she’d cried. Actual tears. She’d managed to hide them from Caleb, but her emotions had ruined her makeup. Anyone who saw her leaving his office now would know exactly what they’d been doing. That would be disastrous. She didn’t even allow herself to consider the tears she’d cried and what they might mean. She wasn’t a crier. She hadn’t cried when her childhood cat, Momo, died last summer. Why would she cry now? Suddenly uncomfortable, she pressed her palm to Caleb’s chest and pushed herself to a seated position. Her muscles protested at having to move again after being turned into Jell-O, but she ignored them as she looked for her clothes. “Don’t go,” Caleb said from behind her. “I have to. We can’t sleep on the floor.” “That’s not what I meant.” She stilled in the process of picking up her camisole. She’d known what he’d meant. Pushing her arms through the straps, she said, “You’ve never asked me to stay before.” “You made the terms of our arrangement clear from the beginning.” Yes, she certainly had. Now, as she stepped into her skirt, she glanced over her shoulder. He’d scooted to rest his back against the front of the sofa. One leg was bent at the knee, his arm resting on it. There were no lights on in the room, but the last remnants of sunlight filtered through the reflective windows casting interesting shadows across his face and naked chest. The scar that slashed across his cheek seemed to shine white against the golden tan of his skin, making him look dangerous. Like one of the pirates from the romance novels she’d read as a teenager. Back when she believed in true love and happily-ever-afters. “This is how it has to be.” Something unfamiliar and needy tightened in her chest, but she pushed it aside as efficiently as she tugged up the zipper of her skirt. “If I’d known who you were I never would have gotten involved with you.” “So you’ve said. Numerous times.” She focused on dressing, on creating some semblance of respectability, but she could hear his exasperation. Their relationship had been a fluke from the beginning. An accident of nature. On the way to her interview with Alexander Enterprises, she’d gotten stranded at the Chicago airport. She’d met Caleb at a restaurant where they’d shared a table. She’d been drawn to him from the moment she’d introduced herself and begged for one of the few empty seats in the overcrowded terminal.

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Excited by the prospect of launching a new life, she’d felt reckless and free. An affair with a handsome stranger was a temptation she simply hadn’t been able to resist. It was unlike anything she’d ever done in her well-structured life. But she hadn’t regretted it. Until her first day at Alexander Enterprises when she met her new boss for the first time. Now, she shoved her right foot into her shoe, but then couldn’t find the left. No matter where she looked it wasn’t there. Twitchy with frustration, she dropped to her knees to look under his desk. “I can’t be involved with my boss,” she said, partly to herself. “If anyone finds out we’re sleeping together, my career here will be over.” “Your career here will be over only when I say it’s over.” “You don’t understand. I just left a job at FMJ where everyone assumed I held my position only because my half brother was the CEO.” No shoe under the table. She crawled the few steps to the sofa and crouched lower to peer underneath. “If people learn we’re lovers, it’ll be the same thing all over again.” “No one will treat you with disrespect. I’ll make sure of that.” “No one would be openly disrespectful. But I’d still get a reputation for sleeping my way to the top.” Still, no shoe. What was she supposed to do, leave the building barefoot? It was bad enough her hair was a mess and her makeup streaked. She’d never be able to explain away missing clothes. She was supposed to be master of her own destiny. She refused to be brought down by a single shoe. Rocking back on her heels, she rubbed her fingertips across the tension knotting her forehead. “Looking for this?” She looked up to see Caleb, now dressed in only his pants, holding her shoe in his hand. “Yes. Thank you.” But her tone didn’t hide the strain she felt. She stood to take the shoe. “I should be more careful, or we’ll never keep this a secret.” But when she reached for the shoe, he pulled it back, instead holding out something in his other hand. “What if I’m done keeping this a secret?” Her gaze dropped from his eyes to the tiny box he held in his hands. It was a jewelry box. The kind wedding rings came in.

Chapter Three Caleb watched as an expression of panic crossed Rosa’s face. Yet she seemed unable to take her eyes off the jewelry box he held. She inched forward, the way one would approach a rattlesnake. By the time she finally pried open the box, her fingers were nearly trembling. For a second she stared at the contents with confusion. “Earrings,” she said with a sigh. Only then did he realize she might have expected something else. Like an engagement ring. Funny how the thought of offering her one of those didn’t make him feel nervous at all. But the sheer relief on her face meant only one thing. The thought did make her nervous. She thrust the earrings toward him and grabbed her shoe from him. “I can’t accept these.” “Why not?” he asked, refusing to take back the box.

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Standing on one foot, she slipped her foot into her shoe. “That’s just not the kind of relationship we have.” “I want a different kind of relationship with you.” He’d been Rosa’s lover for more than a month now. She’d insisted they keep their affair a secret because he was her boss, but he was done playing games. He was tired of sneaking around and hiding how he felt. He wanted more. “It’s time to decide what you really want.” He studied her expression, taking in the way her eyes widened a little, before her expression became shuttered. She was so damned closed off. “Obviously what I want has nothing to do with this.” She retrieved her suit jacket from where it had fallen by his office door and slipped into it with brusque efficiency. It was hard to believe mere minutes ago she’d been lying draped over his chest, exhausted from making love to him not just once, but twice within the past hour. It had always been like that between them: fast and passionate, nearly uncontrollable. “This relationship has been all about what you want. You’ve been so worried about people finding out we’re together. But I don’t care what other people think.” “Of course you don’t care. You built one of the most successful biotech companies in the country out of nothing but hard work and sheer determination. No one can accuse you of sleeping your way to the top.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I can personally guarantee that no one will accuse you of that either.” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That’ll be subtle.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Subtlety has never been my strong suit.” Her gaze drifted over his naked chest as if measuring the strength of his will based on the bulk of his body. “No,” she agreed. “No one would ever accuse you of that either.” Then she sighed. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but try to see it from my point of view. This is the first job I’ve had where I didn’t work for my brother. And, sure, it’s nice having pull with the boss, but most of the time it creates more problems than it solves. Everyone assumes you’re skating by on something other than your own hard work.” “You did a great job at FMJ. Alexander Enterprises never would have hired you if you hadn’t.” “Exactly. I worked my ass off at FMJ. And no one in management so much as hinted that I wasn’t doing my job. But I was never as effective as I could have been. When you work in human resources, people have to think you’re on their side. Any relationship they think you have with the uppity-ups only gets in the way.” As much as he loved this willful streak of hers, man, it was getting in his way now. He could read her thoughts as easily as if some cartoonist had drawn thought bubbles over her head. The jewelry he’d given her had freaked her out. Not because she’d wanted it to be a ring and it wasn’t. But because for a moment there, she’d been afraid that it was a ring. Which meant the thought of committing to him frightened her. And that didn’t sit well with him. He’d meant the earrings to move their relationship forward. Instead, she was digging in her heals, forcing their relationship to a standstill. Whatever deeply personal reason she had for her behavior, she thought she could hide it behind this excuse about how an affair with him endangered her credibility.

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But he wasn’t falling for it. If those tactics had worked with the other men she’d dated, no wonder she was still single. He wasn’t so easily distracted. And he certainly hadn’t built Alexander Enterprises into a Fortune 500 company by playing it safe. “Okay,” he said. “I see your point. In order for you to do your job, people have to trust you. But if that’s true, then hiding our relationship is even more of a mistake. Nothing stays hidden forever. Sooner or later, someone is going to find out we’re involved. And when they do, it’s only going to be worse. The smart thing to do would be to come clean now and tell everyone we’re involved.” He watched her carefully, her expression all but unreadable. Odd how he recognized every twitch of desire that crossed her face, but couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking now. Until her expression settled into one of steely resolve. “No. I can’t do that. This isn’t just my job at stake—it’s my independence. If I lost—” She shook her head, but said no more. Only the faintest sheen of tears in her eyes told him her answer had hurt her as much as it did him. At least he knew where they stood. She didn’t trust him. She wanted her independence because she believed their relationship had an expiration date. She was just waiting around for their affair to end. He’d gambled everything. And he’d lost.

Chapter Four Rosa fled from Caleb’s office. Only when she reached the safety of her car did she realize she still clutched the jewelry box from Caleb. She thrust it into her purse, refusing to think about the earrings. All weekend long she waffled between her desire to call him and her even greater desire to simply keep her head down and pretend her love life hadn’t morphed into a ticking time bomb. One that wasn’t just about to blow up in her face. Sooner or later, bombs tended to go ka-boom. When this one blew, it just might take her career with it. It was ironic. She’d grown up scoffing at her mother’s mistakes, swearing that she’d never make the same ones. Her charming father had swooped into their lives periodically, full of grand gestures and promises he’d been unable or unwilling to keep. In his absence, money was tight and moods were grim. There was never enough of him to go around—not for his mistress and bastard daughters at any rate. She’d sworn she’d never let someone else control her life like that. Never put herself at the financial or emotional mercy of a man. And yet here she was. Friday night, Caleb had made it clear that he wanted to bring their relationship into the light of day. But she couldn’t do that. It was bad enough that her body seemed completely in his control. A single touch and she was gone. If other people found out about their affair, her job would be in jeopardy, too. First her body. Then her job. Thank goodness her heart was still untouched. But for how long? When he’d presented her with that jewelry box, she’d felt a spike of pure panic. For one interminable moment, she’d thought he’d been about to propose. Of course, it hadn’t been a ring. Merely a bauble meant to keep her distracted. Which should have been reassuring, but somehow wasn’t. Plenty of men bought expensive gifts because it was easier than opening up emotionally. Her father had been like that. Her half brother, Ford, was like that, too. He treated women like they were birds, distracting

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them with bright and shiny things. And it even worked with some women. Her sisters, for example, were content with new cars instead of a real relationship with their brother. But it had never sat well with her. Was Caleb the same? Were the expensive earrings merely a gift or were they meant to placate her? By the time Monday morning rolled around, she was no closer to finding the answers her heart so desperately wanted. Trying to clear her own thoughts, she stopped by the break room to fuel up on caffeine before heading to her office. She’d nearly left when she spied Macy’s familiar bob, not sure if she had the energy to endure her friend’s perkiness. Unfortunately, Macy spotted her before she could duck out. Rosa flashed her friend an apologetic smile. “I’ve got to warn you—I’m not up for actual conversation just yet.” “Rough weekend?” “Brutal.” Macy held up a hand to stave off an explanation. “Don’t worry. No need to tell me more. I know how hypersensitive you are about your privacy.” Hypersensitive? Was that really how people saw her? Even her friends? Not that she necessarily wanted the answer to that question on a morning when she was already doubting herself. So she forced some perkiness of her own. “I’ll be back to myself as soon as I mainline some caffeine.” “Well,” Macy whispered conspiratorially, “if it’s a pick-me-up you need, I’ve got something even better than espresso.” “I can hardly wait.” Macy either completely missed Rosa’s sarcasm or merely chose to ignore it. “Early this morning, our fearless leader sent out an e-mail about a change in the company’s interoffice dating policy.” Macy leaned closer. “Can I assume this has to do with you?” Confusion clutched her. “The interoffice dating policy? What could that possibly have to do with me? I mean—” She choked off the last of her words, all too aware that she sounded panicky and defensive. To hide her attack of nerves, she busied herself fixing her coffee. But no amount of coffee stirring could quiet her racing thoughts. Dear lord, had someone found out about her and Caleb? Was it such common knowledge that Caleb was sending out policy-changing e-mails? Macy blinked, clearly taken aback. “I just assumed that, as head of human resources, you convinced Mr. Alexander that changing the strict no-employee-dating policy would make for happier employees.” Speculation lit Macy’s eyes. “But if you didn’t have anything to do with it, then maybe someone else did…” Macy let her words trail off suggestively. Rosa felt her anxiety ratchet up another notch. Clutching her mug in both hands, she headed for the door, hoping to shorten the conversation. “What do you mean?”

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“I mean, maybe he’s got something else motivating his sudden change of heart. Or should I say, someone else.” Macy halted and placed a hand on Rosa’s arm before looking pointedly over Rosa’s shoulder to the bay of offices along the north wall. “Someone like Tessa Bing.” “Tessa Bing?” Rosa felt her emotions yo-yo from anxiety back to confusion. “Sure. Didn’t you notice how long they talked at the party the other night?” In fact, Rosa had not noticed. It hadn’t ever occurred to her that she’d need to keep tabs on who Caleb was talking to. He hadn’t struck her as the kind of man who’d cheat. Had she been wrong? Of course they weren’t in a real relationship so perhaps he’d taken liberties with the freedom she’d given him. “He doesn’t seem the type,” she muttered aloud. “To sleep with an employee? I know. But rumor has it he’s dipping his pen somewhere in the company well, and my money’s on Tessa. And I’ve certainly noticed how approachable he’s been lately. Apparently they dated years ago when the company was just starting up. Besides, look at her. She’s gorgeous.” Tessa Bing was gorgeous, like Heidi Klum with a law degree. How had Rosa missed the easy camaraderie Tessa and Caleb shared? And, now that she thought about it, had she seen him laugh the other night at something Tessa had said? He certainly never laughed with her. To make matters worse, Tessa had been at the company forever and was universally loved. Even Rosa couldn’t come up with anything bad to say about her. And just now, she was really searching for reasons to hate her. Logical reasons, that was. Macy leaned closer. “I bet he’s bringing her to the big Foundation for Life fundraiser this weekend. Wouldn’t she make the perfect Mrs. Alexander?” “Yes. She would.” Inexplicably, Rosa found herself swallowing back tears. She mumbled something about a teleconference and fled to the safety of her office. Frankly, she didn’t know what was worse: finding out everyone in the office was gossiping about Caleb and some mystery woman. Or finding out the mystery woman wasn’t her.

Chapter Five Caleb wasn’t a man to hedge his bets. You either faced your problems head-on or you risked losing. That approach had never failed him in business. It wouldn’t fail him with Rosa either. The problem was simple. He was ready to take their relationship to the next level. She wasn’t ready to commit yet. She claimed gossip at work would impair her ability to do her job, but he knew the truth. She was afraid. Her natural caution was making her second-guess her feelings. He’d never been in a relationship that moved this fast before either. But then, he’d never felt this way about another woman. This bone-deep certainty that she was the one woman in the world for him. That she belonged to him. His total conviction spurred him to action. By sending out the e-mail, he’d issued a challenge she wouldn’t be able to ignore. So he wasn’t surprised when his secretary notified him that Rosa had requested a meeting. What did surprise him was the cool indifference of her attitude when she entered his office.

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She held her laptop in front of her chest like a shield. But instead of launching into the diatribe he expected, she immediately began discussing a complete rewrite of the employee handbook. He let her get a few sentences in before stopping her. “I trust you to handle that on your own. I’d assumed you scheduled this appointment to discuss something more personal.” “Oh, really?” She kept her expression perfectly blank. As if his assumptions were of no interest to her. As if she hadn’t been naked in his arms on the very floor of this office only a few days before. “Why would you think that?” He rose from his chair and rounded his desk to stand before the wingback chair where she sat, stiff and unwelcoming. He refused to dignify her feigned disinterest with a response. After a long minute, she finally met his gaze, keeping her own steely and cool. After another few beats of silence, she began to fidget. Then, abruptly, passion lit her eyes. Albeit passionate anger, but at least he could read some emotion in her face. “So now I’m supposed to schedule romantic rendezvous with your secretary?” Her indignation amused him, even as his body responded automatically to the implication of her words. “That’s not what I meant by more personal.” She stiffened. “Then I don’t know what you mean.” “I thought you’d have an opinion about the memo I sent out revising the company’s dating policy.” It took her a moment to school her features. “As head of human resources, I certainly wish you’d conferred with me before making such a sweeping change to company policy. But given the rumors, it sounds like you had good reason to act fast.” “There are rumors already?” He knew in an office of this size, rumors would be inevitable. After all, he was counting on the rumors to push her toward a decision. “Yes, there are quite a few of them buzzing around the office.” Her mouth, which was normally so wide and smiling, pinched into a sour frown. “The most interesting one involves you dating Tessa Bing.” “Tessa Bing?” He nearly laughed out loud. Until he noticed her fierce scowl. She gave a tight little nod. “Most people are basing it on how much time you spent talking to her at the party on Friday evening.” “Don’t tell me you believe these rumors.” “You’re not denying them.” He felt a fissure of anger crack through his reserve. “I spent time talking to Tessa because you insisted I not spend the evening with you.” For an instant there was doubt in her eyes. Then it vanished. “Bob Jonas in R & D mentioned seeing you together at brunch on Sunday.” That tiny fissure of anger began to widen, zigzagging across his emotions. “Tessa and I are old friends. Our mothers went to Brown together. I’ve never made a secret of that. And, yes, she and I meet for brunch occasionally. With our families. Did Bob Jonas from R & D happen to mention that?”

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He expected her expression to at least soften. He waited for the flood of relief. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest, her chin jutting out at a belligerent angle. “No, he didn’t mention that. Probably couldn’t get a word in edgewise, what with everyone else speculating about what a great couple the two of you made.” “You can’t seriously believe that I’d date Tessa.” “Why not? We never agreed to be exclusive.” “It was implied,” he bit out. “You think I’m the kind of man to date two women at once?” “Who am I to say what kind of man you are? Most people think that you’ve just been waiting for the policy change to drop down on one knee and propose to her.” “I’m not sleeping with most people.” “Exactly.” He straightened, wishing he could take her by the shoulders and shake her soundly. “You are the one who insisted we keep our affair a secret.” She leaped from the chair, her unopened laptop still clutched to her chest. “But you never argued, did you? Because it worked to your advantage.” “What exactly do you mean by that?” he asked through gritted teeth. As angry as he was, he half expected her to back down and scurry out the door. It’s what any sane woman would do. Instead she bumped her chin up and glared at him. “As long as our relationship was a secret, you could continue to woo the perfect Ms. Bing. Whereas if she’d known you were sleeping with me, she might not have been so willing to wait around for you.” “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. He’d sent the damn e-mail to maneuver her into dating him publicly. He’d thought his high-handed techniques might annoy her, but he never dreamed she’d freak out over something like this. “I’m not dating Tessa. If I’d ever had even the slightest interest in her I’d have pursued her years ago.” Rosa opened her mouth to protest. He didn’t give her the chance. “Your father may have been a lying, cheating bastard, but I’m not your father.” The second he saw her stricken expression, he wished he’d softened his words. Great, now he felt like a total ass. But instead of ripping him a new one, like he deserved, she quickly mastered her emotions and glared at him. “Well, I’m not my mother either. I refuse to be hidden away like a dirty secret merely for the sake of convenience.” “Trust me, there is nothing convenient about you.” “Fine.” She hurled the word like an insult, spun her heel and was halfway to the door before he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

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“If you don’t want to be hidden away anymore, that’s fine with me. I’m more than ready to go public.” He didn’t know what reaction he expected, but it was certainly something other than the complete surprise on her face as she blinked up at him. And if she thought that was a surprise, then she had another think coming, because he was about to lay an even bigger one on her. “You want people to know we’re together,” he began. “Fine. Let’s get married.”

Chapter Six “You want to get married? Are you crazy?” Rosa’s voice went all high and squeaky, as if she’d been sucker punched. “Hardly the resounding yes I was hoping for,” he said wryly. He loomed over her, trapping her between his body and the door. His lips twitched into what could only be described as a grin. At work he was all single-minded determination. He brought that same focus to the bedroom. Being the focus of such intensity brought her nerve-rattling pleasure, but lately she’d found herself wondering if he ever relaxed and let his guard down. So at the sign of his unexpected humor, she could only shake her head in exasperation. “Now you’re laughing? Over this?” “I do have a sense of humor.” “Obviously, but if this is any indication, it’s not a very good one.” Then she was struck by a memory of him throwing back his head and laughing. The sort of full-bodied laughter that warmed her soul. It had been that first night, snowed in at the airport, trapped in the lounge for so long. Before she’d known he was Caleb Alexander, her soon-to-be boss. Before he’d realized she was an employee. Before she’d imposed so many restrictions on them. Ever since then, their relationship had been winnowed down to this narrow swath of hot sex and strained tension. She’d done this. This was how it had to be. Wasn’t it? Professional success meant everything to her. She couldn’t be like her mother, financially dependent on a man, held hostage by her love life. Trying to focus on that, she forced herself to stand incredibly still, her feet planted firmly on the ground. “Asking me to marry you is probably the least-funny joke I’ve ever heard. But I don’t blame you. This is my fault. I should never have let this get out of hand.” “Out of hand?” he asked. He was no longer grinning, but his expression was too enigmatic for her to read. “Yes.” Unable to stand still anymore, she reached for her bag and shoved her laptop into it. “This is my life. My job. My responsibility. Every professional goal I’ve set for myself was within reach. I should never have let myself get distracted by great sex.” “Is that really how you see this?”

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She rolled her eyes. Typical guy. “I’m trying to have a serious discussion here and you really want to pause so I can stroke your ego? Yes, the sex is great. You know that.” Caleb reached for her arm, snagging her attention with his touch. “Yes, I know the sex is great.” The intensity of his gaze made something deep inside of her contract. “That’s not what I was talking about. Do you really see this as nothing more than a distraction?” She sucked in a deep breath. Between the look in his eyes and the heat of his hand on her arm—the sheer strength of his personality—she had trouble thinking. Forget trying to define their strange and complicated relationship. “What do you want me to say?” Since they’d first met, their passion had blazed fast and strong. Her attraction had overwhelmed all of her common sense. “Being with you has distracted me from everything I’ve ever wanted.” “But is it nothing more than a distraction?” “What more could it be?” And then the truth hit her. “Oh my God. You were serious about getting married, weren’t you?” “I may have a sense of humor, but I wouldn’t joke about that. We’re not teenagers and I’m tired of sneaking around. I want a real relationship outside the bedroom, but I’m tired of jumping through hoops for you. It’s time to ante up. The only question is what you want.” What did she want? The second the question filtered through her mind she knew the answer. She wanted him. She’d always wanted him. From the moment they’d met. From before that, even. He was the man her heart had dreamed of before she’d even known such a man existed. He was strong and smart. Confident without being overbearing. And it terrified her how much she wanted to be with him. Not thirty minutes ago, she imagined he might be dating someone else while sleeping with her. The very idea had made her shake. It had wrenched her heart right out of her chest. Caleb promised her he wasn’t dating Tessa and she believed him. His arguments were perfectly logical. Very rational. What scared her to the very core was how irrational she’d felt before hearing them. How completely vulnerable she’d felt. How exposed. Hadn’t she promised herself she’d never be that way with a man? Wasn’t that why she wanted financial independence in the first place? So she’d never find herself at the mercy of a man’s affection? Yet here she was. Financially independent, but emotionally tied into so many knots she could barely function. And still his question hung between them. What did she want? To avoid giving a real answer, she said, “We’ve only known each other for six weeks. How could you possibly be sure I’m really the one you want?” “My gut says you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. I didn’t make it this far by being cautious. When it’s time to put down money, I go all in. So I’m all in. Are you?”

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Chapter Seven Caleb watched Rosa’s face, looking for any hint of what was going on in that convoluted brain of hers. Maybe he’d raised the stakes too high, but he needed to know now where this was headed. She was everything he wanted in a wife: beautiful, smart and as dedicated to Alexander Enterprises as he was. Even better, because they’d gotten involved before she knew who he was, he knew she was interested in the man, not the position he held. As an added bonus, the chemistry between them in bed was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. In short, she was the perfect woman for him. But he was tired of playing these games. If she didn’t feel the same way about him, he wanted to know it now. Almost as soon as he laid his cards on the table, he knew his gamble would pay off. He watched the doubts flicker across her face in the furrow of her brow and the downturn of her lips. Then the moment of indecision passed and her expression settled into one of absolute certainty. Just when he was ready to pull her into his arms for a celebratory kiss, she shook her head. “No,” she said. “I can’t marry you.” *** Knowing she’d absolutely done the right thing should’ve provided some sense of satisfaction. But for Rosa, it didn’t. It did, however, allow her to coast in oblivion for several days. For most of the week, in fact, she functioned like a semi-intelligent human being. She went to work. She held conversations and answered e-mail. Three times a day she consumed food—not that she tasted it. Work had become merely about survival. Life, about just getting through the day. By Friday, the decision that had seemed so completely logical had gnawed through her to sit solidly in her belly like an intestinal worm. She’d made a mistake. She had thought that by ending the affair she would regain some control over her emotions. She was wrong. She hadn’t taken control of her destiny. She’d sabotaged it. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, she was digging through her enormous hobo bag, looking for any morsel of chocolate that might up her serotonin levels above rock bottom, when her fingers latched on to the jewelry box from Caleb. She pulled it out. Friday night when she’d fled his office, she’d thrust the box into the murky depths of her purse, desperate to cast aside the earrings and the ties they represented. Now it seemed silly; foolish, even. The earrings had been nothing. A mere token compared to what he’d offered her on Monday. Why had she been so afraid of earrings? For that matter, why had she been so afraid of an engagement? She was still pondering the question, desperately trying to talk herself into putting the box back into her purse, when there was a knock on her office door. Macy strolled in without waiting for a response. “Did you see—” Macy broke off at the sight of Rosa’s tears. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

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“Nothing! I just—” “You’re sitting in your office, clutching a jewelry box and sobbing.” Macy glanced back into the bull pen as if to verify no one else had noticed and then closed the door behind her. “That’s not nothing!” Rosa pressed her lips together, trying desperately not to blubber like an idiot. But then Macy was there beside her with a tissue in one hand and a sympathetic hug in the other. The dam broke. Twenty minutes of tearful explanation later and Macy knew the whole sordid mess. Rosa’s dignity—what she had left of it— kicked in at the last minute, preventing her from sobbing out the possibility that she may have actually fallen in love with Caleb—idiot that she was. Instead of baring her very soul, she blew her nose one last time and straightened her shoulders, channeling the inner strength of the plucky heroine from countless romantic movies. “This is okay. I can get over this, right?” Macy gave her an encouraging nod. “I made a mistake. A very big mistake. People have recovered from far worse, right?” “Sure!” Macy handed her another tissue. Rosa swiped it under her eyes to clean up the worst of the melting eye makeup. “I just need to take a few days to get control of my emotions, so I can comport myself with dignity.” Again Macy nodded her support. “The last thing I want is to burst into tears every time I see him.” “Or Tessa.” “Oh, they’re not dating,” Rosa said quickly. “He explained everything. At least I don’t have that to worry about.” She glanced toward Macy, expecting the requisite nod. But Macy didn’t meet her gaze. “What?” Rosa asked. Macy looked ready to chew a hole through her front lip. “Everyone’s talking about it. He’s taking her to the Foundation for Life benefit. Tonight.” With a sinking feeling, Rosa propelled herself from her seat. She threw open her office door and stared across the bull pen to Tessa’s office, opposite her own. Then, as if the whole scene was being choreographed by some evil genius, Tessa walked out. With Caleb behind her. His hand at the small of her back, just as he used to do with Rosa. Tessa said something and then laughed that infectious laugh of hers. Her head was tilted so that her perfect blond hair spilled down her back as she looked up at Caleb. “That lying, cheating bastard. I hate him,” Macy muttered beside Rosa. “I should hate him, right?” But in that moment, Caleb looked from Tessa’s upturned face across the room to meet Rosa’s gaze. She saw the full truth in his eyes. This could have been her. Weeks ago he’d asked her to the event and she’d turned him down. She’d pushed him into this. “No,” she told Macy. “He’s not a lying, cheating bastard. He wasn’t dating her while he was sleeping with me. But he is dating her now.”

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Chapter Eight It was no consolation knowing that Caleb was dating the beautiful Tessa only because Rosa had practically pushed him into her arms. Watching him leave the office with Tessa on his arm, Rosa felt the full weight of what she’d done. Beside her, Macy was still trying to muster up a head of steaming anger toward Caleb. “If he proposed to you earlier this week,” Macy was saying, “he certainly shouldn’t be taking Ms. Perfectly Perfect to that benefit tonight.” Rosa closed the door to her office and leaned against it with sigh. “No. I did this. I was afraid of how he made me feel, so I pushed him away.” “To that tramp, Tessa? What was he thinking?” Rosa just shook her head. “Tessa is perfectly nice and you know it. It doesn’t matter who he’s dating. He could be dating a dog and—” “That’s not very nice.” “Oh, I don’t mean ‘a dog’ as slang. I mean, he could take an actual Pekingese to this benefit and it wouldn’t matter. He asked me to marry him and I turned him down. He’s not the kind of man who gives second chances.” Macy’s ire died down enough for her to give Rosa a quiet nod. The gesture said it all. Macy agreed. Caleb wasn’t an unforgiving man, but he was decisive. Once he made up his mind, he never changed it and he never looked back. “I said no and he took me at my word. He didn’t invite Tessa to the benefit to rub my nose in it. He did it to show me that he’s moving on.” *** Despite Macy’s generous offers to supply sympathy, alcohol and dark chocolate, Rosa insisted she’d rather be alone. By the time she made it through her front door, she was feeling as bruised and battered as a hit-and-run victim. But she dutifully trudged through her personal e-mails, which she’d been avoiding all week. She had likewise been avoiding calls from her mother, who had a preternatural knack for knowing when her daughters were emotionally traumatized. But her mother was the last person Rosa wanted to talk to just now. Just then she reached an e-mail from her sister Beatrice and a link to a YouTube video. “Hey, chica, check out this press conference that Ford just held. You think this means we can get free jewelry?” Confused by the reference to jewelry, she clicked on the link. After a minute the video started playing. It showed Ford, her brother, in some hotel conference room. On one side stood Jonathon Bagdon, the CFO of FMJ, and on the other stood a beautiful brunette with the sort of ripe, luxuriant beauty of a 1940s film star. It seemed FMJ, her brother’s company, was buying out Biedermann’s Jewelry. The beauty was Kitty Biedermann, the heiress to the company’s fortune. Watching Ford, Rosa noticed the unusually protective gleam in Ford’s gaze as he watched Kitty Biedermann. Was it possible he’d fallen for the heiress? It seemed impossible, and yet…

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Even as Rosa pondered the issue, one of the reporters in the audience asked the same question. Ford deflected it with his usual easy charm. Of course. Whatever affection she’d thought she’d seen in Ford’s expression must have been a trick of the light. Classic Ford. After their father’s death, he’d swept in and taken care of everyone. He was dynamic and charming…but completely emotionally unavailable. If you needed a job or a loan or, hell, even just a fancy new pair of shoes, he was your guy. If you needed someone to talk to, then you were SOL. He could charm the socks off anyone, but he never let anyone close. After the video ended, she sat for a minute staring blankly at the busyness of the YouTube screen. Then she clicked Play again and watched it a second time. This time focusing on Ford. After all, part of the reason she was so reluctant to deepen her relationship with Caleb was because of Ford. When she’d first met Caleb, he reminded her of Ford. They were both self-made men. Both handsome, in their own way. Both powerful and wealthy. Both free with their money. Both used to getting what they want. Watching Ford now, she realized what a disservice she’d done by not reevaluating her opinion of Caleb once she’d gotten more involved with him. On the surface he may be similar to Ford, but that’s all it was. Surface similarities. In reality, they were no more alike than…she was like her mother. Just like that, she knew. Maybe she’d blown her chance with Caleb. But maybe she hadn’t. Either way, she wasn’t just going to sit at home watching YouTube videos. She was going to do everything in her power to win him back. *** This wasn’t working. The woman Caleb held in his arms as he danced across the ballroom floor was lovely and charming. She was an old family friend. Someone he was comfortable with and admired. And he was bored out of his brain. Unfortunately, she could tell. Tessa leaned back to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I’m not her.” “Not who?” he asked, more out of stubbornness than anything else. Tessa smiled a little sadly. “The woman you wish you were with instead of me.” Caleb gritted his teeth, angry with himself for wallowing. And more angry with Rosa for denying them both. “I don’t—” “Of course you do. You don’t have to pretend otherwise for my sake. When a woman’s invited to a party less than twenty-four hours before the event, she assumes she’s not her date’s first choice.” The orchestra began another benign pop song and they kept dancing without missing a beat. “I’m sorry,” was all he could say. “There’s no need to apologize,” she reassured him with a smile. “I had no illusions to begin with and I’m getting a nice evening out. I just hope you’re able to work it out. You’ve been alone too long, Caleb.” “It’s over between us.” Tessa tilted her head sympathetically. “Then she’s a fool.” “What makes you think she was the one who ended it?”

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“If you’d ended it, you wouldn’t be looking quite so grim, would you?” “It was mutual.” Somehow he couldn’t stand Tessa’s gentle concern. “We wanted different things from our relationship.” “Maybe it’ll still work out.” “No.” He shook his head. “She made her choice.” Understanding lit Tessa’s gaze. “Let me guess. You pushed her too early in the relationship and she bolted.” Caleb stilled, pulling back from Tessa. “You make it sound like I’m the bad guy here.” “Not the bad guy, maybe just the overeager one. You’ve always known exactly what you want. It’s served you well in business, but when it comes to personal stuff, you have to give the rest of us mere mortals a chance to catch up.” “You think I should give her another chance,” he summarized. “I think Rosa would be a fool not to ask for one and you’d be a fool not to give it to her.” “How did you know it’s Rosa we’re talking about? I thought all the gossip was about you and me.” “I never listen to gossip. But I have noticed the way you look at her. It’s obvious to anyone who knows you that you’re in love with her.” Looking over his shoulder, Tessa suddenly grinned. “Besides, she’s the one who’s shown up here looking for you.” Caleb spun around and searched the crowd. He spotted her instantly. Which wasn’t hard to do given that she was dressed completely inappropriately in jeans and a flowing shirt. Still, she looked beautiful. Her long dark hair was loose about her shoulders. Sure, her skin looked a little splotchy, like maybe she’d been crying earlier, but her eyes held an appealing determined glint and her jaw was set at that stubborn angle he so loved. She spotted him and began to stride across the room. Watching her, everything else faded into the shadows. Tessa, the music, the other dancers, they all disappeared. That’s the moment he realized Tessa was right. He really did love Rosa. It wasn’t just that he admired her dedication to Alexander Enterprises. It was more than his appreciation of her beauty or her strength of will. Those things were true of Tessa also, but the sight of Tessa had never filled him with such joy. No, he loved Rosa, plain and simple. He’d planned to never give her a second thought, let alone a second chance. Despite that, he was thrilled to see her now. But she didn’t look particularly thrilled to see him. She stopped before him, her expression fierce. “You are being completely unfair.” “I am?” “Absolutely! You think just because you’re the boss at work that you get to be the boss in our relationship, too. But you’re wrong.”

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“I am?” he repeated. He was smiling now, so pleased to see her it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and kiss her soundly. But she hadn’t noticed yet and he was enjoying her tirade too much to stop her. “There’s no CEO in a relationship. You’re not in charge. You don’t get to decide it’s over just because things aren’t moving according to your timetable. If you’ve got a problem, we need to discuss it. Like—” “I agree.” “—adults. Like… Wait a minute. You agree?” “I do.” “I…” She blinked in obvious surprise. “I… I didn’t expect you to give in so quickly.” Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion even as a smile teased her lips. “I had a whole speech worked up. About how I loved you and how I knew you loved me, too. And how I was determined to win you back no matter what.” Unable to resist the temptation, he swept her into his arms. Needing an excuse to hold her so close in public, he moved onto the dance floor and began to waltz, reveling in the way her body fit perfectly against his. “It sounds like a great speech. You can give it to me later.” “You don’t want to…I don’t know, discuss it or anything?” He shrugged. “I got the gist of it. I love you. You love me. We belong together. Anything else we’ll sort out later.” “Oh. Well then.” Her body seemed to melt into his. “There’s only one thing.” She pulled back to look up at him, a frown marring her features. “What?” “There are a lot of people here from Alexander Enterprises. I think the days of keeping our affair private are officially over.” Her frown vanished in the wake of her grin. “That was a bad idea anyway.” “You sure you don’t mind?” “It would probably be hard to keep things a secret now that we’re engaged anyway.” He pulled her tighter against him. “Good point.”

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His Cowgirl Valentine by Myrna Mackenzie Born on February 14 under tragic circumstances, Quinn McCann has spent his life running from love. Valentine’s Day means nothing but heartache to him. But even his dislike for all things Cupid can’t stop him from attending a party in honor of his uncle, a man who is like a second father to him. Even if that party is thrown by Tess Aldridge, the one woman who could make him forget his own rules…. But this time when Quinn returns to the Montana ranch where he spent the summers in his troubled teen years, his old pal Tess is different. Is it possible she’s given up on waiting for the international entrepreneur to forget the past, and is planning a future without him?

Chapter One Tess Aldridge had her back to the door of her office located in the McCann ranch house, but when she heard footsteps entering the room, she knew immediately who she would find when she turned around. It had been two years since Quinn McCann had last visited his uncle's ranch, but the man had always had a wicked way of making her aware of him, even when he'd been a boy. She took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself, but Quinn hadn't come any farther into the room. "So, are you coming all the way in, Quinn, or are you just going to stand there?" Turning, she found him lounging against the door frame, all dark hair and killer green eyes, a grin on his face. "You always were bossy, Tess. And direct." Yes, but not as direct as he thought. If she'd said just what she thought, then he'd know…things she didn't ever want him to know. Still, she couldn't hide the pleasure that washed over her, looking at him. He was just as she remembered him: six feet of pure green-eyed male. "I thought you might not show up." "And miss Uncle Henry's big moment? He put a lot of money and manpower into building that combination shelter and community center. He's always helped people, including me. I couldn't miss being there when the center opens and he finally gets recognized for the things he's done. Why would I stay away, Tess?" The look in his eyes was a challenge. He was daring her to state the obvious. She shouldn't rise to the bait. It would be like poking a bear, but somehow she had never been able to keep herself from poking at Quinn. "The celebration is on Valentine's Day, on your birthday. You hate that day. There. You made me say it." He chuckled, a low sound that went straight through her body. "I remember the first time I ever saw you. I was sixteen, my father had sent me here because I was in trouble, and I was angry about being banished from Chicago to Montana. You were living with your family in a cabin on the ranch and you walked up to me and said, ‘I've heard that you're really bad.’ You sounded so hopeful that I hated to tell you that I hadn't broken any laws. And now I have to set you straight again. I don't hate that day. I just don't acknowledge it." He was lying. She knew it. He knew it. But he had good reason to lie, so Tess let him get away with it. "Well, I'm glad you came." And then, because she never could let anything too personal pass between them, she added, "Henry misses you." "I miss him, too." And yet Quinn only showed up every two to three years. It had always been that way. "I was sorry about your father." He nodded, a look of dark pain in his eyes. Then, in that way Quinn had always had, he turned the subject. "Still no ring on your finger, Tess?" he asked, pushing away from the door frame and moving closer to her. She braced herself for impact, for that overpowering awareness of Quinn that she had felt from the first minute they'd met, back when she'd been a skinny fourteen-year-old with a long blond braid and he'd been her reluctant hero who had teased her mercilessly but never told her to get lost.

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She held up her ringless hand. "The diamond's so big that I can't wear it when I'm going over your uncle's books. It's hard to work the keys on the computer when my finger's so weighed down," she teased, conjuring up a fantasy engagement. "It's quite the rock. He's a billionaire and totally crazy about me. How about you? Still swearing off love and romance and marriage?" "Always have, always will." He said it so lightly and yet she knew there was nothing light about Quinn's reasons for not getting involved. Tess tilted her head in acknowledgment. "How long are you staying?" But she was pretty sure she knew the answer. "Just a couple of days. Until Uncle Henry's celebration is over." And then he'd be gone again, back to Chicago or Germany or Italy or one of the other places his small-garage empire brought him. Back to a world she knew nothing of. Gone. Just like always. "I'll bet you've put a lot of work into this party." She smiled. "Henry deserves it, and the center is amazing. Besides, times are tight, and people need somewhere special to go on Valentine's Day that won't break the bank." "You were always the romantic." She managed not to blush. "I was a silly teenager." He frowned. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. You were sweet, and I was just…me, which was never your fault. Besides, I just meant that you have a soft heart for people in love, for holidays and for…pink," he said, indicating her rose-colored pencil-slim skirt and pale pink blouse. "For a while there, you even wore pink boots when you were roping calves." "How do you know I still don't wear pink ones?" she teased. "Just because I’m not wearing them now doesn't mean they're not pink." "Tess? Sweetheart? What are you talking about?" a different male voice asked. Tess nearly groaned. She turned. Leo Baldwin, a cowboy she'd dated once or twice, had just come in through the front door. He was staring at Quinn through the open door of her office. Leo clearly thought she and Quinn had been talking about something other than her boots. She could see the consternation on his usually smiling face, and she held back a sigh. She and Leo had gone on those dates, and…he was nice, but dating him had been a mistake. It had interfered with their working relationship, and while she'd had fun, Leo had tried to move much too fast for her. "Is this McCann?" Leo demanded. Tess started to open her mouth, but Quinn raised one dark eyebrow, his attention on Leo. "Yes, I'm Quinn McCann. Who are you?" And just like that, Leo moved to Tess's side. "I'm the man who means to marry Tess." *** Quinn's mind reeled. He'd been sure that Tess had been kidding about an engagement ring. Despite the fact that she'd had a crush on him when they were teenagers—at sixteen she'd climbed on a step stool, closed her eyes and invited him to kiss her—they had survived all of that and had been teasing each other all the years since. At least during the few days they actually saw each other every few years. He thought he knew her pretty well, but despite the fact that she'd been grown up for a long time, he'd never really thought about her dating other men. Even though, of course, she would be.

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Tess had grown from a long twig of a girl into an awkward, gangly but pretty young adult, and now she was a tall, shapely full-fledged woman. With curves that any man would want to explore and with legs that could make a man's mouth go dry. And a man, apparently, who intended to marry her. Quinn struggled to take all of that in without visibly reacting to it. Tess was a perceptive woman and not one to beat around the bush. If he reacted the wrong way, she would jump right on that. "I'm…glad to meet you, Leo," he said. Even though, for some reason, he wasn't. "Leo, stop telling people we're getting married," she said. "I didn't. I said that I intended to marry you. You know that. I've made no secret of it, sweetheart." "Leo, calling me sweetheart on the job is totally inappropriate. Especially when you do it in front of other people and when I've asked you not to." "There were no other people around when you told me that the other day." "There were…there were cows." She glanced toward Quinn, daring him to say just one word. He fought his smile. "Animals are very perceptive," she said, directing her words toward him rather than Leo. "I know that, hon," Leo said. "I work with them all day, and—" "Speaking of work, why are you here?" she asked suddenly. Then she looked at him more closely. "Your arm, Leo," she said, and all trace of irritation and embarrassment fled. Leo's arm was in a black sling, and no matter what Tess's relationship was to him, good or bad or…almost engaged, Quinn thought grimly, Tess had always been a softie. Darth Vader could come in with his arm in a sling and she would coo and fuss over him. "Let me look at it. Is it cut?" She reached out to touch, and Leo flinched away. "It's fine. It hurts like hell right now, but it's just a sprain, and it'll be better real quick. The arm's the reason I'm here," he said. "I thought you might hear about it and I just wanted to let you know that I still intend to help you set up for the celebration." Tess crossed her arms. "The celebration is the day after tomorrow and setup is tomorrow. You're not helping." The man got a mutinous look in his eyes. "I'm the man." Uh-oh, Quinn thought, then realized that Tess was glaring at him, not at Leo. Had he laughed? Well, maybe just a little, but anyone who knew Tess at all knew that a guy never said, "I'm the man." "Out," she said, pointing toward the door and gesturing to Leo. "Now." Leo, startled, backed into a bookcase and jostled his arm. He winced, and Tess looked worried. "Go take care of your arm, Leo. Please." "Okay, hon," he said, and he dove in for a quick peck on the lips, missing only slightly and hitting her half on the cheek before winking at her and leaving. "Mine," he mimed to Quinn just before he left the room. Background check, Quinn thought. Uncle Henry was far too trusting. This guy could be anybody. He could be trouble, and he had designs on Tess. Before I leave here I'm doing a background check on him, Quinn decided. He knew all about men who were trouble. Heck, he had always been trouble, so he knew the signs. And no troublemaking son of a gun was going to get close enough to hurt Tess. He'd make sure of that.

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Chapter Two Tess had never been a shy person, but she felt perfectly awkward walking into the living room, knowing that Quinn would be there with Henry and he would be operating from the assumption that she and Leo were an item. Over the years since she'd first met Quinn they had sparred, she had once stupidly let him know she had a crush on him and she'd watched other girls walk away with him. At least for the short time he dated any woman before deciding things were getting too serious. But somehow, even with him visiting a few weeks every couple of summers over the past fourteen years, she'd never been dating anyone when he'd been in Montana. The truth was that she wasn't seriously dating right now, but it occurred to her that she probably should be. Leo wasn't a man she could ever love deeply, but he wasn't a bad man, either. And there had been others. Other chances for marriage she'd turned down. All because… "Tess, you shouldn't have worked so late. Come on in and visit with me and Quinn. We see him so seldom," Henry said with that big hearty voice of his. Not for the first time, Tess wondered why Henry had never married. He couldn’t be more than sixty and despite his slight portliness he wasn't unattractive. He had a big ranch, and women liked him. Maybe Henry had a female version of Quinn in his past, someone who stayed in his thoughts and made it impossible for him to move on. Maybe she didn't want to end up like Henry, alone when she was pushing sixty. She needed to move on and make a life for herself that didn't include Quinn. "Can't stay, Henry," she said. "I have work to do." "Work?" Quinn asked, raising his left brow. "I thought you were done for the day." "It's this darn celebration," Henry told him. "She's determined that it's going to be perfect." "It will be perfect, Henry, even if things go wrong," she said. "You'll be there. That's all we really need. Except maybe someone to help set up tomorrow. All my volunteers are too old to climb ladders and lift the heavy stuff, so I've got to go shake the bushes and see if I can find someone willing to help me on short notice." "You know that's not necessary," Quinn said in that deep voice that had always done terrible, wonderful things to her. "I've got two good hands and a strong back." She gave him an "are you kidding?" look. "You graduated from hard manual labor a long time ago, Quinn. I see references to your businesses online whenever you're expanding your chain of garages. During the past year you've gone international. France, Belgium, Spain, Japan. No manual labor for you." Why was she goading him that way when she knew he would only push back? She didn't want him to help her. She didn’t want to spend any time with him in a room decorated for romance when she'd never been able to resist thinking of him romantically. When she knew that full-time romance was the last thing he ever wanted. And yet, she'd never been able to resist walking right into the fire where he was concerned. "Are you trying to goad me into beating my chest and declaring that I'm a man and I'll prove it to you, Tess?" Quinn teased. "I thought you didn't like that kind of thing." She hoped she wasn't blushing. "I don't. I'm not. I just…" Then she remembered again why she shouldn't be manipulating Quinn into helping her. "I really don't think it's a good idea for you to help me," she said, getting firm with herself and him. "I've really gone overboard with the Valentine's Day theme. I want it to be romantic for the couples who show up." She looked to the side and saw that Henry was starting to drift off in his easy chair, so she motioned Quinn outside onto the veranda. "You know you'll be uneasy in a setting like that." "I'm a big boy. A grown man. I'm over it." "If you were over it, you wouldn't have such an aversion to love and marriage."

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*** Quinn studied Tess, her blue eyes darker and intense. There she went again, going all nurturing on him. She'd always been like that, and it had been more than he could take. His throat had always started to close up, his chest had felt tight and painful, and the ensuing panic had overtaken him. Every time. He couldn't allow anyone to get that close to him. Caring too much for one person meant risking losing that person, and he'd been a front-row witness to how loss could destroy a person's soul. He knew he'd hurt Tess at times by simply blocking her out or walking away. She'd never chided him for staying away from Henry or from her and his other friends for two years at a stretch, and yet he knew she felt it was wrong. She was right, but staying in one place too long wasn’t an option. The moment anything began to look permanent or too emotionally demanding, he always turned his back. Always. "Okay, I'm over the avoidance of the symbols associated with the day I was born," he clarified. "That doesn't mean I've forgotten what it was like to watch my father die every year at this time. He told me about my mother's death one time, most likely in an attempt to explain why he couldn’t celebrate my birth or love me the way he should." Quinn realized that he'd never shared the story with Tess, even though he was sure she knew it. His beautiful, French-born mother, who had somehow fallen for his tough, street-smart Chicagoan father, had been crossing a street, nearly nine months pregnant. She'd turned to wave to her husband and had walked straight into the path of a turning car. Her baby had been saved, but she had not, and Quinn's father had slowly melted in on himself over the years. He'd shut himself up in his room every Valentine's Day that Quinn could remember. Romance, loving too much, had destroyed him and nearly destroyed Quinn, too, until Henry stepped in and saved his butt and his sanity. So no, Quinn would never be a fan of the day or of the sentiment. He wasn't going to allow himself to feel so deeply about someone that losing them could ruin his life. Still, that didn't mean he wanted Tess to feel guilty about celebrating Henry's day and his accomplishments. "I'm a grown-up now, Tess. I can handle the demands of the day. And don't give me that 'you're too soft, Quinn,' routine. You know darn well that I love to roll around in the dirt." She studied him, a half smile on her face. "I don’t think rolling around in the dirt will be required, but all right. I can make good use of your hands." She looked down at his hands as she spoke, and suddenly her words, the dusk, the quiet, seemed to give new meaning to what she had said. Quinn had an almost overwhelming urge to touch her. Bad idea. Horrible idea. But he did it anyway. Reaching out, he touched just one finger to her cheek, snagging a blond curl and tucking it behind her ear. She shivered, and he groaned. He realized what a major mistake it had been to come back this time. Or at least it had been a mistake to get closer than a room's width to Tess. In the past when he'd returned, he'd kept moving, going out with old friends, guys he'd known, or even women. He'd kept his distance from Tess as much as possible, kept things light at other times. What was different now? Maybe it was the personal nature of why they were together, coming together over Henry. And maybe it was because having Leo ogling her had made it impossible to think of Tess as anything but a desirable woman. "Don't," she said as he raked a thumb across her lips. "Don't touch you?" he asked on a groan. "Yes," she said, but she was shaking her head no. "Don't." And for half a second he thought he heard the softest of murmurs that sounded like "Don't stop." But he could see from her devastated expression that he was wrong. She wanted him to back away. Quinn lowered his hand to his side. He turned and walked out into the night. "What time at the hall tomorrow?"

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"Seven o'clock," she said, her voice shaky. "I'll be there." And not one second sooner. *** All the other volunteers were decorating the hallway and entrance to the building. Left alone with Quinn, Tess had to make an effort to keep her hands from shaking while she worked side-by-side with him, and that wasn't like her. She'd never been the nervous type. She was, as Quinn had said, the bossy type. Or, in the past, he'd called her mouthy. Despite her darned awareness of his nearness, she couldn't keep from smiling at that thought. "What are you smiling at, Tess?" She looked down to where Quinn was folding napkins, his fingers incredibly nimble for a man with such big, strong hands. Her breathing quickened. She fought the sensation and forced herself to keep things light. The way they'd always been. "Nothing much," she lied. "Thinking about Leo, maybe? Are you going to marry him?" Okay, moment of truth, she thought, pausing in her task. Do it. Create some distance, she ordered herself. "I'm going to marry someone someday," she said. She wanted love, a husband, babies. "Leo's a good man." Which wasn't exactly the same as saying she would marry him. "But you won't marry him." She frowned. "Why are you so sure of that?" Quinn stared down at her with those hot green eyes of his that had slain so many unfortunate women. "He's not right for you. You'd eat him alive. You're smarter, stronger, better. He's not good enough for you." "Who is, then?" He studied her, angling his head and looking at her as if the answer were written in her eyes. "Maybe no one." Her heart sank. "Quinn," she said, a stern sound in her voice. "That's a terrible answer. No woman wants to be that good. Being good doesn't keep a woman warm on a cold Montana night." She said it teasingly, but the teasing was just for show. Still, he smiled, that same smile that had made her shiver so many times before. "I've never been here in the winter before. It's cold today, but…just how cold does it get?" "Really cold. Icicles-hanging-from-your-nose cold." "Hmm, that's pretty rough stuff. How do you handle it? I've never even thought about you freezing to death out here." The self-derision in his voice, the wonder, the concern made her want to lean close. She fought it. Stay tough, Aldridge, she warned herself. Stay immune and…distant. Keep it light. "We try to keep warm," she joked. "We do things to keep our minds off the cold." She waved her hand around, and somehow it bumped into Quinn. He caught her fingers, curved his palm around her hand. As long as they'd known each other, they'd seldom touched, so every moment was memorable. That must be the reason her heart was beating so hard.

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"You do things to keep your mind off the cold," he said, drawing her hand against the warmth of his chest. "Things like…this?" He gave a slight tug, bent his head, cupped her jaw with his big palm. Tess swallowed hard. Quinn is going to kiss me, she thought. If he does, I'll get hurt. I should stop him. I should back away, tell him no. She put out her palm to stop him.

Chapter Three Quinn's heart nearly stopped beating as Tess placed her hand against his chest as if she was going to push him away. Then she curled her fingers into her palm and slid her hand up, curving her arm around his neck. She waited. Her body was touching his, making him insane, but he knew that she wouldn’t be the one to take the next step. She was probably remembering that long-ago day when she'd pressed her soft teenage lips to his and he had gently put her aside and told her that she didn't want to do something they'd both regret. It had been the only thing he could think of to say when he'd really wanted to kiss her. Even then, he had known that starting something with Tess could ruin both their lives forever. They'd lose their friendship, things would change, someone would get hurt. None of that had changed at all, but…she had said she would marry someone. Someone would kiss her, keep her warm in the cold. I'll never get to kiss her after tonight, Quinn thought. The thought made him crazy, hot, wild. He crushed her to him. Too fiercely at first, as he fought to gentle his touch. Her lips were crazy soft. They made him want more. He dragged her closer, tasted more, deeper. His heart was trying to beat its way out of his body. Suddenly he heard the scuffle of a shoe on tile across the room. Tess jumped back as if she'd just discovered she'd been kissing a cobra. "Tess? Quinn?" Hayley Niles stood in the doorway leading from the hall and she seemed uncertain of what to do or say. Who could blame her? He had practically been ready to sweep the napkins off the table and crawl on top of it with Tess in his arms. "Sorry, Hayley. Just testing to make sure the Valentine's decorations created the right mood. They do." The older woman chuckled and went back to whatever she was doing. Crisis averted…except he was still breathing heavy. Tess still looked as if she wished she could go back and redo the past few minutes. Heck, he did, too. That kiss had been…unbelievable, wild, wonderful, but not smart. "Should I apologize?" he asked. "I didn't exactly give you a choice there." Tess shook her head. "No." But she still looked a bit shaky. "You sure you're okay? I could kick myself for messing with you." Those pretty pink lips turned down in a frown. "It was just a kiss, Quinn. No big deal. It was… It was…nice." Nice. Nice? Quinn's immediate reaction was to reach out, grab her and try again. It had been a lot more than nice. It had been hot, heavy and…maybe he was basing his assumptions on the fact that he'd known her since she was a girl. Maybe he was remembering her innocent crush on him, and maybe she'd done a lot of kissing since then with guys like Leo. Had she been that unaffected while he'd been losing his mind? Quinn wanted to kick something, and he didn't want to think about why. Instead, he forced a smile, excused himself and went off to help some of the ladies who needed him to move some tables. ***

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Tess felt as if her entire body was aflame, as if even her brain was on fire. Maybe it was, because she certainly wasn't thinking straight. All she could think about was Quinn's mouth, his arms, his hard, muscled body up against hers. His…heat. She wanted a do-over, but whether she wanted to reverse time so that they hadn't kissed or whether she wanted him to kiss her again, maybe about twenty more times…she refused to even speculate. Because no matter what she wanted, she wasn't going to get it. She knew that all too well. She'd been half in love with Quinn from the day he first entered her life, even though he'd only been a cocky, too-tough boy and she'd been a gawky, mouthy girl. But young as she'd been, she'd known from the get-go that he wasn't available. She'd had to keep all her thoughts and feelings locked inside with only her diary as witness. That had helped, until she realized the journaling was only perpetuating her stupid infatuation. That was the day she'd kissed him, and he'd looked horrified, and she'd known what the word never really meant. Quinn would never be hers, so she should just erase that kiss from her thoughts. Tess raised her hand. Without thinking, she was nearly on the verge of swiping it against her mouth as if to put thought to deed, literally, when she glanced up and saw Quinn frowning at her. Quickly, she lowered her hand, bent her head and returned to work. She didn't look up again until she had to cross the room to check on the setup of the head table. "Here, let me help you, sweetheart." Tess jerked her head up to see Quinn helping elderly Mrs. Biggs, who could barely walk, place a centerpiece in the middle of the table. "Thank you, dear. You're such a nice man," Mrs. Biggs was saying. Was the woman blushing? Yes, she was, and…well, why not? She had a handsome man calling her sweetheart and jumping to her tune. "Did you make these, Lorinda?" Quinn asked. "That's some fine craftsmanship, and believe me I know. I deal with fine craftsmanship every day in my garages. Cars or floral arrangements, same difference. Style is style. You've got the touch." Lorinda beamed. She looked a little less tired and old. Tess's heart clenched. For the next half hour she worked, but she also watched Quinn circle the room, offering to help where he could, praising the elderly women and men, Henry's friends, who had shown up to make something special for Henry's big event. Quinn made them feel important and not in a condescending way. She got the feeling that he was really enjoying himself, except for the few times he glanced her way. Then he simply looked troubled. She couldn't have that. He was worrying about her, most likely concerned that he had sent the wrong message and that she was now thinking loopy, romantic thoughts about him. Time to end all of that. Maybe she should consider Leo more seriously, or at least try harder to find a man she could love who was really available. Maybe Quinn needed to hear her say that as if she meant it. "Break time," she said, coming up beside him as he finished carrying in some heavy bags of supplies. "Break time?" Okay, she had sounded lame. Like some overly perky room mother shepherding her workers. "I thought you might like a tour of the building, to see what Henry made here," she said. "After all, he's your uncle, and he put his heart into this." He studied her, carefully. "I'd like that very much. Lead on, Tess." At first she was self-conscious in a way she'd never been with Quinn. She was too aware of him behind her, too nervous about what she might have revealed in that kiss.

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"Here are the living quarters. Big enough for a few people who need some temporary aid," she said, showing off the big living room with four bedrooms leading off of it. "And here's the nursery. Henry made sure it was fully stocked and kid safe. Nothing that couldn’t be easily cleaned and sanitized but all things that would delight the little ones." She reached up and touched a mobile made of stars and moons. "I'll bet you had a hand in this. Henry's generous to a fault, but style isn't his style," Quinn said with a smile. "I might have gotten a little involved." That made him chuckle. "Tess, I don't think it's possible for you to get only a little involved in anything. All those people out there have been telling me how much effort you put into this day. The phone calls, the extra hours, the research you did interviewing neighbors in order to piece together the presentation about Henry's life." "I wanted it to be nice for him. He gave my father work for years. He hired me, he treats me like a daughter, he helps people who need help." "Like me." She laughed. "You were never helpless. And Henry gets as much enjoyment out of you as he gives back. You're like the son he never had." "You see too much." "I see the truth." And the truth was that Quinn had always regretted that he could never give her what she wanted from him. He could never stay, only kiss and go. It was wrong to let him think any of what she was feeling was his fault. She didn’t want him to regret touching her. "What I also see," she added, "is that we've missed one of the best parts of the new building. Here." She opened two wide doors and set the doorstops so that the doors stayed open. Inside was a state-of-the-art gymnasium, complete with a track, a climbing wall, exercise equipment and a basketball court. "It's been a long time, Quinn," she teased. "Since I wiped the floor with you in basketball?" he teased back. "Since I beat the pants off of you in a free-throw match," she countered. "I'm taller than you. It wouldn’t be fair," Quinn told her. "Who said anything about fair? I'm all about winning." With that, she kicked off her shoes, grabbed a basketball from a nearby bin and began to dribble. "Don't make me chase you, Tess. You'll fall without shoes. And you're wearing a skirt. I have an edge." "Excuses, excuses," she taunted, knowing she was acting childish. But she so badly needed to get past the kiss and return to their old teasing ways. She couldn't survive loving Quinn any other way. She dribbled toward the basket, looping past him, barely out of his reach, daring him, practically begging him to play along, to help her fix things and make them right again. Or at least as right as they had ever been. "You sure you want this?" he asked, and the note in his voice seemed too serious. "This is all I want," she promised. Her words should have made him smile and they did for half a second before he looked concerned again. But then he flashed a big smile and began to guard her. She pivoted and twisted and ducked under his arm, sending the ball in a curving arc that swished through the basket.

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"Oh, you're good, Tess," he whispered, his voice sounding more like a man talking about making love than playing basketball. She swallowed hard. "I know I am," she said in an answering whisper, forcing a wicked smile to her lips. The battle was on. They traded shots. She ducked and dodged. He used his superior reach and those long arms and legs made for jumping and throwing. She was going in for a shot that would tie the game when her feet slipped and she stumbled against Quinn. They went down together. He landed hard on his back and she fell on top of him, sprawling. But in her struggle to get up, she touched warm, bare skin where a button on his shirt had twisted off in the fracas. And for the life of her, she couldn't push herself away. She flattened her palm against his chest, splayed her fingers, looked into his green eyes only inches away from hers. His mouth was so close. So very close and he was lifting his head even closer, so…in a second…in just a second…she was going to be lost… A loud sound sent both of them turning toward the door. Henry was standing there. Beside him, a bucket he must have been carrying was rolling on its side. "I see that I arrived just in time," he said. "Who won?"

Chapter Four "Tess won," Quinn said instantly, even though he had still been a point ahead of her. "You know, she's got that extra something." Which was true in a lot of ways, he couldn't help thinking the next evening when Henry's party was in full swing and Tess seemed to be everywhere at once. Tending to people. Smoothing over the rough spots and the glitches. Making sure that every detail was perfect. The food. The slide show. The music. The guests. And even him. "Are you okay?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice. "It finally occurred to me—too late—that it was rude of me to throw this party on a day that might make you sad." He hated the fact that she was fussing over him as if he were a child who needed soothing, even though he knew that wasn't fair. Tess was just being Tess. Caring. Helping. The fact that she was talking to him like a child and not like a man who had burned for her only yesterday… That was just wrong of him. She had obviously taken a big step back, and he couldn't fault her for that. "I'm great," he said with a big grin. Which might have been a mistake. Now she was looking worried. "I'm not the person who needs fussing over," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You need to sit down for a minute. Visit. Enjoy the evening." She opened her mouth to protest, and he turned her slightly. "Don, could you make sure that Tess eats her dinner? She'll just protest if I tell her to, but you're her favorite veterinarian. You cured her puppy and were there to bring Skylar, her horse, into the world. Your word is law to her. If you tell her to eat, she'll sit down for at least five minutes." An older man at the next table laughed. "Is Tess being stubborn, Quinn? Maybe you just didn't ask her in the right way." "Maybe you should kiss her again," Don's wife said, and Quinn felt Tess jerk beneath his hands. "That was just…nothing," Tess said. "You know, Quinn and I have known each other for years. And okay, I'll eat." She sat down, picked up a fork and began to eat, her demeanor so docile that Quinn knew she just wanted to move on and forget yesterday. "Good girl," he said, just as if she were still fourteen. His words should have elicited a protest or even a kick in the shins, but she didn't even look up. Because she's a woman now, you idiot, he told himself. There was no putting the genie back in the bottle. Tess had grown into a beautiful woman. One who deserved a good man, not one who had spent a good portion of his life acting out, breaking his father's heart even more than

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it had been broken already and kissing women and then leaving them behind the minute they got too close. He knew how to make people feel good in the short term, but he was trouble once the days started turning into weeks and months. "Catch you later, Tess," he said, moving off to the perimeter of the room. His uncle was dancing with a fiftysomething woman and Henry was in his glory, a man who had always lived life to the fullest. Quinn's heart lifted a little. Henry had been very good to a messed-up kid, even though Quinn had fought his uncle's rules. He deserved every accolade he was getting tonight. "Everything okay with Tess?" Henry asked, coming off the dance floor. Quinn knew that Henry hadn’t been fooled by their casual dismissal of that episode on the basketball court yesterday. "I wouldn't hurt her for anything," he told his uncle. "Good. Man to man? I love you, Quinn, but you're hard on women. If you hurt Tess, I'd have to take my cane to you again." Which he never had done. Henry was far too gentle for that. "I'd take a cane to myself before I hurt her. But you don't have to worry. Tess isn't a young, impressionable girl anymore, Uncle. She has men pursuing her, and she's not interested in the guy who used to torment her by pulling her braid or telling her that she was a pain in the butt and should get out of his room." "Yes, she's all grown up," Henry said, and he sounded sad. "She'll probably marry soon." Quinn knew that Henry was thinking the same thing that he was. Tess would belong to another man then, not to the two of them. He patted his uncle's arm. "But tonight is yours—Tess is going full steam and Arlene Wooten is making a beeline for you. She has her dancing shoes on." His uncle laughed and turned back to dance. Quinn continued his circle of the room, his avoiding-Tess-andthoughts-of-Tess circle. Still, staying away too long would be too noticeable, and he was just getting ready to turn back when he heard a familiar laugh. "Don't worry. Tess is going to marry me. She just doesn't know it yet." Quinn looked toward Leo and saw Leo's friend staring back at him. "I don't know. Tess is pretty strongminded," the friend told Leo. "She won't be like that forever. You just have to know how to handle someone like Tess. I'm good at breaking horses and even better at taming women. She's the one I want. Pretty, and she knows her horses, knows how to run a ranch and keep the books. The mouth and the attitude can be worked on. Once I get her pregnant, she'll settle down and be calmer." Quinn was surprised at how quickly the anger hit him. Despite his footloose and thoughtless ways, he had never been a violent man. But he wanted to plant his fist into Leo's face right now. The man might like Tess, but not all of Tess. He wanted to change her. That made him a jerk in Quinn’s eyes. Any man who wanted Tess had to want her all the way—sassy mouth, stubborn attitude and all. Like I do. The thought slammed into him. Too bad for you. The next thought followed quickly. He still wanted to hit Leo, but this wasn’t the time or place, and Tess was the one he needed to be concerned with right now. She might be falling in love with the jackass. She needed to be set straight.

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And she won't thank you for the message. She'll probably kick you in the shins and tell you where to get off. The thought made him smile. He relished battling with Tess. *** Tess was tired. The evening was turning out just as she'd planned, but the strain of trying to pretend that she was unaffected by Quinn's touch was taking its toll. Only until tomorrow, she thought. Then he'll be gone again. The pain was like a living thing. You'd think she’d be used to watching him walk away, and she was, but it was different now. This time she knew more of what she was being denied. "Hey, there. You need to get off your feet." Quinn's deep voice came from behind her. She turned to see him giving her a worried look. "You know me. Go, go, go." "Yeah, I do. You take care of everyone but you. Come on." "Where." "Outside." "I can't leave. The slide show—" "Won't go on until you're ready. People are dancing and having fun. You can snag a few minutes to breathe and get some fresh air." "Quinn, it's February and cold in case you've forgotten." "That's why we're taking a coat." She was surprised to see him pick up the right one as they passed the coatroom. He hadn’t been with her when they arrived. "How do you know that's mine?" He gave her an "are you kidding me?" look. "It has a huge ‘Cowgirl Up’ button on the lapel, the coat isn't boring black or brown, like everyone else's, and there's a bright pink scarf with it. Gotta be yours." It was, but her heart hurt to think that he knew her that well. "Well, you could have asked," she said stubbornly, making him laugh. "I love your mouthy ways," he said. Which wasn't nearly the same as loving someone. It was a lot like saying, "I love chocolate," wasn't it? Tess's heart hurt more. "That's kind of a backhanded compliment, isn't it, Quinn?" she said, trying to tease. "She never lets up," he muttered, but he was still smiling as he said it. Then he took her hand in his and led her out the door. She wasn't wearing gloves, and Quinn's warmth, the sureness of his grip…she wanted to save up the feeling to remember later. Stupid, she thought. Hadn't she just told herself that she needed to move on? Yes, and nothing had changed.

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But she was wrong. As soon as they were out the door and across the parking lot to where a brand-new playground set was located, she saw that Quinn wasn't smiling anymore. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Don't marry him, Tess. I know we talked about this already, but don’t. He's not the man for you." "You want to give a reason for that?" "Not really. Let's just say that my conviction that he isn't good enough for you has been confirmed." She raised her brows. "Is Leo cheating? Not that he could be, since we aren't that far along, but…" "I don't think I want to hear the details of how far along you are." "I’m just saying…" "Don't." "Have I told you lately how infuriating you are, Quinn? You drag me out here, obviously to discuss Leo, and then you don't want to discuss him. Us. Leo and me." "Okay, now we're getting somewhere," he agreed. "I don't want to discuss Leo and you other than to say that there are better men than him out there, and you should choose one of them." Tess looked at Quinn with sadness and frustration. She'd finally been in Quinn's arms, felt his kiss, and he was counseling her about marrying other men. "If not Leo, then who is good enough for me, Quinn? You?" "No. I'm not good." His automatic response, his utter conviction cut at her. "I've heard you say that before and I know why," she said, crossing her arms in front of her. "But I'm not buying it. I never have. You didn't kill your mother, Quinn." He didn’t even blink. "Maybe not, but I saw how difficult my father's life was because she died and I was all he got to keep. He never recovered from her death. His life ended that day. And even knowing that, I acted out and made his life even harder. I got in trouble all the time. "You said that you were all he got to keep, as if you didn't matter. Did he abuse you?" "No. He loved me." "If he loved you, then his life wasn't over when your mother died. You were important to him, just as you are to Henry. You're important to a lot of people." His eyes seemed to see too much. She'd said too much. "I'll bet you matter to a lot of people," she corrected. Quinn raised one hand, stroked it down the back of her cheek. "Don't let me hurt you, Tess." She bit at her lip. "I never have." Her words came out too soft as she told the lie. "I… Enough about me. This is supposed to be a celebration, so…happy birthday, Quinn," she said. "I know you don't celebrate it, but I'm celebrating it. I hope you’ve had some happiness today. I really do.”

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He shook his head. "Look at you. I've teased you mercilessly over the years. I've bossed you around, even tried to tell you who not to marry," he said. "Why would you turn around and be nice to me?" Tess managed to smile. "If you don't understand that, then you don't know me very well and you don't know yourself so well, either." "Ah, I see. But you think you know me," he surmised. "I do." "What do you know then, Tess?" She fought against her breaking heart. "I know lots of things, but most of all, I know that you're leaving." They stood there gazing into each other's eyes. "I wish…" he said, and then he stopped. "What? What do you wish?" He shook his head. He reached out and smoothed a stray curl off her forehead. "I wish you a happy life," he told her and he gently kissed her lips. Silently, they turned together and went back inside. She knew that by morning he would be gone. It had happened before, but this time it was different. They'd crossed a line. He wasn't coming back. She was sure of it. And she was equally sure that she had to end things right, do something to make his life happier. Somehow.

Chapter Five Quinn had been miserable ever since he got back to Chicago. Something had happened in Montana with Tess, something he'd never allowed to happen before. He'd let his guard down. And then he'd touched her, kissed her and, ultimately, made her sad, he thought, remembering how she'd looked at him. What's more, she'd gotten into his mind and his heart, and now he couldn't stop thinking about her. "Tough," he muttered to himself. "Get used to the feeling. You don't get to go back and mess up Tess's life. She'll find someone right for her." And probably soon. Who could resist someone with Tess's beauty and spirit? So, he worked. He tried not to think of her and refused to allow himself to call her. What could he say, anyway? Don't marry the cowboy? Marry me, a guy who's crippled emotionally and will surely break your heart? "Get out of here, McCann," he ordered himself. "Get to work. Think about something other than Tess." He tried. He clicked on airline Web sites and nearly bought a ticket to Montana, then managed not to. Every day he fought the same battles, and on the outside, things looked great. His business was thriving. He had money. If he wanted to, he could have women, but the thought of another woman's lips after Tess's? Not happening. Then one night he came home in a mood to kick the table and found a package in his mailbox. It was from Montana. Tess's name was on the return address. He tore into it, ripped open the box and found several small books. Diaries. A note was attached. “A belated birthday present: there are parts of these I want to share with you. Tess.”

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That was all. Quinn sank into a chair. He looked at the dates on the diaries, flipped the first one open. It began the summer he had first arrived in Montana. Parts of it were blacked out in permanent marker. He couldn't help smiling at that and wondering what secrets Tess had found too embarrassing to share with him. Not your business, McCann, he thought. Just read the parts she wants you to read. He did. He read the first entry that began like this: "Quinn saved Bumper's life today. He's always teased me about my dog, because Bumper is pretty ugly. And he barks too much and tries to chew on Quinn’s hand and drew blood once. I think he's jealous of Quinn. But when Bumper ran out in front of a bicycle today, Quinn dove for him and shoved him out of the way. The bike caught Quinn and he got cut up pretty bad, but he didn't even complain." And then there was this: "Kerry Ann Baker had a birthday party today and she said we all had to wear dresses. I don't like wearing dresses. I look stupid and skinny in them with my stick legs. I worried that some of the boys would make fun of me, and Quinn told me that if even one boy looked at me funny, to tell him and he would punch him for me. Quinn knows I can do my own punching, but it was still nice that he offered. I didn't even mind wearing a dress so much after that. I bet even Kerry Ann—who is super pretty—doesn't have someone like Quinn backing her up." The part after that was blacked out, and Quinn knew he shouldn't try to read it, but he did. It said this: "John Petrie said that my boobs were too small, but I didn't tell Quinn. If he had hit John, he might have gotten in trouble. Plus, I didn't want to tell Quinn about the boob thing. He's probably seen a lot bigger ones, too, and I don't want to think about that. It makes me feel crummy." Quinn's heart hurt. He wished he could go back in time and punch John Petrie—secretly—for hurting Tess's feelings. But he couldn't, and anyway, he remembered John eyeing Tess at Uncle Henry's party. The man didn't seem to have a problem with her breasts anymore. In fact, he probably wished Tess would let him get close enough to examine them more closely. "Damn!" Quinn nearly tore the page, thinking about John touching Tess. He reminded himself it was his own fault that he was angry. Those had been Tess's secret thoughts, and she hadn't meant for him to read them. He wanted to apologize to her. Instead, he continued reading. It was all there—years of summers with Tess, every memory of when he had helped her in some way, or times when they had laughed, or once when he'd held her while she cried when her mother passed away. He remembered that day so well. He'd felt utterly helpless to help her. His arms had seemed like such inadequate solace. But years later, Tess had updated that entry and noted that she couldn't have gotten through the day without Quinn. It was obvious what she was doing. She was trying to banish his ghosts, make him believe that he had worth to her, that he had made a difference. Wasn't that just like Tess? And didn't he wish she was here right now so he could thank her for this gesture? He read on, through the night. When he got to the very last book, he realized that she had set aside an entire diary for a single entry. "I know you might not ever come back, Quinn. Or, if you do, it won't ever be the same. You'll always be sorry you kissed me and treated me like all those other girls. But I'm not sorry at all, so don't spend your life worrying that you hurt me. Love, Tess." Quinn nearly doubled over in pain. His eyes burned and not from reading, either. He tried to sleep and found it was hopeless. And when morning came, he made a decision. It might be the most foolish, hopeless decision of his life. It meant risking his heart, his pride and his friendship with Tess. He walked over to a dresser and picked up a photo of his father that had sat there for years. "You had more years without her than you had with her. You tore yourself up over her when she was gone. I wonder… Was loving her worth all that pain? Would you do it over again if you had the chance to love her again, even knowing the end?" "I don’t know what your answer would be, but…I know Tess," he said to his father. "That's all I have to go on." Two hours later, he was on an airplane, taking the greatest risk of his life.

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*** Tess was facing the window when she saw Quinn climb from a silver car and walk toward the house. He was carrying something. A package. She didn't know what. She didn’t care what. She just grabbed the nearest coat and ran out the door and down the stairs. "Quinn, what are you doing here?" Her heart began an erratic pounding. The look on his face was so different from the smiling, teasing Quinn she knew so well. The look in his green eyes was so fierce, so intense…. Did this have to do with her diaries? Had there been something in there that had made him angry? "Quinn?" "If John Petrie ever insults you again, I will tear him limb from limb." Tess blinked. She couldn't help it…she crossed her arms over her breasts. "You weren't supposed to read that." "I know…but as I've told you many times, I'm not a nice guy." "I know. I was trying to get you to realize that you're wrong about that." He stopped two feet away from her. "I got that idea. You were very persuasive." "Well, I…" I love you, she wanted to say. Why are you so angry? she wanted to say. "Quinn, why are you here?" "I'm hoping that I can be persuasive, too." His voice was low. The expression in his eyes softened. "Quinn?" "You want to know why I came halfway across the country? I came for this." He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. "Just punch me if I'm wrong, Tess. Don't stand for anything you don't want." And then his lips came down on hers. He kissed her again and again. "Come with me," he said. Her heart was overflowing. She nodded. He frowned. "Just like that. No questions asked?" "I figure that you'll tell me what you want, in time, and I do have one question." He waited. "Did you really come back here just to kiss me?" He touched his fingertips to her lips. "No." Her heart plummeted, but by then he was leading her toward his car. When he opened the rear door, she saw that it was packed with things. Packages, balloons, flowers. "What's this?" she asked. "Years of missed opportunities. Years of valentines I never gave you, Tess." Pain and longing and…desperate, crazy hope filled Tess's soul. She was so afraid to hope. What if he was just being nice?

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"And there's one thing more." Quinn reached inside and pulled out a small book. He handed it to her. She looked at the cover. It was a diary, brand-new. "I'm sorry there aren't a lot of pages," he told her. "I wanted to get to you quickly and I was writing from memory." Tess opened the diary. Taking Quinn's hand, she led him back to the house and, sitting down on the nearest chair, she began to read about a skinny, sweet, ferocious and fiercely protective young woman and how Quinn had had to work so hard to keep his distance from her over and over and over, summer after summer after summer. "I never knew it was my own heart I was protecting," the last page said. "I thought I was protecting you from me. All these years, these magic summers, I tried not to love you. But it hasn't worked. I love you, Tess. And I always will, no matter the risk." Tess looked up into Quinn's eyes, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "Tess," Quinn said, pulling her up into his arms. "I'm sorry. I'm such a jerk. I made you cry. Is it… Do you love some other guy? Are you… Is it Leo? Tell me." The tears were still flowing, and Tess hid her face against Quinn's chest. "Leo?" she asked, her voice muffled. "No, you… Quinn, you are such a frustrating man." "I know. I'm an idiot." "No, you're not," she said, pulling back to gaze up at him. "You're wonderful. And I love you. I've always loved you." Quinn's answering smile was brilliant. He pulled her close and kissed her. "Will you marry me, Tess?" She laughed. "I think I've been waiting forever to marry you. Yes." He picked her up and twirled her around. "Good. Because I don't want to wait any longer, even though I'd like to do something romantic like marry you on Valentine's Day." Tess shrieked. "Wait a whole year? Quinn, I want to marry you now." She rose up on her toes and kissed him. "You amazing woman. Do you know how much I want you?" He pulled her closer and devoured her mouth. "I still live in the cabin," she said when the kiss ended. "We could take all those presents there." Quinn smiled down at her. "How did I not see that you were the woman for me all along?" "You were just temporarily blinded with good intentions, Quinn, but that's all over now." And they quickly went back to the car and drove off. *** When they returned to the ranch house hours later, Henry was there waiting. "I saw you drive in earlier. You've been off with Tess a long time. Am I going to have to take you to the shed and teach you a lesson, Quinn?" "You could do that," Quinn said, smiling, "but I'd rather you just give the bride away." Henry's answer was to enfold both of them in a hug. "It's about time. Will you… Where will you want to have the wedding?" he asked, stepping back.

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"Here. Home,” Quinn said. “We're staying here…if Tess doesn't mind." She launched herself into Quinn's arms. "Yes, you wonderful man. I hope you know that you’re the man of my dreams. If you don't…" Quinn lifted one dark brow. "If I don't…" She laughed. "I'll write it in a diary."

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The Inn at Hope Springs by Patricia Davids Emma Wadler has made a good life for herself, running the Wadler Inn in the town of Hope Springs, Ohio. She has accepted her life as an "old maid," and is content catering to the tourists who come to view her Amish community. She had once hoped to marry and raise a family of her own, but her fiancé died tragically when they were both only seventeen, and Emma has guarded her heart ever since. Adam Troyer fixes things. Having just returned to the faith after years in the English world, Adam is hoping to prove to his father that he is committed to a simple life. So he's happy to be hired by Emma's mother to make repairs to the inn during the winter off-season. The old Swiss-style Chalet has its share of problems, but nothing he can't fix. Nothing except perhaps the broken heart of the owner….

Chapter One “Stop right there. What do you think you’re doing?” Inside the front door of the Wadler Inn, Adam Troyer froze, his ladder balanced precariously on his shoulder. He didn’t dare swing around to see who was scolding him. If he tried, he’d break a window or take out a row of Grandma Yoder’s jams and jellies lining the display shelves beside the door. A window could be replaced, but good gooseberry jam was a work of art. Grandma Yoder’s was the best. “What is the meaning of this?” A woman moved into his line of sight from behind the jam display. Planting herself in front of him, she prevented him from advancing into the lobby. Arms akimbo in her brown Amish dress, a scowl on her face beneath the white prayer cap on her auburn hair, the little woman reminded him of a hen with her feathers ruffled in annoyance. An angry Rhode Island Red with spectacles. He struggled to keep from laughing. “You are Emma Wadler, jah?” “I am. Who are you, and why are you bringing that ladder in here?” Her tone was cold as the February temperature outside. He swallowed his grin. He needed this job. “I’m Adam Troyer. I’m here to fix the loose stones in the fireplace and some of the shutters outside.” He’d only seen her a few times before this. Although they belonged to different Amish church districts, he’d spent time in Hope Springs when he visited his cousins. His cousin David called her a plain-faced alt maedel. She didn’t look that old, maybe thirty at the most. Not all that plain, either, with her peaches-and-cream complexion and full red lips. At the moment those lips were pressed into a hard line, but he figured a smile would make her almost pretty. Behind wire-rimmed glasses, her hazel eyes narrowed. No smile appeared. “There’s nothing wrong with our shutters. Who hired you?” “The owner did.” She folded her arms. “I’m the owner.” “You are?” That surprised him. Very few Amish women owned businesses outright, although many owned them jointly with their husbands. “I asked Mr. Parker to hire the lad, Emma. Now let him get to work. I don’t want another quilt smoked up.” A tall, gray-haired woman in a royal-blue dress crossed the room. Bright-eyed and smiling, tall and big-boned, Naomi Wadler was the opposite of her daughter in every respect.

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Stopping in front of him, she pointed to one end of the lobby. “We have several stones loose in the fireplace. Can you fix them?” The impressive stone structure soared two stories high and was at least eight feet wide. Made in the oldworld fashion using rounded river stones in mortar with a massive timber for a mantel. Someone had added a quilt hanger near the top. It made a fine place to display a handmade quilt. Emma spoke up. “Don’t start work just yet, Mr. Troyer. Mudder, I need a word with you,” she stated, a hint of steel in her tone. As Adam watched the women leave the room, he had the sinking feeling he was about to lose this muchneeded job.

Chapter Two Emma led the way to the small office behind the front desk and closed the door after her mother. “I wish you had discussed this with me. We can’t afford to have a lot of work done. I can take care of most things myself.” “Nonsense. We can’t afford not to get the work done. And now is the best time—it’s the middle of winter and we have so few guests. Mr. Parker mentioned to me his growing list of things that need repairs. Didn’t he mention them to you?” “He did. I will get to them.” Emma had hired Mr. Parker to take over the day-to-day contact with guests and to handle the phone and computerized reservations that her religion didn’t allow her to do. He had been an invaluable employee for five years. If he felt the need to go over her head, she shouldn’t have brushed aside his concerns. “I discussed it with Doctor White when I ran into him at the grocery store yesterday,” Naomi said. “He does own half this inn. I felt he needed to know.” He owned fifty-one percent to be exact. Dr. Harold White was the town’s only physician. He and her father had been great friends. She could not own such a business by herself outright because of her religious restrictions so she had asked Dr. White for his help. Her bishop found it acceptable because she was unmarried and because she was working for a non-Amish partner. Dr. White left her completely in charge of running the place and that suited them both. Her mother pressed her point. “Adam Troyer’s rates are reasonable. Do you want a stone or a shutter to drop on some poor Englischer’s head? Besides, Doctor White’s not happy the place is getting run-down.” “It is not getting run-down. A little shabby maybe.” Her mother merely raised one eyebrow. Emma relented and admitted her mother was right. “Very well, there are some things that need fixing.” Naomi smiled brightly. "Jah, there are. You don't have to be the one doing all the work at this inn. You work too hard as it is.” Emma held her tongue. Her mother didn’t understand that hard work was the only thing that kept the loneliness at bay. Moving forward, Naomi reached out to straighten Emma’s prayer kapp. “Did you notice what a nice smile the young man has?"

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“I noticed he almost knocked down our jam display.” Emma submitted to her mother’s attention although she suspected her kapp was already perfectly straight. “It wouldn’t hurt you to smile back at a young man once in a while.” Suddenly, Naomi sneezed, then sneezed again. Emma took two quick steps away. The last thing she wanted was to cause her mother discomfort. What had she been thinking? Rubbing her nose, Naomi said, “Sorry, I don’t know what started that. You look tired, Emma. Is everything okay?” She should look tired. She’d been up every two hours through the night for the past two nights. She wasn’t about to explain why. How could she expect her mother to understand when she didn’t know herself why she’d taken on a task doomed to failure? “I’m fine. I must get to work.” “And Adam Troyer stays, jah?” her mother asked. Emma wasn’t about to make a promise she might regret. “We shall see.”

Chapter Three Emma opened her office door and walked out into the lobby. Adam had set his ladder on the floor. Her jams and jellies were no longer in danger. He stood by the fireplace carefully examining the stonework. He had taken off his hat and coat, giving her a view of his tall, lean frame. His hair, sandy brown and curly, was trimmed in the same bowl cut all Amish men wore. Since he didn’t have a beard she knew he was unmarried. Why was he still single at his age? He had to be in his late twenties or early thirties. His plain clothes fit him well. His suspenders drew attention from where his broad shoulders filled out his white shirt down to where his dark trousers accentuated his narrow waist and lean hips. And what was she doing thinking about such things when she had an inn to run? Naomi pointed to the top of the fireplace. “Our innkeeper noticed at least two stones loose near the ceiling when he was taking down the last quilt I sold. I’ll show you which ones, but there may be others.” Emma clasped her hands in front of her. “Exactly how many fireplaces such as this have you repaired, Mr. Troyer?” Adam looked at her. “Like this one? None.” She blinked. “None? And you expect me to hire you?” Adam didn’t appear the least put out by her remark. His eyes twinkled as he said, “This will be the largest fireplace I’ve worked on but the repair principle is the same. I can do the job.” She would have to trust him. The smoke leaking out around the loose stones had left soot marks on the quilt and ceiling. "It appears you have a job. If your work is satisfactory we will discuss additional projects tomorrow morning." Beaming a bright grin at her, he crossed the room and held out his hand. "That’s a deal then, Emma."

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Hesitating only a fraction of the second, she took his hand. "Jah, we have a deal." His large fingers engulfed her small ones as he pumped her arm with vigor. The warmth of his touch took her by surprise. The calloused strength of his hand gripping hers did funny things to her insides. Looking up into his smiling face, she was tempted to smile back, but she didn't. Instead she pulled her hand away and folded her arms tightly across her middle. He might be a handsome man with his curly hair and bright blue eyes, but that shouldn’t matter. If he did a good job, then she would be pleased. She didn’t want to admit the warmth of his hand and the friendliness of his smile caused butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She had put such foolishness behind her after the death of her fiancé ten years ago. Her heart lay in pieces in the cold ground with William, her one true love. The grandfather clock in the corner began to chime the hour. Emma realized with a start that she was late. “Continue with your work, Mr. Troyer. I will be back to check on you.” She rushed through the kitchen, grabbing her coat from the hook on her way out. Pulling on her coat in the cold air, she prayed she would still find all was well, but she knew not to expect too much.

Chapter Four Adam was finishing the fireplace when Emma showed up again. He’d found several others stones that needed repair and noticed a half dozen tiles on the large hearth with cracked grout. No one had asked him to repair those, but he couldn’t leave a job half-done. Emma had purchased the mortar. The least he could do was get her money’s worth out of it. He remained on his knees by the hearth as he waited for her assessment of his work. She stepped up to run her hand along the repaired tiles. It was then he noticed bits of straw clinging to the back of her skirt and her dark socks. Frowning, she gestured toward the top of the fireplace. “The repairs don’t match the rest." “The mortar is still damp. When it dries it will be hard to tell the old from the new. Hand me that rag and I’ll finish evening out these grout lines." Picking up a red cloth in a small basin behind her, she held it out. “This one?” “Jah.” He gestured toward her skirt. "You have some straw stuck on you." To his surprise, her cheeks turned bright red. She brushed at it quickly. "I was seeing to our horse." Like many Amish who no longer found employment on the farm, she still maintained a small stable and a buggy horse to carry her and her mother to church meetings and other gatherings. He had seen their neat white house and little stable on the street behind the inn. Why was she embarrassed about a little straw on her skirt? Taking the rag from her, he began to wipe the tiles free of the excess mortar. “You missed a spot.” He leaned back and looked over his work. “Where?” Taking up a second rag, she knelt beside him and began wiping at a spot he had already done. Finishing, she leaned back to study her work, then began wiping again. As she concentrated, her tongue peeked out from between her lips. How kissable she looked.

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He pulled his gaze away from her face as his neck grew hot. Why on earth was he thinking about kissing her? That kind of loose thinking belonged to his past. She was a respectable Amish woman. Maybe his father was right and he couldn’t give up his English ways after so many years. Nee, I refuse to accept that. Returning to his Amish family was the best decision he’d ever made. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was what he believed God wanted him to do. He concentrated on his work. When Emma followed behind him going over the same places he did, he finally stopped and sat back on his heels. “You don’t get a discount for helping me.” She gave her spot a final swipe. “Perhaps I should.” “If the work isn’t to your satisfaction, you may say so.” He held his breath. He really needed this job. He was determined to prove to his father that he could live Amish again. Earning a living was a first step. “The work looks good enough,” she admitted slowly. His hopes rose. “I can start with the shutters now, if you like?” “Come back in the morning. And be careful taking that ladder out of here.” “I will. I don’t want to break any of Grandma Yoder’s delicious jams,” he teased. Folding her rag, she casually began wiping the tiles again. “You like Grandma Yoder’s products?” “They’re the best. Especially the gooseberry jam.” A tiny smile flashed across her face. It disappeared quickly, but not so quickly that he missed it. He had been right. It made her plain face almost pretty.

Chapter Five The following morning, Adam was waiting in the lobby when Emma came in to start her day. She glanced at the tall grandfather clock in the corner. It was three minutes until six. Adam shot to his feet, a bright grin on his face. “Guder mariye, Emma. Have you a list of jobs for me?” Her mother was right. He did have a nice smile. And he was eager to get to work. She liked that. She tipped her head toward him. “Good morning to you, too. Yes, I have a list of things that need doing.” Behind the front desk, Mr. Parker leaned his elbows on the polished oak countertop. “Make sure he gets the ice off those gutters before they tear loose.” “It’s on my list, Henry,” she replied. To her surprise, some of the color left Adam’s face.“I won’t be able to do that for you,” he said. Henry blew out a huff of exasperation. “Too bad, because they’re calling for more snow this weekend. Are those the breakfast rolls, Emma?”

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Henry came around the counter to take the basket of muffins and rolls Emma carried. Their four guests would be down soon for their continental-style breakfast. When Henry lifted the heavy towel to peek inside, the aroma of the hot cinnamon rolls filled the air. She glanced at Adam. His eyes brightened. “Those smell wunderbaar. Makes me wish I was a guest here.” How could she resist such a blatant appeal? “Help yourself, Mr. Troyer.” “Danki, but call me Adam.” He selected one. When he bit into it, his eyes closed and he made a small sound of satisfaction that did her heart good. He liked her baked goods. She might be a plain old maid but she could cook. The prideful thought brought her back to earth with a thud. Every gift was God-given and not of her making. Humility was one of the cornerstones of her faith. Pride was a sin. Heading to the sideboard in the dining room, she began setting out plates, cups and juice glasses. With everything arranged to her satisfaction, she spun around and almost collided with Adam. She couldn’t back up with the sideboard behind her. Those crazy butterflies took flight again in her midsection. After licking the last bit of icing from his finger, he said, “Are you the goot cook or is it your mother?” “I’m sure my mother is the better cook, but I made the rolls this morning.” “It would be hard to make a better cinnamon roll than that.” Reaching out, he brushed at her temple. Shocked, she pulled back and saw he held a long piece of straw between his fingers. He smiled softly. Her heart faltered. “Wouldn’t want the guests to think you’ve been rolling in the hay.” “Danki.” She sidled past him and hurried toward her office. Inside, she shut the door and leaned against it as she worked to calm her racing pulse. “How am I going to work with that man around?”

Chapter Six What was it about Adam Troyer? Why did he have such an unsettling effect on her nerves? He was a simple handyman. He wasn’t even that handsome. Okay, he was, she admitted, but she’d never been susceptible to such shallow things before. It wasn’t even that he looked like William. Will had been only a few inches taller than she was. He hadn’t towered over her making her feel small. His white-blond hair had looked like a sleek halo in the sunlight, not like the curly mess that topped Adam’s head. Where Adam was always smiling, Will had been serious and earnest. As she always tried to be. No, she was not attracted to Adam Troyer. There was nothing about him that reminded her of William. Perhaps that was the problem. A knock on the door made her jump. This would never do. She had to regain control. Marshaling a frown, she yanked open the door. “What is it?” Adam stood with his thumbs hooked casually in his suspenders. His bright blue eyes sparkled with humor. “The list?” “What list?” Her traitorous heart jumped into her throat, making her sound breathless. Chuckling, he said, “The list of things I am to fix.”

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“Oh, of course.” Feeling the fool, she pulled the paper from her pocket and handed it over. He read it and nodded. “I’ll give you an estimate once I’ve looked at the projects. If we can agree on a price, I’ll do the work for you.” “Fine.” Anything to put some distance between them. As soon as he turned away, she closed the door, determined to concentrate on her own work. She had less than half an hour to compose herself before Adam reappeared with an estimate. By keeping the wide front-desk counter between them, she was able to remain composed as they settled on a price. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long for him to complete the repairs. Then she’d never have to deal with him again. Adam went to work fixing the loose railing and broken spindles on the narrow staircase that led to the second-floor landing and the guest rooms. Emma had to pass close beside him several times during the day. Each time, she prayed he wouldn’t speak because she didn’t trust her voice. He didn’t. He merely nodded and flashed her a grin that sent her pulse skipping like a schoolgirl’s. Late in the afternoon, she rounded a corner to find him working on a lamp fixture for a pair of her guests. It wasn’t on her list. Her mother and Henry stood beside them. They were all laughing at something Adam had said. The oddest sensation of being left out settled over her. Normally, she avoided social situations. Staying in the background, making sure everything ran smoothly, that was what she did well. She didn’t belong in the group laughing at her handyman’s jokes, so why did she wish to be included? Hearing the clock chime downstairs, she put away her stack of clean linens and quickly made her way to the back door. She slipped into her coat and hurried outside into the cold where four tiny lives were depending on her.

Chapter Seven Over the next two days, Adam worked on the various projects Emma had given him. He repaired three leaky faucets and a toilet in the guest rooms, mended the dining room pocket doors, tacked down the loose runner on the stairs and replaced a broken windowpane in the pantry. Twice Emma’s mother came to him and added a few more tasks to the list. He didn’t mind. He needed the money. Besides, he found that he enjoyed watching Emma at work. Quiet, efficient, always in charge of whatever situation arose, the woman was an excellent innkeeper and an outstanding cook if he could judge by the scones, shoofly pie and breakfast rolls she brought in fresh each morning. Her shoofly pie was the best he’d ever tasted. At the moment, he was supposed to be fixing a loose shelf on the jam display, but in truth, he was admiring the way Emma was handling an upset customer. Suddenly, her mother stopped beside him. “She is a treasure, my Emma.” He agreed. “She seems to know the business.” “If only there was more business. The inn hasn’t been full in weeks.” “Surely the summer months are when you have the most visitors?” “Jah, that is true, but sometimes, without a steady income, it is hard for Emma to make the mortgage payments in the winter.” What was she angling for? He braced himself and said, “I can wait for my pay if that would help.”

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“Bless you, Adam, that won’t be necessary, but it was a generous thought. Are you going to the Yoder auction on Monday?” “I’ve been thinking about it.” “The Yoder family needs to raise money for their son’s medical bills.” “I heard that. I did want to check out some of the tools they’re selling.” “I don’t want to impose, but could you drive Emma there? Our horse is old and doesn’t like the snowy roads and neither do I. I want to send one of my new quilts for them to sell.” Adam glanced toward Emma. A social outing would be fun. Perhaps he’d even see her smile. “I would be pleased to drive her. I will be at your house bright and early Monday.” “Danki, Adam.” Naomi grinned happily, then walked away. After the upset guest checked out, Adam finished his task and took a jar of gooseberry jam from the display. He laid it on the counter in front of Emma. “That fellow wasn’t very nice, was he?” “A slight misunderstanding, that’s all.” She rang up his purchase. Impressed that she hadn’t taken the chance to complain, he thought more highly of her for her restraint. “You are spending all your pay on jam. At this rate we will be out by the end of the month,” she said. “When a man finds the best, he won’t settle for less.” Placing the jar in a paper bag, she handed it to him. Her eyes sparkled as if he’d done something amusing. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Monday to roll around.

Chapter Eight The front door of the inn opened and two young English women entered. Adam was forced to step aside as they approached the counter to speak to Emma. One of the women gave him the once-over and a sly smile. Not so long ago he would have angled for a date with her, but not now. That kind of life was behind him. He had come back to the faith, as was God’s will. Walking back to the shelves, he picked up his tools. If he wanted to date someone he’d look for a good solid Amish woman. Someone like Emma. The thought brought him up short. When had he started thinking of her as a woman he’d like to go out with? Would she even consider it? The more he thought about it the more he liked the idea. He looked toward her, but she was nowhere in sight. Her mother was checking in the women. Naomi chatted happily with the Englischers, answering their questions with ease. That was one thing about Emma that troubled Adam. She never seemed to visit or joke with her guests or the other staff. In a business that had people around her all the time, she seemed to hold herself apart. She seemed lonely. And where did she go when she rushed out every two or three hours during the day? It was none of his business, but he couldn’t help being curious.

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Late in the afternoon, he was clearing the snow from the back steps of the inn and studying the second-story guttering along the roof. The icicles hanging from the gutters were several feet long. It was a sure sign that the downspout was frozen shut. Someone needed to do more than knock them down. He’d need to go up a ladder and rake what snow he could reach off the roof. Then he would have to put socks full of ice melt in the gutters. If the downspouts weren’t opened the meltwater could back up under the shingles and damage the walls inside. The problem was, he couldn’t do it. Climbing a ladder inside the building hadn’t bothered him, but outside was a different story. No, he couldn’t go up there. Not yet. Turning away, he saw Emma come through the garden gate at the back of the property. He leaned on the shovel handle and waited for her to approach. Once again, she had hay sticking to her coat. His curiosity got the better of him. He arched one eyebrow. “What have you been up to, Miss Emma?”

Chapter Nine Adam watched the color bloom in Emma’s cheeks. She stuttered, “I—I was seeing to the horse, that’s all. You don’t have to clear our walks. I was getting to that.” “I don’t mind. Your mother asked me to fix the boot scraper, but the metal is old and rusty. You would be better off buying a new one from the hardware store.” “You astonish me. There is actually something you can’t fix?” He laughed. “Jah, so I am clearing the walkway instead before I go home for the weekend. If you need help with your stable work I’ll be glad to lend a hand.” “No. I can manage. Cream doesn’t need much care.” He chuckled. “Your horse’s name is Cream? Is she white?” The glimmer of humor filled her eyes. “No. Her previous owner’s little girl named her Marshmallow Cream because of the spot of white on her black nose. That’s a mouthful so I just call her Cream.” “Kids have such wonderful imaginations. Not like the old folks that only think of work, work, work.” The sparkle in her eyes died. “I trust you’ve been busy?” Had he just implied she was old? He wanted to kick himself. “I did fix the two broken shutters on the lowerfloor windows.” Walking in that direction, he indicated his work. “When the spring comes you should have them painted again. They’re getting pretty weathered.” “I was thinking of taking them off. They are too fancy for my liking.” “But they are quaint and that is what the tourists like. It must be a hard line for you to walk. Running a business for the English and an Amish home.” “The tourists say they want an ‘Amish experience,’ but they also want electric lights, central heat and Internet access.” “And for you, is it hard to go home to your gas lamps and no central heat?”

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“Some cold mornings make me wish I could sleep in one of the inn’s empty beds.” “Why don’t you?” Her gaze snapped up to his. “I take the vows of my faith seriously. It would be easy to stay at the inn. My cold feet would feel better but what good would it do my soul if I let temptation bend me hither and yon like the wind does a reed? Nee, I will not go against the teaching of our faith.” “You are a wise woman. I lived a long time in the English world. It didn’t do my soul any good.”

Chapter Ten Adam didn’t know why he felt the need to share his past with this woman. She would likely think the same thing his father did. That he would run back to the worldly ways of the English when things got tough. “What made you leave the Amish?” Emma asked quietly. He wanted her to think well of him, but he knew she would hear the story someday. It would be best if it came from him. He gathered his courage. Laying his foolishness bare for her to see was harder than climbing to any height. He took a deep breath. “When I was young, the outside world seemed glamorous. Full of forbidden fun and overflowing with things like cars and televisions and video games. I wanted to be a part of it. I felt smothered in my life on the farm. Did you ever feel that way?” Emma shook her head. “Nee, I have not. I believed our Plain lives bring us closer to God. I find much comfort in our ways.” “I had a brother, Jason, who felt the same as I did. We went to work for an English construction company because my family needed the money after a poor summer crop. The pay was good. I even learned to drive a car and I bought one. Dat hated it and soon stopped taking the money we brought home. When I wouldn’t give up my car, he made me move out. My brother came with me.” “How sad that must have been for all of you.” Adam swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “It was hardest on my mother.” “Is that why you came back?” “Nee, I was too stubborn for that. My boss liked me. He taught me all about building things, fixing things, even how to work on a car, but during those years I missed the rest of my family. My mother wrote asking us to return, but we never did. Then, a year ago she died suddenly. My brother and I came home for the funeral, but Dat would not speak to us. So, we went back to the city.” “That doesn’t explain how you came to be in Hope Springs.” “Two months ago, Jason and I were working on a scaffold when it collapsed. He fell three stories. I managed to hold on to a cable until I was rescued. As I was swinging there, my fingers growing numb and slipping, I heard my mother whisper in my ear. She said, ‘Hang on, Adam, God has other plans for you.’ I’m not making it up, I heard her voice.” “I believe you. What happened to your brother?” “He was killed instantly. After that, I came back to my dat’s farm.” To another funeral and an empty ache that never went away.

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The accident and the loss of his brother had forced Adam to reevaluate his own life. His Amish roots had been strangled by his sense of self-importance and the money his high-paying job brought in. He had left God behind for a fat paycheck and a used car. “I’m so sorry.” Emma’s breath rose in frosty puffs. Her cheeks glowed rosy pink from the cold, but she made no move to go inside. Sympathy filled her eyes as tears gathered in the corners. He sensed she understood the terrible price he’d paid for his folly. Suddenly, he became aware of a connection between them, something he’d never felt before with any woman. How could he have thought she was plain? There was so much beauty and peace in her eyes. “Your dat must have been happy to have you home.” Sadly, Adam shook his head. “Nee. He’s not convinced that I’ve changed. He thinks I will run back to my good job and easy life if I can’t earn a decent living here.” “Will you?” she asked, an odd quality in her tone. “I will not go back to my English ways. I won’t lie, I miss some things about that life, but now God is with me every day.” “Your dat will see that in time.” “I’m not sure. He forgave me for the pain I brought on our family, but he no longer trusts me. I would do almost anything to be worthy of his respect again.”

Chapter Eleven The winter sky held only a hint of pink in the east as Emma pulled open the barn door on Monday morning. Under her arm, she carried a rubber hot water bottle. Even through her coat she could feel its warmth. It reminded her of the warmth that had enveloped her when Adam shared so much about his life. She stood there thinking about him, about his struggle with his faith, and the way he’d chosen to share it with her touched her deeply. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Inside the dark stable, she paused to light a lantern on the workbench beside the door. She held it high to light her way past the black buggy to the single stall beyond it. A soft whinny from Cream welcomed her as the mare did every morning. Hanging the lamp from the hook, Emma checked the water tank, happy to see only a skim of ice on the surface. The temperature was still below freezing, but not by much. After doling out the mare’s grain and cleaning the stall, Emma quickly climbed the ladder into the hayloft. It was warmer up where the hay trapped the heat from the horse’s body below. A sudden chorus of mewing erupted from a wooden box covered with a scrap of blanket in the corner. “I’m here, little ones, don’t cry.” Emma sat cross-legged on the floor and raised the edge of the blanket. The mewing cries rose in volume. She pulled out the cool water bottle and unwrapped it from a length of gray flannel. Laying it aside, she wrapped the warm bottle she carried and tucked it in the box for the four tiny kittens crawling around in search of her and their breakfast. “You are so impatient,” Emma crooned as she picked them up, one by one, and settled them in the well of her skirt between her knees. The biggest one, a yellow fellow with long fur, began climbing her coat with his needle-sharp claws.

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Emma swaddled him in another length of flannel and pulled a doll bottle full of the special formula the vet had given her from her pocket. It took several tries before he got hold of the nipple. “Look at you. You’ve got more milk on your face than in your tummy.” The others had settled back to sleep in a multicolored ball in her lap. To her complete surprise, the kittens seemed to be thriving. Each time she made her way to the loft she expected to discover the worst. The two-hour feedings had stretched to three hours now that they had put on some weight. They had been only a day or two old when she found them. The local vet discouraged her from trying to hand-raise a litter of barn cats, but when she insisted he gave her the supplies she needed. Along with instructions, he gave her one piece of advice. He said, “Don’t get attached to them because it will only bring you grief when they die.” Grief was nothing new to her. She took the supplies and followed his instructions to the letter. Now the kittens were her special secret. Her barnyard babies. Not real babies. Not like the ones she would have had if William had lived, but they had mewed and wiggled and clawed their way into her heart. They were so helpless. They needed her, as she needed them. Even more than she knew. A sudden noise made her look toward the ladder. Someone was coming up.

Chapter Twelve Adam’s head appeared in the hayloft opening. Emma’s heart sank. Her secret wasn’t a secret anymore. Now he and everyone else would know how foolish the old maid, Emma Wadler, had become. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, masking her embarrassment with annoyance. In the light of the single lantern, his hat cast a dark shadow across his eyes. She couldn’t read his expression. After a moment of silence, he said, “Your mamm asked me to help you with chores so we can get going to the auction. Now I see why you’ve been coming up here so often. How many kittens are there?” A blush heated Emma’s face and neck but at least he wasn’t laughing at her. “Four.” He climbed up to sit beside her. “What a cute bunch. How old are they?” “About six days, I think.” “How long have you been taking care of them?” “Five days.” “What happened to their mamm?” He lifted a gray one from her lap and cuddled it close to his chest. Her nervousness began to fade. “She was run over on the street in front of the house. I didn’t even know she’d had kittens until I went to the stable later in the day and heard their mewing.” The kitten he held began making pitiful cries. “It must have broken your heart to hear them.” “It did.”

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Even knowing the odds were slim that they would live, Emma had soon found herself armed with a hot water bottle, a box with high sides and a kitten-size baby bottle with cat-milk formula and a round-the-clock routine. Raising the kitten to face level, he said, “They look healthy. You are a goot mudder, but why not take them into the house?” “Mamm is highly allergic to cats.” “Oh, no.” He started to laugh. “It’s not funny,” she chided, but she felt like laughing, too. He quickly grew serious. “Show me what to do and I will help.” She looked at him in astonishment. “Do you mean that?” “Of course. You can’t be scurrying out here day and night. You have a business to run. I will help during the day.” The idea of taking a break sounded wonderful, but could she trust him to do a good job with her babies? She didn’t want all her hard work to be undone by his carelessness. Apparently, he read her indecision because he said, “You should watch me the first few times to make sure I’m doing it right.” For some reason she did trust him. She demonstrated how to swaddle them inside a piece of cloth, how to get the bottle into their mouths, even how to burp them and clean up after them before returning them to their box. She fed one more so he could observe and then he fed the other two. When they were done and the kittens all returned to the box, he said, “We’d better hurry or we will be late for the start of the auction.” Spending the day in his company—in public—suddenly became a frightening prospect. She rubbed her hands over her arms. “I don’t think I’m going to go.”

Chapter Thirteen Adam saw his plans for the day unraveling before they got started. The picnic basket and thermos of hot chocolate under the front seat of his buggy would stay where they were. “What do you mean you aren’t going?” “I have work to do here.” “Naomi said she can run the inn while you are gone.” “I know she can, but I have the kittens to think of, too.” She walked past him and began to descend the ladder. He followed, feeling their closeness draining away. What had he done wrong? “The Yoder farm isn’t that far. We can come back to feed them and then return to the auction.” “It’s silly to make so many trips. I’m staying here. You go on.” She pushed open the barn door and walked out into the crisp morning sunshine. “I was only going because Naomi asked me to drive you. I’ll go patch that hole in the dining room wall.”

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Apparently, the connection he’d felt between them went only one way. From him to nowhere. His disappointment was sharp as the kittens’ claws. She spun around. “I forbid you to work today. You are to go to the auction, eat good food, visit with your friends. Your cousins are going, aren’t they?” The auction would be one of the biggest social events of the winter. The weather was cold but the sun was shining brightly. Families would come from miles around, English and Amish alike, to support the Yoder family and have the chance to pick up a bargain. Even his father might be there. She took a step closer. “You should go.” Sucking in a quick breath, he said, “I would like to go, but only if you go with me. Please, Emma.” Her eyes softened; he could see her wavering. Before she could reply, her mother came bustling out of the house, a large box in her arms. She made straight for his buggy. He had no choice but to rush over and open the door for her. Naomi said, “Danki. You two should get on the road. Emma, I’ve decided I want you to bid on the ice cream maker and on the pressure cooker.” She laid the box on the floor of Adam’s buggy and held out her hand. “Here is the money.” When Emma didn’t move, Naomi pressed the bills at her and began pulling her toward the buggy. “If you don’t hurry you could miss the household items. Oh, I can’t be out in this cold for long. It makes my bones hurt. I’m so glad you’re going for me, Emma. And thank you for driving her, Adam. I won’t worry about her a bit in your company.” Adam climbed in and extended his hand to Emma. For a second, he thought she was going to refuse, but suddenly Naomi began sneezing. Emma sprang into the vehicle and closed the door between them. With a hidden smile, Adam slapped the reins against the horse’s rump and sent him trotting down the street.

Chapter Fourteen At a loss for words, Emma could only stare at Adam. Had she misunderstood him? He couldn’t possibly think of this outing as a date. How could a man like Adam be interested in her? She jumped like a rabbit when he asked, “What’s in the box?” “A quilt and some of my jam. We are donating them to the sale.” “Is your jam as good as Grandma Yoder’s? If it is, I’ll have to buy all you have.” Lifting out a jar, she held it up for him to see. “I am Grandma Yoder.” He turned to look at her in surprise, then burst out laughing. “Well, Grandma, I love your gooseberry jam. Why not use your own name?” “A jar of Emma Wadler’s jelly doesn’t sell as well as one with Grandma Yoder on the label. Tourists are funny like that. They want things that look and sound like the Amish names they’re familiar with. Since the recipe is one handed down from my mother’s mother on the Yoder side of the family, I have no qualms about using the name.” She put the sample back in the box. “You are a good cook. You should open a café.”

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She looked up sharply. Was he making fun of her? “The inn is enough work.” Giving her a sidelong glance, he said, “I have an idea about that. Want to hear it?” He seemed serious. She nodded. “Sure.” Eagerly turning to face her, he said, “I could cut a door to the outside in the dining room and build some booths along the back wall to give you more seating. You already cook for the guests so why not cook for more? The town is growing. The English like to eat out. It could give you a steady income, especially in the winter. You could call it the Shoofly Pie Café. What do you think?” Surprised, Emma mulled it over. What he said made sense. Finally she nodded. “It is a good idea. I will think on it, but you may be sorry you suggested it.” “Why?” “Because then you’ll have to pay for the cinnamon rolls you eat in the mornings.” He grinned broadly and clicked his tongue to get the horse moving faster. Looking at Emma, he said, “Your mother called you a treasure and she was right. I’m glad you decided to come with me today.” Emma discovered that she was glad, too. A tiny spark of happiness flickered in the gloom that had become her life. Settling back against the buggy seat, she breathed in the cold morning air, feeling more alive than she’d felt in years. After a few minutes of silence, he said, “Tell me about yourself, Emma.” “I’m boring.” “No, you aren’t.” “If I tell you my life story you will fall asleep and the horse will run off the road.” “Seriously, how did you come to own the Wadler Inn?” That she could talk about. “A cousin of my father first bought the place fifty-five years ago. He never joined the Amish church. I started working for him when I was fifteen. He treated me like the daughter he never had. When he passed away suddenly, I decided to buy the inn and run it myself.” “Did you ever think about marrying?” Adam asked softly. She stared at her hands as her oldest heartache returned. “Sure, but it didn’t work out that way for me. The man I planned to marry died.” “I’m sorry.” “It was Gotte wille.” “If the right man came along, you could still marry. It’s not too late.” She glanced at his handsome profile against the blue sky. Did she dare believe him?

Chapter Fifteen

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Adam turned the buggy into the Yoders’ lane. They’d arrived in plenty of time to bid on the items Naomi wanted. Since the quilts wouldn’t be auctioned off until after lunch, they were free to wander the grounds and seek out other bargains. Within an hour, Emma got the ice cream maker, but the pressure cooker went for more than she was willing to pay. He bought her a hot pretzel at mid-morning as they watched the horses being sold, and was rewarded with a genuine smile. Why had he ever thought she was plain? Everywhere around them were the sounds of voices raised in greeting and laughter. He and Emma both ran into relatives and friends. What he had at first assumed was standoffishness on her part proved to be shyness. It seemed Emma had many layers. He wanted to explore them all. “Having a good time?” he asked as she retreated from a group of her mother’s friends. “I am,” she admitted with a touch of surprise and that tiny smile that so intrigued him. “I am, too.” He stood close beside her, not touching her, but wishing he could hold her hand or caress her cheek. She said, “If you want to stay, I can go home alone and take care of the kittens. They are my responsibility and I’m sure they’re getting hungry.” “I said I would help and I meant it.” They rounded the corner of the toolshed on the way to the buggy and came face-to-face with his father. It took a second for Adam to find his voice. When he did, he nodded. “Guder mariye, Papa.” He looked for any sign of softening in his father’s eyes and thought he detected it when his father’s gaze lit on Emma. They were saved from the awkward silence by the arrival of three of Adam’s cousins. David, Lydia and Susan all carried plates with hot pretzels on them. After greeting everyone, Adam said, “I’m sorry but I must go. I have promised to take Emma home, but we will be back later. Perhaps we can meet up then?” His cousins exchanged pointed glances, but it was David who replied, “Sure. We’ll be here all afternoon. The cattle aren’t going on sale until three o’clock.” “Great. We’ll see you there.” As Adam walked away, he thought he heard the girls snicker behind him, but when he glanced back, they had turned away. Emma was quieter than usual on the ride back to town. As he pulled up in front of her house, she turned to face him. “I’m sorry to be a wet blanket, but I don’t think I’ll go back with you.” Instantly concerned, he asked, “Are you ill?” “Just a headache. Anyway, you will have more fun without me.” He tried not to let his disappointment show. “I won’t, but I will feed the kittens for you while you go lie down.” She stepped out of the buggy. “That’s not necessary. I like the quiet time with them.” “As you wish,” he answered. Turning away, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “I had a very nice morning.”

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“Me, too.” He waited, but she didn’t return his smile. As she walked away he felt he’d somehow landed back at square one.

Chapter Sixteen After taking care of the kittens, Emma entered the house with lagging steps. Inside, she was surprised to see her mother sitting in the rocker by the stove. She held her Bible in her hands. Looking over her glasses, Naomi said, “You are home early. Where is Adam?” “He’s gone back to the auction. I was feeling tired.” And like a fifth wheel among his family and friends. She didn’t know how to fit in. “I imagine you are tired, what with getting up every two hours through the night to feed those poor motherless cats.” Emma’s jaw dropped. “Who told you?” “I may snore, but I’m still a light sleeper. When a daughter starts sneaking out of the house at night, a parent wants to know what is going on. I could see you didn’t want to tell me about them so I didn’t say anything.” Plopping into a chair, Emma said, “I’m sorry if I worried you. I couldn’t let them die without trying to save them. They were so helpless.” “If you can put that much effort into saving four kittens, can’t you put it into saving yourself?” Emma frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I think you know. You were seventeen when William was killed. I know you loved him but he is gone. You are still here. You used William and that inn as an excuse to avoid being with people your own age. You have built a wall around your heart higher than the fireplace. When your father died I felt the same way. Perhaps that’s why I let you wallow in your grief. After a while, I didn’t know how to make you see you’d shut yourself off from life.” “I’ve made the best life I can with what God gave me. I’m not pretty, I’m not witty. I’m dull and plain.” She thought she had accepted her lot, but Adam had her thinking about all the things she’d never had—a home of her own and a man to hold her and love her. Naomi shook her head sadly. “This is not what God wants for you. It would not be what William wanted for you. Life is passing you by, Emma. When I saw those kittens, I knew you felt it, too.” Tears blurred Emma’s vision. “I don’t want to feel that pain again, Mamm.” “God will help you bear any pain that comes your way. Trust in Him. Please stop passing up all the joy life has to offer out of fear. Do you like Adam Troyer?” “I do. I do like him.” “I can see that he likes you. All you have to do is smile at him and he will do the rest. Give him some encouragement, or sit in that chair and grow old without a husband and children and nothing but cats to love.”

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Emma bit her lip as she listened to her mother’s harsh but true words. Could she take the chance? What if it didn’t work out? Would she be worse off than she was now? Naomi drew a deep breath and blew it out in a huff. Rising to her feet, she said, “I believe I want to go to the auction now.” Emma gathered her courage and stood. “I will go with you.”

Chapter Seventeen David Troyer clapped Adam on the back when he sat down beside his cousin. “I thought I was seeing things this morning. There was my cousin, escorting the homeliest old maid in the county around this auction.” Lydia giggled. “When I thought of all the pretty English girls Adam used to chase I could barely keep a straight face.” “Me, too,” Susan added. The girls, eighteen and nineteen, were always laughing at something. Or someone. Seated on the wooden risers at one end of the cattle pens, Adam listened to his cousins’ remarks with growing unhappiness. Finally, he said, “Emma Wadler is not homely. She is a devout, hardworking woman with a kind heart. You don’t know her the way I do. I’m thinking of courting her.” Lydia and Susan flashed a scowl at each other. Then Susan asked, “Are you serious?” “Jah, I am.” He hadn’t known Emma very long, but that was what courtship was for. To talk and make plans, to discover if they were right for each other. In his heart, he knew she was the only woman for him. David nodded toward Adam’s father seated a few rows away. “Are you sure you aren’t rushing into this for another reason?” Adam clenched his jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” David shook his head. “You think if you quickly settle down and start planning a family your father will welcome you back with open arms. That isn’t fair to a woman.” “If that happens I will be overjoyed,” Adam admitted. Like David, he thought it would take more than an Amish girlfriend to convince his father he had mended his life. None of that had to do with the way he felt about Emma. After the cattle were auctioned off, the gas-powered tools were brought out. David and the girls left. Adam made his way up to the tools to look them over. From the corner of his eye he saw his father talking to the auctioneer beside the gas skill saw Adam intended to bid on. To his surprise, his father beckoned him over. His dat said to the auctioneer, “This is my son. He has a gift for fixing things.” Adam glanced sideways at his father. “What seems to be the problem?” The auctioneer said, “We are trying to make the most money we can for this family. A working machine brings more money than a broken one.” “I will see what I can do.” Removing the cover, Adam got to work. Within a few minutes he had the gas motor chugging away and the saw buzzing. Delighted, the auctioneer asked, “How much do I owe you for the repair?”

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Adam shook his head. “Nothing. It is my gift to the family. I was hoping to buy this, but now it may bring more than I can afford.” He started to turn away, but his father stopped him by grasping his arm. “You did a good thing for this family.” Adam smiled at his father. “From the time I was little I was taught to think of others first. I wasn’t a very good student, but I had a good teacher.” His father smiled. “Maybe you weren’t as bad a pupil as I thought.”

Chapter Eighteen Emma stepped eagerly out of the buggy when she arrived back at the Yoder farm. The auction was still in full swing. She looked about for Adam, but didn’t see him in the crowds of Amish and English bargain hunters. The sunshine was warm enough to start turning the snow to slush, but no one seemed to mind. She looked at her mother. “What would you like to see first?” Adjusting her bonnet, Naomi said, “It should be time for the quilt auction. I will go and see what my quilt fetches. I might have to bid up the price if it goes low.” “Careful or you’ll be stuck buying back your own work.” “What are you going to do?” Emma glanced around. “I think I’ll go look at some of the tools.” Naomi patted her daughter’s cheek. “I pray you find the perfect thing to mend your heart there.” Emma smiled broadly. “I believe I may.” The women parted and Emma set out to find Adam. There was much she wanted to say to him, but mostly, she wanted to be near him. To hear his deep voice and happy laughter. He had brought sunshine into her life after a long, dark winter. Suddenly, she caught sight of his cousins. Susan and Lydia walked ahead of her into the large barn. Perhaps they knew where Adam had gone. Hurrying to catch up with them, she paused inside to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer light, then spotted them looking at a collection of lanterns. Walking that way, she had almost reached them when she heard Susan say, “Look. There is Onkel Daniel and he’s talking to Adam.” A thrill danced through Emma at the sound of Adam’s name. She tried to see where the women were looking. Lydia said with a smirk, “I can’t believe it. All he had to do was tell his dat he’s dating Emma Wadler and that smoothed things over?” Susan crossed her arms. “Guess it was a goot plan. Onkel Daniel wants him to marry and settle down.” “Do you think he will actually marry her? Can you see them together for a lifetime? He’s so handsome and she’s so plain.”

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Susan picked up a lantern to study it. “She does own her own business, and Adam doesn’t have two cents to rub together. No…you’re right. Why would he settle for her?” As the women walked on, Emma stayed rooted to the spot. The question echoed through Emma’s shocked mind. Why would Adam, a man who could have any woman, settle for her? Why would he? The answer was as clear as the sky outside. He wouldn’t.

Chapter Twenty Empty box in hand, Emma sighed as she walked home. In spite of all that had happened, she refused to go back into the darkness where she had lived for so long. Life held hardship and disappointment, but it held joy, too. Like the joy of finding out the vet’s daughter was eager to take over the care of the kittens, and the sick one needed only a dose of antibiotics to make him better. Knowing they would be well taken care of lightened Emma’s heart. Yes, from now on she would look each day for the unexpected joys God granted everyone. It would be hard, because she had believed Adam was one of those joys. After putting her box in the barn, she walked toward the gate. When she pulled it open the first thing she saw was Adam high on a ladder against the side of the inn. He leaned out to lay something near the downspout and the ladder slipped. Emma’s heart jumped into her throat as he clawed at the frozen shingles. Terrified that he would plummet to the ground and be killed, she raced toward him screaming, “Hang on, Adam!” Grasping the heavy ladder, she stabilized it and leaned against it to hold it still. “I’ve got you. Come down.” Breathless, he descended the rungs. “Danki. You saved me from a nasty fall.” Her racing heartbeat slowed from its wild gallop. He was safe. “You need someone out here to keep you from breaking your neck.” When his boots touched the snow-covered grass, he let out a sigh and smiled at her in spite of her scolding. “God put you here to keep me from harm.” “This time. What about next time?” “That is up to God. Are you busy? I could use your help for another fifty or sixty years.” She gaped at him. Stepping closer, he pulled off his gloves and cupped her face in his hands. “I wanted to take it slow, make you see how much you mean to me, but I can’t. I must tell you now that I’ve fallen in love with you, Emma Wadler.” “Why would you settle for a woman like me?” “You mean someone who is smart, someone with compassion and a deep faith who has beautiful eyes? A woman who is full of grace and can cook better than my grandmother? I don’t know, Emma, why would I settle for someone like that?” “Because it will help you mend things with your father.” She waited to see his reaction.

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He gave her a puzzled look. “My father and I have already mended things between us. That has nothing to do with why I love you. I want to marry you, Emma, but I will settle for courting until we know each other better. May I court you?” Her heart tumbled over and poured out the love she had been hoarding for years. She smiled broadly at him. “Yes, Adam Troyer, you may court me.” Before she knew what was happening, he kissed her. It was a kiss full of warmth, hope and the promise of many joys to come. As his arms encircled her, she knew it was a kiss that would mend her broken heart at last.

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Love Never Dies by Rita Herron One foot in front of the other. Again and again. But the fog was so thick it obliterated her view. Where was she? Were they still chasing her, or had they lost her in the murky gray of the night? Pain splintered her side and her legs buckled. She pressed her hand to the ache, but blood seeped through her thin cotton gown and ran down her legs. A dizzy spell assaulted her, and the stars above twirled like a merry-go-round that wouldn’t stop. Nausea rose to her throat, the salty breeze stinging her cheeks. Her toe caught in a clump of sea oats. She cried out and hit the ground. Seashells stabbed her palms, and she tasted salt and sand. A voice called out behind her. Terror gripped her. She tried to push herself up, but she was too weak. A wave broke, and water sluiced over her bare legs. Then exhaustion overrode her fear, and she fell into a tunnel of blinding darkness. *** “We’ve found a woman.” Detective Graham Salt’s heart stopped, his fingers tightening around his cell phone. “Is it Carmen?” “We’re not sure; just get over here.” Graham was already running toward his Jeep. “Is she…alive?” He could barely make himself say the words. Carmen, his beautiful wife, had been missing for the past four weeks. He’d been out of his mind with worry and fear. The locals had thought it was just a lover’s spat. But he had wondered. They were so close to Nighthawk Island. He’d heard about the mysterious things that had happened before, the research experiments…. “Yes, she’s alive, but unconscious,” Detective Black said, dragging him back to the moment. “But I’m not sure it’s her.” He swallowed, wondering why they couldn’t be certain. Damn it, they had a picture, a description. And if she was alive, wouldn’t she tell the detective her name? Graham drove like a bat out of hell toward the deserted beach area, questions assailing him. Where had she been all this time? What had happened to her? The bitter fight they’d had the night she’d disappeared sent a fresh wave of guilt through him. She’d wanted him to leave the force. He’d refused. His job was his life. She’d left in a flurry. Whatever had happened to her, it was his fault. For God’s sake, he should have been more understanding. More attentive. The first night they’d made love flashed into Graham’s mind. Her tender pale skin. The glow of moonlight highlighting that unruly auburn hair. The sight of her naked, lithe body stretched out on the sand.

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She’d told him she’d fantasized about making love on the beach. He’d promised to fulfill that fantasy and more. But he’d failed her. His tyres screeched to a halt, and he jumped out, running down the embankment. The wind whistled from the ocean. Seagulls swooped down hunting food. The waves crashed against the Savannah seashore. He spotted Detective Black kneeling over a body. His heart froze, the air in his lungs whooshing into a fireball of agony. The officer glanced up. Stepped aside. Moonlight illuminated the shadows. Carmen. His throat swelled as he approached. She was alive. Pale and bruised, with a blanket wrapped around her. But she was breathing. Relief sailed through him. Her eyelids fluttered open. She squinted. Tried to focus. He smiled tentatively, wondering if she’d ever forgive him. Wishing they could turn back time. “Carmen?” The purple and yellow bruises under her eyes darkened as her eyes widened. A tear trickled down her battered cheek. “Thank God we found you.” Ironic he’d found her here though. Did she remember their special place? Was that where she’d been going—to their cove? She shrank back, her eyes white against the inky darkness. “Get away from me.” Graham rocked back on his heels, shocked. “What? Carm, it’s me—” She threw off the blanket, struggling to get up. But she was so weak her body sagged back to the ground. Detective Black patted her arm. “Just rest, ma’am. The paramedics should be here any minute.” Graham reached for her. He had to hold her. Make sure she was all right. Make up for all the time they’d lost. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice brittle. “And why are you calling me Carmen?” Graham gaped at her in stunned silence. The waves crashed and broke. A siren wailed from the top of the embankment. Red lights swirled in a circular motion over the parched sand. “Because that’s your name. Don’t you remember, honey? It’s me. Graham. Your husband.” She bit her lip. “No, I d-don’t know you. I have to get out of here.” “You’re going to the hospital,” Detective Black said. “You need to be checked out, ma’am. You’re bleeding and suffering from shock.” “No, no hospital,” she screeched.

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Fear wrapped its icy hands around Graham’s heart, fury mounting. What in God’s name had happened to her? Who had hurt her? And why didn’t she recognise him? The paramedics raced down the incline, sliding on the loose sand, hauling a gurney and medical kit with them. Helpless, Graham moved aside. “No, don’t let them take me to the hospital! They’ll find me!” She shoved at their hands, fighting wildly. The sheer terror in her cries tore him in knots. He reached out to calm her, but she bolted backward. She didn’t want him with her, either. Still, she was his wife. He had to protect her. Had to find a way to comfort her. But how could he when she appeared to be frightened of him, when she didn’t remember him or want him near her? Chapter Two Carmen faded in and out of consciousness as the ambulance sped toward the hospital. The paramedics had started an IV and placed a makeshift bandage over her wound. But they were taking her to the hospital. She couldn’t go back inside that place. If she did, she’d never get out alive. But who could she turn to for help? Who could she trust? Graham Salt? He claimed she was his wife…. So, why didn’t she remember him? And why did she sense that he was the reason she was in danger? The siren wailed in her ears as she squinted through the darkness. The harsh set to Graham’s mouth looked as if he never smiled. And that dark brown hair, it was almost black in the twilight. But it was his eyes that drew her. They were dark, too, tortured, haunted. As if he’d seen death and the underbelly of the world and had barely survived. Just as she had these last few weeks. If she could only remember what had happened to her. Who had forced her… No. She pushed away the images bombarding her. The needles. The sterile white room. The surgical mask. The pain. “Carmen, I’m so sorry.” Graham’s husky voice sounded strained. “I don’t know what happened to you, but we’ll get through this. I’ll make sure they take care of you at the hospital.” Fear choked the air from her lungs. “No, please…don’t s-send me back there.” He leaned over her, searching her face. “Shh, it’s all right.” “No…” Tears streamed down her cheek, her courage waning. She hated to beg… The ambulance suddenly swerved. Something slammed against it. Another vehicle. Then it swung sideways again, weaving back and forth.

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Graham gripped her hand. “What the hell’s going on?” “Someone’s sideswiping us!” the driver shouted. Carmen reached for Graham, not wanting him to leave her, but he dropped her hand, drew a gun and checked out the window. The car rammed them again, and the ambulance bounced and skidded. “Hang on!” The paramedic shouted. Tyres screeched. The ambulance spun around in a circle, then careened out of control. One, two, three times around. Then it slammed into a wall. Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Graham and the EMT flew forward. The back doors swung open. Two men in surgical masks jumped inside. Something shiny glinted in the darkness. A gun. Carmen tried to scream, but one of the men shoved an oxygen mask over her face, drowning out her cry. The other man knocked the EMT out cold. Graham fired, but the bullet pinged off the ceiling. Then one of the masked men tackled him. Fists pounded. Grunts echoed in the interior. Carmen shoved at the mask as Graham sank to the floor beside her. *** Graham slowly roused from the black hole. Dried blood caked his forehead, and he was disoriented; his head throbbed. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. A few minutes? Hours? Days? What the hell had happened? He scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked to clear his vision. The murky gray of night clouded the room. The scent of antiseptics and the clang of hospital machinery whirred in the background. Where was he? Memories floated back. He’d found his wife. Thank God. But Carmen didn’t remember him. She was hurt, bleeding. They were taking her to the hospital. The ambulance. Then they’d been ambushed. Damn it. What the hell was going on? Where was Carmen? He staggered toward the door. But a sound from the corner stopped him cold. A low moan. He spun around and saw her. Lying on a hospital bed. She looked pale and small against the white sheets, but her eyes were open. He stumbled toward her, his heart in his throat. “Carmen?” “I… thought you were dead,” she whispered. “Shh, no, it’s all right.” He gently feathered her hair from her face. “I’m okay. What about you?” “I’m all right. What’s happening?” she asked. “Why did they bring us here?” “I don’t know.” He memorised her features, praying for recognition, for the love to return to her eyes, but she still wore that blank expression. She didn’t completely trust him. But she had no one else.

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He saw the realisation, and hated it. “But I’ll get us out of here.” He cradled her face in his hands. “I promise. You have to trust me, Carmen. I won’t let anything else bad happen to you.” She tried to sit up, but blood seeped through her gown. Furious, he reached for the material to pull it aside. She grabbed his hands to stop him. “What are you doing?” “You’re hurt, damn it. I’m going to take care of you.” “No.” Terror and embarrassment flashed in her eyes. To her, he was a stranger. She didn’t remember their intimate touches, that he’d seen her every way imaginable. That he’d loved every inch of her with his hands and tongue and mouth. And he desperately wanted to do it again. “I’m just going to check the wound,” he said in a low voice. “Re-dress it.” She studied him for a heartbeat, then resigned, closed her eyes and turned her head away. His chest constricted as he lifted the material and removed the bandage. He’d expected a gunshot wound, but no…the jagged line of a knife wound puckered her skin. The stitches were fresh, the skin slightly infected, a trickle of blood oozing from beneath. Rage burned through him as he scrounged in the drawer near her bed, found supplies and re-dressed it. She remained tense, completely and utterly immobile, until he’d finished. “How long have we been here?” he asked in a gruff voice. “I don’t know. A day or two, I think.” She bit her lip, her voice low. “They… they drugged you. I thought you were dead.” He tilted her face so she had to look at him. “I wouldn’t leave you.” Guilt assaulted him, though. What if his investigation, his obsession with Nighthawk Island had caused them to come after her? The dam of tears she’d been holding back broke. He crushed her against him, rocking her back and forth as she trembled in his arms. She clung to him for several minutes, then finally pulled away and composed herself. “Are you strong enough to walk?” A pained smile of courage curved her mouth. “I did it once. I can do it again.” He nodded, then stumbled toward the window and looked outside. “We’re on Nighthawk Island. I’m going to get you away from here, sweetheart, then I’ll find out the reason they brought us here.” He’d find out what the hell had happened to his wife. And he’d make whoever had hurt her pay with his life. Chapter Three Graham tried to formulate a plan to escape while he picked the lock on the door, but his mind flashed back to Carmen’s wound. What the hell had these maniacs done to his wife? The obsession that had driven him to investigate Nighthawk Island intensified. It had started with his missing brother, Quinn. Three months ago, Quinn had left his military career with no word about his plans. But Graham had learned he was on Nighthawk Island. Whether he was one of the doctors or a target for one of the scientists’ research experiments, Graham didn’t know. His brother had seen some dark things overseas. Had even done some things he refused to discuss. Had he allowed the dark side to pull him under? Graham would find out. Just like he’d find out why they’d carved his wife up like some damn guinea pig.

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Rage and guilt tightened his lungs, but he forced himself to exhale. To keep his head. He had to if he was going to get them out of this mess. “Graham?” He turned, saw Carmen sliding from the hospital bed. She seemed so pale and fragile that he rushed to her. “I want to stay with you,” she said softly. “Find out what happened here.” His heart slammed in his chest. “No, it’s too dangerous. I’ll come back once you’re safe.” “Don’t you understand? I won’t be safe until I remember what they did to me.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Trust me. I’ll find the answers.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and have your mind erased.” She pressed a shaky hand over her heart. “It’s important I help you. They did this to me—” “No, sweetheart,” he said in a gruff voice. “They did this to us. And it’s all my fault.” Tenderness flickered in her eyes. For a moment he thought she might recognise him. Then footsteps pounded outside the door. “What if we don’t make it out alive?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. He pulled her to him, traced her cheek with the pad of his thumb, then lowered his mouth. Her lips parted, surprise flared in her eyes. “What are you doing?” “Giving you a new memory, something to fill that black hole.” With every ounce of passion he possessed, he claimed her mouth, his pulse racing as his lips melded with hers. Raw need flamed inside him as he tasted her lips, remembered the feel of her beneath him, heard the soft little gasp that meant he’d stirred her desires. The footsteps pounded closer. He forced himself to release her. Arousal flushed her cheeks, and his body ached with need. The doorknob turned. He motioned for her to pretend sleep while he hid behind the door. She climbed in bed just as the heavy metal screeched open. A chunky middle-aged man appeared, garbed in white, a hypodermic in his hand. Graham jumped him from behind. The man tried to stab the needle into Graham’s neck, but Graham slammed his fist into the man’s nose, then landed another blow to his stomach, sending him to the floor. Graham grabbed the needle, flicked it above the man’s face, taunting him. “Why were we brought here?” “I—I don’t know.” He jerked him by the collar, nearly choking him. “Tell me, damn it.” “I—swear,” the man screeched. “I’m an orderly. I just follow orders.” Graham glanced at Carmen, saw the terror in her face, then jammed the needle into the man’s arm and watched him float into unconsciousness. “Come on, let’s go.” For a moment he wasn’t sure she’d follow. But she ran to him. He yanked the orderly’s security tag off his belt, grabbed her hand and they slipped into the hall. But that kiss… that kiss had awakened something inside her. A memory maybe… of another time. A man’s lips touching hers. His hands… everywhere. Giving her pleasure. Making her forget… forget what? Had she

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done something to bring this ordeal upon herself? If only she could remember… The white walls blurred as they maneuvered the hallways, the rooms on each side identical. Solid metal doors, security panels and heavy locks barred the entrance. Sickening hospital smells permeated the emptiness, the sterile cold walls adding to the sinister feeling. Did they have other unwilling patients locked inside? Others who needed rescuing? Suddenly Graham jerked her against the corner wall, pressing her behind him. Someone was up ahead. She clung to his hand, her breath in her throat as they waited for the person to pass. Graham’s eyes met hers. He motioned toward the left. She nodded and crept along behind him. A sign up above read Laboratories. Another said Restricted. He edged toward the door and swiped the orderly’s security pass through the machine. The double doors slowly opened. Panic zinged through Carmen. She froze, palms sweating. She’d been through these doors before. Something bad had happened to her behind them. A guard lurched from the corner and shoved a gun into her back. Another grabbed Graham, aimed a pistol at his temple, then yanked them down the hall. “Stop it,” Carmen pleaded. “Let me go.” “Someone wants to see the two of you,” one of the guards said. Heels clicked on the hard floor, then the guard tossed them inside a laboratory. A tall, dark-haired man with a scar on his cheek turned toward them and glanced up, his expression lethal. Graham released a curse. “Damn it, Quinn, what the hell’s going on?” Carmen gasped, her knees buckling. Another memory flashed in her head. “You know this man?” Graham nodded, his eyes clouded with emotions. “He’s my brother.” Chapter Four Carmen stared at Quinn in shock. A faint memory stirred though, and her heart pounded. “Oh my God, you’re the one—” “Shut her up,” Quinn ordered. A guard pressed his weapon into Graham’s temple, and Carmen froze. Another guard gagged her, then tied her hands behind her back while the first one secured Graham’s hands. Graham shot Quinn a lethal look. “What’s going on, Quinn?” “You shouldn’t have come here, little brother,” Quinn snarled. “But you couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” “No, I’m on the law’s side.” Anger darkened his voice. “So, it’s true? You’ve crossed the line.” Quinn shrugged. “It pays more than the government.” “Since when did you start caring about money?” Graham asked. “You were always the noble one, dedicated to serving your country.” “Yeah, look what it did for me.” Quinn gestured toward the scar on his face. “And that’s just the one you can see.” Carmen flinched, struggling to recall what exactly had happened when she’d been held captive here before. She remembered lying on a metal table, Quinn standing over her, a scalpel— “You want us to finish them off?” one of the guards asked.

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Quinn shook his head. “No, let me have the pleasure. Then I’ll know my brother won’t be breathing down my neck again.” Quinn pointed his gun at Graham, then forced Graham and Carmen through a long series of corridors, each side flanked with various labs. When they walked outside, he led them down a trail through a deserted part of the island. Sea oats bushed Carmen’s legs, her feet slipping into the sand pebbles as they broke through the clearing of palm trees near the shore. A small boat had been tied up near the dock. Quinn gestured for them to climb inside. Carmen shuddered. He was going to shoot them, then dump their bodies in the ocean for the sharks to devour. How could he kill his own flesh and blood? Her chest squeezed as a memory surfaced. Quinn… he’d called her, urged her to meet him, asked her to convince Graham to give up the investigation. That had been the reason she’d fought with Graham. Wait — there was something else. A photograph she’d taken. Quinn had wanted it. But what was in the picture, and why was it so important? *** A few minutes later Graham huddled near his wife, trying to shield her from the wind and salty spray as Quinn cut the boat through the choppy waters. “Let her go, Quinn.” “Shut up,” Quinn said. “Enjoy these last few minutes.” Carmen burrowed beside him, her body shivering. Graham ached to touch her, to hold her, to make her remember how volatile it had been between them. He wanted to make love to her again, just one more time, to imprint the memory in her mind so she could carry it with her always. Till death do us part. He’d never thought the death part would come so soon. And now Carmen was going to die because of him. He nudged closer. “I love you, Carmen. I’ll get you out of this. I promise.” She turned imploring eyes up to him, and he pulled at the gag around her mouth with his teeth until it slid down her chin. Then he claimed her lips with his, sealing their love with his kiss, thrusting his tongue along her lips and tasting the salty breeze and her desire. But fear lingered in her taste, too. “I’m sorry, Graham, I — I saw Quinn before. He —” “We’re here.” Quinn announced as he beached the boat. Graham angled himself in front of Carmen to protect her. “Listen, Quinn, let Carmen go. You don’t need her,” he said. “You can tell them she drowned. Just take my body back for proof —” “You should have stayed away.” Suddenly Quinn raised the gun. “Go ahead, fight me brother.” Graham lunged at him, knocking him backward. The sound of a gunshot pierced the air. Carmen screamed. Graham grunted, a sharp pain slicing through his left shoulder. Blood oozed from the gunshot wound, a burning sensation rippling down his arm. Then Quinn shoved him over the side of the boat onto the shore. Graham struggled to sit up. “No, don’t hurt her!” Carmen jerked against Quinn, but his grip was so tight, her legs buckled, and she fell onto the sand beside Graham. He crawled toward her, his gaze pinned to his older brother. Then Quinn pressed a finger to his lips and pointed to his chest.

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He was wired. The truth hit Graham. Quinn hadn’t shot him to kill him, but to save his life. The blood in the boat would be his evidence. Quinn knelt, untied Graham, and shoved the gun in his hand. Graham narrowed his eyes. Was his brother serious? He expected Graham to shoot him? This had gone too far. Quinn stared at him for a long moment, the tension between them palpable. Finally, he grabbed the gun and fired it into his own leg. A grunt of pain followed, then he flicked at the microphone beneath his shirt. “I’m hit, but they’re dead. On my way back.” Giving Graham one last look of regret, he turned and limped back to the boat. Carmen released a sob, her eyes gaping in shock. “Oh my God, Graham, are you all right?” “He just helped us escape,” Graham said through gritted teeth. “But he shot you.” “He had to make it look good, as if we’d struggled. He needed my blood in the boat to confirm my death.” She tore at the hem of her gown, ripped a layer away and tied it around his arm. His throat thick, he pressed a hand to her side, then cupped her face. His heart was still racing. “Are you all right?” She nodded. Tears filled her eyes as she kissed him. “I think I — I remember what they did to me.” Graham swallowed hard, afraid to ask. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know… Chapter Five Still stunned from the gunshot wound, Graham cupped Carmen’s face in his hands. Whatever had happened to her had been his fault. He wasn’t sure he was prepared to hear the details. His imagination had already flared out of control. Had the scientists stolen her eggs, removed an organ…? But he had to face the truth or their marriage would never survive. Could she ever forgive him, though? “Carm, I’m so sorry I got you into this. I should have listened to you that night when we fought.” He slid his hand in her hair to pull her closer, but a gunshot pinged through the air, grazing his cheek. Carmen screamed and swirled around, but Graham put himself between her and the shooter. “Run!” She raced toward the wooded area offshore, and he vaulted forward, trying to shield her with his body as they ran. Another gunshot blasted the sand beside him, sending a spray of broken shells and sand pelting his legs. “Graham!” Carmen turned, her eyes wide with terror. He grabbed her hand, yanking her through the sea oats, then into the woods. The sound of footsteps on seashell crunched behind them. The shooter was on their tail. “Go toward the cove!” Brush crackled and a tree limb snapped, the sound of Carmen’s labored breathing splintering the tension. The trek took them slightly south for about a mile. Another gunshot sailed through the trees, sending palm leaves raining down on them. The man was a pro. He was closing in on them with every step.

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“In the cave!” Graham hissed. Carmen dashed inside, but he halted, slid behind a cluster of trees and waited for the shooter to appear. If Graham didn’t kill the man, he’d shoot Carmen. And if the shooter had been following Quinn, then he’d report the breach, and Quinn would be a dead man. He couldn't let that happen. Seconds later, a man dressed in all black slid into view, his footsteps slowing as he scanned the area. Graham held his breath, not daring to move until the shooter came nearer. Just as the man ducked to search the cave, Graham landed a karate chop across his neck. His legs buckled, and he dropped to the ground, but he flipped himself over and fired. Graham dodged the bullet, kicked the gun to the ground and landed another blow to his belly. The man dove sideways for the weapon, but Graham grabbed it and fired into the man’s chest. Blood spurted from his heart as he fell backward into the sand, the crimson color pooling around him. *** Carmen heard the gunshot and froze. No! The man had killed Graham. It was impossible — her husband couldn’t be dead. She loved him; she needed him. She had to explain what had happened… Fear pounding in her chest, she searched the cave for a weapon, a rock, anything to protect herself. Then footsteps crackled at the entrance. A shadow appeared. Dark hair. A man with his hand pressed to his shoulder. “Graham?” He moved slowly toward her. “Yes, it’s me.” She lunged toward him and threw her arms around him. “Thank God. I thought you were dead.” She noticed his questioning gaze as he glanced into her eyes. She knew the answers now, remembered the tracking device the scientists had implanted, the photograph. She dreaded telling him. Then it didn’t matter. Their lips met; he closed his mouth over hers, and their tongues danced in desperation. Fire ignited in her belly, burning through her body, making her ache with want. She remembered the first time they’d come to the cove, the first time they’d made love, the tenderness Graham had shown, the hunger she’d felt at his possession. Her breath hissed out when he finally pulled away, but she saw the blood soaking his shirt, and her stomach lurched. “We have to get you to the hospital.” “No. No hospitals. They might be watching.” They — the people on Nighthawk Island. “They obviously didn’t trust Quinn, or they wouldn't have put a tail on him.” He gritted his teeth, pressing his hand over the wound again to stem the bleeding. “We have to play dead. Disappear for a while. Protect his cover.” She nodded. She understood, knew the stakes. He was right. “Let’s go to my cabin, get some things together. I’ll phone my contact at the FBI to take care of the body.” She nodded, and he dragged the man inside the cave. The walk to his cabin was less than half a mile, but it seemed like an eternity. Graham looked pale as he phoned the agent. When he hung up, he staggered toward the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water and

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downed it. Sweat beaded on his face and neck as he ripped the blood soaked shirt from his body. Carmen’s pulse clamored at the sight of his naked torso. Broad shoulders. Muscular arms. Dark hair tapering over his chest and trailing downward. Yet a fresh trail of blood followed. His gaze met hers. For a fraction of a second, she almost went into his arms. She saw that he wanted it. But they had to tend to his wounds. “You have to dig out the bullet,” he said in a husky voice. Carmen shook her head. She couldn’t. Didn’t have it in her to hurt him. “You can do it, Carm.” He took her hand, pulled her to him, ran hot water into the sink, then wiped away the blood with a cloth. She inhaled sharply. This man had done so much for her. He loved her, had married her, given himself to her. She couldn’t let him down now. Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she took the cloth and finished the task. He handed her a small, sharp knife and a pair of tweezers, then sat down and braced himself on the hard wood chair. “It’s not very deep,” he said. “I can feel it.”

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In Love and War by Ingrid Weaver As a member of the elite Eagle Squadron, Captain Kyle Jackson routinely risks his life on dangerous missions for Army Intelligence. In fact, one such mission landed him in a Middle Eastern prison, presumed dead by the outside world. When he finally returned home, Kyle was heartbroken to realize his fiancée had married another man! Disillusioned with life and love, he threw himself into his work, and has now found himself in yet another cell. This time in a small, Central American dictatorship…. For six long years, Angie Gonzales never gave up hope that the man she loved was still alive. But as his fiancée's best friend, Angie hid her true feelings for Kyle, even after he returned. After all, she knows he'll never trust his heart to another woman. But when she gets a tip that Kyle has been captured on his latest mission, Angie will stop at nothing to rescue her "good pal," even if it means risking her own life!

Chapter One Captain Kyle Jackson lay sprawled on the cot. Dried blood covered his fists. A purple bruise adorned his right cheekbone above three days’ worth of bristling beard stubble. Grime streaked the wild colors of the Hawaiian print shirt he’d donned for the mission. He’d posed as a tourist, but the Juarez Cartel hadn’t bought the act. They’d had the local police pick him up. Judging by his appearance, they’d had the cops do more than that. “Señor Magnum!” The guard rapped his nightstick against the cell bars. “You have a visitor.” The man on the cot didn’t move. For the first time since she’d heard the news from Intelligence yesterday morning, Angie Gonzales experienced a surge of pure fear. There hadn’t been time before. She’d shoved her emotions aside, finessed her way through a morass of red tape and called in every favor she’d been owed just to get here. Until two minutes ago, she hadn’t been sure that the tip they’d received had been legitimate. But the man in the basement jail of this Central American police station was definitely Kyle Jackson. Angie would know him anywhere, regardless of his appearance. Her heart recognized his presence. That’s because she had been in love with him from the moment they had met. Dear God, had she gotten here too late? No! He couldn’t be dead. Otherwise, she would have sensed it. She’d known he’d been alive ten years ago, even after everyone else had given up and believed the official story.… “It was a training mission. A damn dress rehearsal. They must be wrong.” “I’m sorry, Angie. There’s no mistake.” “Kyle can’t be dead. I won’t believe it.” Vic slid his arm around her shoulders. “He knew the risks. We all do.” She leaned into her brother’s embrace. Vic was a member of Eagle Squadron. One of the elite commando units of Special Operations Delta, so Angie was well aware of the dangers soldiers like Kyle faced. “Does Sarah know yet?” “I was hoping you’d help us tell her. She’s going to need a friend.”

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Yes, Sarah Fox would need their support. Losing Kyle would devastate her. She was, after all, his fiancée. And Angie was Sarah’s best friend. So no one, especially Kyle, had known of her love for him. She’d been prepared to accept his marriage, because she loved him enough to want him to be happy. Yet she had never been able to accept his death.… Kyle hadn’t died on that training mission. Instead, he’d spent the next six years in a Middle East prison. Thoughts of Sarah, the woman he’d planned to marry, had kept him alive. Then he’d returned home to find she had already married another man. It was the only time Angie had seen Kyle cry. She’d tried to be there for him, because he’d needed a friend. Afterward, a friend was all he’d wanted her to be. As she’d discovered, no prison made of steel or concrete could match the walls that Kyle Jackson had built around his heart.

Chapter Two Angie dug her nails into her palms and focused on Kyle’s chest. In spite of his wounds, he appeared to be breathing. She permitted herself a moment of fierce joy. Confirming he was alive had been the hardest part, but the rest wasn’t going to be any cakewalk. “These conditions are deplorable. This man needs medical attention.” As she spoke, the rhythm of Kyle’s breathing seemed to change. Though the cot was in the dimmest corner of the cell, Angie got the impression his muscles had tensed. Or was that merely wishful thinking on her part? “You! Magnum.” The guard rapped the bars again. “Get up!” That was the second time he’d called Kyle Magnum. Either that was the alias he was using, or it was a reference to the garish shirt. Angie suspected it was the shirt. “He’s unconscious,” she said, switching to Spanish. “He could be in a coma. I insist you bring in a doctor.” The guard grunted a curse, retrieved a mug from his desk and flung the contents through the bars. Liquid that looked and smelled suspiciously like beer spattered on the floor and the side of the cot. Several drops hit Kyle’s face, but he didn’t flinch. Had she been wrong? Was he worse off than he looked? Angie withdrew her phone from her suit jacket, forcing herself to concentrate on her role in order to keep the panic at bay. “This is outrageous. I’m calling the American consulate. If you won’t provide a doctor, they will.” The guard turned his back on his prisoner to glare at her. “Do not make trouble or you will join your friend. This is not your country. Your government has no power—” That was all he had time to say. In a blur of motion, Kyle leapt from the cot, thrust his arm between the cell bars and hooked his elbow around the guard’s throat. “Kyle!” Angie cried. He used his other hand to tighten the vise of his elbow, holding the guard suspended against the bars. The man kicked and clawed to no effect before finally going limp. Kyle let him drop to the floor and turned his attention to Angie.

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His sable hair stuck up in wild tufts all over his head. Dried blood darkened a split in his lower lip. His hands continued to flex, as if preparing for another fight. He’d never looked more deadly, yet his eyes shone with the gentle, gold-tinged hazel that had always reminded her of a forest in springtime. No blood or grime or passing years could dim his appeal for her. It was in the alert spark in his gaze, the stubborn lift of his chin, the strength in his broad shoulders… “What—” His voice was raw. He tried again. “What the hell are you doing here, Gonzales?” No hello. No thank you. Not that she’d expected either. I’m here because I love you, you idiot. “Isn’t it obvious, Captain Jackson? I came to rescue you.”

Chapter Three Kyle studied Angie through the cell bars. “You shouldn’t have come. I was doing fine.” “Sure you were. I know how you enjoy confined spaces.” “Dammit, Gonzales, this was too much of a risk. What were you thinking? To smuggle me out in an ambulance?” “That was the plan until you decided to take out that guard.” She slipped her phone back into her jacket and smoothed her skirt, then grabbed a ring of keys from the desk and tossed them to Kyle. “Now we’ll need to improvise.” He shoved the fallen guard aside as he opened the cell door. “I didn’t have a choice. He threatened to lock you up.” Had he? She hadn’t even noticed. Kyle picked up the guard’s nightstick, although Angie didn’t think the piece of wood was to be much help against the armed police who stood between them and the way out. He unlocked the door that led to the stairwell and motioned her forward. “How did you get the cops to let you in, anyway?” he asked. “Most of them are on the cartel’s payroll.” “Yes they are, so they were already accustomed to the direct approach.” “What’s that mean?” “I bribed my way in.” “Intelligence must want me back bad.” “Don’t get a swelled head. I had to take up a collection around your office for the bribe.” “And no doubt you itemized every cent. How much of the cash have you got left?” “Not enough to outbid the cartel. They’ve got dibs on your butt.” “It’s your butt I’m worried about. What the hell possessed you to—” She held up her palm. “Do we need to get into that again? I’m just doing my job, Kyle.” “No, you’re not.” He caught her hand. “Your job is behind a nice, safe desk at State. Gonzo’s going to kill me when he finds out what you’re up to.”

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Gonzo was her brother’s nickname. “Vic already knows. He and the guys were supposed to meet us at the border.” “Couldn’t Eagle Squadron get someone else to do their dirty work?” It was difficult to concentrate on his question when her pulse was racing the way it was now. He was right. She seldom left the comfort zone of her desk at the State Department. Her work was done behind the scenes. She wasn’t adventurous like her brother, or tough like Kyle. Whatever injuries he’d sustained from the police beating didn’t appear to be affecting him. He stood straight and tall, and his grip on her fingers was strong. That was another reason for her elevated heartbeat. Regardless of the circumstances, the simple touch of his skin against hers echoed through every nerve in her body. How could he look so good to her when he was such a mess? It wasn’t fair. He likely didn’t even realize he was still holding her hand. Or so she thought, until she felt the warmth of his lips on her knuckles. Good Lord. Was that a kiss?

Chapter Four Angie had learned the hard way not to get her hopes up. Too many years of running into those walls around Kyle’s heart had made her develop some impressive defenses of her own, so her mind scrambled to find alternate explanations for what she’d just felt. The scab on Kyle’s lip could have been itchy and he’d rubbed it against her knuckles to scratch it. Or he might have been scratching his beard stubble. Or stress could have made her imagine the whole thing. After all, why would Kyle kiss her hand? That wasn’t something he would do to a friend, a pal, a buddy like her. It wasn’t something he would do, period. It was too…courtly. Tender. And totally inappropriate considering the fact they were unarmed, outnumbered and hiding in the stairwell of a police station. Kyle was practical. The success of his missions was his priority. It was why he was such a valuable asset to Army Intelligence. She’d been kidding about needing to take up a collection to help him. Of course, he would have known she’d been kidding, because that was the way they always talked to each other. Like buddies. “On second thought, maybe I’ll kill Gonzo when we get out of here,” Kyle said. “What?” “If he knew you were coming, he should have stopped you.” Kyle was regarding her over the top of their joined hands. It was hard to see his expression because his hair had fallen forward again. She licked her free hand and smoothed down his hair. “He couldn’t. Apparently, Special Ops was all out of people who could speak Spanish so I had to volunteer.” Kyle snorted. “Right.” “Besides, they promised to pay me overtime.” “Now that explains it.” He released her hand. “Hope you held out for double time and a half.” Angie felt the loss of contact like a cold draft. It helped clear her head. What on earth was she doing? Mooning around like a love-struck teenager because he’d been holding her hand? Not only was that pathetic, it was selfish. There was no time to think about herself.

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It wasn’t only her fears about Kyle’s physical condition that had made her pull out all the stops to mount a rescue. Being locked in any jail for even an hour would have to be torture for him. She hadn’t wanted him to be haunted by his previous imprisonment. She didn’t want him to think he’d been forgotten this time. Enduring those six years of being dead to the world had left plenty of scars, although Kyle would be the last person to admit it. “While I’d love to prolong our stay here so I can put more time on the clock—” she said “—I need to get home to feed my cat. The night shift should be coming on duty any minute now. It could present our best chance to—” As if on cue, a door squeaked open above them.

Chapter Five Kyle jerked his head toward the first floor landing just as a set of leather boots came into view on the stairs. He gestured for Angie to stay behind him. She got no more than a glimpse of a man in a light brown police uniform before Kyle pushed the nightstick through the staircase railing and jabbed it between the man’s ankles. The policeman crashed to the basement floor. The fall only stunned him. Before he could push himself up, Kyle tapped him on the side of the head with the nightstick to finish the job. He withdrew the pistol from the holster at the man’s waist, then popped out the magazine, checked the ammunition and clicked it back into place. “Okay, let’s go,” he said as he started up the stairs. Angie breathed deeply a few times, hitched up her skirt so that she could step over the downed man and sought to be as matter-of-fact as Kyle. “How many bullets are in that gun?” “Enough.” “I counted more than a dozen men on my way in. If you’re hoping to shoot your way out…” “Not if I can avoid it. I don’t want you in the middle of a firefight.” He knelt on the third step from the top of the staircase so he could peer beneath the door. He remained as he was for what seemed like an hour, but what could only have been half a minute. Rising to his feet, he crooked his finger at her. “As soon as I open this door, I need you to make a lot of noise.” She paused on the step beside him, a new worry stealing into her mind. Had these few days in captivity already affected his mental state? As if he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts, a dimple appeared below the bruise on his cheek. It wasn’t much of a smile, but on Kyle it was as good as a grin. “No, I’m not crazy. Don’t you trust me, Gonzales?” With my life, Kyle. My heart, too, if only you would take it. “Why do you want me to make noise?” He turned her to face away from him, looped his arm in front of her waist and lifted her back against his body. His breath puffed across her ear. “Because I’m abducting you.” Angie was swamped by sensations. Sometimes, she forgot how large Kyle was. She wasn’t a small woman—though her Spanish father had given her his name and his dark hair, she’d inherited her height and her blue eyes from her mother’s Danish ancestors. Still, in Kyle’s embrace, she felt almost delicate. He held her suspended effortlessly. From shoulder to thigh they fit together perfectly, as if they’d been made for each other.… Don’t think about it! she ordered herself. She anchored her fingers around his arm and struggled to make sense of what he’d said. “Uh, abducting?”

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“Just act scared.” “I won’t be acting.” He gave her a squeeze and flung open the door.

Chapter Six “Nobody move!” Kyle shouted in Spanish, waving the gun around the room. He tightened his other arm on Angie’s waist. “Stay where you are or I’ll kill her!” In spite of his threat, several policemen reached for their guns. Kyle fired past their heads, shattering the front window of the police station. The men nearest to it ducked reflexively as glass showered the floor. Angie’s brain finally lurched into gear. Of course! How else were they going to get past all these weapons? She screamed and fluttered her hands, hoping to ruin the men’s aim or at the very least, distract them. She realized Kyle’s ruse wouldn’t work for long. Someone was bound to notice that he was doing his best to hold her away from the men’s guns instead of using her as a shield. The element of surprise would only buy them a few seconds at most. It was enough. With her dangling from his grasp like an oversized rag doll, Kyle sprinted across the floor. The police belatedly opened fire, but he had already reached the corridor that led to the station’s rear exit. “Put me down!” Angie gasped. “We’ll be able to move faster.” Instead of setting her on her feet, he swung her forward as he released her, giving her a flying start toward the door. “Run!” He turned and fired down the corridor to discourage their pursuers. “I’ll catch up to you.” She had no intention of leaving him, but she didn’t waste time arguing. A policeman emerged from an alcove beside the door and brought his gun to bear on Kyle’s back. Angie wasn’t trained in combat. Not like her brother or Kyle. Or Sarah, the woman Kyle had wanted to marry. Most of the battles she fought were against bureaucracy. Words were her weapons. The closest she’d come to martial arts had been a few slow-motion lessons in Tai Chi. So it was nothing but instinct that guided her motions as she lifted her skirt and kicked out. Her shoe flew off and whirled through the air, but her foot connected solidly with the man’s wrist. It knocked off his aim. The bullet burrowed into the wall beside Kyle’s head. Kyle spun and fired, dropping the man before he could get off another shot. “I told you to get out of here, Gonzales!” She shook her head. “Not without you.” He leapt to her side and shoved open the door just as splinters exploded from the doorframe. Kyle squeezed off a few more rounds behind him, then grabbed Angie’s hand and hauled her outside. The night air was thick with humidity, the buzzing hum of insects and the sound of shouted commands from within the building. A floodlight on the wall beside the door revealed a row of police vehicles surrounded by a chain-link fence topped by coils of razor wire. A gate topped by more razor wire appeared to be the only way out.

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Unfortunately, it was chained shut.

Chapter Seven Angie couldn’t see any way out of the compound, but Kyle didn’t slow down. She kicked off her remaining shoe to keep up with him as he led her to a van at the end of the row of parked vehicles. He smashed in the driver’s window, reached inside and unlocked the door. She brushed through the crumbs of glass that covered the seat and clambered over the stick shift to the passenger side. She didn’t see what he did to the ignition switch, yet she wasn’t surprised when she heard the engine turn over. Kyle was trained to do whatever it took to accomplish a mission. The engine roared as the van shot backward. She risked a peek between the seats. They were accelerating. Through the windows in the rear door she could see the gate coming up fast. Policemen were running toward it, their weapons trained on the van. “Kyle, look out!” He reached over to push her head down. Bullets tore through the back of her seat and punched spiderweb holes in the windshield. Kyle spun the wheel, swinging the van in a tight circle as he shifted into a forward gear. The police scattered. “Hang on, Gonzales!” he yelled. The front bumper rammed the gate dead center. Metal screeched and buckled. The chain that held the gate together didn’t give, but the vehicle’s momentum was enough to tear one side from its hinges. Sparks flew from the undercarriage as they scraped past the fence. An instant later they were clear. The van hurtled forward. Above the squeal of the tires and the noise of the engine, sirens whined to life. Kyle wound through the streets, turning at random, taking full advantage of their head start to put distance between them and their pursuers. Angie lost track of time. All she knew was that when he finally slowed to pull into a darkened gas station, she could no longer hear any sirens. She could hear her pulse, though. It was banging in her ears like thunder. Kyle shut off the engine and twisted to look at her. They had reached the outskirts of town. There weren’t any streetlights among the buildings. The only illumination was from the moon, making his battered face seem even grimmer than it had in the jail cell. “Are you okay?” he asked. Of course, she wasn’t okay. They could have been killed. She was so scared, her teeth were chattering. “Just p-p-peachy.” He stroked her hair, then smoothed his palms over her shoulders and down her arms. “Were you hit?” She wiped her eyes. His touch steadied her. “No. You?” “I’m fine.” “That was some driving.” “That was some screaming.” She tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. “Why did you stop?”

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He cupped her chin. “We’re out of gas.” She felt a tremor in his hand. He’d said he was fine, but… “Gonzales.” His voice roughened. He leaned closer. That’s when she saw the fresh blood on his shirt.

Chapter Eight Angie jerked her chin from Kyle’s grasp to focus on his shirt. Blood glistened in the moonlight that came through the bullet-riddled windshield. “You’re hurt!” He looked at her mouth. “Mmm?” “Why didn’t you tell me?” She tore open his buttons. Had she thought she’d known fear before? That was nothing compared to the terror that froze her heart now. She spread his shirt apart, dreading what she might find but determined to do something. Anything. They couldn’t have gotten this far only for her to lose him now. “It’s no big deal.” Thank God, she could see nothing wrong with his chest. In fact, it was perfect. Beautiful. Broad and muscular, as if sculpted by a master. Although the skin above his ribs on the left side was smeared with blood, there was no hole. “Sure. You’re such a tough guy, bullets don’t bother you.” “Nope, I get paid extra for them.” His attempt at humor made her vision blur. She blinked to clear her eyes. “Well, that explains your brilliant plan to abduct me. If you’d run any slower, you could have collected enough bullets to retire.” “You’re just ticked because you didn’t get to drive.” She stretched past the steering wheel to ease the shirt off his shoulder. “We would have been halfway to the border if I had.” “I’ve seen the way you handle a car. My grandmother gets more speed out of her walker.” Blood beaded along a line that angled across the top of his biceps. His sleeve was ripped. She carefully peeled it farther down his arm, braced one knee on the gearshift console and leaned across him for a better look. He grasped her hips. She assumed it was to steady her. “Stop fussing,” he said. “It’s just a scratch. A piece of razor wire came through the window when we rammed the gate.” The line deepened to a ragged gash above his elbow, where a rivulet of blood ran down his arm and soaked into his bunched-up shirt. Her stomach rolled at the sight. She felt a stinging ache in her own arm. She swallowed hard. “You call that a scratch? Don’t be a wuss.” She stripped his shirt off completely, tore a wide piece from the side that was dry and wrapped it firmly around his wound. “My cat draws more blood than that.” “Hey, I liked that shirt.” “It was a fashion crime. No wonder the cartel had you thrown in jail.”

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“Speaking of the cartel, if you’re finished playing doctor, I need to get some gas.” “I’ll help.” “Stay put. After three days in that basement cell, I could use the air.” She touched her fingertips to his chest. “I understand.” “Yeah, I know you do.” He was silent for a while. He pressed his hand over hers, warming her palm against his skin. “Gonzales?” “What?” “Thanks for coming to get me.” “That’s what friends are for.” He tightened his jaw, his nostrils flaring as if he were in pain.

Chapter Nine Angie had wrapped the gash on Kyle’s arm, but how could she have forgotten about his other injuries? Once again, she pulled away from his grasp. “Is it your ribs? The police beat you up pretty badly, didn’t they?” Instead of replying, he shoved his door open and stepped out of the van. He rubbed his face hard, then rounded the hood, walked past the gas pump and disappeared into the shadows of the gas station. She heard the tinkle of breaking glass. Concerned, she opened her door and followed him. She’d gone only a few feet before she was reminded she’d lost her shoes. She continued across the dirt yard more gingerly. “Kyle?” He emerged from the shadows with a crowbar in his hand. “I thought I told you to stay put.” “I thought you might need help.” “Right, because you’re my friend,” he muttered. “My buddy.” “Why are you so cranky?” “You got involved in this situation because of me. It’s up to me to get you out. That’s what I’m trying to do.” “It was my choice to come. Don’t feel guilty.” He returned to the pump. It was an old-fashioned mechanical model. He used the crowbar to pop open the lock and turned it on. “Then don’t feel sorry for me.” “Sorry for you?” She moved beside the van on her tiptoes, trying to avoid the rocks in the dirt. “What gave you that idea?” “I’m no genius like Sarah’s husband, but I can recognize a pattern.” Surprise left her momentarily speechless. This was the first time she’d heard him mention the man his former fiancée had married. He’d spoken easily, as if Sarah’s desertion no longer hurt, yet how couldn’t it?

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Regardless of how brief this latest imprisonment had been, it must have stirred painful memories of the other one. “Pattern?” she asked. He started filling the tank. “I realize I was a mess when I came back from the Middle East. I appreciate the way you stood by me. It couldn’t have been easy for you, trying to be a friend to both Sarah and me.” No, it hadn’t been easy. She’d loved them both, so she’d understood both sides. “I only wanted to help.” “You did. You kept me sane.” It was a perfect straight line, but she didn’t even consider making the obvious quip. “It was your own strength that helped you recover, Kyle.” “And yet you’re still trying to take care of me.” “I’m not.” “You must have pulled strings to organize my rescue.” “Not alone. The guys from Eagle Squadron wanted in on it, too.” “Sure, but you took point. You bandaged my arm and now you worry about my bruises. You’ve been doing that for four years. I’m a big boy. I don’t need your pity, anymore." I never acted out of pity, Kyle. I acted out of love. The words she’d held inside rose from her heart to her lips. But there was so much to say, where should she start?

Chapter Ten Angie pressed closer to the van, watching the play of moonlight on Kyle’s bare shoulders. Even when he did something as mundane as pumping gas, she still couldn’t get enough of him. Her fingers tingled with the urge to touch him. Her throat was thick with the words she longed to say. I love you, Kyle. I have from the moment we met. Only, the first time they’d met had been at her best friend’s engagement party. Angie had made herself smile and shake Kyle’s hand and hoped that no one had noticed how breathless his touch had left her. What choice had she had? The only way she could keep both people in her life was to hide her feelings, which was excuse number one. And they’d seemed happy, providing excuse number two. I love you, Kyle. No matter what they said when you went missing ten years ago, I knew you hadn’t died because I felt you in my soul. When everyone else had been struggling to handle their grief, confessing her feelings would only have caused more pain. A third excuse. She’d been glad when Sarah had gone on with her life and found another man to love, and not just for Sarah’s sake. She’d been delighted because it had meant Kyle would be free when he returned. I love you, Kyle. If you’d chosen me, I would have waited forever. But he hadn’t chosen her, and he hadn’t been free, either. The broken engagement that had delighted her had shattered his faith in love. How could she have revealed that her sympathy for him and the friendship

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she offered were totally self-serving? She would have lost his trust. Being his friend was the only way she could stay close to him, so she’d accepted the role and had protected her heart with excuses. Angie had acquired a vast supply of those. Each one was like a piece of armor—they were heavy to carry, they hampered her freedom, yet they had grown vital to her survival. In its own way, love was as perilous as war. Kyle returned the nozzle to the pump and tightened the gas cap. “Did the team give you coordinates for the rendezvous?” His tone was all business, as if he were speaking to a fellow soldier. Now, wasn’t it a good thing she had that armor on? She withdrew her phone from her suit jacket, punched up the map Eagle Squadron had loaded and held the display toward him. He grasped her wrist to study the screen. As always, the sensation of Kyle’s skin on hers warmed her to her bones. Oh, Kyle. Don’t you feel that? Do I really need to tell you? She lifted her free hand to smooth his hair. “Kyle, I’ve never pitied you. I…” Her words trailed off. The tiny red dot from a laser sight was moving across his forehead. Without another thought, Angie shoved him backward. Gunfire erupted from the darkness.

Chapter Eleven Kyle wrapped his arms around Angie’s hips and tackled her to the ground. Bullets struck the dirt beside them. He clamped his hand above her elbow and dragged her underneath the van with him. “Slide to the driver’s side and get in,” he ordered. “I’ll distract them.” “No! I won’t leave you.” “Dammit, Gonzales. Just do what I say for once, okay?” “But I wouldn’t be able to start the engine, anyway. There’s no key.” “Hell, you think I’d let you drive?” “Then why—” “Make you go first?” he finished. “Yes.” “Because otherwise, I might trample you. Hasn’t anyone told you that you run like a girl?” A bullet struck close enough to send a spray of grit against her bare feet. She pulled herself forward with her elbows and inched past him on her belly. “Fine. Just don’t try to do something noble.” He stretched his arm in front of the rear wheel. He appeared to be reaching for the crowbar he’d used to unlock the gas pump. It was lying on the ground half a foot from the van. “No problem. Chivalry is highly overrated.”

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She hesitated. Self-preservation was trumped by her fear for Kyle. “That crowbar’s no match for a gun.” “If we had a bullhorn maybe you could talk the cartel’s boys to death.” “You don’t think they’re police?” “No, there aren’t enough of them. And I didn’t hear sirens.” He was right. From what she’d seen of the low-budget local authorities, they wouldn’t have weapons with laser sights, either. “Where’s that pistol you stole?” “In the van.” He wedged his shoulder against the tire and made another quick but unsuccessful snatch for the crowbar. Bullets hit the dirt where his hand had been. “But it’s empty,” he added. “Just in case you had any ideas about playing Annie Oakley.” She pressed her cheek to the ground to look behind the van. Muzzle flashes pierced the darkness on the far side of the gas station with each round that was fired. They seemed to be drawing nearer. “Kyle…” “Got it!” He finally grabbed the crowbar. An instant later, he sent it skimming across the ground and into the gas pump. The impact knocked the hose loose. Gasoline trickled from the nozzle to the dirt. A fresh volley of bullets hit the back bumper. One struck the steel frame, raining sparks from the undercarriage. Angie looked from the sparks to the spreading puddle of fuel. Understanding dawned. “You’re certifiable, Captain Jackson!” He groped for a rock and flung it at the nozzle. The trickle of gas turned into a gurgling flow. “I do my best.” As quickly as she could, she slithered the rest of the way from beneath the van and threw herself through the open driver’s door. Kyle was right behind her. She was still scrambling over the gearshift when he crammed himself behind the wheel. The engine roared to life just as the gasoline puddle ignited.

Chapter Twelve Flames whooshed from the gasoline-soaked dirt. “Kyle!” Angie screamed. “I see it. Brace yourself!” He popped the clutch and fishtailed out of the lot. Her head hit the roof as the van bounced onto the road. She twisted to kneel on her seat, and looked through the bullet-pocked windows in the rear doors. The flames had spread along the hose to the gas pump. It was glowing like a torch. The gunfire had stopped. Maybe the men from the cartel had given up.… The hope was short-lived. A set of headlights appeared on the far side of the gas station. A black SUV burst from the shadows. It was nearly to the street when the station’s underground reservoir exploded. Angie covered her face with her hand to shield her eyes from the fireball. The force of the blast lifted the rear wheels of the van off the ground. The black SUV was tossed into the air.

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Kyle slung his arm across her back to hold her in place. “Hang on!” She hugged the seat. Her teeth clacked together hard as the van thumped back down. The SUV cartwheeled past them, spinning like a giant toy, until it crashed into a palm tree. Kyle swerved around the wreckage and sped out of town. It took a while for Angie to uncoil from her crouch on the seat. It took longer for her heartbeat to steady itself. She stared at the empty road in front of them, distantly aware of her scraped knees and ringing ears. But the physical discomforts meant nothing. Against all odds, they were still alive. She turned her head to watch Kyle drive. The binding over the gash on his left arm was dull with dirt. So was his chest. The bruise on his cheek appeared darker. The moon was beginning to set, so she couldn’t see much of his expression. Yet there was enough light to see the gleam of his teeth. He was smiling. What an impossible man. Before she could stop herself, she punched his shoulder. “Hey, what was that for?” “You could have barbecued us!” “I didn’t,” he pointed out. “Remind me never to let you plan a distraction.” “It was spectacular. Admit you enjoyed it.” “Enjoyed it!” She hit him again. “I should have held out for hazard pay.” He caught her fist in his hand. “Don’t worry. With any luck, I’ll have you home in time to feed your cat.” She looked at the darkness beyond their headlights. “Do you know where you’re going?” “Sure. You showed me a map on your phone, remember?” “My cell phone! We must have left—” “Relax. It’s in my pocket.” He pulled her phone from his jeans and passed it over. It still carried the warmth of his body. She swallowed. “Thanks.” “Thanks for pushing me out of the way when the bullets started flying.” “What are friends for?” Kyle’s smile faded. He yanked the wheel hard to the right and drove off the road.

Chapter Thirteen Kyle steered across a rock-strewn hillside and coasted into what looked like a bean field. Clouds of dust drifted past the headlights. The crest of the hill concealed them from the road. Angie barely had time to absorb the fact that they were no longer moving before the headlights flicked off, along with the engine.

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“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why did you stop?” “Give me a minute.” She laid the backs of her fingers across his forehead. “I could drive for a while if you need a rest.” “I’m not tired.” It sounded as if he had spoken through his teeth. She dropped her hand to his shoulder and found his muscles were humming with tension. She kneaded the knot at the base of his neck. “You’ve done more than enough. I wasn’t counting on your help when I planned this rescue.” “If you believe I would have let you do it alone, then you don’t know me at all.” Oh, she knew him. Every proud, stubborn inch of him. “Okay, blowing up the gas station wasn’t that bad an idea. I’m grateful for your, ah, creative thinking.” “Hey, what are friends for?” That was what she’d just said to him, only she hadn’t said it as if she were chewing a mouthful of broken glass. Obviously, he was angry. She caressed the place where she’d punched him. “I’m sorry I hit you.” “Did it make you feel better?” She considered the question. Yes, acting on her impulse had made her feel better. She wasn’t sure why. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I guess I needed a…an outlet.” “An outlet,” he repeated. His voice sounded strained. “Sometimes in tense circumstances, emotions can get confused.” He fisted one hand on the steering wheel. “I’m not confused. I’m thinking more clearly than I have in years.” By now, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Though the moon was almost down, stars still twinkled above the field, lending a silvery sparkle to Kyle’s eyes. She touched her fingertip to one of the lines that bracketed his mouth. “Don’t be angry with me.” “If I’m angry, it’s at the situation, not you.” “I understand.” “No, I don’t think you do, Angie.” “Then explain it to me. We can spare a few minutes to talk this out. I can feel how tense you…” Her voice trailed off. He’d called her Angie. That was a first. He’d called her Gonzales from the time Sarah had introduced them. He’d joked that it was to help tell her apart from Gonzo. She’d never asked him to call her anything else, because she’d hoped that his use of her surname would mean he would treat her like one of the guys. It also would be a constant reminder to her of the distance she had to keep between them. But she’d always longed to hear her given name on his lips.

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She looked at Kyle’s mouth. It was only inches from hers.

Chapter Fourteen Angie moistened her lips. They tingled. Merely having them so close to Kyle’s made her breathing hitch. She’d yearned for his kiss for so long, how could she be sure this wasn’t more wishful thinking? She’d kissed him in her dreams countless times. There were no barriers between them then. Cocooned in the safety of sleep, she was free to drop her armor and show him all the feelings she’d been guarding in her heart for over a decade. Even when she’d been awake, she’d fantasized how his mouth would feel—strong, honest and sensual. Those were some of the aspects of Kyle’s character that she loved the most. She’d imagined exactly how his lips would settle against hers because she’d memorized their shape. She knew the dip in the center of the upper one that formed a perfect bow. She knew the way they narrowed and tilted in at the corners. His lower lip revealed his mood more easily than any other part of his face, curling in when he was worried, stretching generously when he was pleased. Yet she couldn’t see his lips at all now. He was leaning so close to her, they had blurred. “Talking’s not the best way to explain it,” he murmured. Her mind went blank. “Explain what?” “Why I pulled off the road.” The road. Right. “I said we could spare a few minutes, but it’s too dangerous. The cartel’s not going to give up. We have to reach the rendezvous by dawn.” “We’ll make the rendezvous, even if I need to carry you the rest of the way.” “Kyle…” He skimmed his thumb over her lower lip. “Do you remember what you said about outlets?” “What?” “For emotions.” He sifted a lock of her hair through his fingers, then cupped the back of her head. “To relieve tension.” “Uh, I think so.” “Good. Because I can show you something that will feel a lot better than hitting me.” “Kyle, maybe we shouldn’t—” “Shut up, Gonzales.” He’d returned to calling her by her last name, but the tenderness in his voice had made it sound like an endearment. This was no dream. It appeared he was going to kiss her for real.

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Then again, would it be real? Or would it simply be an outlet for his tension, no more genuine than the punches she’d given him? She’d known all along that these few days of imprisonment would have stirred up painful emotions for Kyle. She’d seen evidence of that in his brief displays of ill humor, and in the way his muscles had hardened whenever she’d touched him. The last time he’d escaped from a prison, he’d come home to loneliness and heartbreak. Was that why he wanted to kiss her? Was he confusing her with Sarah? Was he trying to purge his emotions? Did it matter? Hell, no. Angie would take whatever she could get. Sure, one kiss wouldn’t change the pattern of a decade. But it was a start.

Chapter Fifteen Angie laid her palms on Kyle’s chest. “Don’t push me away, Gonzales.” His lips brushed across hers as gently as his whispered words. “Please.” She slid her hands to his shoulders. “Not on your life, Captain Jackson. This could turn out to be one of your better ideas—” That was all she had time to say before he tightened his grip on the back of her head and fitted his mouth over hers. Dreams couldn’t compare to reality. In Angie’s fantasies, Kyle had never had a three-day’s growth of unshaved whiskers that bristled against her skin. There hadn’t been a scabbed-over split in his lower lip. He hadn’t smelled of dust and gasoline, nor had they been parked on a bean field in a bashed-up, bullet-scarred van. Yet it made no difference. This was the man she loved. She greedily absorbed every sensation, unlocking her heart to store each detail of the kiss inside. She knew that things could revert to normal when they got home, but she wouldn’t think about that now. She didn’t want to consider where they were or how much time they had, either, so she laced her fingers behind his neck and pulled him closer. The van rocked as his knee clunked hard against the gearshift and one elbow tapped the horn. The kiss became a shared smile. Kyle drew her lower lip between his teeth and bit down gently. She countered by pinching his earlobes. He licked her nose. She tickled his armpit. With a growl, he threw one leg over the console, clasped her face in his hands and kissed her as if… As if he really meant it. Angie no longer felt like smiling. She closed her eyes against a rush of tears. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Now that she’d tasted him, how could she be content to be merely his friend? Kyle lifted his head. His breathing was as ragged as hers. “Do you feel that?” Yes, Kyle, it’s love. Two hearts beating together…

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Gradually, she became aware that it wasn’t her heartbeat she heard. The van was squeaking. The bumping she felt wasn’t from her pulse. It was from the tires rolling across clods of dirt. “We’re moving,” Kyle said. He pushed himself off her and climbed back behind the wheel. “Guess I knocked it out of gear.” So much for their romantic interlude. She wished she could have laughed. Instead, she wiped her cheeks. “We should get going, anyway.” “Yeah, we—” He swore as he pumped his foot to the floor. “We’ve got no brakes.” “What?” “The fire must have melted the lines.” The van nosed downward. Angie heard the whistle of air past the windows. They were rolling downhill, picking up speed at an alarming rate. He flicked on the headlights. They had gone past the field. The headlights reflected from bare rock. Beyond that, there was only darkness. Angie dug her fingernails into the dashboard. “Uh, Kyle, is that a cliff?”

Chapter Sixteen “That’s a cliff, all right!” Kyle stomped on the clutch, started the van and jammed the gearshift into reverse. The engine screamed. Pebbles and dirt flew from the tires. For an instant they hung motionless. The edge was no more than twenty yards ahead, a pale line against the dark void of the sky. Angie tried to convince herself that it would be all right. They’d broken out of jail. They’d dodged bullets. They’d escaped an explosion. There was no way they were going to be done in by gravity. Especially after they’d finally… She gritted her teeth. She would not think about that kiss. The darkness was drawing nearer. They’d started to slide forward once more. Kyle goosed the engine. He managed to slow their descent, but it was clear now that he couldn’t stop it. The tires had spun down to bare rock. They had nothing to grip. Angie pushed her feet to the floor, as if she could will the vehicle to stop. She shouted over the noise of the engine. “If you have any more brilliant ideas, this would be a good time.” “Jump. I’ll try to keep it steady.” “Did you say—” “Jump!” he repeated. “Flatten out when you hit. Grab whatever you can.” “What about you?” He fought to keep the wheel straight. “Tell Eagle Squadron the cartel hired El Gato. He’s going to kill our envoy to Rocama.”

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“I don’t give a damn about your mission!” she shrieked. “It’s not worth your life.” “Get out now. I can’t hold it much longer.” “I’m not going anywhere without you.” “Gonzales—” “Open your door, Kyle.” “Dammit, the longer you argue, the less chance you’ll have.” “I won’t leave you!” She pushed her door open. Its weight ripped the handle out of her hand as it fell forward. “We go together or not at all.” “Angie…” “On three. Ready?” “Okay, okay.” He was practically standing on the gas pedal now. He shoved open his door. “And you called me certifiable!” She gripped the doorframe and balanced on the running board. “One! Two!” Before she could get to three, Angie felt a hard shove in the center of her back. She was propelled clear of the van. Even as she flew through the air, she realized what Kyle had done. She hit the ground on her side and skidded across the rock until she came to a stop against a jutting boulder. She rolled to her knees just in time to see the van’s taillights disappear over the edge of the cliff. “Kyle!” There was no reply. Only the sound of tearing metal and breaking glass. It seemed to go on forever, echoing from the darkness. She crawled to the edge and looked over just as the gas tank exploded. For the second time that night, she had to shield her eyes from a fireball. Flames lit the floor of a narrow valley. There was no sign of movement among the rocks and scattered wreckage. No sign of life.

Chapter Seventeen Angie stared at the burning wreck below until her eyes stung and her throat swelled shut from the smoke. No one could have survived the fire or the fall from the cliff. In her head, she knew that, but in her heart she wouldn’t accept it. She didn’t care how things looked. Kyle couldn’t be dead. The connection they’d forged was too strong. She would know if it had broken. She would have felt it snap, wouldn’t she? You’ll come back to me, Kyle. Just as you did before. I won’t give up. She pushed to her feet and looked around, searching for a way down to the valley floor. The light of the fire didn’t reach this far, yet she was able to distinguish more shapes than she had earlier. Streaks of orange tinted the eastern sky. Dawn wasn’t far off.

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Almost forty-eight hours had passed since she’d heard that Kyle had been captured. Two days of agonizing, desperate hope. They couldn’t end like this. She wouldn’t believe it. “Kyle!” she shouted. Her voice was as raw as her emotions. Nevertheless, she continued to call as she moved along the cliff until she reached the spot where the van had gone over the edge. She traced a skid mark with her toes. He’d lied. He’d never intended to jump with her. He’d only wanted to give her the extra seconds that had saved her life. The stubborn, maddening, ridiculous man. When she saw him again, she was going to punch him so hard… But first, she was going to kiss him senseless, as she should have done a long time ago. Her tears overflowed. They dripped from her chin, they trickled under her collar and they seeped into the corners of her mouth. What a fool she’d been. For ten years she’d been playing it safe and biding her time, but all the armor in the world couldn’t protect her from the pain she felt now. One by one, the excuses she’d hidden behind peeled away. So what if Kyle had chosen Sarah first? That had happened before he’d met Angie. Sarah’s connection with him couldn’t have been as strong as hers. The fact that Sarah hadn’t waited for him proved it. What if Angie had listened to her heart and had fought for him from the beginning? What if she’d won? She could have saved them all years of heartache. It wasn’t only Kyle’s fault he continued to view her as a friend. Angie had never encouraged him to see her any other way. They both were responsible for the pattern of their relationship. For all she knew, he was as dissatisfied with it as she was. Love, like war, was no place for cowards. She’d been so afraid of losing Kyle that she’d never tried to win him. Too bad the realization had come too late.… “No!” she said. “I won’t believe it.” She backed away from the edge of the cliff. And tripped over Kyle’s legs.

Chapter Eighteen Angie windmilled her arms but couldn’t regain her balance. She came down beside Kyle’s hip with her legs draped over his. He lay on his back in a patch of low brush. Blood smeared a rock beside his head. He looked as lifeless as he’d first seemed in the jail cell. “Don’t you dare die on me, Kyle Jackson!” She knelt beside him and touched her fingertips to his neck, searching for a pulse. But her hand was shaking too badly to sense anything. “No way. We’re not done yet, buddy.” His arms were flung out to his sides, his fingers lax. “Wake up. It’s almost dawn.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it between hers. “We’ve got to make the rendezvous.” Though he still didn’t move, his skin was warm. That had to be a good sign. Sobbing, she pressed her ear to his chest. “Kyle, please. Don’t leave me again.”

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There was no mistaking the heartbeat that thudded beneath her cheek. She felt its echoes all the way to her soul. Her tears flowed faster, soaking into her hair and mixing with the dust that covered his skin. “Angie?” She lifted her head, and found herself looking into a pair of hazel eyes as gentle as a forest in springtime. “Kyle!” He touched her face. His brow furrowed. “You’re crying. What…” “Are you all right? No, that’s a stupid question. Of course, you aren’t. You hit your head. There’s blood on the rock.” She shoved herself off him and dried her face on her sleeve. “I shouldn’t be lying on you. You could have broken bones.” He lifted his hand and cautiously probed the back of his head, then flexed his arms and legs. Ignoring her protests, he pushed up on his elbows. “I’m fine. I just got knocked out.” “Like I’m supposed to believe anything you say after you promised you would jump with me.” “I did jump.” She pointed past him. Her arm trembled. “Do you see where you landed? Another split second and you would have gone over the edge!” He shrugged. “So I can’t count.” “You—” The pattern was starting again. Angie swallowed the retort she wanted to make. Without another word, she braced her hands on the ground beside Kyle’s shoulders, leaned over and kissed him. She tried to be careful. He likely had a concussion, and the split in his lip must be sore. But how on earth could she hold back when she’d wasted too many years already? Kyle responded with more enthusiasm than she would have believed possible. In spite of what they’d just gone through—or maybe because of it—he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her firmly down on top of him. Their bodies nestled together as naturally as if they’d been lovers forever. For a few priceless minutes the world faded… “What the hell?” The man’s voice had come from directly over her shoulder. Kyle rolled Angie off him and sprang to his feet.

Chapter Nineteen Angie had been too immersed in the kiss to hear anyone approach. Evidently, so had Kyle. A pair of large men stood not two yards away from them. They—and the rifles they held—were silhouetted against the dawn sky. Had the cartel found them? This was her fault. She’d known they were a long way from safety. She should have realized the potential danger of indulging her feelings. She scrambled to her feet.

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Kyle placed himself in front of her, shielding her with his body. His fists tightened, but the rest of his muscles seemed oddly relaxed. “Your timing sucks, Norton.” “No, I’d say it was perfect. Better me than Gonzo. You’re already beat up enough.” Angie belatedly recognized the voice. She looked past Kyle’s shoulder. Sergeant Jack Norton gave her a two-fingered salute along with an easy smile. “Hey, Angie. Is this guy giving you trouble?” She clutched Kyle’s arm, her knees suddenly weak. After all the emotions she’d had to deal with in the last forty-eight hours, who would have thought that relief would hit her the hardest? These men weren’t from the police or the cartel. They were soldiers from Eagle Squadron. “Jack,” she said. “What are you doing here? How did you find us?” “We followed your phone.” “My phone?” “We put in a tracking device along with that map.” She looked at Kyle. He didn’t appear surprised by Jack’s revelation. “You guessed?” “It’s what I would have done.” She poked him in the ribs. “That’s why you gave it back to me, isn’t it?” “I wanted to make sure you were found,” he said, catching her hand. “Where’s the rest of the team, junior?” “Scouting the area,” the second man replied. It was Sergeant Matheson, Eagle Squadron’s new ordnance specialist. He nodded toward the hill behind them. “Someone else might have noticed the trail of explosions you left. The chopper’s waiting over that rise, so if you two are ready…?” “Let’s go,” Kyle said, scooping Angie into his arms. She was too shocked to struggle. “What are you doing?” “What does it look like?” He started up the hill. “I’m carrying you.” The two commandos took up protective positions a few strides away, scanning their surroundings methodically as they moved. Angie brought her head closer to Kyle’s. “Don’t be absurd. You’re hurt. You probably have a concussion.” “You have no shoes.” “I can walk.” “You’ll slow us down.” “You told me chivalry was overrated.”

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“I like holding you. You got a problem with that?” The muscles in his arms flexed across her back and under her thighs. Her body rubbed against his chest with each step he took. The scent of warm male enveloped her. She sighed and looped her arm around his neck. “I suppose I could put up with it.” “Good. We need to talk about that kiss.” She glanced at their escort. “Uh, maybe we could discuss it later.” “Not a chance, Gonzales. This has waited long enough.”

Chapter Twenty Angie knew how Kyle felt. If the last forty-eight hours had taught her anything, it was that time was too precious to squander, and so was love. The sun crested the horizon, bathing the hillside in warm gold. In its light, Kyle’s injuries were more apparent than ever. They didn’t detract from his handsomeness. To her, they were physical evidence of the strength he had inside. She laid her hand against his cheek. “I’ve waited a long time to be honest with you, Kyle.” He kissed her palm. “You’ve always been honest.” She shook her head. “You’re wrong. I never told you the truth about how I really feel.” He stopped moving and set her on her feet. “You did tell me. You just never put it into words.” “Kyle—” “I work in Intelligence, Angie. I figured it out years ago, but I’m through waiting for you to face it.” “Face what?” “That you love me.” “Excuse me, folks. Our ride’s set to leave in six minutes.” At Jack’s voice, she started. She’d momentarily forgotten about their Eagle Squadron escort. The helicopter was already warming up. The other members of the team were converging on the hill. She spotted her brother in the distance, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Kyle must have seen him, too. “Do me a favor, Norton? Keep Gonzo busy for five.” “That’ll be tough. He wants to kill you for getting his little sister mixed up in your latest prison break.” Angie whirled on him. “You tell him to mind his own business. This was my choice.” “Some choice,” Matheson put in. “You threatened to come on your own if we didn’t help.” Kyle looked at her. “Did you?” That wasn’t all she’d done. The strings she’d pulled to rescue him had reached to the White House. “I might have.”

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“That proves my point. You’ve shown me in a hundred different ways that you love me. Coming to rescue me was only one of them.” Jack winked as he moved off. Matheson gave Kyle a slap on the back that would have felled a smaller man. “You have five minutes,” he said. “Make them count.” Kyle waited until the pair of commandos had left, then linked his hands behind Angie’s waist and drew her against him. “I don’t know why you persist in this friendship thing, but it stops now, understand? A friend doesn’t make my blood heat every time she touches me. A friend doesn’t haunt my dreams. You love me.” For almost a decade she’d wondered how she’d confess her love to Kyle. She’d never imagined he would be telling her. “I love you,” she repeated. “Damn right.” He rested his forehead against hers. “In case you haven’t noticed, I love you, too.” “You love me?” “I wouldn’t drive off a cliff for just anyone.” She choked on a sob that turned into a laugh. “Oh, Kyle. Let’s go home.” “As long as I’m with you, Angie, we’re already there.”

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Yield to Me by Saskia Walker The year is 1705. Annabel McGraw seeks to make a home in Carbrey—a small village on the Scottish coast—ever fearful that her secret will be discovered. A practitioner of the forbidden ancient craft, Annabel faces the hangman’s noose if the truth is revealed. When the villagers become suspicious, she knows she should flee, but her lust for local merchant Ewan Findlay makes her reluctant to move on.… When Ewan interrogates Annabel at the local inn where she works, it is soon clear that he knows she is a witch—and that he wants her just as much as she wants him! Unable to resist him, or to trust him, Annabel willingly gives in to her wildly passionate nature, risking both her heart, and her very life! But it seems Ewan has a secret of his own.…

Chapter One Scotland, 1705 I sensed it was him the moment he crossed the threshold. Ewan Findlay—the man I had craved from the moment I first saw him—was here in The Silver Birch. The very sound of his boots on the flagstones made my lust surge, his presence setting me aflame. I plunged my scrubbing brush into the pail of water and carried on with my work, my emotions tumbling as I considered my folly. To be distracted by any man was foolhardy. I had to be alone in order to survive, because no matter where I roamed on Scotland’s fine soil, I had to shield what I was. I did not wish to be persecuted for my beliefs, as so many others had, and yet I could not help myself. Ever since I had been here in Carbrey, I imagined what it would be like to lay with Master Ewan Findlay. As I watched him stride across the floor of the inn, my very center ached for the thrust of him there. Desire was leading me into dangerous ways. I knew it, and yet I could not stop my gaze flitting to the silver buckles on his shoes. How I wished it had been me who had polished those shoes this morning—me who had, perhaps, flaunted myself to distract him from his work. His legs were long and his thighs strong, outlined as they were in his tight breeches. I wanted to look higher but told myself to resist, lest anyone notice. It was an impossible task. Master Findlay’s image had bonded to my blood the moment I arrived in the village of Carbrey. I pushed my loose hair back over my shoulder and ran my hand around the back of my neck, arching as I glanced his way. He smiled at me and then reached into his pocket for a coin, affording me a glance beneath his frock coat. The shirt he wore revealed the breadth of his shoulders, his breeches only emphasizing his arrogant, proud stance. My stare lingered on his fine figure while I scrubbed on across the muck-covered flagstones of the inn. Ewan nodded at the landlord as he pushed the coin across the wooden counter, his gaze alert and enquiring. “Tam.” “Good day, Ewan. ’Tis a fine morning.” Tam Moray poured ale from a jug into a tankard. Beyond him, a gaggle of older men gossiped over their drinks. Tam watched where Ewan looked, and Ewan continued to look at me. The nature of his stare thrilled me, for it was filled with desire. How I wished I were on my knees before him in more intimate circumstances. There would be much pleasure in that. He supped from the tankard and then set it down. “Miss McGraw, might I have a moment of your time?” The scrubbing brush in my hand stilled. I lifted my head from my work. His smile had gone. “Several of the villagers have spoken to me about you.”

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It was then I noticed he was not alone. Hovering outside the doorway was a man who held a musket in his hands. They were here to interrogate me. Familiar fears crowded in. I dumped the brush in the pail and rested back on my haunches, drying my hands on my skirts, attempting not to show how I felt. “They are concerned,” he continued. “You are a stranger here. Is it a crime of some sort that you left behind in Glasgow?” I stood up, wanting away from this. “No!” The truth was I’d had to run, and I might have moved on from Carbrey by now if it were not for him. I again cursed my folly. His question brought out my stubborn streak. “Is it wrong to seek a home here?” “A woman, alone, no family. It is not right.” His hooded eyes watched me closely as he spoke. Beyond him, the old men craned their necks to hear what was said. I held my tongue, lest my defiant nature get me in trouble. The worst of it was that even while he questioned me, there was a vibrant potency about him that I could not ignore. We stood but a few paces apart and the distance only emphasized his stature, his fatal allure. In a small place such as this the merchant was a man of power, although that was not what drew me to him. Ewan compelled me to observe him, to desire him. I’d felt his gaze on me, too, yet I found no welcome in his words today. “The minister is concerned,” he added. “He wonders how you will support yourself.” Tam cleared his throat. “The wife took her in,” he said, taking his chance to indicate he had nothing to do with me. “She’s done good work in return for a cot and a few meals. I told her we can only offer her keep for another few days.” Tam Moray’s words riled me, but I had to be cautious. I did not want any of them to discover my secret. If they did, the hangman’s noose awaited. “I will find more work. I can turn my hand to many things.” Master Findlay’s hooded eyes scoured me, his handsome lips parting. “I’m sure you can.” The tone of his voice made my body quicken. There was lust in his eyes, I did not imagine it—and with his attention on me the room seemed suddenly smaller, the air more difficult to breathe. Yet he stood firm, the very angle of his head suggesting that he was expecting me to say more. This truly was an inquisition. My mind worked quickly through the possibilities, and then recalled a notion I’d had. “I mean to keep a bee hive. There is no bee keeper here.” It was mention of the Reverend Salter that brought it to mind. I’d arrived in Carbrey on the back of a rickety cart. I’d paid two coins for the privilege of having my bones jarred instead of walking. The minister had joined me at Abernathy, the village along the coast. He carried a package of candles, which informed me that he had to travel to buy them. “A bee hive, how industrious.” He seemed pleased with my answer, his mouth lifting at one corner. “We are wary because we discovered a practitioner of witchcraft living amongst us, last year. We will not tolerate such a thing here.” He studied me intently as he delivered his warning. “That woman was ousted and condemned.” My belly churned and my heart thundered. I should have gone away and forgotten about my lust for Ewan Findlay. I had to move on, as I had so many times before, a wee bairn dragged behind my mother every time she feared discovery. I lifted my chin defiantly. “Tell your townsfolk they have nothing to fear from me.” Now run! My mother’s voice echoed in my ears. I turned on my heel and headed for the door. “We are not finished with this,” he declared loudly from behind me.

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I darted away into the scullery. Four strides and he was at my back, his hand on my shoulder as I entered the smaller room. Wriggling frantically, I could not shake his grip. I didn’t want to turn to magic, but there seemed little option if I was to escape and be on my way. I attempted to whisper an enchantment in the ancient tongue, to become fluid in his grasp, but to no avail. Before I could say more than two words, he captured me to him and then covered my mouth with his hand. He was tall, and his body was hard at my back. I ached for it to be a more passionate embrace. “Hush now.” His breath was hot against my ear. With his free hand he reached back and pushed the door closed, isolating us in the steamy corridor of the scullery. When the door slammed, he clasped my waist through my woolen dress. “Or do you want to show them their fears are well founded…my wild little shewitch?” My innards clenched. Ewan Findlay, the merchant of Carbrey, knew my secret.

Chapter Two My fate was in his hands. Ewan Findlay knew that I practiced the ancient craft of our pagan forefathers. He knew that I was that which was feared and condemned by so many—a witch. He had me locked against him in the narrow, cluttered space of the scullery, where the kettle of stew I had prepared earlier that day simmered over the fire. While my urge was to flee this place and his accusations, the feeling of his powerful arms around me began to strip me of my resolve, my intimate places growing hot and needy while I was locked in his embrace. “Turn your back on the temptation,” he whispered. His voice was soothing, but I feared he might try to make me forsake my craft for the sake of my soul. Whatever his motive for dissuading me, he was right about the consequences. If I were to cast a spell now, with so many witnesses close by, I would be strung up before the day was out. Desire and mistrust battled within me. I whimpered, my body snaking in his grip. Then he stroked one finger up and down my neck. The fleeting touch made me tingle everywhere. My breasts tightened, my toes curling inside my shoes. He tipped my chin back, forcing my head to rest against his shoulder. Then he stroked his hand the length of my hair. I felt his breath warm against my face. My eyelids lowered. “Do not let them know what you are, Annabel.” His mouth pressed against my cheek in a brazen kiss, sending a dangerous flare of longing inside me. I wanted his touches so badly, but this was a mistake—of that I was sure. I had lusted after an inquisitor, and now I was at his mercy. I could not trust him. Turning in his arms I broke free, blurting a warning as I did so. “Perhaps you should fear me, as they do.” He snatched my wrist, capturing me easily. “Perhaps I should.” His gaze devoured me. “And, perhaps, it is because the sight of you makes me harden that I am willing to risk this?” My urge to struggle diminished and my heart beat wildly. The gleam in his eyes assured me that I’d heard him correctly. Those times when we had looked upon one another with hunger and need were not imagined. Master Findlay desired me as I did him. I flashed my eyes at him. “Is that so?” His hand on my wrist still tethered me. I tugged against the confinement, but his words had made the nature of this struggle so much more pleasurable and arousing.

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“Aye, Annabel. Perhaps it is desire that made me take this task…instead of letting the minister do so.” He paused, allowing me to absorb the import of his words. The acknowledgement of our shared hunger raced between us. Then he smiled, devastating me with that one simple gesture, his handsome mouth so desirable. Behind me, the kettle of stew over the fire simmered and hissed. From the room beyond I heard voices and laughter. When I glanced at the door, he nodded his head back at the outer room. “They will not share your secret, but there will be a price.” My interest stirred at the offer. “Name it.” His lips parted and his gaze raked over me. “Since you came here, you have filled my head. You are a fine looking woman, and when you want a man you have a canny way of showing it.” Triumph plumed inside me. I would enjoy him before I went on my way. “Your price,” I urged, willing him to ask for that which I was all too willing to give. “A taste of you, to slake my thirst.” His eyes turned stormy as he spoke. “You have haunted my thoughts. I cannot rest until I have known you more intimately.” My body hummed with expectancy—we would have each other, and soon. “If you are willing?” he added, and then he reeled me in against him. His hand went to the small of my back, where he pressed me firmly to him. Hip to hip, I could feel the hard lines of his body through our clothing, as well as the growing bulge in his breeches. I ached for it. Looking into his eyes, I assessed the danger. The truth was he could have me and then spit on me for my beliefs, casting me out where I would be at the mercy of the villagers. I should run now, before he changed his mind and had the commissioner condemn me, as witches had been condemned here before. But I could not, because I wanted him. And at that moment my need for him was greater than the fear of what lay ahead. Despite the danger, I nodded. “Aye, if I have your word, I will pay your price willingly…and on my back.” He cupped my head where he tangled his fingers in my loose hair. His other hand stroked over the outline of my breast while he lowered his head to kiss me. Pivoting within his embrace, I pushed my hands inside his frock coat to gain the measure of his chest through his shirt. His body was hard and warm…so enticing. I wanted to be naked against him. His mouth was firm and persuasive, and I melted under him, my lips parting. I was so eager for the feeling of his weight over me—eager for the thrust of him between my thighs the way his tongue thrust so surely between my lips. My body rocked against his while he cupped my breast in his hand, squeezing it roughly through the fabric of my bodice, setting loose a crazed need for more contact—skin against skin, inside and out. He reached down and grappled for a handful of my skirts, hauling them up the length of my legs to gain better access. With the back of his knuckles he stroked the front of my thigh, making me tremble with need. My cunny yearned for that firm touch. I was already slick and hot, so ready to be taken. If he touched me there I would not be able to stop myself from having him, and there was something I had to know first. I broke with his kiss. “Tell me this. How is it that you knew that I practice the craft?” A soft laugh escaped him. “Because I recognized you as brethren, she-witch.” My heart leapt. Ewan knew what I was, because he practiced the craft.

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Humor filled his expression. He had no intention of ousting me, because this trade was driven by desire.

Chapter Three Ewan Findlay was brethren—a he-witch who had both power and the respect of the villagers—and he wanted me. His eyebrows lifted as he watched my reaction to his comment, and his vibrant blue eyes shone with latent power, reinforcing the import of his words. I could not withhold my pleasure. I whispered his name aloud, calling to him with all my being. He moved his hand under my bunched skirts, directly between my thighs, where he stroked one finger along my sticky folds. I thrilled to his bold touch, moving my hips to aid him. His fingers roved the territory of my intimate parts—an inquisition so much more pleasant than the one I had endured moments before. I lifted one knee alongside his flank, urging him closer. “Do you truly mean to explore me here and now, while they stand outside the door and speculate on whether you have decided to cast me out of Carbrey?” I gazed up at him and rocked my hips, so that my mound filled his palm. He gave a hoarse laugh and nodded, his hand closing over the plump cushion I offered. “Aye, and I will tell them you showed a most charitable nature when I questioned you further.” Suffused with pleasure, the forbidden nature of our encounter thrilled me. He urged me back. I took a tentative step, and again, until I hit against the wooden table. It rattled behind me. I set my hands on it and pushed the pots aside, filling with delight when I realized he meant to have me right there in the scullery, while the villagers were but a few strides away, awaiting the result of his inquisition. When I was perched on the table with my skirts gathered around my waist, he glanced down between my legs and shook his head. “I do not think either of us can wait a moment longer for this.” One look at his breeches assured me of his honesty on that point. The bulge there was large, his erect rod pressing against the fabric most insistently. He nodded at my chest. “Bare your breasts for me.” Delighted, I grappled with the laces on my bodice, half undoing them before I hurriedly pushed the fabric down, loosening my thick linen stays so that my breasts spilled free. While I did so, he stroked my thighs with possessive hands, fondling me through my woolen stockings before he rolled them down to my knees. Squeezing my breasts in my hands, I offered them to him. He ducked down and suckled one and then the other, grazing the nipples with his teeth. Taking advantage of his position, I pushed my fingers through his thick, dark hair, reveling in the texture of it. The sting of his brusque kisses on my peaked nipples surged through me, making my hips lift against the hard surface of the table. “Yield to me, Annabel McGraw,” he demanded, his eyes stormy, as he lifted his head. Oh, how those words lit my blood! My cunny grew damper by the moment, my spirit delighted by his blatant, lusty demands. I parted my legs, and gasped in delight when he stroked his hand down my furrow. Exposed, mightily aroused, and thrilled by his exploration, I groaned aloud when he ducked down to take taste of me. His tongue danced over my sensitive places, making my hands fist in his hair. When he plunged his fingers inside me to test me, I moaned low in my throat, letting him know in no uncertain terms that I was ready to be mounted.

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As he straightened, he licked his glistening lips, grinned and nodded at me. “You taste every bit as good as I thought you might. Is it any wonder I could not resist this?” With a decadent laugh, I gripped the collar of his woolen frock coat in both hands and drew him down for another kiss. And it was fierce, hungry and lust-fuelled, our hands roving one another eagerly as we shared the taste of my desire in our kiss. When he grasped again for the heat between my thighs, I knew I could wait no longer. I pulled free and rested on my elbows, positioning myself to take him. “I knew you would be like this—” he said “—brazen and wild.” His hands went to his breeches, and he undid them as he spoke. His cock bounced free, long and hard and ready. “One look at you assured me of that.” “And I knew you would be like this,” I responded, devouring the sight. I stroked my hand up and down the length of his shaft, my core clenching in expectation of it filling me. When he groaned at my touch, I pulled my hand free. Licking my palm, I stroked the underside of his cock, anointing it. He shot me a warning glance. “You surely know some canny tricks, Annabel.” I nodded. “It is my way to be bold about such things. We who are closer to nature revel in the pleasures of the flesh, is that not so?” He cupped my jaw in one hand, locking eyes with me. Tension flitted through his expression. “It is true, but it is rare to find a she-witch quite so instinctive and bold as you.” He seemed to stare into my very soul, and poised as we were and about to mate, some strange emotion coiled inside me. I knew then that this would not be enough. I would want more of him. Mercifully, he reached down and stroked my damp cunny. My body arched, my breath coming ever faster as he touched my most sensitive parts. When he eased one finger inside me, I was gone, adrift on a tide of bliss. Then he stroked his thumb back and forth over my swollen bud, and I had to bite the back of my wrist to stop myself crying out loud as my cunny pulsed and throbbed in release. “I need you,” I blurted. He took his shaft in his hand, shaking his head at me. “Aye, this must be done, or I fear we shall both be driven mad by it.” Easing inside me, he stretched me open. Gratefully, I savored his girth and clung to him, my hands wrapped around his upper arms through the stuff of his coat. He thrust deeper, giving me his full length, and the table rocked. Bliss, sheer bliss, rolled through my entire nether regions. He began to ride me, stroking me deep inside, where I had ached for him. Each time he drove his length into me, the table rocked and the pots and dishes clattered loudly, and still I could not get enough. I locked my legs around his hips, moving in time with his thrusts, desperate to rise with him and slake our lust together. Our movements became frantic, and a wooden spoon fell from the table to the floor. ”They will hear,” I said, rounding my eyes at him as unbidden laughter escaped me. Ewan only seemed to find my comment a challenge. Thrusting harder, he wrapped his hands around my bare buttocks, lifting me from the surface of the table as he pulled me closer. “I will tell them you knocked something over, while you cried for mercy and assured me you are a good woman.” “You are a clever man,” I said breathlessly. His crown was so deep I had to pant for breath. My cunny tightened, release imminent. “Know this, Master Findlay, if I weep today, it is because I’ve been so well seen to!” He groaned and drove in and out, owning my furrow. I welcomed each thrust, each bountiful stroke of my sensitive places.

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We were both about to spill. Then a cautious knock sounded at the door, intruding on us. My heart leapt. Tossing back his head, Ewan’s eyes turned wild. It was then I saw the immense power of his magic. The swirling light reflected in his eyes mesmerized me, holding me in the moment, refusing to let me break with him. A louder knock sounded at the door.

Chapter Four Ewan Findlay had me on my back, over the scullery table in The Silver Birch, while several of the villagers waited beyond the closed door. I had willingly given myself to him, grinding my hips against his as he plowed into me, but we were in danger of being discovered. It did not put a stop to Ewan’s actions. He was riding me as if his life depended on it—and now somebody was knocking loudly, as if about to open the door. At any moment they might walk in and see us. But we were too close to being done. Neither one of us could halt. I hovered at the very edge of my peak, my intimate places throbbing. The threat of discovery did not deter Ewan one little bit. He thrust on, the muscles in his neck standing out, his lips parted as he worked into me, over and over. Then, when he flashed his eyes and whispered my name, I blossomed into climax, my center tightening around his shaft. “Yes, oh yes,” I sighed, delirious with pleasure, and then wilted against the table. Ewan tossed back his head, thrust deep and gripped my hips tightly while he pulled free and spilled over my belly. I watched as his engorged cock released over me, devouring the sight. “Master Findlay,” a voice outside the door queried loudly. “Do you need assistance?” My hand went to my throat, and my heart thundered in my chest. If they opened the door now, they would find us thoroughly compromised. I was supposed to be under investigation. This would spell trouble for us both. I could still turn away from Carbrey, but Ewan’s whole life was here. As thrilling as it had been, I did not wish to bring him trouble. For a brief moment, Ewan closed his eyes and then he lifted his head. “Do not fret,” he whispered. “I will shield you from their sight.” He turned to the door. “We are deep in discussion,” he called out. “No assistance is needed.” I chuckled softly, mightily relieved and unable to resist a teasing comment. “You do not need assistance, for you are more than fully able to satisfy this woman all by yourself.” I climbed to my feet as he did up his breeches, mopping my belly with my petticoat, watching his cock disappear from sight regretfully. He slapped me on the rump. “You have a cheeky mouth on you, Annabel McGraw.” I noticed that his eyes were brighter than they had been before, his hair wilder. I laced my bodice quickly, pulling my dress into order. A flush on the cheeks could be the result of fierce and emotional debate, but not

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a bared breast, and we would be forced to emerge from this encounter soon. “And you have a canny ability to pleasure a woman, the like of which I have never, in all truth, known before.” Ewan gave a slight bow. “I am driven by selfish desires.” He lifted one eyebrow. “To see you thoroughly debauched and struggling with your lust makes my own release that much more pleasurable.” I inhaled deeply, which made my head swim. I was about to respond when there was another knock on the door. Curiosity had clearly got the better of Tam Moray, for he cleared his throat loudly outside the scullery. “I have your ale here for you, Master Findlay.” Ewan rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath. He straightened his frock coat and then put a finger to my lips. I watched as he opened his palms. The mood in the narrow room shifted dramatically as he whispered a few words in the ancient tongue. It hit me oddly, for the words of the spell were so familiar to me, but never before had I heard them spoken by a man—a he-witch who had pursued me and mated with me. The experience set loose an odd ache. Light glowed in his palms. I had to grip the edge of the table again, because he had sourced my essence in his spell-making. Drawing upon the rich pollen that surrounded us after our fevered lovemaking, he harnessed its power. The action tugged at the very quick of me, where he had satisfied me so well. The light glowed, and then began to shift and move between his open hands. Dizzy, mesmerized and filled with the heat from our coupling, I watched as he pointed at the door and cast his spell. Just as the doorknob shunted and the door was shoved open, a nearby broom fell across its path, stopping it from opening more than a crack. Ewan strode over and reached his hand into the gap, accepting his tankard of ale. “Thank you, Tam,” he said, and then shut the door again. A scuffle sounded, and a hushed conversation took place outside. When our eyes met, we shared a smile. He had thwarted the intruder with a simple spell, but the fact that he had drawn upon the essence of our coupling not only flattered me immensely—it made my lust simmer. He supped from the tankard and then handed it to me. Gratefully, I took a swallow of the ale, before setting it down. “We must put their curiosity to rest.” There was regret in his voice, and he cupped my face. I turned my face into his palm and kissed it, then nodded. No matter what happened next—no matter if this was the one and only time we were able to be together—I would relive the memory of it many times, and it would keep me warm on the cold and lonely nights. When he drew back, he ran a hand through his hair and I felt him draw away from me. I felt vulnerable, and now he was readying to leave. My instinct for self-protection pushed to the forefront. What would he tell the villagers who waited outside? Despite what had passed between us—and despite the rising need for more of the same—I needed to guard myself. Trust no one with your secret, my mother had told me with her last breath. I mustered after him, wary that he could still point the finger my way in order to protect himself. With my hand on his arm I forced him to stop, assuring myself that I had not lost my good sense for the sake of a tumble with him.

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“What will you say?” I demanded, unnerved. His expression was both overcast and thoughtful. “I will deal with them. Do not concern yourself with that.” Sensing the distance he put between us in that moment, I wanted to deny the sense of loss I felt. More important was the fact that my fate was still in his hands. “Meet me tonight, at the top of the village where the forest begins—” he said “—and we will find out whether you were well guided or not, when you came to Carbrey.” Those words were so unexpected. “We?” I queried. He closed his hand over the doorknob. “There are others who practice the craft here, and the Carbrey coven convenes tonight.” His eyes grew shuttered. “It is them you should be worried about, not this rabble.” A coven? A coven I had to present myself to? Wary of what was beyond the door and suddenly unsure of his motives, I asked, “How do I know that I can trust you?” He lifted his eyebrows. “How do we know that we can trust you?” His statement was delivered as a warning, and I knew that my inquisition was not yet over. Then his gaze roved over me once more. “Join us tonight and we will see what you are made of, Annabel McGraw.”

Chapter Five We will see what you’re made of.… Ewan Findlay’s words echoed in my thoughts as I stood down by the Carbrey seashore that night. He had invited me—nay, instructed me—to meet his coven. I pursed my lips, considering my situation with caution. I felt as if I were standing on a precipice—behind me was danger, ahead the unknown. I did not know which way to turn. The incoming tide lapped closer to my feet. I pulled my shawl closer around my shoulders and breathed deep the smell of the sea, savoring it. Along the bay from where I stood, the cottages huddled together on the shoreline. To have a home like that, a haven, was not for the likes of me. Deep down I wanted it, though. That—and a man in my bed. My skin still raced as if he were touching me, my body simmering. My emotions were every bit as back and forth as the waters on the incoming tide. That morning Ewan had convinced Tam and the others that I was welcome here, yet his words had been filled with warning when he left me. The rising sense of hope I had felt when we bonded was gone. There were more witches here in Carbrey—a coven. What would it be like to be part of such a thing? I had always known there were others who practiced the craft scattered across Scotland, but my mother’s fears had become my own. So many of our kind had been persecuted for their craft. We went about our business silently, watchfully, always afraid of the pointed finger and the hangman’s noose. To be with others of my kind was alluring. Or was it Ewan who was alluring? I sighed, wary of the tangled emotions assailing me.

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“The more people who know—” my mother had said “—the more danger we are in. Friend or foe, be sure to keep the knowledge to yourself. People may seem to welcome you, but they can turn. Look to your own lot, and hold your tongue.” News of more and more persecutions had reached us. One day my mother turned her back on our heritage of magic, weary of running, weary of being afraid of discovery. I hated to see the fear in her eyes, the denial. When I tried to ease her pain and make her well with my enchantments, she pushed me away. When she breathed her last, I took only what I had learned from her and left Glasgow. I traveled east, taking shelter and work where I could find it, until I reached the very edge of the sea and the Kingdom of Fife. Autumn was with us. Soon winter would close in, and it would be difficult to move on. The waves crashing against the cliffs had captured my heart. Carbrey seemed a simple place where I hoped my magic could remain my secret. Instead, I found other witches, a legacy of persecution and suspicious villagers. It was not safe. Foolishly, I had been swayed by my desire for Ewan. If only I had not coupled with him that morning. It was even harder to walk away now. Sighing, I turned my face away from the sea breeze. It was then I saw them, two women and a man, walking toward me. I recognized the man. I had seen him at the inn. He was a gangly youth with long limbs, a twinkle in his eyes and an eager step. One of the women was also familiar to me, the other not so. “We will show you the way,” one of the women said, when they got to me. She eyed me, seemingly as wary of me as I was of her. Ewan had sent them. I was being summoned. I nodded, not sure whether I should be thanking them or not. The young man smiled, for which I was grateful. They led me quickly through the village and toward the woodland beyond. It was when we drew closer to the forest that I noticed the two women had linked arms, their fingers locked together in a lover’s embrace. Instinctively, I knew they shared each other as Ewan and I had shared each other that morning. One of the women looked back over her shoulder at me. Cautious, perhaps, that their closeness was being observed by a stranger in their midst, someone whose disapproval could spell danger. I nodded at her, indicating that she had nothing to fear from me. I was rewarded by a grateful smile. What layered secrets Carbrey held, I reflected, as we delved into the thick trees beyond the edge of the village. When I had stepped down off that rickety cart, I had seen a village in a pretty cove—a safe harbor for a lonely soul. Little did I know how much else there was to discover. Moonlight lit the way, and it took a few moments for me to adjust to the gloom. Beneath our feet a carpet of fallen leaves rustled expectantly. In amongst the trees dark shadows rose up around us, like sentinels guarding the forest. The fecund earth entranced my senses, the smell of pine and the damp undergrowth filling me. The path grew steeper, and through the trees on the higher ground I saw a fire flickering. The lilting sound of a flute player wisped through the trees, calling to us as we approached. My curiosity grew. The two women who led me darted on ahead and the young man beckoned, urging me on as he followed them. I could still turn away. Then I caught sight of the revelers between the trees, men and women dancing by the light of the fire, laughter ringing with the sound of the flute. It was a celebration of nature, and it called to my soul. I hastened after my guides. Someone reached out and grabbed me as I passed, hauling me off the narrow moonlit path and into the gloom beneath the trees. My shawl fell to the ground. Was it one of the suspicious villagers who had been waiting to pounce? I struggled to break free. Then the man put his hand against my throat and stroked me there, stilling me, and I knew it was Ewan.

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He stood close at my back while he bent his head to kiss my neck. The touch of his lips was tantalizing, and when he stroked my breasts through my bodice I whimpered. I was drawn to the heat of his body. I couldn’t help myself. Leaning back into him I closed my eyes, allowing him to seduce me. He laughed softly and moved his hands lower, until he pressed the fabric of my dress between my thighs. I shifted from foot to foot, restless with arousal. His touch was too delicious. I could not help wanting to be claimed by this man. Even so, I forced myself to be wary, and plucked unsuccessfully at his hands, lodging my objection. “You came,” he whispered, his grip tightening, his voice husky against the sensitive skin of my throat. “I had little choice in the matter,” I retorted. Torn between desire and mistrust, I could not ignore that this might be a test of some sort. I could be in danger of being driven out of Carbrey by a coven who guarded their patch—or worse still, ousted for my beliefs, if they differed—should I fail to behave correctly. I was so used to being alone, so used to not relying on anyone or anything but my wit and my will to survive. This was foreign to me. The sound of the flute stopped abruptly, and laughter echoed through the trees. A moment later the music started again, accompanied by a man’s voice lifting in song. The sound of it made me ache. “Across the moonlit heather—” he sang “—my lassie calls as I roam. ’Tis soon we’ll be together in that heaven we call home.” Emotion welled inside me. Ewan rested his hand against my breastbone. “Come. It is time.”

Chapter Six Ewan had stepped out of the woods, capturing me in a passionate embrace. Beyond us, where the coven gathered around a fire in a clearing, the sound of the flute seemed to grow louder by the moment. And my heartbeat raced alongside it. I twisted in Ewan’s arms, turning to face him. I needed to see him. Moonlight filtered through the trees and reflected in his eyes. “Regardless of what has happened between us—” he said “—we are a coven, and you are the stranger amongst us.” “That I am.” Perhaps it would always be so. He brushed his finger along my jaw. “I must present you. Although, I would much rather you were still paying your price to me, on your back…or perhaps on your knees.” Images flashed through my mind, as he knew they would. I saw myself at his feet, pleasuring him with my mouth, and then on my hands and knees, with him rutting me from behind. How easily his carnal suggestions captured me. My body wavered unsteadily. He nodded his head and led the way. As we emerged into the clearing, I caught my first real sight of the revelers. The flute player was a gray-haired man, and beside him a woman moved her hands to his music, as if weaving. As she did so, fallen leaves lifted from the forest floor and fluttered between her fingertips like butterflies. The two women who had guided me were dancing together. They embraced the moonlight that funneled down between their clasped hands. Their craft was redolent in the air all around, a haze of celebratory magic that merged with the heat given by the fire. Beyond the dancers, I saw a couple mating up against a tree. The man groaned loudly as he thrust into his woman. She was a tiny thing, and her dress was up

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around her waist. He had lifted her with his hands on her bared bottom as he rode her against the tree. The woman’s mouth was open in a cry of ecstasy. Both of them were close to release. I could not stop staring. There was no shame in them, nor any disapproving glances from those nearby. These people were as close to nature as I wanted to be, and that called to the deepest part of me. “A dram?” It was the young man who had guided me up here. I took the flagon he offered and swigged from it. The rough, heathery-tasting whisky was welcome on my palate and in my belly, and I thanked him. Ewan stood on the opposite side of the fire, watching me through the flickering flames as I absorbed the spectacle. Here, he seemed so much more untamed than those times I had seen him striding through the village. He wore no coat or hat, and his hair was windswept. The shirt he wore was loose and trailed leaves here and there. I recognized him to be the lord of this forest, and every time I looked his way, my cunny heated. The couple who had been by the tree rejoined the group, who were now mostly waiting expectantly. The flute player continued to play, but much more quietly. Nervous of what I would be asked, I knotted my fingers together to still my hands. “Annabel McGraw,” Ewan said, to the assembled group. I nodded at the onlookers. Several gave their names. Two of the older women looked at me with suspicion as they announced themselves. I could not begin to imagine them welcoming me. “Tell us, why did you come to Carbrey?” Ewan asked. I was on trial once more. I lifted my chin. “I found it a good place, and thought I might make my home here.” Ewan was still and masterful—he easily held the small gathering in thrall. “Do you intend to practice magic here?” I was unable to deny it. Not while I was amongst such a vibrant magic circle. “As I am a woman, so am I a woman of the craft. My desires are led by both things, but I do not seek to harm anyone in what I do.” A favorable murmur ran amongst the onlookers. Ewan’s face, however, was a mask. I wondered then if the witch who had been condemned was part of their coven. Eventually, Ewan nodded. “From whom did you learn your craft?” “My mother, who had been taught by her mother before her.” I shivered inside, for this was the first time I had spoken of my legacy aloud. “Both of them feared persecution. They died with its shadow over them.” Questions came at me quickly from all sides. The young man who had guided me up here asked, “Why did you leave Glasgow?” “I used my magic to protect myself. I was in danger of being discovered.” I wondered if I would find sympathy amongst them. One or two looked more kindly on me as I explained. “What do you seek to do with your magic?” a woman asked. “I wish to live in harmony with the earth and her seasons. As the sap rises, so does my lifeblood flow.” The woman seemed pleased by that. Ewan took a step closer to me. “Tell me, Annabel, when do you feel that your magic is most potent?”

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A heady thrill rang through me. Without hesitation, I responded. “When it harnesses the life force between lovers.” “Quite so.” He smiled then, and the sensuous nature of it made me restless and slick between my thighs. “Would you care to demonstrate?” I had never created magic in front of anyone other than my mother, but the gleam in his eye connected with the deepest part of me and urged me on. He was the witch-master. This was my chance—all that was female and powerful inside me recognized that. I stepped around the fire, gripping my skirts loosely as I went, glancing at each member of the coven and then back to Ewan. Approaching the two women who had come down to the shore, I dropped to a squat and delved my hands into the fallen leaves at their feet. Physical and spiritual lovemaking enabled the most powerful form of magic. I opened myself to the women and let their essence fill me. Chanting, I called for a picture, and then threw the leaves into the air. As they hovered and drifted, images of the lovers appeared—naked and joined at lip, hip and slit. The two women stared, mesmerized. When the images faded, they laughed in delight and embraced. I captured the leaves in my arms before they landed and threw them onto the fire. Flames shot high in the air, the sky above us suddenly radiant and pulsating with their essence. A murmur of approval ran around the gathering. The flames of the fire flickered ever higher, the logs crackling in anticipation. “You surely have the gift,” Ewan said. I let his compliment lodge and simmer inside me, taking strength from it. He glanced at each member of his coven. In turn, each of them nodded. His eyes burned from within as he addressed me again. “We are but twelve, Annabel. One of us, Agnes, was…taken…last year.” A shadow crossed his eyes. “Will you be the one to make our coven whole again?” I wanted it, but the lingering presence of persecution was all around. But that would, perhaps, always be the way for the likes of us. I considered. Could I truly pledge myself to them?

Chapter Seven This lone witch had been asked to join the Carbrey coven. Filled with doubt but empowered by passion, I recognized that Ewan Findlay had sought me out, coaxing me into his circle with his undeniable prowess. They awaited my response, stationed around the fire as they were, revelers who had paused to greet a stranger and offer her a place amongst them. Could this be the essential thing I longed for—a coven of my own? I wanted their companionship, their shared magic, but I also knew that joining them might make me vulnerable. People can change, Annabel. Trust no one, my mother would have warned. But she had trusted no one and she had lived a sad, lonely life shadowed by fear. I did not want to be afraid anymore. Whatever happened, there was joy here. All the while, Ewan stared at me steadfastly, awaiting my response. Now, as I met his gaze, I knew that he surely wanted me. Because he had asked me the one question he knew I would be able to answer. Even if I had not previously known about the potent magic that drew on desire and love, he had shown me the way that very morning, when he sourced the vitality from our hurried joining in the scullery in The Silver Birch. I understood that, and I could harness it, too.

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My bosom swelled in my bodice as I recalled our encounter that morning. How lusty and demanding he had been, how he had thrilled me when he had asked me to yield to him. That statement meant even more to me, now. Yield to the witch-master. Aye, I would. I cast back my doubts and opened myself to them. “Do you think I am worthy?” I asked, but I could not keep the teasing tone from my voice. Ewan’s mouth lifted. “Undoubtedly.” I smiled. “Then I am honored to join you.” Victory shone in his eyes, and I knew it was reflected in mine. The flute player chortled loudly, and then began to play again, with gusto. Each one of them came to me and embraced me. The youth who had offered me his whisky grinned. “Old man Cawley said he knew you were the one.” He nodded at the flute player, whose rosy cheeks were puffed as he played a joyous tune for the dancers. I remembered the song I had heard in the woods, and it made me wonder. The youth offered me his flagon again and I supped from it. When I handed it back, he snatched me to him in a hearty embrace. “Welcome, Annabel.” A celebration ensued. Dancing and merriment surrounded me, and the forest itself seemed to shiver and come alive. Moonlight flitted through the undergrowth. Creatures emerged from their burrows, startled, sniffing the air that we filled with our spirit. My pleasure mounted when I saw the way Ewan watched his coven welcome me. I wanted him, but I knew that he would have other lovers amongst the members of the coven. Although he spoke with them, he did not dance with another woman, and my body lit with hope. He had beckoned to me. And I had drawn on all that was vibrant and alive inside, because of him. I hoped that I would know him more intimately again. The way he watched me suggested it. Our connection made my heart race, arousal flaring in me. My desires whispered around my mind, while I held his gaze. Ewan, you stepped away, and I have followed. You have nodded your head, and I have shown willing. We circled and then closed on each other. He lifted my hands and kissed the back of each one. “Thank you, for making us whole again.” He lifted my chin, and claimed me with his kiss. First brushing his mouth over mine, and then teasing his tongue between my willing lips. The rhythmic thrust of his tongue over mine made me rock on my heels. I clenched at his shirt. A cheer rang out in the background, and then Ewan broke free and lifted my hands in his. The shadows in his eyes were gone. Instead, I found pride, and brazen hunger. We danced with the others by the fireside, and our mutual desire built all the while. Later, when we danced a breathless reel, I snatched at the rough bark of a large oak as I passed, running my hands over it, connecting with it. Ewan was close at my heel, and when I circled the tree, embracing it, his body caged mine. He flexed his hands over mine, shielding them. The action struck me oddly. “You protected me, this morning,” I whispered. Would he always do so? “I wanted you.” His voice was hoarse, and he laid a kiss upon my hair.

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Closing my eyes, dizzy with pleasure, I nodded. “It was the same for me. I thought of little else but laying with you.” He groaned and I felt him grow taut against me. I turned my face to the side, glancing over my shoulder at him. "But I did not know what you were.” He rested a kiss against my cheek. “I felt you had the gift, but doubted myself because you turned my head so.” My heart soared. “You took a great risk.” “I had to know.” He laughed softly. His warm breath swept over the surface of my skin, as delightful and elusive as a summer breeze. He moved his head lower and kissed my neck beneath my ear. “There was something about you…I couldn’t be sure. Not until you tried to whisper that enchantment.” Delighted, I began to whisper that very same spell again. He put his hand over my mouth—just as he had that morning—and moved one knee against the tree, caging me in as I tried to slip out of his grasp. “Have you not learnt your lesson? Do I need to forbid the use of that particular spell?” I bit his fingers softly and laughed aloud, delighted. He thrust his hips against the soft cushion of my bottom, making me feel the bow of his erection, making my legs weak. “I mean to have you.” Sighing loudly, I wriggled up against the rough bark of the tree, adoring the way it felt to be pressed between the sturdy old oak and this potent he-witch. He moved his hands to my breasts, cupping them through my bodice, squeezing and kneading my sensitive flesh. My nipples peaked, and when he pushed his fingers inside my bodice to touch them, they stung with pleasure, taking my breath away. Baring my breasts, he captured my earlobe between his teeth and pressed me up against the tree. The surface of the bark rubbed my sensitive nipples roughly and I cried out, my cunny clenching, my fingers bedding in the seams and ridges of the old tree. A trickle of my juices reached my upper thighs. Unable to help myself, I rubbed my nether regions up and down against him. Hard and virile, the very touch of him made me want to abandon myself to fornication. Lifting my skirts, he pushed one hand between my thighs and ran his fingers along my damp seam. “If I am not mistaken, you are ready for another portion of what we shared this morning.” It was true. Lust had me in its grip. My body was weak with it. But I knew that if I bonded with Ewan again, now, my connection to him would deepen and grow. Was I ready to risk my heart?

Chapter Eight I had committed myself to the Carbrey coven. Could I give myself to their witch-master, as well? Right here in their ritual circle, knowing that it might tie me to him—perhaps for all time? I was no innocent. I had enjoyed many men, but never before had I felt such kinship. However, I knew I had to accept the risks if I was to flourish as both woman, and witch. “I want you,” Ewan whispered hoarsely at my back, stroking my intimate places again.

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The answer was on my lips. I was ready to couple with him. But then he spoke again, and his face was buried in my hair as he did so. “I need you, Annabel…my beautiful Annabel.” My knees buckled. “Take me,” I begged, desperate for him. He pulled me into his arms, lifting my feet from the ground. I looped my arms around his neck, awed at his strength as I looked up at him. His image filled me completely. Dark, brooding and powerful, he looked as if the flames that flickered nearby had been kindled in his eyes—in his very soul. I shivered, half desperate for him, half afraid of what might be. Carrying me to where there was a bed of fallen leaves, he lowered to his knees and rested me gently on the ground. Lifting my skirts to my waist, he pushed my legs apart. His touch was so sure, his vitality unquestionable. My spirit soared from joy and desire. He climbed between my legs and reached for his belt. I rolled restlessly, my body arching against the forest floor. At my back, the earth seemed to rise, offering me up to him. Around us, I felt the coven urging us on. The very air we breathed was alive with sensual abundance. I clutched at my aching breasts, squeezing them for relief. As he opened his breeches, I sighed with longing. Drawing up my knees, I put my feet flat to the ground. I moved one hand to my cunny and opened myself to him, a hot tide rushing over me when he looked at me. Arching my hips, I pushed one finger inside my cunny. “I give myself to you, witch-master.” His cock sprang free from his breeches. It was long and hard, its head swollen and glossy. He wrapped his fist around it and stroked the shaft up and down while he watched me touch myself. “I am all but blinded by my need to be inside you,” he whispered, and closed on me. My breath caught when he locked eyes with me, holding my gaze as he eased his swollen crown inside me. I panted, my body so wrought that I needed his rhythm to steady it. Yet his gaze seemed to challenge me, to search my soul for knowledge. I rolled my hips, meeting his thrust, urging him on. Clutching at his arms, I cried out into the night. “I have yielded.” I flashed my eyes at him. “Now use me well.” Cursing low in his throat, he thrust deep, his engorged cock stretching me open, stroking every part of me as he filled me. My bud thrummed in delight when his weight moved over me, the pressure of his body in all my sensitive places making me wild—as wild as the creatures of the forest, a thing of nature, a thing of pure instinct. Moonlight outlined his profile as he worked into me. And when he tossed his head, his image was one of such potency I melted anew. He let out a triumphant bellow as he rode me deep, over and again. Each time his crown pressed deep inside me, right where I had ached for him. My head rolled from side to side, leaves catching in my hair. The sound of the flute danced within my blood. I closed my legs around his waist, our bodies locked together in this most primal act. Shunting me against the earth, he grunted heavily. My arms dropped out to my sides and my fingers rooted into the leaf-strewn forest floor, clutching at the tufts of grass beneath. I had to fight for my breath, each stroke of his long, hard shaft pushing me closer to release. Around us a haze of revelry, moonlight and flames blurred together in my vision, making my moment all the more poignant. As I am a woman, so am I a woman of the craft. The words whispered around my mind, harnessing the magic of the moment as I blossomed.

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I ride the earth with a joyous cry.… My cunny clenched, released, clenched again. “Ewan…” He tossed back his head, flicking his hair from his eyes, and nodded. “Aye, lover, I feel you.” The hot, heavy weight that had built at my center dissolved and rippled over me in a tide of ecstasy. Carried, I was aglow. Over me, my lover grew as taut as an arrow drawn back in its bow. Rising up on his arms, he pulled free and spilled on the earth between my thighs. His entire body shuddered mightily. I let him level, and then stroked his face. “I appreciated your generous welcome, Master Findlay.” When he lifted his head and laughed softly, I gave him a push and rolled him over, rising above him with my knees rested on either side of his hips. With the moonlight full on him, I saw how well sated he looked, and a sense of pride bloomed in me. Leaning over him, I pushed my fingers into his hair and kissed his face— forehead, eyelids and then mouth. “I believe I might stay here in Carbrey,” I teased, a moment later, pressing my breasts to his chest as I did so. He stared at me, long and hard. “That is just as well, for I have no intention of letting you leave.” Reaching up, he wrapped his hand around the back of my head and kissed my mouth most passionately. I smiled as I returned his kiss, joyous to the core. I had finally set down my anchor in Carbrey, and I was glad of it.

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