Burn
Author: Erin McCarthy
Date: 2016-01-05 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; New Adult; Contemporary; Contemporary Romance; Suspense; Romantic Suspense; Adult; Short Stories; Novella
Description: When bodyguard Ryan Harris finds an intruder in his apartment, he’s shocked to realize it’s his former stepsister, Isabel Rodriguez. Naked. In his shower. Estranged from his father, he’s only met Isabel a few times, but he’s seen enough to be distracted and unnerved by how gorgeous she is wet and two feet away from him. And did he mention naked? But Isabel insists her name is Julia. It’s either a con or a case of amnesia. Either way, he can’t lay a hand on his stepsister… or can he? The rules have never stopped him before and they’re not about to now. Isabel doesn’t know how she got into her s
Rights: Copyright © 2006 by Donna Kauffman

Unwrapped Bundle with You Don't Know Jack & Bad Boys in Kilts

Unwrapped
You Don’t Know Jack
Bad Boys in Kilts

Donna Kauffman

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

Table of Contents

Unwrapped

You Don’t Know Jack

Bad Boys in Kilts

Unwrapped

ERIN MCCARTHY DONNA KAUFFMAN KATE ANGELL

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

Title Page
Blue Christmas

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine

Santa in a Kilt

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue

Snow Angel

Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five

Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter

Blue Christmas

ERIN MCCARTHY

Chapter One

“Santa can suck it.” Blue Farrow kept an eye on the highway and tried to hit the buttons on the radio to change the station. She was going to grind her teeth down to nubs if she had to listen to Christmas songs for another twelve hours. It was like an IV drip of sugar and spice and it was making her cranky.

Was she the only one who thought a fat dude hanging around on your roof was a bit creepy? And why were those elves so happy in that Harry Connick Jr. song? Rum in the eggnog, that’s why. Not to mention since when did three ships ever go pulling straight up to Bethlehem? She wasn’t aware it was a major port city.

Yep. She was feeling in total harmony with Scrooge. “Bah, Humbug,” she muttered when her only options on the radio seemed to be all Christmas all the time or pounding rap music.

Blue had never been a big fan of Christmas, never having experienced a normal one in her childhood since her flaky mother (yes, flaky considering she’d named her daughter after a color) had done Christmas experimental style every year, never the same way twice, disregarding any of her daughter’s requests. The trend on feeling tacked onto her parents’ Christmas had continued into Blue’s adulthood, and this year she had been determined to have a great holiday all on her terms, booking herself on a cruise with her two equally single friends. She had turned down her mother’s invitation to spend the holiday with an indigenous South American tribe and her father’s request to join him with his barely legal wife and their baby girl, and instead she was going to sip cocktails in a bikini.

Maybe.

The road in front of her was barely visible, the snow crashing down with pounding determination, the highway slick and ominous, the hours ticking by as Blue barely made progress in the treacherous conditions. Planning to drive to Miami from Ohio instead of flying had been a financial decision and would give Blue the chance to make a pit stop in Tennessee and visit her old friend from high school, but the only thing heading south at the moment was her vacation. It was Christmas Eve, her cruise ship departed in twenty hours, and she’d only made a hundred miles in six hours, the blizzard swirling around her mocking the brilliance of her plan as she drove through the middle of nowhere Kentucky.

She was going to have to stop in Lexington and see if she could catch a flight to Miami, screw the cost. Not that planes would be taking off in this weather, but maybe by morning. If she flew out first thing, she could be in Florida in plenty of time for her four o’clock sail time. All she had to do was make it to Lexington without losing her sanity from being pummeled with schmaltzy Christmas carols or without losing control of her car in the snow.

When she leaned over and hit the radio again and found the Rolling Stones she nearly wept in gratitude. Classic rock she could handle.

But not her car. As the highway unexpectedly curved and dipped, she fishtailed in the thick snow.

Blue only managed a weak, “Oh, crap,” before she gripped the hell out of the wheel and slid sideways down the pavement, wanting to scream, but unable to make a sound.

She was going to die.

If there hadn’t been anyone else on the road, she might have managed to regain control. But there was no stopping the impact when she swung into the lane next to her, right in the path of an SUV. She wasn’t the only idiot on the road and now they were going to die together.

Blue closed her eyes and hoped there were bikinis and margaritas in the afterlife.

Santa was the man. Christian Dawes sang along to the radio at the top of his lungs, the song reminding him of his childhood, when he had listened carefully on Christmas Eve for the telltale sound of reindeer paws. Tossing the trail mix out for the reindeer to chomp on, putting the cookies on a plate for Santa, the magic and wonder and awe of waking up to a ton of presents, those were some of his best memories.

Someday when he had his own kids, he’d create all of those special moments for them, but right now Christian was content to play awesome uncle, arriving on Christmas Eve loaded down with presents for all his nieces and nephews. His trunk was stuffed with spoils, and he’d brought enough candy to earn glares from his two sisters and potentially make someone sick. But it wasn’t Christmas until a kid stuffed his face with candy then hurled after a session on the sit and spin. That’s what home videos and infamous family stories were made of.

Unfortunately the lousy weather was slowing him down on his drive from Cincinnati to Lexington. He’d left work later than he’d intended anyway, then by the time he’d hit Kentucky, he’d been forced down to thirty miles an hour because apparently the road crews had taken the holiday off and had decided not to plow. He hoped his family wasn’t holding up dinner for him at his parents’ house.

If he wasn’t gripping the steering wheel so hard he would call someone and let them know he still had a couple of hours ahead of him, but he had no intention of reaching for his phone. A glance to the right showed a car next to him, but other than that, he could barely see the road in front of him. He needed Santa to dip down and give him a lift in his sleigh or it was going to be midnight before he arrived.

What he didn’t need was a car accident.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the car next to him slide, spinning out so fast that Christian only had time to swear and tap his brakes before he hit the car with a crunch and they went careening towards the guardrail. When his SUV stopped moving a few seconds later, despite his efforts to turn the skid, he had the other car pinned against the railing.

“Shit!” Christian turned off his car and leaped out, almost taking a header in the thick snow, but terrified that he’d injured someone. “Are you okay?” he asked, yelling through the howling snow as he peered into the driver’s side window.

The major impact of his SUV’s front end had been in the backseat and trunk, so he hoped if there was an injury it wasn’t serious. But with the snow smacking him in the face and the window plastered with wet flakes, he couldn’t really see anything.

He knocked on the glass and when it started to slide down, he sighed in relief.

“Are you okay?” he said again now that the person in front of him could hear him.

“Are you okay?” she said simultaneously.

He nodded.

She nodded.

And Christian became aware that he was staring at the most strikingly beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his whole life.

Chapter Two

Blue sat in her car chest heaving, nodding rapidly to the man staring at her in concern as she tried to calm down. She was alive. Not dead. Everything on her body was intact and she had no pain.

“I’m fine. God, that was scary. I’m sorry, it was my fault, I skidded.”

He leaned forward into the window, his face coming inches from hers. “Say that again, the wind is really howling.”

“I said I’m sorry,” she repeated loudly, suddenly aware that the guy she’d collided with was damn cute.

Wearing a knit winter hat and a camel colored jacket, he looked very rugged and outdoorsy, his chin sporting some scruff that matched the color of his coat. He had deep brown eyes and when his mouth spread into a grin, he had a warm, crooked smile.

“Well, you don’t have to yell at me,” he said, tone teasing.

Blue felt her heart rate returning to normal and at his words she felt her shoulders drop in relief. She laughed. “Okay, I’ll leave that to your wife.”

It was a comment she would have made to any man under the circumstances, but she had to admit she was a little curious what his answer would be.

“No wife. No girlfriend. No one at all to yell at me.”

Yes. Not that it mattered. At all. But she could hear the flirt creeping into her voice. “Then I guess this was a thrill for you.”

He laughed. “Totally. I’m going to move my car then we’ll just have to back yours up, okay? Let’s see if we can get you back on the road.”

Right. The car accident. The fact that he was standing in the middle of a blizzard. Her crunched vehicle. Those were relevant. Not his dimples or broad shoulders.

“Okay.”

“Wait for me to move before you try to back up.”

Blue became aware that her teeth were chattering. “Got it.” As soon as he walked away, she rolled her window back up and turned up the heat. She wasn’t wearing a coat and it was finger-numbing, nipple-raising cold outside.

For a split second as he pulled his SUV back onto the road in front of her, heading in the correct direction, Blue wondered if he would just take off and leave her there. But her cynicism, while well honed, didn’t even last a full minute before it was obvious he was walking back to her car, pulling gloves onto his hands. His bottom half, which hadn’t been visible before, was just as hot as the top. Those were nice jeans, hugging in the right places.

Blue hoped there would be a multitude of smoking hot guys on the cruise because her sex drive had kicked into high gear for whatever reason.

“Okay, try to back up and I’ll guide you,” he said when she rolled her window back down.

She did, and her tires just spun in the snow. “Damn.” She leaned her head out. “How deep is it?”

“Pretty deep. And you can’t rock it because you’re halfway through the guardrail. If you accelerate too hard you could go off the cliff.”

Yeah, no thanks. Blue frowned at her steering wheel. This complicated things. She tried to reverse again, but her car spun ominously to the left.

“You need to get out of the car. This is looking dangerous. We’ll call you a tow.”

Leave it to her to screw up a vacation by nearly driving off a cliff. Turning her car off, silencing John Lennon midlament, she grabbed her purse and her jacket and pushed the door open. She wasn’t wearing appropriate shoes. She had wanted to be comfortable so she was wearing zebra print ballet flats with jeans, a vintage Motley Crue T-shirt and a funky red scarf. Her jacket was a thin black velvet designed for indoor use more so than out. This was going to suck. A lot. Much more than listening to Santa and his ho ho hos.

The wind slapped her in the face as she pulled on her jacket and tried to button it. After a few seconds, she realized it was futile and tried not to whimper as snow cascaded over her mostly bare feet. Her nose instantly froze, her shoulders hunched in revolt, and her jeans decided at that moment to slid down, allowing her midriff to be pummeled by wet fat flakes.

At least her companion was looking at her in sympathy. “Come sit in my car while we call somebody.”

By the time they hiked the twenty feet to his car and Blue slid into the passenger seat, her mouth was stuck open as little gasps of horror escaped. Her entire body felt like someone had repeatedly stabbed her with a million sharp pins. Her companion had turned his car off in the interim so it wasn’t really any warmer than it was outside, but at least there was no wind and no snow smacking her in the face and torturing her feet. She stomped her shoes to remove the excess snow and tried not to whimper.

He cranked on the car and the heat and looked at her. “Is that the only jacket you have?”

She nodded.

“Shoes?”

“This is it unless I want to change into flip-flops. I’m going on a cruise. I didn’t want a bunch of winter stuff with me.” Blue touched her nose. It was still there, despite her not being able to feel it.

“Here.” He leaned into the backseat and rifled through a bag. He emerged with two wool socks. “Put these on.”

They were like crack to the addict, dangling in front of Blue, as tantalizing as a winning lottery ticket. But it seemed really weird to take socks from a stranger. “Don’t you need these?”

“They’re just socks. I can get more.” He gave her a look of amusement. “Just put them on. You look like a Popsicle. But a cute one.”

That made a certain body part unthaw slightly. “Thanks.” As she kicked her ballet flats off and bent her knee so she could drag on one of the thick socks, she added, “I’m Blue, by the way.”

“What?” He looked at her, his expression one of confusion. “Don’t worry, you’ll warm up. I don’t think you’re at risk for hypothermia yet.”

Blue laughed. “No. I mean, I’m Blue. That’s my name.” She abandoned the sock for a minute and stuck out her hand to him. “Blue Mariposa Farrow. Pleased to meet you.”

Understanding hit Christian and he felt like a first-class idiot. “Oh, shit, sorry. I’m Christian Dawes. Nice to meet you too, though I wouldn’t have minded better circumstances.”

“No kidding. And don’t worry about not catching my name. I’m well aware it’s unusual. My mom was going for unique and lovely territory, but she just landed in weird.”

Blue went back to struggling with his sock, and as Christian watched her long and elegant fingers, and took in that wide smile below her high cheekbones, he thought that the name actually suited her. She had black hair with blunt bangs, the sides angling down past her chin. Her eyes had dark shadow on them and her fingernails were painted a deep blue. There was something very edgy yet playful about her appearance and her expressions. He’d only spent ten minutes with her and he could already see that she emoted with exaggerated facial expressions. She did the eyebrow arch, the head tilt, and a whole variety of movements with her lips.

Lips that he wouldn’t mind being on his.

“It’s definitely a unique name, but it’s actually very pretty. Mariposa is butterfly in Spanish, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Blue finished with the socks and sighed. “Ah, that feels good. And if you think Blue Butterfly is a pretty name for a grown woman you’re smoking something and I don’t mean a Marlboro. It’s a corny name. But I’m used to being Blue.” She did a fake drumroll on her knees and grinned. “Ba dum dum.”

Christian laughed. “Well, I guess my parents went for the obvious. My sisters’ names are Mary and Elizabeth. I think if they could have gotten away with naming me Jesus they would have.”

“See, my mom would have just gone for it. So be grateful.”

He was perfectly content sitting in his warm car staring at her, but Blue pulled her cell phone out of her purse.

“I better call someone if I hope to ever get out of here.”

Right. Her wrecked car. Christian picked his phone up out of the cup holder, figuring he should call his family and warn them of the delay. Except he had no bars on his cell phone. He tried to call his mom anyway but it didn’t do anything. “Is your phone working?”

Blue was frowning at her own cell phone and holding it up in the air. “No. Damn, this could be a problem.”

“It must be the hill messing things up.” They had slid to a stop nestled in a curve where the highway had been carved out of a steep hill. Given the curve and the incline, it was no wonder Blue had lost control in the piled-up snow. Christian rolled down his window and stuck his phone out, hoping miraculously it would start working. It didn’t.

“Where are we? Are we close to an exit? I guess I’ll have to walk.”

Christian dropped his phone back down and hit the button to put his window back up. Then he shot the woman next to him an incredulous look. “Are you crazy? You can’t walk in this. And if you think for one minute that I would let you walk in this, then you have another think coming. It’s probably two miles to the next exit and you’re half naked.”

“I’m not half-naked!” Her face scrunched up.

Okay, maybe that had been melodramatic but he was appalled at the thought of her walking in a blizzard with a velvet jacket without gloves and those stupid girl shoes that exposed the tops of her feet. Sexy, yes, practical, no.

“Well, you’re certainly not dressed for taking a stroll in a snowstorm. And I would be a complete jerk if I let you do that. I can drive you to the exit, it’s no problem.”

Her mouth opened like she was going to argue, but then she just nodded. “Okay, thanks, I appreciate it.”

“I’m going to run back and grab your suitcase. You might be stuck in town in a motel overnight before they can tow your car.” Seeing her about to protest, Christian argued, “And before you say you can do it, just let me do it. I’m wearing boots.”

She sighed, but she nodded. “Thanks.” She handed him her keys. “The suitcase is in the trunk. I guess there goes my cruise. I’ll never make it to Miami in time to board. This sucks.”

“I can’t believe a cruise leaves on Christmas day.” The last thing in the world Christian would want to do on Christmas would be to spend it in the airport or boarding a cruise ship. Christmas day was for eating way too much food with family and chasing his nieces and nephews around. It was the one day a year the outside world completely disappeared and the only thing that mattered was family.

“I’m not big on Christmas. I’d rather just skip the whole thing.”

Christian tried not to gape at her, but man, it was like she was speaking in tongues. Who the hell didn’t like Christmas?

The gorgeous woman sitting next to him apparently.

Not sure what to say that wasn’t being intrusive and pushy, Christian just settled for nodding. “Well, I’m sorry that you might miss the boat. We’ll see what we can do to get you south as soon as possible.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, but it was a little forced.

Christian opened the door and hustled to her car. In the trunk was a hot pink suitcase with a pink and black plaid scarf tied to the handle. He grabbed it and ran through the snow, hoping he didn’t wipe out and fall on his ass. But if there was any possibility of getting her to Lexington and on a flight to Miami, he wanted to help her. It occurred to him he could just drive her to Lexington himself once the tow was on the way and that would save her a hell of a lot of time. She could deal with retrieving her car on the way home after her cruise.

He tossed her suitcase in her trunk and jumped in his car, shaking the snow off his hair. Blue laughed and reached out and dusted the shoulder of his jacket off. “Sorry, I should have gone and gotten it.”

“Which again, would make me a total jerk.” Christian knew he couldn’t actually feel her fingers through the fabric of his coat and his sweatshirt, but he certainly appreciated her closeness. When she pulled back, he was disappointed. There was something so dynamic about her, so sensual, that he was suddenly thinking about unwrapping her instead of any presents, which made him a total goofball jackass. Just because he carried her suitcase through the snow did not mean she was going to fall into his arms.

Damn, he needed to start dating again. A few months dry spell, and he was getting weird.

Putting his car into drive, he glanced back at the empty highway and pulled out. “It’s almost eerie how no one is on the road.”

“I know. I guess I should be less worried about my cruise and more grateful for the fact that you were out here too. Otherwise, I’d be totally stranded.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shudder. Then she shook it off and grinned. “No food and a constant barrage of Christmas songs. Talk about a nightmare.”

He actually didn’t even want to think about what might have happened if she had been out there alone with a nonfunctioning cell phone. He suspected she would have tried to walk and that would have been a disaster. “Not having my Blackberry working would drive me insane.”

“Where are you heading, by the way?”

“To Lexington, to my parents’ house. My whole family is in Lexington and I grew up there. I moved to Cincinnati for college and I’m still there. Guess they’ll be carving the turkey without me tonight.”

“I live in Cincinnati too. In Clifton.”

“I’m in Hyde Park. We’re practically neighbors.” Though they weren’t exactly the same kind of zip code. Not surprisingly, Blue lived in a city neighborhood where a lot of college kids and coffee shops were. Christian lived in an upper middle-class family area, with some young professionals thrown in. It was safe and he was close to work, but sometimes he glanced around at all the strollers and wondered if he was missing out on the nightlife of a hipper neighborhood. Then he realized what he really wanted was a family, not the opportunity to hit the bars every night.

“Is your family going to worry?”

“Definitely. My mom is probably freaking out already. Hopefully I can call her when we get to a gas station. She panics, but hell, that’s what moms do, right?”

“Not mine.”

The tone was so matter of fact that Christian risked taking his eyes off the road and glanced over at her. Blue didn’t look upset, just resigned. “What do you mean?”

“My mom doesn’t worry about anything. She prides herself on being zen.”

“Is she going on the cruise with you?”

Blue snorted. “Oh, please. I had to endure a lecture on the frivolity and social irresponsibility of cruise ships. My mother is actually in South America with an indigenous tribe. She wanted me to go, but eating bugs isn’t my idea of a good time.”

Yikes. “And I thought eggnog was disgusting.”

Blue laughed. “Yeah, well, all I wanted was a mai tai or two but it’s starting to look doubtful.”

“Cookies. That’s what I want. My sister bakes these cookies that are basically just sugar and lard. I can eat about a hundred in two days.”

“Somehow I don’t think you’re exaggerating,” she told him in a teasing tone of voice.

“You calling me fat?” Christian grinned as he eased down the exit ramp and stopped at the light and turned to look at her.

Her eyes rolled up and down the length of him. “Hardly.”

Oh, he knew that tone.

And he liked it.

“It’s my one weakness,” he told her, his whole body registering the fact that despite the cold outside it was suddenly very hot inside his car.

“The only one?” she asked, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips.

Christian wanted to groan. There was something about the way she held his gaze, the way she moved, so sensual and erotic, yet there was nothing in-your-face or tacky about her. It was like she just had an inherent sexuality and he found that really smoking hot.

“No. I can definitely think of one more.”

And if he could get it, he wouldn’t even miss the cookies.

Chapter Three

Blue was flirting. She was stranded in the middle of nowhere Kentucky with a broken down car and a cruise ship pulling out of port the next day most likely without her and she was flirting with Christian, her knight in a white SUV.

She supposed she could tell herself it was her amazingly sunny disposition finding the silver lining, but the truth was it wasn’t her cheerful self calling the shots right now, but her undersexed one. It had been months since she had dated and Christian was cute with a capital C. He had dimples and a grin that made her want to grab his cheeks and kiss the hell out of him. He was sweet and funny and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there were some serious muscles hiding beneath his many layers of clothing.

So she was flirting. What of it? She deserved to after nearly dying in this bitch of a snowstorm.

“What weakness is that? Fast cars or loose women?”

Christian pulled into a gas station right off the exit. “Neither. I like beautiful women, not loose ones.”

At the moment, Blue thought she was probably out of the running then, because she felt pretty damn easy sharing this small space with him.

“Beautiful women like you.”

She almost blurted out a very middle school, ‘you think I’m beautiful?’ but she managed to contain it and be cool. “Thanks. Though I prefer gorgeous.”

Laughing he put the car in park in front of the gas station. “Okay, gorgeous, let’s go in and see if we can make contact with the outside world.”

There was only one truck in the parking lot and the gas station looked like it had seen better days. As they entered, the bell tinkled over the door, the smell of stale cigarette smoke smacked them in the face. A thin guy in his forties with two full-arm tattoo sleeves glanced up from the magazine he was reading. He scratched his scraggly beard. “Hey, what’s up? I didn’t expect to see anyone tonight.”

“Hi,” Blue said, coming up to the counter, her feet feeling weird and overstuffed in Christian’s wool socks and her ballet flats. “We had a car accident on the highway and I can’t get cell phone reception. Can we use your phone to call a tow?”

“Sure.” He shoved a chunky cordless phone over to her. “But I doubt you’re going to have much luck. It’s snowing and it’s Christmas Eve.”

Well, thanks, Captain Obvious. Blue fought the urge to roll her eyes. Fortunately, Christian stepped in, preventing her from saying something seriously sarcastic.

“Yeah, I know, bad luck, huh?” Christian said with an affable smile. “We have two cars. We were thinking of just leaving the one here and heading on to Lexington.”

They were? That was news to her.

“Do you think that’s our best bet? You know the towing companies around here and you know the roads. What’s the word?”

“You can’t drive to Lexington,” he said, shaking his head. “The highway south of this exit is closed. Guess it iced over bad at the curve and they declared a snow emergency. Only emergency vehicles allowed on the road. It was on the news.”

“Are you serious?” Blue asked, slightly stunned. Did they really just close roads? Was that allowed? “Is there another way to go south?”

“Well, there’s always Route 43, but I wouldn’t recommend that. It won’t be plowed and if you get in trouble, there’s nowhere to go for help. I suggest you sit this one out tonight and start over again in the morning.”

“But . . .” she was speechless. Absolutely speechless. This sucked. Really bad. Like if there were the definition of suck in the dictionary this would be it.

Christian put a hand on the small of her back and rubbed gently. It was an unexpected reassurance. Thank God she’d hit him and wasn’t doing this on her own. Not that he would probably appreciate that fact, but she was damn grateful.

“Is there a motel hereabouts?” Christian asked. “I’m not digging the idea of sleeping in my car tonight. I’ve stopped at this exit before and I seem to remember there’s a motel just on down the road.”

Noticing that the longer they stood there the more Christian’s Kentucky roots surfaced, Blue was amused. “On down the road?” she asked, grinning.

“What?” He looked bewildered.

“Nothing.” Blue squeezed her lips together as she glanced at the gas station attendant. He looked equally confused.

“Well, yeah, there’s old Roy’s place, but I’m not sure if he’ll be open tonight. It’s called the No-Tell Motel.”

Fabulous. They might as well call it Serial Killers and Hookers Sleep Here. Blue tried not to make a face, but given the grin Christian shot her she wasn’t successful. What could she say? All her thoughts were always splashed across her face, an unfortunate gift her emotional mother had given her.

“It’s about a half mile east.”

“Is that right or left?” Blue asked. Men always spoke in terms of north-south-east-west and it just made it more complicated than it needed to be.

They both raised an eyebrow like this was the dumbest thing they’d ever heard.

“I got it,” Christian said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“O-kay then,” Blue said, the eye roll slipping out before she could stop it. “But shouldn’t I call for my tow first?”

Ten minutes later she was gritting her teeth and glaring at the yellow pages in front of her. “I’ve called every tow service in the county and not a single one has answered their phone.”

Gas station man shrugged. “Told ya.”

“Don’t people need to work? Aren’t we in a recession?”

Another shrug. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Whatever. Blue slapped the book closed and turned to Christian. “What are you doing?” she asked, irritated beyond belief with the whole situation. Even Christian’s cuteness couldn’t make up for the fact that everyone else’s obsession with Christmas was ruining her vacation.

Christian had a shopping basket loaded with bottled water, soft drinks, and a surely illegal quantity of snack foods.

“We have to eat. And I doubt this particular motel has room service.”

The guy behind the counter snorted. “You’ll be lucky if you get clean sheets.”

Lovely.

“Do they rent by the hour?” Christian asked, his tone joking.

“Oh yeah, definitely.” The guy cleared his throat. “Not that I’d know anything about that. Though be careful, if you go over even a minute, Roy charges for a whole ’nother hour.”

Eew. “Anyway,” Blue said, determined to steer this conversation away from the gas station guy’s fond memories of sixty-one minute hook-ups. “What snacks did you get?”

“Chips. Peanuts. Ho ho’s. You know, in honor of Christmas. And a pre-made margarita mix and a bottle of tequila so you can close your eyes and pretend you’re on the cruise.”

That was sweet. Really sweet. Even though all the tequila in the world couldn’t fix the fact that she was freezing her ass off with swollen feet from cramming them into her shoes with socks in the middle of the boonies of Kentucky in a motel that probably had Magic Fingers beds.

But she was willing to give it a shot. “Thanks. Let’s get some cups and napkins then too. And could you please change the radio station in here?” she demanded, whirling to the gas station guy as the fifth Christmas song assaulted her ears and took her over the edge.

“To what? It’s Christmas Eve. I like Christmas songs.”

“Well, I don’t.”

His eyebrow shot up. “That’s un-American.”

Blue debated using her scarf to strangle him. “What does being an American have to do with Christmas?”

“We invented Santa.”

“We did not!” Blue opened her mouth to launch into a recap of all the cultures who had a Santa figure in their lore, but Christian shoved in front of her and dropped the basket on the counter.

“Go on and get the napkins, gorgeous. We should head out before the roads get worse.” He nodded at the gas station attendant. “It’s been a long day.”

“Tell me about it.”

Was she really being dismissed? To go get napkins? Blue narrowed her eyes. Okay, she realized Christian was just trying to prevent a confrontation between her and the guy behind the counter, but she still didn’t like it. She was cold and tired and now that Christian mentioned it, she was hungry. The fact that it was extremely likely she was going to miss her cruise had her suddenly feeling like she wanted to cry.

This was all just further proof that she and Christmas didn’t mesh.

“Did you change your mind about napkins?” he asked when she didn’t move. “And hey, look what I got for you.”

Christian felt reindeer antlers slide onto her head and grinned. “Now that’s adorable.”

She stood there, seething just a little. A lot. She was wearing reindeer antlers. With jingle bells. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she demanded.

“Not in the least.” Then he leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose.

Just like that.

All familiar and comfortable and sexy and cute.

Blue was so caught off guard that by the time they left the gas station five minutes later, Christian whistling a Christmas song as he carried the bags, she hadn’t managed to spit out a single word.

And she was still wearing the antlers.

Christian beeped his car open and tossed the bags in the backseat, pleased that he had managed to catch Blue off guard. She had clearly been on the verge of losing it big time, and he knew she had good reason to. But hell, it was Christmas Eve, and they might as well make the best of it, so he had wanted to snap her out of her bad mood. Plus she’d looked so cute and pissed off in the antlers, he hadn’t been able to resist kissing her.

He wasn’t sure he’d cheered her up, but he had definitely silenced her. That was a start. She had just stood there dumbstruck while he’d paid for everything in his basket, plus two travel mugs for their makeshift margaritas.

When they got in the car, she finally spoke. “Where are your antlers? If I have to wear these dumb things you should be wearing them too.”

“Mine’s even better.” Christian dug around the bags on the backseat and pulled out a headband with a giant felt Christmas tree on top and shoved it on his head. “See?”

Her mouth twitched, but she held back her laugh. “Very nice. How long do we have to wear these?”

“Until midnight on Christmas Day.”

“Good luck with that.”

“I don’t need luck. I have charm.” Christian shot her a grin and made his Christmas tree bounce.

“Is that what you call it?” But she did smile at him, even if her arms were still crossed over her chest. “What do you do for a living, by the way?”

“I’m a toy engineer.”

“Are you serious? Now why does that not surprise me?”

“I admit it. I’m a big kid at heart. Or a total nerd. Whatever you want to call it. But I like my job. I work mostly in sports themed toys for the toddler and preschool set.” As he headed east, he glanced at her. “What do you do?”

“I’m a hairstylist.”

“That seems like a natural fit.” It did. She had that funky, edgy vibe that women in the salon always had. They were always on top of the current trends and changed their hair color constantly. Not that he could picture her with anything other than black hair. It suited her, as did the way the cut framed her striking face.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s a creative outlet and I like working with people. I didn’t have the patience to go to a four-year college. My mom hates it, though. She has issues with all the chemicals we use.”

“It sounds like your mom has some issues in general.” Then he realized that sounded totally rude. “No offense or anything, I’m sure she’s a great person.”

But Blue just snorted. “She’s unique, that’s for sure. And totally disappointed in her hedonistic chemically processed daughter.”

Christian could hear the underlying tone of hurt in her voice. She was trying to mask it with nonchalance and a snarky expression, but it was clear it bothered her. Having a great family himself, he couldn’t even imagine what it must feel like to essentially be alone on Christmas. “Well, we have Doritos and Slim Jims and she’s eating bugs, so it’s all good.”

“True that.” Blue pointed. “Look, there it is. The No-Tell Motel. God, I can’t believe that’s really its name.”

Turning into the lonely parking lot of the low slung motel, Christian eyed it through the raging snow. “There are probably worse. Like The Hell Motel. I wouldn’t want to stay there.”

“Or The Sleep and Peep.”

Christian laughed as he parked the car. “The Hills Have Eyes Inn.”

“Bubba’s Bed.”

“Pappy’s Shack.”

“The Resting Place.”

“Hot Brown Haven.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Hot brown. The sandwich. It’s turkey.” She clearly hadn’t grown up in Kentucky.

“Oh. I’ve never had one.”

“Well, I’d get you one, but I don’t think they’re to be found at the No-Tell Motel.”

“There’s no telling what’s at the No-Tell.”

“We’re getting good at being corny.”

“You’re drawing it out in me.” Blue grinned and shoved her feet back into her shoes. “Corny is part of your charm.”

“So you admit I’m charming.”

She made a face and opened the car door. But then she turned to him, one foot already in the parking lot. “Hey, thanks for hanging with me. This sucks a lot less with you.”

You’d have thought he won the freaking lottery the way he was grinning as he climbed out of the car and headed for the No-Tell.

He wasn’t sure how big a leap it was from her saying her day sucked less with him around, to convincing her they were meant to get naked together but he was damn sure going to try.

Chapter Four

Blue stamped her feet in the forlorn lobby of the No-Tell, the air not much warmer than it was outside. There was no one at the desk. “Great, no one’s here.”

“The door was open. There must be someone here.” Christian leaned over the desk towards the back room. “Hello? Can you help us?”

Pulling her cell phone out of her jeans with nearly numb fingers, Blue scowled at it and shook. “I still don’t have reception. God, being cut off like this sucks.”

“Think of it as an adventure.”

All that cheerfulness must be exhausting. “Thanks, Dad.” Blue glared at him as he stood there in perfect nonchalance, clearly convinced this was all going to work out just fine.

She, on the other hand, was starting to think she might die before this was all over.

“Where the hell is the employee?” She paced and tried punching buttons on her phone again, just in case something had changed in the last sixty seconds. It hadn’t.

“Just relax, they’re just not expecting us, but someone is clearly here. I can hear the TV.”

“Did I mention I don’t have a lot of patience?”

“You’re also a little cranky, too, but it’s all part of your charm.”

And he lightly punched her on the arm.

Blue blinked. He should be exactly the kind of guy that drove her insane. She could only take so much optimism. Normally she went for moody artist types who spent large quantities of time on their hair and ridiculous amounts of money for vintage band shirts and designer jeans. They also tended to disappear for a week or two at a time without warning then reappear with whiny requests for attention.

Which when put like that made her wonder what the hell she saw in them.

Christian had managed to make her smile in the midst of a really suck-ass situation and he had never once complained, or God forbid, asked if he could lay his head down in her lap for solace. Yeah, she’d had that happen before. Scary moment.

“Did we leave the Doritos in the car?” she asked, feeling the need for comfort food. Suddenly it felt like her whole concept of dating and the perfect partner had tilted Titanic style and was slowly starting to sink.

“Yeah. You want me to go get them?”

Oh. My. God. And he was willing to just go fetch chips for her? Without her asking or without bitching or without demanding a blow job. Blue’s face went hot and she definitely felt off-kilter. “No, no, that’s okay. I can wait five minutes. I just wish I’d eaten dinner.”

Christian was about to respond, but just then a man who looked approximately a thousand years old shuffled in through the door to the back room.

“What do we have here?” he asked them, adjusting his glasses and craning his neck to see them from his hunched over position.

“Hi,” Christian said, sticking out his hand. “How are you tonight, sir? Merry Christmas.”

The man shook Christian’s hand. “Thank you, thank you. Merry Christmas to you, too. Like those hats you’re wearing, very festive. Are you kids traveling in this weather? Doesn’t look very safe out.” He gave them a look of concern.

Blue smiled. “Unfortunately, it’s not. We had a bit of an accident and now the road is closed for travel, so we’re kind of stuck here for the night. Do you have two rooms available?”

Not that she was opposed to bunking with Christian, because she was pretty sure she wanted to shag his brains out, but he was going to have to make the first move. She did have some standards with men she’d just met who weren’t her type.

“Two rooms? Nope, can’t do it. We don’t get much business here and I’m semi-retired and well, I haven’t kept things up as good as I could have and the place needs a new roof. With all the snow, seven of the eight rooms have leaks with buckets in them. There’s only one that’s fine and it’s the one closest to the office here where my grandson did a patch on the roof.”

“You can take that,” Christian said, looking at her. “I’ll take the one with the least leaking, I don’t mind.”

Was there a pause there? Was he waiting for her to say something? Blue wasn’t sure, but she realized he wasn’t going to throw it out there in front of the old guy, and he was clearly trying to be a gentleman. Blue hadn’t been aware that those still existed, but apparently she’d been wrong. Maybe about a lot of things.

“Christian, you don’t have to take a leaky room. You can just share mine, it’s not a big deal.”

“Are you sure?” He smiled and it wasn’t a ‘gee, thanks’ kind of smile. It was a ‘I’m going to ignore my bed and be in yours’ kind of smile.

Perfect. “Yes. I have to warn you, I’m kind of a slob, though.”

“I wouldn’t have believed anything else.” He turned back to the motel owner. “Okay, we’ll take the good room. How much will that be, sir?”

“Oh, I don’t take credit cards,” the manager said, when he saw Christian pulling his out of his wallet. “But don’t worry about it, I’m not going to charge folks who are stranded on Christmas Eve.”

“It’s no trouble,” Christian insisted, pulling several twenties out of his wallet. “We’re just grateful you can put us up.”

“Put your money away.” He waved his hand and looked offended. “I’m not having none of that.”

“Well, thank you,” Christian said. “We appreciate it. I’m Christian, by the way, and this is Blue.”

“What did you say?” He scrunched his eyes up at Blue. “Did he say your name is Blue?”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “My mom was trying to be unique.”

“Huh. I knew a fella named Red once, but that was his nickname. Never met anyone named after a Crayola crayon before. But my grandson’s name is Rock so I guess if you can be named for something no one ever wants to be as dumb as, I guess you might as well name someone after a color in the rainbow. Not sure what happened to Sarah and William though.”

“My sister’s name is Sarah,” Blue told him, rocking on her heels, amused by his assessment of the randomness of name choices. “I think my father saw the error of his ways.”

He nodded. “I can see that.” Then he winked behind his thick glasses. “Though I reckon you’re the prettier one anyway. I’m Roy, by the way.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roy.”

“Is there any chance I can borrow your phone, Roy? I just want to call my friend and let her know what happened to me.”

“Sure, sure, no problem.” He pushed the phone over to her.

Blue dialed Emily and left her a voice mail explaining the situation when she didn’t pick up her phone. She handed the phone to Christian, who called his parents. Curious, she half-listened to his conversation, noting that he was both respectful and comfortable in tone.

“Where were you headed?” Roy asked Blue.

“Florida. I was supposed to be going on a cruise.”

“Oh, boy. Mother Nature can be a bitch, can’t she?”

That made Blue nod grimly. “Yes, she can be, Roy.”

As Christian hung up the phone, Roy got them a key and handed it to him. “If you all are up and hungry in the morning, come on over to the office here and have some breakfast with me. Doesn’t look like my grandkids will be able to collect me until the afternoon with the weather like this, and I’d enjoy the company.”

“We’d love to,” Blue said, knowing instinctively that Christian would be on board with that. A glance over at him showed he was nodding in agreement.

Which was something most men Blue had dated would not have been happy about.

That odd little unsettling feeling hit her again. “Have a good night, Roy. Stay warm.”

Christian gave him a wave and they headed out to the car. Blue leaned in the backseat and gathered up her purse and the bags from the gas station. She was about to go to the trunk to get her suitcase when she saw Christian already had both her bag and his and was opening the door to Room 1.

“Ladies first,” he told her with a smile, the doofy Christmas tree on his head bouncing.

She swallowed, trying to recover her earlier crankiness. Pissed off was a better place to be than unsure of herself. That was a feeling she couldn’t stand and with Christian, she definitely felt off-balance. He was a breed of male she didn’t understand. The good guy who got married and bought a suburban house and mowed his lawn. It was freaking her out how much she was attracted to him.

Slipping into the room, she dumped the plastic bags on the tiny table and tried to ignore the fact that it smelled like old sock. “At least it’s warm.”

“And snow free.” Christian put their suitcases against one wall and peeled off his coat. “So your sister’s name is Sarah? How did that happen?”

“My father recently married a girl twenty-four years younger than him—exactly half his age, not that I’m doing the math—and they just had a baby they named Sarah Jane. I guess the nearly three decades since my birth mellowed him into a traditionalist.” She grinned. “After all, having a mid-life crisis and marrying a pretty young thing is fairly traditional for men.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” Christian said. “You’re handling it much better than I would. I think I would yak if my dad married some chick younger than me.”

Blue kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed, wiggling her toes. “Yeah, well, I saw it coming. Over the years as his hair got thinner, his girlfriends got younger. My parents split when I was two, so it’s not like I knew anything different. Seeing him with girlfriends was no big deal. But I have to admit, I had a cringe moment when he actually went and married this one and had a baby. But Sarah is a pudgy cutie and it’s not her fault her parents’ marriage is doomed to failure any more than it was mine.”

His eyebrow arched. “Cynical?”

“Who me? Never.” Blue peeled off her coat. “My God, it’s like a thousand degrees in here. Where’s the thermostat?”

“Too cold . . . too hot . . . there’s just no pleasing some people.” He grinned when she threw her scarf at him, even as he was already readjusting the thermostat. “Ready for a margarita, Scrooge?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She stood up and emptied the plastic bags of their dubious spoils. “Is it gross to eat Doritos with margaritas?”

“Yes. But that’s not going to stop us, is it?”

Blue ripped open the bag and popped one in her mouth. “Hell, no.”

She turned to hold the bag out to him and almost bumped into him. He was right behind her and he had peeled off his sweatshirt, leaving him only in a T-shirt. Yep. Those arms had some serious muscles. “Oh! Sorry,” she said, immediately wanting to kick herself for sounding so stupid and flustered.

But damn it, she was flustered. He was close. Cute. Sexy. Generally speaking, she dated men who were skinnier than she was, and the way he sort of towered over her, his chest like twice the width of hers, was . . . hot.

Christian didn’t back up. He just stuck his hand in the bag and grabbed a handful of chips. “You’re right, it’s burning up in here. I wish I had shorts.”

And with that, he tossed the chips in his mouth then stripped off his T-shirt, revealing a chest worthy of a skin calendar. Drool pooled in Blue’s mouth. Holy crap, she was as vulnerable to a pair of biceps as the next woman and had never known it.

“It is hot in here.” Stupid, lame ass thing to say. Turning back to the table, annoyed with herself, she twisted the cap on the tequila bottle hard. “But unlike you, poor sap, I have a whole suitcase full of summer clothes. Maybe I’ll just put on a sundress and make you jealous.”

“I’ve never once wanted to wear a sundress.”

“Ha ha.”

“Do you have a bikini in there?” He reached around her, his bare arm brushing hers as he popped the lids off the travel mugs.

“Yes.”

“Black?”

“How did you know?” she smirked, dumping a boatload of tequila into both cups.

“Lucky guess.” He picked up the bottle of mixer, his eyes challenging her. “If you put on the bikini I’ll really be jealous.”

“Is that right? Are you sure this isn’t just some kind of guy trick to get me almost naked?” One she didn’t really mind. The particular warm and increasingly wet sensation between her thighs had nothing to do with the overactive furnace and everything to do with wanting him on her, in her. All of the above.

“It totally is,” he admitted. “But if we grab a towel from the bathroom it has the added benefit of making you feel like you’re on vacation.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. This is so far from my idea of a Caribbean cruise it’s not even funny. But if I put on a bikini I get to take off these stupid antlers.”

“Hey, don’t hate on the antlers. They’re cute and festive. Roy said so. But yes, you can take off the antlers.”

“Where did yours goes, by the way?” She crossed her arms and glared at him. Somehow he’d managed to ditch his tree hat without her noticing.

“I couldn’t get my sweatshirt off with it still on.”

“Uh-huh. Likely excuse.” But nonetheless, Blue backed up, taking in the sight of him in his jeans and socks and nothing else. After a second of digging around in her suitcase, she found her bikini and her travel bag. Time to brush her teeth, while she was at it. Dorito breath was not hot.

“But when I come back out here, I think you need to be my pool boy.” She snapped her fingers and pointed. “A drink, please.”

Christian’s eyes lifted from the bikini in her hand to meet her stare. “Yes, ma’am.”

Blue strolled into the bathroom, making sure she put a little roll into her gait since she knew he was checking out her butt. Once the door was closed, she did a little victory dance. So no cruise for her, but she was going to have sex, and sometimes that was better than a vacation. Sex and a vacation would be ideal, but she was going to take what she could get, and if Christian’s biceps were any indication the getting would be good.

When Blue opened the bathroom door, Christian had already downed half his drink, feeling very hot and thirsty. Partially from the overly warm room, but mostly from anticipation. He totally dug Blue and if he was reading the signs right—please God, let him be right—she was on board with a little horizontal shuffle.

Not exactly how he had pictured his day going when he’d left the office today, but when Blue strolled back into the room, he almost fell to the ground in gratitude. Holy shit, she was smoking hot. As all the blood rushed from his brain south and his erection swelled to unmistakable proportions, Christian just stared at Blue. Her body was exactly as he’d pictured it, small, perky breasts and a flat stomach above lean, long legs. Legs he could perfectly picture wrapped around him.

She had a towel over her ass and she wrapped it over her front, knotting the fabric so that he could no longer see her thighs, which was damn disappointing.

“I have your drink ready for you,” he told her. “Like a good pool boy.”

“Excellent.” She pulled a pretentious pose then sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs.

He handed her the plastic mug and said, “Do I have permission to sit next to you?”

“I don’t know if that’s appropriate,” she said breezily. “But fine. It’s your job on the line.”

“I’m willing to risk it. Besides, my boss is on break.” Christian sat down next to her and there was a moment of silence between them. He’d swear he could practically hear their sexual energy crackling in the air between them. “This isn’t so bad, huh? We have all the important things.”

“We need music though,” she said. “And I don’t mean Christmas carols.”

Christian glanced around but there didn’t seem to be a radio or anything. “I have my iPod but I didn’t bring the speakers.” And he’d be damned if he’d let her plug into it and tune him out. He wanted to talk to her, among other things.

“That’s okay. I guess I shouldn’t bitch. This is about as good as it gets under the circumstances.”

Hmm. That wasn’t exactly a glowing review on time with him. Not that he should blame her. This wasn’t how she’d planned her Christmas to go down. “Hey. I’m really sorry about your cruise,” he said in a soft voice.

“Thanks.” She shrugged, but her smile was a little forced. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a downer, but it suddenly hit me that I just spent a thousand dollars, which took me an entire year to save, on a trip I won’t be taking. That sucks. A lot.”

“That does suck. And I won’t give you a pep talk, I know how annoying that is.”

“You’re a smart man.”

“But I really think I should sing for you.” He nudged her arm, very much aware of how little she was wearing and how close they were sitting.

Blue turned and gave him an incredulous look. “What about that is a good idea? Can you even sing?”

“No. But that’s not the point. You want music.” He stood up and cleared his throat. “And I shall provide it.” He had to admit, this was a gamble. She might just get totally annoyed, but he thought that he was just awful enough that he’d get a laugh out of her, which was his goal.

“You’re a nut, you know that, don’t you?” Beneath her towel, she adjusted until she was sitting on the bed crosslegged. “And you’re scaring me.”

Christian grinned. “You so don’t look scared.”

“I am. I’m terrified of what is going to come out of your mouth.”

“The King, baby.” He stuck his hip and his hand out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and frowned in confusion.

“Blue Christmas,” he sang in an off-key, warbly attempt at Elvis. “I’m having a—”

“Oh, my God.” Blue held her hand out, her lips twitching. “Stop. That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not? It’s the perfect song because your name is Blue, obviously as you know, and it’s Christmas, which again you know, and you’re well, blue, as in feeling blue, so see, isn’t that a great irony?” He gave her a cheesy Chesire grin.

“I was thinking more like it’s awful, but really isn’t irony just another word for awful?”

“Basically. Well, if you don’t like my Elvis, there’s always the Porky Pig version. B-b-b-b-blue C-c-c-christmas.”

Blue burst out laughing. “You’re insane.”

So he kept going, spouting the whole song in the infamous pig’s voice, adding hand gestures where it seemed appropriate. By the time he was halfway through, she was laughing so hard she was clutching her sides.

“Stop. Oh, my, God, stop, you’re literally killing me.”

“See? Doesn’t that make you feel better?” He got close to her and bent over so that his face was level with hers. “B-b-b-blue. What’s so funny?”

“Did I mention you’re insane?” Her laughter petered out, but she was still grinning. “Thanks for distracting me and replacing Santa Baby in my head with the grating sounds of Porky Pig.”

Her lips were temptingly close to his and Christian dropped his eyes to them. “I could distract you from that too.”

The remnants of her laughter disappeared as she caught his intent. Her head tilted slightly and her eyes widened, the blue in them darkening. “How so?”

“By kissing you.”

“That would definitely work.”

Oh, yeah. Christian put his hands on the bed on either side of her and moved closer until his mouth claimed hers.

Chapter Five

As Christian’s lips had descended on hers, Blue had experienced a brief second of panic that maybe the kiss would suck, and then she’d be stuck here with Christian in awkward-ville. But then he touched her and that silly little doubt vanished in a kiss that she felt from head to toe, and mostly in between.

It was total perfection. His mouth moved over hers with confidence and skill and it took all of two seconds for her to reach up and place her hands on his bare biceps. Muscles. What a novelty. The way he surrounded her, the smell of his aftershave, the roughness of his chin under the delicious softness of his lips, was perfect. After a long minute of him taking her mouth and her surrendering, Blue pulled back, her breathing heavier than normal.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, voice husky and low.

“Nothing.” She shook her head before lying back onto the bed on her back, holding her hand up for him to join her. “I just wanted to do this.”

To surrender. To take the kiss vertical, him over her.

“Oh, damn,” he said, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed hard. “You are so unbelievably sexy.”

“Thank you.” She’d had a moment of doubt, since after all she was in a bikini, but as he moved up the length of her on the bed, and settled his man bulk down onto her, Blue was glad she was barely dressed. Besides, everything always looked seriously better when it was flat instead of when she sat and her stomach made that funny little roll. Not that she wanted to think about any of that. She really only wanted to think about him. Banishing all stupid insecurities, she sank back onto the bed and relaxed.

God. His body was so hard and warm and overbearing. She reveled in the pleasure that sensation and novelty brought. His hardness made her feel feminine, soft and small and seriously aroused. Who cared about a potential stomach roll when she was downright skinny next to his masculine bulk?

“You’re pretty hot yourself,” she told him in all seriousness, running her hands across his chest. She had to pause a second and close her eyes just to take it in, that smooth skin pulled taut over rippling muscle.

Most men she’d been with had only been smooth and hard in one place, and as Christian’s erection nudged her bikini bottoms, she was amazed that all of him was as exciting to touch and stroke as that part. This was a whole new education in the male form and she was definitely enjoying the lesson.

Especially when he started kissing her again, his hand sweeping back her hair, his lips doing delightful things to her mouth and to her insides. When his tongue swept across her lips, Blue gave a soft sigh and without thought or intent, shifted her legs apart so that his body settled more fully on hers.

“I don’t want to crush you,” he said, trying to move back.

She grabbed his butt—and was so glad she did—to hold him in place. “No, I like it, your weight on me.” And now that she had been forced to brace her hands on his ass, she might as well explore that fine behind while he went back to kissing the corners of her mouth, her neck, her shoulders.

Her greedy hands rushed over the denim, searching out all the contours of his muscles and squeezing. Wow. Just wow. Even his ass was hard. Blue felt her desire shifting, kicking up a notch from aroused to seriously ready to feel him inside her.

“Babe, you’re driving me crazy,” he murmured, as his tongue slid down over her bare flesh between her breasts.

“I could say the same for you.”

“Really?” Christian lifted his head and gave her a satisfied smirk. “Good.”

He lightly sucked her nipple through her bikini top.

“See, like that, right there?” Blue fought the need to pant. “Driving me crazy.”

“That’s good information.” He proceeded to do the same thing to her other nipple, sucking and lightly nipping through the thin fabric.

As he drew on the tight bud she felt a responding tug between her thighs and out of instinct and desire opened her legs even more. Christian gave a low moan.

“You know where this is going right?” he said, looking up at her, his brown eyes intense.

“Uh, yeah.” She smacked his butt for emphasis. “Hopefully sooner than later.”

“Just checking, and giving you a chance to bail if you want to.”

While that was the right thing for him to do, she also thought he was clearly insane if he thought she wanted to just make out and stop when they were stranded in a motel room in a snowstorm with tequila. “I don’t want to bail. At all.”

He gave a satisfied smile and returned to her nipple, pulling the fabric down this time and swirling his tongue over her tight bare flesh. That was more like it. Just as she was relaxing and letting arousal spread out in her body, he lifted his head again.

“I have a question.”

“Can it wait until later?” He already knew her middle name and what the hell else did he need to know?

“Is there like an angry crazy ex-husband or boyfriend with tattoos and a mohawk that I should know about? Or worse, a crazy current husband?”

Blue smacked him again, much harder this time, feeling fairly insulted. “Don’t you think I would have mentioned that before now if I did?”

“Not if you wanted to have sex with me.”

“Well, then how do you know if I’m telling the truth if I say no?”

His head tilted. “Huh. I guess I don’t.”

“Then just shut up and kiss me.” It wasn’t that hard to figure out, seriously.

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I have a girlfriend or wife?”

“I already did on the highway.” Blue grinned up at his cute face. “Besides, I’d know if you were lying. You have no game.”

“Excuse me? I have game.” On his knees between her legs, he lifted his arm and flexed, showing off a Celtic cross tattoo. “And guns.”

Blue fought the urge to laugh. He really was just so freaking cute. She should be miserable tonight, yet he had her constantly grinning. It was weird and unnatural. Didn’t he realize she was a cynic?

“You do have guns. Very nice ones.” She trailed her finger across his impressive bicep. “But game? No, sorry. You’re clearly frighteningly honest.”

Giving a grin, he shrugged. “Well, that’s true. I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I just can’t bring myself to be an asshole. But I can try if you want to.”

Now she did laugh. “No, that’s okay, thanks. I kind of like that you’re a good guy.” Though she would like it if he were a good guy removing her bikini top even better.

He leaned down and surprised her by kissing her, then biting her bottom lip in a sharp, unexpected aggressive move that had her body reacting immediately. Everything on her went tense, from her shoulders to her gritted teeth, to her nipples, to her clenching inner thighs. “Oh, God,” she murmured.

“No more talking.” Christian slid his fingers behind her neck and undid the tie to her bikini. He peeled it down, baring her breasts.

Normally Blue didn’t love getting naked in the dead of winter, but the room was as warm as a sauna and Christian’s appreciative gaze heated her up equally as the furnace. Then his brown eyes disappeared as he lowered his mouth to her nipple, and there definitely was no more talking as he licked and teased her sensitive flesh. She’d never really considered herself easily aroused by breast play, but whatever he was doing, however it might be different, she was really enjoying it.

Letting her fingers skim across his amazing biceps, Blue let her eyes drift closed as he moved to her other nipple. When his thumb began to slowly brush up and down over her clitoris, running along the smooth fabric of her bikini bottoms Blue sighed in both pleasure and anticipation. The motion, the soft barely there contact, repeated over and over, while his tongue laved and wet and sucked at her nipple, until the tightening deep inside her was aching and she shifted her ankles restlessly on the bed.

“Christian,” she murmured, opening her eyes and staring down at his light brown hair.

“Shh.”

Blue was about to protest that even spoken in that languid tone, she was not a woman to be shushed. But she forgot to worry about it when he obliged what had been her original complaint and moved his thumb from outside the fabric to inside. That slick slide of the pad of his thumb in a firm, confident stroke over her swollen clitoris made her groan.

She just lay there, more passive than she usually was in bed, and enjoyed the sharp arousal he drew out in her, reveling in the satisfaction when he finally plunged his finger inside her and hooked it.

Oh, my God, he’d found her G-spot in under two seconds. Without benefit of her coaxing, visual aids, or a GPS directional system. Just like that. He was in and on it.

Blue was so unprepared she couldn’t control her body and her response and lifted her hips as she burst into a very unexpected and very powerful orgasm. Gripping his shoulders, she rode it and his finger hard, a shocked burst of pleasure leaving her lips.

Stunned, as her body quieted down, she felt her cheeks pinken. She had felt that orgasm in every inch of her and she was actually mildly embarrassed. Now who was the one who had no game? That had taken him less time than it had to stammer out b-b-b-blue in his Porky Pig accent.

That off-kilter feeling was back big-time. Something weird happened to her around him and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Or she did like it. Which embarrassed her. So when faced with mortification there was only one thing to do. Call on her inner-sass.

“You suck,” she told him, her chest rising up and down in a heaving cliché.

His eyebrow shot up. “Excuse me? I don’t think you can deny you enjoyed that, so how do I suck exactly?”

“Oh, I did enjoy that. That’s the problem. You should not be allowed to get me off that easily.” It made no sense and was totally contrary and made her sound pretty bitchy and ridiculous, but his smile, his easy temperament, his muscles . . . it was all a little too appealing and that was freaking her out.

Christian burst out laughing as he stared down at Blue, her dark blue eyes meeting his unflinchingly. Her cheeks were pink from her orgasm and her hair was spread out on the bed in exotic black strands. Never in his entire life had he been criticized for bringing a woman to the point sooner than later.

But then again, he’d never made love to a woman like Blue.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that she had a bit of a wall up in the form of eye-rolling sarcasm. Given her parents it wasn’t any big surprise. But he found her intriguing and sexy and adorable. There was a vulnerability hidden beneath the cynicism and he couldn’t believe how hard he’d fallen for her in the space of just a few hours.

“I’m about to get you off again,” he told her, kissing the corners of her mouth and enjoying the sharp exhalation of air she gave. “So you’re going to be really pissed at me in five minutes.”

“It’ll never happen,” she murmured, her eyes hooded as he lazily ran his thumb over her firm nipple. “That had to be a fluke.”

“Oh, yeah?” Christian knew he had a certain class clown quality to him, but he knew what he was doing in bed. He could make her come again, no question about it. “Are we placing bets?”

“Sure. If I win, which I will, you have to promise never to sing that Porky Pig song again.”

“Deal. And if I win, which I will, you have to wear the antlers all night.” He could make it so much worse, but they didn’t know each other well enough yet. He wasn’t sure how far her tolerance of pranks extended.

“Fine.”

“Five minutes,” he told her. Reaching over for his cell phone he put it next to her head. “Time starts now.”

Then without waiting for her answer, he moved down the length of her body, pausing just long enough to flick his tongue over her breasts, and trail a line down to her belly button. Christian peeled her bikini bottom off, his mouth watering and cock throbbing. He wanted her so damn bad, more than he could remember wanting anyone in a very long time. He’d never really experienced this sort of instant attraction and it had him a little thrown at the same time he was enjoying every second with her.

Brushing his hands over her inner thighs, just barely touching the warm skin, he murmured, “Open your legs for me.”

She made a sound, maybe of shock, he wasn’t sure, but her gasp was followed by spreading her legs wide for him without hesitation. Christian teased his fingers over her flesh on either side of her sex, blowing on her clitoris at the same time. The tangy scent of her arousal was intoxicating and he closed his eyes briefly, reining in his own throbbing need, before refocusing on her.

It was all about the tease, just barely touching her, skimming over her with first his finger, then his tongue, then back to a finger, barely sinking into her wetness before retreating. Her clitoris was swollen and enticing, but he avoided it initially, just barely flicking his tongue over it. Blue’s breathing had altered, growing heavier, anxious, and her body started to shift restlessly.

Almost time, but not quite. Christian slid his tongue down her inner thighs, while his fingers were just a soft whisper over the small strip of hair she had. He moved to the smooth folds on either side of that perfectly groomed rectangle and licked the soft skin.

“Oh, damn,” she said. “Do something, please.”

That’s what he needed to hear. Shifting, he opened her with his fingers and moved his tongue from top to bottom and back again. The jerk of her thighs and the sudden grip of her hands into his hair were satisfying as hell and he started a quick, smooth rhythm, devoting most of his attention to her clitoris.

Sliding a finger inside her, he sought out the sponginess of her G-spot at the same time he gently sucked on her clitoris.

Blue’s hips bucked and she gave a gasp, her orgasm intense and beautiful, the climax of her inner muscles, the burst of slickness, and her heady cry all surrounding Christian. It was so sexy that as soon as she quieted down he was shoving his jeans and boxers down and digging in his pocket for his wallet, hoping there was still a condom in there.

She rolled her head to the side, gasping for air and picked up his phone. Squinting, she said, “Shit. Four minutes. You win.”

As if he cared at this point.

All he cared about was getting this condom on as fast as possible and burying himself in her.

When Blue started to sit up, he held her down by her hips. “Where are you going?”

Smirking, she said, “To get my antlers.”

“Later. Later I’ll make you dance naked in them.”

Another one of her priceless expressions flashed across her face. “I don’t f—”

He cut her off. “Later. Right now, I just need to be inside you.”

Her mouth fell into an O and her eyes darkened.

Christian took her knees and pushed them up and out, leaning down to give her a hard, demanding kiss. She had him so tight with hot need he suspected his earlier accomplishments getting her to orgasm were probably going to be trampled under his desperate pounding, but hey, she had to know how sexy she was and what that did to a man’s restraint.

Then he lost the ability to form words when he pushed inside her.

Swallowing about a garbage can full of spit, Christian closed his eyes and paused, his cock throbbing inside her slick heat. Shit. Nothing, no woman, had ever felt this good in his entire life. She commanded every ounce of his attention, every nerve ending in him strumming, his thoughts scattered, his senses overwhelmed.

When she said, “Oh, that’s just the best thing ever,” Christian couldn’t have agreed more.

Staring down at her beautiful face, brushing his lips over the softness of hers, Christian began to move inside her. With each slow stroke he took, she gave a soft moan of approval, and he moved a little faster, pushed a little harder. Blue lifted her hips to meet his thrust, and that was all the encouragement he needed. Hands on either side of her head, he braced himself and went at her, taking and pounding and gritting his teeth in agonized ecstasy.

Her moans got louder, her nails dug into his skin. His muscles tensed, his blood rushed past his ears with a buzzing, his body totally focused on that intimate, hot, wet connection with her.

When her inner muscles contracted around his erection and her cries froze and her eyes rolled back as she came for a third time, Christian let go of the tight hold he’d had on himself and crashed completely and totally out of control.

He yelled.

He shuddered.

He lost all rational thought as he came inside Blue.

And when he finally settled back down into his body and could process what he was seeing as hearing as well as feeling, he realized Blue was grinning up at him.

“Wow,” she said and laughed, the sound so free and joyous that Christian laughed breathlessly with her.

“That,” he told her. “Was epic.”

“Epic?” She ran her satin fingertips over his back. “I like.”

Christian sighed, his cock still pulsing a little inside her. “I like, too.”

He liked it, her, all of this, a whole lot.

Chapter Six

Blue lay on the bed, legs tangled with Christian’s, lazily running her fingers over his chest. The muscles were addictive, truly. As could be the sex. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called what had just passed between them epic. She had never been that aroused, that out of herself, yet so completely aware of every molecule in her body.

Amazing. Plain and simple.

Now she just wanted to yawn and laze on the bed like a satiated cat, but somehow she already knew that she had about thirty seconds before Christian started talking. He was a verbal guy, something she wasn’t really used to, but found she liked. There was something about his constant chatter that made her feel like he was a genuinely welladjusted guy happy with his life.

What a concept.

“You know, if you’re really, really nice to me I won’t make you wear the antlers.”

“Well, forget it then. I’ll wear the antlers.” Blue grinned as she nuzzled closer to him.

He chucked softly. “Then you don’t want to make love again in a little while? Because that’s what I meant by being really nice to me. Letting me touch and taste and pleasure you all over again.”

Christian had a way of taking her standard sarcasm and turning it so that she didn’t immediately have a quippy response. She had expected him to make a crack about getting him a drink or the chips and not only hadn’t he done that, he’d referred to sex as making love. She could honestly say never in her entire life had a man said that to her. It was always sex or any wide variety of crude nicknames, and that had never bothered her. In fact, she’d preferred it. Using the term making love had always seemed so cheesy to her, but right now, it seemed . . . natural.

That thing was happening again.

That weird swelling bubbly kind of feeling in her chest, like indigestion, but in a good way.

“Oh,” she said, without an ounce of cool. “I definitely want to do that again later.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head and shifted on the bed. “God, I’m starving. I need to eat something. You want a drink, babe?”

“Sure.” Blue leaned down and pulled on her bikini bottoms. For some reason, lounging topless was totally acceptable, but having a margarita on top of the bedspread buck naked was too much for her.

Christian didn’t seem to have the same reservations. He strolled around the room completely bare-assed, which was fine by her, because it was a damn good ass.

While he dug his hand into the Doritos bag and helped himself to a fistful, he said, “I wonder if there’s an ice machine? These margaritas would taste better with ice. I should look.”

“You should probably get dressed first,” Blue said, rolling onto her side and propping her head up with her hand.

He made a face at her at her mock innocent tone. “It’s a good thing I have you around, otherwise I’d be strolling outside into a blizzard naked.”

Blue laughed. “You should try sarcasm more often. That was pretty good.”

“Why, thank you.” Retrieving their cups from the nightstand, he poured more liquor into them, followed by mixer. Then taking the two bottles he opened the motel room door and plunked them down out in the snowdrift that had accumulated outside. “That will cool them down for later.”

Giving an involuntary yelp as the cold air wafted over her, Blue grabbed a bed pillow and plunked it down over her mostly naked body. “Are you crazy? Close the door! It’s cold and you’re naked! Someone will see you!”

He turned his head and shrugged. “Who the hell is going to see me? There is no one else here, Roy is asleep I’m sure, and there isn’t a single car out on the road. Besides, you said this room was too hot.”

All of which made total sense. “Nothing phases you, does it? You’re just chill all the time. That kind of freaks me out.”

Christian cocked a brow and slammed his fists together to crack all his knuckles. “It freaks me out that that freaks you out.”

“So we’re just a couple of freaks?”

“Seems that way.”

“Are you going to close the door?”

“Eventually. After I’ve proved my point that no one will ever see me—”

Christian’s words cut off and he started laughing.

“What?” Blue sat up and tried to look out the open door. Not that she wanted to get too close to it. It was damn cold and the wind was howling, kicking up snow. Christian actually had snowflakes on his feet.

“Someone just drove past. A female cop. She waved.” With that, he shut the door. “That was funny.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t ticket you for indecent exposure.”

He just shrugged, rubbing his arms. “Man, it’s cold out there.”

Really? Men could be just totally baffling. Blue balled up his T-shirt and threw it at him. “No kidding, Einstein.”

Catching the shirt, he said, “I’m not going to wear a shirt with no pants. That would really toss me into the pervert at the door category. Besides, it’s just hard to feel sexy with a shirt on and no boxers.”

“Then put on your boxers,” she drawled. “That seems a little obvious.”

He did step into his boxers then took a swig of his drink. “I’m too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts.” Then he did an impromptu strut, a sort of macho frat boy version of the catwalk, swinging his T-shirt.

Blue didn’t want to laugh. She really didn’t. But by the second pass when he had stuck his hand out and switched to “Do you think I’m sexy?” by Rod Stewart, she totally lost it.

“Oh, my God, you’re ridiculous.” She was laughing so hard it hurt, especially when he morphed into doing the sprinkler dance move, then did some hip thrusting in his boxers. “Stop.”

He did then pulled an innocent expression. “Stop what?” He handed over her drink and took another sip of his. “Want any of this food?”

“Sure. Bring the chips to bed and we can get under the covers since this room is, ahem, freezing now from having the door open for twenty minutes. Maybe there’s something on TV we can watch.”

They settled back into bed, Christian propped up against the headboard, pulling her against him. It was a nice position, all that warm naked man chest behind her, strong enough and broad enough that she just felt relaxed, not like she was crushing the life out of him.

“The temperature’s just right in here,” he told her in a teasing voice as he started channel surfing.

“Uh-huh.” Actually it was, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

“Cool. It’s a Wonderful Life is on.” Christian set down the remote on the bed.

Blue sat up and turned to search his face. “Are you serious ? I am not watching this schmaltzy crap.”

“Of course I’m serious. This is a great flick. I mean, the dude changes his life and gets a grip on what really matters.”

“That never happens in real life.”

The minute the words were out of her mouth, Blue wanted to retrieve them with a fish hook. Damn it. Now he was going to psychoanalyze her. Or worse, not even care that she’d said something so boo-hiss.

But all he said was, “Sure it does. Happens all the time. And the point of the movie is not to make a totally lost soul find himself, but to remind people who are mostly doing it right to keep on doing it right.”

Blue folded her arms over her bare chest as she frowned at the TV, leaning on his chest. “I still don’t want to watch it.”

“Fine. But if Charlie Brown’s Christmas is on we’re watching it.”

“You do realize that all those Christmas specials are horrible? I mean, something awful happens in every single one. The island of misfit toys, Charlie Brown’s pathetic little tree, Cindy Lou Who watching the Grinch steal all her presents, Frosty melting . . . they’re depressing.”

“They all have happy endings.”

Blue snorted. “Yeah, after everything sucked, anything even remotely okay seems brilliant.”

“Though I could never figure out why Frosty didn’t just toss a chair through the windows. I mean, he was melting in a glass greenhouse. He totally could have busted himself out.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into it.” Blue picked up the remote, but somehow found herself not pushing the buttons, just staring blankly at Jimmy Stewart.

“So have you, obviously.” Christian brushed her hair off her shoulder.

She shrugged.

“Was Christmas really that awful for you?” he asked in a soft voice that made her shoulders stiffen.

Her throat felt tight and she wanted to laugh it off, blow him off, deflect the question with wit or sarcasm. But she couldn’t. She nodded. “Yeah. For most kids, aside from the religious aspect, Christmas was about them. For me, it was like the one day that made it really, really clear that I was an afterthought in my parent’s lives.”

She was glad he was behind her so he couldn’t see her face. She knew she didn’t mask her emotions well and she was feeling really vulnerable. But at the same time, she was actually relieved she’d spoken the truth. She had never admitted that out loud to anyone in her entire life and she instinctively knew that she could trust Christian with something so personal. Maybe it was even easier because she’d just met him. She didn’t know exactly what it was about him that instilled such confidence, but her heart did pound a little faster than normal as she waited for his response.

He kissed the top of her head. She’d never really had a man do that, and Christian had already done it more than once. It made her feel . . . protected.

“I’m sorry, Blue,” he said, brushing his lips across her temple. “That’s a raw deal and you deserved better than that.”

She turned her head slightly, trying to see his expression. “You’re not going to tell me that I’m whining? To suck it up. That everyone’s family is dysfunctional and I should get over it?”

“Of course not. Those things hurt when you’re a kid and you carry it with you to adulthood. What was Christmas at your house like? Describe a typical day.”

Blue chewed her lip and leaned forward a little so she could see him. “Are you sure you want to listen to all this? It’s not like I was abused or anything.”

But he just nodded. “Yes, I want to hear it. Get it out. Rant if you want. You’re entitled to your feelings.”

She hesitated, but then she leaned back against his chest and played with the edge of the bed sheet. “Well. My dad only saw me a few times a year, and he never wanted me for Christmas. He always went skiing. Sometimes he would send me a present, sometimes he would forget altogether, and most years I got a five dollar bill in the mail. Which, let me tell you, five bucks didn’t go very far even twenty years ago, and it’s not like my dad was hurting for cash. But it wasn’t the dollar amount, it was like I said, being an afterthought.”

Christian laced his fingers through hers and squeezed.

“My mother was all into social justice and charity, which was great. I mean, I think it’s awesome that she’s dedicated her life to helping others, but when you’re six and your friends are all getting Barbies, being told your mother donated money in your name to the Red Cross just makes you resentful. She’d lecture me about starvation in Africa and I’d just wonder why it was me who had to give up toys so they could eat when no one else had to. It wasn’t like my mom gave up buying clothes or spending a ton of money on airfare to exotic locales or on her yoga classes.”

“So she didn’t give you presents at all?”

His voice sounded so appalled, Blue instantly felt better.

“Not unless you count hemp mittens as a legit Christmas gift.”

“That’s it? That’s all you got?”

“One year, yeah. Some years I got nada. We didn’t have a Christmas tree either. Environmentally unsound, obviously.”

“That is fucking cracked.”

Christian’s vehemence amused her. “So now you know why I don’t dig Christmas. It was something everyone else had and I envied them at first, then just resented the holiday altogether. For other kids, it was the best day of the year. For me, it was . . . lonely.”

“That sucks. And your parents should be ashamed of themselves. They were both selfish. And your mother has wonderful ideals but she did you wrong. I bet my ass when she was six she wanted a goddamn Barbie too. She expected you to be a mini-adult and that was cruel.”

Hearing someone else say the things Blue had always felt lifted a gigantic weight off her shoulders. She’d always felt like she was the one lacking, like she was horrible and petty to feel the way she had as a kid, when she knew in her heart her feelings were legitimate. And somehow, having spoken them out loud and having them validated by Christian, she felt decidedly less bitter.

“Thanks,” she said softly, turning and giving him a kiss. “I appreciate that.”

“Did you ever get a good gift? Anything at all?”

She didn’t even hesitate on that one. “Yes. Just once. I was eight, and my dad had been to New York for Thanksgiving and he bought me a glass snow globe. He gave it to me for Christmas, and it was even wrapped and everything. And I loved it . . . it was like magic. You shook it and the beautiful little flakes danced around the high rise buildings. They had wreathes on them for Christmas and I imagined that in a big city like that, with all those people, you would walk down the sidewalk in the snow and never feel lonely ever . . .”

The image of the cityscape dissipated in her mind and Blue cleared her throat, wondering what the hell she was doing. She was just going to shut up now.

“Have you been to New York?”

“No.” Because what if she walked down the sidewalk in the snow at Christmastime and still felt lonely? She didn’t want to ruin the magic, the hope.

“You should . . . it would be like embracing Christmas, hope, a different life for yourself than what your parents created.”

Or be crushed. One or the other. It freaked her out that he had used the word hope as well, that he could somehow pinpoint her emotions, that he hadn’t just shut this whole conversation down with an ill-timed joke five minutes ago. She didn’t know how to deal with him, with any of this, so she just said, “You’re quite the philosopher, you know that? Not what I expected.”

“Nah. Just a guy who is content and wants amazing people he knows to feel the same way. And you have a choice now, you know. You can keep Christmas as a time of year that makes you unhappy, or you can decide to let it in and make some of your own traditions.”

“Like margaritas in bed in a cheap motel?” she said, mustering up a sassy smirk. This was all too raw. She needed to retreat.

Part of her figured he would argue or sigh that she was ditching the serious tone of the conversation. But he didn’t. After a second, where he searched her face with an intensity that was unnerving, he nodded.

“Exactly. Margaritas in bed on Christmas Eve. I like it.”

“Then I’ll get you another one.” Blue popped up out of bed and took their empty cups off the nightstand. She went to pour them refills, but first she lifted the lid of her suitcase and pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, and not because it was cold outside and she was about to open the door.

She wanted to be covered up.

Christian watched Blue dragging on a shirt and cotton pajama pants and tried to make some sense of his complicated thoughts and emotions. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear to God he had fallen head over ass for this woman.

He liked everything about her, from the sound of her voice to the way she tilted her head, to the vulnerability she buried beneath sassiness. The way she had readily agreed to breakfast with Roy, the ancient motel owner, said a lot about her heart, and he liked her sense of humor, the way she was determined to remain aloof and always cracked.

When they left this motel, he didn’t want to never see her again.

He wanted to date Blue out in the real world and everything about that stunned and excited and scared the shit out of him. Never having had this instantaneous response to a woman, he had no freaking clue what to do with it.

So he tossed back the bedding and got out of bed. The one thing he could do was brave the cold himself instead of having her do it. “No, Blue, I’ll get the bottles. I’m the one who stuck them out there. And you’re a freeze baby, while I’m clearly not.”

“A freeze baby?” She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and smiled at him in amusement. “I’ve never heard that expression before.”

“Where the hell have you been hiding?” Christian didn’t bother to put his shirt on, and he was already wearing his boxers. Good enough. Two seconds of cold wasn’t going to kill him. A glance behind the curtain of the window to the parking lot showed it had actually stopped snowing. “Stand back, miss,” he joked in a country drawl. “This is man’s work.”

The eye roll from her was expected, but she did back up and ripped open a pack of peanuts on the table. “I do have one Christmas tradition,” she said unexpectedly.

“Yeah?” He threw open the door and waited for her to elaborate as he grabbed the tequila and the mixer, ignoring the biting wind that cut into his flesh. He couldn’t exactly complain that the cold hurt after pulling the macho act.

“Before the big Christmas party at the nursing home, I go and do the ladies’ hair for free.”

Christian paused, half bent over, touched beyond belief, and forgetting all about the icy chill seeping into his feet. God, he was falling hard for Blue. Crazy, out of control, illogical, wanted to write a goddamn love poem falling for this gorgeous woman.

“I mean, it’s not a big deal, it’s just they like to feel good about themselves when their families show up for the party and I . . . I like to talk to them. They’re very sweet.”

He could almost hear the blush on her and as he stood up, Christian turned slowly with the bottles in his hands. “I think that tradition rocks, Blue.”

She put her hands on her hips and she nodded in conviction. “You know what? It does. It totally does.”

Christian kicked the door closed with his foot. “You rock.”

She took the tequila out of his hands and grinned. “I do, don’t I?”

It was that moment that he lost himself in a haze of tequila, lust, off the chart attraction, and the spirit of Christmas giving.

Plunking the mixer down on the table, Christian grabbed Blue and kissed her, a wild, tongue plunging sweep of domination and desperation, wanting to show her how completely awesome he thought she was and how she rocked all right. She’d rocked his world to the very foundation in one night.

Christian lifted Blue right off her feet, his hands on her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Yes,” he managed between kisses, the feel of her body so close to his electrifying. “You definitely rock.”

Chapter Seven

“You’re really strong,” she murmured between kisses. Christian ground her hips against his and breathed in the fresh scent of her skin. “You’re tiny, it’s not hard to hold you. And I’m hopped up on adrenaline. I could probably lift a car right now.” Or have sex again after not much of a break to refuel.

That definitely wasn’t going to be a problem. His erection was knocking on her door already and he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, Blue still in his lap.

They kissed each other with a wild abandon, her nails digging into his back, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. Christian yanked up her T-shirt to her armpits and covered her breast with his mouth, tugging at the taut nipple.

How he was so frantic after they’d already made love, he had no idea, but he was. He was every freaking cliché there ever was about a man in the desert being offered water, and it didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense about the fact that every inch of his body was desperate, compelled, irrational to be against Blue, to possess her, claim her, fill her.

“Get on your knees,” he urged her, skimming his palms down into the waistband of her pajama pants.

“What?” she asked breathlessly, her head lolling back, nipples displayed invitingly in front of him.

“On your knees. Now.” The tone was rougher than he intended but he wasn’t going to wait.

She did, her eyes hooded, lips cherry red and glistening from his kisses.

When he yanked her bottoms down, panties included, she gasped.

A little determination and some hard tugs had them off both ankles and Christian freed his erection from his boxers right before she settled her thighs on either side of his and her warm flesh collided with him.

He was willing to say the hell with foreplay and just slam her down onto him, but Blue took his cock in her hand and slowly stroked it. It was Christian’s turn to gasp, and he dug his fingers into her hips. She moved her lithe touch over him up and down, a feathery tease of a touch, her lips brushing against his neck in a similar barely there contact.

That was only damaging his control, but when she took him and slid him up and down in her wetness, using the tip of his cock to stimulate her clitoris, he was almost destroyed. “Oh, damn,” he said, teeth gritted, grip on her so tight that he could see the whiteness of his fingers. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing,” she whispered in his ear, her tongue flickering out to lick his lobe. “I’m getting off with your cock.”

Oh, yeah, he definitely knew that’s what she was doing. Christian tried to breathe, realizing she had turned the tease around on him. This was torture.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked her, enjoying each slick slide up and down her, almost being allowed access to push into her, then being denied as she pulled him back up again. Definitely torture.

“Uh-huh.” Blue’s breath came in short staccato bursts and she was concentrating intently, her free hand on his shoulder to brace herself.

He realized she was actually going to be able to come and he stared at her in fascination, amazed that she was so gorgeous, so sensual, so in tune with her own body.

“That’s it,” he told her. “Take it, take what you want.”

She did. She moved him into position and let her hips drop so that he filled her in one motion. Christian exhaled sharply, his grip on her waist brutal. It was a tantalizing position, her body resting on his, her breasts teasingly close, her hands on his shoulders, her hair falling in her face as she leaned forward and kissed him.

He knew she couldn’t really get the leverage to set the rhythm like this, so he did, pumping his hips so that he went deep inside her. The way she enclosed him, her slick sweetness stroking at his cock, was insanely good.

Obviously she felt the same way, because he was barely in her and Blue was coming, her lips parted, eyes wide in shocked ecstasy, her orgasm the result of all that teasing she had done with his cock. It had the same reaction on him. Christian gave one last thrust then gave in and exploded with her.

Being there together increased his intensity, both of them shuddering and pulsating together, sexy and intimate and exciting.

They stared at each other, gazes locked, and Christian saw something in Blue’s eyes that he knew was in his, a hope, a surprise, a depth of emotion that was illogical but was there.

He wanted to say something brilliant and poetic that would sweep her off her feet and make her certain that she wanted to be with him.

But he didn’t have those words, didn’t know how to be that guy.

So he just said, “I’m having a Blue Christmas and damn, it’s good.”

She laughed softly. “Don’t start singing.”

He cupped her cheeks with his hands and kissed her slowly, savoring the taste of her. “No singing, I promise.”

Blue gave a satisfied sigh and extracted herself from him, untangling her legs from his and crawling up the bed.

“Where are you going?” Christian couldn’t resist running his hand over her bare ass since it was presented so enticingly in front of him.

“To lay down under the covers. You wore me out.”

He grinned. “You did do a lot of work this time, all that using my—”

She cut him off with a fake prime expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you don’t stop, I’m not going to let you cuddle with me.”

“Oh, cuddling was on the table?” He’d already figured out Blue wasn’t much of a cuddler, so if she was offering, he was going to take it. Hopefully he could convince her to sleep naked too. “Then I’m on it. I’ll shut up.”

He could move fast when he wanted to and he was up next to her, settled under the covers, in a blink. Hauling her onto his chest, he sighed in contentment. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” she murmured, her own voice lazy and slumberous.

“Talk to me.”

But she didn’t, just gave a yawn, her fingers tracing a pattern over his chest in a soothing manner that had Christian’s eyes drifting closed.

He fell asleep in less than two minutes, comfortable and content with Blue in his arms.

Blue woke up warm and cozy, momentarily disoriented as to why her bed was so comfortable and the bedding so soft on her skin, until she remembered she was in a motel room with Christian. Sometime during the night she had slid off of him, but her leg was still over his and her hand was on his chest. His naked, very hard chest.

The muscles were nice. She was amazed at how nice they really were.

And how nice Christian was.

So nice it scared her. She was waiting for the minute it turned and his asshole nature finally revealed itself. For the moment he proved he was as selfish as the next person.

His hand covered hers and he yawned. “Merry Christmas, Blue.”

Her heart squeezed in a way she both liked and was terrified by. His voice was scratchy and still sleepy.

“Merry Christmas,” she managed, even though she had the sudden urge to bolt out of bed, get dressed, and run as far from him as she possibly could.

This man had the power to hurt her when he finally disappointed her and that was scarier than any snowstorm.

“Mmm,” he said, turning and kissing her forehead. “I would give anything for bacon and eggs and some big old pancakes.”

“Maybe Roy can hook you up.”

“Maybe. But that would mean I have to get up and I’m comfortable just laying here forever.”

She was too, which was precisely what had her unfurling herself from him and throwing back the covers.

“Ahh,” Christian said. “It’s cold out there. Where are you going?”

“The bathroom.” Without looking at him, knowing if she did, she might just embarrass herself and wrap her arms around him, or worse, get weepy, Blue picked up her discarded pajama pants and pulled them on, along with her T-shirt.

A peek out the window showed that it had stopped snowing and it looked like the plow had made at least one pass on the main road, though the parking lot was buried. With any luck, she could get a tow arranged and then . . . do what?

She wasn’t sure. Getting a rental car on Christmas was bound to be dicey, but if Christian could take her to the airport in Lexington, she would have options. Fly south, rent a car, get a hotel. She could do something.

Which would be better than staying here feeling like she might hyperventilate from emotions she didn’t altogether understand.

Rummaging through her suitcase, she found a pair of jeans and the only shirt she’d packed that had sleeves. Along with undergarments and her toiletries bag, she headed for the bathroom to take a shower.

Well aware of Christian’s eyes following her, she didn’t dare look at him.

“Is there a fire?” he asked.

Yes. “What do you mean?” she asked nonchalantly.

“What’s the hurry? I doubt we’re going to able to find a tow truck this morning and the longer we linger, the easier our drive to Lexington will be. Give them time to clear the roads. We don’t even know if the highway has been reopened.”

“Well, we’re not going to know if we stay in bed, are we?”

She dared a glance at him and he was sitting up, studying her carefully. “Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not. I just can’t fix the problem and get to Miami if I don’t get out of bed.”

He threw back the covers and revealed his naked body, his penis partially erect in what she hoped was just a sleep erection. She couldn’t handle another round of amazing sex without saying something stupid or needy or vulnerable. She’d already blathered on too much last night, telling him about her family.

“What are you doing?” she asked, fighting the urge to back up. That much muscular man was more than she could resist if he came on to her.

“I’m getting out of bed so we can see what’s going on out there. Fix the problem. Get you out of here.”

He didn’t sound belligerent or upset. He looked calm, like he always did. But there was something in his expression that told her he wasn’t entirely pleased with the situation. Neither was she.

“I figure at least if I miss the cruise I can hang out for a few days in the sunshine, right?” Not that she could afford either a plane ticket to Miami or a hotel, but that’s what a credit card was for. She just couldn’t face driving back to Cincinnati in a rental car and spending the night alone in her empty apartment.

“Or you could spend the night in Lexington with me. Have dinner with my family. Then tomorrow you can go to Miami. You don’t want to spend Christmas at the airport.”

No, she didn’t. But it didn’t matter. Why should Christmas be any different now than it had been her whole life? Part of her wanted to say yes, she’d love to spend the night with Christian and his family, but it would be like playing house. He wasn’t hers and his family was going to think it was weird as hell for her to be there.

And she didn’t think she could sit there in that kind of family togetherness knowing she wasn’t part of it, knowing that she didn’t belong. “I seriously doubt your family wants a total stranger invading their Christmas.”

He scoffed, standing up. “Please. They’re always telling me to bring someone, and there are so many people there, one more will hardly be noticed.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

There was a long pause where he stared at her so intently she wanted to squirm, but she stood her ground, head up.

Then he just said, “Alright.”

Part of her was relieved. Part of her was disappointed. Maybe in some way she had wanted him to try a little harder to coax her. Not that there was anything fair about that. He had offered, it had been a generous offer, and she had refused. Why would he twist her arm?

Because he wanted to be with her, that’s why. That’s what she wanted him to say. But that was a stupid expectation. Christian had a family to go to and he had just met her.

Blue beat a path to the bathroom before she said anything else and before he offered to join her in the shower. Any more intimacy would undo her.

She locked the door and turned on the water. She would shower alone. Be alone.

Just like she was every day.

Chapter Eight

Christian watched Blue across the table in Roy’s kitchen, wondering what was going through her head. She was animated enough with their host, smiling and laughing as he told her stories, but she was not meeting Christian’s eyes, and she seemed nervous.

Maybe not nervous. Remote. She had retreated from him. That was obvious. He didn’t know why.

Or maybe he did. He just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He was too much of a goofball for Blue. She was a cool chick, into cool guys. He was a toy engineer who got off on family dinners, playing with kids, and singing off-key while doing the sprinkler. Not her style.

How could he expect her to prefer coming to his sister’s house for dinner when she could be on the beach in Florida? He couldn’t.

“So I got out of the navy in ’51 and settled down here and took over this place,” Roy was saying. “Ain’t exactly the Ritz but I did alright. Thought about changing the name, but it always gave me a chuckle and people around here knew the No Tell.”

“We were so glad to find you and this place last night,” Blue told him, piling egg on her fork. “I don’t what we would have done without you, Roy.”

If Christian wasn’t mistaken, the old guy blushed a little. “Hope it was comfortable enough for you all.”

“Very comfortable,” Christian interjected, willing Blue to look at him and remember what had passed between them.

She did, but her look was definitely one of disapproval. Oh, so now not only was she not coming to dinner with him, she was going to pretend that the night before hadn’t happened? The hell with that.

His goddamn world had been rocked by this woman, and she was going to have to hear about it.

“You can call on my house phone to get your tow, though I don’t know how soon they’re going to be able to dig your car out.” Roy said. “I checked on the Internet and it looks like the highway is reopened so you can get south if you want in your good car. If I were you, I’d just book a tow truck and go on and enjoy your Christmas and worry about getting your car from the garage in a few days.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Blue said with a nod.

Christian was still stuck on the fact that Roy had checked road conditions online.

“That is, if Christian doesn’t mind me hitching a ride with him to Lexington.”

That was the stupidest thing she’d ever said and he was actually a little bit offended. “Of course not. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

His bed would be preferable but if that weren’t an option he would make sure she was safely wherever she wanted to be.

Suddenly feeling gloomy, Christian bit off a piece of his bacon and chewed it hard, watching Roy stare at Blue with no small amount of admiration as she smiled at him. Is that what he looked like? Moony? He felt kind of moony and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

After another twenty minutes of eating and small talk Blue indicated they should be heading out. “If that’s okay with you?” she asked politely.

What was with the sudden solicitous manners? It didn’t suit her. He liked it better when she just said what she was really thinking, not this tea party attitude.

“Sure,” he said easily, reaching down to get the second unopened bottle of tequila he had bought at the gas station. He handed it to Roy. “Just a little thank you for putting us up.”

Roy’s eyes lit up. “Tequila. Alright, sir. Haven’t had a worm since I don’t know when.” He got up and shuffled over to a kitchen cabinet where he stowed it away. “I won’t be sharing that with the grandsons. They can get their own liquor.”

After handshakes and Blue giving Roy what seemed like a spontaneous hug, they headed out into the parking lot. Christian had already loaded up the car with all their stuff.

Blue started walking in the direction of their room.

“Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom if you need to know,” she said testily. “And no, I don’t need help.”

That was it. He didn’t deserve the cold shoulder. Bending over, Christian packed some snow together. As Blue stomped off, back to him, he launched a snowball at her. It smacked right between the shoulder blades, bursting on the velvet of her jacket. She came to a grinding halt and whirled around, face furious.

“Did you just throw a snowball at me?”

“Well, I doubt it was Roy,” he said, fighting the urge to grin. She looked so outraged.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Come on, lighten up. It’s Christmas. Throw one back at me, you’ll be amazed at how good it feels.” Christian held his arms out. “I won’t even duck.”

Blue hesitated but then she bent over and scooped some snow up, packing it quickly. She hurled it at him and he took it right in the face. Fortunately her packing skills sucked so he didn’t break a tooth or his nose, but it was damn cold when it burst in powdery wetness all over his face.

“Lucky shot,” he told her.

She was laughing, wiping her hands off on her jeans. “You’re right, I do feel better.”

That was more like it. He hated seeing her so aloof. “Run, Farrow, or it’s on.”

When he launched another snowball at her she shrieked and ducked.

Then they were engaged in full-out combat, Christian landing five snowballs to every one she managed. She was having trouble getting them to stick together and half of hers fell apart in the air, but they were both laughing, snow falling off their coats, hands red and raw, snow kicked up all around them as they dodged each other’s missiles.

He stalked towards her, a ball in each hand ready to launch as she frantically tried to scoop up more snow, her cheeks pink, eyes bright. When he was two feet away, she slipped and went down on her ass, laughing, hands up.

“Ack, shit! I give up. Don’t hit me.”

Christian pretended to throw one and she screamed even louder. “Just kidding.”

Grabbing a handful of loose snow, she tossed it at him, but it just blew back all over her, coating her hair, her eyelashes, her lips. “Crap!”

“Ah, poor baby.” She looked so cute and cold, Christian squatted down and brushed her hair and shoulders clean. He leaned in to kiss her.

And ate snow instead. Her eyes danced as she laughed, and Christian blinked at her, a mass of snow crammed into his mouth.

“It was just too easy.”

Christian spit out snow and shook some off his nose. Damn, he loved her sass. “Good one. Now get in the car before I throw you in the snow plow pile. You’ll sink to the bottom and no one will find you for a week.”

As he helped her to her feet, she said, “Liar.”

“Only on Christmas.”

She laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m pretty ridiculous.” Christian smacked the bottom of Blue’s jeans.

“Hey.” She swatted at his hand.

“I’m getting the snow off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We should have made a snowman,” Blue said, glancing around the parking lot.

Christian didn’t want to make a snowman. He was suddenly understanding her earlier sense of urgency. If this was it, it almost seemed better to walk away now, before it got worse. He was afraid the more time he spent with her, the more he was going to argue with her about why she should spend the night with him.

“We should go.”

“I’ve never made a snowman before,” she said, looking back even as she started following him to the car.

Shit. “Never?”

“No.”

Christian fell just a little bit harder for this beautiful badass woman who had never gotten presents and had never made a snowman.

“Then let’s make a snowman. But first . . .” Christian reached into his car and pulled out some gloves. “Put these on. Your hands are beet red. Then we’ll make a killer snowman.”

Blue was constantly amazed at Christian, how thoughtful, kind, easy to be with he was. She had expected he would ignore her request, given that she had been rushing him out before, but he just gave her one of those searching looks then agreed. Just like that. Even dredging up gloves for her. Maybe it wasn’t that big of deal, but it more than anyone had done for her before.

As she followed his lead as he rolled a ball of snow across the parking lot, accumulating more snow with each roll, she blew her hair out of her eyes and promised herself she would just enjoy the moment, not feel sorry for the future. Right now, she just wanted to feel the snow on her face, and appreciate what Christian had done for her, that she hadn’t spent the night alone.

“By the way,” she told him. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He brought his ball to a stop. “Here, roll yours over. It’s about the right size.”

As she struggled to maneuver the ball of snow three feet, her shoes slipping, she told him, “For everything. For not leaving me on the side of the road. For driving me to Lexington.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her ball of snow reached his. She stopped and looked up at him from her awkward half-bent position. “And for last night.”

But he shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me for that. It was definitely my pleasure.” He worked his jaw, glancing out at the road. “Blue, are you sure you don’t want to come to dinner?”

She wasn’t sure at all of anything, really. But she knew it wasn’t fair to him to pretend that they could be something they weren’t. It wouldn’t be fair to disrupt his Christmas with his family, and God knew, she didn’t want to feel like the holiday orphan everyone felt sorry for.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m sure. But thank you for offering.”

He just nodded. Then he picked up her ball and settled it on the bigger one. Another five minutes they had the head on, with mulch from the flower box hidden under the motel awning as eyes and a nose.

“Wait.” Christian went into the car and emerged with the half empty bottle of tequila. “I think he needs it more than we do.” He settled it at the snowman’s feet.

“Good call. What should we name him?”

“Bob.”

“Dick.”

“Jane.”

“Herman.”

“Parson Brown.”

“Beaver.”

“Beaver?” Christian raised an eyebrow. “You dirty girl.”

Blue laughed. “I never claimed to be as pure as the driven snow.”

He grinned. “For which I’m grateful.”

“Hold on.” Running over to the car, Blue pulled her camera out of her purse. She’d had it at the ready for the cruise, but now she took a few shots of the snowman. The motel. Dashing back into the lobby, she snapped a shot of a grinning Roy.

And then Christian. She took a picture of Christian, his arm around the snowman. Then pretending to steal the liquor bottle back from Bob, the snowman. Maybe they hadn’t officially named him, but she liked Bob.

“Come here,” Christian said. “Get in the picture.”

“How are we going to do that?” But she handed him the camera when he reached for it.

“Not on that side,” he told her with a headshake when she tried to pose on the opposite side of Bob from Christian. “On this side.”

Seeing where he was going with this, she let him. She put her arm around Christian and smiled as he held the camera out and took their picture. It was a moment she wanted to capture. Happiness.

But after Christian took three shots, she told him. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go.”

With each picture she shifted from joy to regret, like she had been all morning, and it was time to leave.

Christian glanced over to see Blue waking up as he pulled into the airport. She had slept the nearly two-hour drive to Lexington, which had been a disappointment. He had wanted to have every minute with her, to savor their time together. Then again, she had been in a weird mood when they’d left the motel and he didn’t think the conversation would have been comfortable anyway.

She had asked him to take her to the airport before she’d fallen asleep so here they were. Blue rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Are we here? That was fast.”

“For you, sleeping beauty.”

“Sorry. How was the drive?”

“Not too bad. Could have been better, could have been worse.”

Christian swung into short-term parking.

“You don’t have to park. You can just drop me off.”

“If I was a jackass,” he told her. “You don’t even have a flight. I’m going to walk you in.” And he didn’t want an argument. She was going to take his company and his concern whether she liked it or not.

She sighed, like he had suggested something really burdensome for her. “That’s really not—”

“Ah,” he cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But you—”

“No. Forget it. I’m parking the car.”

“Jerk,” she muttered.

“Yes, I’m a total jerk for wanting to make sure you’re safe,” he said calmly, swinging into a parking spot.

She made a face. Christian laughed. He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. “Punk.”

“Thanks.” Blue gripped the lapel of his jacket and stared into his eyes. “Thanks.”

He knew she wasn’t talking about calling her a name. “Yeah,” he told her. “Blue . . .”

But that was enough to send her bolting. She was out of the car and standing at the trunk waiting for him to open it.

With a sigh, he popped the trunk and got out too. She was putting her purse over her body cross-wise so her hands would be free and reaching in to get her suitcase out of the trunk.

“Wow, look at all these presents,” she said in amazement.

“Six nieces and nephews, six adults, it adds up.” Christian stared at all the gifts, poorly wrapped by him two days earlier. “And maybe I overdo it with the kids. Just a little.”

“Nah,” she said softly. “I think that’s great.”

“Blue, I want your number,” he told her, pulling out his phone. “I want to call you when we both get back to Cincinnati.”

“It’s not a good idea . . .” She bit her lip and stared down into the trunk. “I’m not the right woman for you . . . you have traditions, a family, a different kind of life than I do.”

He understood her feelings, but he’d be damned if he would agree with them. “Why don’t you let me decide if you’re the right woman for me?”

“Christian.”

“Let me have your number. Please. That’s all I’m asking for.” God, he was sounding pretty close to begging. But he couldn’t let her walk away with no way to contact her. He just couldn’t.

Blue gave him her number, though she wasn’t looking at him, but at the concrete floor of the parking garage.

But he had it, that was what mattered. He sent her a text to give her his number, and to make sure she had given him a legit number. Her phone chimed in her purse and she pulled it out.

“I have a text that just says ‘Bob.’ I take it this is you?” she asked ruefully.

“The one and only.” Then Christian took advantage of her distraction and leaned down and kissed her, pouring all of his hope and want and attraction to her into the kiss.

She responded immediately, her hands resting on his waist, her breath soft and satisfied. But after a minute, she broke away, and he let her.

Christian reached into the trunk and rummaged around, finding the small gift he knew was there. It had been meant for his eight-year-old niece Caitlyn, but he’d also gotten her a nail polish kit, so she’d never even miss this side gift. He pressed it into Blue’s hands.

“Merry Christmas, Blue.”

“But . . . this is someone else’s present. I can’t take this.” Her face was stricken.

“I got my niece another present too, and this is something I want you to have.”

To his horror, tears pooled in her eyes. “Oh. Thank you. I . . . I . . . have to go.”

She grabbed the handle of her suitcase on the ground and started walking towards the airport entrance. What the hell? Was she really going to just leave like that?

“Blue.”

Christian started to follow her, but she swung around and he saw she was crying for real, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Don’t follow me! Please.” She clutched the little wrapped box he’d given her, then whirled around and walked off so fast she was practically jogging.

Christian stood there in the silent gloomy garage and watched her disappear, feeling like something amazing had just slipped out of his hands. As he got into the car, he decided it was a blue Christmas after all.

Chapter Nine

Blue burst into the airport, sobbing so hard her vision was blurred, clutching the present Christian had given to her. It was probably nothing special, after all, it was essentially a re-gift, but that he had thought to give her something, well, God, it had just caused her to come undone.

She wasn’t even sure why it had affected her so strongly, but she had just known she needed to get the hell out of there before she threw her arms around Christian and found herself on the way to the Dawes household for dinner. Which was something she wanted so bad she could practically taste it, a normal relationship with a normal man, with a normal family, and that was dangerous. So very dangerous.

Picking her way past several ticketing counters to a coffee shop, she plunked her purse down on the table and reached for a napkin to wipe her tears and blow her nose. Her purse was buzzing again and she figured it was Emily looking for a status update on her travel.

But when she sat down and pulled out her phone, it was from Christian. It just said, “If you change your mind.” Then he had included his parents’ address.

Blue set her phone down, staring at the open message.

Pulling out her camera, she viewed the pictures of her and Christian posing next to the snowman. God, he was cute. Damn, she looked happy. She scrolled back and forth through them three times, before setting the camera down.

She stared at the present, wrapped in Barbie wrapping paper. It was a lousy wrap job, which meant Christian had done it himself, not had the mall employees do it. That was definitely his style, taking the time to do it himself.

Almost afraid to see what it was, she suddenly reached out and tore off the paper. Opening a little box, she pulled out a snow globe.

Oh, my God. The tears came again, so loud and wet and raw that an older woman sitting at the table next to her patted her arm and asked her if she was okay.

“I’m fine,” Blue choked out, picking up the snow globe and shaking it.

It was a Christmas scene, a snowman in front of a decorated tree, the fake flakes dancing around them. It wasn’t anything particularly amazing, but that he had heard her meant more than she could ever imagine.

Clutching the snow globe to her chest like she might lose it, drop it, or have it stolen, Blue glanced down at the text message. What the hell was she doing?

Any man who gave her a snow globe was a man worth pursuing. Worth dating. How many times in her life was she going to meet a guy like that? It had taken a freaking snowstorm and a car accident to find this one and the odds of having another opportunity like this weren’t likely.

Putting the snow globe back in the box and into her purse, along with her phone and the camera, Blue wiped her eyes and stood up. Heading for the exit, she scanned the signs for the taxi queue. She was going to dinner.

Christian bounced Alison on his back, her six-year-old shrieks splitting his eardrums. Normally he loved playing with the kids, but he had to admit, he was going through the motions right now. All he could think about was Blue, tearing off like that. He was never going to see her again. He knew that. She had made her mind up that it wouldn’t work.

That sucked. Big time.

He couldn’t believe that he had found someone so amazing, so special and intriguing and sassy, and all he got was twenty-four hours. It was damn hard to swallow.

Kids were running around the living room and his mother and sisters were in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner. His two brothers-in-law were watching TV with his father, grateful for Christian’s role as climbing post for their kids for the night. The tree was blinking, the house was warm and smelled fantastic, and Christian just wanted to stomp his foot like his nephew Cole.

“Did you think you were going to die out there in the blizzard?” Alison asked him.

“Not at first. But then . . .” He bounced her on his back for affect. “I saw the abominable snowman.”

“Really?”

“Really. It was awful. He was huge and had massive teeth and big claws and this horrible roar. But it turned out his name was Bob and he was just lonely, so we had a drink together and sang songs.”

Alison ran her fingers through his hair, making it stick out in multiple directions. “I don’t believe you!”

“It’s all true.”

The doorbell rang. His father and his brothers-in-law didn’t move or react, transfixed by the TV. His mother yelled from the kitchen, “Sam, get the door!”

“I got it,” Christian told his father, who looked loathe to stand up.

He gave Alison a horsey ride on the way to the door, wondering if one of the neighbors was stopping by with more cookies. They had enough for the entire state already, but Mrs. Morris next door did some rocking raspberry bars.

But when he flung open the door, he froze. It wasn’t Mrs. Morris. It was Blue. Standing there on the stoop in her velvet jacket, her hair dusted with fresh falling snow, her eyes wide, phone clutched in her hands. A taxi sat in the driveway, still running.

“Blue. Hi,” he said, bending down and shaking Alison off his back, his heart pounding. She had shown up, proving him completely wrong, and hope started to swell inside him.

“Hi,” she said. “I . . . I came to say thank you for the snow globe.” She rubbed her lips together nervously. “It’s beautiful, Christian.”

“You’re welcome. I wish I could have given you more.” He wanted to reach for her, but at the same time, knew this was her move.

“You’ve given me more than you can imagine.” She swallowed, hand nervously tucked into the front pocket of her jeans, other hand clutching her phone like a lifeline. “And, I would like to see you again if that offer still stands.”

Hope burst into full-fledged glee. Christian nodded. “Hell yes.”

“Okay. Good. That’s good.” She stood there, still looking awkward. “I wish I had something to give you for Christmas.”

Christian burst into a grin. “This would be a perfect time to kiss me,” he told her. “That’s something you can give me.”

Blue shocked him by suddenly launching herself into his arms, like she’d just been waiting for the invitation. Arms around his neck, she kissed him relentlessly, both of them pouring their emotion into the hot and passionate embrace.

He only came to his senses when he realized Alison was tugging on his leg.

As they managed to pry themselves apart, Blue whispered in his ear. “I want to be with you. Is that insane or what?”

“Totally insane. And I’m crazy desperate to be with you, so I guess that makes us a good fit.” He patted Alison’s head absently and stared intently at Blue. “So are you going to Miami tonight or are you going to send that taxi away and come into the house?”

He’d gotten more than he’d ever expected, a possible future with Blue and he was thrilled, but damn, he wanted her to come into the house and make his Christmas complete.

Blue stared at the man in front of her, a little girl clinging to him like a monkey, and felt things she’d only ever dreamed she could feel. Hell, yes, she was coming into the house. She wasn’t stupid enough to walk away from him twice in one day.

Turning she waved off the taxi then grinned at Christian. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

Leaning down, she smiled at the little girl. “Hi, I’m Blue. What’s your name?”

“Alison.” She looked up at her uncle. “What did she say her name was?”

Blue laughed, knowing she was about to spend the next ten minutes hearing that from a whole round of relatives.

A middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway behind Christian, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Christian, who’s at the door?”

Christian glanced back, grinning. He reached out and took Blue’s hand and pulled her into the house. “Mom, this is Blue. My girlfriend.”

And Blue decided maybe Santa didn’t suck so much after all.

Santa in a Kilt

DONNA KAUFFMAN

Chapter One

Finally, she was his to claim.

The doors of the ancient abbey were opening and everyone was waiting, with collectively drawn breath, for the bride and groom to make their exit as man and wife. But Shay Callaghan’s attention wasn’t on the heavy, weather-beaten doors, creaking loudly as they were dragged the rest of the way open by two of his fellow islanders. Nor was it on the couple who were due to pass through them at any moment.

Instead, his attention lay across the wide, cobblestone path . . . on the maid of honor, Kira MacLeod. In fact, he found it impossible to look anywhere else.

“There they are!” someone shouted.

The abbey bells began to peal as Shay’s best mate stepped through the doors and, in a move that was purely Roan, swept his bride up into his arms and shouted, “Please, everyone, make way for Mr. and Mrs. Roan McAuley!”

“And the crowd went wild,” Shay murmured beneath his breath, though his lips twitched in a hint of a smile, and he clapped along with everyone else as a cacophony of shouts and cheers went up. Shay stood alongside his other best mate, who was also the best man, Graham, each of the men decked out in their formal clan tartans. Shay in the Callaghan forest green and deep blue, and Graham sporting the MacLeod brighter green and blue, shot through with red and gold.

Shay was sincerely happy for Roan, as he had been for Graham, when he’d tied the knot but a few months past. Shay simply didn’t see that same future for himself. As a divorce attorney, he knew where that trail ended, more often than not, and it was not a path he was willing to embark on.

Roan carried Tessa down the stone steps and past the wedding party. As it had been with Graham’s wife, Katie, Tessa also made a stunning bride, with her vivacious red curls and expressive face. A face that she turned toward her best friend, Kira, as she passed by, mouthing something Shay couldn’t see, before swinging her gaze back, and aiming it, surprisingly, toward him. Despite Tessa’s perch aloft in her husband’s arms, she managed to pin him with her bright blue gaze for a brief but very specific moment as she bounced past. Shay couldn’t tell if it was a look of gauging . . . or warning, not that either made any sense.

But before he could sort it out, the couple had passed by and everyone in the party filed in behind them. Everyone but himself. He stood back, and apart, as he often did, his gaze easily tracking Kira in the crowd.

Roan had had a thing for her once, which was why Shay hadn’t made his own interest known. Or so he’d told himself. Not that Roan had ever done anything about his attraction. Kira had been back on Kinloch for almost two years now, and Roan had been content to keep things platonic. But everyone knew he’d been interested.

No one had known of Shay’s interest. But then, very few knew much of anything that crossed Shay Callaghan’s mind. Or resided in his heart. He was a man who chose his words carefully and spoke when it mattered. He was also a loyal friend, a trusted confidant, and a calm head in any crisis. And that was all anyone truly needed to know, aye?

But, the thing was, watching Roan and Tessa together now, their smiles, their laughter, simply the way they looked at one another, he understood. Kira hadn’t been the one for Roan. And, quite simply, Tessa had. Roan certainly hadn’t wasted a moment once he’d met her. He’d known Tessa less than a few months and not only had he immediately gotten involved with her . . . he’d married her!

And now, without the friend code of honor standing in his way, Shay was clear to pledge his case. He was quite good at pledging cases.

But he remained where he stood. Because looking at her, as he was now, seeing her eyes shining so brightly, smiling with such sincere joy, her heart so open, so readily apparent to anyone who wanted to know what lay inside . . . he knew, deep down, in that place that made no rational sense, but was all the more truthful because of it, he knew. Kira MacLeod might not be The One for Roan McAuley . . . but Shay was as certain as he’d ever been that if he were to ever have a One, she would be it.

Which was the problem entirely. Because Shay Callaghan didn’t believe in The One. Not rationally, anyway. Certainly not forever and always.

And Kira MacLeod was absolutely a forever and always kind of woman. She deserved no less . . . and so very much more.

The abbey bells continued to peal, filling the brisk November afternoon air with their loud, raucous clanging, joyously announcing that another brand-new union had been formed within its ancient walls. Walls that, if they could speak, would give testimony to the hundreds of forever and always vows to which they had borne witness.

The entirety of the island’s small population crowded around and behind the bridal party as they pushed forth out into the grassy field that lay between the crumbling abbey and the single track road that led back to the village proper. It was full-on cacophony, with the bells ringing and the noisy, happy shouts reverberating through the late afternoon air.

For Shay, all of the unleashed energy and din served to create a bubble of sorts, one that encapsulated him, in that exact moment in time, blocking out the rest of the universe, and the reality of the world outside that bubble. It was, perhaps, the only moment when he could step aside from all that he knew to be true, all that he’d witnessed firsthand . . . and allow himself to believe, for the tiniest and purest of moments . . . that it actually made any sense for a man to consider cleaving himself to a woman in any way beyond the physical.

And, while still safely cushioned inside his fairy-tale bubble, he couldn’t help thinking that any length of time the gods saw fit to allow him to be cleaved, in any way, to the sweetness of soul that was Kira MacLeod, was worth the ripping heartache and devastation that was almost certain to follow taking such an insane leap of faith.

“Do you want a lift into the village? You could ride along with us.” Graham stepped beside him as the throng moved beyond them and toward the roadway, where long lines of cars and all manner of conveyances had been parked.

“Hmm?” Shay responded absently, unwilling as yet to have his tantalizing bubble burst. He hadn’t even been aware that Graham had hung back as well, he’d been so caught up in his thoughts.

“Is something wrong?”

Pop. Shay felt a distinct deflation in the general area of his heart, but it had been, after all, just a momentary fantasy. He calmly shifted his gaze away from the crowd in general, and Kira in particular, thankful for Graham’s furrowed brow. Nothing like the scrutiny of a close friend to help realign one’s priorities. “No,” he said, easily. “And thanks, but I’ll meet you there in a wee bit.”

Graham’s look of concern didn’t ease. If anything, it deepened. Which was annoying. Perhaps Shay wasn’t hiding his uncustomary rioting emotions as well as he’d assumed. He needed to get a grip, and quickly. Retreat, and regroup, that was the best move.

Instead, a quick thump of anxiety beat sharply inside his chest when Graham’s intent gaze—and no one was so intent as his science-minded friend—shifted with laser-like accuracy from Shay . . . to the retreating, beautifully gowned, and quite lovely form of one Kira MacLeod.

“Perhaps you were hopeful of a different kind of lift?”

Feeling a little rattled now—first Tessa, now Graham—and further annoyed with himself because of it, Shay jerked his attention from where it had once again strayed to Kira, back to Graham—only to find amusement crinkling the corners of his best friend’s eyes.

His first instinct was to defend Kira, but he tamped that down. He’d apparently given enough away already. “I—have work to do,” he said, intending to sound as if he were merely distracted by a case, which wasn’t at all a rare thing. Only the look on Graham’s face made it clear he knew the real distraction was presently carefully picking her way across the stone-filled field. “I need to drop by my offices.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I’m trying to avoid a trip back to the city this coming week, and it would be helpful if I could get these briefs done and faxed so they’re already waiting on the appropriate desktop start of business tomorrow.”

“It’s barely three in the afternoon,” Graham said, steadily, the light of amusement not dimming in the least, but perhaps increasing, as the corners of his mouth quirked now as well. “Surely you have time to hoist a glass and say a few words before attending to the needs of those trying to undo what was so beautifully done here today.”

Whatever was left of the bubble now lay empty and flat at his feet. Not a surprise. Bubbles were meant to pop. He just didn’t know why the prick had carried such a particularly painful sting this go around. His expression smoothed further. “You do know I truly wish you and Katie, as well as Roan and Tessa, all the happiness in the world,” he said, never more sincere. “Nothing would make me happier than to watch you grow old together and bounce many a rosy cheeked grandbaby on your aging, knobby knee.”

Graham merely cocked a brow. “But?”

“But, I have work to do. I can’t help that it happens to be what it is. It’s what I do. Everyone deserves to have their needs well-represented, no matter the situation involved.”

“And you do it quite well, solicitor.”

Shay merely held his gaze evenly, said nothing.

“Is there some rule,” Graham went on, his gaze still as intent as ever, “against enjoying oneself, simply for the moment? Not every quest for pleasure has to end in a lifelong commitment.”

Shay stifled a sigh. This wasn’t new territory. “In the city, I’d agree. Which is why, as you well know, I conduct that part of my life there. Here on Kinloch, however, we both know the truth of it,” Shay said, and knew Graham understood his meaning. It was, in fact, the irony of all ironies, to his mind. While Shay spent at least half of his time in Edinburgh devoting himself to tearing asunder the unions made in holy matrimony . . . here on Kinloch, nary a single soul had ever divorced. Not ever. Not once. For all of the four hundred recorded years in the history of the isle. “I’ll meet you all later, and raise my glass then. Several in fact, to be sure.”

He moved past Graham, expecting his friend to shrug off the exchange and let him go. Graham and Roan both ribbed him on many an occasion about his mysterious paramours in the city, waxing ridiculously rhapsodic about the life of debauchery and decadence they were certain he must live there, to counterbalance the life of a monk he lived on Kinloch. He let them have their ribald fun, knowing he’d have his own opportunities for giving back as good as he got. Which he did, in his own dryly acerbic way. It was the way of old friends, and he normally didn’t mind it in the least. But he was thankful, on this day, to have it over with.

So, it surprised him when Graham spoke again, earnestly this time, without a hint of humor in his tone. “Shay, I know you spend a goodly amount of time as an intimate witness to the worst of what a man and woman can do to one another. But you were raised, for most of your life, here, an equally intimate witness to the glorious best of it. And though I’ve not been long in their ranks, I can tell you, you cannot even imagine the true gloriousness—”

“Graham,” Shay said, a surprising note of warning creeping into what was normally his smooth, some would say relentlessly even tone. “Please don’t proselytize the sanctity of the glorious union to me of all people.”

Now it was Shay’s turn to be surprised, as a very rare, hard light came into his friend’s eyes . . . and a warning note echoed in his words. “Oh, I’m no’ preaching for you to join us, mate. That is a decision each man makes for himself. I’m merely reminding you there’s a balance of good to evil. And, perhaps, a bit of cautioning as well. Kira might share your desire for a brief crossing of paths, I’m no’ to say. But given her heart has already been trod heavily upon once, you wouldn’t want to be the man to do that to her again.”

“I beg your pardon?” Shay felt his fingers curl into his palms. “What kind of man do you take me for? Why do you think I don’t start things here, with any woman?”

“Kira is no’ ‘any woman,’ ” Graham replied.

“My point exactly.” Shay was stunned, actually, at the force of anger that rose inside him and he fought to control his tone. “I’m afraid, however, I’ve missed yours entirely.”

“I’ve been observing the way you look at her, mate. And I’m well aware of that look and the feelings that accompany it. I daresay our friend Roan could weigh in on the topic as well. At great length.” His tone eased along with the hard lines around his jaw. “And I know ye’ve no reason now, with Roan wedded, to satisfy yourself with looks alone.”

“I—”

“What I’m sayin’ to ye is that I’m the first one to applaud a man following his heart and going after what he wants. But you’ve made it more than clear that ye dinnae believe a lifetime spent with one woman is possible.”

“I’ve made it clear that I see how it’s more often impossible than not for two people to forge a lifelong commitment to one another, no’ that I personally disapprove of it. Big difference.”

“And yet, the tie that binds those two ideas together is that ye dinnae personally believe it to be possible. For you. And, given her past, I’d say that she deserves a man who not only knows his intent, but fully believes he can back it up, with all that is in his heart.”

“And I believe I told you that I’ve no plans to conduct myself otherwise. No’ here.”

“As I said, I’ve seen the way ye look at her. The fact that you’ve been at all obvious in your interest says a great deal.”

“I have no’ been obvious. I’m the least obvious man on this island.”

“Not to those who know you best. And I’m only speaking from personal experience. I know what it is to try to deny that interest. You’ll tell yourself you can walk away, keep a distance, no’ act on it. But the last barrier you had to hide behind just walked out those abbey doors.”

Shay didn’t bother to argue that point, because he couldn’t. “So what was all that about not all pleasures have to lead to lifelong commitments? One minute you’re encouraging me to go after a quick roll, the next—”

“I was testing the waters. I wanted to see your response.” His gaze took on even greater directness. “And now I have. I canno’ speak for Kira. As I said, perhaps that’s all she’ll be wantin’ from ye. But I’m no’ just concerned for her welfare here . . . I’m concerned for yours.”

“I can take care of myself, Laird MacLeod,” he said, adding a pointed note to that last part.

Graham ignored it. “All I’m trying to say is, even if she’s on for a simple roll, no matter what ye tell yerself you’d settle for, I think you’ll end up wanting more. Perhaps more than ye bargained for. I know the look,” he repeated, then smiled. “Intimately. I’m saying this because I know you to be an honorable man, Shay Callaghan. One of the finest I’ve ever had the privilege to know and it’s with pride I call you my friend. And ’tis only because I’ve been where you stand right now that I felt duty bound to make sure ye were thinking with all you have up here”—he knocked Shay on the forehead with his knuckle—“before you act on what’s pounding in here.” He aimed his knuckle at Shay’s chest, but backed up a step and let his hand drop to his side. “Because you’re going to act on it, my friend. Today, a fortnight from today, I canno’ say. But as long as the two of you are on this isle together, you will.”

Shay said nothing.

Graham grinned then, and any remaining tension eased completely. “I know the look.”

Shay watched his oldest and dearest friend walk away, then catch up to his wife, whom he promptly swept up into his arms, eliciting a delighted laugh from Katie and good natured whistles and hoots from the merry band around them.

Shay slowly crossed the field, well behind the ebbing throng, rubbing at the increasingly annoying twinge in his chest. He tried not to think too closely about Graham’s words of wisdom, but it was a challenge. He knew Graham to be honorable and as dedicated to the islanders in his role as clan laird and island chief, as he was to those closest and dearest to him. Just as he knew Katie would benefit from that honest dedication, and that if any couple was going to go the distance, Shay believed they would.

Roan was an equally dedicated sort, who wore his heart on his sleeve and saw the best in everyone. And Shay hadn’t seen anything to indicate he’d be any less of a devoted husband to Tessa, despite their short courtship, than Graham was to Katie.

He wished he had that same kind of faith. Graham had been right in saying that Shay had surely been exposed to a lot of what could be right between a man and a woman. The difference was, except for university, Graham and Roan had spent all their lives on Kinloch. So that was all they knew. It was easier to believe the best of people when you were never exposed to their worst.

And Shay had not only been exposed to it, he was a constant active participant in the dismantling of it.

He stopped beside his car and fished his keys out of the sporran that hung at his waist. A hint of a smile curved his lips, as it often did when he looked at the old jitney. He’d bought it at the age of seventeen, with money earned sheep tending and hauling in nets full of fish. He’d never been so proud as he had the day he’d towed the auld girl home behind Magnus MacLeod’s tractor. His father had been far less than impressed with the idea of his son driving about in what amounted to a taxicab, but then that was his typical reaction to just about anything Shay did, and by seventeen, Shay had gotten very good at shrugging the disappointment aside.

Shay had spent a long, happy summer putting the jitney to rights, prouder still the first time he’d driven her into the village under her own power. That was almost as many years ago now as the tender age he’d been at the time, and yet, she was still by his side. He ran a palm over the bonnet, the paint gritty and pocked from a lifetime of residing in salty air and unpaved roads.

His smile grew rueful, as he realized that the longest relationship he’d ever sustained, outside of his friendship with Roan and Graham, was with his car. “Aye, but a leap of faith I took fifteen years back, and look where it’s brought us,” he said under his breath. Perhaps it wasn’t the kind of faith most folks needed to commit their hearts to another person, but it was something.

He started to open the door when a clearing of a throat caused him to go utterly still. Just a clearing of a throat, but he knew . . .

“Would ye have a minute for me, Shay?”

He took the briefest of moments to gather himself, or at least find his breath, then turned his head . . . and looked straight into teasing hazel eyes and the sweetest of smiling faces. Kira MacLeod stood just behind him on the tiny strip of flat land between the rocky edge to the meadow, and the track road just beyond the cars. She stood so close that the light citrus fragrance she wore teased his senses. So close that all he had to do was shift the rest of his body fully around and she’d be half in his arms. The steady island breeze had caused wispy tendrils to come loose from her swept up hairstyle, and it took every ounce of strength he had not to reach out and smooth away a stray strand clinging to her lips.

His gaze lingered there. And his fingers curled more tightly into his palms.

And he knew, right then, his heart thudding loudly, while a thunderstorm of want pounded through his veins . . . that Graham was right.

As long as they were both on the same island . . . he was going to act.

Heaven help them both.

Chapter Two

For a moment, Kira thought he wasn’t going to respond. He was simply staring at her. Well, there was nothing simple about it, actually. There was a certain light in his eyes, eyes that were a unique shade of ochre, like that of a finely aged whisky, which leant a singular intensity to his gaze, and made her feel quite as if she were the only woman left in the entire universe.

Which was saying something given all the noise and clamor of the wedding celebration, everyone shouting and hollering as they got into their cars and began to make their way, like a merry holiday caravan, into the village, horns tooting, song bursting forth from several who had piled into the back of Maddaug’s open lorry. She’d just been thinking, smiling to herself as she walked down the row of vehicles, that a person would have thought it was middle of summer, and not nigh on winter, the way everyone was carrying on. The sun was rapidly setting and it would be full dark before it reached half past four.

The days were short in winter, aye, but oh, she’d loved every second of this one, from the preparation, to the ceremony, to . . . well, just every last bit of pomp and circumstance of it. The boisterous celebration was simply the proverbial icing on the cake. Everything was as it should be and she couldn’t be happier.

For which she was eternally grateful on more levels than would be obvious to anyone else. As excited and thrilled as she’d been for her closest and dearest friend, Tessa, on this most special day of her life . . . Kira had privately wondered how she’d feel as she watched Tessa and Roan pledge their vows. Would it bring back hard memories? Would the day turn out to be a harsher test for her than she’d thought she was ready to endure?

“Aye, of course,” Shay responded, at last, pulling her from her thoughts. His normally low voice sounded even deeper to her ears, more intimate, with a bit of grit making it even more gravelly than usual. “What is it ye need?” he asked.

You, she thought, feeling suddenly a little helpless. She’d been attracted, aye, but she hadn’t expected to feel all shivery and goose-pimply and incredibly aware of his every breath and pore. It was only when he finally lifted a questioning brow that she realized she was standing there, essentially gawking.

“I—I, well . . . I . . .” She stammered, suddenly tonguetied now that the moment was finally upon her. For goodness sake, you’re behaving like an addled schoolgirl in the midst of her first crush. String a decent sentence together, why don’t you? Kira smiled, widely, hoping it made her seem more her normal self, but afraid from the way his eyes widened slightly that the effect was more that of a swanning loon. Oh dear.

“Yes?” he prompted.

She took a short, steadying breath. This wasn’t supposed to be the hard part. “Would it be possible for me to, that is to say, for us—do ye think we could manage some time together—what I mean is . . . I need you.” Dear lord, a swanning loon would be sane compared to this babbling. She’d known the man since she was a child. Granted, it had been only in recent months that she’d begun to look at him . . . well, the way she’d begun to look at him, but you’d think the way her tongue had tied itself into knots she was introducing herself to the King of England. Had England a king, of course.

It was just . . . he drew her. His quiet, easy confidence. The way he always seemed in command of any situation, without saying a single word. The way he carried himself, the alertness she saw in his eyes despite his otherwise inconspicuous demeanor. There was an aura of intense awareness with him . . . of tightly leashed power. It had been the stuff of many a fevered dream and fantasy, in fact.

She’d often wondered what it would feel like to have him direct all that focused intensity toward her and her only, but she hadn’t thought it would render her a babbling idiot.

“You . . . need me?” he repeated, slowly, as if uncertain he’d heard her correctly.

And she heard a note of . . . alarm, was it? Which was when she realized how her blurted declaration might have sounded. “Oh! Not like that—I meant I need to see you, not that I need you as in like I need a man—” She broke off and could feel the flush of mortification steal up her neck and tinge her face. A face she well knew to be pale enough that, even in the growing dusk, the blush would appear as two rosy splotches, staining her cheeks in a way that wasn’t remotely becoming, but made it look as if she’d just finished some arduous task. Such as plowing a field. Oh . . . dear. This so wasn’t how she’d thought this would go. “I probably shouldn’t be bothering you here, now.”

“It’s fine,” he said, quite clearly even more concerned now. “Is something wrong, Kira?”

“Wrong?” Damn, the word had come out like a squeak. But he’d said her name, and it sounded so . . . good. Really good. And she’d so badly wanted to have her femme fatale moment, to be all alluring and enticing as she basked in his smoldering gaze. Instead, his only thought was probably that she might need immediate medical assistance. Lovely. “No,” she said, quickly, wishing she could start this conversation over. “It’s . . . business, actually.”

Now he looked surprised again, and perhaps a little . . . disappointed? Surely that was her own imagination at work. Her quite overactive imagination.

“Regarding?” he asked, his demeanor all solicitor now, no smolder.

Any chance at a femme fatale moment was officially over. As was any chance she might have with him. Kira took a breath and fought down her disappointment in herself. She’d finally found her way back to wanting a man to notice her, and this was how she’d handled it? Truly, she was a disaster. The reality of which allowed her to finally get hold of her ridiculous self. “I’ve stopped in at your office once or twice over the past fortnight, but have managed to do so when you’ve been on the mainland. I kept meaning to call and schedule an appointment, but then I thought today—we’re both here—so I’d have a chance to mention it directly. I realized after the ceremony that once we get to the pub it will be too loud, so I waylaid you. But I’m sure you’d like to get on to the pub so you can toast Roan. Tessa is likely wondering where I am as well.”

“I’m sure Roan and Tessa will survive with only the rest of the entire village to toast them.”

She smiled at that, well imagining the chaos that the pub had surely become by now. “Thank you, I appreciate that. I’m not normally one to accost folks as they go about their business.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t in when you stopped by.”

He sounded so sincere. She could only imagine that grave earnestness was what made him such a successful lawyer. “Will you be in this week?

“I may have to go to Edinburgh early on, though I’m trying to skirt around it. Regardless, I’ll be back by Thursday. Would that be soon enough?”

“Aye, that would be fine.” Perhaps by then she’d have found the dignity she’d somehow managed to lose completely during the past five minutes. “Sometime that morning, then?”

“I’m not certain of my schedule, but just drop ’round whenever it’s convenient. I’ll make the time.”

Her smile came more naturally now. “Thank you,” she added, then stuck her hand out. What, like you need to shake on setting up a simple business appointment? Honestly, what was wrong with her?

He looked down at her hand with a moment’s confusion, or at least it seemed so, from the way he frowned at it. But just when she was about to snatch it back, he took her hand in his.

And that femme fatale moment came roaring back in full force. At least, on her end, it did. His palm was warm and surprisingly a bit rough for a man who earned his keep inside an office and various courts of law. It took a moment longer for her to realize that he was neither shaking her hand . . . nor letting it go.

Her gaze lifted to his and that focused intensity was back, but with an additional edge that made tiny hairs of awareness lift all along her arms, up to the back of her neck. The sensation was disconcerting in its intensity . . . and entirely, wonderfully pleasurable in its exclusivity.

“Thursday, then,” he said, at length, that very grit and gravel causing yet another skittery cascade of tingling awareness.

“Thursday,” she echoed. He was still holding her hand, so she forgave herself the breathless note even she could hear.

And then his hold tightened, and for the briefest of moments, she could have sworn he was going to pull her closer still. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth, and she felt a distinct wobble in her knees. Was he—could he be actively contemplating . . . kissing her? Had she gone off into some kind of dream state at some point? Because surely it was a moment out of her own private fantasies. Though none of them had done this reality one whit of justice.

Her lips parted and the most delicious shiver of anticipation raced through her. It had been a very long time since she’d felt a man’s lips on hers . . . and yet it felt as though she’d waited a lifetime for his.

A split second later, just when, perhaps, her eyes might have been fluttering shut, his hand was sliding away from hers and reality came thunking back in as his expression returned to one of active concern.

“The sun is setting. You’re cold. Had I more than this short jacket—” He broke off and began to quickly undo the silver filigree buttons that adorned the front of his formal jacket, matching those on the cuffs of the sleeves.

“No, that’s—dinnae worry,” she hurried to say, a bit mortified now. How silly she was. How very, very silly. To think, for one second even, that he . . . “I’m fine,” she said, more calmly.

“You’re shivering.”

How to tell him that the very last thing she was at the moment was cold? Much less that he was the cause of all the shivering . . . none of which required his jacket as a cure. Still, as the reality of her surroundings crept back in, she did pull her shawl more tightly around her, noticing as she did so that all the other cars had now departed and that the sun, indeed, was dipping low on the horizon. “I should be getting into town—we both should, I suppose, before the toasts are all made and the ale gone. Wouldn’t be right for the rest of the wedding party not to show.”

“Let me see you to your car,” was all he said, in his typical man-of-few-words way. In fact, she had no idea at all what he was thinking. Which was possibly just as well. No need to add insult to injury.

“It’s right there,” she said, nodding across the single track to where her tiny red Fiat sat parked just opposite his. Not a coincidence, but he never need know that. “I’ll see you in town.” She’d already been backing up, but stumbled a bit as her low heel caught on the rough edge where the grass met the road.

Shay sprang forward, hand out to steady her, but she managed to steady herself on the flat of the road before he could round the back of his old jitney. She’d always thought it a whimsical choice of vehicle for a man who seemed anything but, and who could certainly afford far better now. She knew he’d had it forever, and it was likely a sentimental thing, but she’d been away back when they’d come of driving age. In fact, he’d come to Kinloch at age seven, and she’d gone off to boarding school shortly after, returning only after her divorce, so she didn’t know much more about it. Or that much about him, really. She’d never asked him about the car. Maybe now she would.

“I’m fine,” she assured him as she started to cross the road, then quickly made her way to her car, feeling his gaze on her back, which set off another round of sparks she was going to have to start getting over. “No time like the present,” she said, crossing around to open the driver’s side door. She did her best to slide her voluminous frock into the tiny, aging two-seater with as much grace as possible, and waved as she rattled off down the track towards the village. Hopefully the pub would be so crowded she could lose herself in the mob for a bit, gather herself, then slide out after the bride and groom made their departure.

“So you can go back to your cottage. And your weaving room. And hide,” she muttered. She had work to do, yes. And she had to go over the plans she intended to show Shay on Thursday as well. Plans for the basket weaving school she wanted to open, on the island. Weaving artisan basketry was an ancestral Kinloch tradition, as well as the sole foundation of the island’s economy, so there were likely to be some complicated, centuries old laws to untangle and work around to bring her vision to life. “But, at least you have a vision now,” she said, as she pulled around past the pub and began the search for a place to park. “You have a purpose.”

The only real question was—or had been—would Shay just play a legal role in that vision? Or the more intimate one she’d hoped he would. She’d thought that perhaps the time spent together, hammering out the legal details for launching the school, would give her a chance to figure that out.

“Och, well, now you’ll simply be able to devote all your time and energy to getting the school up and running.” It was just the recent weddings and people running around falling in love that had gotten her thinking about romance again, which wasn’t a bad thing. It was good to want to feel something again, wasn’t it? It was a sign of healing and growth, having optimism about her future. So what if it wasn’t going to be with Shay Callaghan? She’d get his help with the school, and . . . eventually she’d expand her horizons where other men were concerned. Somehow.

The idea didn’t invigorate her spirits as she’d hoped it would.

And it wasn’t thoughts of building on auld Conal McAuley’s croft, which Roan and Tessa had already singled out when they’d proposed the school idea to her in the first place, that dominated her thoughts as she drove into town.

No, it was the memory of those whisky-gold eyes staring intently into hers, the feel of his warm palm . . . and how he’d tightened his hold on her hand . . . just as he’d dropped his gaze to her mouth . . .

She shifted in her seat, gripping the steering wheel more tightly . . . and pressed her thighs together against the ache that built there as she replayed that moment through her mind again. And again.

She hadn’t really imagined that part . . . had she?

Chapter Three

The following morning Kira was in her weaving studio bright and early. Well, it was early. She wouldn’t vouch for how bright it was. Inside or out. But it was get to work or thrash about in her bed another hour or two, pretending to sleep. She was tired, more than a wee bit cranky, and not feeling particularly creative, but she needed to occupy her mind with something other than Shay.

“And wouldn’t that be a nice change?” she muttered as she picked up her current work in progress from the basin of water where she’d been soaking the spokes. It was a small basket, or would eventually become one, that incorporated both the colorful waxed linen strands that the Kinloch clans were known for in their artisan basketry, as well as thicker and tougher lengths of willow, and a few other natural odds and ends she’d gathered on the island. The idea of pushing the boundaries of their ancient traditions to create work that didn’t exclusively use waxed linen was seen by some on Kinloch as innovative and just the thing their island industry needed to remain vibrant and relevant in the global market. Others, namely the clan elders, saw it as a sacreligious breach of their cherished and much celebrated heritage and weren’t shy about making their displeasure known.

Kira respected the elders’ sentiments. She’d trained at her grandmother’s knee and held the old ways in deep regard. But she had to stay true to her own vision and creative calling, something her grandmother would have championed. To that end, Kira had made it clear when she’d first introduced her new design ideas to Roan, who controlled the marketing and sales of their baskets, that if there ended up being no market for them, that would decide the matter. She’d continue to make them for her own creative outlet, but would find a way to celebrate old traditions in a more pure form for the baskets she wove for market.

However, Kira’s baskets had gained immediate notice. In fact, she’d recently completed an exclusive order for a famous Italian shoe designer to use in his Milan showroom. She smiled privately as she remembered his recent, brief but colorful visit to Kinloch. Next to the wedding plans, Maradona—just the one name—had been the focus of conversation island-wide. Still was. He’d been quite a flamboyant and colorful figure on their otherwise quiet little isle. The fact that he’d brought some of his amazing shoes and handbags as well, and made gifts of the former to the younger weavers and the latter to the island’s oldest clan elders, had gone a long way toward creating a grudging détente between Kira and the traditionalists.

Kira smiled, thinking that the road to winning approval would be long, but all roads could be traveled. She just had to take it one step at a time. That was how she’d gotten this far. She let out a little sigh, forcing her thoughts away from Shay, away from the painful divorce that had sent her back to Kinloch, away from all of it. The only thing she had to think about was how to make the new pattern work. She’d already worked the slenderest of willow spokes into the base and had woven the initial rows with slender willow weavers interspersed with other organic material. Now she began to weave the thickest ply waxed strands in an intricate braided pattern in and around the unwieldy willow spokes, tucking them in and through the other material as well as she went.

The result was a rustic, uneven weave, with irregular gaps and an unwieldy, wild shaping to the basket itself, but the very earthiness of it called to her artistic soul. She probably wouldn’t rim it, but band it with a few rows of handdyed round reed at the top, then leave the spokes bending and twisting up and outward. Not a functional basket, but an art piece, a talking point. It was both harsh and beautiful, wild and barely tamed into shape, much like the island they lived on, which grew both the rugged willow, and the flax that was spun into such gorgeous, beautiful, and pliant waxed threads. She still wasn’t sure this particular idea was going to work because the elements involved were so dramatically different, and willow was a beast to work with, but so far, she was liking the results well enough.

Besides, the multicolored stranded braiding took some serious concentration, which was an added bonus this morning. She studied the open weave and considered adding an assortment of baked clay and blown glass beading to the pattern and made a mental note to rework her diagram, see how it might fit in a mid-point band.

Less than three rows later, however, she put the unfinished basket back on her work table and swore under her breath. “Never weave when you’re upset,” she murmured. “It comes out in the work.” Those were her grandmother’s words. Kira had found weaving to be immensely therapeutic. Normally, within minutes, whatever mood she’d been in when sitting down would smooth out. The combination of the repetitive motion and seeing a pattern come alive under her own fingers would take her out of her head and whatever stresses . . . or pain lurked there.

“Not today.”

Today, the tension showed in the work. She liked the idea of taming these unruly elements and forcing them to work together, but it was, in the end, to be a harmonious blend . . . not a tortured union.

“And you know all about those.” She shoved her stool back and stood, rolling her shoulders as she trudged out of the studio that her grandmother had had built onto the side of the tiny cottage a full generation ago, and into her small kitchen. Memories of the wedding reception at the pub the night before immediately filtered, unwanted, back through Kira’s mind as she set the teakettle on to boil. Like viewing some of Tessa’s professional photographs, Kira could picture the night in a series of mental stills. She rummaged in the cupboard for a tin of biscuits, but her thoughts stayed on the previous night.

To be sure, the pub had been packed, but rather than mingling and losing herself in the crush as she’d planned, she and Shay had been pulled to the front of the bar where Roan and Tessa, along with Katie, Graham, and Katie’s friend Blaine, were stationed. Kira was pushed, literally, up against Shay, time and time again, throughout the evening. Her plans to head home early had been for naught as the bride and groom hadn’t left themselves until the wee, wee hours.

And as much as Kira had loved seeing Tessa come into her own, both as a woman overcoming a difficult and challenging past, and now, as an island resident and jubilant bride to one of the most beloved clansmen on Kinloch, Kira had very selfishly wished she could have absented herself from the reception almost as soon as she’d arrived. Worse was the fact that she was well aware of why she was moping about. It wasn’t because of the less-than-desirable impression she’d made on Shay. And it wasn’t because the event brought back painful memories of her own wedding day. It hadn’t.

It was because, despite giving herself a stern talking to on the way into the village, she hadn’t been able to get past the notion that she and Shay had, indeed, shared some kind of . . . moment, however brief, back by that roadside. In fact, by the time she’d made it to the pub and jockeyed her little car into a narrow alley behind the village, she’d managed to convince herself that if the day was a celebration of hope and faith, then maybe that was the sign she’d needed to take a little leap herself. So what if she hadn’t started on this new path with exactly the right first step? She’d still taken one.

She shouldn’t just turn tail and run because the path wasn’t perfectly smooth. Right? She’d taken one step. All she had to do next was to take another. Simple, really.

She’d even entered the pub with the half-formed idea that if the moment presented itself, and she could get past the embarrassment of acting like an addled schoolgirl, she was going to talk Shay into a dance, as surely there would be plenty of music played that night. It was to be a rousing ceilidh, with any number of villagers contributing on their own fiddles and flutes, tin whistles and bodhrans. In fact, it was more likely she’d have a harder time avoiding a dance with him, since they were both in the wedding party and would surely be pushed onto the floor numerous times.

“Right,” she muttered, and bit off half a biscuit as she waited impatiently for the water to come to boil.

It had been a night filled with singing and dancing, along with heartfelt recitations of ale-inspired poetry and ballads sung with the poignant earnestness only a Scot can deliver, which made hearts soar and even men weep. Every man and woman in the pub had likely pressed hands or more together at some point during the long, boisterous night. Except, of course, for Shay and Kira.

But then, it was hard to get the attention of a man who refused to so much as look at her. And she wasn’t mistaken about that, given their proximity to one another all evening. In fact, a man would have to work quite hard to completely and utterly ignore a woman who’d been half plastered against him for an entire evening. And yet, Shay had managed the task. Heroically, even.

Kira had swiftly gone from mildly embarrassed, to feeling enormously stupid, to just wanting to get the hell out of there and go right back to hiding in her cottage. She and Tessa had pledged to stop hiding from life. To become “bad-ass non-hiders” to use Tessa’s phraseology. Tessa had pulled it off, and in quite brilliant fashion, with the wedding and celebration as proof. Which was ironic, since Kira was the one who’d fancied herself ready to start living again.

Now she cringed. Imagine, thinking she was some kind of Cinderella, coming out of her self-imposed life of weaving servitude to the island economy, ready to go to the ball and reclaim her role as a vibrant and desirable woman.

“Not so bloody likely after all,” she snorted, and finished off the rest of the biscuit. Half the tin was empty before she’d realized it.

But all the sweet biscuits in the world couldn’t erase the flash-parade of images. How Shay had all but gone out of his way to position himself on the far side of Graham or Katie whenever possible so as to keep from being pushed against her, or crowded into her personal space in any way. And when he had been, repeatedly so, he somehow managed to keep his gaze fixed anywhere but on her. Other than the occasional “excuse me” when he’d been roughly jostled against her, he hadn’t spoken so much as a single word to her. Granted, aside from his short toast to the bride and groom, he hadn’t said much otherwise, either. Nor had he danced.

She had, almost defiantly so, and she certainly hadn’t lacked for partners. But when she would return to their group and inevitably get nudged to his side, still heated and flushed from the music, hoping for even the briefest flash of awareness . . . Nothing.

She’d imagined the smolder then, standing by the roadside with him, she must have. That’s all there was to it. She’d been so smitten and overwhelmed by her reaction to his stoic, chiseled face and gravelly voice that she’d lost her foolish head. She’d gone for so long without even considering a man’s touch, much less allowing herself to want one again, so perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that his had simply swamped her senses and made her imagine ridiculous things.

She honestly hadn’t thought it would be so challenging a chore as all that. In fact, she’d expected she’d end up laughing at herself for taking so long to do it, for making such a big deal of it.

Only that’s exactly what it felt like now, in the dawn of a new morning. A challenge. And a chore. Neither of which felt fair to her.

She did laugh at herself then, just as the kettle let out its shrill whistle. “Fair,” she all but snorted as she poured herself a cup. “As if life has ever been that.”

She was digging into the bottom of the tin for the last biscuit when there was a rap on the front door of the cottage. She glanced at the wall clock. It was barely eight. “Who’d be out here at this hour?” Though it was a Monday morning and working life began early on the island, she was fairly certain there wasn’t a man or woman on Kinloch who wasn’t nursing a wee bit of a hangover this morning. More likely a romping one, given the duration of the celebration. At the very least, she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to pay a social call so soon into the new day.

She supposed she should at least be thankful she’d chosen to steer clear of the ale. And the whisky. In her state of mind, she hadn’t imagined getting sozzled would do much to improve the evening. She shuddered to think what kind of false courage that would have given her . . . and, armed with it, what ill-advised action she might have taken.

The knock came again.

She dropped the empty biscuit tin in the dustbin and set her empty tea cup in the sink. She’d shuffled halfway to the door when she realized she was in little more than a nightshirt and a robe. Neither particularly flattering. Nor, most likely, was her bed head or complete lack of makeup.

She paused for a moment, undecided on whether she should make a mad dash to the loo and at least run a comb through her hair, but then came yet another knock. No time. And honestly, it wasn’t as if there was anyone on the island who was going to care what she looked like. As far as she was concerned, if a person chose to stop by so early without advance warning, they got what they got.

Feeling both righteous and a bit put out—after all, she could have still been sleeping—she crossed to the door and yanked it open. “Aye, ye dinnae have to keep knockin’. Give a girl a chance to . . .” Her burst of words drizzled to a stop as she saw who was on her stoop.

“Hullo, Kira.”

She spent the briefest of moments wondering, a bit wildly, if perhaps she was still asleep, and dreaming this. Because there he stood, every ridiculously handsome inch of him, looking directly at her now, eye to eye, as if the endless hours of avoidance hadn’t even occurred.

And, unlike herself, he looked like a fresh breath of cool November air.

Of course he did. Kira wanted to glance heavenward and demand to know what she’d done to deserve further embarrassment in front of this man, but railing against the gods would have to wait until later. Indeed, she thought, life wasn’t fair a’tall.

“Mr. Callaghan,” she said, hearing the frost in her tone and not working overly hard to correct it. Or at all, really. She found she wasn’t in a forgive-and-forget mood this morning. “What is it I can do for ye at this early hour?”

Shay glanced at the watch on his wrist and she noted a flash of surprise before he glanced back at her. “I’ve been up and working for hours and . . . I finished. I was on my way home, and I pass directly by, so I thought perhaps you’d prefer no’ to wait till later in the week to discuss . . . whatever it was you wanted to discuss. I hadn’t realized the time. My apologies.”

“You’ve been at work? And already finished for the day?”

“Aye,” he said, without additional explanation.

It was one thing for the farmers and crofters and fishermen, but he worked in an office—his own office—and surely no one would have minded if he’d come in at a more normal hour, especially given the celebration the night before.

He nodded toward the side of her cottage. “I saw the lights on in your studio and assumed you were already at work as well.”

“Oh. Well, I was . . . but then—never mind. I’m—really no’ prepared for a meeting at the moment.” She made a lame gesture to her hair and clothes.

Only then did Shay seem to take in the rest of her. And it was only then she realized his gaze had been exclusively focused on her face. Quite the shift from the night before. Now, when she looked as if the angel of death had paid her a lengthy visit . . . now he looked at her?

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he said, with an uncustomary stammer. “I should have called ahead. It was just . . . a spontaneous thought. I’ll leave you to your morning then.” With a brief nod, he turned to leave.

Kira had every intention of stepping back inside her cottage and closing the door on his retreating back, possibly slamming it. Instead she heard herself say, “You left the celebration when I did. That was nigh on three in the morning. How is it you’ve been at work already?” And what business is that of yours anyway, she asked herself.

But he had already paused, was already turning around. Maybe it had been that uncustomary stutter in his response. But there was something . . . different about Shay Callaghan this morning. Though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He was as controlled as ever . . . and yet . . .

“Actually, I had intended to go directly by my office after the ceremony, then on to the pub from there, but ended up following you in, so . . .”

“So, you’re saying you went from pub to office, then? At three in the morning? You haven’t slept?”

“I wasn’t going to anyway.”

She was too busy glancing over him to consider why that was. He was freshly shaved, his thick thatch of brown hair looked as if it had seen a comb or brush recently, and he most certainly was no longer wearing his formal clan colors. He wasn’t in a suit, but his trousers were crisply pressed as was the starched collar of his buttoned blue and white striped shirt. Ever the natty solicitor, even in somewhat casual togs.

He met her gaze squarely. “I keep a change of clothes at the office,” he explained, before she could ask.

Kira happened to know, as did everyone, that Shay’s offices on Kinloch were on the floor above Roan’s, in a small three-story stone building perched at the north edge of Aiobhneas, the only established village on the small island. She imagined his offices in Edinburgh were far more posh—they would almost have to be—but it wouldn’t surprise her to think that he had amenities such as a shower in his office here. He wasn’t a prig by any stretch, but Kira couldn’t exactly imagine him in worn dungarees, muddy Wellies, and disheveled hair, either, which was fairly standard for most hardy souls who made their living in the Outer Hebrides.

“Well then,” she said, feeling even more the ratty wretch now that she’d taken in all of his glory.

Shay stood for another moment, then nodded again. “I’ll be on my way. I’ll see you Thursday.”

Again, he was almost at the end of the stone walkway, leaving her clear to close the door . . . but no. An apparent glutton for punishment, she blurted, “Can I ask you something?”

He paused again, waited a beat, then turned to look at her once more. Again, eye contact was direct, as it had been during their roadside interlude. And if he found anything about her appearance off-putting, it certainly wasn’t conveyed in the way he kept his focus utterly riveted on her. “Aye,” he said, at length. “Anything.”

Kira felt somehow . . . pinned, by his direct gaze. Right there, in her own doorway. “I made something of a fool of myself yesterday. After the ceremony, I mean, by the roadside.”

“It was a day of celebration,” he said. “You were happy for your best mate. It was normal to be excited.”

“That’s very gentlemanly of you,” she said, a surprising smile working its way to the corners of her mouth. “You’re being quite gentlemanly now, too.”

“Other than the early hour of my unannounced visit, you mean,” he said. His expression remained smooth, but there was something else there now . . . hovering about the corners of his mouth.

Her smile became more of an actual curve of the lips. “Was that dry humor, coming from you, Mr. Callaghan?”

“I believe it might have been, Miss MacLeod,” he said, and she spied the smallest hint of a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

Her heart might have stuttered a bit at that, but what made it skip a full beat entirely was when she spied the hint of a dimple the slight twitch etched into his cheek. She knew his every expression—not that she’d been studying him while in town, not at all, she just . . . knew them—and couldn’t say as she’d ever once seen that before. It wasn’t as if Shay Callaghan was a dour man, not by any means. But he wasn’t one for loud laughter or back-slapping good humor. In fact, come to think of it, he didn’t seem to smile much, but neither did he ever frown. He was always just . . . smooth, steady-as-you-go. Solid. Sturdy. Someone who could always be counted on to be the calm head, the pillar of strength.

Maybe that was why she was so drawn to him. He was loyal and steadfast and true. The very things she’d thought she’d had in a husband. All of which, in the end, turned out to be fiction.

But now there was this glimmer of humor, and a dimple, for God’s sake . . . and it did crazy things to her insides. Like he didn’t already do that just by, well, by being him.

“What was it you wished to ask me?”

He’d taken her off her guard now, making it easier to go forward with her question. After all, she hardly had anything to lose at this point. “Nothing important, just . . . you seem like a very direct man, as you were with me after the ceremony yesterday. As you are right now.”

“Aye, I believe I am.”

“So . . . how do you explain why you went so far out of your way during the reception celebration to avoid so much as looking in my direction? Was it something I said or did? Or is it that you can only hold my gaze out of the public eye?”

She thought he might find some polite way of sidestepping her question, or pretending not to understand her meaning.

He did neither of those things. Instead, he walked back toward her, which made her heart skip again, then start beating in double time. He stopped just in front of the porch step. And he had no trouble holding her gaze now. “It was something you said, aye, but no’ in the way ye mean. It wasna a bad thing. It was . . . the opposite of that.”

Her brows knitted together. “What do you mean, then? If what I said was a good thing, then why avoid me? I had—I had hoped we’d have the chance to dance together.” There. She’d said it. Put it right out there. Bad-ass non-hider, that’s what she was. Tessa would be ever so proud.

She thought she might throw up. Her stomach was in complete riot as she waited what felt like an eternity for his response.

“And that is precisely why I avoided ye.”

She pressed a palm over the stab to her heart. “I see.”

“No,” he said. “I dinnae believe ye do.” He stepped up on the porch then, and came quite close. So very close, in fact, that she had to grip the edge of the door to keep from stepping backward. If her heart had been beating quickly before, it was in full gallop now.

His gaze searched hers and she felt . . . absorbed into the brilliant depths of it. If she’d thought they’d shared a moment yesterday, it didn’t come close to competing with the moment they were having right now.

“You were the brightest light yesterday,” he said, as serious as if he were standing in front of a judge. “Your eyes shining, your smile so merry. I confess I was blinded by it. By you. And I have been for quite some time now.”

Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. Had he truly just said that? Or was she dreaming again? “What are ye say—?”

He placed a finger to her lips, and the merest brush of that warm skin to such a sensitive part of her about sent her straight to the floor in a pool of want.

“When you followed me to my car . . . I . . . wasn’t prepared for that. Then you looked me straight in the eye and declared that you needed me, and my thoughts being where they were, regarding you—”

“I—”

He pressed his finger more firmly, and her heart wobbled along with her knees. There was such intensity in his gaze, as if he were willing her to understand him, to truly hear what he was saying. As if he wasn’t doing a fine job already of finding the words.

“I wasn’t prepared for my reaction to that. To you. Now that you’re . . . free.”

She covered his hand and pulled his finger away, but didn’t let go. “I’ve been free since I came back to this island nigh on two years ago.”

“You were the subject of interest of my closest and dearest friend.”

“What? Oh, you mean Roan? Aye, but he was ne’er going to do anything about it. We’re simply friends. That’s all we were ever meant to be.”

“Aye, but that’s no’ something he realized until he met Tessa. And friends—”

“Don’t poach,” she finished. She started to let go of his hand, but he curled his fingers around hers and kept them, joined, just below her chin. “So,” she said, shaky now, “why not follow up at the reception? What better place to make your wishes known than by asking me to dance?”

“At a wedding reception, with the entire village watching, romance and happily ever after brimming in the air? No. I wouldn’t have done that.”

She frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why?”

“It’s no’ happily ever after I’m searching for. It doesna exist. No’ for me.”

“Do you really belie—”

“Kira,” he said, and the wobble was now accompanied by the most delicious shiver at the sound of her name on his lips. “It doesn’t exist for me. And seeing you after the ceremony, so flushed with happiness, I realized that it will exist for you. Just no’ with me. And so . . .”

“You avoided me.”

“I did. It seemed the right thing to do. The only thing. As it turned out, you weren’t at a loss for partners, which isn’t surprising in the least, and I do apologize if I seemed rude, but it seemed enough that I was leaving you to your entertainment, I didn’t need to watch you enjoying it.”

So, he was saying he’d been . . . jealous? Really? It shouldn’t have made her feel that good. But, after the night she’d put in and how utterly rejected he’d made her feel . . . she might have reveled a wee bit at his confession. “But you’re no’ avoiding me this morning. Or have you regrouped now and we’re back to strictly business?” She honestly had no idea how she was conducting such a civil, rational conversation when her hormones were rioting and her entire body felt as if it were about to explode from overstimulation. It was simply too much to take in, all at once.

“That’s what I told myself when I turned in to your cottage, aye.”

She held his gaze, his confession giving her the strength and confidence to do it. “And now? Because this doesn’t feel like business. Strictly.”

“And now the desire to kiss ye is stronger than I ever believed possible.”

She trembled at that. “But?”

“But nothing. It’s the truth.”

She held his gaze for what felt like the longest time . . . then took the next step. “So, then, why are ye still standing there, Shay Callaghan?”

Chapter Four

Shay thought his heart might drum clear through the wall of his chest. How had this moment come to pass? It had not been his plan. He always had a plan. He could barely hear, much less think, with all that thrumming reverberating in his ears. And his body surging to full, rigid attention wasn’t helping rational thought, either.

“Because I’ve nothing else to offer ye,” he managed, throat tight, body even tighter.

“I don’t believe I asked for anything else.”

“No,” he agreed. “Ye didn’t. But surely, ye want—”

“What I want,” she said, surprising him then by leaning still closer, “is to feel your mouth on mine. It’s what I’ve wanted for quite some time now,” she added, echoing his own words.

He swallowed. Hard. “Have ye now?” Contradicting bolts of bone-jarring terror and raw, swamping lust blasted clear through him, making it impossible to determine what was the right path to take, the right step. He knew what he wanted, but what a man wanted in the moment, especially one as heated as this, was often not what he needed in the long run. Or what was good for either of them.

“Aye,” she said, her voice dropping to barely more than a whisper.

Then, any hope he might have had of reclaiming his place as a gentleman, putting what was best before what was desired, fled when her gaze dropped to his mouth.

“ ’Tis,” she breathed.

Damn Graham and his bloody predictions, but Shay was well lost to it now. He slid his free hand to the back of her neck and had the sweet taste of her on his lips, invading his every cell and pore, a mere breath later. Och, but she was like the finest of champagnes, sipped in front of the coziest of fires. Bubbly and sweet, yet warm and inviting. She was the embodiment of his wildest fantasy come true . . . yet somehow all grounded in the warmth and comfort of home and hearth. She drove him to want to take her, right there, up against the wall, like a rutting, wild beast . . . while simultaneously wanting to cradle her in softness, sip from her, and take her as slowly and thoroughly as it was possible for a man to take a woman, to show her everything that was or could be inside him.

And he thought he could stand right there and kiss her lush, sweet mouth until the end of time . . . then die a happy man. It was a single moment of pure contentment the likes of which he’d never once experienced before, and would have sworn, in court, under oath, was beyond him to ever feel.

Only now . . . he had. Now, he knew.

He felt her gasp, heard her little moan as her lips softened beneath his. She released his hand and slid both of hers to his shoulders, then up the back of his neck and into his hair. Her touch made him feel as if he’d suddenly been plugged into an outlet that sent surges of electric sensation charging over and through him. He’d certainly been touched by a woman before, far more intimately, and quite pleasurably, in fact. So what was it about this simple act, drawing her short nails across his scalp as she urged his mouth more tightly onto hers, that was so overwhelmingly intoxicating . . . he couldn’t rightly have said.

Lost entirely now, he let himself sink into the moment, allowed himself a release of control—well, he hadn’t allowed it so much as he hadn’t seemed to have much choice in the matter. That alone should have him staggering back, pushing her away, until he could figure out what, exactly, was going on here. He’d never once been the sort to knock on a woman’s door and an instant later have her in his arms, her mouth under siege by his own, consumed with such ardent passion that he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t like not being in control, or shouldn’t have. But there was not a single damn thing not to like about how he felt in that moment, nor any clear argument that could be made for not having himself more of it.

She made the most delectable whimper when he wove his fingers through the thick fall of her hair and tugged her mouth more tightly against his, and he felt himself tremble in response. Never had he been so in tune with a woman’s every breath and gasp. She dug her short nails into his scalp now even as her whimpers turned to soft moans. He groaned himself, and took the kiss deeper still. Then she teased his tongue with her own and what fragile hold he did have left on his crumbling control shattered completely.

With a sound more growl than groan, he pulled her tightly against him, taking her tongue, dueling, as he backed them both through her front door, catching it with his foot and slamming it behind them, stopping only when her back came up against the nearest wall. The jarring, abrupt stop did nothing to abate their connection.

“We shouldn’t, Kira,” he managed, in a desperate last attempt, as he slid away from the sweet, intoxicating depths of her mouth and laid a trail of hungry kisses along her jaw instead, incapable, in that moment, of ending contact entirely. He continued his heated journey, pausing at the soft spot below her ear. “I’m no’ the man for you. I know this, even if you do no’.”

“I believe that’s for me to decide,” she said, tipping her head forward against his shoulder, allowing him to nudge her hair aside and continue his sweet assault along the silky smooth trail to the nape of her neck. “Who says I’m looking for anything more than this?” she managed, between ragged breaths.

“You should. It’s what you deserve.”

“I might think I deserve a lot of things, we all do,” she said, groaning as he nipped at the soft skin at her nape. “Doesn’t mean we get them.”

He forced himself to lift his head, break free of the taste of her, only long enough to nudge her head back so he could look into her now glittering eyes. “Maybe you should hold out for that.”

“Maybe holding out only means you get nothing. Maybe this is better than nothing.”

Her words weren’t intended to hurt, to pinch at his heart, he knew that. She was talking about life, in general. And, after all, hadn’t he just gotten done telling her he wasn’t worth her wait? Yet, the pinch was there, all the same.

“This is better than anything I’ve had, and I’ve barely tasted you,” he said, hearing the tremor in his voice, and helpless to do anything to smooth it out. In truth, it did terrify him, this utter loss of control, as well it should, and yet he was in the grip of her, and a certain degree of helplessness seemed to come with the territory. It was territory he wasn’t willing—or able—to relinquish. Not quite yet. “If I thought I was a man who could promise you eternity, I’d pursue you to the ends of the earth, and do whatever it took to prove myself to you.”

He couldn’t believe the words spouting from his mouth, so overwrought, so insanely over the top. And yet no words had ever felt truer coming off his tongue, no closing speech in front of a judge more heartfelt. He couldn’t rationalize them, but neither could he deny them.

And, hearing his enamored pledge, she wasn’t twisting out of his arms, looking at him as one should at a mad man, professing himself like that to a woman who, in truth, he barely knew.

And yet, he did know her. It felt, inexplicably, as if he’d always known her. Now he knew the taste of her, but it seemed like just another element in the long list of what he already knew. And, having her in his arms . . . well, it felt as if she were occupying the exact right spot.

She steadied her breath then, or tried to, and slid her hands from his hair, until her palms caressed his cheeks. He wanted to rub against them like a cat soaking up the warmth of the sun. In fact, he craved the feel of her skin against his, and would gladly rip off every last stitch of their clothing if given the least bit of provocation. With his teeth, if need be.

He’d never thought himself a particularly primal man. He had his needs, his wants, his desires, but he’d never been less than fully in control, even in the most tremulous moment of release. He realized then it was because he’d always only been experiencing his own sensations, careful, of course, to be considerate of his partner’s needs. But the connection had ended there, a fact he found entirely normal. What more could a man experience than his own sensations, after all?

But this . . . the strength of all that he was feeling was intertwined with her in a way that couldn’t be separated into his experience here, and her experience there. He couldn’t even find words to describe the way it all wove together. She made him lust, she made him want, she made him feel . . . carnal. He craved. It shouldn’t feel healthy, it shouldn’t feel . . . normal. And yet it made him want to shout, to howl . . . roar. And to claim.

Like an out of body—hell, out of mind—experience, it made no sense, and yet, this felt like the first time that everything made sense. An utter sort of clarity he’d never known before.

She was indeed The One. His heart knew it. His soul knew it. Every last cell that formed him knew it.

All he had to do . . . was accept it.

And that was where the obstacle loomed, enormous and all-imposing, beyond his powers to scale and conquer.

“I don’t know that any of us gets eternity,” she said, her voice a little rough, but her gaze steady on his.

He tried to calm his own ragged breath, pull his thoughts from their primal, chaotic swirl, and organize them into something rational, or at least sensible.

“And you have nothing to prove to me,” she said. “I know who you are, Shay.”

And he understood her meaning. That knowing had little to do with sharing thoughts and dreams, and revealing every quirk and foible that made them who they were, in the day-to-day realm.

She knew him.

“And that’s all I need,” she said.

“But is that all ye want?”

“Doesna matter. It cannot. No’ really.”

“It should.”

“You could be struck by lightning the moment you leave this cottage. Should I not take what you’re offering, because it might be the only thing we share? Life isn’t fair, Shay. I know that better than anyone. As do you. So maybe we’re better advised to take what we can get, and find a way to be satisfied with that, happy with that, revel in it, for God’s sake. Because it sure as hell beats standing on the sidelines . . . or hiding out in a secluded cottage.”

“Does it, then? What of the hurt to come, the disappointment, the . . . loss when you’ve allowed yourself such great wants, only to see them go unfulfilled? It’s no’ the end that comes at the hand of fate that concerns me. ’Tis sad, heartbreaking, but though life may have come to an end, that love endures. It’s the end by choice I’m speaking of. The promises broken, the dreams and faith abandoned. There’s such cruelty in it, even if no’ intended, and it comes at the hand of choice, no’ fate, which makes it that much harder to bear. I don’t want anyone to make that choice against me . . . but more important, I never want to be in a place where I need to make that same cruel choice.”

“Aye, that does happen, and aye, ’tis cruel, no doubt. But what of it? It’s a terrible dark time, that’s for certain . . . but it won’t kill you, either. I’m testimony to that, aren’t I?”

Now he framed her face with his palms. “And how is it you’ve been through it, to the hell and back of it . . . and yet you’re willing to risk that journey again?”

“Because I’ve also been to the heaven of it. And it’s worth it, Shay. Even if you only have it for a time. It’s worth it. The puir and utter joy of loving and being loved . . . ’tis a thing to be cherished. Squandering such a rare offering because ye’re wary it might be snatched away seems a sad waste, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve a rare strength, Kira, and you’re surely braver than me. I dinnae think I could stand myself if I were the cause of inflicting pain on you.”

She surprised him by smiling, and it was so direct, so surely given, she amazed him. “You’d never hurt with intent. And I believe I’ve been fairly warned. So I’ve only myself to blame, then, haven’t I, if I’m no’ to have the happy ending?” She drew her fingers along his cheek, and then feathered them across his lips.

He shook a bit harder under her delicate, yet sure touch, as if the ground was about to vibrate the floor right out from under them. “So that is what ye want, then, after all. The happy ending.”

“Well, I’m not cut out, or able to close off parts of myself to enjoy dallying for the sake of dallying.”

“What of the take-what-you-can-get philosophy, and be happy with it?”

“Oh, I meant that,” she said, easily, “because I havena any other choice. It has to begin somewhere.” She smiled into his eyes, so easily, so fully, but there was a trembling in her hands now, too. “That doesna mean I don’t have my hopes that I’ll end up with more. I wouldn’t involve myself otherwise.”

“And if yer hopes are dashed?”

“Then I hurt . . . and I heal. But ’tis no’ only about me, this, is it? What of your pain, Shay, what of your disappointment? What if I’m the one who can’t see it through? Why are you so certain I’m the one who’ll be hurt?”

“That’s just it, I dinnae think there is any way to escape unscathed, on either side. I see the ravages of it, every day. Even those who don’t mean to hurt the one they loved, do it anyway. A person can’t help feeling . . . and then losing that feeling, even if it breaks the heart of someone they otherwise cherish.” He saw the flicker of knowing, of remembered pain, flash quickly over her face, and felt horrible for bringing her own past to mind.

But the expression went as swiftly as it came, and her voice was as sure as it had been before when she said, “It’s a risk, aye, the hope that both parties will forever want the same things, want each other. But you’re forgetting . . . not everyone wants to escape. You’re surrounded by great evidence of that, an island full of them, in fact.”

“Aye, I know, but—”

“I dinnae know how you do wha’ ye do, Shay. I truly don’t. And I clearly see how it would take a toll on you or any man, to be such an intimate part of other people’s pain, day in and day out. I question, though, why inflict it on yourself? Why do it? It clearly takes a toll on you. So much so, it’s informed your life choices, made you cut yourself off from what I think it is you might really want.” She tightened her hold on his face, making him aware all over again of the intimacy their bodies shared. “I know it was your father’s work, but it doesnae have to be yours, does it? And this isn’t a judgment of your father, but I think maybe ye need a colder, or perhaps a more singularly practical heart for that kind of work.”

“What makes you think I’m no’ cold and practical?”

“This,” she said, simply, and leaned in and kissed him.

He realized then that he honestly had no choice in the matter at all. She was here. So suddenly now in his arms, in his life. He’d taken the critical step . . . and there was no turning back. No pretending he hadn’t done this, tasted her . . . and finally wanted what he’d never allowed himself to want.

She kissed him . . . and he took her. Laid claim. A full out siege, in fact. She teased him, just once, with the tip of her tongue, and he hungrily pulled it into his mouth, suckling on her, taking her inside him the way he wanted to be taken inside of her.

Her gasps quickly turned to moans and she writhed against him, arching away from the wall, thrusting her hips forward. He pressed her back to the wall, sliding his hands behind her thighs and urging her legs around his waist.

No more thinking, only acting. Only taking. Stepping farther down the path . . . whether to his salvation or his destruction, it no longer mattered. It was a journey already undertaken. Retreating now wouldn’t change anything.

She dug her heels into his buttocks, finally able to press herself directly against the hard, rigid length of him, her thin nightgown only molding her more perfectly to him. His thighs shook under the restraint of not driving himself forward between her thighs. His hands shook as well as he slid them up her waist until he could cup her breasts.

She cried out against his mouth, her hips moving rhythmically against him now as he filled his palms with the soft weight of her breasts, rubbing, gently rolling her tightly budded nipples between his fingers. He was moving his hips, too, no longer able to control it, not entirely sure he was going to be able to stop, or contain himself, as his body was already begging for release.

She was pulling at his shirt, trying to tug it from the waistband of his belted trousers. And when she finally managed it and tugged open buttons, pulling up the white cotton undershirt he wore beneath it, and her hands finally touched his hot flesh . . . what restraint was left, snapped.

He slid her farther up the wall and broke free of her mouth, only so he could close lips wet from hers over first one rigid nipple, then another. She cried out again, twisting against him, her hands knotting in his hair, pressing him closer, urging him to take more.

Her thin nightgown tore easily under his teeth when he yanked. She didn’t even flinch. Her thighs merely tightened against him and she groaned, from somewhere deep in her throat . . . a sound as primal as the way he felt.

Her nipples were perfect rosebuds of dark pink against pale, soft skin, and the taste of them, the feel as he drew the tip of his tongue over them, making her shudder and twitch, was the sweetest thing he’d ever known.

He wanted all that pale, creamy skin bared to him, wanted to run his tongue over every inch, every freckle, every dimple and curve. With only that goal in mind, he ordered, “Hold on,” and slid his arms around her, holding her to him as he blindly moved into her cottage, thinking he only needed a surface big enough for them to lie on.

“The door, there,” she panted.

The hot thrill of knowing they were of the same mind, without question or pretense, made his need for her that much fiercer.

He took in absolutely nothing of her surroundings, other than the shadow of a bed in the dim lighting of the curtained room.

“It’s a bit lumpy, I’m afraid—” she began, but he cut her off with his mouth on hers, as he propped one knee on the mattress, then lowered them both down upon it.

He made quick work of her nightgown and robe as her hands moved frantically over him, pulling off his shirt, tugging the undershirt over his head. He shucked trousers and boots in short order. But, once naked, rather than the growling, animalistic coupling he’d imagined, she instead pushed him to his back, startling him into a moment of inaction.

Her cheeks were most beautifully flushed and her hair was mussed and wild, the way it would be when a man’s hands had been in it. Her man’s hands. His hands. Another primal thrill shot through him and he wondered what in the hell he’d become. But it was her smile that caught at him, as it always did.

“What is it?” he asked, when she didn’t immediately speak. “Oh,” he said, as it occurred to him why any woman would halt a man about to do . . . what he’d so clearly been about to do, “if it’s about protection—”

She laughed then, a short little lilt, but rather than make him feel dundering for the awkward mention, he found himself smiling along with her.

“I’ve no doubt you’re always well prepared, Mr. Solicitor. For anything,” she teased, still breathing quite unevenly, hair wild about her flushed face.

I wasn’t prepared for you, he thought.

“But, ye needn’t worry on that score,” she assured him. “I’m already protected.”

“Are ye now?”

She lifted an eyebrow at that, but she didn’t look insulted. In fact, she laughed again. “Why, Mr. Callaghan, could it be you’re a wee bit put out at the notion that I might have felt the need for protection, when I haven’t been with the likes of you as yet.”

“Well, no . . . of course no’, you’re a grown woman, free to do as ye like, I didnae mean—”

“It’s okay,” she interrupted him. “I rather like it that I stir up your possessive instincts.”

“Ye’ve stirred me up, all right, but I’ve never—”

“Shay,” she said, her voice softer, her gaze as steady as her smile. “Would it make ye feel any better to know that I’m no’ happy to know you’re carrying protection about when ye haven’t been with the likes of me as yet, either?”

He might have smiled at that. A wee curve of the lips, anyway. “So, what is this all about then? Why did you stop me?”

She brushed at the hair on his forehead, then traced a finger over his lips again. “On the off chance this really is the most beautiful dream I’ve had of you yet, and I simply haven’t woken up from it, or that you’ll do as you threaten to do, and take off for the hills once we’ve . . . done what we can do, I thought I’d rather like to slow all this down. Savor all the . . . bits. And the pieces.” She slid down a little lower then and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, glancing up to meet his gaze with a particularly wicked twinkle to her eyes that he wouldn’t have thought her capable of.

It was a discovery he didn’t mind making in the least.

“And, what of my, erm, bits and pieces?” he asked, wanting to be playful for her, with her . . . but not entirely sure how. His hunger was still an almost savage, commanding thing. It was all he could do to lie still.

“I don’t know,” she said, then pressed another kiss, then yet another, until she was close enough to surprise him with a quick, soft nip of her lips over his nipple.

The little sizzle of pleasure that gave him was a distinct surprise, but before he could say, or do, anything about it, she began a trail of soft little kisses along the narrow line of hair that arrowed down the center of his abdomen, and murmured, “but I daresay I plan to find out.”

“Kira, ye dinnae have to—oh . . . God . . . almighty . . .” The words trickled off to a long, strangled growl, right before he slammed his head back against the mattress, and closed his eyes. Her tongue, brushing the very tip of him . . . “Och, luv, but I dinnae think I—I canno’—”

And, oh, aye, though he was quite wanting to let her, he gritted his teeth and resisted the need to simply let go. “This is no’ how I plan for things to go.” He reached down for her, pulling her up, then rolling her under him. “No’ this time.”

“This time?” she queried, smiling merrily up at him.

“Aye,” he said, certain, at least, of that much. “This time.”

And, with that, he laid claim to her mouth again, glorying in teasing, tasting, dueling tongue to tongue. It was both urgent and languid. He kissed her with absolute intent . . . and yet felt he had all the time in the world to get there.

He splayed his fingers into her hair, raking through the silky strands as they continued to kiss, ardently, thoroughly, as if that mating alone was their only goal. And though their bodies were in full contact, and he wanted desperately to slide inside her . . . at the moment, he found the longer they took, just kissing, the more intimate he felt with her, the more he felt he began to know her, feel what made her arch against him, what made her gasp, what made her growl . . . what made her soften, and what made her turn aggressor.

And by the time she wrapped her legs around his hips and lifted herself to him, it was as if a lifetime had passed, unspoken between them. He pushed into her, slowly, deeply, and she took him, oh so fully and completely, but it was her gaze on his that told him she was taking far more into her body than just his own. She wove her fingers into his hair, and turned his mouth back to hers . . . and never once, in his entire life, had he had such a pure sense of what it was to finally come home.

Chapter Five

This time, when he opened his eyes, it was to find the late afternoon sun spearing gold daggers of light through the slit in the bedroom curtains.

They’d dozed after that first time, partly he thought from their exertions, but mostly because both were sleep deprived. She’d fed him a late breakfast of bangers and mash, and it had felt remarkably normal and not even the least bit awkward, sitting in her tiny kitchen in nothing more than his trousers, watching her fuss at the stove wearing nothing more than his striped shirt. As if his entire life hadn’t just taken a very abrupt, utterly fantastical turn. They’d talked of nothing important, more interested in feeding themselves and each other. Then he’d taken her to the shower . . . and taken her there, as well.

Damp and a bit giddy with such saturation of pleasure, they’d tumbled straight back into her bed, and taken a very long, languorous time exploring each other . . . and he’d learned exactly how it would feel to let her finish what she’d begun that first time.

In fact, he was thinking now that it was certainly only fair that he return the favor, when he felt her stir next to him. He tipped his chin down to find her looking up at him, that same, steady smile on her face, and in her eyes. And that’s when it struck him, what it was about her that made him feel so distinctly at ease, so . . . at home. She looked at him with complete faith and trust, that he’d be exactly what she thought he would be. And rather than make him want to run for the hills, as she’d said earlier . . . her trust made him very much want to be that man.

Because she had an ability to love that he absolutely did not question. A man would be the luckiest on earth to have all of that given to him, and so freely, without artifice or guile.

The only thing he questioned was being able to give her all of those things in return. Because it would be the worst kind of travesty if he took from her, and could not equally give.

Her smile grew, and he sincerely doubted it was because she could read his thoughts. “What’s amusing?” he said, feeling as if he had sandpaper for a voice.

“I was just thinking that last night I fully believed you didnae want me. Wouldn’t even dance with me. Wouldna even look at me.”

He pulled her to his side and half under him again. He buried his face in her neck and nipped the lobe of her ear. He’d become someone entirely different with her. There was nothing refined about any part of him now. Nothing held back, nothing reserved. “I want nothing so much as I want you,” he said, his thoughts still lingering where they’d been a moment ago.

She shivered then, and he reveled in her instinctive response. It made him want to pull her closer still, into the protection of his body. The feelings coursing through him grew more primal, the more time he spent with her. In fact, in that moment, he’d have taken down with his bare hands anyone who dared to harm her or threaten to take her from him.

It was complete insanity, the intensity of his feelings, this drive to want, to have, to possess.

And yet, he didn’t wish to escape the asylum.

He lifted his head to look down into her eyes, questioning everything he thought he wanted from love . . . quite well aware that all that had changed.

“I want nothing more than I want you, Shay Callaghan,” she said, stroking his cheek.

He was sure that the depth of his rioting needs was reflected in his eyes. And yet, she looked into them, unflinching, baring those same needs and desires to him.

“How have we come to this place?” he asked her, quite sincerely. “I’ve only just made it known I fancied you. It’s been less than a single day that I’ve known your thoughts ran on similar lines. Had I pursued it, I’d have thought of dinner, perhaps. A drive. Maybe taking the ferry over to Castlebay. I’d have courted you, and hoped for . . .”

“This?”

He shook his head.

She frowned, just briefly. “No?”

“I don’t know that I could have ever hoped for anything like this. I didn’t know this existed. No’ for me.”

She smiled then. “And now?” She pushed his hair from where it fell in heavy hanks across his forehead, the gesture an absent one, as if she’d been doing it out of long practice.

“And now it’s like this.”

“Like what?”

He propped his weight on one elbow and captured her hand as she was about to smooth the hair on his neck. “This.”

“I don’t get your meaning.”

“You opened your door to me mere hours ago, knowing me, but no’ truly knowing me. And for me, the same. Now, hours later, it’s as if we’ve spent many days, months, years perhaps, in just this way. There’s an ease and comfort with you, Kira, that . . .”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s a magical thing.”

“But?”

He pulled her hand around and kissed her knuckles, then opened her hand and pressed a long kiss to her palm, before curling her fingers closed over it. “How long is it possible to believe in magic?”

“As long as you want to believe,” she said, without hesitation.

When he said nothing, she added, “It’s rather like my grandmamma used to tell me when I found, just before leaving for boarding school, that St. Nicholas didn’t truly exist. I was crushed. I’d always quite fancied the idea of him, the promise that someone was watching over me, caring that I behaved well, and would reward me with a twinkle in his sage, wise eyes. She told me that if I didn’t believe in him, then he’d surely never pay me another visit. But as long as I believed, the possibilities were endless.”

“And did St. Nick keep up his annual visits?”

She nudged at him. “That wasn’t the point. She was just telling me that a closed mind is like a closed door. Good things can’t enter through a door that’s firmly shut. But an open door is a welcome portal.”

“It’s also an undefended one. Anything—or anyone—can stroll in, and not always with the best intentions.”

“True. But a closed door is rather like creating a jail, with you the willing prisoner. No one can get at you, but the solitude makes for poor company after a time, I would think.”

“There’s always visitation,” he said, in an effort to lighten the suddenly somber mood. For which he only had himself to blame.

He earned another nudge for that, but her smile broadened to a grin. “Aye, something else ye can control. Who ye let in. And how long they’ll stay.”

He rolled to his side then and carried her with him, so she was half sprawled across his chest, her face just above his. Now he toyed with her hair. “And how long would you wish to stay?”

“As long as you’d have me by your side,” she said, just like that, without hesitation.

His heart bumped hard in his chest. He wanted, like mad, to believe it could be true. He had no doubt she meant it. In that moment. “Even after all I’ve revealed to ye?” he asked.

“Aye.” She nodded.

“Why?”

“Because of this,” she said, and he knew she was referencing the same thing he had a moment ago. She smiled again. “This may come as a shock to ye, but I’ve never once dragged a man into my cottage and had my way with him.”

“No?” he said, and wished like hell his heart would slow down, just enough so that he could get it back under control. “Not even auld Dougal, then?” he said, who, at ninety-seven, was the oldest, and quite possibly the most toothless, of the McAuley clan.

She barked a laugh. “Well, only because he hasn’t come ’round, of course.”

“Of course.”

She laughed at his deadpan delivery and it delighted him that she understood and appreciated his understated form of humor.

“In the meantime, I have you.”

“A puir substitute to be sure.”

She sighed, but smiled into his eyes as she leaned down to kiss him, lingeringly. “What is it I’ll have to do,” she said as she lifted her head, “to ease your worries?”

“I dinnae think it’s about words being spoken, Kira. I dinnae doubt that you mean what you say, any more than I question the strength of the want I have for you. What’s between us doesn’t have to follow logic to exist. If we both believe it does, then it does.” His lips quirked a little. “You see, I do have a wee bit of a crack in my door.”

“So ye do at that.” She smiled into his eyes again. “Where does that leave us then?”

“We give it time, do with each other what we both wish to do. There’s no’ much else to do, is there?”

“So, you’re no’ running then.”

“I couldna, nor do I want to.”

“And what of the pain and disappointment you’re so sure is to come?”

“Well, there’s no avoiding that now, is there?”

Her eyes widened and she pushed herself up on his chest. “Really, then? Well, perhaps we should just say our parting words now, Mr. Gloom and Doom.”

He tugged her back down. “That’s no’ what I meant.”

She settled on his chest, but for the first time he saw wariness in her eyes. And despite his knowing that a bit of wariness would be a wise thing for her to adopt if she was going to tangle herself up with him, that didn’t set well at all with him, as it turned out. Not well at all.

“Go on,” she said, “explain yourself.”

“All I meant,” he said, cupping the back of her head, “was that I’m already well and truly tangled. So if bad is going to happen, there’s already no avoiding the hurt and disappointment. Stopping now won’t change it.”

“Then all we need to do is make sure we stay tangled,” she said, trying to tease, despite the thread of wariness still there.

“Aye,” he said. “ ’Tis simple as that.”

She gave him a gauging look. “There’s nothing simple about it. Though, to me, it’s joyful work. However,” she said, “if you’re already convinced it canno’ survive the tests that time will surely deliver, then you’ll most certainly fulfill that prophecy.”

“I know that, too.”

She smiled now, but it was more rueful this time. “So, I should jump off the ship now, then, is what you’re saying. While the waters are still relatively shallow and the shoreline close.”

“In the end, it would likely be the easier course, aye.”

“Do you want me to jump, make it easier for you to steer back to the deep waters alone?”

“I want you right where I have you.”

“Even with no guarantee that I’ll stay there? No life preservers, if you will?”

“Even then.”

“Then I only ask one thing.”

“Which is?”

“No more maudlin talk of how we’re all doomed to fail in our commitments to one another. You might see it play out at court, over and over, but when you come to me, I want you to see me for who I am . . . not who you fear I might turn into. And, perhaps more challenging still, but equally important, I want you to be the man you want to be with me, the man you’ve been today. No’ waste what time we give ourselves worrying about the man you fear you’ll turn into.”

He looked into her eyes, so steady. So true. “You’re right,” he said, at length. “No more maudlin talk.” He rolled her under him and kissed her, and when she tried to talk, he kissed her some more. “I’m being the man I want to be with you,” he murmured, trailing kisses along her jaw, then down to her collarbone, then, as he slid his body down, between her breasts, lingering on first one nipple, then the other. “And what this man wants, is to taste you.” He slid down farther still, and was exactly that man.

And when she arched beneath his tongue and hands, when he felt her build toward yet another shuddering climax, fully reveling in the joy of knowing he was the one delivering her so much pleasure . . . he hoped she’d overlook the fact that he hadn’t exactly agreed to her other demands.

He prayed like hell that by the time she brought it up again . . . he’d know if he could make her that promise.

Chapter Six

“I appreciate your meeting with me,” Kira said as she stepped into the office that Graham kept in town. He mostly worked in the labs he’d crudely constructed in the crumbling clan castle, Flaithbheartach, though he could even more often be found in the flax fields. The office in town was for clan business, and located just a block or two down from the building that housed both Roan’s and Shay’s offices.

“Shay said you needed to discuss a business proposition that would impact the island economy?”

She nodded and took a seat across from the broad expanse of black slate that was the surface of his desk. Graham, himself, as brawny as he was tall, was even more imposing than the massive antique. Had she not already known he was more keen scientist than scowling patriarch, she might have felt nervous about her proposal. But she also knew him to be a fair leader who truly wanted what was best for the citizenry of Kinloch.

“How much has Shay told you? Did Roan speak to you of it before the wedding?”

Now Graham’s eyebrows knitted in a mild frown. “No. Should he have? What is this that everyone is already in deep discussion about it? I didn’t think it was possible to keep a secret on this island.”

“Oh, it’s no’ a secret. Just an idea that Roan and Tessa had and brought to me, thinking I’d be the perfect one to champion it. And I only brought it to Shay to see if it was legally feasible before discussing it with you.”

“I see.” He sat back in his equally overlarge office chair. The leather was so worn it had cracked through around the edges. Kira knew that despite his lofty station on the island, no one had less pretension about him than Graham. In fact, she’d be surprised if he’d even noticed the deteriorating condition of the antiquities that surrounded him.

He didn’t say anything further, but continued his steady regard for another minute.

“So . . . would you like to hear the proposal?”

He nodded. “I would. But, if I may, could I ask you something of an entirely personal nature first? And please know, you’re more than welcome to tell me to bugger off and I assure you it won’t impact my decision-making on your project, but—”

“Yes, Shay and I are involved. With each other. I hope we’ll have your support. And Katie’s.”

His eyes widened in obvious surprise at her bluntness. But he didn’t correct her assumption that that had been the question he’d been about to ask.

“Our involvement has nothing to do with the business at hand, though, if that’s your concern.”

“My concern isn’t that, or Shay. Well, that is to say, my concern at the moment isn’t Shay.”

Meaning he was concerned about her. Now it was her turn to widen her eyes. She’d spent the first nine years of her childhood growing up with Graham on Kinloch and had certainly been sociable to him upon her return, so there was the comfort of a long, if general, association. But they’d never been the kind of acquaintances who shared personal details with each other. In fact, she was closer to having that kind of friendship with Graham’s very outgoing wife, Katie. And she’d only been on the island a few months. “If your concern is for me, I can assure you, I’m fine.” There was a bit of mortification in her response. Other than Tessa, she’d never openly talked about her reasons for coming back to Kinloch with anyone, but she was absolutely certain every last soul knew the circumstances behind the move, if not the more intimate details.

She’d spent a goodly part of the time since her return holed up in her grandmother’s cottage. Weaving mostly, or at least that’s what it had become when brooding and feeling sorry for herself had ceased to provide any actual comfort. She’d interacted professionally with Roan while marketing her baskets, as that was his job, and she’d made certain to smile and nod at everyone when she had to come into the village to buy food or supplies. But, otherwise, she’d kept to herself. And she realized, on an island this small, people had their opinions about why a thirty-one-year-old woman would, for all intents and purposes, become a hermit. It couldn’t have been seen as healthy.

And now Graham seemed concerned that his friend had hooked himself up with a woman of questionable mental stability. She’d have laughed, if she hadn’t been so embarrassed. Of the two of them, she felt her outlook on things was far healthier than Shay’s.

“Good,” Graham said, and seemed to be content with her answer. Then he went on to say, “Has Shay told you about himself? His family?”

“I was born here, so he didn’t have to,” she said, not in a patronizing way, but wanting to get things back on a more comfortable footing. “I know his mother left him here as a boy, to live with his father, and I know Mr. Callaghan was anything but an easy man, especially with Shay.”

“Have you thought any about what he does for a living . . . and perhaps why he does it?”

“He runs his late father’s divorce practice in Edinburgh. I imagine he does so either for the income, or to honor his father’s wishes, or both.”

“You can’t imagine, then, that he does so because he enjoys it.”

“No,” she said, instantly. “Definitely no’ that.”

Graham nodded, and a bit of the tension in his posture seemed to ease up. “You’d be right then. He doesn’t.”

Kira dipped her chin for a moment, and stared unseeing at the accordion binder she held in her lap. “I don’t want you to think I’m prying. Anything I want to know, I’d ask Shay directly.” She lifted her gaze to Graham’s. “But your insight, as a friend, would be appreciated.”

“Because others see us more clearly than we see ourselves?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and settled back in his chair. “I started the subject, so ’tis a fair request. What is it you want to know?”

“You bring up his family, his mother, leaving him. As far as I know, they never had contact past that time. And we know his father was less than supportive of his only child and son. So, are you saying you believe his commitment to remaining a bachelor extends back beyond being a practicing divorce attorney?”

“Possibly.”

“But he’s had the deep bonds of friendship with you and Roan for a lifetime. And nothing but support from the islanders—”

“Islanders who are all descended from two clans, neither his own.”

“Right, but we’re more than our heritage, are we no’? You’re saying he’s an outsider, a man apart, but surely he feels as if Kinloch is his rightful home?”

Graham’s expression gave away nothing. “I can’t speak for him. You’ll have to ask him how he feels about that.”

“Has he said as much to you? Not asking you to break a confidence, but—”

Graham shook his head. “Shay has never once spoken on any of it. He’s no’ exactly the chatty type when it comes to revealing his thoughts. That would be more Roan’s niche.”

Kira smiled, briefly, thinking perhaps she’d gotten Shay to open up far more than he had to anyone else. But she didn’t speak of it; that was between them. “Aye, that would be the truth of it.”

There was a beat of silence, then Graham said, “Ye truly care for him, don’t you?”

She met his gaze squarely then. “I truly do, aye. I know it’s a recent thing, our involvement, but it’s no’ a recent thing, my . . . well, my feelings for him.”

“I don’t believe his are, either.”

Kira swallowed at that, hard. Shay had said as much, but Graham’s confirmation . . . somehow strengthened the importance of it. “He . . . mentioned me? Before . . . before the wedding?” Seemed the safest way to characterize the start date of their relationship.

“No, but he wasna too good about hiding his interest. Not from where I stood, anyway. But I know him as well as anyone could.”

“Oh. I see. But you’ve . . . spoken on it?”

“The day of the wedding, aye. But no’ since then. He hasn’t been ’round much. In Edinburgh, and . . . out of his office more.” The corners of Graham’s eyes crinkled a bit. “And ye do have Katie’s blessing, by the way. I’ll warn ye not to give her an opening unless you’re prepared to divulge every last moment of your time spent together.”

Kira smiled a little at that. “Thank you. And for the warning as well.”

Graham leaned forward, and caught her gaze squarely once again. “And how are you faring?”

Her shoulders softened a little, which was when she realized how rigid and stiff they’d become. Not so much in defense of herself, but for Shay. “Are you asking as my clan laird?”

“I’m asking as a friend. At least, I’d like to think we’re friendly. Especially as it looks like you’ll be wanting to continue your involvement with Shay for some amount of time.”

“Some amount of time,” she echoed more softly. “Aye. Aye I would.” She took a steadying breath and smiled. “I’m faring quite well. We’ve only just embarked down this new path, but it’s one I’m excited to be on.” Her smile grew. “And, truth be told, ye only have yerself and Roan to blame, really.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “And how is that?”

“You go carting home a delightful woman from the States and make her your bride-to-be, then Roan goes and becomes lover and protector to my closest and dearest friend, and weddings are happening all over the place . . . it’s hard not to have a renewed sense of faith and optimism in the face of all of that happiness and hope. I was already well on my way, but you lads make it hard for a lass to procrastinate.”

Graham smiled truly then, and Kira was reminded of how transforming such a small thing could be. Graham was more the distracted type, where Shay was mostly serious or thoughtful, but it took only a single smile to reveal the depth of either man’s true warmth.

“If we can be an inspiration, I’ll no’ shy away from it,” he said. “I’ve never been happier, nor has Roan. And we’d be very happy, of course, if that were to spread to Shay. Just . . . have a care with him. And with your own heart. I canno’ think of a woman better suited to him, but I’m no’ so sure he’ll ever allow himself to be well suited in return. No matter how deserving he is, or how much he wants it.”

Kira’s cheeks grew warm, but in a good way. Graham’s heart was truly in the right place. “Thank you. For your concern for me, and even more, for him. He has good friends. I don’t know how we’ll fare, but we’ve been open about that from the start. And . . .” She lifted her shoulders. “We’ll see what we see. Rest assured both of us have our eyes wide open.”

“I appreciate your letting me speak so freely.”

“That’s what friends do,” she said, happy with the idea that she’d made a new one that day.

“Indeed. So . . . tell me about this weaving school you want to open.”

Her eyes widened. “I thought you didn’t know about this supposed ‘secret project.’ ”

He smiled again, and this time there was a knowing gleam there that made her pulse jump a little, as it would any living, breathing woman. Kira began to see why Katie was always glowing.

“Tell me about the parts I don’t know. The parts I can help you with. Years back, Roan had tossed the idea around when he began converting the stables and hunting lodge into the home he now lives in, but when his own work became more demanding, the idea was lost along the way. I’m glad he thought of it again, and thought of you to run it. Because I think it’s a fine idea. A fine idea, indeed.”

Kira opened her accordion folder and took out the heavy sheaf of papers, very excited to hear that . . . but even as she enthusiastically went over all of the plans, and learned what kinds of clan laws she’d have to contend with, their earlier conversation was never far from her mind.

She had a lot to think about. And more questions. Questions she feared had no immediate or easy answers.

Chapter Seven

“We’d take this section here, clear the stone, and renovate and remodel the croft house first, then what used to be the stables and barn.” Kira scrambled around the rocks and stood where they could see the far corners of the property, each boundary marked by low, stacked stone walls. She pointed to the shambling building in the northwest corner. “The stables will house the offices, the barn the actual classrooms, and the croft house will be expanded to provide living quarters for the students during their stay. Those who don’t find accommodations in the village.”

“What of the instructors?” Shay asked, though, in truth, he really didn’t, in that moment, give a flying fig about schoolteachers. Other than the one standing next to him. He’d been gone three days and he was like a man dying of thirst who’d just found his only well.

“They will all be McAuley or MacLeod weavers,” she chattered on. “I already have quite a list compiled of those interested in taking a session on. Some of the names might surprise you,” she added, with that devilish smile. “They did me.”

Och, but he was this close to putting her over his shoulder and carting her straight to her cottage. But when his stay in Edinburgh had been extended, he’d promised to meet her here, straight from the ferry.

With more control than he thought he’d ever need, Shay stepped up on the rocks beside her and scanned the property. “I’ve gone over all the paperwork and it seems in order. With Graham’s help and support, I dinnae think you’ll come up against any real opposition at the council meeting tomorrow. Has anyone approached you directly with concerns?”

“Just a few queries about making sure our lessons focus on the traditional weaving, and no’ my own designs. I’ve assured them that while I eventually hope to offer advanced classes to help students find their own creative and artistic voices, in general, the idea of the school is to spread Kinloch weaving traditions beyond our isle, in hopes of increasing the interest in what we do. There’s also the added benefit that the more people who know of our work, the better the chance that it will never completely die out. Not to mention it’s great for tourist trade.”

Shay stepped down and held a hand up to assist her down as well. “Sounds like you’ve thought it all through quite thoroughly. I don’t think ye’ll be needing much counsel from me.”

“Oh, I need counsel,” she said, tugging him closer.

It was the end of the first week of December. They’d been involved now for a little more than a fortnight. When he was at work, and she was in her studio, their lives continuing around them as before, he wondered and worried about the choice he’d made, and all he was risking.

But when he was with her, it seemed the most natural, right thing in the world. The ease with which their lives had begun to mesh would seem to make a mockery of his fears. In fact, he didn’t want to imagine getting up in the morning and not having her be part of his day.

He’d done his best to do as she’d asked, to focus on the good and leave the worrying to fate. With her, it was easier than he’d thought it would be. But on his own . . . or worse, when standing in a courtroom, or sitting at a deposition table, he’d be lying if he said all the doubts and fears didn’t creep in and grab his gut in a cold fist.

But he wasn’t in Edinburgh today. “Good,” he said, “because there is perhaps some of my more . . . personal counsel you might benefit from.”

“Oh?” She tried to maintain a serious expression, and failed spectacularly. “And on what topic would you like me to receive your . . . counseling, counselor?”

He made her squeal a happy, joyous sound when he abruptly pulled her hard against him and cupped the back of her head with his hand, slightly knocking askew the cap she’d tucked her hair beneath to keep the wind from whipping it about.

“First,” he said, as he settled her snugly in his arms, “this must go.” He flicked off the knitted wool cap and her hair came cascading down.

She lunged for it with a free hand, but the wind caught it and danced it over the rocks. “The wind will snatch my hair into a nest of knots before we make it back to the jitney.”

“Oh, you won’t have the wind to blame that on.” He wove his hands into her hair, and tightened his fist just enough to bend her head back, and push her mouth up toward his. “I’ll gladly sort out every knot. Later,” he breathed across her lips.

“Promise?”

“Oh, aye. I’ve many things I can promise you this night.”

Her eyes sparkled as she immediately slid her arms over his shoulders and around his neck. “Do tell.”

“I’m much better at demonstrating.”

“I thought solicitors prided themselves on their . . . oral skills.”

He smiled then, and was dazzled anew by the way desire widened her pupils whenever he did. In fact, it was likely the reason he found himself doing that far more often these days. “Oh and aye, that we do. Allow me to show you, milady.” He dipped his head so his lips brushed hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed, instantly softening under his repeated brushed kisses.

“More,” she whispered with a whimper, when he lifted his head. She urged his mouth back to hers with pressure on the nape of his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

Och, but he’d missed her as well. Like the very devil he had. And they’d spoken every night, and sent notes via e-mail each day. It should have been pathetic, their complete inability to be truly apart from one another. And if it hadn’t made him feel so bloody fantastic every time that little white envelope had popped up in his inbox, he’d have worried about that, too. “If I start in here, we’re going to be uncomfortably naked on some very hard ground. And quite chilled by the time I’m through.”

“Will we now? My, my, solicitor, sir. I don’t know that I’ve ever been counseled so . . . ardently.” She batted her eyelashes at him, making him laugh. She joined him. “Oh, I should confess it’s my mission in life to make you do that more often, ye know.”

“If anyone could, ’tis you,” he said, quite honestly, not as surprised by it as he once was. He started to carefully pick his way across the field.

“You could put me down rather than risk life and limb on these rocks.”

“I could,” he said simply, and kept walking.

She said nothing more, but rather tightened her hold on his neck . . . and began to do rather delectable things to the side of his neck, just above the starched collar of his shirt. “Mmm. I miss the smell of you,” she said. “Oh, while I remember, I had your shirts cleaned and pressed.”

He paused before skirting a particularly large outcropping and glanced down at her. “Did you now?”

She smiled up at him, a wholly unrepentant gleam in her eye. “Aye. Raised quite a few eyebrows in the village, both when I dropped them off, and again when I picked them up for you.”

“I can well imagine,” was all he said. Mostly because rather than providing an opening for his fears and concerns to come creeping in . . . he found he rather liked the idea of her public claiming of him. He angled his head so he could catch her gaze. “No one said anything . . . untoward to you, did they?”

“Untoward?” she repeated, the teasing twinkle in her eye, even as she quite seriously pretended to give it some thought. “No, no I can’t say anyone did. At least not to my face. In fact, I’m no’ so certain we’re going to find any opposition to our burgeoning relationship. If anything, I should warn you before you head back to the village, or to your office.”

“Warn me?” He’d reached the road and let her slide her feet to the ground. “What of?”

“Well, I met with Katie yesterday, to go over the marketing and separate site ideas, to tie the school in to our official marketing website, and she warned me that there was quite a buzz about us, perhaps even a bet or two being made over pints of ale.”

“Bets?” he asked, truly flummoxed by the idea. “Whatever on?”

Kira rolled her eyes. “What do you think? Christmas is coming, everyone is in a festive mood what with all the lights being strung and the decorations and gifties starting to fill up all the shop windows.”

“And?”

She cupped his cheek and bussed his mouth. “And we’ve had two weddings in three months, with your best mates as the grooms. What do you think they’re betting on?”

And that’s when the door not only creaked open, but flung itself wide. “Ah,” he managed, though he couldn’t have rightly said how. His throat had closed over and his heart had clutched.

Kira was, as always, intimately tuned into him, but rather than pull back herself, or take offense, she smiled and kissed him, noisily, instead. “I’m no’ the one placing any bets, okay? And I’m the only one ye have to worry about. They’ll rib you and give you a hard time, aye. I say we torment them with ardent displays of public affection and keep them guessing.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “It will be a burden, of course, but I’ll bear up under the scrutiny somehow.”

And, just like that, his heart clicked right back into gear . . . though he couldn’t have said the door made much progress in closing again. “You’re a wonder, you do know that?” he asked, amazed by how resilient she was, and had been, throughout their time together. It was true that, after their first almost overwrought day spent in bed, they hadn’t spoken of the future . . . or potential lack thereof. They’d talked of his work on the island, and, to a lesser extent, in Edinburgh, about the school, about the positive reports Tessa and Roan had been sending back from their working honeymoon in Malaysia, where she was working on a new story and he was setting up another outlet for their basket sales.

Kira made it so easy to be with her, to be in a relationship with her. It was more than he could have hoped for . . . and everything he’d never allowed himself to want for himself. As long as he kept his thoughts on the moment, he was quite content. Happier than he’d ever been or knew he could be.

When he could keep his thoughts in the moment.

But an adulthood spent dissolving marriages wasn’t something he could overcome in a fortnight, especially since he was still doing it. No matter how delightful a companion Kira had already become to him, there was still this unavoidable sense, in the back of his mind, that he was being drawn inexorably closer to the edge of a cliff. And the ledge was becoming higher and higher every day.

Then her palms were on his cheeks and she was drawing his mouth down to hers. She kissed him, this time there wasn’t anything teasing about it. And when he lifted his head, she looked quite serious.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You’re a wonder, too, Shay Callaghan. Don’t forget that part.”

“I—”

But she’d already slid from his arms. “We can come back for my car later on,” she said, and walked to the other side of the jitney and climbed in. There was nothing to do but get in himself.

Once settled in the driver’s seat, but before he could say anything, she said, “I thought if it was okay with you, we’d stop in town and pick a few things up at market . . . before going to your place.”

“Aye, I’d planned to feed you before I ravish you, we’ll need our stamina—wait, at my place did you say?”

She leveled an easy look at him, but that seriousness lingered in her eyes. “Aye. We’re always at my place and I thought it was maybe time for you to have to launder the sheets and clean up the dishes.”

She’d said it that way to keep it light, and he knew he should strive to do the same. After all, even if he knew she didn’t mind in the least having him at her cottage, as she had said on more than one occasion, she had every right to think she’d be invited into his home with equal enthusiasm.

“I—I’ve been gone for days, and was with you for the two before that, so I canno’ vouch for—”

She placed a hand on his thigh as he maneuvered the stick shift and changed gears. “You know I dinnae care about the state of your place. Any more than you cared about the state of mine.”

“I know,” he said, quite well aware how badly he was mucking this up. She’d caught him off guard.

They drove on as a full minute passed; then she said, “If you’d rather no’, just tell me so. We can plan it for another time, then.”

He pulled the car over and let it idle.

“Shay,” she said, after another moment passed in silence, “ ’tis okay. Truly. I shouldn’t have been so clumsy in inviting myself over. We’ve just gotten in a bit of a routine about you coming to see me and I—”

“You wanted to feel equally welcome in my home,” he finished. “And of course you are.”

“But?”

“But nothing. I’m no’ ashamed of where I live, it’s quite a nice little cottage.”

“Except that’s no’ the actual issue, is it?”

He swallowed a sigh then, knowing she wasn’t going to just let this pass, nor, in truth, should she, when he’d made such an awkward moment out of it. “I’ve made too much of it, and I’m sorry. You’ve nothing to apologize for and I should have invited you myself. Long since.”

“But you haven’t.” And she said it in such a way as to make it clear she knew it wasn’t just an oversight or thoughtlessness on his part.

“No,” he agreed. “I haven’t.” He turned to look at her then. The least he owed her was to be direct, as she’d been with him. “I’ve done well with this change in my life. I’ve embraced it as fully as I know how to. And I’ve enjoyed it, more even than I thought myself capable.”

“But if you let me into your personal world, then I’ll make a permanent impression on it. And you’re no’ willing to risk that, if I’m suddenly no longer a part of your personal world.” Her expression softened a little. “I do understand that. It’s why I sold my flat in London even before my divorce papers were signed. In fact, it’s why I left London altogether. I shouldn’t have pushed. You’d have invited me when you were ready.”

“And what if that time was . . . distant from now?”

“There’s no deadline, Shay. When and if it truly bothered me, I’d say something.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. After a beat, she said, “Maybe you’re right. I didn’t mean it as a test, not consciously, but clearly it was. I am sorry. I’m usually more direct when something is bothering me. That wasn’t fair. I know your doubts are still there,” she said, “and I didn’t mean to push you. Not now. And please know, I didn’t bring up the village part as some underlying scheme to pressure you—”

“I know that. I do know you, and you wouldn’t do that. It’s simply part and parcel of the two of us forming a relationship. It doesn’t happen in a cocoon.”

“Much as you might like it to,” she said, not unkindly.

He paused then, but he owed her the truth, if nothing else. “Perhaps. Yes. Would be simpler to navigate if the only concern I had were my own feelings, and yours.”

“Nothing is ever that simple or uncomplicated.”

He laughed then, but there was little humor in it. “That is the biggest twist of this. It is both the most uncomplicated, easiest thing I’ve ever done . . . and the very most complicated and tangled relationship I’ve ever allowed myself to have.”

She nodded, but it was a moment longer before she said, “When you think on it, when you’re alone, how do you feel?”

“Mostly I try not to.” He flinched when he saw pain flicker across her face. He immediately reached for her, touching her cheek, then taking her hand. “I didnae say that to hurt you, and yet I did just that. I’m sorry, I am. What I meant was, if I don’t think about the bigger picture, it’s easier to just be. I do think of you. Endlessly. I can’t imagine a time when I didn’t. You’re like part of my atmosphere now, critical to my every breath.”

“Shay,” she breathed, clearly awed by his blurted confession.

“And, I suppose I think that, the longer I’m in this relationship, the more normal it will become, to where it simply becomes the bigger picture. Does that make any sense to ye? It’s no’ because I see no future with you.”

“No, I understand, I do. It’s because you still won’t let yourself trust that there will be one.”

“You asked me to be the man I want to be when I’m with you. I try to be that man all the time. And if it means not dwelling too closely on the parts I haven’t come to terms with as yet, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Then maybe I was wrong to ask that of you.”

“What?”

She lifted a shoulder, but squeezed his hand where he’d linked his fingers through hers. “Maybe we’re just playing a giant game of Let’s Pretend and it will blow up in both of our faces because we’re not really dealing in reality.”

“This is our reality.”

She turned to face him more fully. “Reality is me mentioning coming by your place and you blanching at the mere thought of it. We shouldn’t just pretend you didn’t.”

“I don’t believe we are.”

“Because I’ve gone and pushed it. And I worry that if I push, you’ll walk. So I don’t. Or didn’t. But you seemed . . . when you crossed the field toward me earlier, I don’t know . . . it felt like you really missed me. There was a different sense when you scooped me up out there and I guess I just . . . I just wanted to let go of all the worry and allow myself to believe this is real and good and whole and . . . okay.”

“It is real and good.”

“But it’s not okay. We’re not okay.”

“So, it’s only okay if things are smooth sailing then?”

She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.” She pulled his hand up to her mouth and kissed the backs of his knuckles. “I just know I want you. And I want to be able to want you openly, fearlessly, and with everything there is in my heart. And to not worry that will scare you away.”

“Have you no’ been doing that already?”

“In my actions? Aye, I have. But I don’t want to be anything less than everything I am when I’m with you.”

“Haven’t you been?”

She answered that by saying, “There’s a part of me I don’t share.”

He frowned. He hadn’t thought she’d ever been anything but completely open with him. In fact, it was her absolute ease in being herself with him that so captivated him, and made it possible for him to be the same when he was with her. “And what part is that?”

“The part that means sharing thoughts. Putting thoughts and feelings into words. I show you, but—”

“But you don’t tell me.”

She shook her head.

“Because that would be pushing.”

She nodded, then tipped her chin down, looking at their joined hands, watching as she traced her fingertips over the back of his hand.

Shay slid his hand from hers, but only so he could reach down and release the lever that allowed his seat to slide all the way back. Then he reached for her. “Come here.”

“Shay—”

“Please.”

She shifted so that he could pull her across the center stick and settle her in his lap, her back to the steering wheel, her lips inches from his own. He looked into her eyes. “I’ve already hurt you, and that was never my intent, you know that.”

“You haven’t hurt me, Shay.”

“The fact that you feel you can’t tell me every and anything that’s on your mind means I’m no’ being the man I want to be for you. I’m sorry for that.”

“I know you’re trying, I do. And I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. You do understand that.”

“If you’re even a fraction as happy as I am, then aye, I understand that.”

A little of the tension eased from her body then, but he knew they still had much ground to cover.

She cupped his cheek. “I know it’s no’ something that will change overnight. I dinnae have the barriers you do, the worries.”

“I’m no’ fragile, Kira. You’re treating me as if I’m some mental case, too unstable to hear the truth. Aye, I have some issues with happily ever after. But you’re the very best thing I could have ever hoped to have in my life, and I just want to make sure I can live up to your expectations.”

“See, that’s what I meant, when I said to remember that you’re a wonder, too. You bring me just as much joy as you say I bring to you. Just by being you. It’s no’ like it’s a burden to love—” She broke off then, and looked away, her cheeks blooming a hot pink almost instantly.

Shay’s heart stuttered badly and there was no stopping the tremor in his voice when he spoke, but speak he did. “Is that the part then that you’re not saying?”

When she didn’t reply, he propped a finger beneath her chin and nudged her gaze back to his. It was with great alarm that he saw giant tears swimming in her eyes. “Kira, no, don’t, I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m no’ fragile, either, Shay. Sometimes I’ll get my feelings hurt. And sometimes I’ll hurt yours. We’ll both get past it, for the very same reason that we were able to be hurt in the first place.” Two tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but he gently knuckled them away before they could fall, his heart ripping at the mere sight of them.

“I hate it that I’ve made ye cry.”

She smiled then, even as more tears formed. “But that’s a good thing, don’t you see?”

“No. I feel like a bully and a lout.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. And kept kissing him until he kissed her back. In fact, it was her sheer will and determination that had a burning sensation forming in his own eyes.

Their kisses swiftly turned from gentle nudges to allconsuming heat. When she finally turned her mouth away from his, and buried her face in his neck, they were both panting hard, and the windows of the jitney had steamed over.

“I cried because it scares me, how much I care for you, and that you may never care the same in return,” she said, the words muffled against the warm skin of his neck. “We both have our fears, Shay. The tears weren’t calculated.” She lifted her head then, and looked at him, her eyes still liquid and drenched with emotion. “But the look on your face when you saw them . . . went a long way toward . . .” She broke off then, and shook her head.

He tipped her chin back to his, and knew she’d find his moist now as well. He saw the surprise, and the way her pupils expanded as she took that in.

“Tell me,” he said, the words a bit hoarse. “Say . . . anything. No censoring, no editing. If we’re to figure this out, then maybe there can’t be a moratorium on what can and can’t be discussed. I don’t know, Kira. I don’t. I have no laws for this, no textbooks. I’m . . . winging it. And I don’t wing.”

She gave a watery little snicker at that, and a bit of his heart was restored.

“At least I don’t wing well,” he said, caressing her cheek now. “So, I’ll be more honest with you. I’d like to talk about my work more, with you. I don’t because it crosses the line, and because I’m afraid it will make you want to avoid talking to me. It’s a tough subject, and sensitive to us particularly. But . . . you bring me such perspective. About so many things. The kind I’ve never had before. Maybe it will make me better at my job, more compassionate, at least. I don’t know. But it’s also a big part of who I am, of what I do, and it’s . . . hard to keep myself from talking with you about it.” He drew his thumb over her bottom lip, and reveled in the way it made her shudder. “There, those are my words, my thoughts, the ones I edit, the ones I censor out. Now, will you tell me yours?”

Her lips continued to tremble, even when he slid his finger away. “My thoughts,” she repeated, then let out a soft, wavering sigh. She held onto his gaze for several long moments, then seemed to gather herself. “I’m . . .” She trailed off, then gave a short, half laugh.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that if there’s something you want to say, now or in the future . . . then say it.”

“It’s no’ that. It’s . . . well, it’s silly really. In some ways I’m not at all traditional, but in some ways . . .” She let the sentence trail off, her thoughts trailing with it, then took another small breath, smoother this time, and returned her gaze to his, steadier now. “I will tell you why you’re a wonder to me. You’re strong, you’re steadfast, resilient, loyal. I feel completely and utterly cared for when you’re with me, as if no harm could ever come to me, because you simply wouldn’t allow it. And I realize that might be fiction, but—”

“It’s as true as I’d be able to humanly make it,” he said.

Something in her expression melted, and she drew her hand along his cheek again. “That, right there. You’re direct, you don’t beat around the bush, and you don’t mind saying whatever it is you feel. You have no idea how rare that is. I appreciate the way you take things in, figure them out, and how you always have everyone’s best interests at heart. I’m certain that’s what makes you such a sought-after solicitor. I’d have been a very lucky woman indeed to have been represented by the likes of you during my own divorce.

“And even though it tears you up to watch it, to be a part of it, you continue to do what you can, to do the best you can. You think yourself cynical and cold because you’ve worked hard not to let your work cut you up completely, but that’s just survival. If you were cold and unfeeling, you’d have had nothing to protect in the first place. And you’d have made a lousy lawyer. So, it’s all part and parcel. But you show me the same utter dedication you show your clients. You’re a passionate man, you are, and I feel . . . like I’m the only woman in the world when you look at me. You have no idea . . .” She broke off and her eyes grew moist again, only this time, her tears tugged on his heart in an entirely different way.

“I want to be the man you speak of.”

“You are,” she said. “That’s just it. You are. Flaws and fears and all. I’m far from perfect. I’ve my own insecurities. As much as a person can heal from being cheated on and utterly rejected and humiliated . . . I have. But I’m human. Of course it terrifies me that after I allow myself to be completely vulnerable to you, you might choose to walk away. I say I’ll heal, but it wouldn’t be an easy task. In fact, it scares the living daylights out of me.”

“So . . . why are you risking it?”

“Because,” she said, softly, “I’m only so scared because wha’ I have with you is so brilliant. I’d have to be daft to walk away from that, now wouldn’t I?”

“Kira—”

“Shay, we’ve known each other less than a month . . . but I’m falling in love with you. There.” She blew out a long breath. “I’ve gone and said it, haven’t I? Maybe I should have said it as it was happening. After all, if it’s going to spook you, then best to be spooked now, and well before I’m parading your laundry about town. But . . . I was afraid. It’s ridiculously soon, and I wondered if it was just me, reaching for security, without having the basis of knowledge, the foundation, to truly back it up. But then you show up at my door, and well . . . my heart, it just swells at the sight. I know what it is to love. I’ve loved before. And maybe time is of no real consequence, because . . .” She trailed off, lifted a shoulder, then looked away again. “I’ll stop babbling on now. I’ve said enough. More, I’m afraid, than you wanted to hear.”

Shay sat, utterly still, and kept hearing those words again. And again. I’m falling in love with you.

With him. Kira MacLeod. In love. With him.

He couldn’t have formed a single word if he’d wanted to, the lump in his throat was so large. So, instead he tipped her face to his, and lowered his lips to hers. And he poured everything he thought he knew, and all that he didn’t have the words for, into that single, emotionally scorching kiss.

And that kiss led to another, then another still, as his hunger for her grew the more he let himself go, let his guard completely down.

Loved him, she did. Him. Shay Callaghan. A man who hadn’t even earned the love of his own mother.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, and took the kiss deeper still, and she gave back with every bit as much fervor and passion. She squirmed in his lap until she straddled him, and he groped alongside the seat until he found the lever to release it completely, making her squeal in surprise, then laugh as she landed full on top of him.

Her laughter swiftly turned to gasps, then moans as his hands roamed down her spine and over every dip and curve, at her waist, then lower, until he cupped her and urged her more tightly against him.

No words now, only actions.

The windows had completely steamed over, and their skin had grown slick. She was peeling his shirt open, and reaching between them to unbuckle his belt and open his trousers even as he fumbled to pull her cardigan over her head and unclasp the hooks of her bra. They were in a pretty remote spot, and in the recesses of Shay’s mind, he hoped, given the late hour of the day, no one would happen by. At least not for the next half hour or so.

Beyond that, the world could have come to an end, and it wouldn’t have stopped him.

“Come here,” he said, as she finished sliding her garments off and leaned back down to kiss his jaw. He nudged her mouth back to his, then bracketed her hips with his hands and shifted her so he could . . . “Oh,” he said, the single word coming out as a long, satisfied groan.

“Aye,” she agreed, on a trembling sigh, as he slowly, surely, filled her.

She began to move then, and he matched her rhythm easily, perfectly. It had always been like this between them. And it always would be. He knew that. Had utter faith in it, as he did in her. It shouldn’t have been such a revelatory moment . . . but such moments happened when they did.

And this, as she fitted herself so perfectly to him, to all that he was . . . was his.

But it wasn’t the time for words. So he took her mouth, and he took her body, and he told himself that the words would come.

Of course they would.

Chapter Eight

“I’m so glad it’s turning out to be everything you’d hoped.” Kira pressed the phone closer so she could hear Tessa clearly. The connection to Malaysia was terrible.

“Better,” Tessa said, “amazing.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it. Will you be home by the solstice celebrations on the twenty-first?”

“We have to go to Edinburgh to do some of the marketing for the calendar Roan posed for.”

“During Christmas?”

“It’s good for the island and this is when the thing comes out, so we have to take advantage while we can.” Tessa paused for a moment, then said, “Maybe you and Shay can come stay in Edinburgh and we’ll celebrate the holidays together. Roan just mentioned that Blaine will be in the city then, too,” she said mentioning Katie’s dear friend. “Apparently he’s still digging into all that Iain McAuley mess. Anyway, you should come. Shay has a place in the city, right?”

Kira had already told Tessa everything, or most everything, about the big change in her life. It had felt good just getting the chance to tell someone, and, at the same time, get Tessa’s perspective on . . . things. Tessa had known of Kira’s interest in Shay before her own big day, and hated that she was absent for her friend now, especially since Kira had been there for her during her tumultuous love affair with Roan.

“He does, and he’s already told me he’d like me to see his offices there. Introduce me around.”

“That’s good then, right? He is involving you in his life, introducing you to people he works with. All good signs.”

“Aye, he is, and they are.”

Tessa knew Kira well enough to hear what her friend wasn’t saying. “But you don’t want to come?”

“No, no, it’s not that, not at all. In fact, I think it sounds like a lovely holiday. It’s just . . . he still hasn’t invited me to his place here yet. And I don’t know that I want to extend the boundaries of our relationship any more broadly, if you know what I mean, until he’s feeling sure enough of us to include me fully in his life here. Introducing me in Edinburgh is good, but also . . . distant. His other life, as it were. I do want to be a part of that, but it’s his life here—our life here—that’s most important.”

“Maybe this is just the path he needs to take to get there. It’s been a week, you said, since you talked about all this?”

“Aye. As I told you, we didn’t go to his place that day because . . . well, it was such a turning point, a good one, and . . . I wanted the invitation to come from him.”

“And . . . it hasn’t? Has he even mentioned it?”

“He ended up back in Edinburgh and has been swamped most of the week with a big case they’re trying to wrap up through mediation so they can avoid a court trial over the holidays. So, no, but to be fair, I don’t necessarily take it as an indication of anything other than bad timing.”

“Okay,” Tessa said, then paused. “Are you sure?”

“Aye, I’m sure,” Kira said, and as she said the words, she knew they were true. Essentially, anyway. Life had sort of gotten in the way just when it seemed they had made a critical leap forward, but that was what life did. “Neither of us are big on the Christmas holiday. Apparently his father was generally too busy working to do much and Shay spent most of his Christmases with Graham’s family, or with whatever family Roan was with. You and I know what it was like at school, and, well . . .”

“I know. I know it’s hard for you. I remember you saying Thomas used to make a big deal out of Christmas.”

“He was like a child in his excitement over it, aye,” Kira said, referring to her ex. “I’ve . . . just kind of avoided all that since.”

“Understandable. But maybe . . . I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m a disgustingly-in-love new bride, but maybe this could be a new beginning for you and Shay, a time to forge new traditions, to put your own stamp on the holiday. You know? Or maybe Edinburgh would be perfect, and you could both escape the whole event. I know you said the island celebrations were a bit over the top.”

“They are.” Kira smiled, though, thinking about all the plans being made and how festive everything was. She’d completely hidden out through the past two, but this year, walking through the village . . . rather than thinking about her marriage and all the bittersweet and downright painful memories associated with it and this time of year, she’d instead found her thoughts going back much further in time. Remembering, instead, her holidays as a child in Kinloch, waiting for St. Nick. She’d loved the season when she was little, every last thing about it. And, yes, she’d thought about Shay, and what it would be like to have a brand-new holiday memory with him, to help dim some of the more painful recent ones.

“Have you two talked about it? What you’ll do?”

Kira laughed. “We’ve talked about talking about it, but with this case he’s working, we’ve barely had time to say hello and keep current on what’s happening day-to-day. He’s due home later today, so perhaps this evening.” Though, if their brief phone call last evening had been any indication, it was doubtful either of them had talking as the foremost thing on their mind. Had Shay not been interrupted by yet another business intrusion, she might have had her first ever experience with phone sex.

“I’ve got to run,” Tessa said. “Let me know what happens and we’ll make plans. Otherwise, I’ll see you in the new year!”

“Okay, that’s good,” Kira said. “You sound . . . happy, Tessa. Remind me to give that husband of yours a big hug when you get back. I owe him.”

“I am,” Tessa said, sounding like the young girl Kira had gone to boarding school with again, which was a miracle in and of itself, given how broken Tessa had been when she’d first arrived on Kinloch. “And give your man a hug, too . . . and hold on, Kira. I saw the way he looked at you. He is your man. Just . . . hold on to him.”

“I plan to,” Kira said, and they disconnected just as a rap came on the cottage door.

Kira scrambled out of the kitchen chair and almost tripped over herself to get to the door. Shay wasn’t due back until later and, by now, he usually just knocked once to let her know he was there, then entered on his own. Still, she scrambled.

She realized she was still in nightgown and robe, but didn’t care. Having gotten an idea for the basket design she was weaving in the wee hours, she’d risen early and dived right in. Besides, she’d been too restless to sleep without Shay next to her.

She held her robe closed with her fist, and opened the door. Then clutched her robe more tightly at the sight of a liveried footman, standing on her doorstep. “I—I’m sorry, can I help you? Are you lost?”

“Kira MacLeod?”

“Aye, that’s me. What’s this—”

“I’ve been sent with an invitation. If you’ll be so kind as to read it, miss, and give me your reply?”

“I—what is this all about?”

The man, in full powdered wig and gloves, no less, made quite the show of handing her a crisp, white envelope. She couldn’t quite tell if he was merely staying in character . . . or if he simply was a character.

She broke the seal and opened the envelope, then slid out an engraved invitation. She read it out loud. “The pleasure of your company is requested at No. 23 on the North Road, this evening. Half past six. Requested attire . . . Anything you don’t mind being torn off your—” She stopped, suddenly realizing whom this was from . . . and that she was reciting things out loud to the footman that perhaps she’d ought not to. She cleared her throat and finished reading in silence, her heart already pounding, then looked back at the footman. “I’ll be there. I—what I mean to say is . . . I accept the invitation.”

“Quite good, miss,” he said, and actually sketched a sharply delivered bow that the Queen would approve. “I shall be round to pick you up at quarter past the hour.”

“You’ll—you’re picking me up?”

“Aye, miss.”

Kira was grinning now. “Okay then. Oh, let me get you a tip, hold on.”

The man looked as horrified as if she’d suggested she might be stripping naked right there in her doorway. “That won’t be necessary, miss. I’ll ring at quarter past six.”

“Thank you,” Kira said, and watched him bow again, then make his way down the walk. She craned her neck to look around to the side lot, to spy what he was driving, half expecting to see a carriage and team of horses, but a viciously cold wind chose that moment to whip past the open doorway, and she ducked back inside and shut the door.

She turned and leaned back against it, and read the note again, then held it against her chest. Then she might have danced a little jig. Just a small one. Twice. She wanted to dash to grab her mobile and call Shay straight away to find out what was behind all this, but he’d clearly set a plan in motion, and she was willing—quite willing—to play along.

“I guess I’d better go see what outfit I won’t mind never wearing again.” She skipped to her bedroom.

When the footman rang again, precisely at quarter past six, Kira was already in her long, black wool coat and slim heeled boots. She grabbed the handles of the gift bag she’d put on the front table, and followed the footman outside. No carriage awaited, but there was a sleek black town car. She couldn’t recall that there was anyone on Kinloch who drove a town car that Shay might have hired out for the evening, but that didn’t really matter.

What mattered was that Shay had finally invited her to his home. And he was doing so in style.

Chapter Nine

Shay paced the length of the floor of his cottage, surprised he hadn’t worn a groove in the rug by now. He’d checked the champagne at least a half dozen times, to make sure it was chilling properly, and the food he’d had ordered and delivered was all arranged perfectly in chafing dishes. Music played, candles were lit.

And it all felt so ridiculously over the top. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d planned the whole thing from Edinburgh. What must Kira have thought when she opened the door to a liveried footman? He’d fully expected to hear from her, asking a dozen or more questions, but all he’d received back was her formal acceptance. And he’d felt too big the fool to ask the footman what her mood had been after reading his note. Too much? Would she think he was making a mockery of what was very important to her? It was the last thing he’d intended.

“Och, and bloody hell.” He and Kira had started things off in such a different manner from the norm. He’d never really had the chance to court her, to date her. They’d sort of moved straight onward into a full-on relationship that . . . well, that was blissful heaven, actually. But he’d wanted to do something special for her, and he’d wanted to reassure her, show her in a way that could not be mistaken, how much he wanted her here. Their discussion in his steamfilled jitney had truly been a turning point for him. In many ways. This week, while in Edinburgh, his mind had been, of course, on the case at hand, but it had also been on Kira. Relentlessly. In fact, the two had gone in tandem. He’d—

His musings were mercifully interrupted by a sharp rat-a-tat on the door.

He strode to the front door and swung it wide just as the footman was stepping back to allow Kira to step up.

“Hullo,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Hullo,” Shay said, and his heart clicked right into place. Just as it always did, every time he saw her. And he knew he’d been silly to worry about anything. In fact, he knew he could stop worrying—about everything.

“Come in,” he said, realizing they were both staring at each other. “Please.” He stepped back to let her pass, then quickly took care of the footman. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

The man smiled and sketched a light bow. “My pleasure, sir. Milady is quite charming.”

“Thank you. I think so, too.”

“Have a good evening,” the older gentleman said, then stepped back.

“I hope to,” Shay said, then closed the door and turned to find Kira slipping out of her heavy coat. “Here, let me help you with that.”

“Wait,” she said, and handed him a small, handled bag. “Here, take this first.” She laughed as he frowned at what looked like an unwieldy pile of sticks, protruding from the tops of the tissue paper stuff inside the gift bag. “Some people bring wine, I bring baskets.”

He took the bag and set it down. “Let me help you with your coat.”

“Bag first,” she said. “I want you to see it. I’ve been dying to show it to you; then I realized, when I finished, it was yours all along.”

He pulled out the basket and disentangled it from the tissue paper. It was an unwieldy, unusually shaped form, combining hard willow twigs and richly dyed waxed linen; there were beads and other raw materials. It was earthy, wild. Barely tamed, was the phrase that came to mind. “It’s stunning,” he said, and meant it. “I dinnae know how you look at all these bits and pieces, and imagine something like this.”

She ran her fingers over the patterning. “I wanted to work with really different materials that were almost completely at odds with each other, things you couldn’t imagine in the same, woven pattern, that when bound together, would form something truly beautiful.” She looked up at him. “Kind of like us.”

He smiled then. “Thank you.” His tone was equally heartfelt. He was truly touched. “No one has ever . . . made me anything. It will mean a great deal to me, Kira, every time I look at it.”

“Good,” she said, her smile bright. “That was my hope.”

He set it on the entryway table. “I’ll need to think on where I want to put it.” He helped her out of her coat and she turned around to face him. He took in her shiny hair, curled and pulled back from her face, specially for the occasion. And her dress was silky and sexy and form-fitting and . . . “You look so incredibly lovely, and I—come here,” he said, and all pretense of a civilized little dinner flew straight out the door as he pulled her into his arms. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Kira had slid her arms around his neck, but he felt the extra squeeze at his heartfelt proclamation. “It’s so good to hear you say that. I did, too. I suppose it should get easier as we get used to it.” She eased back in his arms so she could look up into his eyes. “But I don’t sleep well at all anymore when you’re not next to me. I keep reaching for you in my sleep. How silly is that?”

“No’ so silly. I don’t sleep well, either.” He drank in her smile, her brilliant, sparkling eyes, and the love and trust and adoration he saw there. He’d spent a lot of time thinking on that, on whether he was worthy of such love, then realized he was an idiot for questioning any of it, risking it with his own foolish fears. He made her happy. Just being himself. Her smiling face was proof of that. What more of a guarantee did he need, for God’s sake? “I wanted to woo ye,” he said.

She giggled a little at that, and it was a delightful sound that warmed his already thoroughly smitten heart. “Woo me, now, did ye? Well, I must say, I don’t typically need a liveried footman and town car.” She tipped up on her toes and kissed him. “But it was rather exciting. You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

“It wasn’t trouble, it was my pleasure. I . . . I wanted to do something special for you, but mostly, I wanted to announce to you, the world, anyone who cares, that this evening, I’m entertaining a very special woman. In my home. And that it means everything to have you here. To see you here.” He tugged her closer. “I want ye here, Kira. I want ye in every nook and corner of my life. I hated coming back to an empty space. You’re right, about it being like a jail. Only I never knew it. Now I canno’ imagine going back to it.”

Her eyes had grown a bit moist, but her smile was so wide he didn’t doubt her tears were born of happiness. “So,” she said, trying for a teasing tone even as the waver in her voice betrayed the depth of emotion she was feeling, “are ye saying I have full visitation rights then?”

He laughed, scooped her up against him, and swung her around.

“I like your home,” she said, as she took in the whirl of her surroundings. “It’s no’ remotely cell-like,” she noted, as he settled her back on her feet. Then she caught the twinkle of lights, turned her head, and gasped. “Ye have a tree!” She swung her gaze back to his. “I thought ye weren’t much for the Christmas holidays.”

“I haven’t been. Before,” he added. “If it’s too hard for you—maybe I should have asked, but I’d thought, hoped—”

They had talked of her marriage and her divorce during one of their phone calls from Edinburgh, but now he wondered if he’d gone overboard, getting a tree.

“No,” she said, sliding from his arms, but grabbing his hand as she walked closer to the tree. “It’s beautiful. I love all the colorful lights.” She looked back to Shay. “But there are no ornaments.”

“I don’t have any, and it seemed . . . I don’t know, wrong, I guess, to just buy them. At the celebrations with Roan and Graham growing up—mostly Graham in this case—there were always handmade ornaments and ones given or received as gifts. They all had meaning and I rather liked that. Not only the memories associated with them, but the foundation they built, so . . .” He bent down and slid out a small box from under the tree, then straightened and handed it to her. “I hope it’s okay.”

“Okay?” She jumped up into his arms, and wove her arms around his neck, kissing him firmly on the mouth. “It’s . . . perfect.”

Shay smiled and kissed her back, but didn’t put her down quite yet. “Ye havena opened it yet.”

“The fact that you thought to . . . that you . . .” A quizzical look crossed her smiling face. “What happened this time in Edinburgh anyway? You’re like . . . a changed man.”

“Aye, but that happened the day I met you. I’ve just finally come to fully understand it.”

“What happened?”

“Open the box,” he said.

She slid from his arms, then turned and leaned back against him. He circled his arms around her as she tore off the paper and opened the small box. Inside was a small, badly chipped, hand-painted china angel, hanging from a frayed gold string. She dangled it from her fingers. “She’s lovely.”

“Hardly,” Shay said, amused, then turned Kira in his arms. “When I was back in Edinburgh, working on this divorce . . . there was nothing new or different about it, nothing I hadn’t witnessed a hundred times over. But I kept thinking about our talk, and how much ye ground me, and how easy it would have been to ring you up and talk to you about it, about what a shame it was, and how ridiculous and sad it was that this couple felt they had to argue over belongings that were, otherwise, utterly meaningless. And so, I thought about the worst case scenario. With us. What if that was us, five years from now, ten, twenty? And I thought about my life, and how . . . and how I’d made sure that nothing in it had real meaning.”

He gestured to the room, and turned her so she could take it all in.

“It’s a nice place, Shay. Comfortable furnishings, beautiful antiques, lovely paintings and art. It’s peaceful, and calm. Like a retreat. And that makes perfect sense, I guess.”

“Thank you, and yes, it is all that. But there isn’t one thing in this house that I’d miss if it were gone. That I’m attached to. I don’t know that I even realized I’d done that. My car—” He broke off, and let out a short laugh. “That’s it. The only thing I care about.” He turned her back to face him. “How pathetic is that?”

“It’s no’, Shay. It’s survival. For you.”

“A hollow life, if you ask me. Or at least, that’s how it felt to me, when I came back here, to pack, after . . . after our last night together. And when I was in the city, listening to all that bickering about stupid things . . . I thought, well, if I was going to fight for something, I’d at least like to fight about something I cared about.”

Kira smiled, then lifted up and bussed him again, hard, on the mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“I like that fighting spirit. All those years of fighting for other people. You’re finally fighting for yourself.”

He pulled her back into his arms. “I’m fighting for us. And I hope to God we never come to fight against one another, but I damn well want something worth fighting for.” He lifted her hand, which still held the angel. “When my father died, I had all his things put in storage before selling his flat. I never looked through them. Here, either. He only kept a little place in the village, and . . .” He shrugged. “It was all left to me, but I wanted no part of any of it, so I sold it all off, along with most of the furnishings. But his papers and some of his personal things . . . I didn’t know what to do with those, so I just locked them up. Anyway, while I was in Edinburgh, I went to storage, and . . . I went through his things.”

“You did?” Kira’s eyes were wide and that sheen of tears had returned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, aye.” He leaned down and kissed her temple, as much to soothe himself as to soothe her. “I don’t know what I’d expected to find—something of my past, our past, his past, even, I suppose.”

“And?”

He shook his head, laughed ruefully. “Like father, like son. And ye’ve no idea how much it pains me to say that. His papers were all business. In fact, there was nothing personal in them at all.” He cradled her hand, holding the angel in his. “Except for this. I found a small box, either kept by my mother, or a nanny, I don’t know. I found the certificate of my birth, a few photos of me as an infant, and the angel.” He turned it over. The gold inscription on the back was badly chipped. “I believe it says First Christmas. I assume for a baby. I dinnae know why it’s in such poor shape. As far as I know it’s been in that box since I was an infant. So perhaps it was passed down. It could have been my father’s or my mother’s. I don’t know. But it was the only thing they kept.”

Kira looked up at him. “Why are you giving it to me? It’s the only thing you have.”

He turned her in his arms. “You’re the only thing I have. The one I want to keep, to hold on to. This, the angel, is what I have of myself to give ye, Kira.” He framed her face. “It’s no’ much, but it’s wha’ I have. And, so help me God, I’ll do whatever it takes so that I’m never fighting against you, to get that back. Do ye understand?”

She nodded, tears gathering in her eyes. “I do.”

Heart pounding in his ears so loudly he thought he might go deaf, Shay pressed the angel more tightly into her hands, then, with those exact words echoing in his ears, he slid his other hand down her arm to steady her . . . before lowering himself on one bent knee.

Kira gasped, clasping one hand over her mouth, and the other one, clutching the angel ornament, over her heart, as she realized what he was about to do.

But she didn’t stop him.

He reached up and she lowered a badly shaking hand to his. He took it gently, but firmly, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

“I’d planned this whole evening out. I had so many things I wanted to say to you. But, like every other step we’ve taken . . .” He smiled up at her, stunned, at how utterly easy this was. “You’re the one thing I’d fight for, Kira. The only thing I want to keep.” He fumbled in his pocket, and drew out a small ring box. “I want you to know, every single day, that I mean to keep you. That I’ll do whatever it takes, for us, to make this work. No matter the risk. I can’t think of anything worse than losing you, so ye should know that I’ll fight like hell to keep you. I am in love with ye, Kira MacLeod. Head over heels, with everything I have in me.” He opened the ring box. “Please tell me you’ll marry me. Be my wife, Kira. Take me as your husband.”

Kira took the box with shaky hands, but she wasn’t even looking at the diamond ring nestled inside. She was looking at him, lips trembling, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“If it’s no’ to your taste, we can—”

“Come here,” she said, grabbing his wrist and tugging hard. “Come here.”

He straightened and she launched herself into his arms. “I love you, Shay Callaghan. And I can’t think of anything that would make me happier, or more proud, than to be your wife.”

“So, you’ll take me, then?” he asked, pushing her hair from her face, dashing the tears from her cheeks with his fingertips.

“Oh, aye, that I will. Just try and get rid of me.”

He laughed, then he shouted, loud and long, and spun her around.

When they stopped laughing and kissing, and after he’d wiped a bit of moisture from the corners of his own eyes, he said, “I’ve dinner, all set up, but, right at the moment, I’d much rather feast on you.”

“See? We’re really very compatible.”

“I’ll show ye compatible,” he all but growled, then made her squeal by swinging her up in his arms.

He spun them around, intent on heading to the second floor bedroom, but she said, “Wait!”

“What?” he asked, worried that he might have forgotten something important about the whole ritual. He’d wanted it to be a good memory. A perfect one. For them both to hold onto.

“The angel,” she said, unfolding her hand, where she’d had it in a tight grip. “I want to put it on the tree.”

He carried her over to the tree and she picked out a branch, then carefully slid the gold string over the needles, until he was safely anchored.

“First Christmas,” she said, softly, then tipped her head up to look at him. “Ours. And I can’t wait to fill our trees with more.”

“You know,” he said, looking from her to the ornament gently swaying from its perch, then shifting his gaze to the basket, proudly displayed on the entry table, then back to the woman in his arms. “Ye’ve only been here but a moment, and this place already feels more like home.”

“It only took a moment to know it’s a home with you that I want,” she said, pulling his mouth down to hers. And they stood in front of the tree, kissing deeply, again and again, until both were out of breath.

But when he lifted his head, it was to find that rare devilish twinkle in her eyes. “Now,” she said, “I believe there was some mention—a formal mention, no less—about wearing clothes that I didnae mind being torn from my body.”

“Aye, I do believe I was in a rather heightened state of . . . missing you, when I wrote that part.”

“I still can’t believe you told the engraver to write that.”

“Aye, we’ll likely be hearing about it, in the village.”

“You had the invitation done here? I thought maybe the city—”

“No. This is where we live, so this is where we love. I dinnae mind if the whole world knows I plan to ravage the woman who will be my wife. And often.”

“Well, in that case, perhaps you should take me to your bed. It’s possible you’re going to like what you find underneath this entirely disposable dress.” She bit his chin. “A lot.”

They only made it as far as the parlor wall.

Epilogue

“I’ve no idea what it’s all about,” Shay said, from the second office desk. “He only said that he’d like us all gathered at the main offices when he arrived back on the island.”

Roan was seated on the edge of his desk, with Tessa leaning back between his legs. Graham was standing by the window, keeping a lookout for Blaine. Katie had her head bent over Kira’s hand, studying her engagement ring.

“It’s beautiful,” she gushed, then glanced over at Shay. “You’ve marvelous taste,” she said. “It suits her beautifully.”

Shay nodded and Kira smiled. It was a week into the new year, but it felt as if a whole new life had begun. The plans for the school had been approved, with interior renovations already under way. They’d break ground on the additions in the spring, and hoped to have the entire operation running by the summer tourist season.

She and Shay had gone to Edinburgh over the holidays after all, and spent the week between Christmas and Hogmanay with Tessa and Roan, though they’d missed Blaine, who’d begged off at the last moment. It had been a magical time, seeing the city through his eyes, and a truly grounding time for the two of them as well. She’d loved getting to see the other part of his life, and him in his element there. She had been introduced to Shay’s business associates and had a newfound respect for why he did what he did.

They’d initially talked about the idea of his cutting back his time in the city, or leaving the practice entirely. But the more they’d talked about his cases, the more she’d come to realize that he really did have a passion for what he did. It was never a happy time for his clients, but he did his very best to make sure they were able to move forward, claim their new lives as whole as possible. Divorce happened, and Shay knew he was helping those he represented. And Kira knew they were very lucky to have him on their side.

Shay had turned one of the bedrooms in his city flat into a studio for Kira, so rather than spend so much apart, she could accompany him to the city and work there. That would change when the school opened, but she was already enjoying the chance to get away from the island, and reclaim the things she loved about living in the city.

“I wish I knew what the big deal was,” Tessa was saying. “Why couldn’t Blaine have just told you whatever it was on the phone?”

“I couldn’t get it out of him,” Katie said. “And if I couldn’t, you know it couldn’t be done.”

Blaine Sheffield was Katie’s childhood friend, and, very briefly, her fiancé. It had been a prearranged marriage made in hell and Katie had been wise enough, at the last minute, to bail out . . . and run off to Kinloch with Graham, instead. Blaine had followed, but not to win Katie back. It was more a joint retreat to get as far away from the Sheffields and the Annapolis-based McAuleys as he could. At least until he figured out what to do with his newly disowned self for having the nerve to be outed on his wedding day, literally in front of God and everyone, and—Kira was fairly certain—for not manning up and going ahead and marrying Katie anyway.

From what Kira understood, Blaine had started working for Roan, doing some digging on Iain McAuley, who had presented an obstacle, a rather critical one, this time, in Katie’s attempt to marry Graham. The wedding had gone off, but the mystery surrounding Iain McAuley had continued, and Kira knew Shay had wanted no loose ends, so he’d kept Blaine on it. He’d even done work in the city for Shay on some of his cases there. Turned out the man could ferret out anything. So . . . Blaine had found his niche. And he’d stayed.

Roan turned to Shay. “If this is still about the inheritance issue, you’re going to need to officially call him off. I canno’ see how Mr. McAuley has any claim here now or what possible harm—”

Eliza, Roan’s secretary, took that moment to stick her perfectly pinned and coiffed gray head into the office. “Mr. Blaine has arrived.”

Graham turned to look back out of the window, having looked away while Roan was talking. “Sorry. I must have missed it.”

“Well, have him come in already,” Katie urged, smiling. “Why so formal?”

“Oh, I believe that will be made clear momentarily,” Eliza said, eyes twinkling.

The door swung wider and Blaine strolled in, quite natty in a cutaway black jacket and silk striped trousers. A tartan cummerbund and bowtie finished off the look.

Kira thought, with his blond good looks, he pulled it off rather gorgeously, as if he’d been born wearing just that.

“Hullo, Blaine,” Roan said, with zero reaction to Blaine’s state of dress.

“Don’t spoil it,” Blaine said, pointing a finger at Roan, but there was clear affection in his tone.

And despite Roan’s rolling of eyes, Kira knew he liked and respected Blaine, it was just their way. Kira winked at Shay, who gave her the smallest of smiles in return, but otherwise kept his own council, remaining behind the far desk.

“Thank you all for coming,” Blaine announced to the room at large, clearly enjoying his dramatic entrance, but then, from what Kira knew, when didn’t he?

Personally, she thought he was charming and rather adorable.

“As you all know, I’ve been putting my quite extensive and tirelessly dedicated skills to discovering what the real story was regarding one Mr. Iain McAuley.”

“Have ye solved it then?” Graham asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“Thank the Lord,” Roan murmured. “We can all get back to work now. The fear and panic can finally be put to rest.”

Blaine ignored him. “As it happens, there is a simple solution to the mystery of his arrival on Kinloch, and his attempt to usurp the clan lairdship and island chiefdom.”

“Put us out of our misery already—”

“Roan,” Graham gently chided. “Blaine, what is it you’ve found? Anything for us to be concerned about?”

“No, quite the opposite. That is, as long as you don’t mind the fact that Iain will be returning to Kinloch. In fact, he’ll be staying on here.” Blaine pushed the office door completely open. “With me.”

Kira remembered Iain from his brief but very memorable stay on Kinloch the previous fall. He’d have been memorable anyway, with his white smile and dashing good looks.

“Oh my, he’s gone and borrowed from Blaine’s closet,” Roan said.

Kira might have kicked Roan’s toes herself, but then Iain entered, decked out in full, formal clan regalia and she was too busy gawking to kick. He really was quite stunning, though the rows of lace on the front of the white shirt peeking out from the jacket front and at the cuffs wasn’t something traditionally seen. At least on Kinloch.

Iain’s smile was a bit abashed, but he kept his head up. “Hullo, everyone. I appreciate the welcome.” His gaze strayed briefly to Roan, but settled on Graham, then Shay. “I’m sorry for any upset I caused during my last visit. Rest assured, I intend to remain a benign presence from this point forward.”

“Benign?” Blaine said. “I hardly think so.” Then he slid his arm through Iain’s, and looked at the group. “I mean . . . look at him.” The two smiled at each other . . . and the light finally dawned. On everyone.

Blaine faced the group again. “Turns out our stories are somewhat similar. We both come from rich, controlling families. And we both almost made very ill-advised marital choices rather than reaching for our own true happiness.” The two shared another look.

And Kira knew that look.

Roan started to say something, but this time Tessa elbowed him in the stomach . . . and started clapping. “Has there been a wedding?” she asked over the din, as everyone else started clapping for the happy couple as well.

“Well,” Blaine said, “we don’t dress like this every day.” He and Iain grinned again. “Though I think we totally should.”

Everyone laughed and Eliza came in carrying a cake. There were two grooms on top.

“You knew?” Roan said. “How on earth did you know?”

“I always know,” Eliza answered.

Shay came around his desk and tucked Kira by his side as a champagne bottle appeared and everyone started talking at once.

Kira leaned close and whispered, “You’ve been quiet. What do you think of all this?”

“That we should elope?”

Kira laughed and turned in his arms, and kissed him. “What? And deprive Blaine of planning our wedding?”

They were married in the abbey, on Valentine’s Day. There were doves. A carriage drawn by six white horses. A gilded and pillared cake that was slightly larger than Kira’s Fiat.

And a bride and groom who lived happily ever after.

Snow Angel

KATE ANGELL

To the dedicated doctors, nursing staff, and
receptionists at Mission Hills Veterinary Clinic in
Naples, Florida. Dr. Angela Butts, Dr. Amelia Foster,
Karen, Stacey, Chelsie, and Cincy—you have
all my respect and appreciation.

Prologue

Frost Peak Lodge, Aspen, Colorado
Three years ago

The steam rising from the cedar hot tub was pure foreplay. The vapors thickened then thinned on the cold night air. The condensation tickled exposed skin, while jets teased the buttocks.

Allie sat on the circular bench, her body liquid. Her head rested on the rim, her eyelids heavy, her lips parted. The water bubbled, ebbed, and bared her left breast, her nipple hard and peaked as she focused on the naked man across from her.

She knew him only as Aidan. They’d yet to exchange last names. He was a ski stud and hot tub god. A man so cut he could have been a sculpture. Broad chest, buff abs. She licked her lips, imagined tracing the faded tan line on his groin with her tongue.

His gaze was hooded as he stretched his arms along the edges of the hot tub and smiled lazily at her. Could he read her mind? It appeared he had.

“Any regrets?” he asked.

“Not a one,” she said. Aidan was pure female arousal. He touched her with his eyes and made her skin tingle.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.” Steam licked her lips as she released a soft sigh. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back to the moment they’d met. This holiday would stay with her forever . . .

The mountain. The man. Aidan had courted her on the slopes for three days. He’d given chase, racing her down the advanced trails, pushing her performance. She’d taken their competition seriously. She skied with the speed and purpose of outrunning an avalanche. She had won.

At the end of the first and second day, he smiled, nothing more. He left her at the base of the mountain. Alone.

He’d spiked her interest. She wanted to meet him. On Christmas Eve, he introduced himself as Aidan. He had her at “nice huck.”

She’d shown off for him that afternoon. Halfway down Widow Maker’s Run, she threw herself off the cliff’s edge and caught big air, a thrilling stunt by an advanced skier.

She’d impressed him.

He made her heart pound.

Late afternoon shadows had nudged them to the valet ski check where they handed off their gear. They then entered the lodge bar, The Thirsty Squirrel. She’d ordered hot buttered rum and he sipped two fingers of scotch. Her drink had been served in a green mug rimmed with holly berries. A scripted Merry Christmas wrapped Aidan’s tumbler. Happy Hour drew snow bunnies, ski bums, and serious skiers ready to party.

A DJ Santa spun tunes. “Jingle Bells” had made Allie smile. “I’ve worked ski resorts since I was sixteen,” she told Aidan as they settled on their bar stools and shed their ski jackets. “I was once assigned sleigh rides during Christmas week. I harnessed big Belgium draft horses to a Santa-style sleigh with a curly dash. The route crossed a covered bridge then ran alongside a brook on a winding, wooded trail.

“Families were fun. I handed out warm blankets, a thermos of hot chocolate, and gingerbread cookies.” She scrunched her nose. “Couples were another matter. They’d slide beneath the tartan plaids and once we got deep into the forest, the sleigh would start to rock. My job description didn’t include listening to all that giggling and panting. I learned to wear ear muffs.”

Aidan chuckled, deep, vibrant, and richly male. “That gives a whole new meaning to dashing through the snow.”

She agreed. “I refused to take out the sleigh until it was sanitized. The guys in the barn laughed their butts off the first time I showed up with my unusual request. By the tenth cleanup, it was no longer funny.”

“We never know what life has in store for us.”

“My sister would disagree. Beth’s a chirologist.”

He raised a brow. “She reads palms?”

“Beth believes your life is printed on your palm. She taught me the basics.”

She’d waited for him to roll his eyes. He surprised her by turning over his right hand. “Read me, sweetheart.”

She’d traced the line that curved above his thumb, leading downward toward his wrist. “You have a long life line,” she said, liking the warm feel of his skin against her fingertips. He had a man’s hand, strong and lightly callused. “You’re a bit of a daredevil, but you could live to be one hundred. You work hard, but play harder.”

He nodded, and she continued. She ran her fingertip across the top of his palm, just below his fingers, a sensual slide. His palm grew slightly damp. She was making him sweat. “A curved heart line indicates you’re romantic.”

“I do candy, flowers, and prolonged foreplay.”

Her stomach fluttered over foreplay. She could imagine his hands sliding down her body, dipping between her thighs, then inching their way upward. Her breath stuck in her throat. She shifted on the bar stool, aroused by this man.

“The fate line runs from the bottom of your palm near the wrist up through the center toward the middle finger,” she continued. “You have a star at the top of your fate line which means good fortune and great success.”

She stroked the side of his hand. “The short, single marriage line beneath your little finger shows one walk down the aisle. No divorce.”

He linked his fingers with hers, and sent her heart racing. “My parents have been married for thirty-five years. They still act like newlyweds.”

Allie smiled, but said nothing. She seldom discussed her single mom. Margo, as her mother preferred to be called, didn’t do mother-daughter. Margo liked to be one of the girls. She refused to grow up or grow old.

A sip of her buttered rum, and Allie turned the conversation to skiing; to the hazards of off-piste and the adrenaline rush of conquering the slopes.

“Your winter playground of choice?” she asked.

“Stowe,” he answered. “I like Vermont. I stay at the Red Fox Country Inn and cross-country ski from the back door to the base of Mt. Mainsfield. The Stoweked Grille makes the best seafood stew in New England. How about you?”

“Solitude near Salt Lake City,” she said. “No lift lines, crowded runs, or overtracked snow. The best chicken and chorizo chili in Utah is served at Wiley Coyote, a local mountain pub.”

The bar crowd had begun singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. Allie leaned closer to be heard. She breathed in the scent of his cologne, spice and citrus. Subtle, yet masculine. “Are you pure powderhound?” she asked.

Aidan shook his head. “Winter’s my favorite season, but year-round, I enjoy adventure racing.”

She was familiar with the sport. It required a combination of skills, depending on the competition. Athletes often ran, mountain biked, ripped down rapids in a canoe, then rappelled off a one-hundred-foot rock face. The race could last a day or a week.

“Dangerous and disciplined,” she admired. “You push yourself physically.”

He finished off his scotch. “What makes your heart race?”

The sexy look in his eye challenged her to answer him. The intensity of his stare made her curl her toes in her snow boots.

“The savage beauty and intimacy of the slopes,” she said honestly. In that moment she realized the closest relationship she’d had in four years was with her skis. A flutter of anticipation made her shiver. That would all change tonight.

They’d talked further, gotten to know each other over the next hour. He liked science fiction and action movies. She leaned toward mysteries and crime-solving dramas on TV.

Aidan owned a Blackberry Torch. Allie had a disposable cell phone.

He only bought black cars. Her sunglasses were always red.

He had two golden retrievers. She’d never had a pet.

He confessed to working high-end retail. She shopped blue-light specials, the bigger the bargain the better.

She admitted to being a ski instructor on holiday.

All around them, the crowd thickened, pressed, and Allie soon took an elbow to the ribs as several women sought space at the bar. Definitely snow bunnies, with their big hair, perfect makeup, fitted snow pants, and designer jackets with furry hoods. They cruised the lobby and the bar, never leaving the comfort of the lodge.

The ladies winked at Aidan; wedged themselves closer. They nearly knocked Allie off her bar stool.

Aidan had come to her rescue. He interlocked the wooden legs of their stools so no one could slip between them. His intimate closeness toyed with her body and sex played on her thoughts. They sat as privately as any two people could sit in a packed bar.

They’d swiveled slowly on their stools, brushing hands, bumping hips. He slid his knee between her legs. The rub of their ski pants was raw and sexual. A stirring inside her begged to be satisfied and she found it hard to sit still. Her fingers itched to touch him. Their chemistry was off the charts.

She’d taken a sip of her cocktail and let the caramelized brown sugar and dusting of cinnamon seduce her tongue. If Christmas had a taste, it would be hot buttered rum.

Their gazes had locked when the bartender asked if they wanted another round. They both passed. Aidan paid for the drinks and left a big tip.

They’d slid off their stools, grabbed their jackets, and cut a path through the boisterous crowd. He pressed his hand to her back as they crossed the lobby. The man had big hands. His palm fit at the base of her spine and the tips of his fingers brushed her side. A delicious shiver caressed her every nerve.

Only one clerk along with the concierge manned Reception. Red garlands draped the rustic beams near the main counter. Silver bells hung above the mantel on the fireplace in holiday celebration. Two evergreens decorated with gold pine cones flanked the bank of elevators.

They rode in silence to the twelfth floor. The doors opened to a set of suites. Aidan pointed Allie to the far end of the hallway.

His suite was far larger than her room. She took it all in. Two bedrooms branched off the living area. A kitchen and computer alcove framed the back. Sliding glass doors showcased night skiing, the mountain a black spike against the full moon. Electric high-intensity lamps lit the trails. The snow sparkled like diamonds.

Tall privacy walls encased a short wooden deck, the hot tub at its center, all bubbly and steamy and awaiting naked bodies. Allie lowered her eyes, but not out of shyness. She didn’t want him to guess how turned on she was; she’d rather show him.

They had hastily lowered zippers, flicked snaps, and unhooked buckles. He moved with surety. She was all thumbs.

Aidan had taken her hand and lightly kissed her palm. He’d gone on to study her palm as she had studied his at the bar. “Your sex line indicates you’re a good lover.”

Her lips twitched. There was no sex line.

“Your fantasy line has spikes,” he continued. “It shows you’re kinky, sweetheart.”

That made her smile. He’d lightened the mood, put her at ease, and made her want him even more.

They finished undressing. Fabrics rasped over their skin, fell where they might. Across her toes, the arms of her powder-blue fleece hugged Aidan’s black wool sweater.

Against his ankles, her navy ski pants straddled his own gray pair. Between them, his boxer briefs humped her blue cotton bikinis.

Kicked to the side, the heels of his Nordicas rubbed the toes of her snow boots. Their clothes were getting it on.

She stared openly at him, this man of muscular physique and hotter-than-hell face. Ink-dark hair mussed his brow, and his pale gray eyes were nearly opaque. His cheekbones slashed to a lean jaw. His mouth was sexy, his lower lip suckable.

He, in turn, admired her breasts and abdomen. He ran his finger over the tiny skier tattoo near her navel. His eyes dilated at her v-zone.

Allie took in his erection and inhaled her approval. She sucked in her stomach nearly to her spine. Her skull prickled and her skin itched. She was so turned on she could barely stand still.

He hadn’t even kissed her.

She’d debated jumping his bones, right there on the plush brown carpet. They’d suffer rug burn, but she was wired, wanting, and tired of waiting.

She wasn’t into ski lodge affairs, yet it was Christmas Eve. She had no idea where her mother was spending the holidays or if Margo was still alive. Years had separated them. All contact had been lost.

Her sisters had surprised her with a ski vacation. They’d wanted her to play, not work. Beth had booked Allie’s room. Laura had prepaid all lift fees. Allie had saved for a year and sent them on a Caribbean cruise.

Her sisters loved the sun.

Allie lived for snow.

Her holiday stocking was presently empty.

She’d chosen Aidan as her gift and unwrapped him.

He stood before her, six feet of testosterone and male arousal. She wished he had a red bow around his neck, or silver bells jingling at his groin.

One corner of his mouth lifted, as if he’d read her mind. He believed in foreplay and prolonged the inevitable.

He’d taken her hand and led her across the living room. His backside was chiseled, his butt muscular. She could’ve followed him for miles.

The glass sliders hissed on their tracks as the inside warmth escaped, meeting air so sharp and crisp her nipples puckered. Goose bumps skittered down her spine and up her inner thighs. Her breath blew frosty. A fat snowflake tipped her nose. It had started to snow.

She closed the doors behind her, hoped she wouldn’t turn into an ice sculpture. Amazingly, the cold hadn’t affected his erection. He pointed toward the North Pole.

Aidan had stepped into the hot tub and drawn her in behind him. The water lapped her calves as the steam shot to her crotch. He lowered himself onto the bench then gave her room to pick her spot. She chose to sit across from him. Awareness closed all space between them.

Her heartbeat quickened. He’d teased her on the slopes for three days then aroused her further in the bar. She was on edge, same as Aidan. They’d soon find release . . .

“Are you still with me, babe?”

His question drew her back to the moment. She blinked, focused, then said, “I didn’t go far.” She’d already taken the memories of this man into her heart.

Allie leaned back against the cedar and looked at the sky. Snow drifted down, yet each flake melted within the rising steam of the hot tub. Only the furthest corner of the deck collected snow, a small white drift against the wooden siding.

Anticipation played between them, a sexual tease. She flexed her leg and made the first move. She skimmed the tips of her toes over his knee. The ball of her foot grazed the inside of his thigh then worked up and over his hip. She flicked her toes over his abdomen and he inhaled sharply. Her heel gently pressed lower, and his sex brushed the side of her foot, thick and tickling, and making her smile.

She teased lightly.

He groaned deeply.

His opaque eyes were hooded by his ink-dark lashes. Desire flared his nostrils. His release of breath was rough, rushed. His hips now rocked.

“My turn, sweetheart.” He slid along the bench, closed the distance between them. He lifted her slightly, until she straddled his groin. Moist and trembling, she waited for him to fill her.

They were now breast to chest.

Thigh to thigh.

Sex to sex.

He could have entered her with the slightest shift of his hips. But he didn’t. Instead he stroked her, long, lazy strokes that left her liquid. He massaged her scalp, her neck and shoulders. Making a fan of his fingers, he palmed her breast. She arched her spine, squeezed his hips with her thighs. He felt so good wedged against her wet heat, all solid and hard.

The warm whirl of the water seduced their bellies. The steam rolled off his shoulders and collected between her breasts. They grew hotter together.

He flattened his hands on her thighs, then went on to trace the crease of her sex with his thumbs. She was so ready for him, she nearly mounted his fingers.

Allie moved closer and he eased back. The man gave new meaning to prolonged foreplay. She squirmed, and he continued to tease her.

The play of his fingers wound her tight. So tight, the craving for the feel of him penetrating her made her pubic muscles clench. She leaned in and bit his lower lip. “I want you,” she breathed against his mouth.

He slipped the tip of his tongue between her lips. “Want me more.”

His control nearly killed her. Two could play this game. She would make him beg. She stroked his erection, squeezed him from base to tip until he threw back his head and hissed through his teeth.

Hunger glittered in his eyes.

His skin pulled taut across his cheekbones.

His lips flattened in both pain and pleasure.

She increased the pressure and he rocked his hips. His sex thrust between her palms. He panted, groaned, his body pumped with lust.

“I want you.” He repeated her words.

She exhaled, a slow, sexy smile curving her lips. “It’s about time.”

He cupped her bottom, lifted her easily. He rose like a god from the sea. Water streamed and steamed between them as he stepped from the hot tub.

A slide of the glass door and they reentered his suite. He shoved the door closed with his foot. He headed straight for the bedroom. He walked damn fast.

Aidan was hot for this woman. She’d attracted him the first day of his vacation. He’d stood back and taken his time to meet her. She’d been pursued by numerous male skiers, yet she declined each invitation. Lady was selective.

He courted her on the mountain, a woman in tune with the slopes. She reminded him of a snow angel with her pale blond hair, sky-blue eyes, and winter-pink cheeks.

Yet her smile was far from angelic. Her lips were lush, the flick of her tongue sexy. He’d wanted her mouth on him for the holidays. Her kisses all over his body.

He’d made his move on Christmas Eve, hopeful she’d join him for a cocktail. Her acceptance had pleased him. He’d been hard from the moment they entered the bar.

A drink had led to the hot tub, now to his bed. He kicked open the door. The room had a rustic décor: a dark wood armoire and two overstuffed chairs in an evergreen print. A king-size bed welcomed sleep and sex.

Aidan didn’t care if he slept a wink that night.

Their bodies were still damp, but he didn’t take the time to towel either of them off. Instead he tossed back the dark brown comforter and laid Allie on the ivory cotton sheet.

He stared at her, this woman he craved. Her hair was wild; her gaze passionate. Her breasts were high and firm, her ribs symmetrical. Her stomach was bounce-a-quarter flat.

He was a leg man. Her skier legs were slender, toned, and ready to wrap his hips.

As he eased over her, the blend of cool sheets and hotbodied woman nearly undid him. She rose up to meet him, and they kissed deeply. Their tongues mated with need and expectancy.

His heart was pounding so fast, he could feel the pulsing in his dick. He snagged a condom from the drawer of the nightstand, ripped the foil with his teeth, and slipped it on. She lifted her hips and he slid in to her. They were one.

Their first time was swift and fierce. She clawed his back and he clutched her bottom. He left bruises on her butt cheeks. He wanted her to take what he was feeling and make it her own. She did.

She arched against him, her body clenching.

His body strained against hers.

She let go, melting against him.

He came a moment later.

Afterward he tucked her so tightly against his body she became an imprint on his skin. A sexual tattoo, invisible, yet memorable. The best sex of his life.

They spooned for hours, making small talk. Her spine curved nicely against his chest. The firm roundness of her bottom pressed his groin, teasing him erect.

He would have taken her again, yet he felt the need to talk, to deepen their connection. “I was born and raised in the Midwest. I’m an only child,” Aidan whispered against her ear. “This year my father came down with bronchitis right before our family ski trip. My mother refused to let him travel.”

Allie stirred and her shoulders stiffened. Her sigh sifted into him, her voice soft and hesitant. “I’ve lived in nearly every city in California, mostly in apartments, twice in a trailer, and once in a tent on Hermosa Beach.”

He nuzzled her neck, her scent one of sun-touched snow and clean mountain air. “Your mother liked to travel?”

She shook her head and strands of her blond hair settled on his cheek. “My mom was always looking for a good time. I think she was lonely. Some women need a man. My mother never found the right one. She bar-hopped and we took our meals at truck stops. She refused to put down roots. I’ve two sisters. None of us has the same father.”

“Tell me about your sisters?”

“Both are older; both remain single. Both own homes, have cats, and are nicely settled.”

“What about you?”

“I’m a ski bum at heart. I play wherever there’s fresh powder.”

He nipped her earlobe. “Play with me now, Allie.”

She did. They played three more times that night.

When their hunger turned to food, they showered, donned hotel bathrobes, and she cooked for him. The refrigerator was fully stocked, and she made Monte Cristo sandwiches. They lingered in the living room, turned on TV, and watched the weather channel. An ice storm was forecast, which would close down the slopes. Traffic would be limited to emergency vehicles. They’d soon be snowbound.

His decision to extend his vacation came easily. He was drawn to Allie and hoped she’d commit to a few more days at the lodge. He wanted to know her better.

Once back in bed, he tucked into her softness. He liked holding her. Liked watching her sleep. Liked hearing her breathe.

He drifted off, a man content.

He wakened early, wanting to make plans for more skiing, more loving . . . only to find himself alone in a very big bed.

The quiet unnerved him. He lay on his back, fully naked, the bedroom air chilly. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, still numb from a long night of kissing. He cocked his head, noticed the scratches on his shoulder. A love bite centered over his heart. His morning erection craved attention.

The bedroom door stood ajar. “Allie?” he called.

No response. The silence scared him.

He intuitively knew she was gone.

He pushed up on his elbows, looked around. The sheets were untucked, the comforter sprawled on the floor. They’d shared a king-size pillow. The imprint of her cheek and chin remained on the cotton case. Her sexual heat lingered, along with her woman’s scent.

Confusion and loss hit him hard. What the hell had happened? She’d wanted him as bad as he wanted her. Yet she hadn’t stuck around, hadn’t given them a chance. She’d left without breakfast or a good-bye.

He knew so little about her. He had no idea where she lived. Where she would next ski. Where she spent the summer.

They hadn’t exchanged last names.

Chances were good he’d never see her again.

His holiday went to hell.

Chapter One

Chicago, Illinois
December 24th, three years later

The worst blizzard in twenty years was forecast for Christmas Eve. The winter snowstorm had struck much of the Midwest, and Chicago would be hit the hardest. Meteorologists had tracked the system for the past week. They predicted four feet of snow.

Law enforcement warned people to stay home. Schools and airports had closed. Rail service was halted. Interstate travel was seriously disrupted and traffic would soon be paralyzed. Snow removal couldn’t begin until the storm passed.

Two-fifteen, and a few downtown businesses remained open for last minute holiday shopping. Only die-hard customers fought the biting wind and blowing snow.

Allie Smith had arrived in Chicago on the last outgoing flight from Denver. An invitation to spend Christmas with her sisters brought her to Dutton’s Department Store. A bottle of Snow Angel cologne was at the top of their gift lists. Dutton’s was the only store to sell the signature scent. Allie felt a tug at her heart. She wanted to make them happy and neither snow nor sleet would stop her from fulfilling their Christmas wish. Beth and Laura meant everything to her.

A ponytailed taxi driver named Jeremy Bott was still taking fares from O’Hare. The heater barely worked in his yellow cab. The defroster whistled noisily. He kept wiping his jacket sleeve across the front windshield. There was little visibility.

An hour’s drive and Jeremy parked at the snowbanked curb on State Street. He offered to wait while Allie did her shopping. She exited the cab, promised to be as quick as she could, which in actuality was quite slow. She had a sprained ankle. She winced. It hurt like hell.

Earlier that week she’d been struck by a snowmobile while giving ski lessons at the base of a bunny hill. A male college student had ridden out-of-zone to show off and flirt with her. He’d spun the machine in a circle, lost control, and knocked Allie down. He’d apologized all over himself. Neither his regret nor ice packs had taken down the swelling. She continued to limp.

The lodge physician had suggested X-rays. She planned to see an orthopedist after Christmas. Until then, she’d live with the pain.

On the icy sidewalk now, she braced herself against a wind that threatened to blow her down. Her sheepskin UGGS had little traction and she slid toward the front entrance. The electric doors swooshed open and an elderly doorman blocked her path.

He looked down his nose at her, as if she was a homeless person blown in off the street. Determined not to be dissuaded by his disapproving frown, she smiled at him, though she had to admit her white knit cap, worn ski jacket, and faded jeans had seen better days. Her khaki backpack had traveled many miles.

“Welcome to Dutton’s, the ultimate shopping experience,” the man said stiffly. “You’ve got thirty minutes until we close.”

She nodded, and stepped deeper into the store. What she saw took her breath away. Her mouth went dry. The media promoted Dutton’s as the American Harrods. The opulence reminded her of a palace. She admired the black Italian marble floor, gold columns, and wine silk brocade wallpaper. A crystal chandelier hung from the domed ceiling. Four uniformed operators stood at attention before the bank of elevators. The store offered seven floors of designer luxuries.

The grandeur was intimidating. The scent of old money and snobbery surrounded her. Classical music played softly in the background. Dutton’s was far more than she’d ever imagined.

She exhaled slowly, trying to take it all in. Sales associates scurried to close up their departments. Security guarded the jewelry counter as personnel stored diamond rings and Rolex watches in satin boxes then locked them in a safe.

Allie passed Santa’s Grotto to reach the octagonal glass counter where beauty products and fragrances were sold. Snow Angel was prominently displayed. The hand-blown bottles with twenty-four carat gold halos were arranged on silver wings.

She sprayed the test atomizer and perfumed the air. The scent was as ethereal as it was sensual, and captured the magic of a winter wonderland. A second spritz, and memories of downhill skiing, a hot tub, and Christmas Eve sex shook her. She nearly dropped the tester.

Aidan. She’d never forgotten the man. His image was as clear to her now as it had been three years prior. She could still picture his amazing body, naked and on top, thrusting into her. She’d arched her back beneath him as one sensual tremor after another possessed her whole body. They’d mated with an intensity that came full circle. He’d drawn her out of herself and into him, and she’d felt his pulse touch her soul. They’d experienced oneness and comfort. She’d fallen hard and fast for him. She’d never experienced anyone like Aidan.

Their short time together had terrified her. She’d never done serious, had never trusted forever. He appeared solid and stable while she was gone with the wind.

She was her mother’s daughter. The memories of Margo’s poor relationships crippled Allie. She’d been an emotional mess, so she’d done what she did best—left Aidan before he could hurt her.

She often wished she’d gotten his last name. She’d have made an attempt to see him again. Maybe she’d have worked up the courage to speak to him. She’d never know. Three years to the day separated them now.

She set down the tester cologne. Time was of the essence. She glanced at her watch. She had seven minutes to locate a sales associate and pay for her gifts. She’d never forgive herself if two bottles of Snow Angel didn’t sit under her sisters’ tree on Christmas morning. The cologne was a fragrant reminder of her affection for them that would last long after the holiday.

A sign near the cash register sent her to stationery, photo albums, and frames. She hobbled to the back of the store, only to be directed to art and antiques. Once there, a handprinted note taped to an oil painting of an old-fashioned Santa Claus pointed her to the bootery.

She kept walking, dragging her foot and breathing hard. She was running a freakin’ maze.

The overhead lights flickered and an ominous silence took hold. Allie prayed she could check out and be on her way before the store lost electricity.

She moved to the main aisle, looked toward the front door. No doorman. She cut her gaze toward the elevators. No operators. She stood on tiptoe and scanned the first floor. No sales personnel. No customers.

Being alone in Dutton’s Department Store on Christmas Eve gave her the creeps. She had to get out now.

She pulled her wallet from her jacket pocket, found a grand total of six dollars in cash, one personal check, and two credit cards. She panicked. How the hell was she going to pay for her gifts? There was no one around to ring up her sale.

Frantic now, she returned to beauty and fragrance. She located an ink pen on the counter and quickly wrote out a check to Dutton’s for the price of the cologne. She slipped the payment beneath the register drawer, making sure a corner of the check would be visible to the salesclerk.

She cradled the Snow Angels in the crook of her arm and pushed for the door, only to be brought up short when a man shouted, “Shoplifters will be prosecuted.”

Holy crap, security.

“I’m armed and won’t hesitate to—” his words were swallowed in a blackout as the blizzard abruptly cut all power. She froze as red emergency lights flashed, followed by the buzz and click as the automatic doors locked. Snow beat against the main door and thick frost closed off the front display windows to the outside world.

Darkness shrank her visibility to ten feet in front of her.

What now? She was trapped.

“Hands in the air,” the guard ordered right before he beamed his Maglite flashlight in her face, blinding her.

Allie squinted, raised her arms. She held a Snow Angel in each hand over her head. “I’m not a thief. I paid for the cologne.”

“Where’s the sales receipt?”

She didn’t have one.

“Don’t move,” he said gruffly.

How could she? She had nowhere to go.

It took a minute, maybe two, before the store generators kicked on. The machines whirred, chugged, and struggled against the storm. Wall sconces soon cast a smattering of light near the elevators and along the far aisles. Shadows played against the darkness.

The guard lowered his flashlight, and the beam bounced off her chin. She blinked, focused on the man before her. He was short, wiry, and wore a black uniform. His legs were widespread. His fingers twitched over his duty utility belt, a belt so loaded with gadgets it rode low on his hips. He bounced on the balls of his feet, all antsy and edgy and itching to fight crime.

He considered Allie a criminal.

Before she could explain, heavy footsteps sounded down the center aisle and a second person walked out of the darkness. A much taller man, she noted, broader in the shoulders and thicker in the chest than the guard who held the Maglite on her. She was unable to see his face, but she sensed his authority. Perhaps he was head of security or the store manager.

“What’s going on, Sam?” The growling whir of the generators distorted the newcomer’s voice.

Sam puffed out his chest. “A shoplifter, boss, I caught her leaving the store with two bottles of Snow Angel. There may be more items in her jacket pockets.”

“I’m not a thief,” Allie ground out. “The store was about to close and I couldn’t find a cashier. Go to beauty and fragrance, and you’ll find my check under the register drawer.”

“Verify her story while I pat her down,” the boss said to the watchman.

Allie stepped backward. “Why don’t you check my story first before you frisk me?”

“Sorry, miss, but I have to follow store procedure,” the boss said without apology.

“Handcuffs, baton, Taser?” Sam offered.

Taser? She swallowed hard. The gangly guard was an alarmist. He’d blown the situation out of proportion. He was having a Barney Fife moment and taking his job way too seriously.

Allie swore she heard the man in charge sigh. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t carry a Taser, Sam,” he said with great patience.

“It’s the holidays, sir,” Sam said. “Dutton’s has been swarming with shoppers. Many customers aren’t our usual clientele.” He looked pointedly at Allie. “I wanted to be prepared.”

She wanted to say something back to the guard, but kept quiet. She was already in enough trouble. She didn’t want to be zapped for being a smart mouth.

The boss held out his hand. “I’ll take the Taser in case the woman tries to run.”

Allie shifted her weight. Her ankle hurt like hell. She wanted to tell these two to show a little respect for a paying customer. She’d sell her soul to sit down, to get her weight off her foot, even for a minute. The pain was making her light-headed.

She watched as Sam unclipped the weapon from his utility belt. He pulled the trigger and electricity arced. His scare tactic forced Allie back. Not so much for her own safety but for the guard’s. The man’s hand shook so badly, he nearly zapped himself. She didn’t want him falling at her feet unconscious.

A few more sparks and Sam handed his supervisor the weapon, along with a smaller flashlight. “I’ll hurry back.” He shuffled off, the beam from his Maglite sweeping the floor.

Silence stood like a third person between Allie and the boss. “Turn around and drop your backpack,” he instructed. “Take off your ski cap, jacket, and boots, then put your hands on the jewelry counter.”

Allie froze. This man with the deep voice and dominant presence was going to frisk her. He might even arrest her. She was at his mercy. She hoped to get through the ordeal with her dignity intact.

Allie. Aidan Dutton had a desperate need to touch this woman. To see her naked. To breathe in her scent and revel in its intoxicating effect. He would now feel her up and stroke her down. Slowly. He planned to take his sweet time and enjoy her discomfort. She’d yet to see his face, which was to his advantage.

He couldn’t believe Allie of Frost Peak Lodge stood before him now, his snow angel in the flesh. She’d inspired the store’s signature scent. The fragrance took him back to their Aspen holiday, to the chase, to unforgettable sex, to a bond that made a connection, but never fully formed. She’d snuck out of his suite without a trace.

He’d tried desperately to find her. The hotel had been cooperative. The manager had searched their database for a guest named Allie, yet there’d been no listing for the woman. It was as if she’d never existed.

She’d been at the top of his Christmas list for three long years. He let out a long, slow breath. Santa had finally filled his stocking.

Before they could move forward, he needed to know why she’d abandoned him, without a good-bye. She owed him an explanation and he intended to get it. He hadn’t gotten over her leaving him like that. He could still feel the hurt.

Fate had placed him in Security when she entered the store. Sam had put through a call to the corporate offices and requested his presence. They’d then monitored the worsening weather and the immediate need to close. Six guards had hastily escorted the last few customers to the door. People needed to reach their homes before the brunt of the blizzard hit.

“Crazy-ass woman,” Sam had grumbled, jabbing a finger at one of the monitors. “She looks half frozen.”

Curious, Aidan had shifted his gaze from the televised weather report to the security screen. The doorman had tried to block the shopper blown in off the street, but she’d hobbled past him. By the intense look on her face, he could see she was on a holiday mission. He smiled. He had to admire her tenacity. Dutton’s needed more shoppers like her.

She’d clapped her mittens and stomped one foot, then taken in the décor. Her eyes had gone wide and her lips had parted. She seemed out of her element, but that didn’t detour her. She set her jaw and headed down the center aisle. Snow flaked from her boots, melting on the black marble tiles. She left a trail of slush.

Aidan had studied her, studied her hard. His skin prickled and something inside him stirred. A sexual stirring he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Not since Aspen.

“A close-up, Sam,” he requested. A zoom lens had brought her fully in focus. He’d stared at her until his eyes burned. Until familiarity gripped him, and awareness shook him out of his trance. His heart had kicked so hard, he swore he’d broken a rib.

He’d watched as the cameras tracked her to beauty and fragrance. It was slow going on her part. She had a significant limp. He wondered if she’d hurt herself skiing.

He found it ironic that her gifts included Snow Angel cologne. Fear sliced through him that she would pay and slide out the door before he could reach her.

He’d hurried from Security, jogged down the hallway. The elevators had been locked down, so he’d taken the stairs, two at a time. The moment he’d hit the first floor, the lights had gone out. He waited and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He knew the maze of departments like the back of his hand. He was heir to the store.

He stretched his hands, feeling his way. He didn’t want to knock over a display. He immediately headed for the fragrance counter. No sign of Allie. Had he found her, only to lose her again? His stomach sank.

Sam’s shout drew Aidan to a cornered shoplifter.

The thief had been Allie.

She was his to frisk.

He grew hard. For the first time since he was a little boy, he believed in Santa Claus.

Her back was to him now as she set the cologne on the jewelry counter and lowered her backpack. She then removed her ski cap and jammed it in her jacket pocket. Her blond hair tumbled to her shoulders, thick and shiny and longer than he remembered.

She shrugged off her jacket, tossed it next to the Snow Angels. She toed off her right suede boot then flinched while removing her left. Her thick wool sock had rolled down and he noticed her ankle was bandaged. She stood before him now in a navy waffle pullover and worn jeans.

Her shoulders were set, her jaw tight, as she flattened her hands on the glass countertop. Her weight slumped on her right hip. She was ready for him to pat her down.

“Make it fast,” she said. “I’ve nothing to hide.”

Somehow he didn’t doubt she was telling the truth. But this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

Aidan laid the flashlight on the counter so the beam flashed back on Allie. A halo surrounded her, making her look like an angel. His snow angel. He was determined she wasn’t going to walk out on him again.

He rolled the Taser between his palms, debated sticking it in his back pocket, only to decide against it. Should the weapon accidentally spark, he’d receive fifty thousands volts to his ass. That would prove painful, debilitating, and embarrassing as hell. The last thing he needed was being put out of commission with Allie in town.

He slid the Taser down the counter beyond her reach, then moved up behind her. “This will only take a minute,” he said. Or it could take an hour, depending on the intimate thoroughness of his search.

He went on to grip her shoulders, inhaled the scent of her hair. The crispness of the outdoors clung to her. She was pure snow angel. He wanted to pull her back against him, but now wasn’t the time.

She’d rejected him in Aspen. But even though she’d left him, he had yet to let her go. He’d thought about her every day for three long years.

He went on to stroke down her arms, then circle her wrists with his fingers. He squeezed as if handcuffing her. She flinched and he released her.

He ran his hands down her back, slowly, yet firmly. Her body was toned, sleek, and athletic. He spanned her waist, patted down her abdomen. Flat belly, narrow hips. He slid his hands over her bottom then moved down her legs. She was all soft worn denim and warm woman.

Working his way back up, he skimmed the inside of her thighs, eased passed her hip bones. It took all his effort not to let out a low groan. He ran his knuckles over her ribs. He stretched the tips of his fingers toward her breasts . . .

“You copped a feel!” Allie swung around so quickly, he was forced to step back. “You-you—”

The dim lighting couldn’t hide her shock at seeing him. She blinked, paled, looked at him as if he were a ghost from Christmas past. She hesitantly touched his chest. Her palm flattened over his heart. The beat told her that he was very much alive.

Fortunately her gaze didn’t lower below his belt. His attraction had become obvious. His sex now tented his gray slacks, a major bulge in his boxer briefs.

“Aidan?” His name was spoken as softly as a sigh. She curled her fingers into the fine cotton of his white longsleeve shirt and clung to him.

He ached for her, so much so, he physically hurt. His first impulse was to draw her near, to let the years fade away and to recapture Aspen.

Yet a part of him pulled back. He fisted his hands, forced them to his sides. He had no idea why she was in Chicago or how long she planned to stay. The blizzard would benefit him. They were snowed in for at least one day, possibly two.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Allie,” he began. “Shouldn’t you be at a ski resort?” The words came out more sarcastic than he’d planned.

The shadows couldn’t hide her blush. She released his shirt. “I’m spending the holiday with my sisters this year,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I work retail.”

Her face softened. “So you once said.”

They’d been naked when he’d told her. Her back had curved into his chest; his erection primed against her lower spine. The anticipation of taking her had tormented him until he couldn’t wait any longer. But he had. For her. They’d talked, had sex, and slept. He’d awoken alone.

Their gazes held, yet their conversation lagged. They soon grew as quiet as the store. They stared at each other, so deep and intent, he felt her under his skin. As smooth as satin.

In that moment, she warmed him from the inside out.

His heat left her flushed.

She fanned her face.

He started to sweat.

“I’ve a cab waiting,” she finally managed.

He looked toward the front door. “No taxi driver would wait for a fare in this weather. The wind’s picked up and the snow’s drifted. The cab would be buried.”

“I didn’t pay him.” He could see she felt awful. She regretted stiffing her driver.

“You can always call the cab company and settle up after the storm,” he suggested.

Realization hit her then. “After the storm? I’m stuck here?”

“I’m afraid so. We’re snowbound.”

Chapter Two

Allie Smith hated confinement. She needed the freedom of the outdoors. Clean air filling her lungs. The crisp bite of the morning chill turning her cheeks pink. She thrived on mountaintops with fresh powder and frosty air. She was at home there.

Here she faced a night in a department store with Aidan, and nowhere to run.

Did she really want to escape this man? She knew the answer, even if she wouldn’t admit it. She was convinced that a conniving elf had put her in Dutton’s with the man of her dreams just to tease her. This time there was no hot tub or warm bed. She was standing in the main aisle of a dark department store. The temperature was dropping by the second.

She openly observed him. He looked the same, only different. Tall and handsome, with five o’clock shadow that had arrived two hours early. His dark hair was cut short. His features were strong and his shoulders broad. She’d known him as a ski stud, but looking at him now, she saw a sophisticated businessman in a white shirt, burgundy and gray paisley tie, a braided leather belt, and sharply creased charcoal slacks. He looked preppie in his black tassel loafers and argyle socks. His style confused the hell out of her.

Would the real Aidan please stand up?

She found this new man sexy in a most disturbing way. Aristocratic came to mind. Polished and urbane. And to think he’d once been hers. She had unwrapped him on a Christmas Eve. He’d been the perfect present.

She let out a deep sigh. What a fool she’d been to run away, to lose him as both friend and lover. Now he thought she was a thief. His look was unwelcoming. He wasn’t overjoyed to see her.

She reached for her ski jacket, retrieved her cell phone from the inside pocket. “I need to call my sisters. They’ll be worried,” she said.

She dialed, but no one picked up. She left a quick message. “It’s Allie, I’m in Chicago at Dutton’s—” and the connection failed.

Aidan pulled his Blackberry from his pants pocket. He flipped it open, only to shake his head. “No bars.”

Her shoulders sank. She tried sending a text. No go.

Seconds later, Sam from Security approached them. He shuffled down the aisle, herding a small group of stranded shoppers.

He looked at Allie first. “I located your check. My apology, Allie Smith, you’re cleared of any crime.”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. Score one for the Snow Angels, her look told Aidan. He nodded in her direction, his opaque gray eyes holding steady with hers, though he didn’t apologize for the pat down. The hint of a smile told her that he’d enjoyed touching her.

Sam next turned to Aidan. “I also found four stragglers. No one’s happy.”

The arrivals clustered at the jewelry counter. A tall man with spiky brown hair and a hot temper turned on Aidan. “Are you the store manager?” he demanded.

“He’s the—” said Sam.

“First floor supervisor,” Aidan cut Sam off. “I’m Aidan.”

Sam’s brow creased, but he didn’t contradict his boss.

Allie caught their exchange. Both men appeared guarded. Almost secretive. They shared a work-bond that didn’t extend to the shoppers.

“I’m Chris Johnson,” the newcomer said. “I was caught on the sixth floor in sporting apparel when the lights went out. I’m headed to Atlanta for a charity golf tournament. My flight leaves in two hours.”

Sam flashed the Maglite in the golfer’s face. “You’re aware there’s a blizzard?”

“I hate snow,” Chris said. “I need to get to the airport.”

Sam eyed Chris with suspicion. “Chris Johnson, you say? I follow golf and you look different than you do on TV.”

Chris stared down Sam. “Television adds ten pounds.”

“It’s not your weight,” Sam said. “Johnson is shorter and blond.”

“Check the color on your set,” the man growled. “Damn storm. I can’t miss my flight.”

“Sorry, but Chicago’s at a standstill,” Aidan told the golf pro, his tone friendly but firm. “This could be the worst snowstorm in history. All transportation including air travel has shut down.”

“Not good enough.” Chris got in Aidan’s face. The golfer shoved him back a step. “I’m a celebrity athlete. You’re in charge. Do something, retail man.”

Aidan went stiff, his jaw tight.

Allie was surprised he kept his cool.

Sam snagged the Taser off the jewelry counter and pressed the trigger. The guard’s hand shook as electricity sparked, crackled. “Touch Aidan again and I’ll jolt you into tomorrow,” he warned the golf pro.

Allie bit down on her bottom lip, smiled to herself. She liked the way the guard stood up for his boss, even though Aidan was six inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than Sam.

“No harm done.” Chris moved to the front door and pressed his palms against the frosted glass. “There has to be an emergency release.”

Sam curled his lip. “If there was, trust me, you’d be the first to leave.”

“The generator’s old and runs minimal electricity,” Aidan said. “We’re lucky to have the light we do now.”

That light suddenly dimmed. The entire building shuddered as the backup machinery strained against the storm. The Maglite flickered, the batteries running low.

Sam shone the shaft of light on all those gathered. Allie saw an elderly couple, their eyes wide, frightened, along with a younger woman with heavily lined eyes and a long sleek auburn ponytail. The redhead’s face was pinched, her lips a glossed fuchsia line.

Allie crossed her arms, leaned against the jewelry counter, and watched as the woman approached Aidan. This could prove interesting.

“I’m Pamela Parker.” She looked left, then right, making sure she had everyone’s attention. “I’m a close friend of the Dutton family.”

Aidan’s brows pulled together, and uncertainty etched his brow. He seemed to doubt Pamela’s familiarity with the store owners, Allie thought. That intrigued her. As the floor supervisor, he couldn’t possibly know the Dutton’s every acquaintance. He didn’t travel in their social circle.

“The Duttons won’t be pleased to hear good customers were stuck in their store on Christmas Eve,” Pamela added. “Their son will be furious when I tell him. He’s such a sweetheart.”

“Is he?” Aidan asked, curious.

“Yes,” Pamela stated with assurance. She spoke rather loudly, as if projecting her voice from a stage. “Alden and I have dated in the past.”

“Alden?” Allie heard Sam cough into his hand.

She swore Aidan forced back a smile.

Allie wondered why he was so amused.

Sam shot the faint beam directly in Pamela’s face. “Security attempted to get everyone out. You had plenty of warning, yet you kept trying on clothes. I found you in the fifth floor dressing room. Discarded garments were stacked to the ceiling.”

The redhead had dressed in the dark, Allie noted. The front pearl buttons on her blue satin blouse were crooked and the collar was turned under. Yet the woman appeared confident, clutching two designer dresses with the price tags visible. Allie’s eyes widened. She could pay her rent for a month on what those gowns cost.

Pamela lifted her chin. “I needed the perfect dress for Christmas Eve dinner and couldn’t make a decision.”

Sam had the solution. “You could wear one for the main course and one during dessert.”

Allie grinned. Sam spoke his mind. A person would know where they stood with the guard. She liked that, a lot.

“We’re the Murphys,” the older man said, edging forward. “I’m Warren and this is my wife Marian. We both use canes. We were on the fourth floor in crystal and fine china when the elevators stopped. We took the stairs, but it was slow going. It’s Marian’s eightieth birthday.” He turned to his wife and smiled. “I’d promised her a Waterford vase followed by afternoon tea.”

Warren turned to Aidan. “I’m a retired postal worker. I’ve delivered mail in rain, sleet, and heavy snow, but I’ve never seen a storm this bad. I looked out the window on the upper floor and couldn’t make out the building next door. The power company will be pulling its crew off the street so I don’t think there will be any emergency responders. Are we safe?”

“Very much so,” Aidan assured him. “Should the generators fail, we have departments with candles and camping equipment. We’ve battery-operated blankets to keep you warm. There’s plenty of food, from tea room sandwiches to Swiss chocolates. We even have display beds with fresh linen should we be forced to spend the night. Sam and I will see to your every comfort.”

Aidan glanced over at Allie. Her skin prickled. She had memories of just how comforting Aidan could be.

Marian Murphy touched Aidan’s arm, a woman with a cloud of white hair and wire-rim glasses. She’d have made a perfect Mrs. Claus. “Thank you, son.”

Allie couldn’t help admiring Aidan. He was in charge, and as accommodating as he was kind. He’d put the Murphys at ease. The older couple huddled together and held hands.

They looked content, their hearts entwined. Allie envied them. She’d never known that special feeling with a man. She always took off before things got too serious. It was safer that way. Or so she’d always imagined.

The group glanced her way. “I’m Allie,” she said by way of an introduction. When everyone looked at her foot, she added, “Sprained ankle.”

Aidan met her gaze and she felt her cheeks heat. Those around them blurred, and it seemed as if they were the only two people in the vast department store. His expression was open, honest, and searching. He was too damn handsome for his own good. He made her mouth go dry. She wasn’t one for stomach flutters, but he quickened her pulse and buckled her knees. She pulled herself up straight.

She owed him an explanation as to why she’d left Aspen. If she could roll back time, she would have stayed. She’d have fought her fear of commitment. Even though the idea scared the hell out of her.

Hindsight was twenty-twenty. It was too late now. There were few do-overs in life.

Overhead the generators quaked. The machinery must be ancient indeed. The wind howled, and severe gusts rattled the doors and display windows. It was unnerving.

“No telling how bad this storm is going to get,” Aidan said. “I suggest we locate lanterns and flashlights in case we lose electricity.”

“We need to set up a command post,” came from Sam.

“This isn’t the military,” the golfer said, grumbling.

“Fend for yourself then,” said Sam.

Chris’s jaw shifted, and Aidan interceded. “Let’s all move to the third floor, to camping and furniture. We can sit and be comfortable there.”

Sam led the way to the stairs, and Pamela and Chris scooted in behind him. The Murphys assured Aidan they could make the climb. Allie shouldered on her jacket then worked on her right winter boot. She had difficulty fitting her left one.

She struggled for several seconds until Aidan hunkered down beside her. He ran his hands over the woolen sock. She winced, her ankle tender to his touch. “Your boot won’t fit. Your foot’s too swollen.”

She held out her hand. “I’ll carry it then.”

He rose, passed her the sheepskin UGG. Their fingers brushed. His skin was warm and she wanted to hold his hand. She held back, barely. Instead, she carefully slipped the Snow Angels into separate jacket pockets. She then hefted her backpack and followed the snowbound group to the emergency stairs. Aidan brought up the rear with his flashlight.

The going was slow. She toe-tapped around the jewelry counter. Her ankle hurt like a son of a bitch. She locked her jaw and fought the pain. She was determined not to break down before Aidan.

The stairs were especially daunting. The Murphys rounded the curve in the stairwell long before Allie attempted the climb.

She counted the stairs, a total of thirty before the landing, a place where she could rest. She decided hopping was her best bet.

She bit the inside of her cheek and made fifteen steps before she was out of breath. She was halfway there.

She mentally psyched herself to continue. She was a skier in great shape. She could do this . . .

“You’re hurting,” she heard Aidan say over her shoulder.

“Just a little.” She grimaced, keeping her face turned away from him.

“Don’t be stubborn, Allie. You don’t have to go it alone.”

“I’m fine, really,” she insisted. Why did she have to keep proving she was so tough? So she wouldn’t get hurt?

“Sorry, lady, we at Dutton’s aim to please,” Aidan said with a seriousness that surprised her. He handed her the flashlight. “We take care of our customers.”

He swept her up before she could respond, one muscled arm beneath her legs, the other across her back. He held her tightly.

Her whole body went limp. She welcomed his rescue. She wrapped her arms about his neck, breathed in his scent, and absorbed his strength. He was all male.

They ascended slowly, and found the Murphys on the second floor landing. A red emergency light had dimmed to a faint pink. Darkness crowded the corners near the door. It was cold and eerie.

“Only one more flight,” Warren said, short of breath.

“Are the two of you okay?” Aidan asked, concerned. Allie noticed he wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Sure,” Warren said with a wink, as if remembering earlier days when he carried his wife in his arms. “We’re catching our second wind.”

“Let me get Allie to the third floor and I’ll come back and help you,” Aidan offered.

“We’ll be fine,” Marian reassured him. “Warren was a fine athlete in his day. He ran track.”

Warren tapped his cane on the marble floor. “That was sixty years ago, my dear. Back then I was six feet tall and muscled. Age has a way of bending a man. Nowadays I’m lucky to make it from the kitchen to the front door for the newspaper.”

“You’re still the strongest man I know,” his wife praised.

Allie Smith caught the older couple’s smile; a smile as loving as an actual embrace. It was a sweet moment, but a difficult one for her to comprehend. The Murphys’ love stretched decades, whereas her own mother’s relationships were short-lived and unsatisfying. Margo had taught her daughters that men left without notice and women should always leave first. That way the heartbreak hurt less.

Allie had never trusted a man.

Aidan, however, gave her reason to try.

She knew deep in her soul that the blizzard would decide her future with this man.

Beside them now, Warren straightened his shoulders as his wife took his arm. They tackled the steps together. “See you on the third floor,” Warren called over his shoulder.

Aidan Dutton watched the older couple move out ahead of them. He clutched Allie closer. He’d noted her struggle on the stairs and that she was in pain. Her swollen ankle gave him an excuse to touch her again. He’d been relieved she hadn’t fought him. Her cheek now pressed his shoulder and he heard her sigh.

He felt suddenly anchored. He didn’t move, just held her close. Years ago, he’d carried Allie from the outdoor cedar tub to his bedroom at the Aspen lodge. They’d both been naked and ready for sex. They’d been incredibly hot for each other. So hot, they steamed the sheets.

He could still picture her, lushly nude, her skin moist, lying on his bed. His body stirred with the memory. He set his back teeth. Arousal was not his friend. Yet he grew hard. He feared he wouldn’t be able to take the stairs. He’d be stuck on the second floor landing for Christmas Eve, craving this woman and stiff as a crowbar.

He drew Allie higher against his chest. He didn’t want her to witness her effect on him. He exhaled slowly. “How’d you hurt your ankle?” he finally asked.

She scrunched her nose. “A college guy’s harmless flirting turned into a snowmobile disaster.”

Aidan would’ve liked to wring the neck of the careless son of a bitch who’d done this to her. He knew men were taken with Allie. He’d witnessed her countless pursuers in Aspen. She looked like an angel, but had an independent streak that would frustrate the Almighty.

The fact that he was the one holding her now was all that mattered. He would have liked to kiss her pain away, but they had unfinished business. Until they cleared the air he needed to concentrate on their present situation. They were in the middle of a blizzard. He had six people under his care.

He cautiously continued up the stairs. His arousal was almost as painful as Allie’s ankle. She was a lightweight, even in her winter wear. She shot the beam up the stairwell, lighting their way.

Up ahead, Warren and Marian patiently waited for Aidan on the third floor landing. Warren held the door wide for them.

Aidan immediately located Sam’s command post. The guard had accomplished a great deal in a very short time. He’d rearranged the leather furniture. A cluster of chairs and a short couch now surrounded an antique rococo coffee table. Battery-operated camping lanterns supplied sufficient light.

The Taser remained visible on the guard’s utility belt. Sam was all huff and puff and built on bravado. Aidan knew the weapon gave him confidence. He wouldn’t blow the man’s cover.

Allie shifted in his arms, her gaze riveted to the amazing view from the tall multi-paned window reminiscent of another time. The fury of the storm fascinated her. Flurries of snow and a wailing wind beat against the glass. Frost so thick it resembled white velvet curtains framed the window. She’d never seen anything like it. The wintry blast held them hostage.

Aidan maneuvered between a black walnut billiard table and a filigree lattice bird cage to reach the group. Two chairs remained. “Pick one,” he said to Allie.

She chose the club chair in Peruvian basket brown. His arms felt oddly empty once he’d set her down. He looked around for an ottoman. She needed to elevate her foot.

He soon found the perfect piece. Allie’s gaze went wide when he set the vintage steamer trunk before her. The top was cushioned with preserved navy fabric from a 1920s seaman’s peacoat. The epaulets and gold buttons bordered each end.

“My sock is dirty from the stairs,” she was quick to say. “I can’t put my foot on something so beautiful.”

“It’s just an ottoman.”

She pointed to the designer label and blinked at the price tag. “It’s one-of-a-kind and very expensive.”

He knelt beside her and lifted her leg so her foot rested comfortably on the peacoat. “Your foot’s more important than a trunk.”

“What will your boss say?” she worried. “I wouldn’t want you to lose your job because of a dirty sock.”

He grinned. Her concern set off pleasant warmth in his chest. “We won’t tell him,” he said, making her roll her eyes. Beautiful eyes, big and filled with a sparkle that reminded him of a Christmas tree ornament brushed a soft blue.

Her gaze went soft and his sex stayed hard. It took him a full minute to pull his body together and stand. He shifted his stance. Twice.

“Now that we’re settled, I’m hungry,” Chris said from the couch. “I missed lunch to do my last-minute Christmas shopping.”

“There should still be a few refrigerated sandwiches at Tealuxe,” Aidan said.

“What kind of sandwiches?” asked Chris.

“Finger sandwiches,” Sam said. “It’s a tea room, golf ball.”

“I do love fancy sandwiches,” said Marian Murphy. “I’d also enjoy a nice cup of peppermint tea.”

“We can do tea,” Aidan assured the older woman. “We can boil water on a portable Coleman stove. There’s an InstaStart among the camping equipment.”

“China cups?” Marian looked hopeful. “We could have a formal tea party.”

Sam grunted. “Tea by lantern light in the middle of a blizzard, why not?”

“There should be a few holiday desserts left over as well,” Aidan told the group. He looked at Allie’s foot. “I’ll bring back a bag of ice to take down the swelling.”

Sam went to retrieve the small stove and a pot which he set on a Tuscan end table. He looked directly at Chris. “Propane’s hooked up. Don’t turn it on until we return if you want to keep your eyebrows.”

Chris shot him a dirty look, but said nothing.

Aidan handed Sam a lantern. Both men then took the stairs to the seventh floor. They’d reached the sixth floor landing when Sam cleared his throat and said, “Allie’s your snow angel.”

Aidan went very still. He should have known he couldn’t keep anything from Sam. He was a wise-ass sometimes, but with an acute sixth sense. The security guard had worked at Dutton’s for twenty-five years. He was loyal and observant. He was also protective of Aidan.

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

“Body language, boss,” Sam said. “The way you carried her upstairs, the way you look at her. Hell, you set her dirty sock on a five thousand dollar steamer trunk. You like her.” Nothing got past Sam.

Aidan crossed his arms over his chest and clutched the lantern tightly. “I met Allie in Aspen three years ago,” he admitted. “Our time together was short.” Too damn short.

Sam narrowed his gaze. “I remember your ski vacation. You dragged your ass for months afterward. You haven’t dated anyone seriously since.”

“The store’s kept me busy.”

“Not that busy,” Sam disagreed. “You took off for Grasse, France, the next spring and spent six months at the House of Molinard during the production of Snow Angel, capturing a woman’s scent. Allie’s scent.”

Aidan’s secret was out. “Keep it man-to-man?” He wasn’t comfortable admitting even to Sam that he’d had Allie on the brain for three long years. She was more than a secret crush. She was his future. Convincing Allie she belonged with him would take some fast talking and a single kiss. In that one kiss he’d know if she still cared for him.

“I’ve never betrayed a trust.” Sam rubbed his knuckles over his jaw. “Your parents confide in me often. Arthur bought Judith a cashmere coat for Christmas. She sponsored a Hebridean whale in his name. There’s an Orca named Arthur Maynard Dutton swimming off the West coast of Scotland.”

Aidan smiled. “Last year, she set up a trust for a Key West dolphin. The year before, she was an advocate for a water buffalo in the Philippines. Dad’s name is spread throughout the world.”

“I know what Santa got you for Christmas,” Sam said, grinning.

“Give me a hint.”

“A blonde with a sprained ankle.”

Aidan damn sure hoped he could keep her. “I’m taking it slow. With any luck, this blizzard will last for several days.” He didn’t trust Allie not to slip out after the storm. He refused to let her disappear again.

“Does she know you’re a Dutton?” Sam asked.

Aidan shook his head. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way. She knows I work retail. A floor supervisor works best. I want her to like me for me. Not for my heritage.”

He rolled his shoulders. “I’m damn glad my parents went to Phoenix for the holidays. I need time alone with Allie before I introduce her to them.”

Sam smiled. “Pamela Parker knows you as Alden.”

“She’s a name dropper.”

“She said the two of you dated.”

“I’ve never met the woman.”

“You’re old news anyway,” Sam said. “She’s already started flirting with putter head.”

Aidan blew out a breath. “It’s going to be a long night.”

The men proceeded up the stairs. “Let’s hope there’s food for seven,” Aidan said. “I told the staff to take home all leftovers. We’re implementing a new menu after the holidays.”

They entered Tealuxe through the heavy leaded glass doors. Aidan paused at the entrance and looked around. The tea room looked lonely. Darkness hung low off the ceiling. He swung his lantern in a wide arc. Antique mirrors reflected the richly polished tables, the red velvet chairs, and settees covered in rich rose satin. Pristine linen was stacked on the tea carts.

An artist had painted a Victorian tea party on two walls. Those of the past and present sipped tea and savored iced scones. It was a blending of eras. A timeless tradition. His mother loved Earl Grey.

Sam crossed the room ahead of Aidan. The plush navy carpeting absorbed his steps. He pushed against the double doors that led to the kitchen, and listened. “The cooler is running, but the freezer’s shut down.”

Aidan came up behind him. “Let’s eat before the food spoils. You collect the dishes—”

Sam frowned. “Paper products are my specialty. I know nothing about china patterns.”

Aidan’s mother favored the Royal Albert Botanical set. “Locate cups, saucers, and dessert plates with red tulips and lavender lilacs.”

Sam grunted. “Isn’t there a pattern with deer and bear?”

“The tea party is for Marian Murphy,” Aidan said. “Let her enjoy it. Don’t forget the tea infusers.”

Sam looked confused and Aidan explained, “The mesh tea balls to steep the loose tea leaves.”

Sam made a few indistinguishable comments under his breath as he packed sets of china in a corrugated box, then located the sterling flatware. “Plastic forks would work just as well,” he muttered, this time loud enough for Aidan to hear.

Aidan raided the commercial refrigerator and walk-in cooler. There was more food than he’d expected. He loaded up on finger sandwiches and desserts, then chose a variety of tea tins. He went on to grab a bag of ice and several Ziplocs while Sam collected the china, a linen tablecloth, napkins, and a box of bottled water. Armed with the necessities, they took the stairs slowly.

“Tea party time,” Sam announced on their return.

Marian Murphy was so excited she clapped her hands.

Her husband Warren smiled at her enthusiasm.

Allie leaned forward in an attempt to help the men unload the boxes. Aidan pressed a hand to her shoulder and eased her back, then gently squeezed her arm. “We’ve got it covered,” he assured her.

“It’s hard for me to sit still and do nothing.”

She was an active woman. He’d witnessed her skiing, and her endurance was phenomenal. In bed, she’d been an Energizer snow bunny. She sat immobile now. Her ankle prohibited activity. She drummed her fingers on the leather armrest. The lady was restless.

“Does Dutton’s sell canes?” she asked.

“This isn’t a medical supply store,” Chris said from the couch.

Aidan ignored him.

Though he would have liked Allie to lean on him, she’d rather manage on her own. “We have opera canes.”

“They sound very formal.”

“You can select one after we’ve eaten.”

He packed a Ziploc with ice and gently placed it over her ankle, swollen to the size of a grapefruit. Not uncommon, he knew, but very painful. She winced, and he wished he could take her pain away. “Tea?” he offered. “Earl Grey, Darjeeling, or peppermint?”

“Darjeeling would be nice.”

Aidan oversaw Sam as he poured water into a pot, then started the portable stove. The water came to a quick boil.

“That’s all you had to do, push a damn button?” Chris was incredulous that Sam hadn’t let him work the stove.

“I also adjusted the flame,” Sam said.

“Chris could’ve done that,” said Pamela Parker, taking the golfer’s side.

Sam’s jaw shifted. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Let’s not argue.” Marian took charge. She spread the linen tablecloth and set out the place settings. “Look at all these lovely sandwiches.”

A flash of lightning lit up the room, causing everyone to jump and gasp. Seconds later, thunder boomed. The northern windows rattled violently.

“Don’t worry,” Aidan was quick to assure them. “We don’t get thundersnows very often, but for your own safety, stay on the south side of the building.”

Chris didn’t care about the weather; he was more interested in the food. He pulled a face. “These sandwiches are bite size, crustless, and cut into diamonds.”

“It’s a formal tea,” Marian said.

“I can’t fill up on dainty and small,” Chris argued.

“Drink a lot of tea,” suggested Sam.

Tea infusers were distributed and types of tea chosen. Sam added hot water to the china cups. The group selected their sandwiches while their tea steeped.

Aidan filled Allie’s plate. “Cucumber and mint cream cheese, ginger-carrot, and lemon-crab salad.” He added two shortbread cookies and a slice of raspberry sponge cake to the dessert plate before passing it to her.

He settled in beside her, on a black leather wingback to her left. He sipped his Earl Grey and watched her savor each bite. She licked mint cream cheese from the corner of her mouth. The slow sweep of her tongue turned Aidan on.

He remembered her kisses. He could still recall the moist heat of her mouth as she licked her way down his chest. She’d tasted every inch of his skin, then gotten creative with her hands. There was passion in her touch, a need to rouse him fully. He’d remained erect for hours at a time.

His body stirred even now. He set the saucer over his zipper. The china didn’t fully disguise the tent in his pants. He discreetly reached into his side pocket and made an adjustment. He didn’t want Allie to notice her effect on him. Attraction was a bitch.

“These sandwiches are delicious,” she said seconds later. “This is my first afternoon tea.”

“My first and last,” said Chris as he cleared his plate of the finger sandwiches and started on a gingerbread scone. “I’ll never shop Dutton’s again.”

“It’s not the store’s fault you got caught in the blizzard,” Sam said between bites of pineapple and smoked salmon on a pumpernickel wedge. “You must live under a rock. The storm’s been forecast for days. Most people took its arrival seriously. You should have left for Atlanta earlier in the week.”

“I’m not a weather watcher,” Chris said, going on the defensive. “I had no idea the storm would get so bad I’d end up starving and freezing in a department store.”

“Hardly starving.” Sam glared at the golfer. “You’ve eaten ten tea sandwiches, but who’s counting?”

“I, for one, am enjoying myself.” Marian Murphy reached for a second tiny cream puff. “We’re not leaving anytime soon. Let’s get to know each other better.”

“Better how?” Chris looked suddenly wary.

“Tell us something about you,” Pamela encouraged. “We know you’re a professional golfer.”

“That’s all you need to know,” Chris said.

“That’s all I want to know,” said Sam.

“You’re a security guard.” Chris looked down his nose at Sam. “You work at Dutton’s—”

“—and he runs the tightest security on State Street.” Allie straightened on her chair. “Nothing gets by Sam. He’s a major crime fighter.”

“So you say,” said Chris.

“So I know,” Allie said. “Right before the store closed, Sam thought I was a thief. He stopped me in my tracks.”

Aidan watched Sam watch Allie. Sam’s chest swelled as he patted his utility belt. “It’s the Taser. My weapon puts the fear of God in shoplifters. I’m the only guard on the block packing.”

“Sam’s taken good care of us,” Marian said. “Aidan, too.”

“Great care,” Chris snorted. “How difficult was it to go to the tea room and bring back food?”

“You can fix dinner,” Sam said.

“I love to eat,” said Pamela. “I wish we were in New York. Post-theater Sardi’s has the best sirloin and cheesecake in the city.”

“Are you on Broadway?” Marian asked.

Pamela preened. “I’ll soon be performing at the Colbert Theater. Peaches is a romantic comedy.”

Aidan watched her flirt with the golfer. Her gaze was fixed on Chris as she leaned against him with her big breasts. Her body language said it all. No doubt the redhead hoped to snag a trophy boyfriend to get some publicity for herself. Pamela appeared very press friendly.

He knew Allie would never act in such a manner. That was another thing he liked about her. She didn’t play those games.

“Interesting title for your play,” Warren Murphy commented. “Is it about fruit?”

“I flash my boobs.”

Warren’s jaw dropped.

Marian’s gaze went wide.

“I bet you’re good in your role,” Chris said.

Aidan saw the appreciative look in the golfer’s eyes. Chris was imagining himself sitting in the first row when Pamela took the stage.

“The orange body paint clashes with my red hair,” Pamela complained, “but I have the best D-cups in the theater district.”

“Care to rehearse the play now?” asked Chris.

“Not in the store.” Aidan put a stop to the theatrics. “Save it for the performance.”

Pamela was stacked, and Chris apparently liked bigbreasted women. The golfer leaned back on the couch and slipped his arm around the actress. Pamela smiled, equally taken by his company. Aidan would need a crowbar or fire hose to separate them later.

Marian looked at Allie. “How about you, dear? Any showbiz in your blood?”

Allie shook her head. “I’m a ski instructor.”

“Not a very good one, given your ankle,” Chris said.

“I wasn’t skiing when I got hurt,” Allie said, and left it at that.

“Where do you teach?” Warren next asked.

“Wherever there’s fresh powder,” Allie said. “I have contracts with several ski resorts. I shift around.”

“Here today, gone tomorrow.” Aidan spoke the words without thinking. He could feel Allie’s gaze bore into him. He felt like a jerk for letting that slip out. He and Allie deserved privacy when they discussed their past.

To his relief, no one but Allie heard him. The group had switched topics and was now discussing the Christmas events each would surely miss.

Allie leaned forward, fiddled with the bag of ice on her ankle. “I’m prone to disappear,” she softly admitted.

“I’m familiar with that fact,” he whispered back. “You left me, remember?”

Her breathing deepened. “I had my reasons.”

“Give me one.” He needed the truth.

“You scare the hell out of me, Aidan.”

Chapter Three

Aidan’s expression froze. Allie Smith watched every handsome line on his face go rigid. Confusion pitched his gray eyes charcoal-dark. He didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know that every few months as a kid she’d been forced to uproot and move on, whether she’d wanted to or not. Town to town. Always wandering. Her mother had never found love, so why should she?

Beside her, Aidan shifted uneasily. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, and one side spiked. “Scary how, Allie?”

“Not Halloween scary,” she assured him. She didn’t want to talk about it, but if she didn’t say something, he’d think she didn’t feel anything for him. That scared her more. So she opted for the truth. She said in a low voice, “Heart scary.”

“You’re afraid of getting hurt?”

“This is very hard for me,” she said, hoping for his understanding. “I don’t do feelings, and you made me care.”

“Who cares?” Chris asked, poking his nose into their conversation, which didn’t sit well with Pamela. She crossed her arms and pouted. She wanted all his attention.

They had an audience, Allie realized. She hadn’t expected the truth behind her departure to surface while sitting around a coffee table in the dark with five other people staring at her.

“No one you’d know.” Aidan brushed him off.

Chris shrugged, continued, “The little I heard, I’d say you two have a past and are still hot for each other.”

“They make such a cute couple,” said Marian Murphy.

“You’ve got her undivided attention during the blizzard,” added Warren. “Go on, boy, court her.”

“If the lady is willing?” Aidan offered, meeting her gaze and daring her to commit, to them.

“I might be so inclined.” She’d love to have Aidan flirt with her. But first they needed to talk. Seriously. Perhaps they could find a quiet corner while they went shopping for her opera cane.

Allie looked at the coffee table, at the empty tea cups and one lone almond cookie, which Chris confiscated. To her relief, no one asked anything more about their brief affair. In truth, there wasn’t much to tell. She wasn’t sure what had motivated Aidan to make public his interest in her, but she wasn’t about to let the matter drop. When the time was right, she’d try to explain to him how she felt. She shook her head in frustration, so often words failed her.

Across the coffee table, Marian dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin. “That was nice while it lasted.”

“Now what?” Chris asked, drilling his fingers on the leather armrest. “Do we sit and stare at the ceiling?”

“You expect entertainment?” asked Sam.

Aidan grew thoughtful. “You could Christmas shop,” he suggested. “Find a gift for yourself. Compliments of Dutton’s.”

That was all Pamela Parker needed to hear. She shot off the couch like a rocket. “We can shop for free?”

“In moderation,” Aidan said, wondering if he’d opened a Pandora’s Box with the name Dutton on it.

“You’ve already chosen two dresses,” Sam reminded her.

“My plans are shot for Christmas Eve dinner. Instead I got stuck with tea sandwiches,” Pamela said. “I need something fancy for New Year’s Eve. I’m hoping for that special invitation to sparkle.” She smiled big at Chris, who grinned back.

A match had been made in the middle of a blizzard, Aidan realized. He wondered if he and Allie would be a couple when the sun again shone and the snow started to melt.

“Shop in twos or threes,” Aidan said. “Don’t wander around the store alone. It’s too dark. I don’t want anyone getting lost or hurt.”

“The buddy system works for me.” Chris pushed to his feet. He picked up a lantern off the coffee table, then let his gaze shift to Pamela’s chest. “I’ll go with Peaches.”

Aidan exhaled. Talk about bosom buddies.

“Let’s start in formal wear, then go to sporting apparel,” Pamela suggested. “I’ll help you pick out the perfect golf shirt.”

“If this is a free shopping spree, I’m looking at more than a shirt.” Chris took Pamela’s hand. His next words were meant to impress her. “Maybe a set of Majesty Prestigio clubs and the Damier Geante canvas golf bag.”

“Go slow, golf pro,” Sam said, raising his hand. “Callaway wouldn’t approve.”

Chris frowned. “Who’s Callaway?”

“Your most recent endorsement on the Tour,” Sam reminded him.

“How the hell would you know?” Chris demanded.

“I read an article in Golf Forum.”

“The Forum is the National Inquirer of golf.” Chris elbowed Pamela forward. “I’ve not signed with Callaway. Mind your own business.” He stormed off, Peaches in tow.

Warren looked at Sam, his expression serious. “It seems you know more about Chris Johnson than he knows about himself.”

“From what I know of the man, he’s a regular guy on the golf course,” said Sam. “Johnson appreciates his fans, supports numerous charities. He’s not pushy or a hot head.”

“Will the real Chris Johnson please stand up,” Allie said. And Aidan nodded.

“Good luck figuring the man out.” Warren went on to help Marian to her feet. They each took a lantern. “My wife and I are headed to crystal and fine china. She had her eye on a vase before the electricity failed.”

“Get the vase for her birthday along with separate gifts for yourselves,” Aidan invited.

“You’re good to us, son,” Marian said softly. “I’d hate to have the Duttons angry that you gave away store items.” She looked at her husband. “We’re happy to pay.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’d be pleased if you’d accept my holiday hospitality,” Aidan said. “Would you like assistance upstairs?”

“It’s only one floor up. We’re quite capable of the climb,” Marian assured him.

They moved off, arm-in-arm.

Sam waited until the Murphys were beyond earshot before saying, “I’m warning you, boss, Chris Johnson is bad news. The man’s a poser. I feel it in my bones. The Damier Geante is designed by Louis Vuitton. It’s a millionaire’s French fashion accessory on the green, not a touring professional’s golf bag. Chris would leave his competition speechless, and not in a good way.”

“Maybe he’s a psychological gamer,” Aidan said. “Most athletes depend on talent and skill to win, yet there are those who show off and psyche out their opposition with expensive gear. It’s like bringing a platinum-covered bazooka to a knife fight.”

“Or a buxom redhead to a poker game,” Sam added with a smirk. “She’d take the other players’ minds off their cards.”

Allie looked at Sam, asked, “You think Chris isn’t who he claims?”

“Callaway Golf would expect him to be a walking billboard for their gear,” Sam said. “There’s something about Chris that bothers me. The Chris Johnson on the circuit is gracious. The man with us now is full of himself.”

What Sam said made sense, Allie realized. Maybe the guard was onto something. “Why would Chris want to fool us?” she asked.

“He doesn’t appear smart enough for identity theft,” Sam said. “I’d say it’s all about being in the spotlight. Athletes get a lot of attention. He’s already attracted Pamela.”

“People shouldn’t pretend to be someone they’re not,” Allie said, meaning it. “It’s dishonest.”

She saw a muscle jerk in Aidan’s jaw, and wondered why he flinched. He grew uneasy, pushing forward on his chair, rubbing his palms down his thighs.

“I’m going to clean up, then check on Chris and Pamela.” Sam quickly stacked the china in the corrugated box. He held up the bag of ice. “It’s melting, but should remain cold for a couple more hours.”

Allie eased the Ziploc off her ankle. She wiggled her foot and judged its flexibility. Less swelling, little pain. “I’m better, thanks.”

“Take it slow,” Sam said, concerned. He then snagged a lantern and looked at Aidan. “My nose is to the ground—I’m tracking Johnson.”

“No confrontation or zapping him with the Taser,” Aidan warned.

The security guard patted his duty utility belt. “There’s always pepper spray.” He departed.

Only Allie and Aidan remained. She could barely see out the big window from where she sat. The snowfall was thick and blindingly white. Three lanterns cast light while the darkness hugged close. The generators sounded like pounding fists, fighting off the storm.

She turned, caught Aidan in profile. She liked looking at him when he wasn’t looking at her. She let her gaze wander over his mussed dark hair, the width of his forehead, the arch of his cheekbone, and the sexy curve of his mouth. She could picture him captured in a magazine ad for men’s cologne or, even better, ski apparel. He was that handsome.

She cleared her throat, said, “Sam’s certain Chris isn’t who he claims. Does that matter to you? A person pretending to be someone he’s not?”

He visibly hesitated. “Perhaps he has a reason.”

“What you see is what you get where I’m concerned.”

“I like what I see, when you stick around for me to see you,” Aidan said.

She understood. “We’re back to Frost Peak Lodge.”

“Can we discuss our night together?”

She nodded. “In due time, my opera cane first, our talk second.”

“No running away from me this time, promise?”

“I couldn’t hop far.”

Aidan handed her a lantern, then lifted and carried her down the stairs. The strength in his big body encompassed her. She tipped her head and breathed in against his neck. His scent was spicy citrus. She was fascinated by the pulse at the base of his throat, its beat rhythmically strong. She wanted nothing more than to climb into his shirt pocket and live beside his heart.

She turned slightly in his arms and assisted with the first floor emergency door. He pushed through, walked her to the jewelry counter. In the lantern light, the polished glass shone but the shelves were bare.

A few steps beyond jewelry, Opera Night came to life in a display of black top hats, satin capes, opera glasses, and ornate canes.

“Have you been to the opera?” she asked.

He nodded. “I recently attended opening night of A Masked Ball by Verdi.”

Allie had seen him naked, yet she could also picture him in a tux. He had a distinctive air about him. He’d be one gorgeous man, all formal and groomed.

She wondered whom he’d taken to the opera, no doubt someone special. Jealousy tugged at her heart. She knew so little about his personal life.

Aidan brushed his fingers across her brow, smoothing its crease. “Jealous?” he asked, reading her mind. “I like that, Allie, but don’t think so hard. My parents gave me the ticket to the opera. My mother supports the arts. It was a family night out.”

“Did you enjoy A Masked Ball?” She was curious. “I don’t know the story.”

“The king was in love with his best friend’s wife and she was in love with him,” he told her. “Desperate to end her ardor, she turns to a sorceress for help, but it’s too late. Their secret is out and the devastated husband takes revenge.”

Aidan shifted her weight, set her down, a slow slide of heat and awareness that lit her up like a string of Christmas tree lights. Friction sparked and popped all over her body as her soft flesh pressed up against his hard muscle.

Her nipples went taut, peaked, and heat licked up her thighs. She realized in that moment how much she’d missed him. When his mouth came dangerously close to hers, she parted her lips, hoping he would kiss her. He didn’t. Instead, he looked at her with a hunger that promised more than a kiss when the time was right.

Her knees were so weak she could barely stand. She held onto his arms and steadied herself. She didn’t want to let him go.

She stood on her right foot, bent her left leg like a flamingo. She didn’t want to put weight on her foot. Her ankle ached, but no longer throbbed.

“Pain tolerance?” he asked.

“Bearable,” she said. “Time has a way of healing everything.”

“So they say,” he said wryly. “It’s not always true.”

She’d never meant to hurt him.

She’d never meant for their time together to go beyond great sex. Yet it had. He’d been under her skin for three long years. The time was close upon her to open her heart and let Aidan in. Dealing with her insecurities was turning out to be more difficult than she’d ever imagined.

Trying to keep her nerves steady, Allie looked around. Even in the darkness, the scent of money prevailed. Aidan definitely worked high-end retail. If she lived in Chicago, she’d window shop Dutton’s, but wouldn’t enter the store. Its elegance made her feel poor.

“How long have you worked here?” she asked Aidan.

He was slow to answer. “Fifteen years.”

“You’re the first floor supervisor?”

He nodded.

“What’s your advancement? Second floor?”

He grinned at her. “I move around the store as needed. Supervisor is just a title.”

“How well do you know the Duttons?”

Again, he appeared indecisive. “They treat their staff like family.”

“This is a magnificent store . . .”

“But?” He heard the hesitation in her voice.

“It’s too expensive for my blood. I could barely afford the Snow Angels.” She sighed. “Do you ever run sales?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, no.”

“Your shoppers are loyal?”

“They fly in from all over the world.”

“You have job security, Aidan.”

“Same as you, Allie. When it snows, you teach skiing.”

She lowered her gaze, studied her ankle. “This is my moneymaking season. I hope I can return to the slopes.”

“Have you seen a doctor? Had X-rays?”

She heard his concern. And her heart warmed. “I’ll see a specialist after Christmas. I would have set up an appointment sooner, but I was in a hurry to get to Chicago to spend time with my sisters.”

“Instead of your sisters, you’re stuck at Dutton’s.”

“With you.” The words slipped out, soft and sincere.

She sucked in her breath. She wasn’t sorry for what she’d said. Her heart raced when she realized he seemed happy to hear them. The sudden seriousness of his expression took her by surprise as well as the intensity of his gaze.

He set the lantern on a shelf next to a pair of French opera glasses, then took to touching her, gently, possessively. Reassuringly. He cupped her chin, ran his thumb along her jaw line. He pressed into the plumpness of her lower lip and drew her close enough to kiss her. Yet still he held back. Why?

He went on to slide his fingers down her neck to her throat. The tips came to a rest on her rapid pulse. Hunger darkened his eyes and her stomach fluttered. He wanted her, and she was sensitive to his need pressing hard against her belly. A familiar hardness that promised pleasure.

Anticipation thickened the air.

Silence hovered with indecision.

Aidan eased back and released her. “Your cane.” He pointed to a dozen opera canes, their handles looped over velvet hooks along the wall. “Take your pick.”

Allie took them in, all highly polished, some richly embellished with jewels. She moved through the display, running her fingertips over the handles. All were works of art from the blue marble, black pearl, diamond encrusted burgundy leather, to the scrimshaw lion. How could she possibly choose? Every one was out of her league.

“These are too pricey, Aidan,” she said. “A simple walking stick would do just fine.”

“No trees, no branches, no sticks,” he said. “Choose a cane or I’ll be forced to carry you.”

His carrying her was good; her self-sufficiency even better. While she appreciated his help, she wasn’t ready to depend on him. Trust took time.

“You’ve spoiled me long enough,” she said, then went back to debating the canes.

Aidan Dutton could spoil Allie Smith for a lifetime if she’d let him. Sometime a man just knew a woman was meant for him. Allie went way beyond an Aspen holiday affair.

That’s why he hadn’t kissed her when she’d looked up at him, her lips moist, her eyes wide. He didn’t want to get carried away until they’d hammered out all that was wrong between them. They had baggage.

He watched now as Allie tested each cane before coming to a decision. He smiled when she finally chose his favorite, the one with a crystal-cut rose handle and Lucite shaft. It was a woman’s cane, feminine, formal, yet durable, and would give her balance.

She wobbled in a small circle, smiled. “Let the fat lady sing.” She then moved slowly down the aisle, away from him.

Aidan watched her fade beyond the emergency lighting. He knew she wouldn’t be foolish enough to go far. More than anything, he wanted to discuss their past. Yet given her pleasure in the cane, he decided to let her roam the store at will. His store. He would save that confession for later. Much later.

She returned to him, slower now, as if her short walk had tired her. He picked up the lantern and went to meet her halfway. Her gaze was bright and her cheeks flushed. She looked beautiful to him.

“I could get used to this opera cane.” She tapped it on the black marble floor. “It feels—” she paused, searched for the right word, and came up with, “grand.”

“I could make you feel grander,” he said. “Care to try on a long gown to go with your cane?”

Her eyes rounded. “Dress up and pretend to go to the opera?”

“You could pick out long gloves and opera glasses too.”

Her breathing slowed, and her deliberation was long and significant. She looked ill at ease yet determined when she confessed, “Fancy isn’t me, Aidan. I can’t be someone I’m not. I’m more ski attire than formal wear. I’ve only dressed up once in my entire life. That was for a charity event in support of wildlife preservation.”

“How about a new ski jacket then?” he asked.

“The jacket I have is only a year old.”

“Ski pants?”

“I have two pair.”

He looked to her foot. “You can’t try on boots.”

“My UGGS will last another season.”

“Cashmere cap, deerskin gloves, herringbone scarf?”

She stared at him, shook her head. “Your suggestions amaze me. You’re an unusual mix of ski stud and retail supervisor. What drew you to Dutton’s?”

It was his family’s store. He was expected to take over the helm someday, but it went beyond being a family tradition with him. Whether in sports or retail, he was a competitive man. At Dutton’s, the art of the sale was in his blood. Engaging the customer, showcasing the best the store had to offer, seeing someone’s eyes light up when he found exactly what the other person wanted. No matter the price. He loved making that happen. But he couldn’t tell Allie that. Not right now anyway.

So he shrugged, hedged the truth. “I started out on the loading dock working holidays when I was sixteen. I nearly froze my ass off during the winter months and decided to move inside. I’m not a fashion hound but I do like nice clothes. I’ve a business degree from Northwestern. Retail seemed right for me.”

She looked among the shadows, smiled. “You picked the most famous store in the country for employment.”

“I thought so.”

“You have the very best of everything at your fingertips.”

He nodded. “Pretty much so.”

He again caught her mental debate, followed by her sigh. “There’s no need to get me anything for Christmas.”

He didn’t have to, but he wanted to.

She didn’t have much and apparently didn’t want more.

He pressed on. “Necklace, bracelet, earrings?”

She shook her head. “I don’t wear jewelry when I ski.”

“You ski year-round?”

“I’m stateside November through March, then I travel to Australia or Argentina. Their winter is our summer. I’m on a mountain twelve months out of the year.”

“Luggage, then?” crossed his mind.

“My life fits in a backpack.”

His heart sank. There it was again. That gnawing feeling that she could pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. Here today, gone tomorrow.

Allie Smith was a hard person to shop for.

He had an idea. “How about a gift exchange? I’ll pick out something for you, and you can select something for me.”

“I don’t know your likes or dislikes.”

“We’ll shop together and I’ll drop hints.” He grinned at her. “If you don’t like what I pick out, you can always exchange it.”

“Let’s set a spending limit,” she said. “Twenty-five dollars or less?”

“A little low,” he was slow to say. “There’s very little in the store for that price.”

“How about fifty?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Higher.”

“A hundred?” Her brow had furrowed and her lips now pursed. Allie was frugal and money was an issue. She wouldn’t overspend, even if the gift was free.

“That’s a fair amount,” he agreed.

He swung the lantern in a wide arc. The light reflected on Santa’s Grotto. Small decorated Christmas trees were displayed near the runners of a vintage wooden sleigh. The sparkle from the Venetian hand-blown ornaments and Swarovski Crystal snowflakes shone through the darkness.

Aidan looked at Allie and found her staring at the small sleigh. “Dashing through the snow,” he said. “Does it bring back memories?”

Her blue eyes rounded. “I can’t believe you remembered my sleigh ride story and the fact that certain couples snuck under the tartan blankets and fooled around.”

He recalled everything of their time together. “You were hard to forget, Allie.”

She took two steps, made a concession. “Let’s talk before we shop. Join me in the sleigh?”

“You don’t have to ask twice,” he said, sweeping aside the decorative silver foil gift boxes with their enormous green bows. He made room for the two of them on the front seat. The sleigh was meant for elves, not adults. Aidan banged his knees a couple of times before he was fully settled. Allie sat more on him than beside him, which he didn’t mind at all. He liked her on his lap.

She squinted straight ahead. “I can picture reindeer guiding our sleigh tonight.”

“Rudolph’s red nose would give off more light than our lantern.” He hooked the handle of the battery-operated camping lamp over the front curl of the sleigh.

Silence collected, as heavy as the darkness. They sat physically close, yet emotionally distant. He watched her struggle with her personal demons, until finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to break down whatever obstacles stood between them.

He rested a hand on her knee, squeezed. “We’ve three years between us, Allie. Can we close the gap?”

She was intently contemplative, and when she spoke, her words were so soft, he strained to hear them. “Love was a concept, but never a reality for my mom. The richer the man, the faster he’d depart. All my life I watched Margo get hurt. After each breakup, she would curl on the bed and cry for days. My own heart broke for her.”

She bit down on her lower lip. “Margo warned her daughters off relationships. My dating was minimal. I never allowed myself to feel, until I met you. I took a chance.

“You were so hot, so confident, so perfect. We had a lot in common. Sex was an adrenaline rush. Our time together was as wild, fast, and free as downhill at daybreak on fresh powder. I really liked you.”

She rubbed her chest as if trying to warm her heart. He put his arm around her, as if by doing so, he could bring that warmth to her. Her smile was rueful. “A part of me knew we wouldn’t last. I had to leave first, before you showed me the door.”

“No door, Allie.” Her mother had done a number on her. “I felt the start of something special between us. I wanted to spend New Year’s with you. I’d already made a resolution to see you again.”

She clutched her hands in her lap. “Instead I acted like a coward and took off.”

“Not a coward, Allie, you were acting on instinct.” He rubbed her back, his touch accepting of her childhood. “Growing up, you witnessed your mother’s mistakes and her pain. Her poor choices in men. You believed relationships were of the moment and that they’d never last. I understand that now.”

He ran one hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose. Thoughtful. “When you left, I thought you were lost to me. I knew you only as Allie. The hotel manager didn’t have anyone at the lodge registered under that name.”

“My ski vacation was a gift,” she explained. “My room was charged to my sister’s credit card. I had no idea you’d try to find me. I didn’t have your last name either.”

“Three years to the day, you walked into Dutton’s.”

“Snow Angel was at the top of my sisters’ Christmas lists. I couldn’t disappoint them,” she said. “The scent is romantic. I can close my eyes and conjure up the scent in my mind. It reminds me of a winter wonderland.”

Aidan was really in a mess now. How could he tell her the origin of the fragrance was all about her? It had been produced in her memory. The night he’d spent with her was such a powerful aphrodisiac that he couldn’t get her woman’s scent out of his mind. She’d been sun-kissed snow and melting frost. She was fresh warmth on a cold winter’s day.

Snow Angel was all about Allie Smith.

Depending on their destiny, she might never know the truth behind the fragrance. He hoped she’d stay and give them a chance.

She wiggled on his lap, her elbow poking him in the side. “I had no idea you worked here, Aidan.”

Worked here didn’t really cover the truth. The fact he owned the store would scare her silly. “I was upstairs in Security, watching the guards clear the store,” he said. “You walked in, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“You had to frisk me to be sure I was real?”

“I needed to touch you.” His voice grew husky.

She lowered her gaze. “I’m glad you did.”

He shifted his shoulder and she cuddled against his chest. They were so close, they could’ve kissed. “What’s next? Where do we go from here?” he had to ask. Would she stay or go once the blizzard passed?

She grew so thoughtful, she seemed in a trance. His heart slowed when she got out of the sleigh, her cane in hand. “We’ve cleared the air and it’s time to shop.”

Not what he wanted to hear. His hope fell to disappointment. He’d set himself for a fall and this was it. She couldn’t see beyond the storm. She could only commit to the next minute. So be it. He’d make every second count.

Chapter Four

“There are seven floors to shop,” Allie Smith heard Aidan say as he climbed from the vintage sleigh and collected the lantern. “Where shall we start?”

He didn’t look at her, he didn’t have to. The tension in the air was taut with uncertainty. She knew that whatever happened next was her move to make. She needed to make it soon.

She stared longingly at the sleigh. It would have been so easy to spend the next hour pressed against this man. Aidan made her feel alive. His warmth slid beneath her skin, making her hot for him. She had liked their tight fit on the front seat. Her breasts pressed up against his broad chest, her bottom pushing into the contours of his groin. The evidence of his erection.

The man was a turn on. She’d been wired from the moment he’d frisked her. They were a perfect sexual fit.

She sighed. Nothing about their situation was simple. Christmas three years prior had complicated her life forever.

She’d always favored the bulk of ski attire on men. Yet Aidan pulled off casual wear. His shoulders were wide, his chest thick. His long-legged stance was sexy. She loved his smile. His kindness. His humor. His sense of style.

After a day in the store, his white shirt showed not a wrinkle and his slacks were sharply creased. Strange, how his tassel loafers and argyle socks made her stomach go soft. Her pulse raced into dangerous territory as far as succumbing to this man was concerned. A man so hot that no patina of corporate shine could hide his rugged appeal. She’d never thought herself susceptible to business types, yet Aidan changed her mind.

She knew him equally as well naked as clothed. He was as physically buff as any athlete on the slopes. The man was a ski stud with a knowledge of retail. He wore the clothes, the clothes didn’t wear him.

She liked the mix. A lot.

So why couldn’t she commit to this man?

If she read the expression on his face correctly, he wasn’t convinced she’d stay with him after the snowstorm. He was giving her his all. She was the one falling short of making the connection.

She’d reach out to him soon. She would find the right moment to slide up close and not back down. She wanted to kiss him, but she hadn’t fully lost the fear of rejection. She hoped Aidan was the man she thought him to be, and that she hadn’t read him wrong.

She longed to cling to those warm feelings a little while longer in case everything came crashing around her. Burying her like an avalanche.

She wanted to be his Christmas present this year.

She’d let him unwrap her, sinfully slow.

She thought about their future as they moved around the first floor, searching for gifts, playing Hot and Cold.

This variation of the kid’s game made her smile. Cold meant the gift was a pass. Hot indicated a definite possibility.

She limped down the main aisle, stopping at stationery, photo albums, and picture frames. She selected a handsome leather bound album, held it up. “Ideal for what my mother used to call Kodak moments.”

“Cold,” he said. “I like art, but I’m not into photography.”

Neither was she. She tapped her fingers on a glass display case beyond the albums. “The price is higher than we agreed upon, but how about a Tibaldi fountain pen set?” In white gold, the limited edition set was of exquisite Italian craftsmanship. “This set would make a statement on your desk. You could sign invoices, compose love letters.”

He shook his head. “Cold. Love should be spoken, not written,” he said with a sincerity that surprised her.

“Poetry can be romantic,” she insisted.

“Making love expresses the same sentiment.”

Yes it did, she had to agree. Aidan was a master of sentiment. He was as tender and passionate as he was raw male animal. He touched both her body and heart. She would soon tell him how much.

At the end of the glass counter, he offered her a sterling silver blade with a ruby encrusted handle. “Letter opener?” he asked.

“Cold. I don’t receive much mail,” she said. “I pay my bills automatically online.”

“A box of stationery with your name and address scripted in diamond dust?” he tried again.

Her jaw dropped. “Cold. Who buys such stuff?”

“Socialites, actresses, anyone seeking to leave a lasting impression.”

She kept her gaze downcast and let that pass. She wanted to tell him that she found such extravagance as diamond dust on stationery a complete waste of money, but didn’t share her thoughts. She respected the fact that he worked high-end retail. She would never criticize the store where he earned his livelihood.

“Victorian handkerchief?” He tried once more.

“It’s lovely.” She’d never seen anything so delicate, so utterly exquisite. The square of ivory linen bordered by rose-patterned lace took her back to turn-of-the-century England. The hankie should be framed and admired on a living room wall, not stuffed in her jeans back pocket. It was an antique.

“But Cold,” she said. “Kleenex works for me.”

She traced a selection of paisley squares perfectly spaced on the glass counter top. The satin was slippery to her touch.

“Pochettes.” Aidan noted her curiosity. “Men’s handkerchiefs that fit the pocket of a suit coat.”

Allie threw back her head and laughed. “Stuffy, Aidan.”

He grinned in agreement.

They moved down the aisle, to beauty and fragrance. He set the lantern on the counter as she looked closely at men’s cologne.

She was drawn to Clive Christian, the world’s most expensive male fragrance. The Baccarat crystal bottle proclaimed its century-old tradition. She lightly dabbed a drop on her finger, closed her eyes, and let it overtake her. Spice and citrus and pure masculinity.

Aidan’s scent. Men who wore this cologne knew their worth. They were worldly, educated, and gentlemen.

She eyed him through lowered lashes. How could he afford Clive Christian on his salary? It was the scent of the very rich.

“This is the cologne you wore in Aspen.” She’d know it anywhere. “I fell in love with the scent.”

“What about the man wearing it?”

“I liked him, too.”

“Nice save, Allie.”

She wanted to save them both.

She finally had the courage to move beyond her comfort zone. No more misunderstandings. No more waiting.

The time was now.

She drew up close and wrapped her arms about his neck, trying to stand on tiptoe, ignoring the stab of pain shooting through her ankle. Her need for him was far stronger. She traced her finger over his lips, corner to corner.

Three years separated this night from their last kiss. As her mouth sought his, time melted away to possession and promise. And complete abandon. She gave herself to him, his sexy body turning her on so much she couldn’t think of anything else. Not blizzards, or her ankle, or even Santa’s eight reindeer who would probably land on the roof at any moment.

There was no more cold to their game, it was all hot from this point on. Aidan allowed her a heartbeat of sweet and soft and searching before he penetrated her mouth with his tongue. His kisses took her back to Frost Peak Lodge and their night of hot, sweaty sex.

He tucked her close to him. He held her so tight she dropped her opera cane. She heard it rattle onto the polished marble floor, the sound echoing around them like the chain of a ghost from Christmas past.

Her pulse raced, and her intake of breath was sharp in the silent store. He willingly breathed for her, exhaling as she inhaled, the moist heat of his mouth becoming her life force.

He kissed her with three years of suppressed need.

She kissed him back with the urgency of lost time.

She tried to sift her body into his, a merging of two into one. They stood as close as two people could with their clothes on.

Heat spread into her breasts and her nipples hardened. She felt his sex thicken and rise against her belly. She moaned. She sighed. She wanted.

Her insides shifted and melted. She moaned low in her throat. And her entire body hummed.

Aidan touched her everywhere. He traced her shoulders. Cupped her breasts. He ran his fingers over her ribs. Palmed her belly. He spanned her hip then stroked her ass. He felt between her legs and she opened to him. She leaned into his hand.

Overhead, the final slam and shudder of the generators broke them apart. The emergency lights faded. Darkness claimed every corner of the store. The air carried a menacing chill. The ancient machinery had given up the ghost.

Allie clutched his arms, his muscles tensing as their predicament worsened. He blew out a breath, fanning her forehead with warmth. Still, she shivered.

“Scared?” he asked.

“Not of the dark and no longer of you.” She lowered her voice, afraid the shadows might have ears. “I don’t need a present from Dutton’s to be happy this holiday season. I want our gift exchange to be each other.”

“Maybe a trip to Aspen to take up where we left off,” he proposed.

She smiled, liking his suggestion. He wanted to make future plans with her. To prove he wouldn’t leave her. She appreciated his effort. “New Year’s sex. There really is a Santa Claus.”

“There’s also Sam,” Aidan observed, noticing the security guard’s approach. He was grateful Sam hadn’t shown up a moment sooner or his whole life might not have changed for the better. He now knew that Allie wanted him and that was the best Christmas gift he’d ever received in his stocking.

He turned his attention to Sam, packing two flashlights, a camping lantern, and a deepening scowl.

Sam nodded a greeting to them both, then went on to say, “I need you upstairs, boss. Chris and Pamela have taken advantage of your shopping spree. Their selection of gifts would fill Santa’s bag ten times over.”

Aidan felt a headache coming on. “I told them one gift each,” he said.

“Apparently they can’t count,” said Sam.

Major mood spoiler, Aidan thought. He and Allie had just found each other, only to be separated by a greedy golfer and money-hungry Broadway actress.

He bent to pick up Allie’s opera cane. The cane she’d dropped when he drew her close. Their fingers brushed and he felt a heat at his groin that could roast chestnuts.

“What have they accumulated?” he asked Sam. “Last I heard, Chris wanted a new golf bag and Pamela was looking for a fancy dress.”

Sam ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Their spree gained momentum as they went through the store. Chris picked out a new set of golf clubs, golf shoes, then pocketed the TRI Marker.” Sam looked at Allie, explaining, “It’s a white gold, diamond and amethyst studded marker used to mark ball placement. Chris continues to believe that Dutton’s owes him for the inconvenience of the blizzard. He’s run up six-figures so far.”

Aidan stiffened. “How about Pamela?”

“She chose a dozen designer dresses and still has her eye on the red satin stilettos in the front showroom window,” Sam said. “Chris convinced her that she needed luggage for her clothes. She went with the Louis Vuitton collection and took all six pieces, including the armoire trunk and hat box. She said the pieces matched Chris’s golf bag.”

“It sounds like Pamela plans to join Chris on the Tour,” Allie speculated.

“The lady’s in for a major disappointment,” Sam said. “The man’s not Chris Johnson. I’d stake my life on it.”

Aidan thought Sam was probably right. To get Chris to confess was another matter entirely.

He looked at Allie, who smiled shyly at him. Her hair was mussed, her eyes bright. Her cheeks and chin bore his whisker burn. He rubbed his jaw. He needed a shave.

His chest clutched as he realized how much he cared for her. She was a hot sex partner, but he also felt a soul-deep connection. He knew in his heart Allie was different from any woman he’d ever met. He could be himself around this woman.

She’d yet to know him as the Dutton heir, but that would come soon enough. He’d tell her after the snowstorm, when they had complete privacy. No interruptions.

He would have given her every item in this store, if she had asked. Instead she’d chosen him as her Christmas gift. Lying next to her skin to skin would be priceless.

“Where are the Murphys?” Aidan asked, curious as well as concerned for their safety.

“Sitting happily on the couch like two kids on Christmas morning,” Sam told him. “Marian’s busy admiring her Waterford vase and Warren’s appreciative of his new crocodile wallet.”

The guard clasped his hands and blew on his fingers. “It’s going to be cold soon. We need to collect pillows and blankets.”

“Heat rises,” Aidan knew. “Let’s move to the sixth floor, to beds and bedding.”

“Warren Murphy mentioned his joints hurt,” Sam said. “It might do him good to stretch out.”

“Bunk beds for Pamela and Chris?” Allie asked, tongue in cheek.

Sam grunted. “Any heavy breathing and I trigger the Taser.”

Aidan could picture Allie on the large, draped four-poster bed. A Turkish motif with the finest ivory silk linens, a black cashmere coverlet, and Fez embroidered pillows.

Realistically, they might be warmer in a sleeping bag. Dutton’s had several designs. One double-size sleeper had a velvet futon cushioned floor and a thick goose-down lining. The manufacturer claimed it was suitable for Arctic temperatures; it would keep his snow angel warm.

“Let me carry you upstairs.” He then swept Allie high against his chest before she could protest. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his neck. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead.

Sam led the climb, flashlights and lanterns in hand. The stairwell held a foreboding chill. It was time to prepare for the frigid night ahead.

They reached the third floor, and Aidan looked around. Sam had warned him about Chris’s and Pamela’s stack of expensive gifts. Yet seeing the merchandise piled high made him double blink. They’d clean out his store if he’d let them.

The two sat snuggled together on the leather couch. Their heads were bent, whispering, laughing, carrying on like partners in crime. They appeared more on vacation than stuck in a blizzard.

Three boxes of imported hand-dipped chocolates lay open on the coffee table. Several half-eaten pieces sat sticky on the clear glass. Two wineglasses flanked a bottle of Mouton Rothschild. Pamela and Chris were well into the red wine.

Aidan had every right to be pissed. For Allie’s sake, he locked his jaw and held his temper. Said little for the moment.

He set her down gently. Friction sparked. The hot little pinpricks raised his temperature as well as his dick. He turned to the hoarders and said, “I see you two have been shopping.”

“We shopped until the electricity failed,” Pamela said, pouting. As if the loss of light was Aidan’s fault. “It got so dark it was like stepping into a thick bar of chocolate.”

“We passed Food and Wine on our return and helped ourselves.” Chris smirked. “Nothing but the best for us. Right, Pamela, honey?”

Pamela waved her hand theatrically. “Snickers are so pedestrian. Life’s too short to each cheap chocolate. Delicabar by Bacarr is sublime.” She slowly licked her lips, making them shine. “These liqueur truffles are filled with German Robin Brandy, raspberry wine, and Añejo Patrón tequila.”

“We ate one entire box looking for the worm.” Chris laughed at his own joke. “Then we ran out of wine.”

Aidan shook his head. Lack of wine explained why the candies were bitten into pieces. They’d had nothing to wash the chocolate down.

“Major sugar high,” said Pam, cozying up to Chris.

“I’d say the wine chasers helped too,” Allie whispered to Aidan.

He agreed. He debated discussing their mountain of gifts with them. Drunks could be mellow or could get mad. He hoped for the former.

He nodded toward their amassed fortune. “What happened to one gift per customer?” he asked dryly.

“A single present doesn’t compensate for my time.” Chris slurred his words a little. “If I hadn’t been stuck here through no fault of my own, I could have attended the charity tournament in Atlanta, I’d have won big money.”

Sam stepped more visibly into the lantern light. “How quickly you big shots forget,” he addressed Chris. “The winnings don’t go to the golfers. The men play for their favorite charity. Yours was St. Michael’s Mission. The national organization that houses the homeless.”

Chris went so still, Aidan swore he stopped breathing. His features were as tight as his words when he asked, “You knew this how? Golf Forum?”

“USA Today,” Sam informed him. “I have a copy of yesterday’s newspaper upstairs in Security. There’s no picture of Chris Johnson, only the mention of his charity. I’d be happy to retrieve the article to jog your memory.”

“Shit.” Chris cursed under his breath. He looked visibly shaken.

“Care to come clean?” asked Aidan, opening the door for the truth.

Still, Chris hesitated. Aidan swore the man broke into a cold sweat before his eyes.

Pamela scooted to the far end of the couch, distancing herself from the phony golfer. “If you’re not Chris Johnson, then who are you?”

Chris swallowed hard, confessed. “I was his chauffer while he was in Chicago this past weekend for the grand opening of his new steakhouse The Nineteenth Hole. My real name’s Jay Watts.”

“I knew it.” Sam puffed out his chest, proud of himself. “Mystery solved.”

Jay glared at Sam. “Cut me some slack, will you? I’ve never pretended to be Johnson until today.”

“Why today?” Aidan asked, curious.

“I saw Pamela and thought she was hot. I wanted to impress her.”

Pamela smiled weakly and fussed with her hair. She seemed almost embarrassed by his compliment.

“High-maintenance chicks like Pamela won’t give a regular guy the time of day,” Jay continued. “I wanted to impress her. Professional athletes get a lot of attention. Johnson’s always mobbed. Men want to be him. Women want to sleep with him. Everyone kisses his ass.”

“You wanted your ass kissed, too.” Pamela sighed heavily, as if a burden had been lifted off her shoulders as well. She slowly inched along the couch, back toward Jay. “I have something to get off my chest too,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m not the leading actress in Peaches.”

“You’re kidding.” Jay was clearly fooled.

“I’m the understudy in an off-off Broadway production,” she admitted. “It’s not a long running show either. It’s only financed for three months.”

Jay shrugged, lowered his gaze to her breasts. “Guess we’re both as fake as your boobs.”

“My girls are real,” she said with pride. “And they’re show-stoppers.”

Jay’s face lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree, all glowy and bright.

Aidan relaxed. Maybe he’d get off easier than he’d expected. In Jay’s eyes, nothing Dutton’s offered could compare to Pamela’s cup size.

“We need more wine,” Jay said. “It’s freezing in here and I could use the buzz.”

“I can’t get so drunk I let you take advantage of me.” Pamela giggled.

“You’ll never be under the influence, babe, only under me,” Jay said.

Pamela laughed so hard she nearly fell off the couch.

Allie nudged Aidan with her elbow. “I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole.”

“I’m right there with you,” he said. “But there’s no way out of Wonderland until tomorrow.”

Allie laced her fingers with his. “It’s funny how things turn out when two people are forced to be honest with each other.”

“What do you mean?” Aidan asked. What was she leading up to?

She looked at the two would-be celebrities, laughing and whispering like old friends. “Their department store confessions seemed to bring them closer together.”

Aidan kept quiet, knowing he was on shaky ground with whatever he said. Best to let the matter drop. For now. He had his own admission to make. That would happen soon enough.

For the moment, he enjoyed the softness of her palm, the intimate squeeze of her hand. When she shivered, he felt her chill all the way to her fingertips. He tensed. As much as he’d like to believe otherwise, they’d need more than body heat to survive the night.

“Let’s move to the sixth floor,” Aidan said. “Sam and I will locate battery-heated camping blankets.”

“I have sensitive skin and wool blankets can be scratchy,” Pamela complained. “I’d rather have a cashmere comforter.”

“Our bedding tonight isn’t about fashion, it’s about survival,” Sam said with authority. “We don’t want anyone to freeze.”

“We have display beds. You can take your pick,” Aidan told them.

Jay looked at Pamela, his eyes widening. “Have you seen the Gold Bed?” he asked. “I read about it online. It’s the most expensive waterbed in the world. The frame is coated in 24-carat gold, and Swarovski Crystals line the sideboard. We could make some big waves tonight.”

Sam shook his head. “No waves. Without electricity, the bed will be a block of ice.”

Pamela shivered. “Sounds too cold for me.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” Jay told her.

“I’ll help Sam gather what’s needed so we can all keep warm,” Aidan said to Allie. He bent, lightly brushed her lips with his own. He would have enjoyed deepening that kiss. Wrong time. Wrong place. He didn’t want his woman to freeze on the spot. “I’ll be right back. Then we’ll head upstairs.”

He returned in record time, not wanting to leave Allie alone longer than was absolutely necessary. With him he had battery-operated blankets that were thick, durable, and meant to sustain sub-zero temperatures.

Tonight was all about warmth. Not sex.

The sleeping bag for two was his personal favorite.

Spooning was his position of choice.

Sam assisted the Murphys to the emergency stairwell, making sure they had plenty of light to guide their way. They began their climb. Pamela and Jay scooped up the leftover chocolates. Lanterns in hand, they weaved unsteadily across the room, making Aidan wonder if he should follow them to keep them out of trouble. Their laughter echoed eerily through the darkness.

Allie nudged him, offering to carry the blankets and sleeping bag, if he carried her. He hooked her opera cane over her left wrist, lifted her easily. He swiped the last lantern off the coffee table.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “We can make a quick stop on the fifth floor. Food and wine can provide dinner.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Allie smiled back. “We could pick up something for Sam and the Murphys too,” she suggested. “Pamela and Jay are having their own private party.”

Aidan swung the lantern wide on their departure. There were so many items to be returned to their regular departments. At that moment, he didn’t much care. Getting through this bitter cold night was his number one priority.

He held Allie close. So close, he couldn’t tell where her body left off and his began. It felt right to have her in his life. Three years of missing her now melted like an ice cube. She warmed him with a look. A touch. A smile.

Food and wine produced sweets for everyone. Aidan topped the blankets with a holiday tin of orange-pecan biscuit thins and a sticky toffee pudding. Eau de Sucre was his favorite gourmet microbrew soda, served in aqua mosaic bottles. His tastes ran to maple syrup root beer, while Allie wanted to try both chocolate lavender and black lemonade.

She was soon completely covered with blankets and food. He could only see the top of her blond head. He could, however, feel her curves, as one of his arms supported her bottom and the other crossed her back. They proceeded to the emergency exit.

Sam came quickly and unburdened Allie once they reached the sixth floor. The guard spread the biscuits, pudding, and sodas on a mahogany nightstand. The Murphys came to serve themselves. Luckily the pudding came with plastic spoons.

“Any particular place you would like us to sleep?” Warren asked Aidan, stifling a yawn. “I’m tired and would like to stretch out soon.”

Aidan pointed to a row of Sweden by Hastings beds. “The beds are all made up. The mattresses are like sleeping on a cloud,” he said with just the hint of a sales pitch. “Sam will put batteries in the camping blankets and you should stay warm throughout the night.”

Marian Murphy slipped into her winter wool coat. She wrapped a scarf around her neck, then donned her mittens. “I’m all for being toasty,” she said, hunching her shoulders and rubbing her gloved hands together.

“I’m all about heating the sheets,” Pamela said from two aisles over. She pulled back the comforter on a queen-size bed and began to stroke the top sheet as if it was a lover. The little sound of appreciation she made was almost sexual.

She grabbed the price tag off the bed and her eyes popped. “Only Midas could afford these linens. It says here they’re handmade merino wool backed with thousandcount Egyptian cotton. They’re also threaded with gold.”

Jay came up behind her. “I’ve never slept on gold.”

“That bed’s strictly for show,” Sam interceded before the two could crawl under the covers. “Pick another one.”

“Party pooper.” Pamela sniffed.

“Forget him,” Jay said, slipping his arm around her. “We’ll try out all the beds until we find the right one.”

“Just call me Goldilocks,” she giggled.

Aidan and Allie watched as the couple sat, bounced, and flopped on a dozen display beds before settling on an ornate brass one in the far corner. They picked out orthopedic pillows and thick down comforters. Sam left two camping blankets on their nightstand in case Jack Frost nipped their noses.

The Murphys chose a double bed and Sam saw to their comfort, making sure they were snug under the covers. Sam settled onto a juvenile boy’s single near the emergency exit. Aidan knew he took his security job seriously. He would safeguard their sleep from a bed designed as a race car.

Aidan finished off the biscuit thins and Allie sipped the last of her soda. They looked at each other, Allie biting down on her lower lip, Aidan trying to keep his libido from getting out of hand. He restrained himself from licking off her chocolate lavender soda moustache. Instead he pressed the cuff on his shirt to her upper lip. It was time to turn in.

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined taking Allie to bed at Dutton’s Department Store in the middle of a blizzard. Yet here they stood, looking over the displays, ready to make a decision on their bed for the night.

“Sleigh bed? Round one?” he asked her.

“I’d be waiting for Rudolph all night in the sleigh bed,” she said with a smile. “The round one reminds me of a marshmallow.”

“Four poster?” He grabbed the sleeping bag, took her by the hand, and led her down the aisle. She limped beside him. He brought her to a luxury bed with a sheer nude fabric canopy and matching sheets. It was a bed where naked bodies could blend with the bedding. Sex would get all wrapped up in an intimate heat.

No lovemaking tonight, it was too public. Aidan focused on the cold that settled around them. Tonight was all about survival.

“The bed looks inviting,” she agreed, letting out a long, slow breath as if she could read his thoughts.

Aidan spread the sleeping bag over the sheets. He unzipped one side to give her easy access. She rested her cane against the headboard, toed off her right boot, and climbed inside.

“Feels like a furnace,” she said.

Aidan took off his loafers, eased in behind her. He positioned himself against her back, careful of her sprained ankle. Her head rested on his upper arm, and her shoulder pressed his chest. Her bottom curved against his groin. The slide of the sleeping bag zipper locked them in for the night. She pushed back, snuggling tight.

The lady was exhausted.

She softened in his arms.

He hardened against her ass.

He counted close to a million sheep before he fell asleep.

Chapter Five

“Aidan, Allie, wake up.”

Allie Smith opened one eye and yawned. Someone was shaking Aidan’s shoulder so hard it awakened her too. She tried to stretch, but found herself confined between man and sleeping bag. She smiled, remembering how cozy she’d felt all night with his arms around her and what she guessed was his erection pressing against her behind.

She located the zipper at the top of the bag and tugged it down the side. Unfortunately their sexy sleepover had come to an end. The light from the overhead fixtures nearly blinded her. The electricity was restored.

Sam stood over them, his expression wary.

Directly behind the security guard was a uniformed policeman. His badge read Officer Link. The cop stared at her for a long time, making her self-conscious. She knew she looked a mess. Bed head and wrinkled clothing had her wanting to zip the sleeping bag back up.

Aidan stirred beside her. He pushed up on one elbow, blinked against the brightness. “Officer,” he acknowledged, his voice hoarse. “Emergency services must have worked quickly to restore electricity.”

“State Street is up and running, Mr. Dutton,” the officer stated.

What did he just say?

Allie started, tried to clear the cobwebs from her head. She must still be asleep. The law enforcement office had address Aidan as Mr. Dutton.

“We’re assisting those trapped to leave the building,” the cop continued. “We’ll provide police escort to their homes. The street is almost cleared. We found vehicles buried at the curb. It’s been slow-going for the snow plows.”

“Any further problems, Officer Link?” Aidan asked.

Allie noticed he avoided her gaze. They’d just spent the night pressed together like puzzle pieces and now he wouldn’t even look at her? What was up with that and the “Mr. Dutton” business?

The officer cleared his throat. “Law enforcement is canvassing the area now. We’re making certain there weren’t any looters. Down the block, Lacy Antoinette’s has a broken front window, no doubt from the blizzard. Unfortunately, racks of lingerie were stolen. I found a red bra on the sidewalk.”

Sam shook his head, muttered, “The thieves must have escaped on snowmobiles.”

Allie wasn’t concerned about criminals or red bras. She mentally backtracked to the policeman calling Aidan Mr. Dutton. Surely the cop had made a mistake.

“Your parents were concerned for your safety, Mr. Dutton,” Officer Link said. “They would appreciate a call once the phone lines are restored.”

Again, “Mr. Dutton.” She might be sleepy-eyed, but her hearing was acute. Her man radar told her Aidan was hiding something from her. Something important.

The officer tugged the flaps on his winter cap back over his ears then nodded to the security guard. “Good job, Sam. Looks like everyone survived at your store. Others in the city weren’t so lucky.”

“That’s my job, Officer Link,” Sam said with pride, “and I try to do it well in any kind of weather.”

“Good to see you again, Mr. Dutton,” the policeman said on his departure. “Those of us at the thirty-ninth precinct always appreciate your generous donation of Trees for Tots. We gave away two hundred decorated evergreens this year. The children went nuts. Kids believe they must have a tree for Santa to leave presents.”

The third Mr. Dutton couldn’t be a mistake.

A bitter chill raced up and down her spine, his betrayal making her numb. She couldn’t feel, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Every nerve in her body was stretched taut. If she so much as took a big breath, she would explode into millions of tiny particles. And she’d cease to exist. Her heart broken.

The richer the man, the faster he leaves. Her mother’s words rang in her ears, loud as an alarm.

A shudder racked her body, breaking the spell. Pain stabbed her insides. It hurt. Hurt bad. This couldn’t be happening. Surely Aidan hadn’t played her.

She knew deep in her heart he wasn’t a mean man. She’d seen firsthand how he took interest in the welfare of the Murphys, how Sam looked up to him with respect, even the way he handled the phony would-be celebs. With firmness but compassion. Still, she couldn’t deny he hadn’t been honest with her.

She silently fumed. The man knew her body as well as he knew his own, and he couldn’t let her in on what the entire police department already knew?

Of all the failures she’d endured with men, this was the worst yet. There was no room in his privileged lifestyle for a broken down ski bunny who could barely hop.

Whatever excuses she made, she couldn’t deny the awful truth. She’d fallen in love with the first floor supervisor, only to be told he owned the store.

Merry Christmas from the Grinch.

Allie Smith had just found coal in her Christmas stocking.

She pushed to a sitting position against the headboard, glanced at the man she now knew as Mr. Dutton. His hair was mussed, his gray eyes were heavily lidded. He looked uneasy. Worried. His lack of self-assurance made her own confidence wane.

They were momentarily alone. Sam walked with the police officer to the emergency exit. The Murphys, Pamela, and Jay had yet to rise.

“Mr. Dutton?” The words stuck in her throat. She waited for his answer. It didn’t come.

His silence gave her pause. His jaw muscles worked, bunched, and his face looked hard. He seemed cautious, as if whatever he said wouldn’t make up for what he hadn’t told her earlier.

“I can explain, Allie—” he said finally. But he didn’t. It was as if he couldn’t find the words.

Or didn’t want to.

She chose to believe the latter.

“I’m sure you can, Aidan Dutton,” she repeated, afraid to let the stillness overtake her, to bury her so deep she’d never dig her way out and find herself again.

She went into escape mode. Time to exit gracefully. If she could with this bum foot of hers.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, then located her opera cane. It was within reach. She could grab it and hobble out of his life in a heartbeat.

But first she had to ask him, “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Her heart went cold, shivered in her chest.

She waited for the answer she didn’t want to hear, that she was great on the snow and in the sack, but only as a distraction. The blizzard had passed. And so had their fantasy date.

He ran one hand down his face. He looked sad and resigned, as if he was about to suffer a great loss.

That wasn’t what she’d expected. She’d thought he would show her to the emergency exit.

“I hated the pretense, Allie.”

She let go the deep breath she’d been holding. A part of her believed him. A second part was already looking for her discarded UGGS. There’d be no retreat without her winter boots.

“You could have confided your secret identity,” she accused, tapping her good foot nervously, “and not acted like a department store ass.”

“I’m a wealthy man,” he explained, looking self-conscious, almost apologetic. “What I did was wrong. No excuse. But when I saw you again, I could think of only one thing: keeping you here until I found out why you bolted in Aspen.”

She blushed. “I guess I’m no snow angel either, running out like I did. But I was always up front about who I am, a skiing instructor with a dysfunctional family.” Her gaze swept the sixth floor. “Not heir to an exclusive department store that rivals Harrods.”

“Dutton’s was started by my great-great-grandfather,” Aidan said without apology. “The store will be mine someday.”

A significant pause, as he rolled out of bed. She stared at him. He looked the same, yet different somehow, now that she knew who he was.

He stood across the mattress from her, his shoulders broad, his stance wide. His white shirt still looked pressed and his slacks remained creased. The rich never looked rumpled.

“When we met, we were two people on a ski holiday, out for a good time,” he said. “I liked the fact you knew me as a man, a friend, then a lover before you learned my bank balance.”

Allie took offense. She was no fortune hunter. Yet there was no denying the man was worth millions.

A man like that needed a woman who could fit into his crowd. Smile with perfect teeth. Make polite conversation in social situations. Wear basic black and make it look like spun gold. She was none of that.

Allie took it all in. This opulent, luxuriant, seven-story department store was Aidan’s heritage. He’d grown up with wealth and privilege whereas her youth was spent apartment hopping and hoping for a meal.

No matter how she looked at it, the truth was she didn’t belong here. They were just too different. He was designer sheets. She was irregular markdowns.

“Your life is so—” she searched for the right word—“large.” The words hurt her as much as they would Aidan. “My paycheck barely covered two bottles of Snow Angel cologne.”

“The cologne is all you, Allie.” He gave her a moment, allowed his words to sink in. “Snow Angel is the fragrance of you on the mountain, of you in my bed. I hired a French perfumery to produce the scent of a woman I’d met on holiday.”

Aidan Dutton had created a cologne for her.

The fragrance was clean, fresh, and romantic. One whiff and she was wrapped up in Aidan’s arms all over again, blending the pink-cheeked coldness of downhill with the blush of heated skin on silk bed sheets.

She felt a moment of hope, only to have reality hit her broadside when she looked down and spotted her UGGS. Battered, worn. Like her. Wincing, she pulled on her boots, one at a time. She had to accept that the scent was Aidan’s creative imagining of who he believed her to be. She wasn’t the woman behind the winter wonderland mystique. She was plain old Allie Smith.

She’d never been to the opera. She wouldn’t have set foot in Dutton’s had it not been for the Snow Angels. She’d never planned to lose her heart to a man with a clothes closet bigger than her whole apartment.

She flexed her ankle. The pain was minimal. She had some run in her today. She pushed off the bed, retrieved her cane. She took her first step, her knees weak and her steps wobbly.

“I have to go,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I need time.”

“How much more time do you need?” His tone was desperate now. “We’ve had three years apart.”

“I don’t know you, Aidan,” she said, meaning it. She rubbed her forehead. “Please, don’t try to stop me. It’s all so confusing.”

“Bullshit, Allie.” His tone called her on the carpet. “You’re making excuses for something you don’t want to face.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she shot back.

“You think you’re like your mother because she couldn’t hold onto a guy. You believe all men leave. Especially the rich ones.”

“How dare you talk about my mother like that—”

“It’s true, think about it,” he said with urgency. “All your life you were afraid if you found the right guy and he made you happy, your mother’s prediction would come true: he’d up and leave you too. So you left first to stop that from happening. You also didn’t want to hurt your mom by finding a man of your own when she remained alone.”

“That’s not true—” Or was it? She stopped abruptly. Tears stung her eyes. She refused to cry. Could he be right? Was she so afraid of hurting her mother that she sabotaged her own relationships with men? Even if it was true, Aidan had no right to say it.

She turned to leave, her breathing labored. She didn’t want to hear any more. Not another word. Especially on the subject of her mother.

Before she got more than a few steps, Aidan grabbed her cane and pulled her back to him. He turned her around, held her close. His expression was fierce. “Your mother was wrong about men, Allie. Dead wrong. Let me prove it to you.”

“No, please, let me go—”

“Not until you listen to what I have to say,” he forced out. “You liked me as a skier, and again as the first floor supervisor. All I ask is that you find a place in your heart for Aidan Dutton.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

“I can’t change how I feel,” she insisted. “Not without taking some time to think things through—what you said about me, about us.”

She was doing the best she could, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for him. He laid down his ultimatum.

“I won’t beg you to stay, Allie Smith, but somewhere, somehow, you need to find your own happiness. You’ve followed in your mother’s footsteps too long.”

Sadness slipped around her heart. “Aidan, I—”

“You need to face your future, with or without me.” He released her, but held her gaze. “If you decide to give us a chance, I’ll be in Aspen on New Year’s Eve. There’ll be champagne and fireworks, big fireworks. They go off at midnight.”

Frost Peak Lodge
New Year’s Eve

It was 11:15 P.M. when Allie Smith entered Aidan Dutton’s suite. He’d left a room key in her name at the registration desk, hoping she would show. She had. That was the easy part. Now what?

Her practical side still questioned her sanity. What was she doing here? Her face-the-future side seduced her with the idea of hot, crazy sex with a man who claimed to love her. Still, that hadn’t prevented her from spending the past ten minutes pacing up and down the hallway, getting up the courage to let herself in.

She was in now. She broke into a cold sweat and her hand shook when she closed the door behind her. The lock clicked, and her insides tangled. Her stomach was one big knot.

She lowered her backpack to the carpet, dropped her opera cane alongside it. She shrugged off her winter jacket then looked around. A hundred crystal candle holders held snow-white votives. The tiny flames danced, and vanilla scented the air. A romantic glow tinted everything in the room gold. The playful shadows beckoned her to stay.

A bottle of Snow Angel sat on the coffee table, his gift to her. She laid the card key down and picked up the cologne, spritzed lightly behind her ears and at the pulse point at her throat. She loved the scent.

A dinner cart sat off to the side, yet to be removed. The service was for one, she noted, relieved. Aidan had eaten his meat and potatoes but left his vegetables. He apparently didn’t like asparagus.

There was no immediate sign of the man. What if he’d gotten tired of waiting? She was late, but she’d had no choice. She’d seen an orthopedist that very day. His diagnosis: a hairline fracture. He recommended rest, ice, and elevation of her foot. No skiing for at least six weeks.

She smiled. With any luck, she’d be recuperating between the sheets in Aidan’s bed. She’d even purchased a lacy bra and satin thong for the occasion, which she wore beneath her jeans and sweatshirt.

She moved toward the master bedroom, relaxed when she heard the shower running. The bed was turned down. A mint sat on his pillow. It looked small and lonely. Like she’d felt all her life. Not tonight. She was here and that was all that mattered. She had every intention of welcoming in the New Year with this man.

Movement near the bathroom door caught her eye. She cut a glance left, found Aidan leaning against the doorjamb—naked, damp, buff. A calendar hunk come to life. And that stare of his was positively lethal. He crossed his arms over his chest, fixed his gaze on her.

She stared back so intently, she aroused him. He grew stiff. His sex soon lay flat against his abdomen, reaching almost to his navel.

He was one superb man.

Her heart lodged in her throat and her voice went tight. “Happy New Year, Aidan.”

“You’re late, Allie Smith,” he said, his voice low, concerned. “By six hours, fourteen minutes, and eight seconds.”

“How did you know I’d show up?”

“I made a bet with myself that you would.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

“But you did, babe.”

She detailed her day. “An afternoon doctor’s appointment forced me to change my flight.”

“How’s your ankle?”

“On the mend.” She would give him the details later. His jaw worked. “What got you here, Allie?” He needed to know. “What changed your mind?”

It was her moment of truth. She opened her heart and told him how she felt. “It’s simple, Aidan. I love you. I was lonely without you.”

He sniffed the air, got a whiff of her scent and smiled. “I missed you too, Snow Angel.”

He pushed off the door frame, came to her, a human sculpture, all water slicked and generously proportioned.

Inches separated them as she made the first move and placed a kiss over his heart. “You’re a man of strength, courage, and immense patience,” she murmured appreciatively. “You protect the pride of your security guard and show kindness to snowbound shoppers.”

“Sam sends his best, by the way,” Aidan relayed. “Jay, Pamela, and the Murphys requested invitations to our wedding.”

Marriage. Had a nice ring to it.

She scrunched her nose. “I’m not very domestic.”

“You’re a free-spirit,” he said. “I envy you that.”

“You do?” This was the first time anyone had said her offbeat lifestyle was something desirable.

He grinned at her. “You fly down mountains, enjoy hot buttered rum, wear red sunglasses, and travel light. You moan low in your throat when we make love. And when you sleep, you hog the covers.”

“You always sleep on your right side.”

“You noticed?”

“That, and the fact you snore.”

The bedside clock softly chimed the quarter hour. It was eleven forty-five. He took her hand, gave her fingers a squeeze. “You’re overdressed for New Year’s Eve.”

He stripped her in under a minute. Her red sweatshirt and jeans soon pooled at her feet. His gaze heated on her bra and panties. “Nice. Very, very nice,” he admired as he removed them.

He had fast hands when it came to getting her naked.

Slow hands when it came to making love.

She wrapped her arms about his neck, leaned into him. She so loved his body. Her hands grazed his strong back. His chest tensed when she rubbed her nipples against his skin. His leg muscles tightened when she leaned into his groin. She fit so perfectly between his thighs.

He lowered his head and she lifted her lips for his kiss. He changed the angle of his mouth, and deepened their intimacy. His tongue penetrated, then retreated, leaving heat and longing in its wake. She never wanted the kiss to end. She stretched her body in pleasure to be closer to him.

He walked her backward until her thighs hit the side of the bed. Then he lowered her to the mattress. Slowly. And he followed her down.

He fondled her breasts, ran his hand over her flat belly, moved down between her legs. She loved the touch of his hands on her inner thighs. He opened her. Stroked her. Coaxed her. She went hot, soft, wet for him.

She was gasping, panting, aching for him to fill her when he snagged a condom from the top drawer of his nightstand and slipped it on.

He came back to her, his mouth fastening on her sensitive nipple, his hands closing around her waist. Her heart slammed as he moved over her more fully, then spread her thighs and claimed her.

He felt huge inside her. She felt every thick inch of him. He rocked his hips, slow, deep thrusts; steady and prolonged. Heat pooled between them, a fiery friction.

She moaned, gasped, let her need overtake her. He knew how to touch her, just how hard and how soft, to keep her on edge. The pleasure was so blinding it was almost painful. She was burning up.

She arched herself even more tightly against him. She rubbed her nipples against his chest, rotated her hips, curled her fingernails into his back. She clawed his shoulders as her body climbed higher. His flesh was deeply scored by the time she climaxed.

She looked deeply into his eyes when she came. They were joined in every way a man and woman could be joined, sex to sex, heart to heart, gaze to gaze.

They shared a hot breathless kiss as they reached completion. Their shudder should have shattered them both.

With an expulsion of air, they collapsed, their energy spent, their bodies wet and hot against cool white sheets.

She didn’t want it to end. She’d waited such a long time. Only after she let go and allowed herself to love him did everything fall perfectly in place.

He now lay on his back, still semi-erect. She liked a man with staying power, in both her life and in her bed. She’d been such a fool not to trust Aidan, and because of that she’d almost lost him. Now she was here, unafraid to show him how she felt. And she felt plenty. She would never tire of looking at him, feeling him. They would make love all night.

A loud pop echoed outside their bedroom window. Allie propped herself up on her elbows in time to see gold, red, and orange fireworks flaring, then brightening the night sky. One year had come to an end and another had just begun. She couldn’t believe everything she’d ever dreamed of was now hers. She had a man who loved her and wanted her in his life. Always.

She kissed him long and sweet and loving, committing herself to him. He hugged her close, in an embrace never intended to end.

He was her man.

She was his snow angel.

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Griff’s train of thought was abruptly broken by a loud yelp coming from somewhere in the rear of the small shop, followed by a ringing crash of what sounded like metal on metal.

He gritted his teeth against the renewed ringing inside his own head, even as he called out in the ensuing silence. “Hullo? Are you in need of some assistance?”

What followed was a stream of very . . . colorful language that surprised a quick smile from him. He’d found Americans, at least the ones of his immediate acquaintance, to be a bit obsessed with political correctness, always worrying what others might think. So it was somewhat refreshing, to hear such an . . . uncensored reaction. He assumed the string of epithets wasn’t a response to his query, but then he’d never met the proprietor.

He debated heading around the counter to see if she might need help, then checked the action. “No need to engage an angry female unless absolutely necessary,” he murmured, tipping up onto his toes and looking behind the counter, on the off chance he might spy the pot of coffee. “Ah,” he said, on seeing a double burner positioned beside an empty, tiered glass case.

He fished out his wallet and put a ten note on the counter, more than enough to cover the cost of a single cup, then ducked under the counter and scanned the surface for a stack of insulated cups. Oversized, sky blue mugs with the shop’s white and pink cupcake logo printed on one side and the name on the other, were lined up next to the machine. He didn’t think she’d take too kindly to his leaving with one of those.

“Making an angry female even angrier . . . never a good thing.” His mouth lifted again as a few more, rather unique invectives floated from the back of the shop. “Points for creativity, however.”

He glanced at his watch, saw he still had some time, and took a moment to roll his neck, shake out his shoulders, and relax his jaw. He could feel the tension tightening him up, which was a fairly common state of late. But he’d never been so close to realizing his every dream. He fished out the small airline-sized tube of pain relievers he’d bought when he’d landed. Upon popping it open, he discovered there was only one tablet left. He shrugged and dry swallowed it.

He crouched down to look under the counter and had just opened a pair of cupboard doors when he felt a presence behind him.

“May I help you with something?”

Hmm. Angry female, immediately south of his wide open back. He was fairly certain there were sharp knives within reach. Not the best strategy he’d ever employed.

Already damned, he reached inside the cupboard and slid a large insulated cup from the stack, snagging a plastic lid as well, before gently closing the doors and straightening up. “Just looking for a cup,” he said as he turned, a careful smile on his face.

The smile froze as he got his first look at the cupcake baker.

He wasn’t normally taken to poetic thought, but there he stood, thinking her clear, almost luminescent skin made her wide, dark blue eyes look like twin pools of endlessly deep, midnight waters. It was surprisingly difficult to keep from looking away, every self-protective instinct he had being triggered by her steady hold on his gaze, which was rather odd. She was the village baker. Despite the tirade he’d just overheard, he doubted anyone who made baking cheerful little cakes her life’s work would be a threat or obstacle to his mission. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, lifting the cup so she could see what he’d been about. “You sounded a bit . . . occupied, back there.”

“Yes, a little problem with a collapsed rolling rack.”

His gaze, held captive as it was, used the time to quickly take in the rest of her. Thick, curling hair almost the same rich brown as the steaming hot brew he’d yet to sip had been pulled up in an untidy knot on the back of her head, exposing a slender length of neck, and accentuating her delicate chin. All of which combined to showcase a pair of unpainted, full, dark pink lips that, even when not smiling, curved oh-so-naturally into the kind of perfect bow that all but begged a man to part them, taste them, bite them, and . . .

He looked away. Damn. He couldn’t recall his body ever leaping to attention like that, after a single look. No matter how direct. Especially when his attentions were clearly not being encouraged in any way, if the firm set of her delicate chin was any indication.

“Nothing too serious, I hope,” he said, boldly turning his back to her and helping himself to a cup of coffee. After all, he’d paid for it. Not that she was aware of it as yet. But he thought it better to risk her mild displeasure until he could point that out . . . rather than engage more of the fury he’d heard coming from the back of the shop minutes ago—which he was fairly certain would be the case if her sharp gaze took in the current state of the front of his trousers.

“Nothing another five hours of baking time won’t resolve,” she said, a bit of weariness creeping into her tone. From the corner of his eye, he caught her wiping her hands on the flour covered front of her starched white baker’s jacket. “Please, allow me.”

He quickly topped off the cup and snapped on the lid. “Not to worry. I believe I’ve got it. I left a ten note on your counter.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. “It’s been . . . a morning. I’m generally not so—”

“It’s fine,” he said, intending to skirt past her and duck back to the relative safety of the other side of the counter. The tall, trouser-concealing counter. He just needed a moment, preferably with her not in touching distance, so he could button his coat and allow himself a bit of recovery time. It seemed all he had to do was look at her for his current state to remain . . . elevated.

Unfortunately for him, and the comfort level of his trousers, she moved closer and reached past him. “The sugar is here and I have fresh cream in the—”

“I take it black,” he said abruptly, then they both turned the same way, trapping her between the counter . . . and him.

Her gaze honed in on his once again, but he was the one holding hers captive.

“Okay,” she said, her voice no longer strident. In fact, the single word had been a wee bit . . . breathy.

“Indeed,” he murmured, once again caught up in that mouth of hers. Those parted lips simply demanded a man pay them far more focused attention. Step away, Gallagher, he counseled himself. Sip your coffee, gather your wits, and move on.

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He shook his head without opening his eyes. “No. I don’t sense evil anywhere near us. We’re probably safe for a couple of hours, then we should move again.”

A couple of hours? Damn. She needed him in fighting shape. “Will drinking my blood help heal you?”

His lids flipped open, revealing those silver eyes that had haunted her dreams for fifteen years. Hunger, raw and pure, filled them. “Yes.”

Emma gulped in air. The husky timber of his voice caressed nerves she didn’t want to own. “I won’t become a vampire?”

His dimples winked at her “No. Vampires are born, not made.”

Fear and her damn curiosity blended until she could only whisper. “Okay.” She held out her wrist and shut her eyes. And waited. The breeze picked up outside the cave, rustling pine needles and leaves inside the small entrance, and she shivered. Finally, she opened her eyes in exasperation. “What?”

Reaching out with his good arm, he lifted her chin with one knuckle, waiting until her gaze met his. “I want your neck.”

Low and rough, his voice skittered need through her midriff. Talk about direct. “Um, well, why?” Her mind reeled and she fought the urge to drop her gaze to his mouth. She lost the fight. He ran a tongue along those full lips and need rippled through her. How did he do that?

He waited again until she focused on him, her eyes widening on the pure confidence shining in his. “I’ve been waiting to taste you for centuries—I don’t want you extending your wrist to me and looking the other way.”

“What do you want?” She shouldn’t have asked that. God.

For answer, he reached out with his healthy arm and lifted her until she straddled his lap. She should’ve protested, but the easy strength and warm hand on her hip caught the breath in her throat. Fascinating. Such true, raw power. She pressed both hands against the undamaged muscles of his chest, balancing herself. His erection lay thick and hard beneath her, and she fought the urge to clench her thighs against his legs.

He stared at her through half-lidded eyes, his hands going to the buttons of her cotton shirt.

“What are you doing?” she breathed.

“I don’t want to get blood on your shirt.” His gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts over the plain white bra. Fire flared within those silver depths and she fought a moan.

“That’s enough.” She covered his hands with hers.

With a nod, he gently placed her hands on his thighs before clasping the shirt and drawing it down both arms. The lower buttons remained engaged, and the material trapped her arms at her sides.

He pinned her with a gaze so full of hunger she couldn’t speak. “You’ll give your blood?”

Emma nodded, her focus narrowing to the man before her.

Sharp fangs emerged from his canines and he growled, reaching one arm around to cup her head and pull her to the side. Her neck stretched and vulnerability battled with arousal down her length. Every muscle in her body tensed to flee. His other hand grasped her hip, flexed, then slid up to her now bare shoulder, entrapping her.

There was no escaping him.

Tugging her closer, he buried his head in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. She tensed, waiting for pain. Instead, he pressed one tender kiss to the rapidly beating pulse. She felt it to her core.

He inhaled, running his mouth along her collarbone and up to her ear, where he nipped. “You smell like spiced rum and peaches,” he breathed against her skin, his hands holding her firmly in place. “Some dreams I could smell you, but not this strongly. Never this fully.” He rose up, drawing in a deep breath. “Never so much I’d do anything to have you.”

Quick as a whip, he struck.

His fangs pierced her skin, and Emma cried out, shutting her eyes.

Her blood boiled.

Raw need flared her flesh to life and a hum began in her core. What was happening? Without caring enough to stop and think, she pressed against him, so hard, so full. His mouth pulled harder, and her nipples pebbled into pinpoints of need. Something contracted in her womb, begging for him. He drank more, and she exploded into a thousand pieces. The room sheeted white and an orgasm tore through her with the force of a furious tornado. She went limp, held upright only by his hands.

Sealing the wound, his tongue lashed across her skin and she shivered, nearly dazed. He held her in place and lifted his head away from her, his gaze piercing her heated face.

She should be embarrassed, but a warm haze clouded her vision, her brain.

“Emma?”

She lifted heavy lids to focus.

His eyes burned hotter than molten steel. “I want you.”

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Winter, 2008

“Couldn’t you just have fired her?” Tristan looked down at the motionless body of yet another of Finola’s personal assistants.

Finola lifted her herbal relaxation mask from her eyes and made a rueful face. “I suppose. But if you had seen what she’d done,” she sighed deeply, “well, you’d have had a hard time thinking rationally too.”

Tristan, still contemplating the body, raised a dubious eyebrow. “I highly doubt it.”

Finola sighed again. “That’s true. You are so much more judicial than I am.”

Was that what she was going to call it? Tristan would have gone with sane, but tomato/tomahto.

Finola retrieved her crystal champagne flute from the glass end table beside her massage chair. She sipped her Dom Perignon White Gold Jeroboam. A sure sign Finola wasn’t pleased. The champagne always came out when she was feeling stressed. He’d call it petulant, but there was no point mentioning that to Finola. Best to just let her soothe herself with her $40,000 bottle of bubbly.

“Honestly though, Tristan,” she said once she’d drained her glass and poured herself another, “she was utterly incompetent. I mean, she couldn’t do a single thing right. And it wasn’t like I was asking for the moon. I just expect that when I ask for something to be done, it be done on time.”

Tristan, only half-listening, made a sympathetic noise. What the hell was he going to do with this one? Getting a grown woman down from the fifteenth floor of a busy building out to the even busier streets of Manhattan wasn’t easy, even for a demon.

Really, he was the one who deserved the damned champagne.

“I simply asked her to get me the fabrics that an artist in Milan was creating specifically for the Alber Elbaz photo shoot. This was not an unreasonable request.”

“When is the photo shoot?” Tristan asked, considering the white hand woven Persian carpet in Finola’s office. It was big enough to wrap the body in, but Finola would have a conniption that he was using her handmade, original flown in directly from Nain, Iran. But then again, this was her doing. He couldn’t help if her damned rug was another casualty of her temper.

“It’s tomorrow,” Finola said, a hint of peevishness making her tone a little defensive. “I didn’t say it wouldn’t be easy. But it was absolutely doable.”

Tristan looked from the carpet to the body then back to the carpet. “What time did you tell her about this absolutely doable feat?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her wave her hand, “Oh, I don’t know, Probably one-ish.”

His gaze shifted from the rug to the cabinet behind Finola’s desk. That would be heavy all on its own, and with a body in it . . . he returned his attention back to the carpet—also heavy, the best bet.

“When is the photo shoot?”

“Eleven,” she answered, topping off her glass again, the golden liquid, sparkling, bubbles dancing.

Tristan didn’t feel like dancing, he was furious, but he pushed it aside, remaining cool. Giving in to his own emotions wouldn’t help the situation.

He returned to the body, crouching down to slide an arm under its neck and under its knees. With only a slight grunt, he hefted it up. Thank Lucifer and his many minions, this one was thin. The last one had been a good twenty-five pounds overweight, which hadn’t helped her with Finola’s wrath and ultimately was a large part (no pun intended) of her . . . early retirement.

“You do realize that gave her less than twenty-four hours to get the material for you, don’t you?” he said, his tone breathy as he struggled to carry the body over to the rug.

“Well it can’t be impossible. It could have been flown on the Concorde of something.”

Tristan dropped the body rather unceremoniously onto one side of the carpet. “The Concorde stopped flying about five years ago.”

“Oh,” Finola sighed, clearly weary of their conversation, “well whatever, she was a terrible assistant.”

She settled back in her lounger, replacing her mask over her eyes. Tristan arranged the body so the limbs were straight, then he lifted the edge of the carpet and started to ease the carpet and body over, rolling the body up like the filling of a jelly roll. A very complicated, costly jelly roll.

Finola lifted the edge of her mask and peered at him. “What are you doing?”

Saving your ass.

“Playing it safe,” he said, with a grunt, shoving with both arms to finish rolling the carpet. “You should really require height and weight to be included on all your employee résumés.”

“You are so right,” she agreed, but not for the reason he wanted the measurements on there.

He rose, running his hands down the front of his Armani trousers, smoothing any wrinkles. Ah, there was an analogy there.

“I quite like that carpet, you know,” Finola said, but then released her mask back over her eyes.

Well, at least she accepted that better than he’d expected.

“I’m going to have to go get one of the moving vans to dispose of this,” he told her.

She made a noise of acknowledgment, disinterested acknowledgment. But why would she care? Finola just made the messes, he cleaned them up.

He strode across her office, heading out to get the van and get this done.

“Wait,” Finola said, sitting up, her voice suddenly panicked, “I don’t have a personal assistant.”

“No,” Tristan agreed, his voice wry, “this is true.”

“I need an assistant. I mean, look.” She took off her eye mask and waved it in his direction. “My mask is absolutely cool now. A cool mask is not going to help this wretched headache behind my eyes. I need someone to warm my mask.”

Tristan fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he walked over the cabinet he had considered using for the body disposal. He opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a thick manila folder. Then he went to Finola and placed it onto her lap.

“Pick one.”

She considered the file for a moment, then opened it. She flipped through several of the résumés, scanning them very briefly.

Finally she sighed, and randomly tugged one out of the dozens. “Hire this one.”

She held the page out to him without even glancing at the person’s education, abilities, or experience.

“This could be why your assistants never work out,” he said dryly, but accepted the résumé.

He raised an eyebrow as he perused the information there, but he walked over to Finola’s desk and picked up her phone. After punching in the numbers, he waited as the phone rang.

Finally, just when he would have hung up, a woman answered, her voice breathless, and heavily laced with a Southern drawl.

Tristan cringed. Not a good start. Finola wasn’t fond of the South.

“Hello,” he glanced back to the page in front of him, “I’m trying to reach Annie—Lou,” Lou? Really? “Riddle.”

Oh yeah, this was not going to go well.

The woman on the other end excitedly told him that was she.

“My name is Tristan McIntyre and I’m calling from HOT! magazine. I’m pleased to tell you that Ms. Finola White had decided to hire you as her personal assistant.”

Tristan nodded impatiently as Annie Lou thanked him profusely—and lengthily.

“Great,” he said, finally cutting off her sweet, golly-gee gratitude. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock sharp.”

Annie Lou Riddle was still drawling away as he hung up the phone.

“Done,” he said.

“You are the best, Tristan.”

Yes, he was. But he didn’t say anything, he just left the office. As he strolled past the large, ultra-modern assistant’s desk, he made note to himself that he had to get rid of all of the last assistant’s personal items that were still there.

Annie Lou Riddle. She had no idea that by accepting this job, she’d just sold her soul to the devil. Literally.

Annie stared at the receiver still clutched in her hand. The faint dial tone hummed signifying no one was on the other end of the line, but she still didn’t hang up.

Finola White’s assistant. HOT! magazine. HOT! magazine!

She managed to pull herself together enough to press the OFF button on the cordless phone and drop it back into the receiver. Then with total abandon, she started to hop and dance around the tiny living room, laughing like a madwoman.

HOT! magazine! Finola White!

“Oh my God . . . oh my God,” she repeated over and over, still dancing.

Only the pounding from the downstairs neighbor on his ceiling, her floor, made her stop her happy dance. She collapsed onto her worn circa 1970s tweed couch.

YOU DON’T KNOW JACK

YOU DON’T KNOW JACK

ERIN McCARTHY

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

YOU DON’T KNOW JACK

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Prologue

“Ten bucks says he’s not wearing any underwear,” Allison whispered in her ear.

Tempted to laugh, Jamie Peters turned to her roommate and shushed her. “Don’t disturb his essence, Allison.”

Beckwith Tripp, ex-junkie and current psychic, was leaning over the coffee table, eyes half closed as he chewed his lower lip, currently sporting Pucker Up Pink lipstick. While his vintage Chanel suit did match the lips to a tee, it was a startling contrast to the very obvious male bulge below his waist.

So Beckwith was a little on this side of odd. He had the gift. He sensed things and could translate them into remarkably accurate predictions of the future.

Jamie had been ecstatic when she had stumbled across him while working on one of her many post-prison reentry cases as a social worker, and had seen his talent. Beckwith had been straight for four months, had an apartment in the Bronx, and a booming business telling fortunes.

She loved the success of helping someone better his life.

Jamie also loved the thrill of hearing what lay around the corner for her, besides the Village Deli, that is. Hopefully it would involve losing ten pounds—actually twenty—and an unlimited supply of funding for Beechwood, the social services agency where she worked.

Jamie’s friend, Allison Parker, a nonbeliever in fortunes, karma, healing crystals, or the power of love, was intent on scoffing at everything out of Beckwith’s mouth. She lounged on the sofa next to Jamie, swinging her crossed leg so that her red toenails flashed in her stiletto sandals.

Caroline Davidson, her cool blond hair swept into a twist, sat across their living room, looking nothing short of horrified. Jamie recognized the expression well, since Caroline wore it every time she popped her head into Jamie’s bedroom and saw the vibrant and cozy warmth of kitsch that Jamie surrounded herself with.

Mandy Keeling, the fourth resident of their two-bedroom walk-up in Greenwich Village, was on the floor on her knees, across from Beckwith, her brow crinkled in concentration.

Jamie thought Beckwith’s prediction for Mandy was interesting, a nice hodgepodge of hope, love, and pastries. It was a bit subject to interpretation, but a nice fortune all the same.

It was Jamie’s turn now.

Jamie knew Allison was closed to the possibility of anything unscientific. Not Jamie. She wouldn’t hold back. She believed, and she had every intention of letting Beckwith scramble around in the depths of her past, present, and future via her mind, heart, wavelengths, aura—whatever it was called.

Beckwith smiled at her, adjusting his pearl earring.

She grinned back at him. “Are you going to do the cards?”

“Yes, honey, I know you love the cards.” Beckwith drawled his words out slowly as he slapped the deck of tarot cards in front of her. “Cut the deck.”

Jamie closed her eyes and tried to feel the right place to separate the cards. Nothing. Not an ounce of intuition. She either didn’t have Beckwith’s sensitivity or she was approaching the whole thing wrong. Either way it was cause for a good sigh. She had spent a good many years of her childhood wishing she were psychic or, even better, a witch.

The only sign she’d ever shown of being a witch was the wart she’d developed on her thumb at age seven.

Beckwith took the split deck and flipped the first card of the new pile over. “This is an accident card.”

Now that wasn’t a very promising beginning. She wiped her sweaty palms on her long floral skirt. “What kind of accident?” Maybe she should stop using the food processor to make guacamole.

“Oh, nothing major.” He waved off her concern. “And I think…” He flipped the next card. “Yep. It has to do with meeting this man.”

His long pink fingernail tapped the card.

Jamie’s heart stopped pumping. Well, not really, but it certainly felt like a malfunction. Accidents involving strange men sounded like the contents of a future police report. “What man?”

“One not like your other men.”

“You mean he has a job?” Allison said sarcastically.

Everyone laughed, and Jamie nudged Allison with her knee, but didn’t protest. It was sad but true. She had dated a disproportionately large number of unemployed men. But that was just the way she was, and she couldn’t help herself. She liked to help people, fix them up, send them on—better off than when they’d met her. It was why she was a social worker.

Still, she defended herself, happy to talk about the irrelevant and avoid a discussion of who the man in the cards was. “Scratch had a job.”

Caroline raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “True, after you got it for him. Now he’s a tattoo artist who dumped you the first chance he had and left you with nothing to show for three months of your life.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Jamie did have a daisy-chain tattoo wrapping around her left ankle compliments of Scratch.

“Tell me about this guy, Beckwith.” She pressed the tip of her finger to the card before yanking it back. The colorful swirls and rather creepy sticklike figures were starting to weird her out. Maybe the downside to knowing her future was that it might not be good. It might be really horrible and twisted. “Is he going to hurt me?”

Beckwith waved his hand. “Jesus, no. Holy crap. I didn’t mean that kind of accident, sugar.” He frowned a little. “Damn it, I have to work on my technique or I’ll be sending people screaming out of my shop.”

No kidding. Jamie sagged in relief. “Well, then who is he?”

Beckwith smiled slyly. He loved moments like this, she knew. He rubbed his five-o’clock shadow and drew out the suspense. “He will touch your soul like no other has,” he declared.

Jamie sighed, a flush creeping out over her face in a warm rush. That sounded simply luscious. Touching her soul. In the past no man had ever even seen her soul, let alone had contact with it.

It had been nine months since Scratch had dumped her. Having an affair certainly sounded like a good plan to her. She’d never done that, had a hot and heavy short-term relationship. But passionate, steamy sex to warm up cold winter nights…now her skirt was as hot as her face. The man had definitely better show himself soon.

“Dang, I like the sound of that. When will I meet him? Where? What does he look like?”

“Soon. On something moving, some sort of minor accident. And he is tall, light brown hair, carrying…food. Or maybe liquid. Something edible, at any rate.”

“The market,” Mandy said in her clipped British accent. “Pushing the buggy.”

“Or he could be a pizza delivery man.”

Her three friends launched into a heated discussion about the meaning of Beckwith’s words, but Jamie didn’t participate, startled by the serious expression on his face.

Beckwith was watching her, his brown eyes probing. “Jamie, this man doesn’t need mothering. He doesn’t need fixing. He’s your destiny, your soul mate.”

“What? What do you mean?” Jamie wrapped a finger around one of her many unruly curls and tugged her hair in distraction. That almost sounded like an insult. Like she dated men to fulfill some kind of maternal need.

“You are one of the sweetest women I know, but you date for charity. You’re never going to find a man to marry if you don’t steer clear of these fucking fixer-uppers you keep going for.”

Allison cleared her throat.

Jamie felt a pain somewhere in her chest. She didn’t need a man in her life, not permanently anyway. Not to marry. That wasn’t in the cards for her, she was positive, no matter what Beckwith saw or said. She’d learned a long time ago that the kind of men who were attracted to her did not stick around to pick out china patterns.

It didn’t matter, because her mother had taught her to be self-reliant. Heck, her mother had taught her to live off of no money and nothing more than a plot of land and your own hands. At eighteen Jamie had left her home in rural Kentucky for New York and had been happily independent ever since.

And she got more fulfillment on the job than she had ever expected from helping others. That was her destiny, to continue in the career she loved, no matter what Beckwith or her granny back in Kentucky said about snagging a man.

Marriage wasn’t about snagging or trapping or coercing a man into spending his life with her. She didn’t want that, never had. “I don’t regret dating the men I have. And I’m not looking for a man to marry.”

Fanning herself a little, she shifted on the couch and met Beckwith’s knowing gaze. He had a disturbing, penetrating stare that seemed to reach inside her, scrape off the layers, and find the secrets of her heart.

Beckwith took her hand and squeezed. “He won’t leave you, baby doll. This one isn’t like your daddy.”

That shocked her spit dry. She swallowed hard, trying to work up some moisture so she didn’t choke. Not many people knew about her father. “My self-esteem is fine, Beckwith. I don’t have a daddy complex.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, but he just shrugged, as if it was unimportant. “This man will make you happy.”

“I already am happy.”

Beckwith grinned. “More happy. Giddy happy. The kind of happy that makes everyone around you gag.”

Allison said wryly, “It’s working already. I feel sick. I would love a crack at Mr. Right, and all I get is the nineteen-year-old intern at the radio station coming on to me.”

The disturbing, raw thoughts of her father dissipated, and Jamie laughed, grateful that Allison could turn anything into sarcastic humor. “Maybe I can pass my destiny on to you when he shows up, Allison.”

Beckwith gasped in horror. “Bite your tongue and break your nails! You can’t do that.”

Allison grinned. “So, Jamie, do you want to go to the grocery with me and see who’s squeezing the melons? Maybe you have a major falling-melon accident, suffer amnesia from a conk on the head, and fall in love with your doctor.”

There was an image. “Thanks, I’ll pass.” She didn’t want to meet the man of her dreams in the grocery store. In fact, she didn’t want to meet him at all. She was just a little bit worried that a soul mate was more than she could handle.

She knew what to do with men who mooched and made promises they couldn’t possibly keep. With them, she never made the mistake of falling in love. Mr. Right could be a whole other story, and she was sure it wouldn’t have a happy ending.

Mandy shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to meet him at the grocery. I think you bump into him at Caro’s wedding reception in July, doing the funky chicken. See there? Moving food.”

Beckwith ignored the bantering. “Don’t turn your back on him, honey. Embrace it. It’s meant to be, even if a dishonest act will bring him to you.”

Now, that sounded promising. Not. If there was one thing Jamie didn’t understand or tolerate, it was lying.

“Sugar, there is no reason to be afraid if you meet him dancing at a wedding or otherwise.”

Easy for Beckwith to say. He wasn’t the one who had his future staring him straight in the face, making him question what he wanted, and wondering why he had ever asked.

So Jamie merely tilted her head, smiled with a confidence she didn’t feel, and said in imitation of the chicken she was, “Baawk, baawk.”

Chapter 1

Jack Davidson had become a stalker. Retired from Wall Street at age twenty-nine, stalker at age thirty. That was attractive. He followed Jamie Peters down into the subway, keeping an eye on her ginger hair as she paused in the crowd. She dug in her purse, cell phone to her ear, lips moving rapidly.

He felt like a complete and total idiot following her, the music to Mission Impossible tripping across his brain. Spying wasn’t exactly his area of expertise, given that he was an ex-stockbroker and day trader. Numbers he could follow, but people were a whole different skill set, and he was pretty sure he looked ridiculous and obvious. Not to mention he didn’t normally even breathe without planning it in a spreadsheet first.

But staying out of Jamie’s business wasn’t an option. Not if she was caught up in something illegal without her knowledge. Or with her knowledge, which would be worse. Even though he’d never actually met her, she was his sister Caroline’s good friend, roommate, forthcoming bridesmaid. He was concerned for her safety. It was the right thing to do. Motive good and pure.

That didn’t make him feel any less of a jackass, though.

And it was starting to occur to him that maybe he had too much time on his hands since retiring, if discovering illegal day trading activity in a social services agency got him this excited.

Deciding to switch it up a bit, he got on the train first, so maybe she would think it was a coincidence that he’d been following her for three blocks. The bag of food in his hand was a decent alibi, too. Hell, he’d needed some kind of reason to be hanging around outside her office for two hours.

His cousin Steve had warned him this was a stupid idea, and Jack was inclined to agree with him now as he held on to a pole with one hand and turned to face out. The doors were about to close, and Jamie wasn’t even on the train yet. She was still digging in her suitcase of a purse. Christ, she was going to miss it altogether. Maybe he should get back off.

Or maybe he should go home and rearrange his DVDs alphabetically, which was probably a smarter use of his time.

But after depositing her phone back in her purse, Jamie suddenly realized the doors were closing, and she went into action, skidding through sideways, bracelets jangling and hair bouncing. She was about to collide with a rather hard looking ex-hippie type in dirty jeans, tattoos up and down his arms.

Jack quickly shifted in between them and took the impact of Jamie slamming into his chest.

His pasta box burst inside the brown bag, leaking oil.

Oh, yeah. This had been a stupid idea.

Because when she looked up at him, horror stamped on her face, Jack felt like someone had grabbed his nuts and given them a good twist.

Surprise, surprise. Jamie Peters was gorgeous.

Jamie shifted her large duffel bag that served as part purse, part file folder for her cases and waited for the train as she tried to decipher what Beckwith was saying. He had called her on her cell, sounding frantic, and in three minutes solid the only thing she’d managed to understand was that it wasn’t a life-threatening emergency.

“Why do I need to check my make-up, Beck?” It was the end of the workday in July. The little make-up she’d started the day with had probably slid off hours ago.

“Because it’s now! Or like really soon, anyway. I was at the handbag sale at Saks—got the cutest little Kate Spade—anyway, it just hit me, right there, at the counter. You’re going to meet him today.”

“Him?” Jamie repeated, this call finally starting to make sense. She had a pretty good idea of where Beckwith was going with this. The tarot card prediction. Intrigued—no, make that freaked out—she stopped trying to shove her subway swipe card in her bag.

“It’s been five months since your prediction, and so far, nothing.” Thank goodness. The problem with believing in Beckwith’s psychic ability was now that he had predicted something she’d really rather he hadn’t, she was stuck waiting for it to happen.

Why couldn’t she be a total skeptic like Allison?

At first Jamie had been seriously on the lookout for Mr. Right, the dishonest dream man. She had walked cautiously past the melons in the grocery store and had scrutinized the deliveryman carefully when she’d ordered a veggie pizza twice. She’d even taken to using the stairs at work instead of the elevator like she normally did since movement had been integral in Beckwith’s prediction.

Nothing. No scary accidents with men fated to make her happy. But Jamie was optimistic by nature. It served her well in social work. She had figured the man Beckwith had described would show up eventually, which did not thrill her in the least.

Not only was it a little unnerving to imagine accidents around every corner, but she was absolutely certain she had no clue how to handle a man whose personal assets added up to more than his T-shirt collection and a carton of Marlboro Reds. Since the thought of both breaking her leg and meeting a man who wore a suit or something crazy like that gave her cold sweats, she had pushed the prediction to a back corner of her mind.

It was going to happen sooner or later, she was convinced, but if that time was now, why couldn’t she be looking cuter? As it was, she probably resembled a Brillo pad with eyes.

“There’s no time frame on destiny,” Beckwith said with great dignity.

Nor was destiny something she sat around and thought about on a regular basis. It certainly hadn’t been in her thoughts that day at all. And at the moment she just wanted to get home and pull a pint of ice cream out of the freezer and inhale it. Then she could meet the man of her dreams. After she’d gained five pounds from the mint chocolate chip. Shoot, that would make a bad situation worse. If her fated soul mate saw her and ran screaming, she would be humiliated on top of everything else. Maybe she should skip the ice cream and have a salad with low-cal dressing.

“I’m on my way home, you know. And I wasn’t planning to do anything tonight but paint my toenails, so I don’t see how I could meet anyone. Maybe the handbags interfered with your radar. Maybe I see him tomorrow.” That would be better anyway.

Digging through her purse to put her swipe card away, she sensed movement and realized everyone around her was surging forward.

Dang it. The train was here, and she would be last one on. There was nothing worse than folding yourself into a full subway car and sharing your personal space with approximately thirty people of various age and odor.

“Gotta go, Beckwith! I’ll call you later, sweetie.”

Running as fast as wedge sandals would allow her, she launched herself through the doors as they began to close and grabbed for the nearest available surface to hold on to.

Not fast enough. The car moved again with a frantic lurch, and Jamie went stumbling forward, her handbag clipping the woman in the seat to her right.

“Watch it,” the woman said.

But Jamie couldn’t apologize. She couldn’t speak.

Because the man she had collided with in her forward motion was him.

Him of the tarot cards. Him of the light brown hair, the minor accident…She looked at his chest. And the food.

Now crushed against him in a brown bag that was leaking some kind of oily sauce from multiple directions.

“Oh,” she said. Beckwith had been so completely right. It was disarming, unsettling, weird, not as bad as she’d thought. It even felt a little…wonderful.

His hand was on her arm, gripping it firmly to keep her steady.

It was a strong hand. A warm hand.

Oh, my. Jamie stared up at him and smiled in spite of herself. “I’m sorry,” she ventured, not exactly sure what she should say to the man of her destiny.

He smiled back, showing white teeth in a somewhat crooked grin. “I’ll be alright, but I don’t think my shirt will ever recover.”

When he shifted the bag of food, she saw that he was now wearing a red sauce on his white T-shirt. Her hand came up without thought to brush it, but he shook his head. “It’s without hope. Don’t bother.”

“Aaaah. I’m such a klutz. I’ll pay you for the shirt.”

The train came to a stop, and Jamie was pushed and jostled as four or five people moved around her to get off. She was pressed up against him, a blush starting to creep up her face.

They were close enough that if she were to tilt her head up, they could kiss.

He had a strong jaw and smelled like soap and tomatoes.

The need to fan herself was overwhelming. Either the air-conditioning was on the fritz, or she was experiencing an explosive burst of lustful heat. Chances were it was the latter.

He shrugged, the movement drawing her attention to his broad shoulder. She fought the urge to squeeze his biceps. Beckwith hadn’t warned her about the sexy factor. This guy was built like a race horse. No, that didn’t sound right. He was…was…lickable.

Before Beckwith had spouted off about marriage, her original thought had been that she was destined for a rather fun affair, her first strictly steamy relationship. Looking at super sexy in front of her, she thought he was probably capable of fun with a capital F.

Hopefully unaware of her lecherous thoughts, he said, “Don’t worry about it. I mourn my ruined dinner more than my ruined shirt.”

“Italian?” she guessed, thinking of the tomato scent.

A stale, hot pocket of air fluttered over her as he nodded. “Spaghetti and meatballs. With garlic bread.”

Of course. A traditionalist. No trendy pesto for this guy. He probably didn’t even own a suit, given how comfortable he looked in his jeans. And his eyes were blue, swimming with amusement and perhaps hunger. For his pasta.

“I’m so sorry about your dinner. I’d offer to take you out to replace it, but you could be weird or something.” Weird? Oh, geez, why had she said that? Jamie wanted to groan. Followed by a mental kick in her sundress-covered behind. It was intelligent and important for a single woman to be cautious, but heck, she could have phrased that differently.

But he only grinned. “No weirder than anyone else in New York.”

Staring up at that cute grin, Jamie knew she couldn’t let this moment pass. He had to be the man in Beckwith’s prediction, and she couldn’t let him get off this subway without making plans to see him again, in a safe, public place. Even if she had to drag one of her roommates with her for security, she was not going to let this guy get off this train and turn her life into a romantic tragedy.

This wasn’t about marriage. Beckwith had said soul mate, and that phrase had the word mate in it, which was really a polite way to say sex. Maybe that’s what this really was. They would date. Sleep together. Then he would move on like all the other guys, and she would whistle as she walked away, heart intact and body happy for a while.

Not that she’d ever engaged in a wild, steamy affair before. Men didn’t see her that way, and she was more inclined to pack a man’s lunch than to grope him. She was modest to a fault when it came to her body, and maybe this was what fate had in mind for her. Sensual liberation. Just looking at him made her feel pretty darn liberated.

Dang, that sounded like a good plan. For once, to just let it all go, to be the sexy one, to have a man look at her and want, want, want.

“That’s true, there are plenty of weirdos running around. And I do feel just terrible.” Then she added in a breathless rush before she lost her nerve, “So how about dinner, then?”

He studied her for a second, his blue eyes darting down to her chest and back up again. She wished she had worn one of those body-clinging dresses that Allison favored, but instead she was covered in one of her standard loose-fitting, draping, no-waist dresses.

When the silence drew out, a sudden horrifying thought popped into her head. “Unless you’re married, or dating someone or something. That’s fine. I just thought that I could, you know, make it up to you, because of what happened when I tripped. I wasn’t implying anything…”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, she told herself. Babbling was never a good thing.

“What’s your name?” His hand was still gripping her arm, only it loosened and relaxed, until he was stroking her skin.

A shiver ran through her. “Jamie. Jamie The Klutz.”

He grinned again, little lines forming in the corners of his very close, very moist, very kissable lips. “Well, Jamie The Klutz, I’m Jack. Jack the unmarried and unattached.”

Stroke, stroke on her arm.

She struggled to control herself.

It would be very embarrassing if she fainted on the subway. Her dress would probably slide up, and everyone would see her underwear, which was unbleached cotton. Environmentally responsible, but majorly unsexy.

“And I would like to go out to dinner with you, Jamie The Klutz. Tomorrow? Neutral territory?”

“Sure. But what’s neutral?”

“Times Square. If I’m weirder than you thought, then you can ditch me in the crowd of tourists.”

She laughed. As if. He would probably need a fire hose to get her off of him. “That sounds good.”

“Seven? Mama Luigi’s on Forty-fourth? They have a patio, so if you need to escape you can leap over the fence to get away from me.”

“Okay.”

He looked around her. “This is my stop.”

“Okay.” Nothing brilliant, witty, or original came to mind to say, so she smiled again as he let go of her and stepped off the train.

“See you tomorrow.” He waved, clutching his leaky pasta bag and grinning at her.

Jamie gulped as the doors closed, then turned in search of a seat to sink into. She needed it before she collapsed in a heap of tangled legs to rival Jack’s spaghetti.

She had met him.

The One.

Chapter 2

Jack watched the door close in fascinated silence.

What the hell had just happened?

He sucked at this spy thing. The point of following someone was to stay incognito, which he hadn’t exactly done. Garlic was more subtle than he was.

But he hadn’t wanted her to crash into Free Love, the aging hippie.

He had thought to save her discomfort and embarrassment. Now he was standing on the platform with a giant red stain on his shirt, staring at Jamie The Klutz as she smiled shyly at him.

It was a smile that went straight to his groin.

Damn, she was hot.

She glowed.

It was true. There was a rosy, peach color to her everywhere, from the rich auburn of her curly hair to the blush of her cheeks, to the riotous flowers on her dress.

She was just…peachy.

Which made him hungry. And made him want to see what she looked like naked. See where else she might be peaches and cream.

He came close to groaning out loud at the thought.

The door had long since closed, the train pulled away, and he was still standing there, like the horny idiot that he was. He checked his watch. Only twenty-five and a half hours until he saw her again. He could survive.

Maybe.

As long as he didn’t think about her chest, hiding behind that loose floral dress, but glorious nonetheless. It brought to mind all sorts of metaphors about flowers and fruit, with words like ripe, budding, and juicy rising up and tormenting him.

He took the stairs to the street two at a time and ordered his hormones to lie down and play dead. It didn’t work. His sister owed him an explanation. Never once when talking about her roommate had she mentioned Jamie was a sexual goddess with breasts that could stop traffic, war, and obliterate the need for Jack to hang on to the Victoria’s Secret catalog that had been accidentally delivered to his apartment.

Ten lust-filled minutes later he stepped into his grandfather’s room at the nursing home and found him sitting in his recliner, watching a game show. “Hey, Pops, how are you?”

“Stuck in this hell hole, but other than that, no complaints.”

“Come on, Pops.” Though Jack could sympathize with his grandfather. Living in a nursing home must be an anti-climactic ending to life. It was a rehabilitative facility, but Jack got the impression Pops felt this was the beginning of the end. One stay led to another until you never went home. “It’s nice here. It doesn’t smell or anything.”

“Hah. You haven’t been here on taco day.” Pops turned and studied him. “What’s all over your shirt?”

“Your dinner.” He’d bought it for his grandfather in the first place, being more of a pesto sauce, lean chicken kind of guy. But he wasn’t sure how appealing it was going to be now that it had bounced around the inside of the bag. “Spaghetti. It got shoved against me by this woman on the subway.”

Pops narrowed his eyes as his gaze dropped. “You’ve got a hard-on, Jack.”

Though shocked at his grandfather’s words, Jack took a quick glance down. “Jesus, you’re right.” Just the thought of Jamie leaning against him was having an immediate and painful reaction. Or maybe he had been like this from the very first second she had collided with him.

“Spaghetti always does that to me, too.” Pops reached for the bag. “Give me the food, don’t just stand there.”

“It wasn’t the spaghetti.” Not by a long shot. “The woman who fell against me, well, she was…Pops, there was something…she had…” He couldn’t find any words to describe Jamie and her soft skin without sounding like a jackass.

Wait. Too late.

“That good, huh?” Pops took the bag and started ripping it open. No sign of his stroke there. Pops tore with fury, his left hand a little limp, but the right one compensating.

Jack shifted painfully. “Oh, yeah.”

He suddenly realized that Pops was lifting noodles out of the exploded plastic carrying container with his fingers. “What are you doing? That fell all over the inside of the bag.”

“So? Didn’t fall on the ground, did it?” Grabbing another handful, Pops jammed the noodles in his mouth.

“Well, at least let me get you a fork.” Jack looked around the room, forgetting there was no kitchen in Pops’s one-room accommodation.

“They don’t let us have utensils in our rooms. Might stab someone or ourselves with them, you know.” Pops shook his head. “Treat us all like we’re whacko.”

“I’ll go ask someone for a fork.” Jack pictured the look on his mother’s face if she saw Pops eating with his fingers. “Good thing Mom’s not here.”

Pops snorted. “Don’t know how I raised such a snooty daughter. Nose always in the air. Yet she doesn’t have a pot to pee in that I didn’t give her. It’s not like your father’s ever amounted to much.”

Jack’s father was a partner in a prestigious law firm. He was more than successful, but Pops liked to rib him. To a man like Will Hathaway, anyone who wasn’t self-made like he was didn’t deserve the same level of respect. Pops had started out playing stickball in Brooklyn, and he made sure everyone knew it.

It was part of why he was so proud that Jack had made his own fortune, independent of the family trust.

“And you’re the one who’s rich,” Pops added with a grin.

Jack folded his arms and grumbled. “I’m not rich, Pops. I’m comfortable.” Actually, he was rich. But sometimes that embarrassed him. He’d never set out to be successful for the reward of wealth. He had been aggressive because he loved the challenge, the thrill, winning the game—the money just happened to come along with it.

Pops was unrepentant. “You’re sitting on a cool ten mil, ain’t you? That makes you mighty comfortable in my book. Most people would call it rich.”

Taking a seat on the bed, Jack stretched his arms over his head and tried to ignore the wet sauce stain sticking against his skin. “I guess you’re right. It’s just that being considered rich makes me uncomfortable sometimes. Maybe I should just give it all to Mom. That would make her happy.”

“Over my dead body.” Pops slurped a noodle up, sending tomato sauce spraying over his blue striped shirt and his chin. “You made that money legally and it’s yours. Not your mother’s. Besides, you bought her that fancy car. That’s more than enough.”

Jack flopped back on the bed and checked out the ceiling. When he had first made the money a few years back, day trading, taking advantage of the market and its ups and downs, he had been ecstatic. He could retire from Wall Street, dabble a little here and there and increase his net worth without killing himself with fourteen-hour workdays.

That was the plus side.

What he hadn’t counted on was the negative side.

The fake, fawning people who played ass-kissing games, yet would stab him in the back the minute he turned around. It was a cold, hard world for even the single-digit millionaire, and it had been a long time since Jack could trust that any woman was interested in him and not his money.

Until today.

Jamie didn’t know he had anything more than the shirt on his back. And he intended to keep it that way.

Jamie wanted to see him, Jack. Joe Ordinary who rode the subway like everyone else and carried spaghetti in a brown paper bag.

Jamie who looked normal. Like a regular girl from small town, USA, with a slight twang that still lingered in her voice.

Hair that just spilled all over the place, untamed by a hairstylist named Ricardo.

And she didn’t watch what she said. She just said it, without weighing whether she would sound déclassé or grasping or uninformed.

He doubted Jamie had ever suffered through a cocktail party in her life.

He had suffered through enough for the both of them.

“Don’t worry, Pops. I’m just blowing smoke.”

“So, you seeing the girl again? The one who gave you the hard-on just thinking about her?” Pops set the bag down on the end table next to his recliner. “Toss me a hand towel.”

Jack got up and retrieved the towel from the small bathroom. “Yes, I’m seeing her tomorrow night.”

Pops grinned, his bushy white eyebrows moving up and down under the few remaining wisps of hair on his head. “Moving fast. Just like I used to back in my day. No grass ever grew under these feet when it came to the ladies.”

Jack handed him the towel. “I don’t doubt it, Pops. But this is complicated. She’s Caroline’s roommate.”

“So?”

“So she doesn’t know who I am. I acted like it was an accident that we met.”

“You mean it wasn’t an accident? What are ya, stalking her or something? Don’t be a loser, Jack.” Pops wiped his mouth and gave him a look of disdain. “You should’ve just called her up and asked her out for Chrissake. If I were younger, I’da had her six ways to Sunday by now.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jack glared at his grandfather. “I wasn’t stalking her.” Not really. Much. Shit.

“The thing is, Jamie is a social worker and her agency requested funding from the Hathaway Foundation. Since I investigate financials for all organizations asking the foundation for money, I spotted something not exactly legal in the records for the agency Jamie works for. And by the way, I wouldn’t be in this awkward position if I hadn’t agreed to take over your cake retirement job while you’re rehabbing. I mean, we’re both supposed to be retired, and here we are both working. It makes no sense.”

“Retirement is for schmucks. And if it’s a cake job, what the hell are you complaining for?”

Because it made him feel better. He actually hated retirement. He had been slowly and surely going insane until Pops had the stroke and Jack had taken over his job at the charitable foundation Pops had created a decade earlier. It was easy work, only twenty-five hours a week, and Jack got to feel as though he was contributing to the good of society.

But he was still bored, which was ironic. He’d left the corporate grind behind to take some time to smell the roses, and he’d found out his nose didn’t work.

“I’m complaining because now I know Jamie Peters could be implicated in illegal day trading, and calling the feds on the woman I think I want to have sex with for the rest of my life is not cool.”

Pops cracked a laugh. “Har. Guess not. But listen, Jack-o, this could actually work to your advantage. You go in there and clean it up for her. She’ll be grateful. More willing to go down on you.”

Jack shouldn’t be shocked at anything that came out of his grandfather’s mouth, yet he still found himself gaping. “Pops! Christ. You don’t have to be crude.”

Unrepentant, Pops just shrugged. “What? It’s the truth.”

Pacing the small room, Jack tried to think the whole situation through, and not visualize Jamie Peters going down on him. “The problem is, if I tell Jamie who I am, she’s going to freeze me out. I mean, I rejected her funding request. And she’s not going to believe me that someone within her organization is defrauding them. Or if she is willing to believe it, she’s not going to let me poke in their business. She’ll just take it to her boss or to the perpetrator.”

“I’m with you. But what’s your other option?”

Jack wasn’t sure. But he didn’t want the look in Jamie’s eyes to change when she found out who he was. When she realized he had money, both personally and professionally, and had denied it to her project.

But more importantly he was worried about her safety. “The thing is, whoever is dipping into the till is not going to like being found out. I’m worried if I just tell Jamie, she’ll confront the most likely suspect and wind up hurt. Criminals panic when they’ve been backed into a corner.”

“You think someone’s going to kill her for a little cash?” Pops raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe not kill her. Or rape her or hit her, though those are possibilities. But more likely they could fire her, or pin it on her.” Which was why Jack had been following her in the first place. He had wanted to make sure Jamie wasn’t involved.

Two minutes in her company and he was convinced she wasn’t.

“You’re screwed, kid.” Shaking his head, Pops adjusted in his chair. “You either tell her who you are and risk her running into trouble, or you keep it a secret and have her pissed at you when she finds out. And you know as well as I do there’s really no choice.”

That’s precisely what Jack was concluding.

“You always protect a woman, even if it leaves you out in the cold.”

“I know. I don’t like it, but I’m not going to risk Jamie getting in over her head.” Lying wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he’d deal with it.

“So you’ve got two weeks to find your culprit and wrap this up, because if she’s Caro’s roommate, she’s going to be at your sister’s wedding, and it’s going to be hard to keep your identity a secret when you’re sitting at the goddamn bridal table.”

Jack grimaced. “I’d totally forgotten about the wedding. Maybe I was hoping Caroline and Brad would suddenly decide to elope.”

The thought of enduring that family affair was painful to begin with, despite the fact that he adored his sister. Too much like a dinner party, but with people you didn’t like.

Half of his family thought he needed a stint in the psych ward for walking away from a thriving career. They tended to speak slowly to him and give him gifts like soothing scented candles and spa gift certificates.

Then the other half would spend the evening giving him their latest hard luck stories and why they needed a little bit of cash to tide them over. He usually gave it to them, feeling it would be selfish not to help if they really needed it, but the trouble was most of them didn’t need it.

And it ruined all family gatherings for him. Leaving him depressed and isolated.

But he would endure it, and with a smile for his sister’s sake. In two weeks.

Tomorrow night he was seeing Jamie and had every intention of tasting those plump pink lips of hers. Tomorrow night he wouldn’t be Jonathon Davidson, millionaire. He would be just Jack.

A glance at the clock confirmed that time had ceased to move forward.

Only twenty-five more hours to go.

A call from Allison saved Jamie from having to eat ice cream for dinner.

“Meet me at Dorsal. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Jamie looked down at her wrinkled dress and weighed the embarrassment of looking like a poster child for Calgon in public versus eating mahimahi and sipping a lemon drop.

Food won. Besides, she really needed to talk to someone about Jack on the subway, and she was only a block from Dorsal. To change, she’d have to go right past the restaurant to their apartment. “Alright, I’ll be there. Are Mandy and Caroline coming?”

“No. Since Mandy got knocked up, married, and moved out, she’s always busy. And Caroline’s off doing something bridal. If I ever get married, I’m eloping to the Caribbean like Mandy did.”

“I thought you said no man was worth saddling yourself to for life, or for the time it takes to get a divorce.” Jamie worried about Allison sometimes. She was such a strong, intelligent woman, yet she bristled around men and wouldn’t let any of them get close to her.

“You’re right. Good, I’ll never have to worry about having an obnoxious wedding.”

“Oh, come on. Caroline’s not being obnoxious.” Though Jamie had to admit, she seemed stressed out.

“Are you kidding?” Allison snorted. “She tried on her wedding dress and burst into tears. Not a good thing.” The sarcasm left Allison’s voice. “I’m actually kind of worried about her.”

That was serious. Allison wasn’t known to get concerned without just cause. Pausing outside the restaurant, Jamie pushed her curls out of her face. “Okay, I’m here. I’ll get a table and order drinks. What do you want, Ali?”

“A real job, fame and fortune, and the respect of men everywhere.”

Jamie laughed. “I meant short term.”

“Oh, you mean to drink? I don’t care. Order me something that sounds perverted.”

He shouldn’t be watching her. He should go home, though home was an exaggeration for what he had. He could go to the shelter, if there was room. Go to Wendy’s apartment, though she’d been spitting mad at him the week before when she’d tossed him out.

The shelter was probably a better choice, even if it smelled like overcooked cabbage. Worse than prison.

But first he’d found himself following Jamie again, and he needed to stop that. He wasn’t planning on talking to her or anything, though, so what was the harm in just watching her? She never noticed him, even when she glanced around her like she did now as she talked on her phone in front of a restaurant.

She was too trusting, too nice. Unaware of all the dangers that lurked around her.

Nice girl like that was going to get hurt if she wasn’t careful.

When Allison breezed in the door fifteen minutes later, Jamie was sitting with what the bartender swore were two Screaming Orgasms in front of her. She was almost certain they’d given her the wrong drink just to mess with her, because these were a vibrant pink color, lapping against swizel sticks. Jamie kept thinking if she dropped an egg in each, she’d have a pair of beautifully colored Easter eggs.

“How was your day?” Allison asked as she dropped into the chair across from Jamie.

“Mixed. The Hathaway Foundation rejected my request for funding.” She was extremely disappointed that her pet project, Urban Gardens, an extension of her works programs, had been rejected by their major source of funding. Without the Hathaway Foundation’s funding, she didn’t have a prayer of continuing on with the project that had kids of incarcerated adults caring for their own gardens.

The board, including Caroline’s brother, Jonathon Davidson, had rejected the proposal without even allowing her to plead her case in person. Now she was stuck scrambling for money anew.

“Jerks.”

That’s kind of the way Jamie felt. She didn’t understand the corporate mentality and probably never would. The men who made funding decisions that could make or break serious social programs like the one Jamie worked for sat around in their posh offices and decided who was worthy of their crumbs.

“We used a grant writer and everything. They have our financial records, so they know we’re a responsible organization. I mean, we have an eighty-six percent success rate with our reentry program. We help men fresh out of prison find jobs and become productive adults. How could they find fault with that?” Jamie sipped her drink and sighed. She’d really wanted to expand their program to include the families of those men, but it was going to be tough now. There just wasn’t any money left in the budget.

“A lot of people might think those men should stay in prison. Or that why waste resources on men who will just commit another crime and wind up right back in jail?”

Jamie wasn’t naïve. She knew some men could never be rehabilitated, could usually pick them out at the first introduction. But that didn’t mean every man was a lost cause. “Well, they would be wrong. Including Caroline’s brother, Jonathon, who was the final no for my project.”

Allison kept eyeballing her drink, but she’d yet to take a sip. “Don’t take it personally, sweetie. Jonathon is a businessman, but he’s a nice guy. If he thought it was an unsound financial investment, he would say no. Not because the program’s not worthy.”

Jamie wanted to believe that of her roommate’s brother. Of any person. But she couldn’t help but picture a bunch of stiff, well-dressed Scrooges taking sick delight in saying no.

“And nobody works at a charitable foundation without having some sense of decency.”

Allison was right. Jamie was ashamed at her attitude. She had no more right to judge Jonathon Davidson than he did her clients.

“You’re right. I’m just disappointed.” Jamie shivered a little in the air-conditioning, wishing she’d brought a sweater. “But the weird thing that happened today was that I met a guy on the subway. The guy from Beckwith’s prediction.”

That thought caused more than a shiver. Her whole body underwent an earthquake shake. Jack had been so…delicious.

Allison didn’t look impressed. “Beckwith couldn’t predict his way out of a paper bag. You shouldn’t be talking to strange men with that crap in your head.”

“It was too freaky to be nonsense. The height, the hair color, the moving accident, the food, it was all accurate.” And then there was the look in his eyes. Admiration. As though he thought she was attractive, despite no make-up, frizzy hair, and lack of Manhattan polish.

Jamie would reserve judgment on what kind of man Jack was until after they’d had some time to talk, but right now she was feeling strangely optimistic. So maybe Beck might have exaggerated the longevity of this relationship and was clearly wrong about the whole dishonesty thing—after all, what was dishonest about colliding on the subway? But Jamie still thought she and Jack might have a good old time, even without the whole happily ever after thing.

Beckwith did have the gift, she was sure of it.

“Just look at Beckwith’s prediction for Mandy, Allison. Back five months ago, he said she was going to find a man who made her melt, and that there were buns in her future. Now she’s married to Damien and having a baby. He was completely right.”

“What do melting buns have to do with marrying your boss and getting pregnant?”

It did seem like kind of a stretch when Allison put it like that. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.

“Jamie, please tell me you’re not meeting this guy.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

Jamie sipped her drink and tried to look innocent. “I won’t tell you that I’m meeting this guy.”

Allison made a sound of total exasperation. “Would you be going out with this guy if Beckwith hadn’t told you about meeting a man while moving? Don’t let that sway you to do something you wouldn’t normally do. Something stupid.”

But Jamie knew what she was doing.

She had a date with her sexual destiny.

Jack might turn out to be a total jerk-off, but she’d never know unless she met him. And if she had an orgasm or two along the way, she wasn’t going to complain.

Chapter 3

Jamie stood outside Mama Luigi’s and rubbed the crystal in her hand. “Okay, this is it. I hope he showed up.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, which wasn’t a good idea in her clinging tank top.

In a moment of impulse she had put on a melon-colored sleeveless shell, which strained to contain her healthy chest. To make it even worse, there was a flower in the middle of the shirt, and Jamie felt like the petals were serving as directionals to her nipples. She couldn’t begin to imagine why she had thought wearing it was a good idea.

But she had been motivated by the need to feel attractive, to gain Jack’s attention. Allison, resigned to the date, had wanted her to wear an elegant skirt and one-shoulder blouse, but she knew she needed to meet Jack wearing her own clothes, so he would fall in lust with the real her.

She suspected the only thing falling tonight would be her breasts, right out of this shirt. Of course, that would serve her purpose of securing Jack’s attention, though it wasn’t a sure bet that he’d enjoy the view.

Slipping her crystal into her tiny handbag shaped like an alligator, she fluffed her hair and licked her lips. Jeans had seemed appropriate since Allison had told her the restaurant was casual, but now she wondered if it was too late to go home and change.

It was. It would take her an hour to go home and change and come back.

“Don’t let me regret this,” she whispered, and pulled open the door.

He was the first person she saw.

Jack was standing in the waiting area, staring right at the door. Jamie thanked her crystal from the bottom of her melting heart. He was hot, hot, hot.

His short hair was clean cut, not so short as to look military, but not long enough to be trendy. It was the kind of brown that started to lighten and streak in the summer, and now that it was July it looked like caramel. He smiled and started toward her.

Which was a good thing since her legs were incapable of carrying her anymore. She might always have to be sitting down when she saw Jack since she felt in danger of collapsing whenever he was around her.

He was wearing jeans. That hugged in the right places.

And one of those nondescript guy shirts that buttoned up the front, was machine washable, and cost one-fifth what a woman’s shirt did, but still managed to convey style. The navy color caused the blue of his eyes to deepen until they were the shade of a stormy summer sky.

He was just as gorgeous as she remembered. It hadn’t been a trick of the fluorescent subway lighting or the power of suggestion.

“Hi, Jamie. I’m glad you came.” He touched her hand briefly.

“Hi, Jack.” She felt herself grinning like the Greenwich Village idiot.

“They have a table ready for us.” He gestured to the dining room.

“Great.” Concentrating on moving forward in a normal person fashion, Jamie wasn’t ready for Jack’s hand to slide across the small of her back as he guided her.

Only a swift lockdown on her jaw kept her from yelping out loud like a nipped puppy.

The table was in the corner of the semidarkened dining room. It was a casual atmosphere, with stucco walls and rich vibrant paintings in red and mustard yellow. A large planter hid the view of the table next to theirs.

Jack held out her chair, and Jamie sat down in confusion. Men she dated didn’t pull back chairs. Of course, her dates usually had no money to take her out to dinner either.

“Would you like some wine?” Jack leaned against the back of his wrought-iron chair, looking relaxed and comfortable.

In stark contrast, Jamie was thankful she’d worn the sleeveless shirt since anything else would now be sporting massive pit stains, due to the copious sweating she was doing. Maybe Jack was out of her league. He looked a little too…normal. Conservative. Nary a tattoo anywhere that she could see.

“Sure, I’ll have a glass.”

“Red or white?”

She cared not one bit, since she had every intention of guzzling it down in three seconds to steady her nerves. “Red.”

Jack fingered the menu, but didn’t open it. “So, tell me, Jamie The Klutz, where are you from? I can’t place your accent.”

Setting her alligator handbag—shaped like a grinning alligator, not actually made from alligator, because that would be cruel—down on the floor, she smiled at her napkin in relief. She could do small talk. It was just looking at him that was a problem.

“I’m from La Grange, Kentucky. I’ve been in New York eight years. And I thought my accent was gone.”

“It comes and goes. It increases when you’re nervous.”

That got her attention. How could he have noticed that already? How embarrassing. She looked at him, but he was just sitting there, with a casual half smile on his face. “What makes you say that?”

“I noticed it right away yesterday afternoon. You started out with more Kentucky in your voice, then it just faded away as we talked.”

“And now?” Stupid question.

“I’m expecting you to say y’all in a minute or two.” His smile disappeared, his serious gaze turned sensual. “Why are you nervous?”

Fighting the urge to fan herself with her menu, Jamie knew that she could never be anything but honest with Jack. If this—it, destiny, fate, whatever it was—was even going to have a lick of a chance, she needed to tell the plain truth.

“Because…I’m attracted to you.” Lord, she could not believe she had said that out loud. Allison would croak.

But Jack said, “The feeling’s mutual.” And the burn in his eye confirmed it.

The question was, what exactly were they going to do about it?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know yet.

“How’s your shirt?” she managed to force out, determined to behave like a normal woman and not grab him and make love to him on the table the way she suddenly wanted to.

“It’s in the garbage.” He shrugged with a grin.

“That bad?”

“Yes, but you’ll be happy to know, despite sloshing around the inside of the bag, my grandfather thought the spaghetti was great. He ate it all.”

“It was your grandfather’s dinner?” She struggled not to show exactly how much it pleased her to hear that a man would take food to his grandfather.

“Yep. I bring him dinner in his nursing home every Thursday. He hates eating in their cafeteria.”

Jack spoke casually, like it was no big deal for a man to give up his Thursday after work every week to visit his grandfather and bring him a meal. And maybe it wasn’t a big deal to Jack, maybe he expected that anyone with half a heart would do the same.

But Jamie had seen too much in her line of work not to appreciate the enormity of such a gesture. The world was filled with selfish, cruel people who constantly overshadowed the many others who were living out their lives as good, caring people.

It confirmed what she had sensed the minute she had looked up into Jack’s eyes on the subway.

He was different. Special. Maybe there was more to Beckwith’s fortune than she had thought. Maybe Jack wouldn’t just touch her body and all its one thousand parts, but her soul, too. Maybe there was such a thing as Mr. Right and she had crashed into him.

She felt a cheesy grin spread across her face. Lordy, she was in trouble.

Jamie smiled at him in a way that made Jack’s insides twist like taffy. She looked so soft and warm and lush. Between yesterday’s floral dress and the clinging sleeveless shirt she was wearing now, he suspected he would never be able to look at another flower again without thinking of Jamie’s breasts.

That wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Jamie’s breasts were a gift to man. A total sexual feast for the eyes.

And his eyes were directly connected to his dick, which was enjoying the view. Jack coughed and tried to focus on her words.

While he was entertaining fantasies of licking her nipples, she was talking about his grandfather.

“That’s so nice of you. I’m sure he likes the company.”

Her green eyes had gone round, her shoulders dropping down into a more relaxed position. He was really having trouble concentrating on their conversation. All he could think about was her, all curvy and sweet, and how he had the sudden overwhelming urge to take her home and keep her there.

Forget Hathaway and illegal day trading. The only thing that seemed important was getting to know Jamie Peters. All of her. Of course, he couldn’t forget anything about the funding request. Because he knew who she was, but she didn’t have the same advantage.

Jack should tell her the truth. Let her come around to it on her own through conversation. Like it was an accident that they’d met. Like he wasn’t a total freak weirdo who had followed her. He would just act surprised when she mentioned who her roommate was.

“Pops is a real character. He’s seen it all, and he gives good advice. Taught me all I know, really.”

Jamie nodded. “I have a granny like that back in Kentucky. She’s never been more than fifty miles from her house, but she knows everything.”

As the waiter brought their wine and took their orders, he wondered why Jamie didn’t look out of place in Manhattan. She should, with her country voice that came and went and her doe-eyed innocent looks. But she also looked earthy and new age, and that certainly blended with New York.

She did not look like the kind of woman who would be friends with his sister. Caroline was meticulous, driven, polished, a little uptight. She had Darien, Connecticut, written all over her, whereas Jamie screamed twenty-first century hippie.

Jack wasn’t sure what was written all over him. Right now probably something like undersexed workaholic looking for woman to share friendship, possibly more. A lot more.

“So, ah, what do you do, Jamie?” Lead her around to it. Yeah, he was slick.

“I’m a social worker.”

Well, that just got him nowhere. Which was a good thing, because rationally, he knew he couldn’t tell her about the potential fraud. But the corner he was backed into wasn’t feeling very comfortable. “Wow, that’s tough work.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s wonderful. The pay is lousy of course, but what I do has a real impact on people’s lives. That matters to me.”

He could see that it did. Sincerity shone in her eyes. His heart turned over like an engine roaring to life. This was a new feeling, a strange, exciting, vulnerable sort of feeling.

When he’d broken up with his last girlfriend, Meredith, after hearing her tell a friend Jack’s best quality was his money, he hadn’t thought he would ever feel eagerness for a new relationship. But it was there, and it wasn’t as terrifying and horrible as he had expected.

It actually felt a lot like when he’d first start investigating a possible business venture. Like it could be lucrative or a disaster, but in the beginning there was cautious optimism, excitement.

“Do you work with children, or teens?”

“Everyone.” She waved her hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “We try to salvage families if we can. I work with teen mothers a lot, helping them learn how to raise their children. They love their kids, they’re just lacking in basic skills.”

Her voice grew animated as she talked, and he nodded to show his interest. “I can understand that.”

She went on. “We had this mother, she was only fifteen, and her baby was born with colic. The baby cried all the time, and the mother was really on the edge. She didn’t know what to do with the baby, and she hadn’t bonded with her.”

Jamie took a sip of her wine. “After all, it’s kind of hard to fall instantly in love with a creature that does nothing but squall at you no matter what you do. We were afraid she was going to eventually lose it—shake the baby, or leave her home alone or something.”

“So what did you do?” Jack watched her run her finger around the rim of her wineglass, her thin, creamy fingers long and unfettered by fake nails or polish.

“We sent her and the baby to baby massage classes. They taught her how to touch and rub the baby to soothe her and ease her crying. After a month of those classes, the baby had stopped crying, and that mother was glowing with love for her baby.”

She stopped and gave him a rueful grin. “I’m running on and on, aren’t I?”

“No,” he protested immediately. He didn’t want her to stop talking. “We’re having a conversation. You’re talking and I’m listening.”

Jack leaned forward and said, “I want to hear what you have to say. And I had no idea that social work was so creative. We, the general public, have this idea that all you do is take kids away from parents who abuse them, then stick them with foster families that are equally as bad.”

“It’s so much more complicated than that.”

“I can see that it is.”

Sitting on the board of directors for the Hathaway Foundation and writing a check was nowhere near as difficult as what Jamie was doing.

She was in the trenches.

This sweet, smiling woman who looked like she wouldn’t swat a fly no doubt saw all manner of horrific things in her job. Obviously there was a layer of toughness to her to deal with that day in, day out. Yet he couldn’t find it. Not yet anyway. There was nothing but warmth and compassion.

“Right now I’m working mostly with a reentry employment program. We train ex-prisoners to fill out job applications, make a résumé, how to handle tough interview questions about their conviction, and guide them to jobs that can utilize their skills.”

“You work with prisoners?” That alarmed him a little.

“Ex-prisoners. It’s an important program because a lot of these men only have a window of a few weeks to get their lives back on track before passing bad checks starts to seem like a good idea. We support them so they won’t commit a crime out of desperation.”

Jack wasn’t sure desperation was what lead men to commit crimes. He thought it was probably greed. He’d seen plenty of that in the corporate world. “So you teach them how to get a job?” The thought of Jamie, who looked like a poster for naïve white girl, working with prisoners made him a little nervous. A lot nervous.

“Yes. And sometimes we let them work around the office, answer the phones, do data entry, to practice their office and people skills.”

There was his potential thief. And it was worse than he’d thought. This could be a criminal straight out of prison who wouldn’t hesitate to use violence if confronted. Jack did not like the way this sounded at all.

“What do you do, Jack?”

He froze with his wineglass at his lips. “Uh.” Truth or evasion?

There was her safety.

And there was his comfort in not having to wear the mantle of millionaire for one night.

If Jamie could like him, just the way he was with no knowledge of his money, then expanding on the truth later wouldn’t matter in the least. Probably.

“I’m between careers right now. My last job was very stressful, and I’m looking for something that will allow me to actually have a life outside the office.”

The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to groan aloud at his idiocy. What woman wanted to date a man who was unemployed?

In striving to hide his wealth, he had made himself out to be a loafer. That was sexy. Not.

But Jamie only nodded. “It’s important to be happy with what you’re doing. No one should be a slave to the workplace.”

“Exactly.” He beamed at her. That was exactly why he had walked away from the firm after cashing in his stocks. He had felt as though he lived and breathed nothing but work every minute of every day. He had felt strangled and old at twenty-nine. Restless. Ready for the next challenge.

Most people had considered him nothing short of crazy for quitting his high-paying job, but Jamie seemed to understand. She didn’t care about his money, or lack thereof.

God, she was damn near perfect.

He was almost perfect. The thought hit Jamie like her latest rent increase had, leaving her feeling stunned and incapable of speech.

Of course, no one was perfect. After all, he had admitted to liking action movies as they had talked over their dinners. And horror of all horrors, he didn’t see the charm in her favorite flick, Gone With The Wind.

But everything else seemed to yell and scream and shout that this man was perfect for her.

He was kind, considerate, he listened to her talk, and he had insisted on paying for dinner, despite the fact that he had admitted he was between jobs. She felt extremely guilty that her calamari and wine had cost forty-five dollars. Had she known he intended to pay, she would have ordered a salad and water.

But he hadn’t blinked at the bill, had paid it with cash while telling her about playing Little League as a kid. Unless he was doing something illegal, he had obviously planned to quit his job with a hunk of money set aside.

Now as they walked down Broadway, his hand rested across the small of her back, guiding her, protecting her from the crowd. It felt right. Tingling.

There was nothing awkward or uncomfortable about being with Jack.

Jamie breathed in the scents of fried food and exhaust fumes that permeated the summer air and sighed with contentment. Tourists were rushing along to catch shows at various theaters, and the crowd surged across the intersection, daring the taxis to hit them as they ignored the Don’t Walk sign.

It felt as though they, too, were careening forward with the speed of a cab, eye on a future fare.

“I never come to Times Square,” she said.

“Most New Yorkers don’t.” Jack stopped walking in front of a store and looked down at her, his blue eyes dark. “It’s a tourist trap.”

His words were absent, spoken in a whisper, but his eyes were focused and intense, bearing down on her. He was leaning, bending, right there on the sidewalk while they were jostled by people on either side of them.

“Jack?” Jamie fought to steady her breathing. This was it. Right here, right now, he was going to kiss her.

And she had no ability to stop him. She wanted it. Bad. In a way that made her tilt her head back, slide her mouth open, and wait.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said, his hands gripping her back as his mouth came closer and closer to hers.

“Okay…” Any other words were cut off by his lips on hers, brushing with a lightness that made her tremble.

Then he increased the pressure, and her thoughts scattered like marbles. Excitement. Desire. Confusion. All colliding in a powerful burst of emotion, so that she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Their lips slid together, hot and moist and anxious, while Jack’s hands guided her hips against his, grinding them together.

Oh, yes. This was it. This was kismet.

This felt like everything she’d been waiting for, a surging of heat and excitement, as his tongue dipped into her mouth. He tasted like wine, smelled like aftershave, his chin chafing hers. There was no goof, no incorrect tiltage of head or nose, no awkwardness. There was only hot, thrusting tongue and more emotion, more tenderness, more questing than she could have ever expected on a first date.

They stood there, mouth against mouth, locked in passion, striving, reaching, yearning fully for that connection, that magic, that fantastical moment of anticipation, of understanding that this was special, this was going farther.

Until someone bumped Jack’s back, sending them stumbling backward. Jamie connected with the glass window of a kitschy T-shirt and souvenir shop, her head giving a resounding smack.

It didn’t hurt, but Jack pulled her quickly forward, his voice full of alarm. “Are you okay? Let me see.”

He dug around through her thick curls searching for damage while she tried to shake off the sexual haze she had been drowning in.

Jack had taken her to red-hot and raring to go in a heartbeat. She hadn’t reacted that intensely since…ever.

“I’m okay,” she said with a breathless laugh, enjoying the feel of his fingers gliding across her head. “I think my hair protected me.”

Jack dropped his hands. “Good.”

A man nudged past them and said in annoyance, “Get a room and get out of my way.”

Jamie looked at Jack in shock and giggled. Jack’s lip twitched.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a grin that clearly showed he wasn’t sorry.

“Sorry for kissing me?” If he said yes, she was going to collapse on the sidewalk in a puddle of disappointment.

“No.”

Before she could turn a triumphant cartwheel, he spoke in a sexy, low voice that made her rethink her stance on collapsing.

He said, “I’m not sorry for kissing you. I’m sorry I got interrupted.”

Oh, mama.

She was still against the window, and he was in front of her, large and damn good looking, very much a man. His leg was tucked between hers, and his broad chest was inches from her own.

He hesitated. “Do you…do you want to go somewhere private?”

The word came out on a ragged groan that set Jamie’s heart thumping like Indian drums. Of course she did. That was a no-brainer.

But whether she should was another story altogether.

She thought for exactly one-point-one seconds. “Okay.”

Maybe it was insane, maybe she would regret it, but right here, right now, with the thousands of neon lights flashing behind his head, Jamie wanted Jack in a way that she had never felt.

There was a knowledge deep down inside that come whatever of Beckwith’s prediction, this much was true. That she was meant to meet Jack, and that she would share a powerful connection with him.

That he would touch her soul.

In a sense, he already had.

He’d made her rethink her future, made her think that not everything was concrete, that she needed to be open to all possibilities.

That she needed to be open to Jack. Literally.

Dang, she felt herself blushing on the sidewalk. She was a total hussy and couldn’t even regret it.

“Thank you,” Jack muttered, straightening up in relief. “Yours or mine?”

Jamie felt a little faint and wondered if she had knocked her head harder than she had thought. She wasn’t an impulsive woman, yet here she was going home with a man after three hours of conversation. “I have two roommates.”

“Oh, hell, that won’t work.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, the feel of his lips on her skin sending a rush of heat to her abdomen.

“My place, then.” He smiled and tugged her off of the wall.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say, just let him draw her against him. Even as his body felt hard and comforting and arousing, doubts crept in. She swallowed, fear rising up into her throat. She didn’t do this. She didn’t go home with men she had just met.

She didn’t have casual sex, didn’t have a wild bone in her body.

Jack’s face grew puzzled. “Do you know, Jamie The Klutz, that I have the strangest feeling that I’ve been waiting to meet you? That you were supposed to collide into me and my spaghetti.”

Before she could respond, he shook his head and grinned. “Damn, that sounds crazy.”

A group of preteens was walking by, jostling each other. The one closest to Jamie lost his balance and dumped half of his soft drink on their entwined hands. Jamie jumped at the sudden cold liquid splashing her.

“Sorry,” the kid mumbled, his friends laughing.

Jack took his shirttail and wiped her hand dry, dipping between her fingers with the fabric. “Maybe I am crazy and that was meant to be a cold shower of sorts.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Jamie touched his bottom lip with her finger, heart pounding. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Fear disappeared.

For while Jamie didn’t believe in casual sex, she believed in fate.

“Let’s go, Jack.”

And his response was to turn around, raise his hand, and yell, “Taxi!”

Chapter 4

Jack didn’t know what the hell was the matter with him.

He had just dragged Jamie off to his apartment in some caveman imitation. Or worse. Like a horny teenager.

But he hadn’t been able to stop himself. They had spent three hours in the restaurant, talking and laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company. They had a lot in common and more still not in common, but it didn’t matter. Being with her just felt right.

And his attraction had grown steadily every second, until he had been walking side by side with her, his hand on her smooth back, when the urge to kiss her had been overwhelming.

He hadn’t even told her his last name, for God’s sake.

Yet they were stepping out of the cab in front of his building in TriBeCa, and he was going to see this compulsion through to the end. He had been suffering through a twenty-four-hour hard-on because of this woman, and if the way she jumped out of the cab was any indication, she had been suffering something similar.

She looked around her in amazement, her eyes landing on the doorman. “This is your building?”

Damn. He was supposed to be unemployed, not living in a pricey apartment in a trendy neighborhood. “It’s a friend’s apartment. He’s out of town, so I’m staying here to watch the place for him.”

Jack fought the urge to wince. He ran his fingers through his hair and started to question his keeping the truth from Jamie. It wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t care what was or wasn’t in his bank account, and he wouldn’t have to tell these ridiculous lies.

She was rational enough to know not to confront a criminal.

He opened his mouth to tell her the truth.

Then she said with a laugh, “Oh, good! You had me worried there for a second. I don’t know if I could date someone who lives in a place like this.”

He clamped his mouth shut again. He nodded to the doorman and ushered her inside the building. “Why not?”

She gave a mock shudder, gesturing to the art deco lobby. “It’s a little pretentious.”

Oh, hell. He gave a weak smile and slapped the elevator up button. It just figured. Jamie gave the opposite reaction to every other woman he’d ever met. Most women’s eyes lit up in possessive greed when they first saw his apartment. Jamie was disgusted by the opulence.

And he had never once thought of the lobby as being pretentious, but now that she had planted the seed in his mind, it took root, making him uncomfortable. “The apartment’s not so bad,” he assured her.

His sister was always complaining that he needed to hire a decorator. She thought his apartment needed a theme to pull it together. One besides black plastic electronics equipment, that is.

Jamie clutched that silly little purse of hers that looked like an alligator and licked her lips. She looked as nervous as he felt. Maybe it was time to slow this down before she thought through the ramifications of going home with a guy she didn’t really know. Jack knew who Jamie was, but she didn’t know him. Had no reason to trust him. And given that look on her face, she was realizing that.

“Hey, Jamie, why don’t we go grab some coffee before we head up?” He took her hand and squeezed it in reassurance. She smiled at him, that soft tilting up of her lips that showed her teeth and lit up her eyes.

“You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?” she asked. “I don’t mean to be a tease…”

“Are you kidding? In my book, there’s no such thing as a tease. A woman is allowed to say no at any time, for any reason. No questions asked, no arguing.” Jack pulled her away from the elevators. He already felt like an asshole for not telling her who he was; he wasn’t about to coax her into a sexual relationship she wasn’t ready for.

“I’m not saying no,” she said, green eyes very glassy and bright. “Just…not yet.”

He wanted to groan, but instead gestured to the grouping of four chairs to the left of the mail slots. “Let’s just sit for a minute.”

The chairs were really damn uncomfortable—minimalist, armless jobs with stuffing that felt more akin to steel. It was like perching on a big bar of red soap, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. Jamie was licking her lips again, and she tucked her feet under her legs on the chair.

“Our names both start with J-a,” she said, distracting his attention from her lips. “Is Jack your real name?”

He didn’t care what his name was, but he thought it was cute the quirky things Jamie said sometimes. “My real name is Jonathon.” He couldn’t force another lie past his mouth. “Is Jamie a nickname, too?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Jamie Lynn, that’s me.”

Jamie Lynn. It fit.

As he studied the upturn of her nose, the wild auburn curls, he wondered which name was the real him. Was he Jonathon or was he Jack? Jonathon at work. Jonathon with his parents.

He was Jack with Pops. And definitely Jack with Jamie.

“Well, Jamie Lynn.” He tried to remove the flatness of his Connecticut-raised voice and inject some Kentucky into it. “That’s a mighty fine name.”

She giggled. “I don’t like southern boys.”

He lost the accent. “I’m all New York, honey. But I bet you broke a bunch of good ole boy hearts when you left Kentucky.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled. “If I broke Dale’s heart, it recovered quickly. Two months after high school graduation he married Trudy Wythbodden, who some girls used to call Trudy Wide Bottom. He wanted me to stay in La Grange and get married, but I had to leave, had to see a bit of the world for myself. I wasn’t trying to escape Kentucky—I loved growing up there—but I don’t know, I just needed some independence.”

“I never thought about going anywhere else. I grew up forty miles from Manhattan, and I guess it seemed stupid to go anywhere else, especially since I wanted to get into finance. But maybe it would have been smart to explore a little more. Maybe I wouldn’t have found myself so tired and burned out.”

Certain that there was more to life than making money. Winning.

Something he had never admitted to himself was that he had suddenly looked in the mirror and wondered if he was destined to grow old alone, a miser counting his coins.

It had scared the shit out of him, and then some.

But what was even scarier was that a year later he was no closer to content, despite ditching the career. When was he going to be done? Ready to stand still.

In his head he practically heard the screech of subway brakes. Now. He was ready now.

“Maybe this is your time to explore,” Jamie said.

“Aren’t I too old to do that? I’m thirty, for God’s sake. Isn’t there like a statute of limitations on finding yourself?” Jack grinned. “Bet old what’s-his-name isn’t interested in backpacking Europe or taking up yoga.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t worth the spit for the shine, which he proved by falling into Trudy’s arms about a minute after I left.” Jamie fiddled with her necklace, a twisted rope, kind of a knot with green stones in it. “But most people are like paintings…they take forever to create, and every time you look at them, you discover something you didn’t see before.”

Very true. Jack was noticing that the green in Jamie’s necklace perfectly matched her eyes.

And she had freckles. Right across the bridge of her nose.

Freaking adorable, every inch of her.

Eight hours later, the end table next to them was littered with paper coffee cups, their rims going soft, the liquid contents cold, the aroma stale. Jamie’s legs were stiff, her neck tired, her voice scratchy, and her butt numb from the ridiculous scoop chair she’d been sitting in all night.

Yet, she wasn’t the least bit interested in leaving. She had spent the whole night in the lobby talking to Jack, who was funny and kind and extremely smart.

She was going to have to name her first-born child after Beckwith.

Okay, so maybe it wouldn’t go that far, but it wasn’t like she could name her first orgasm or anything, and she was sure that was coming soon, pun intended. The point was, she was falling for Jack. She wanted him more than Derby pie, and that mile-high gooey chocolate dessert was never to be underestimated.

Admittedly, she was a tumbler, falling for various guys and their hard-luck stories, but inevitably, her legs got caught up in the skirt of half-truths, and she fell on her face. For the most part, she’d never minded, because she had never fallen in love.

It was possible she’d done just that in one night.

Or at least taken a serious turn in that direction.

That was the only explanation for the way she felt—sort of inflated and overaware, her skin prickling everywhere, her throat tight, breath anxious. Excitement and pleasure rushed through her, and an irrepressible giddiness made her feet tap rapidly, her heart race.

At some point she was going to have to leave and go home, but for now she didn’t want this night, this moment, this feeling, to end.

Jamie tucked her legs over the back of the chair and leaned backward, observing Jack upside down. No one else was stirring in the lobby at six in the morning on a Saturday. “So, what’s your one big regret in life, Jack?”

His eyebrow went down, or actually up. “Besides that perm in the seventh grade?”

She laughed, holding her hands over her stomach so her shirt wouldn’t ride up. “Fashion faux pas don’t count.”

“I don’t have a one big regret,” he said thoughtfully. “More like a series of little regrets. You know, like when you were six and you went along with the kids when they picked on the kid who was overweight. Or when I blew off this girl in high school who asked me to the prom. The time I forgot my sister’s birthday. Stuff like that.”

Even though the blood was rushing to her head, Jamie stayed upside down. It was an interesting perspective, watching Jack lean closer to her, his hands resting on his spread legs. He had a nice strong jaw.

Jamie’s necklace fell over her mouth, and she let the stones slip between her lips, then bit. She was a chewer. Pen caps, sweatshirt strings, fingernails, her hair.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said around the necklace.

His arm came toward her, and his finger brushed across her lip, pulling back the obstruction. “Say that again? I couldn’t understand you.”

“Sorry. Bad habit. I’m always sticking things in my mouth. I’ve always been very oral.”

He started laughing, and she suddenly realized how that had sounded. Oh, Lord. She blushed. Especially since he’d moved in closer and she was about an inch from his chest, his fingers still tracing over her mouth, her hair brushing down over his waist.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What? I didn’t say anything,” he protested, a grin still on his upside-down face.

She needed to right herself before her eyes bulged or she did something crazy like lick his chest. Smiling herself, she tried to sit back up, but she was stuck in the chair, Jack too close for her to swing her legs back around.

“Geez, I’m stuck.” Her back was kind of spasming now, too, protesting the awkward position. But she wasn’t even sure she cared. She just felt too darn good to worry about spinal damage.

Besides, Jack already had it under control. With a few gentle pushes and pulls with those impressive biceps, he had her right side up and facing his chest. A pile of curls tumbled over her face, blocking her view, and she slapped at them impatiently. She put her hand on Jack’s waist and gripped the fabric of his shirt.

For balance, of course.

“Why don’t we go horseback riding later today?” Jack said, playing with her corkscrew hair lying on her shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll embarrass myself, but you said you miss riding…”

Well, that was sweet. Jamie’s hand curled into his shirt tighter as she fought the urge to sigh. “That would be fun.”

“Great. I guess we should grab a few hours of sleep first, and we can meet back up later. Let’s see if we can find you a cab.”

Neither one of them moved. Jack was still leaning toward her in his chair and he was staring at her lips. Jamie was aware that she was pressed against his thighs, and that she didn’t want to go anywhere.

Ever.

Sleeping in her twin bed with purple cotton sheets held no appeal, not even when she’d been up all night.

Her nipples hardened. Her inner thighs went moist. Her breathing slowed, and her mouth drifted open. That one taste of Jack in Times Square had been so long ago. Hours and hours and hours ago.

Just not enough, not when he was so, so close. She wanted another taste. And then some. She wanted to make love to this amazing man, sooner than later.

“I could just crash at your place for a few hours,” she said quickly, before she lost her boldness and went shy on him. “Save on cab fare.”

His eyes went dark, a stormy blue stained with desire. “That’s a good idea. I do have a spare bedroom.”

Her mouth dropped in laughter at his teasing. But she knew he was joking. She gave him a flirtatious smile. “How thoughtful.”

“Or there’s a king-size bed we could share…so we don’t have to make two beds later. Save us time.”

He was moving closer, face so near hers she went cross-eyed trying to look at him. “Well, that’s very practical of you.”

Before the words were even completely out, his mouth was over hers, kissing her with all the fervor and passion that she felt. Oh, yeah. Bring it home, honey.

This was a kiss. This was Fourth of July fireworks, this was a tall iced tea on a hot summer day, this was hitting the lottery.

Everything she’d ever wanted, wrapped up into one sultry tongue tango.

Good Lord in heaven, he knew what he was doing.

But he pulled back suddenly, and she whimpered. His eyes burned, his breath hot and hard.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What?” That didn’t sound good. That sounded like a preface to an I’m Married speech.

“My last name…I never told you my last name.”

“Is that all?” Jamie gave a shaky laugh. “You scared me there for a second.” Just briefly, Beckwith’s prediction about dishonesty had risen in her head, like a big pin ready to pop her balloon.

“Sorry, it’s just that you should—”

Jamie cut him off with another quick kiss. She wanted to hear what his last name was. But later. After they’d gotten naked and she wasn’t as likely to be adversely affected by the news that his name was something like Jack Daniels or Jack Grosse or Jack Yacks. Or something completely unpronounceable with twenty-seven letters, most of which were consonants.

She wasn’t vain, and while a regrettable name like Jonathon Huffheimer wasn’t cause for celebration, it would never stop her from dating someone. But later. “It doesn’t matter. Not yet. Tell me later. I don’t want to talk right now. I want to go upstairs.”

Before she lost the sassiness she seemed to have borrowed from Allison. Flattening her hands on his chest, she said, “I’m so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open.”

But it was his eyes that closed, not hers, and his hand pressed hard into her shoulder. His lips moved as though he was counting to ten.

Then he opened his eyes and said in a husky, urgent voice, “Then we should definitely get you right to my bed.”

What a gentleman. Always thinking of her needs.

“How sweet of you.”

Chapter 5

Sweet. Yeah, that was him.

Hell, he was thirty seconds away from taking her in the elevator.

Jack wondered if Jamie really understood the enormity of her appeal. She was an amazing mix of sultry and innocent, seductive and selfless. She was the sweet one. But she was also so damn sexy with her curvy hips, slow smiles, and rich, honest laugh.

He tried to tell himself he should wait—take her out a few more times before they took it to this level—but she had seemed so damn willing. She’d even gotten impatient with his attempted confession. He hadn’t intended to tell her he knew who she was, but wanted her to figure it out on her own just by hearing his last name. But she hadn’t wanted to hear even that, and all thoughts of waiting had flown out his mental window.

Why torture himself when she was perfectly willing to sleep with him?

Any idiot should be able to figure that out.

Gorgeous woman agrees to second date and hot morning sex. What do you do?

He didn’t need his high SAT score to answer that question.

Grab a condom and go for it.

They were barely onto the elevator and he was licking her bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth to suck gently.

He groaned.

She groaned.

His hands were itching to land on her breasts, but he forced himself to take it slow.

If ransacking her hair, grinding against her, and sliding his tongue into her mouth could be considered taking it slow.

It took a Herculean effort to pull back.

Then he wasn’t sure why he bothered. Jamie looked so frickin’ perky and ready, primed for him. She was breathing hard, her eyes wide, curls tumbling all over the place. Her breasts rose and fell, the flower on her shirt straining forward, its petals twining around her very obvious nipples.

“You are so beautiful,” he panted, like a thirsty Collie.

Without warning, or any instruction from her, his hand shot out and stroked her. Right at the tip. Of the petal.

The sound she made was a cross between a whimper and a squeak. He took it as a good thing.

“Jamie,” he said, trying to find some way to express himself beyond his obvious drooling in her presence. Without confessing that he had the sudden bizarre and almost frightening feeling that in the past eighteen hours he had lost his mind, his heart, his sanity.

That it was just possible he could fall in love with her. In the next five minutes.

Her lips parted. Her little pink tongue slipped out and moistened them, rolling around the plump flesh in a way that left Jack thinking there was a much better place she could put that.

Damn. Shoving her against the elevator wall so he could grind his hard cock against her thighs, he buried his hands in her glorious hair. He pushed his kiss on her, a greedy, selfish kiss, tongue hot and moist and anxious inside her. Part of him knew he was being rough, but that rationale was drowned under desperate lust, under fierce need to take what Jamie had offered so sweetly.

Before she changed her mind. Before he came to his senses and realized he could hurt her by not telling her the truth.

That thought had him crushing her against him, consuming her mouth, wanting to keep her close. He was shocked at himself, at the irrational intensity of his feelings, at the complete impulsiveness of his actions, not a usual personality trait.

But he was also a risk taker. As a businessman, he weighed the odds, took chances, rotated millions of dollars at the risk of losing it all, and he was good at that. He had killer instincts. And his instincts here told him, Take her, take her, take her, you’ll never regret it.

Her fingers had risen to grip the front of his shirt, but she jerked back when the elevator opened, breaking the kiss. “I can’t breathe, Jack.” Her lips were wet and glistening, her big green eyes wide, dark.

“Breathing’s overrated,” he told her, but he did let go of her, clench his fists, rein in his control. Counted to ten mentally. Pictured Jamie walking out if he didn’t ease up.

But damn, it was hard when she was so near, so perfect, so ripe.

“After you. Third door on the right.”

She gave him a closed-lip smile over her shoulder, and with one of the hall lights blown, half her face was left in a dusky haze. Beautiful wasn’t enough to describe her, sensual an understatement. She was more than he had words for, lovelier than he could ever express.

It only took sixty seconds to open his door, usher her in, and slam it closed. Then he was on her, cupping her face with both his hands and kissing her with everything in him.

She gave a soft moan before lifting her arms to his shoulders, nails digging in. He moved in closer and closer, edging her feet apart with his legs, control shot to hell, the taste of her so tantalizing that he felt drunk with desire.

He kissed her deep, hard, again and again, their mouths slapping together.

Then her tongue slid along his lip in a sexy little lick, shocking him. Go, Jamie. He felt that show of aggression from her gave him the right to touch her breast in return.

So he fulfilled his two-day-long fantasy by spreading his fingers over the whole of her luscious breast and cupping it. It felt better than it looked.

It didn’t seem like that was possible, but it did.

Her head fell back, offering an inviting view of her long, creamy neck.

His hand still happy and full, Jack bent his head so that he could suck on her neck, pressing kisses everywhere, his tongue trailing along her clavicle. She shuddered beneath him, and he felt his own control further evaporating.

Control? Hell, he’d lost that about the minute Jamie had collided with him on the train. He had the control of a three-year-old faced with a table full of candy and no parental supervision. None. Not a single freaking bit.

“Am I being too rough? I’m sorry. It’s just…been a while. I’ll slow down.”

Jamie’s hand reached up, cupped his cheek, stroked over his flesh. A nervous smile played over her lips, cherry red from his kisses. “I don’t want you to slow down. It makes me feel sexy.”

Her cheeks stained pink.

“You are sexy,” he said, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. “The sexiest woman I’ve ever met.” He pointed to his mouth. “I’m drooling right now as we speak.”

She laughed, but avoided his eyes, her fingers playing with a button in the middle of his shirt. “Men usually tend to, well, see me as nurturing. Not sexy.”

Maternal images did not flood his brain when he looked at Jamie. The exact opposite in fact. “Not this man.” There was no need to force conviction into his voice. It was ringing with it.

Forcing himself to abandon her breasts, he gathered her to him in a reassuring embrace. Okay, so his hands wandered a little and wound up on her ass, squeezing and stroking. He was lost to all decency at this point.

“Tell me what you like, Jamie,” he whispered in her ear. “Tell me what you want so I can do it over and over again.”

She shivered in his arms, her breath coming in quick, staccato bursts. When she answered, it was a small, throaty whisper. “I want to feel desirable. I want it raw.”

Holy crap. Jack about bit his tongue off. Blood rushed past his ears. When he managed to speak, his tongue was thick, words hoarse. “Raw, I can do.”

It was a dangerous place to go, but she had nicked the last thread of his resistance. He wanted raw, too. He wanted to dive into hard, numbing pleasure and take Jamie with him. Fast and furious, slick and slap.

So he reached forward, twisted his fingers into her neckline and ripped the front of her tank top, right through that damn flower that had been taunting him all night.

Maybe it wasn’t smart to give Jack permission to do what he wanted with her.

He already had her ruined shirt and unhooked bra on the floor. Another two seconds and he’d probably have her dangling on a chandelier. His mouth hovered over her nipple.

Not that she cared much at the moment.

“I love your breasts,” he murmured against her flesh. “I’ve wanted my mouth on them since the first second I saw you.”

Jamie swallowed hard. Every inch of her was hot, itchy, aching to be touched. She was still reeling from her confession and wasn’t sure how to react. Since men had never really gone wild for her, she wasn’t sure how to do wild in return.

Not that he was giving her time to do much more than moan.

His lips brushed back and forth over her nipple in a maddening tease. Then he brought his teeth down on her, lightly, but enough to make her jump. And dang if it didn’t turn her on. Liquid pooled between her legs, and a shiver rolled through her body in a delicious wave of excitement.

Jack hovered over her other breast, and Jamie felt his breath tease over her flesh, felt her nipple pucker under his scrutiny, felt herself edge closer to him. There was a slight pause of hovering anticipation, then he sort of attacked her, sucking and licking, nipping and pulling while Jamie’s breasts tingled and ached.

“Oh, mercy,” she whispered, groping blindly for the wall, furniture, anything that could hold her up because her legs were doing the noodle number again.

“No. No mercy,” he said, voice hoarse. And as if to prove his point, his finger slid along the seam of her jeans, pressing into her tender flesh, working front to back, front to back, while he pursed his lips and blew a hot stream over her wet nipples.

Well, she’d asked for it. She’d always wondered what it would be like to have a man go at her like a shark with bait, like he had to have her now, damn it, and nothing could stop him. She had never drawn that kind of lust from men—they’d always treated her gently, protectively, which was all fine and good for the most part. She wanted men to respect her, but it would be nice to know she made a man lose all control once in a while.

This was losing control.

Her eyelids sank closed, her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she enjoyed the scrape and slide of Jack’s fingers over her body, wishing her jeans would suddenly evaporate. Skin tingling, nipples taut and aching, Jamie felt each lick and stroke over every inch of her body. Her head swam, lust and lack of sleep making her dizzy.

Jack’s mouth lifted from her breast. “We need to get to a bed. Now.”

She nodded, then realized he probably couldn’t see her since he was back to doing a little lick-suck thing with his tongue over her nipple. “Yes. Okay. Now. Definitely. Ooh, yes, that feels good.”

He stopped, damn it. Standing, he wiped his hand over his shiny lips and said, “Take my shirt off.”

Now that he mentioned it, he was really overdressed next to her. She was wearing jeans and sandals and nothing on top.

Fingers shaking a little, she reached out and touched the top button. “Okay.” Then jumped when his thumb pinched her nipple and his tongue slid into her ear. Her shoulders went slack, her jeans suddenly way too hot. My, oh my, the man knew how to work his tongue.

She got the first button on his shirt undone, but the second proved to be made of sterner stuff. It slipped and caught and eluded her while she tried to work it over and over, Jack plucking her like a harp in a very distracting way.

Oh, yeah, she was hot stuff. A real sex goddess. She couldn’t even get him halfway out of his shirt. She was reduced to prying at it, clawing and pulling to try and remove it.

“Rip it,” he said, nipping at her earlobe.

Rip it? There was a thought. A wild girl would go for it.

But the only thing wild about her was her hair. Jamie gripped the shirt, hesitating like she did when it was time to remove the eyebrow wax strip.

“Rip it. Get me naked, Jamie.” Jack stepped back a foot. “Do it, damn it. I’m dying.”

He did look like he was in danger of agonizing death. Compassion forced her into action. Not to mention she really did want to see him without a shirt. She gripped the fabric tightly dead center and just pulled it apart in both directions, buttons flying off.

Dang, look at her. Arms out, legs spread, yanking Jack’s shirt open, her breasts bouncing with the movement.

She felt kind of sassy. As she pushed his shirt down over his hard, muscular shoulders, she told him, “I’ll sew all your buttons back on, don’t worry.”

He stood very still, eyes half closed as she ran her curious fingers over his chest, tracing the lines and brushing over the dusting of hair.

“You’d do that for me?”

Letting his shirt drop to the floor, Jamie brushed her lips over his clavicle. “Sure thing.” She couldn’t ruin something without at least trying to fix it.

“Will you let me take your jeans off?”

“Yes.” Her heart started to beat a little faster.

“Will you let me take your panties off?” Jack’s finger traced along the crotch of her jeans.

“Yes.” She shivered at the light, teasing touch.

“Will you let me put my tongue inside you?”

Somehow she didn’t think he meant in her mouth. The area he did mean was hot and moist in anticipation. Jamie nodded, afraid she’d squeak if she tried to speak.

His expression was puzzled, his eyes dark, voice quiet. While one hand stroked between her thighs, almost absently, as though he’d forgotten what he was doing, the other tugged a curl down to her breast, let it spring back up.

“Do you feel it, Jamie? This connection between us. Am I crazy? Should we stop here?”

And suffer the consequences of unsatisfied lust? No, thank you.

“I feel it, too,” she said, afraid if she didn’t reassure him, he’d have second thoughts. “That’s why I’m here with you, not wearing a top. I don’t sleep with men I’ve just met, Jack, but I feel that connection with you. And I’m willing to listen to it.” She was absolutely convinced she wouldn’t regret it.

“I’ve never believed in fate, or love at first sight, or anything that couldn’t be planned or quantified first. I’m not an impulsive man.” He shook his head, a wry grin on his face. “Until now. Until you, Jamie Lynn.”

He was playing with her nipple, rolling and touching and twisting, while his other hand continued its exploration of the inside of her thighs.

“Well, for a man without a lot of experience, you’re doing a darn good job.”

He laughed and let go of her, which was a huge disappointment. All that touching was torture, but only in the best way.

“I feel like you don’t judge me…I feel a freedom with you that I can never have in my career or with my family. Like I can make an ass out of myself and you wouldn’t care.”

“I wouldn’t care,” she said, touched that he could understand that about her. Pleased that he felt like he could be himself with her.

“I just want to have fun with you.”

No arguments from her. “I think I can work that into my schedule.”

“Good.” Turning his bare back to her, Jack said, “Hop on my back and I’ll give you a pony ride to the bedroom.”

Lord, was he serious? Jump on his back topless? She wasn’t sure she was that much fun. And his voice didn’t sound goofy, it sounded suggestive and…kinky. Jamie didn’t have a lot of personal contact with kinky. She wasn’t sure it was in her genetic coding.

Neither was coordination, she decided, when she went for it in an act of courage and leaped up on him. Her breasts slammed into his back, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, but the gravity of her big butt pulled her straight back down to the floor until she was just draped across his back like wet cotton.

“I think I’m too heavy for this.” Damn that Ben & Jerry’s. An embarrassed giggle escaped her as she realized her nipples were poking his firm, warm flesh.

“Try again,” he said over his naked shoulder.

“Are you crazy?”

“I think so.”

Which made her laugh. If he was going to be a nut, no reason she shouldn’t have fun. Anymore she felt like she was either counseling men or trying very hard to impress them. With Jack, she could just be herself and to hell with the rest. Tomorrow she was canceling all her subscriptions to women’s magazines with their advice columns on how to be sharp, sophisticated, elegant, and multiorgasmic.

Jack liked Jamie Lynn the way she was. And she had a feeling the multiorgasmic thing was a sure deal.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” This time when she jumped up, he caught her legs and backside with his arms and jerked her up for better balance.

She let her legs dangle but kept them close to his waist. It was an impressive show of strength to keep her up there like that, and her mind shifted to the fact that her thighs were spread wide, wrapped all around him, her breasts brushing over his bare back in a little tease of touch. She hoped the bedroom wasn’t any farther than the swing of a cat, because she was ready and then some.

Jack must have felt the same urgency, because he started down the hall, pausing only to pretend to tip her backward once.

A shriek came out before she could stop it, and he laughed. Jamie took a gander at the living room and kitchen as they went past, and shivered. It was a big apartment, lots of light from the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun was coming up and peeking through, sending streaks across the ebony wood floor.

But it was kind of austere, empty. There was no color, no warmth.

The master bedroom was small, but featured a big platform bed and a plasma TV hung like a painting over the dresser.

Jack paused in front of the bed, hands tightening on her thighs. “This is the end of the ride.”

Jamie slid off of his back before he could toss her on the bed like a sack of potatoes with breasts. She stuck her hands in her back pockets and tipped a little on her sandals, chewing her lip. Lots of white in this room. White walls, white sheets, white mirror, white sheets, white overstuffed chair, white sheets on a big, white bed.

Her gaze kept floating over to that bed. There wasn’t much else to look at. Just that big ol’ bed, all neat and tidy and waiting for someone to use it. Looking lonely, ready to be rumpled.

She suddenly realized Jack was staring at her. He stood about two feet in front of her, eyes running over the length of her. Under normal circumstances, meaning in front of any guy but Jack, that would have embarrassed the hell out of Jamie. After all, she was topless, wearing tight fitting jeans and platform sandals. A far cry from her usual tactics of cover-and-hide clothing.

But with Jack, she felt desirable. So much so that she tilted her head a little, ran her fingers through her hair, moved her one hip forward to show herself off to her best advantage.

“Wow,” he said, hands up as if he were framing a picture. “You are so incredibly beautiful.”

It was impossible not to blush when he said something like that. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He unsnapped the button on his jeans and winked. “It gets better.”

Oh, she could only imagine.

“And seeing you standing there like that has reminded me I’m supposed to be giving you raw, not comic relief.”

“Taking your pants off is comedy?”

He stopped unzipping and laughed. “No, that’s not what I meant. I was talking about the piggyback ride.”

Then he yanked his jeans off and came toward her in his boxer briefs, the laughter replaced by a cocky grin. “I’ll show you that taking my pants off is no laughing matter.”

Jamie chanced a glance south, but there was no time to see anything before he took her forearms and tumbled her onto the white duvet cover. Suddenly she was looking at the ceiling.

Whoa. Very efficient.

He kissed her with an intensity that had her breathing hard and easing her legs apart, wanting closer contact with him. His erection was along her thigh, thick and enticing, while his tongue moved with determined thrusts. The duvet was soft beneath her, the room cool and crisp from the air-conditioning.

Jamie held on to his smooth back, loving the way he felt, the way he touched her with determination, reverence, desire.

Jack pulled back. “These have got to go.” His finger moved around on the button of her jeans, brushing between the waistband and her skin until she thought she might scream with impatience.

“Good idea.”

The button came unsnapped, the zipper went down, and Jack’s hand slipped inside, gliding over her and coming to rest precisely where she had hoped he would. She fought the urge to squirm, but couldn’t contain a groan when his thumb started to move up and down, stroking through the lace of her panties.

Her eyes rolled back, and she gave a heartfelt moan of encouragement.

Jack removed his hand and yanked hard on her jeans, obviously intending to pull them down and off.

They didn’t move an inch.

She opened her eyes and found Jack over top of her, frowning, as he tried to make the jeans budge. He was pulling so hard that she was bouncing up and down on the bed. A giggle escaped her mouth.

“I thought they were a little tight when I put them on.”

He stopped tugging and smiled at her, the same smile that was responsible for her pants being pulled off in the first place.

“I’ll get them.”

Jack stuck his fingers on either side of the waistband and yanked. They gave as far as her hip bones, then resisted again.

She bit her lip and giggled once more. “I can do it.”

“No, no, I’ve got them.” He gave a few more futile tugs.

“Jack, I think I’m going to have to sit up and do it.” That was better than the alternative, which was sticking her butt up in the air and shoving for all she was worth.

This was what she got for trying to be sexy.

Jack looked like he wanted to keep at it until he succeeded, but he lifted his hands. “Okay, you do it.”

By the time Jamie was up on the bed on her knees, Jack had sat down and eased his boxer briefs off. She paused with her hands on her waistband and gaped at him.

Mercy.

She had never seen anything like that before.

Maybe the men she had been dating were short on more than cash.

Trying not to drool, Jamie started working her jeans down, wiggling and rocking back and forth.

Jack groaned. “You have no idea what you look like, do you?”

Startled, she stopped with her pants at the knees. She had been so busy gawking at him, she hadn’t thought about how all that movement would look from his point of view. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He clenched his fists. “I’ve just had a fantasy come true.”

While she finished the job, and hastily undid her sandals and let them fall to the floor, Jack opened the dresser drawer and came back with a condom.

“Next time, just leave the shoes on,” he said, bending over to give her a kiss.

Jamie was just reacting to it, sighing with pleasure, when he was already pulling back. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he dropped to his knees on the rug, between her legs, face level with her breasts. She shivered, from cold, from anticipation, from embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. There was a definite blush crawling up her neck, flooding her face with heat and making her shift a little uneasily.

It was seven in the morning and she was naked with an equally naked man between her legs. Not her usual Saturday wake-up routine. Trying not to hunch her shoulders over, she touched his shoulders to have something to do with her hands as he stared at her, inspected every visible inch of her body. Feeling exposed, yet desperately excited, she let him see her, study her, knowing that there would be only one first time between them.

Let him draw it out as long as he wanted.

Chapter 6

Hands on her knees, Jack finished off the few inches between them and flicked his tongue across Jamie’s nipple. He honestly felt speechless when faced with the grandeur of her breasts. Works of art. Tantalizing toys. They were both, and he could not believe his luck that he got to hang out with them. Touch them.

Mouth around her nipple, he closed his eyes. Taste them. Oh, hell yeah, he was one lucky guy. The nipple beaded in his mouth, firmed and ripened for him as he rolled his tongue over the taut surface. Jamie’s fingers dug farther into his shoulders, her hair brushing over his face, getting between him and her flesh until he twitched it to the side.

Her skin was pale, translucent, with a dusting of freckles across her chest and shoulders. She had a lush, curvy shape, and when his hand brushed down over her stomach, it curved slightly out instead of in. He liked the way she felt, soft and feminine, like he could pet and touch and stroke and never find one spot on her body that was like his, would never find anything hard and inflexible about Jamie.

As he sucked her nipple, licked the underswell of her breast, and moved to the other, Jack wedged closer between her legs, forcing her thighs apart, until his ribs came in contact with her soft down hair brushing over him. She made a sound in the back of her throat, a quick inhalation of air, that had his body throbbing in anticipation.

Yet he wasn’t ready, wasn’t done tasting and teasing, and as he continued to suck and pull on her dusky rose nipple, he ran his thumbs along the outside of her naked thighs. Down around to the tip of her backside, dangling over the edge of his bed. He stroked over her cheeks, skirting forward, back, forward again, avoiding the juncture of her thighs, desire thick in his mouth.

Her legs started to shift restlessly, her nails sinking even farther into the muscle in his back. Both their breathing quickened, and her head went left and right, tipped back when he glanced up at her. The creamy expanse of her neck, the sight of her teeth buried in her bottom lip, sent a jolt through him, and he let his own teeth sink into her nipple. Jamie moaned, and Jack squeezed her ass, gripping it hard as he fought the urge to stand up and plunge into her.

He wanted more than that. He wanted her body, yes, here and now, but he wanted her, too. All of her. He wanted her open and desperate, aggressive and as turned on as he was. He wanted her eyes to roll back in her head, and he wanted her to stay all damn day in his bed, naked, hot, and willing.

With that in mind, hands still on her ass, he abandoned her breasts, leaving them shiny and wet and Jamie whimpering. He squatted down farther, lifted her thighs a little, and checked out her sex. He’d never dated a redhead before, and the fiery contrast of reddish gold curls against her milky white skin was sexy as hell. There was a coffee-and-cream color beauty mark on her right inner thigh, and when he licked it, sucked it, the flesh around it turned red in the shape of his mouth.

A little shiver went through her, and she shifted, trying to move back onto the bed, away from him. Jack held her tight, abandoning his intention to spread her folds with his fingers and take a nice, long look. He didn’t want her bolting, or going shy. So still maintaining a firm grip on her tight ass, he bent over and buried his tongue in her curls, exploring a little until he found the tight bud of her clit.

Jamie went still, hot little pants escaping her mouth. “Oh, oh, oh,” she said in a half whisper.

Jack sucked, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils and making him hard enough to penetrate steel. When his tongue ventured farther south, he found she was slick, sweet and wet, her folds swollen with want. And when he licked up and down that swollen flesh, she went wetter still. Losing the edge of his control, he dipped his tongue into her hard and fast.

Oh, man, he was dying. He was fucking gone. He’d give up his ten million and then some to have Jamie like this, permanently, saying his name with soft, heated, anguished cries of ecstasy.

Her legs surrounded him, and when she dropped back onto the bed, clutching at the sheets, Jack pressed forward, farther into her. The position spread her even more, and he pulled back to take a look, his thumbs pressing her apart.

“Jack.” She tried to bring her knees together, though she stayed slack on the bed.

“Shh.” He blew on her clit, cool air over her hot flesh. “I’m almost done.”

“Doing what?” Her foot kicked his forearm as she shifted uneasily.

“Appreciating you.” He wanted to stretch the moment out, make this day, this minute last, make Jamie understand that he wanted more. That he saw how far she was from Meredith and how much he respected that.

If Jack did any more appreciating, Jamie was going to flip right off the bed. As it was, she felt like a single flick of his tongue might send her sliding into an orgasm. She was so aroused, so close to the edge, so flustered with all the touching and sucking and licking, that it was only now occurring to her that she’d yet to lay a finger on anything other than his shoulders.

Yet he didn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t been waving it in her face, or doing that arrogant head push toward his crotch thing that Jamie just couldn’t stand. Jack seemed perfectly content to just look at her, to just pleasure her for now.

She was feeling pretty damn pleasured. But a small, insecure part of her couldn’t help but ask, “Do you appreciate me in a social worker kind of way?” She wasn’t even sure what she meant by that, and it surely wasn’t fair to ask him what amounted to a trick question when they were naked.

But Jack just brushed a kiss over her clitoris, causing her to shiver, and the deep ache in her body to spike.

“I appreciate you as a woman, Jamie Lynn. With all your facets and quirks and exquisite dimensions.”

Oh, good God. No man had ever said anything quite like that to her before. Her heart did a trapeze artist flip in her chest. Three somersaults and a free fall.

Before she could think of anything to say in return, Jack kissed her belly, kissed the bottom of her ribs, kissed the tip of each breast.

“I need a condom,” he said softly, pushing up onto his feet and moving to the dresser where he had dropped the foil wrapper on top.

Modesty urged her to close her legs, but the need to see desire on his face warred and won. She liked seeing his eyes rake over her, like she was a juicy treat, worth licking his lips for.

He didn’t disappoint. When he turned, his blue eyes went dark as he rolled the condom on. He made a low growling sound as he studied her. Jamie stared right back, watching his fist palm his penis as the condom sheathed it. He held tighter and longer than was necessary, and she spread her legs farther and wider than the situation called for.

“Come here, Jack,” she said in a husky whisper that pleased the hell out of her. Dang if she didn’t sound sultry.

He crossed the tiny room in two big steps, leaned over her, and gave her a hard kiss that stole her breath.

“I can’t wait, Jamie Lynn.” Already the tip of his erection was aligned with her, teasing and pressing.

Fighting to keep her eyes open, she wrapped her arms around his back, wanting him closer. “I don’t want you to wait.”

“Good.”

Then without warning he was inside her, and the ability to speak left her. Thoughts fled as he filled her, big and hard, covering her body with his everywhere, overwhelming her.

She didn’t even have the breath to groan, but just closed her eyes and swallowed hard as his solid flesh pulsed inside her, sliding along her sensitive and aching body.

“Damn,” he said through gritted teeth.

Forcing her eyes back open, she saw his arms were bulging, his jaw clenched with the strain of holding back. While he held perfectly still, she wiggled. She was so close to climax, on the edge from all that tongue touching he’d done, that she couldn’t lie immobile. She wanted more.

“Jack.” Lifting her heels, she wrapped them around his waist, raised her hips to encourage him to push deeper. “More,” she moaned.

The corner of his lip turned up, and he moved inside her with breathtaking slowness.

“Ahhh,” she said, as her skin tingled and the heat inside built quickly. “More.”

“More,” he agreed, and picked up the pace, slamming into her hard and fast.

Yep, that was good. That was it. There was no holding back, no wish to, nothing but freedom and pleasure, and the promise that this was only the beginning.

As if he could read her thoughts, Jack said fiercely, “This is just getting started, Jamie. Remember that.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant making love, this morning together, or the future, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was right then and there she was with Jack, he was hers, and she was feeling like she never had before.

His chest pressed against her with each thrust, and she squeezed her legs around him, so close to skittering off the edge that she could only lie still and gasp, her eyes half closed, waiting for it to rip over her.

“Look at me,” Jack commanded.

She forced herself to focus on his face, a thin sheen of sweat glistening over his forehead, his breath hot and fast on her cheek. Reflected in his eyes was the same wonder, passion, and exhilaration that she knew was in hers. “Jack?”

“Jamie.” Jack crashed to a halt, his erection throbbing inside her. After a quick pause, he pulled back and said, “Come with me.”

She tried to answer, tried to force a yes past her lips, but he took her breath away when he pushed deep inside her with a move that she felt all the way to her toes. Her inner muscles contracted in a happy dance, and nothing came out of her mouth but a deep moan as she gave up and let herself be dragged away.

Their eyes held as they climaxed together, and Jamie saw clearly that it was true. Beckwith had been right about at least one thing. As they locked gazes and gave each other that ultimate pleasure, Jack’s blue eyes sank into hers, and he touched her soul.

Not to mention her G-spot. He was hitting that dead on.

And no man had ever touched either of those private places.

Two hours later, Jack told himself to take it slow this time.

If shoving his tongue down her throat and gripping her breasts like they’d float off without his hands acting as gravity could be considered taking it slow.

With a hell of a lot of effort, he pulled back.

He shouldn’t want her again like this so soon—should give the poor girl a break. He had told himself they would eat an early brunch together, then he’d take her home, let her sleep for a few hours. Catch a few winks himself.

But that was all before Jamie had sat down diagonally from him at the table and proceeded to eat Chinese noodles in the most erotic manner he’d ever seen in his life. All that sucking and tugging and licking had him shifting in his chair, barely tasting his own food.

And when she had closed her eyes in ecstasy over a spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream, he had lost it.

He’d attacked her again.

Jamie was breathing hard, her eyes wide, curls tumbling all over the place as she held her spoon slackly and stared up at him. She was wearing his T-shirt, which hung loose everywhere except her chest, her breasts straining against the cotton. The red cashmere blanket from his bed was cuddled around her legs.

She looked like such a nice girl, but the way she licked that spoon screamed naughty, naughty things to him.

“If you wanted a taste of my ice cream, all you had to do was ask,” she said, eyes wide in mock innocence.

“Very funny.”

Her chest jiggled as she laughed. Since his hand had barely moved back an inch, he was able to reach out and enjoy the movement. Give her nipple a little pinch.

The sound she made was a cross between a whimper and a squeak. He took it as a good thing.

“Jamie,” he said, trying to find some way to express himself beyond his obvious drooling in her presence. “I want you again.”

Okay, that was a stupid thing to say. Like she couldn’t figure out where he was going with the tongue diving. But his brain was like mud. And he didn’t know any poetry, which seemed appropriate to the occasion.

Yet despite his lame attempts at seduction, she did the most amazing thing.

She stood up, blanket around her waist, ice cream abandoned, and said, “Take me again. Please.”

Oh, yeah. Jack stood up, sending his own chair crashing to the floor. He leaned forward and kissed her hard, trying to stay in control. It didn’t work. Control no longer existed in his vocabulary. Just scratched right out. Gone. Especially when she kissed him back, her fingers moving over the front of his shorts.

As she found his cock and gave him a squeeze, he reflected that this felt so damn right. That this could be something damn special. That maybe Jamie was exactly the kind of woman who could help him make sense out of his life, give him a quiet place to rest where he wasn’t competing with someone or something, where he wasn’t bored and restless.

“Share your ice cream with me,” he murmured, nipping at her ear.

“I’d be happy to. I have plenty,” she whispered.

Jack wasn’t talking about dessert, and he didn’t think Jamie was either. He knew he was going to take her again, right here in this chair. Knew he was going to carry her to his bed and keep her there all day. Knew that if she was agreeable, he’d have her back in his bed that night for another round of naked hide-and-seek.

The base of her palm was moving up and down on him as he kissed her neck. She smelled so good, tasted so delicious that he wanted to lap her up. They were way too far apart, the corner of the table preventing full body contact.

Jack stepped around the table, holding a hand out for her. “Come here.” He was well aware that he had burst out of his boxers and was reaching for the sky. An urgent desperation had him stalking her when she didn’t immediately come forward.

He was probably acting like an ass, but blame it on the noodles. All that slurping and sucking and licking. His reaction was only natural.

One of the things he appreciated about Jamie was her exuberance, her cheerfulness. She displayed those wonderful qualities by giving him a nervous, but excited smile and peeling her panties down her legs. As she dropped them on her chair with a half turn, Jack got a blissful shot of Jamie’s backside, before she straightened back up.

“Thought those might get in the way of the taking.”

“Smart woman,” he managed to spit out in a growl before he erased the space between them and slammed her body against his.

Jamie barely had a second to enjoy the shocked arousal on Jack’s face before he had her pressed against him, his one hand cupping her backside, the other caressing across her bottom lip.

Then he pushed a finger into her mouth at the same time he used his other hand to slip two fingers inside her. He moved them all with the same rhythm, a hot push, mimicking sex, her cheeks sucking in automatically, tongue flickering over his flesh. It was invasive, erotic, the press of his index finger into her mouth. There was no taste, just hard flesh pressing into hot moisture, an echo of what was happening between her legs.

Plunge and stroke, here and there, until Jamie moved her head, shifted her hips, wiggling in ecstasy, wanting more, wanting away, wanting fingers gone and Jack’s cock to replace them. In her mouth and between her legs.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, was desperate…then he touched her sensitive nipple with a nice long lave with his tongue. She broke, biting down on his finger reflexively as she came with a hard spasm.

Jack made a little hiss—that sounded like approval—so Jamie clamped down and held on with her teeth as she rode the shuddering crest to its end. It was quick, but powerful, intense, ripping all the way through her until it reached its trembling conclusion. Hands relaxing at her sides, she pulled her head back and released his finger, sagging in satisfaction. Her heart was thumping like a drum again, loud and furious.

“Well, now, that was…oh!” Jamie gasped when Jack pulled her forward and swiveled her around. Given that she was still punch-drunk from an orgasm, she had no sense of space and balance and went tumbling in the direction he urged her.

She caught herself on the slipcovered chair she’d just been sitting in eating her Chinese food. While her breasts bounced toward her chin, and her butt automatically shot up in the air as she gripped the seat, she saw where he was going with this.

It was confirmed when Jack gripped her thighs and yanked them apart.

Hello. This couldn’t possibly work. Or maybe it could, but she wasn’t mentally prepared for this. It was a bit too exposed for her taste, a bit too Kama Sutra for Jamie Lynn. Was she supposed to lock her knees or bend them? No, that was completely weird…

Panicking, she heard the rustle as he dispensed with his boxers, and Jamie struggled to right herself out of this particular angle. Stuck for the moment, since he’d come up behind her and blocked her in, she glanced over her shoulder. He was rolling on a condom. Where had that come from? Geez Louise, she wasn’t good at this spontaneous, raw thing.

“Um, Jack?” She licked her lips and gave a tentative hip wiggle to encourage him to release her. “I’m not so sure that this—”

His answer was to grab her thighs and plunge inside her with his hard erection. Jamie held on to the chair and gasped in pleasure, enjoying the full fit of him, the tingling aftershocks of her still swollen folds.

“Yes, Jamie?”

“Nothing…I was just going to suggest this might not work.”

He pulled back, pushed in.

“But it clearly does.”

And it felt shockingly good. He was sliding along her flesh, coaxing sensation the whole way, her body rippling with pleasure. There wasn’t anything pretty about this position—at least she couldn’t imagine what he was seeing was pretty. There was nothing elegant or gentle about this urgent late morning mating, but it was that very rawness that made it so intimate. Jamie saw and felt vulnerability in Jack’s strong pushes, the way he gripped her thighs so hard her flesh pinched. She felt the same vulnerability, the same feeling of walking on uneven ground. She didn’t understand her body’s reaction to him, didn’t understand the emotions that were swirling around inside her.

Nothing, with any man before, had ever been anything like this.

Maybe that was the power of sex for sex’s sake. It allowed a pure selfish enjoyment.

But Jamie knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for her anyway. She had meant it when she said she didn’t go around sleeping with men she’d just met.

Which didn’t explain exactly how she’d come to be bent over a kitchen chair with her legs spread and Jack deep inside of her.

Thoughts skittering here, there, and everywhere, she dug her nails into the cotton slipcover and kicked her doubts to the curb. She wanted to enjoy this, just feel it.

He didn’t make any sound as he moved, but Jamie couldn’t prevent small moans from slipping out of her mouth. The hot friction sent jolts through her, and the elemental need between them, all niceties stripped away, was just as big of a turn-on as his actual actions.

Jack came with a silent shudder, pausing before one last convulsive shove.

“Yes,” she whispered, as he poured himself into her, letting go, giving it all to her. She felt powerful in that moment, a woman who shattered a man.

It was raw, and she was taking it. Jamie clenched her inner muscles and held on for the ride.

Chapter 7

Jack nearly bit his tongue off. Here he was, recklessly ripping off an orgasm three minutes into sex, and she had done that girl thing. That mysterious thing where she sort of squeezed herself around his cock and pumped more pleasure than he ever could have thought possible from him.

Teeth clenched so tight he nearly cracked a filling, Jack was scrambling to regain control of himself even before the last rippling shudder tore through him.

“Damn.” He sucked in a breath. “Damn. Shit. Damn, damn, damn.”

Jamie was hanging on to that chair for dear life, her hair tumbling down her back. Her tight, lush ass rose before him, his cock buried between her thighs, T-shirt bunched around her waist. It was a hot, hot shot, but he wasn’t sure that totally explained the way he’d gone at her.

And he wasn’t finished yet.

But her back was probably going to snap any second now.

With rubbery arms, he shifted out of her, then hauled her upright, kissing the backside of her shoulder.

“Mmm,” she said, wiggling her hips against him.

Jack closed his eyes, caught his breath. Swallowed hard. “Keep doing that and we’ll be starting all over again.”

“Really?” she asked, with a wicked little laugh.

Jamie sounded so intrigued Jack felt a little kick of renewed lust, a little jump from his unit. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but hell, Jamie did all kinds of amazing things to his libido.

“Turn around, please. I want to see you.” He turned her at the waist, yanked off her shirt, and when her breasts and her face came into his view, Jack touched her hair, tucked it behind an ear. She was smiling at him, looking satisfied and naughty, and he was shocked by what he felt for her. The frightening deep, dark depth of emotion.

“Wrap your legs around me. Please.” He wanted her closer, right against him, in his arms.

Without hesitation, she lifted her legs and wrapped them around him, pressing her wet mound against his belly, full breasts against his chest. Jack closed his eyes for a split second as he held her.

Longing nearly shattered him. She felt…perfect in his arms. A soft, warm woman. His woman.

Jamie’s hair tickled his shoulder as she ran her lips over his jaw. Goose bumps rose on her skin, and she gave a light shiver.

With a soft laugh, she explained, “Air-conditioning. It makes me cold.”

Personally, he felt like a five-alarm fire had nothing on him, but he didn’t want her uncomfortable.

“Let’s go to the couch.” He swiped the red blanket from the chair before walking awkwardly to the sofa, dropping Jamie down onto it.

She reached for the blanket, arranged it over her.

Unrolling the condom, Jack walked to his windows and yanked down his shades. It was before lunch on a Saturday, but who knew what people could see through these windows, depending on which way the sun hit. He dropped the condom in the wastebasket next to his desk. When he turned back, he saw Jamie had tightened the blanket over her so it clung to her curves like linen on a mummy.

Much better than a lumpy draping of the blanket that would hide all of her. Lust kicked him in the gut, surprise, surprise. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“What?” she asked in an innocent little tone that didn’t fool him. “Are you accusing me of something?”

The twang turned up in her voice, and it hardened him even further. Jack went on his knees next to the couch and cupped the outline of her mound with his hand. She gave a startled little sound, laced with approval.

He said, “You covered it up, but in a way that would still show everything to me. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” Then he jerked the blanket off of her feet and ankles. Shoved it up toward her chin. “Don’t want you to get cold, cutie.”

She should have looked vulnerable, lying there on her back, visibly naked from the thighs down, blanket shoved up to her chin as though she needed protection. She didn’t. In fact, he had the sense she was the strongest woman he’d ever known, true to her convictions, sure of who she was.

He was waiting for her to say this was enough, that it was time for her to go home, time to put a little distance between them. But she didn’t, and he was pushing, shoving, letting them careen forward into an intimacy he wanted, craved, couldn’t imagine retreating from. As long as she smiled and let him, he was going to go forward. He wanted Jamie fiercely, possessively, permanently.

“I am a little cold,” she said.

“Is it time to stop, Jamie?” No, he was the one who felt vulnerable, on his knees next to her, wanting her so bad he was shaking, his erection the size of the Empire State Building.

But she shook her head. “No. I’m not ready to stop.”

He didn’t deserve her or that response, but he wasn’t going to question it. He was going to have her again before she changed her mind. “Jamie, beautiful Jamie. I am a lucky man.”

Jack bent to her ankle and traced the line of it with his finger. He liked the peachy color of her flesh, the way the lamp warmed her skin to the honey gold of a ripe piece of fruit. He kissed her calf, traced his hand over both of her legs, sent the blanket a little higher.

Her smell was different, welcome, the scent of a woman. Nothing in his apartment, his office, even came close to the purity of the lilac aroma that wafted around Jamie, intermingling with the sweet pungency of her arousal. He licked her leg, holding her against the couch when she jerked beneath him.

Leaning forward, he went higher, kissing the sides of her knee, sucking the puckered flesh there. He was so frighteningly aware that Jamie Peters was the kind of woman a man could love, and that he felt a paradoxical, desperate need to settle down with a life partner, like his sister was about to, and fill his apartment with companionship.

And the horrible irony was that he hadn’t been completely honest with her. If he told her now, he wasn’t sure what she would do.

It was frustrating, infuriating, a completely new feeling to not have confidence in what he was doing, to have backed himself into this ugly little corner, and he found himself shoving that stupid blanket up higher, baring more of Jamie before him. Her curls were dusky auburn, like the hair on her head, and her thighs had drifted apart.

He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want to see disappointment on her face when she found out he controlled Beechwood’s funding. That he had lied about this apartment.

If there was a stupid fuck-up award, he would definitely qualify for it. Motivated by the need to keep her pleased, needing to hold her close, he bent over her. Teasingly, he kissed, petted, sucked, loved, all around her thighs and hip-bones, avoiding the part of her that wiggled in invitation, growing wetter and wetter even as he watched. Moisture gleamed off her curls, and her fingers scratched a rhythmic clawing on the surface of the sofa.

He couldn’t hear her breathing or moans, and a glance up showed the blanket had gone past her mouth. Her pert nose was visible, and her eyes were clamped shut, head tilted back. Jack ran the palm of his hand over her in a circular motion, letting his thumb drop down over her clitoris.

Then even with the blanket muffling it, he heard the moan that came from her.

His thumb sank down along her folds, first left, then right, stroking the swollen flesh, making his throat constrict and his blood pound. She squirmed.

The silence tripped around him, his focus on her, and her alone.

Jack bent over. Replaced his thumb with his tongue.

Jamie was expecting Jack’s touch. She knew, even as she fought to breathe under the blanket, that he was heading there. But she didn’t expect the sweetness, the gentle play of his tongue over her clitoris, over her slick sex. She ached all the more for the way he took time with her, slowly coaxing her to intense, riveting pleasure.

She couldn’t see a damn thing as he pushed the blanket even farther up to give him room to palm her breast. Cashmere pill balls brushed her lips, and she turned her head left and right, blind in the darkness. But she didn’t care enough to struggle with it, especially when she realized he was doing it on purpose.

It should make her uncomfortable, but it didn’t. She trusted him in a way that she really shouldn’t. But deep down in her gut, she knew he was motivated by a desire to arouse her, to get her screaming hot.

So she wasn’t going to complain. Especially not when his tongue was flicking into her, wrenching desire spiraling all throughout her body, coiling tighter and tighter. She clamped her eyes closed, let the feeling of the cashmere over her shoulders further arouse her sensitive skin, let him push into her over and over while she let go.

Mind empty, body straining, Jamie embraced an orgasm, reaching out to grab on to something. She clutched the blanket, wrapped it around her fingers as she arched up into Jack’s touch, waves of pleasure washing over her. In the dark, hidden, she let herself call out as loudly as she wanted, and luxuriated in the way he held on to her, wouldn’t release his hold on her long after she’d stopped shuddering.

“You can stop,” she whispered, her leg twitching as she settled back onto the couch. “You can let go.”

The blanket was jerked out of her hands, off her face, by Jack, even as he continued to press kisses on her clitoris. She blinked in the sudden bright light, then looked down at him, still kneeling, short caramel-colored hair bent over her.

His kisses were moving north, and he plucked lazily at her nipples. His gaze rolled over her, before he gave a little smile that was part smirk.

“You know, I don’t really want to let go. Ever.”

Well, then.

He must have read her mind. Because while giving him an out seemed like the polite thing to do, she didn’t really want him to let go either. Ever.

Chapter 8

At what had to be right smack in the middle of Saturday afternoon, Jamie stared at the ceiling above Jack’s bed, tired but wide awake, and sighed with contentment.

Wow. Double wow with a cherry on top.

Never in her life had she imagined sex could be so hot. She wasn’t feeling like anybody’s mother after all of that.

Jack had been the most incredible, thoughtful, sexy lover she could have imagined. And the things they had done.

Who knew they were possible? She was pretty sure they had invented a new position or two during the course of their bedroom adventures.

She had the satisfied ache between her thighs to prove it.

He had called her beautiful.

The sun was pouring through the window and dancing across her face. There was no way she could fall back asleep. Her mind was whirring a million miles a minute.

Jack was on his stomach, mouth open, his arm thrown across her chest protectively. She couldn’t resist stroking his hair just a little, curling a strand around her finger as she studied his smooth back.

She wanted to wake him up, but he looked so tired, so deep in sleep, that she knew she couldn’t do it. They’d been up for more than twenty-four hours, and had expended quite a bit of energy before they’d finally collapsed in sleep around noon. Maybe she should just leave him in bed and take a shower or fix some coffee.

With that in mind, Jamie slid out from under his arm, pulled Jack’s shirt off the floor, and slipped it on.

Checking to make sure he wasn’t awake to catch her being a fool, she buried her head in the collar and breathed deeply. It smelled like him. Woodsy and masculine.

In the strong summer daylight, she looked around as she walked down the hall to the kitchen, intent on starting some coffee.

It was a big apartment, filled with expensive, though haphazard furniture. It had the feel of a man, with lots of electronic toys and little in the way of color. She wondered what it would look like if it were Jack’s apartment. A lot homier than this, she imagined.

Lack of color worried her. It was like a metaphor for an empty life. Her own side of her room was stuffed with flea market finds like lava lamps, throw rugs, and fuzzy daisy wall hangings. The dominant colors were purple and orange.

Allison gave her a hard time about it, since she leaned toward the beige family in her decorating, but Jamie liked warm, happy colors with soft fabric.

The kitchen in the apartment didn’t look like it was used very often. After poking around, she found the coffee, and the French press coffeemaker. It took her a minute to figure it out, and while the water was boiling she wandered into the living room. Even though she’d spent some time in there on the couch, she hadn’t been looking at anything but the cashmere blanket and the ceiling. Now she took the room in without distractions.

There were pictures on the console table behind the sofa. She was a little curious to see who Jack’s friend was who could afford this pricey address.

It was a pleasant surprise to see Jack in the first picture she picked up. He was with two other guys, one of whom must be the apartment friend. They were on the beach, and Jack looked a few years younger than he did now. Probably college age. He had told her last night he was thirty.

He even looked cute in an eight-year-old photograph, tanned and windswept, showing off that chest she had explored and licked so thoroughly that morning. Jamie put the picture back and grinned to herself. Yep. She was definitely gone if she was cooing over old photos of him.

Absently she grabbed the next frame. Then did a double take. Jack was in this picture, too. Only it was Jack and a couple in their fifties, their arms around Jack while he stood in a graduation gown, holding a diploma.

Wait a flipping minute.

Why would Jack’s graduation picture be sitting in an apartment that wasn’t his?

And why did that woman look so familiar?

Curiosity compelled her to grab the next picture. Only she barely managed to keep from dropping this one on the floor in surprise.

Bigger than a surprise. More like breath-robbing shock. Jack was in that picture, too.

But that meant nothing compared to the fact that the woman standing next to him looked way more than familiar.

It was Caroline, Jamie’s roommate.

And her arm was slung around Jack and vice versa in a friendly way.

Jamie gasped and looked back at the graduation photo. No wonder that woman had looked familiar to her. She was Mrs. Davidson, Caroline’s mom, who Jamie had met when they had gone for a fitting for her bridesmaid’s dress for Caroline’s wedding.

Which meant that Jack must be Caroline’s older brother.

Oh, my word. Aside from the fact it was a strange coincidence she had met Caroline’s brother by accident on the subway, there was even more shocking news regarding Jack.

If he was Caroline’s brother, then he was also Jonathon Davidson, who just happened to be a millionaire.

The filthy rich Wall Street whiz who had retired a year ago. Mrs. Davidson had told her all about him while Jamie had been getting stuck with the seamstress’s pins.

She dropped the frame in her hand as if it were a bomb.

Which in a way it was.

Because if Jack was Jonathon Davidson, then chances were this was his apartment after all.

Meaning he had lied to her.

And she had slept with her friend’s brother.

Who was so completely not her type it was unreal.

The phone rang, causing her to jump and look toward the bedroom, feeling guilty and embarrassed. Like an idiot. A complete fool. She had fallen for Beckwith’s promise of a perfect man and had flung herself off a cliff without checking to see what was down below.

Sitting on the console table next to her, the phone continued to ring, and she couldn’t help but notice the caller ID with its little digital clock that read 4:02 P.M. The caller was Hathaway, Stephen.

It was a name that meant nothing, other than that Hathaway was also the name of the foundation Jonathon worked for, and she couldn’t help but wonder who would be calling Jack on a Saturday afternoon. Friend? Relative? Not that it was any of her business.

Really. Since she didn’t know any of his business at all. Since he was in fact a total stranger that she had only eaten dinner with, talked to all night, then engaged in multiple sex acts with.

The built-in answering machine clinked on after the fourth ring, and Jamie cleared her throat. Too bad she didn’t actually drink coffee. She could go into the kitchen, pour a cup, and pretend not to listen to Jack’s personal call. He may not have any ethics or scruples and could lie about his apartment without guilt or compunction, but she was an honest person.

Which didn’t explain why she was rooted to the rug like a stubborn weed.

A man’s voice spoke. “Jonathon, it’s Steve. Why the frick is your cell turned off? Listen, I’ve got to talk to you about that whole Beechwood business. I talked to legal and you can’t sit back on this, you have to call in the feds. So instead of following Caro’s roommate like the bored millionaire loser that you are, you need to tell her what we found. Call me back so I know you’re on this. Ciao.”

Jamie didn’t know who Steve was, or what Beechwood and the feds had to do with each other, but she did strongly suspect that the gist of that message was that Jack had known she was Jamie Peters, Caroline’s roommate.

And geez Louise, did that hurt. It was also humiliating.

Beckwith’s words rang in her ears, loud and clear. A dishonest act will bring you the man of your dreams. She had slept with a complete and total liar. She had allowed herself to be sweet-talked right out of her pants like some dumb girl straight off the farm.

Embarrassment sent her into the bedroom to retrieve her discarded jeans and pull them on, retreating to the living room without looking at Jack. Jamie was shocked at her own behavior in hindsight.

Dinner. She’d invited him for dinner, and here she was struggling back into her jeans and bra twenty-four hours later. Knowing her tank top was ruined, she pulled Jack’s black T-shirt back on over her bra and knotted the corner of it so it wasn’t as huge and baggy.

Her pants were wrinkled to hell and back, and she could only see one sandal. Crawling around frantically on her knees looking for it, Jamie cursed her own stupidity. Coming home with Jack had been one of her less brilliant ideas, and she was just mortified. She had fallen for all of it—the connection, the interest, the caring in his eyes. Maybe Allison was right. She was too trusting. Naïve.

Dating fixer-upper men had always been her specialty. She had thought Jack was different. And yet here she was searching for discarded clothing and praying he wouldn’t wake up before she got the hell out of there. She didn’t think she could face him. Not after the way she had shared a part of herself, her thoughts, her heart, her soul, with him, and he’d just been looking to get lucky.

Her sandal was jammed under the couch, and she tugged it out. A quick peek in her wallet confirmed she had forty bucks, which meant she could grab a cab instead of the subway, thank goodness for small favors. Remembering the boiling water, she went into the kitchen and turned it off. Hesitated. Then found herself pouring it into the French press and pushing the plunger down.

This was what her problem was. She was taking the time to make coffee for a man who had lied to her. God, she needed counseling. Pressing the pot back farther on the counter, she wiped her hands and retreated out of the kitchen.

On tiptoes, she went back down the hall and took a last peek at Jack.

Maybe she was overreacting. Yes, there was reason to feel uncomfortable. He had seen her naked. He was now in a fairly exclusive club of Men Who Had Done Her. But that wasn’t a reason to panic. They were adults. She had known what she was doing both the night before and that morning.

Which didn’t make it any less stupid now.

But she was a fair person. Maybe he had a good reason for withholding his identity from her. Besides being a jerk, that is.

Maybe she should wake him up, and they could have a rational discussion about what had happened, who he was, and what his concerns over the funding at Beechwood were.

Jack rolled over in bed, his mouth closed, breathing silently. He was tangled up in the sheet, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. Sweet.

The lying rat. Who had such a talented tongue in more ways than one.

She had to remind herself to hold on to her anger. It wouldn’t be a good thing to start feeling sympathy for him. To start remembering what it had felt like with his you-know-what buried deep inside her…

Shit, she was caving. Which was not a good thing.

Wiping her hands on her jeans, she crept into the bedroom and stood in front of Jack’s closet.

No.

Jonathon Davidson’s closet.

Clenching her teeth, she opened it slowly so it wouldn’t creak.

Casual clothes hung in front of her. Jeans, sweaters, button-up shirts. Relief assailed her. Then she turned a little and peered toward the back of the closet.

There they were. At least a dozen suits were hanging. Expensive. She checked the label. It meant nothing to her, but it sounded Italian and pretentious.

Shiny black and brown shoes lined up underneath them, and a tie rack contained an array of silk ties.

She stumbled back, covering her mouth with her hand, tears stinging her eyes.

Her worst nightmare.

She had slept with a Suit.

And had enjoyed every single luscious minute of it.

Chapter 9

Jamie rushed past the doorman as fast as she could in the stupid platform sandals, unable to look the man in the eye. She felt like a bad morning-after cliché—rumpled and regretful.

She had thought Jack was the kind of man she could spend the rest of her life with. Had wanted to believe so much that he found her sexy and appealing and wanted the same thing.

It really sucked that she could have been so wrong. That she could have felt that hopeful, that desperate, that ridiculous, when Jack couldn’t possibly be that man. The Jack she had talked to all night and had slept with wasn’t even real. She didn’t know the secrets of Jack’s heart and mind.

Yet she still very much wanted him to be The One.

Which wasn’t at all cool.

Patting her hair down, she dialed on her cell phone and tried not to panic.

After four rings, Allison said, “Jamie?”

“Help!” she wailed into the phone.

So much for not panicking.

“Are you okay? Where the hell have you been all freaking night? I was about ready to call the cops. I told you it was a bad idea to go out with a total stranger.”

Knowing Allison was right didn’t make her feel any better. “I’m fine. Don’t call the cops. I’m on my way home.”

Jamie was walking unnecessarily fast, which was ridiculous because Jack wasn’t going to come flying out of his building and chase down the street after her. She forced herself to slow down. “I need some advice. Things are…complicated.”

“Uh-oh. That sounds like sex to me. You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

If closing her eyes wouldn’t result in death by taxi cab, Jamie would have stopped in the middle of the street and done just that. She needed an emergency yoga session. She needed to find her center.

It seemed to have stayed behind in Jack Davidson’s bed. No one had ever found her center quite so successfully as he had.

“I did have sex with Jack…who just happens to be Caroline’s brother.”

“What? Jonathon? The goofy guy Jack you met on the subway is Jonathon? Good-looking, Darien High School class president, financial wizard, millionaire Jonathon? How is that possible?”

That was the question of the day. “I have no idea. But Jack is Jonathon and I had sex with him by accident.” Jamie winced as she glanced around. Where the hell was she? She never came to this neighborhood. Too professional. Expensive.

“An accident? How the hell could having sex with him be an accident?”

Jamie rubbed her temples, the air hot and muggy. “It…” God, she didn’t even have any words to explain herself. “Well…”

“So, what, the wind blew your clothes off, and then you tripped and fell on his penis?”

The image was so ludicrous she almost laughed.

“An accident is something you have no control over, like sneezing when you’re driving and you rear-end someone. Sex isn’t an accident, Jamie, admit it.”

“You’re right.” Jamie stopped in front of a bagel shop. “I wanted to have sex with Jack. We went to dinner, we got talking and talking, all night, and I thought…it seemed…he was so…it was like it was just so right.” And she had been so wrong.

Jamie propped the phone on her shoulder and wiped her hands on her shirt. Jack’s shirt. “Oh, dang it. Caro’s going to croak.”

“Well, you’re not going to tell her, are you?” The horror in Allison’s voice showed her opinion on telling the truth. “It’s not like you’re going to do it again, right?”

Obviously not, since she’d just turned tail and run. “No, of course not.”

“Not that it would be a bad thing, I guess. I mean, Jonathon, Caroline’s brother, is much better than Jack, the stranger on the subway. Jonathon has some serious cash, Jams.”

That’s what she was afraid of.

“You could do a lot worse. And obviously you were compatible.”

And then some. But everything was different now, skewed and twisted. “We are not compatible in any way. This is Caroline’s brother, for God’s sake. Mr. Corporate. And I’m Jamie, the social worker, from Kentucky. We might as well be from different planets.”

“Don’t go quoting that women-are-from-Saturn, men-are-from-Pluto garbage on me.”

“I don’t think that’s how it went.”

“Whatever.”

Jamie rubbed her temples and fought confusion. She didn’t know what she was doing, she just knew what she’d done, which was make an ass out of herself. “I’m not seeing Jack ever again, and I’m certainly not having sex with him.”

“So then why tell Caroline? What she doesn’t know won’t gross her out.”

That just wasn’t the way Jamie worked. “But I can’t lie about it. It will become like this huge, burdensome secret, and if it ever eventually came out, then it would be like a thousand times worse because of the lying.”

“If Caroline finds out in five years that you had sex with her brother once I don’t really think she’s going to give a crap. She’ll be too busy changing diapers by then.”

Jamie wanted to be changing diapers in five years, too. She sighed and stuck her hand up to flag a cab that was approaching.

“If you tell her now, it will just weird her out, and she’s getting married in exactly two weeks. If you have to tell her, at least wait until after the wedding.”

“I can do that, I guess.” The last thing in the world Jamie wanted was to add to the stress Caroline was feeling in the final countdown to her wedding.

She got in the cab. “Sixth and Greenwich, please.” Slamming the door, she shifted the phone. “But I am begging you to run interference for me at the wedding…I don’t think I can look Jack in the eye without blushing.”

“That good?” Allison asked with scandalized glee.

Oh, yeah. That good. Just the memory made her inner thighs feel zapped by lightning.

With a whisper, Jamie said, “Over a chair, Allison. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“No way.” Allison gave a delighted laugh. “Why don’t accidents like that ever happen to me?”

Jack came out of sleep slowly. He turned a few times, tangled himself up in the sheet, yawned, and forced his eyes open, anticipating the sight of Jamie asleep, naked, beside him.

He was disappointed to find the bed empty, despite a quick glance at the clock showing it was only five o’clock. So much for waking Jamie up with a kiss and a strategically placed hand.

The smell of coffee floated into the bedroom and urged him to sit up in bed. Jamie had been up long enough to make coffee already, and he was wasting time sleeping. Time they could be together.

As he ran a hand through his hair, he noticed the closet door was open. He must have left it open last night in his haste to get to his dinner with Jamie.

He hoped she didn’t have plans for the next few days. He had every intention of spending every minute with her, especially since tonight he had to go to Brad’s bachelor party and wouldn’t be able to see Jamie. A bachelor party lost hands down to a night with Jamie, but he couldn’t exactly get out of it. Brad was marrying his sister Caroline the week after next, and it wouldn’t be forgivable if Jack missed tonight’s party.

But that left the rest of today and hopefully tomorrow. And forever and a day after that. As he stood up and pulled on a pair of boxers and shorts, he wondered if it was possible to fall in love in twenty-four hours. Love was about the only word he could think of to explain how he was feeling.

The perfect rightness of Jamie in his arms, in his bed, in his heart.

It was crazy, but true.

He felt a little like he’d been run over by a semi-truck crashing through the Lincoln Tunnel.

Jack started down the hall toward the kitchen, popping into the bathroom to make sure Jamie wasn’t in there taking a shower or something. He could offer assistance if she was, but the bathroom was empty.

He had the sneaking suspicion the semi-truck feeling wasn’t going to go away. It was Jamie. She was amazing. Sweet, shy, yet so giving, so generous with herself.

She was everything he was looking for in a woman.

Jack glanced in the living room and finally stopped in the kitchen, bewildered.

What Jamie was, was gone.

What the hell?

Jack looked around again, as if expecting her to suddenly pop up from behind the stove.

How could she have left? It wasn’t possible.

A frantic search of the living room showed that her bra and her purse were gone, and her jeans and shoes were missing from the bedroom. The only thing he found was her torn flower shirt, kicked under his coffee table.

Clutching the fabric in bewilderment, he looked for a note left in the kitchen or on his nightstand, but couldn’t find any.

Finally, he stopped in his living room and stood staring at the door in disbelief, the shirt pressed against his chest. She had left. Without a word. Without a note.

After the most incredible dinner, night, morning of his life, she had disappeared. Not a call me, a see ya, a thanks for the memories, a you suck in bed…nothing.

All she had left him was a pot of coffee, still warm.

“You did what?” Beckwith shrieked at her, causing other diners to glance their way.

Jamie winced and picked at her bagel. “I left.” Normally she loved big Sunday breakfasts, but this time she didn’t have any appetite. That was a serious first, noteworthy in the Jamie Peters record book. Disinterest in food. Maybe she was getting sick.

Maybe she was just an idiot. For more than one reason. But she felt compelled to defend herself. “I told you, he lied to me. I don’t like people lying to me. It shatters all trust. And he’s rich, Beckwith. Rich people make me uncomfortable.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” was Beckwith’s opinion on the subject. He fussed with the back of his diamond solitaire earring. He had gone for the Connecticut brunch look. Silk blouse, light make-up, designer slacks, pointy-toed pumps.

“I told you a dishonest act was going to bring him to you. You should have been mentally prepared for a lie. I’m sure he had a good reason.”

“And every man I work with had a good reason for committing the crime he did. I don’t want excuses. I want someone who can take responsibility and tell the truth.” It was still so darn hard to reconcile the tender and sexy lover Jack with the millionaire Jonathon. She didn’t understand why he had lied to her and didn’t think the reason was really going to be anything she wanted to hear.

Beckwith waved his hand as if all of that were unimportant. “I practically spoon fed you true love, and you just walk away? Without getting his number or last name?” Spearing a grape, he pointed it at her. “You panicked and ran scared. Being rich is never a bad thing in my book, honey.”

He shook his head mournfully. “True love. It was so damn beautiful. There were all kinds of little happy auras all over your cards, and you just spit on it and throw it away. I’m Jamie, I’m too good for love, don’t need it, I’m a Bolshevik hippie going to give away all my money because money is bad…”

That cut through her melancholy and made her laugh. “Okay, now you’re being flat-out crazy. And I didn’t get his last name because I didn’t need to. I saw the pictures. He’s Caroline’s brother. That was his apartment.” She shuddered just thinking about the horror, the humiliation. “That place was like an exercise in isolation. It screamed workaholic.”

“And you’re not a workaholic?”

“No!” Jamie sat back in shock, abandoning her bagel altogether. “Of course not.”

“Please. You work ten, twelve hours a day for peanuts. You let cases call you at home, on the weekend. You open yourself up both financially and emotionally. You’re having brunch with me, an ex-con cross-dressing psychic, for God’s sake. You, my darling, are a workaholic.”

They were dining alfresco on a little patio outside the bagel shop. A breeze kicked up and sent her hair tumbling across her eyes. Swiping at it, Jamie tried to convince herself Beckwith’s words were just flat-out wrong. “I’m dedicated. Committed to my career.”

Her voice didn’t sound as convincing and firm as she would have liked it to.

Apparently Beckwith agreed. “So is Jack. The only difference between the two of you is he’s a Republican.”

“That’s a pretty big difference.” Peasant skirts and designer suits didn’t go together.

“This isn’t about politics. It’s about love.” He brought his right hand up and formed an L with his fingers, showing off his French manicure. “The big L. Destiny. The One.”

Jamie had found herself waffling all morning, wondering if she had done the right thing in leaving. It wasn’t like her to run away from a situation. She liked to talk through things, resolve with communication. But nothing was going to change the fact that Jack/Jonathon had lied to her and she felt like a humongous fool.

Beckwith’s words reminded her just how much.

“Beck, it’s exactly that kind of talk that got me into this in the first place. If I hadn’t been so sure that Jack was The One, I wouldn’t have gone home with him. I wouldn’t have slept with him, and I wouldn’t find myself in the very embarrassing situation I am in. I let my fortune, my vision of the future, cloud my judgment, and that makes me feel as naïve as people say I am.”

She had always prided herself on being compassionate but intelligent, willing to take a chance on people without being gullible and blind. This made her feel like a joke. Like the goofy girl from Kentucky that everyone humored. Usually she didn’t care what people thought of her. She was confident, knew who she was, liked herself.

But she had opened up to Jack, told him personal feelings, hopes, dreams, and it hurt like hell to think he might not have been sincere. Especially since she had been just fine without a man until he’d come along. This was what she got for thinking Jamie Peters could have a wild, sexual fling. She couldn’t kiss a man without wanting to knit him a scarf.

Beckwith didn’t answer for a minute, chewing a bite of his omelet, gaze drifting over to the street. Then he pinned her with a hard stare. “All I know is you can’t fuck with fate. If you do, it will just bitch-slap you back.”

Then she was even. Because she pretty much felt like she’d been slapped already.

Chapter 10

“You’re really going to call her?” Steve crossed his arms and gave him a look of disapproval.

“Yes, I’m going to call her.” Jack spun around in his desk chair and reached for the phone. Wandering around his apartment Sunday feeling sorry for himself—not to mention getting shit-faced drunk Saturday at the bachelor party—had not made for a rousing end to his weekend. He had impatiently waited for Monday so he could get to the office and call Jamie at work, where she’d be less tempted to say nasty things to him when he tried to apologize.

He’d heard Steve’s message on his machine, coming in at four P.M. on Saturday. Jack didn’t know if Jamie had heard the call or not, but it certainly would explain her leaving without saying a word.

Somehow he had to find a way to fix things, to make sure she understood his intentions were good, if a bit screwed up. He couldn’t stand the thought that this was it. That there was no future for them.

“Jack, if a woman leaves your apartment without a word after you’ve had sex, she is giving you a very clear message—leave me alone.”

Jack steepled his fingers together and stared at his cousin. “How do you know we had sex?”

Steve rolled his eyes and adjusted his red tie. “Because I’m not an idiot. Look, just let it go. You had fun, it’s done.”

“No.” The very thought appalled him. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was let go of the perfect woman without some kind of discussion, explanation, second chance. Everything was fixable. Failure was not an option.

He picked up the phone and dialed.

Steve shook his head. “Oh, man, this is so embarrassing. I’m embarrassed watching you embarrass yourself.”

Jack just glared at him and waited for someone to pick up his call.

“Beechwood Social Services, how may I help you?”

“Could I speak to Jamie Peters, please.”

“One moment.”

Drumming his fingers on his desk, Jack fidgeted in his chair and glanced around his office, decorated in modern industrial by his grandfather. He liked this job, even if there was no challenge for him. Yet he felt the pull to go back, the restlessness, the need to do something different again.

But first he had to fix things with Jamie before he worried about career boredom. He put the phone on his shoulder and gave Steve a pointed look. “Do you mind?”

“No.”

“Get out.”

“No. I’m staying to save you from yourself.”

“All you’re doing is annoying me. Go away—” Jack shut up when he heard Jamie say hello.

“Jamie? This is Jack.” He turned to the window, away from Steve, pleased just to hear her voice again.

“Jack or Jonathon Davidson?” she asked tightly.

Uh-oh. “Well, both, actually. I answer to both Jack and Jonathon. Jack’s just my nickname like I told you. You can call me whatever you want.” Then before she could delve any further into that, he said, “So, are you busy tonight? Let me make you dinner.”

“In your apartment?”

She definitely knew who he was. No question about it. “Yeah, uh, listen, we need to talk. I want to clear a few things up. Maybe we could meet for lunch. I’ll come to your office.” He was fumbling, caught off-guard by the coldness in her voice, and by the realization that he had lied to her and it was going to be hard to explain that away.

But he was damn sure going to try.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Good-bye, Jack.”

She hung up on him. Jack jerked the phone back and stared at it. She had hung up on him. Never could he have imagined that Jamie, his sweet Jamie, would hang up on him. He really was up shit creek without a paddle.

Steve rubbed his hand over his chin. “Cut your losses, man. I’m serious. You’re setting yourself up for total humiliation.”

“No.” Jack wasn’t going to give up that easily. He called Beechwood right back. “Jamie Peters, please.”

“One moment.”

“Jack, I’m not interested,” Jamie said as a greeting.

“How did you even know it was me?” he asked, relieved that she had picked up, even if she sounded annoyed.

“We have caller ID,” Jamie said testily.

“We need to talk. I need to explain about the apartment, need you to understand that I wasn’t trying to be deceitful. I just get so used to women wanting to date me for my money that I’m cautious not to reveal too much until I know a woman better.”

Steve was still in front of his desk, and now he was very dramatically playing an imaginary violin. Jack picked up a paper clip and winged it at him. Get out, he mouthed to his incredibly nosy cousin.

Jamie snorted. “By the third time I’d say you knew me pretty well.”

Ouch. “Jamie…I’m sorry. I should have told you it’s my apartment, you’re absolutely right. I could tell by the end of dinner that you weren’t a money hungry kind of person. But you looked so freaked out when you saw my building…you said you wouldn’t date anyone who lived there.” Jesus, this was not helping. Jack rubbed his eyebrows. “You know, I really don’t want to do this over the phone. Can I take you to lunch, dinner, coffee?”

“No, thank you. Good-bye, Jack.”

The dial tone hit his ear again. “Damn it!”

He punched the redial button. “Beechwood Social Services, how may I help you?”

“Jamie Peters.”

“One moment.”

Jack was starting to think the receptionist was a recording. She had virtually no expression in her voice, aside from polite boredom.

A second later Jamie picked up. “Stop calling here,” she whispered fiercely.

“Then let me see you.” Aware that he was starting to sound like a stubborn five-year-old, he changed tones. Let his voice drop. “I miss you, Jamie. My bed was so damn lonely without you last night.”

She gave a heartfelt sigh. “Don’t…”

He could sense her hesitation, her desire to believe him, to return to where they’d been Saturday afternoon. “Just hear me out, gorgeous. Give me a chance to explain. You said everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Jack…”

“I’ll cry,” he teased.

She gave a soft laugh. “Right.”

“I’m serious. Please just let me see you.”

There was a long pause. Then she said, “Fine. I’ll meet you for coffee. Just coffee. Nothing else.”

“Great. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Jack pumped his fist in the air and whirled his chair around. “See you then. Bye, Jamie.”

He hung up before she had a chance to change her mind. Steve lounged against the doorframe, his coffee mug in his hand.

“You’re insane.”

“Probably. But I also think I’m in love and that’s worth going a little crazy over.”

Steve lifted an eyebrow. “You’d better take a peace offering.”

Jack stood up. “Good plan. Flowers? No, not for Jamie. What do I give a woman like Jamie?” Jewelry wasn’t right either. “How do I show her I’m sorry, I’m sincere, I respect her?”

“The way you’ve described her, she sounds like a bleeding heart. So you could give money to her favorite charity.”

Just when he thought Steve served no purpose other than to annoy him, his cousin pulled something brilliant out of his ass. “That’s a great idea. I’ll give money to her agency. What do you think? Five grand? Ten grand?”

“Whoa. Not her agency. We’ve been through this. It’s time to call the feds on Beechwood, not donate to them.”

“No, it has to be her agency. It’s a show of faith. Then maybe she’ll let me root out the guy who’s day trading.”

“Bad idea.”

Jack moved around him, patting his pocket for his wallet and keys. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s called complicity—accessory to a crime. You have knowledge of illegal activity and you’re not reporting it.”

“It’s not that black-and-white.” Jack gave Steve a wave and went out to beg and plead if necessary.

To coax and cajole.

To kiss and lick until Jamie saw that they were meant to be together.

That was the problem with having too much time on his hands. With no job, no apartment, and lazy summer days stretching out long and hot, he couldn’t help but find himself in front of Jamie’s office again.

Lunchtime. She liked to bring her lunch outside and eat in the little garden next to the social services building. There were vegetables growing in uneven rows, and Jamie always spread her lunch out on the picnic table and flipped through a magazine while she ate.

She was pretty, sweet and innocent. She smiled for everyone, including him when she’d met his eye on the sidewalk, which had made him feel good.

He should leave her alone.

But he couldn’t help himself. The need to see her was overwhelming, the only bright spot in long, restless days.

He leaned on the bus stop pole and watched Jamie unwrap her sandwich.

Sooner or later he was going to have to do something. Either leave her alone or tell her the truth.

Jack’s cell phone rang as he was brushing his teeth in the private rest room he shared with Steve outside their offices. Spitting out the toothpaste quickly, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jonathon, how are you?”

Wiping his mouth with a paper towel, Jack tried to place the woman’s voice, but he was way too preoccupied with quickly securing fresh breath and getting over to Jamie’s office.

“I’m fine. How are you?” He used a cautious, polite tone.

The woman laughed, and he suddenly realized who it was. “It’s Meredith, Jonathon. How quickly they forget.”

Rolling his eyes, he put his toothbrush and paste back in his travel case and left the rest room. Just who he wanted to talk to. The woman who’d loved his money way more than she’d ever loved him.

“Is there something I can do for you, Meredith?”

“Yes. Come back to the firm. Your old job is available again and we want you back.”

That gave him pause outside his office. “Really? Tim left?”

“Yes. Forcibly, I might add. He was no Jonathon Davidson. Look, we’ve got a mess on our hands here and we need you to clean it up. You were the best analyst the company ever had.”

Well, that was true. Jack felt a little smug as he tossed his travel case back into his desk drawer. “I have other commitments now, Meredith.” Not that it wasn’t incredibly satisfying that they wanted him back. It was. And then some. And it was intriguing, the little familiar jump of excitement he felt at going back to Wall Street, needed. He knew he could fix whatever the situation was, knew that he would enjoy the challenge of untangling the numbers.

“Look, I know we have our differences…but I’m mature enough to put the past behind us for the good of the company. Even if you dumped me under humiliating circumstances.”

That was a joke. It was such a skewed version of reality that Jack actually laughed. “Meredith, I broke up with you after you bragged that my best attribute was my money. The only one who was humiliated was me.”

“What are you talking about? I never said anything of the kind.”

God, he didn’t want to do this right this very second. Jack could picture Meredith, cool and blond, impeccably dressed, intelligent as hell, her wit as sharp as her fingernails. There had been a time when he’d been very attracted to her appearance of perfection.

But it was only that—an appearance. Their entire relationship had been false, a coup for Meredith, an embarrassing lesson for him. He didn’t want to wind up one of those fifty-year-old men with no hair and a thick paunch dangling a gorgeous twenty-five-year-old on his arm, denying to himself that money was his sole attraction.

“I loved you, Jonathon.”

Oh, God. No, this wasn’t where he wanted to go. “Meredith. I don’t know what to say, except that I’m sorry things ended the way they did.” Sorry that both of them had been hurt. Sorry that the doubts Meredith had given him had made him stumble in this new relationship with Jamie.

“Come back to the firm. We need you.”

Jack hesitated in the doorway of his office. Six months earlier he would have thought he couldn’t go back, could never go back to the way he was before, an obsessive workaholic. But that life, the job, called him again, the hook firmly in his back, ready to reel him back in.

“Let me think about it, Meredith. I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter 11

Jamie wondered why in the name of cruel irony had she packed tuna for lunch that day. Now Jack was walking across the street toward the building, and she must smell like the New York Aquarium. She could probably turn every cat in the neighborhood on, but Jack was going to recoil if he got within three feet of her.

Not that she should care. After all, it was over between them. She had only allowed him to stop by in the first place because she was a fair person, and he was entitled to explain himself.

Before she told him to take a hike.

She just could not, would not, allow herself to be talked into forgiving all his lies. If having a long-term relationship meant she had to put up with dishonesty, she’d happily stay single for the rest of her life.

Apparently her nipples didn’t understand her firm resolve on this matter. Because they perked up enthusiastically as she watched Jack approach, thumb drumming his thigh. He was wearing a suit. A power suit. Dark charcoal gray with a crisp white shirt that showed off his tan, and a red tie. The kind that screamed for onlookers to take its owner seriously.

He looked intelligent. Powerful. Rich. Hot. Especially hot. Really hot. Like she was having a little trouble sitting comfortably with this kind of heat in her skirt.

Never once in her adult life had she looked at a man wearing a suit as a sexy thing, and yet here she was drooling over Jack. Imagining yanking that jacket off and ripping his shirt apart again. Picturing running her tongue over his chest, down his navel, taking his thick, firm erection in her mouth and making him groan with naked pleasure.

“Hi.” He smiled at her.

“Hi,” she said, her voice sounding like she’d been hitting some helium on her lunch break.

He put his foot up on the seat and leaned over, in that guy stance of not sitting, but not standing either. Casual. Confident.

And she was staring at his crotch.

Jamie caught herself and glanced away, feeling heat streak across her cheeks. What was the matter with her? Focusing on the tomato plants she’d planted with some of the program participants’ children, she reminded herself that Jack was a liar.

Liar, liar.

Yet Jamie’s skirt was on fire.

She sighed.

“You look beautiful,” Jack said.

He was staring at her intently, the way he had when they had talked all night, the way he had when he had been deep inside her body.

“Don’t do that. Just tell me the truth. Did you know I was Caroline’s roommate?”

The temperature was in the eighties, but she didn’t think it was humidity that had her shirt sticking to her chest, sweat trickling down her back. It was nerves. It was fear that she wouldn’t be able to stand firm against his smile, his persuasiveness.

“Yes. I knew.”

She knew that. Had known it all along. But damn, it hurt to hear him admit it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jamie stared at his knee, because she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face.

“Because when Beechwood requested funding and I investigated the agency’s financials, I found some money shifting that didn’t add up. Someone is using the agency’s funds to trade, and then moving the money earned out of the account.”

That wasn’t what she had expected him to say. “What? That’s impossible. Who would be able to do that? There are only a handful of us who have access to the computer system.”

“And one of you is making money borrowing Beechwood’s money to trade with. Not stealing, since the money is always put back, but borrowing. Shifting lines from one column to another, you know what I mean?”

Not really. Her financial savvy was less than zero. “I can’t imagine who would possibly do that.” Not her boss. Janine had dedicated her life to the agency and lived in a dinky little apartment in Queens to prove it.

“I need to poke around a little, see if I can find out who. Otherwise, I’m obligated to call in the FBI.”

“The FBI?” Jamie glanced up at Jack. He couldn’t be serious. But he looked serious. “You can’t do that!”

“I have to. I’ve seen the crime, Jamie. But if you let me look into it, I’m sure I can figure out who it is. You can just quietly fire them and forget this ever happened so your operations don’t have to be shut down.”

“So what did this have to do with me meeting you on the subway? Did you know who I was then?” That’s what didn’t make sense to her. If Jonathon Davidson of the Hathaway Foundation had known who she was, how did Jack on the subway?

His jaw clenched, but he gave a sharp nod. “Yes. I had been to your office here…” He gestured toward the building. “And given what Caroline had told me about you in the past, I didn’t think that you were involved in any criminal activity. So I wanted to make sure you weren’t in any danger. Everything that happened after that…well, I didn’t set out for any of that to happen.”

Everything that happened. Like dinner, hours and hours of conversation, the most romantic and sexual experience of her life? Relegated to an accident of opportunity.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking appropriately contrite. “Really, truly sorry.”

Feeling a little sick, Jamie started packing up her lunch, desperate to get away from him, needing to maintain a little dignity. If she cried in front of him, she would just die, shrivel up like a puddle in the heat.

“You’re just sorry that I found out.” She balled up her sandwich baggie and stuffed it in her soft-side purple lunch box. “And you can leave now. I’ve heard all I want to.”

His leg dropped to the ground, and he was moving around to her side of the table. Jamie scooted down the bench, reaching for her soft drink can. This was much, much worse than lying about being rich. This had required cunning, and more than withholding a few facts. He had set out to meet her. A sob ripped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Jack reached for her. “Jamie, don’t, baby…please. I’m sorry, I should have been honest with you. But I was worried if I told you the truth, you’d confront the perpetrator on your own and get hurt. And then, later, well, shit, I was just selfish. I liked the way you saw me as a man, not a millionaire, and I wanted that. I knew the minute you collided with me on the subway that there was something between us, something that had potential…and God, I meant every word I said Saturday.”

“Except for the times when you were lying.” Jamie stood up and pulled her lunch box to her chest, knowing she only had about five seconds before she lost it. “Do your little investigating into Beechwood’s computers. But stay the hell away from me.”

She whirled around, wanting to run, determined not to, when he caught her by the elbow.

“Don’t do this…”

“Let me go.” Or she was going to shove her sandwich baggie up his nose.

“No,” he said stubbornly, looking frustrated and way too cute for someone who was a jerk.

“I’ll scream.”

“No, you won’t.” He actually looked amused by the idea.

And damn it, he was right. She wouldn’t scream. She didn’t like to make a fuss or draw attention to herself. “If you have a single shred of decency, you’ll just leave me alone.” She tried to pull back again.

“Jamie.” He wasn’t exactly pulling on her, but he wasn’t letting go of her arm either, so she kind of jerked to a halt when she tried to leave.

“I’ll make a donation to Beechwood. How does five thousand dollars sound? Could you do something with that?”

That made her stop all on her own. She whirled around to face him, horrified. Outraged. “Excuse me? Are you trying to buy my forgiveness?”

“Uh…no.”

He looked slapped, bewildered, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook. That was exactly what he was doing whether he realized it or not. And it was why rich people boiled her blood. They thought they could have whatever they wanted if they just flashed enough cash around.

“Of course you were. But I can’t be bribed, and I don’t fall in love with liars.”

Oh, God, why had she used the L word? Confused and flustered, hot and indignant, she tried to stumble back a step.

“It was meant to be a gesture of apology, yes, but to show you that I understand your job means the world to you.”

She was about to mention that he was the one threatening to call the FBI on Beechwood, but movement to her right drew her attention away from him.

“Is everything okay?” a man asked cautiously. “Is this guy bothering you?”

Giving one last jerk on her arm, she broke free, her soft drink sloshing up and out of the top of the can, splashing Jack’s shoes. Served him right. She’d be damned if she’d worry about ruining his four-hundred-dollar shoes.

“He’s not bothering me, he’s leaving.” She gave a brittle smile to the man, who looked a little down on his luck. His shirt was faded to a soft gray, and his jeans were thread-bare. There were myriad tattoos decorating his arms, and he looked pale for July, his brown hair stark against his skin. But he had a kind look of concern in his dark eyes, attractive bone structure, and a firm, proud jaw. “But thank you.”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Jack asked, frowning at the man.

“Can’t imagine that would be possible.” The man gave a wry grin. “Don’t look like we run in the same circles.”

But Jamie felt it, too, an odd tug of familiarity. It wasn’t his face, but his voice. It tripped around the edges of her brain, teasing her, reminding her of something, someone, but she couldn’t quite grasp what it was. The sensation was already sliding away, making her doubt it had even existed.

“I know I’ve seen you before,” Jack repeated.

Good to see he wasn’t just stubborn with her.

The man just shrugged and turned to her, his hands in his pockets. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, thank you. Jack’s stubborn, and a liar, but he’s also decent. Most of the time. He’ll leave if I really want him to.” She directed those last words to Jack, mentally pleading with him to let it go, to leave her to repair her broken trust, her broken heart, damn it.

“Shit,” Jack swore, looking out across the street. “Alright, Jamie. I’ll leave. But I’m not giving up on us. I’ll call you.”

She really wished he wouldn’t, but since he was backing up slowly, she wasn’t going to argue.

“You’re going back into work?” he asked, nodding toward the building.

She realized he probably wouldn’t leave until he saw her safely in, away from the guy who was still hovering by her side. She glanced at him now as she took a step toward Beechwood’s front door, her smelly lunch still bundled in her hand.

“Thanks again,” she told the stranger.

He nodded. “Take care of yourself, Jamie Lynn.” And he turned swiftly on one foot and started down the street, his footsteps pounding on the concrete sidewalk.

Jamie frowned, that teasing memory dancing in front of her again. Puzzled, she backed up until she was next to the big sand-filled ashtray/garbage can that stood in front of the building. Stuffing her trash through the hole, she watched Jack wave, turn, and head toward his car, clearly the fancy blue one wedged in between a Camaro and a rusted-out Chevy Cavalier.

The man was headed in the opposite direction of Jack, walking quickly, head down, the back of his dingy T-shirt darkened with sweat between the shoulder blades. He started jogging when the bus pulled up to the corner.

Jamie Lynn.

Suddenly it was there, and she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it, felt it, right away. “Wait!” she shrieked, lurching forward.

Jack stopped, turned around, but Jamie barely spared him a glance. Running for all she was worth, wishing she weren’t so fond of ice cream, both heart and lungs full to bursting, she headed south down the street, headed for the bus stop.

“Daddy!” she screamed, tears blurring her eyes as he disappeared into the bowels of the bus, and it moved forward with a choke of exhaust before the doors were even finished closing.

She followed for ten feet, screaming for the bus driver to stop, before stumbling to a halt in shock, a stitch in her side. For the first time in twenty years she had seen her father, and just like that last time, he had just walked away without a word.

It was that voice. She could hear it in her mind, locked deep in her memory. Jamie Lynn, my girl. Jamie Lynn, my angel from heaven. Jamie Lynn can ride her horse without the leash, Myra, don’t fuss so. She’s a big girl now, ain’t ya, honey bun?

He’d never talked as much as her mother, who was prone to chatter like Jamie did now as a woman, but when Jim Peters had spoken, it was steady, calm, loving. The big hands that held her safe and strong against barking dogs, thunder and lightning, and the big boom of fireworks, and the voice that whispered, ’night, firefly, when she was warm and sleepy in bed.

But it wasn’t his hand that touched her now, not his voice. But Jack’s. Jonathon Davidson’s. He slipped an arm around her shoulder, turned her to him.

“Hey.” His voice was gentle, concern in his eyes. “What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

She wanted to repel him, this other man who had lied to her, betrayed her trust, but she needed Jack’s arm more than her pride. Tears leaked out of each eye, fat and unchecked, as pitiful as she felt.

“That was my father,” she whispered, emotion roiling up her throat, making her want to gag.

“Your father?” He brushed her hair back, wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb. “I thought you hadn’t seen your father since you were little.”

“I haven’t. Not until today. It was him, Jack. The way he said my name. He called me Jamie Lynn, and I just knew.” Then suddenly, embarrassingly, she was sobbing, her shoulders shaking, her voice shattering. “He left again…he just left.”

Jack gathered her in his arms. Her face pressed into the crisp white shirt, her eye on his tie, her fingers gripping his suit jacket. Steady hands smoothed over her back as he made little sounds of comfort. Pressed kisses to her forehead, the top of her hair.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you. But he obviously stepped forward to protect you when we were arguing. I don’t know why he left, but maybe there’s more going on than you know about. He obviously didn’t know you knew.”

Jamie was grateful he didn’t try to tell her she was cracked. That it couldn’t possibly be her father, or that she wouldn’t know him after twenty years. And she thought he was right, that maybe it was time to call her mother. It seemed odd that her father knew who she was, was standing right outside her building.

Pulling slightly out of his embrace, suddenly realizing that it felt really damn good to be against his chest, Jamie sniffled and tried to stem her tears. “I need to go call my mom. Did you see how he was dressed, Jack? He looks…poor.” She’d certainly seen the signs of poverty often enough to recognize it. “Maybe not destitute, but lean. Down on his luck. What if he’s homeless?”

Jack led her over to the picnic table. He sat on the bench and pulled her onto his lap, and she didn’t even try to resist. She was always the one who comforted, who cosseted, who cared. It was nice to have someone to lean on just once, for a quick minute.

“We can find him, Jamie, if that’s what you want. It shouldn’t be that hard, even if he’s living in a shelter. The question more is, do you want to see him again?”

Perched on Jack’s thigh, she went to wipe her tears off with her finger, but he shoved his tie in front of her.

“Use this.” He dabbed at her with it.

“To dry my eyes?” She gave a startled laugh and tried to pull back. “That’s probably like a hundred-dollar tie.”

“You already ruined my three-hundred-dollar shoes by spilling Coke on them, and a hundred-dollar T-shirt with spaghetti sauce. What’s a measly eighty-dollar tie?” And with a great deal of tenderness, he used the tip of the tie to wipe her cheeks.

She felt the corner of her mouth turn up. “Is that all your shoes are worth? I would have thought they were more.”

“Sale at Steve Madden.”

A giggle bubbled up. “You know, what you paid for those clothes could probably buy a goat for a family in Africa, providing them with milk and dairy products for years.”

His mouth twitched. “Thanks, Sally Struthers. But instead of a goat, what I paid for these clothes provided wages for cattle ranchers, truck drivers, multiple garment workers, button and zipper manufacturers, and retail salesclerks. Not to mention my dry cleaner. I’m driving the US economy, babe. And looking good doing it.”

Jamie laughed, part amusement, part relief that he was here with her, distracting her, steadying her. “An alternate perspective I hadn’t considered.”

Jack was quiet for a minute, his hand stroking her back, wondering if he should just keep his mouth shut and enjoy the moment before she regained her sense and told him to fuck off. But he had seen the hurt, the torment on her face, and it had torn at his own heart. When she had turned, tears streaming down her face, he would have done anything to take that pain away.

Including blow his chances with her. So he ventured, “Maybe your father has a different viewpoint.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll reject him.” Like Jack himself was.

“Maybe.”

She wasn’t rejecting him yet. She was snuggled cozily into his chest, and his thoughts were shifting into dark, dangerous areas. Ones that involved this same position but without clothes. Of course, he was intelligent enough to know the odds of her appreciating his carnal thoughts right at that moment were about ten thousand to one, so he clamped down on his lust, his desire, his love.

And truthfully, he was enjoying cuddling her, comforting her in a way that wasn’t sexual but tender.

A random thought popped into his head. He gripped her more firmly, straightening up. “You know what? I know where I saw him now,” he said, positive he was right. “It was on the subway the day we met. When you got on and stumbled, you almost collided with a guy wearing grungy clothes, lots of tattoos, older than you, but not old, old. And I stepped in between so you wouldn’t touch him. So you would touch me.”

“What?” She jerked back from him. Stared up at him in amazement.

“Yeah, so maybe he’s been following you or something.” Not that Jack liked the sound of that, father or not. That was a little weird. Of course, he had no freaking room to talk.

“That doesn’t make sense…” Her words trailed off as she looked out across the street.

She wound his tie around her finger, pulling tighter with each turn, until he felt discomfort at the back of his neck.

“It may not make sense, but you don’t need to choke me,” he said lightly.

Absently, she refocused her gaze on him and unfurled her finger. “Sorry.”

Her lips were cherry red from sitting out in the afternoon sun, her cheeks a pale, sharp contrast to her freckles and dewy hairline. Her skirt spread over his legs in a colorful maze of purple and olive green, and her flowing white shirt hid all her curves.

If she didn’t forgive him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to accept that.

But she stared up at him, breath short and raw, eyes wide and awed, nail flicking across the button on his shirt. “Jack, do you believe in destiny?”

He opened his mouth, not sure what the answer was going to be. He had always been a by-the-numbers kind of guy, a make-your-own-destiny purveyor. But could he accept that it was fate that forced him to take a look at Jamie? Absolutely. Could he believe that destiny had pulled him off of Wall Street? Maybe.

But before he could answer, she continued.

“My friend, Beckwith, he tells fortunes. Months ago, he told me I was going to meet a man during an accident with food. On something moving. That this man would make me happy.”

That sent a cold rush of awareness tripping up his spine. That sounded like the day they’d met. Which just made it a coincidence.

“I didn’t believe him, but then that day, in the station, Beckwith called me to tell me it was about to happen, and then I hung up, ran forward and…right into you.”

Jack’s throat felt tight. His shoulders stiff. This was starting to make him uncomfortable.

“I thought it was you…I thought Beckwith meant you. But if you stepped in between us, maybe he really meant my father. Maybe I’m supposed to make things right with my dad.”

No, he did not like where this was going. Because he was pretty damn sure it left him out in the cold. “Maybe it’s all a coincidence.”

She shook her head. “Or maybe we interfered with destiny.”

“Maybe this was our destiny. You were supposed to meet me. I can make you happy,” he said, running his lips across the top of her head.

“Or maybe I can never succeed at a relationship until I fix things with my father. Maybe the timing for us is all wrong.”

Nothing had felt wrong between them, until he’d screwed up and failed to tell her the truth. “Maybe knowing your destiny is a mistake, because in searching for it, you manufacture it.”

Leaning back, Jamie cocked her head, thought that through, her lips parted. “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered. “Maybe I imagined things because I wanted to believe destiny was at hand.”

Abruptly, she stood up. “Maybe we need to leave well enough alone.”

Too late, he realized where she was headed with her line of thinking. “No, Jamie, that’s not what I meant.”

But she merely smiled at him, a soft, serene smile, her cheeks still streaked from dried tears. She kissed the tip of her fingertip and brought it to his lips. “Maybe it’s time to be friends. Just friends.”

Jack kissed her flesh, lingering over the plump pad of her index finger, tracing her salty skin with his tongue, not wanting to give her up. “We’re more than friends.” Jesus, way more than friends.

She pulled her hand back. “You can look into Beechwood’s money problem or you can call the FBI. It’s up to you. Thanks for the shoulder to cry on and…everything.”

“Jamie…” This couldn’t be all there was. It couldn’t be the end.

But she just gave him a wave and a sad smile and went into the building, the door snicking shut behind her.

And he took his sticky shoes and his wet tie and he went home.

Chapter 12

Jack Davidson knew when to buy and when to sell. He knew when a risk was too great, when it was a sure thing. He played put-options to his favor, and almost always won.

Money he could do. Dollars talked to him, gave him a direction in which to go. He had a fancy college degree stuck in his desk drawer, and he had a nice wad of cash rapidly making more cash for him while he sat back and watched it toil on his behalf.

That was all fine and good. But he was utterly clueless when it came to women. No instincts. Lousy success rate. And a volatile market.

Steve’s advice had exploded like shrapnel, nailing both him and Jamie. Jack didn’t know what strategy should be implemented at this point, so he did what any sane man would do.

He called his sister. A woman’s opinion was required if he had any chance of being successful with Jamie.

After the usual greetings, he paced across his living room Monday night and went straight to what was bothering him. “Listen, Caro, what would you do if a guy you slept with lied to you?” He added, “For a good reason.”

“I’d tell him to have a nice life and never see him again.”

Shit. “Why? What if he was trying to protect you? What if he apologized?” Jack bundled up the red cashmere blanket that he and Jamie had abandoned on the sofa, prepared to fling it into his closet.

“I’d figure once a liar, always a liar. If he can lie about the little stuff, he can lie about the big stuff.”

One small mistake and a guy has to pay for it for the rest of his life.

“Not necessarily. And what if he wanted to make amends? Show it wasn’t going to happen again.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Jonathon.”

And right now he was burying his nose in the blanket and trying to catch a stray trace of Jamie’s scent. My God, he was pathetic.

“True. Hey, Caro, do you believe in destiny?” He shoved the blanket behind a throw pillow.

She snorted. “No.”

That shouldn’t surprise him. Caroline was a true Davidson. She was aggressive, determined, and when she wanted something, she went after it. He had always been the same way. Was still that way. But somehow, he was wondering if there was more to the concept of fate. He’d have sworn everything that had happened between him and Jamie was meant to be.

“Why do you think certain things happen, then?”

“Randomness. Coincidence. Human choices. Take your pick. I believe in controlling my own destiny.”

That was it, wasn’t it? Destiny might play a part, but choices and actions drove your future.

Jack believed in controlling his own destiny. And that’s what he was going to do.

Jamie sat down in the big overstuffed chair in her apartment, a pint of mint chocolate chip next to her for emergency bites. This was not a conversation she wanted to have, but it was unavoidable. Taking a deep breath, she dialed her mom on her cell phone.

“Hey, honey,” her mother answered after two rings.

“Hi, Mama. How are you?” Jamie closed her eyes and sighed. Her mother was a wonderful woman, resourceful and loving. Yet she was going to be upset to hear about her ex-husband, Jamie was sure of it.

“Great, though hot. It’s been over ninety all week.”

There was the sound of chopping in the background, and Jamie imagined her mother was fixing herself a salad for dinner. “Listen, Mom, when my father left…did you know where he went?”

There was a startled silence; then her mother gave a little laugh. “Shoot, where did that come from? I thought you got over all that wondering about your father during your teen years.”

Maybe that’s what her mother had wanted to believe, but Jamie had never really stopped wondering. She had gotten over it, for the most part, she had thought. But she’d never stopped wanting to know why.

Rubbing her hands over her skirt, she stared out the window at the building across the street. A big fat pigeon was doing reconnaissance on the ledge. “I’m asking because I think I saw him today. He was hanging around outside my work, and he called me Jamie Lynn. It wasn’t until he walked away that I recognized his voice.”

The gasp from her mother was pure shock and horror. “Oh, my God, baby, you stay away from him, ya hear me? Call the cops if you see him again.”

“What? Why?” She had expected her mother to be upset, uncomfortable, maybe even a little bitter. She hadn’t expected fear.

Her mother hesitated, but finally she sighed. “I never wanted to tell you. I didn’t think it mattered. I figured gone was gone and that’s all you needed to know.”

“Mama, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about?” Jamie gripped the pint of ice cream, but had no thought to eat it.

“Your father left because he figured out the FBI was closing in on him. He decided to run and leave us to fend for ourselves.”

“Why was the FBI after him?” She didn’t like the sound of this. It almost sounded as if her mother was saying…

“During the late sixties and early seventies your father was a very vocal antiwar, anti-nuclear weapons demonstrator. He did some breaking and entering, too, to burn draft cards. I imagine they would have let him go after a few years in hiding if he hadn’t accidentally burned down a whole building, killing the night janitor.”

“Oh, dear God.” Jamie covered her mouth. She could not reconcile the man who’d held her as a child, loved her, with a violent activist.

“He didn’t tell me any of that when we met and married. It was only later, when he thought his time was running out, that he bothered to mention any of it. I knew he was in the antiwar movement, and I believed him when he said it was all nonviolent, nonconfrontational. I do believe it was an accident, that he never meant to hurt anyone, but I can’t forgive him for dragging me, then you, into the mess he’d made. A responsible man would have admitted his mistake and accepted the consequences.”

“So he’s been in jail all these years?” Jamie closed her eyes again, her throat tight. Destiny propelled people along, but choices could change an entire life. Lives. How would all three of their lives been different if her father hadn’t lit that match?

But that was neither here nor there.

“I know he ran for the first few years after he left because the FBI watched our house randomly, checking to see if he had contacted us. As you know, he never did. Then in the late eighties I heard he was arrested and sent back to New York, where he was convicted of manslaughter. It was my understanding he got twenty years.”

“Apparently he’s been paroled.” Jamie pressed her fingers to her temples. When the heck had the FBI been watching their house? The very idea made her shiver. While she’d been riding her horse? Sunbathing with her girlfriends? It wasn’t a pleasant path to stroll down.

“Well, you stay the hell away from him, Jamie Lynn. He can’t bring you anything but trouble and heartache. He doesn’t deserve to call us family, not after the way he lied, not after the way he left me alone to deal with the consequences of his actions. I can’t even get remarried if I wanted to, because for the first few years I didn’t know where he was, then I didn’t want you to know he was sitting in prison, so we were never divorced.”

“Well, at the very least, maybe now is the time to finally file for divorce, Mama.” She let out a laugh before she could stop herself. It was so completely unbelievable, so ridiculous, so screwed up.

She’d known her parents’ marriage had ended badly. That had been obvious. But she had never dreamt the extent of the dysfunction in her family. No wonder the man hadn’t spoken to her. He had no way of knowing what she knew or didn’t know. He was probably terrified of an ugly confrontation.

Her mom choked back a sob. “I wasn’t expecting this. God, it’s been twenty years and it hurts just as much as the day he left. I don’t know if I could handle speaking to him about a divorce.”

“Mama, it’s okay.” Jamie forgot about her own worries, feelings. It was awful to hear her mother, who had been a rock for all those years, sound so emotional. So hurt. Myra Peters had defined strength as a single mother. Her whole life Jamie had never once seen her mom cry, and here there was a sniffle and a tremble in her voice.

Maybe she’d spent so much time staying strong for her daughter, she’d never dealt with her own grief and hurt.

“You do whatever you think you need to do, Mama. There’s no hurry, no worry. I can find him or I can let it go. I don’t think he wanted anything. I think he just wanted to…see me. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, baby girl. I was trying to protect you. And maybe protect myself, too.”

“That’s okay, Mom. It’s not like I could have seen him anyway.” She took a deep breath, fingered the lid of the ice cream. “I had a good life. I have a good life, thanks to you.”

“You always were such a good girl, Jamie Lynn. I’ve always been proud of you.”

“I know.” Crossing her legs, she wondered why it had been a whole year since she’d seen her mother. She’d give just about anything to have her soft arms around her right then. “Listen, I just need a bit of time to think. How about I call you again tomorrow?”

“Sounds like a good idea. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mama. Bye.”

“Bye now.”

Jamie cradled the phone in her hand and marveled that while her entire childhood had just shifted and altered in meaning, she felt exactly the same as she always had. In fact, she felt better. Her father hadn’t gotten tired of his wife and daughter and gone on to a second family. He hadn’t stopped loving his wife, and by default stopped loving the daughter she’d given him.

Jim Peters had been a desperate man, running from his past, and looking to protect his family.

Jamie stopped feeling for herself and shifted that emotion over to him. What a lonely, empty life he’d had.

She’d been loved and cherished, surrounded by her mother’s family and good friends. What had he had?

The phone in her hand rang. She glanced at the caller ID, worried it was her mother.

Davidson, Jonathon.

Sighing, she answered. “Hi Davidson, Jonathon.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Hey, Peters, Jamie Lynn. How are you?”

It was more than a casual platitude. He was asking if she was okay. Which she was. She was sad, terribly sad, but she was okay. And it was nice to know that he cared enough to call, even if he was a liar.

Who had thought he was protecting her. That seemed to be an echoing theme in her life lately.

She sighed again, figuring she was getting good at it now. “I’m fine. I talked to my mom, and I just need some time to think.”

“Okay. I just wanted to check on you, give you another shoulder to cry on and…everything. If you needed it.”

Those were the words she had spoken to him, and she realized how it must have sounded. As if their whole night together could be summed up as everything. It had certainly meant more to her than that one word, but she didn’t have the energy to get into it with him.

“Thanks, Jack, I appreciate it.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” he asked lightly.

Not for getting naked and having sweaty, giggly, therapeutic sex, which was what she really wanted to do with Jack.

“Yeah.” Jamie closed her eyes and fought the wave of longing that threatened to tsunami her. “Bye, Jack.”

She needed to hang up before she could do or say something she would regret when she wasn’t feeling so vulnerable.

“Bye, Jamie Lynn. Call me if you need anything.”

When she clicked the off button on her phone, Jamie sat still in her chair.

And let the tears finally come.

In five minutes on the interior of the Beechwood Social Services agency, Jack had figured out who the day trader was.

Jamie, who had a tired smile on Tuesday morning, hadn’t looked all that surprised to see him. Not thrilled, exactly, but neither did she toss him out on his ear. Instead, she had showed him around the office. In the third cubicle to the left, he found his man.

“This is Austin,” Jamie said, pointing to a teenage boy working at a computer. “He’s a computer whiz, so he does a lot of our data entry.”

Austin, who looked like he was in the middle of a personal experiment to see how long he could go without brushing his hair or washing his clothes, gave them a brief glance. It wasn’t poverty Jack saw in Austin’s slouchy, grubby look. It was some kind of fashion statement, from the hair that went down in black-tipped spikes over his eyes to the metal studs sticking out just about everywhere there was skin.

All that piercing and tattooing and purchasing of clothes meant to look well worn could get pricey. And before Austin minimized his screen, Jack saw exactly what he was doing.

Shopping stocks.

Jack could recognize that from across the room.

Jamie didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. She put her hand on Austin’s shoulder, getting his attention. “What’s new, Austin?”

Jack expected a sullen grunt, but instead Austin turned, looked up at her, and gave her a real smile. “Not much, Jamie. Just doing boring shit. I mean stuff.”

“Jamie says you know a lot about computers,” Jack said, hands in his pockets. He had worn jeans today because he wanted to talk to Jamie’s boss about the situation, but he didn’t want to come across as official or intimidating. Now he was grateful he didn’t look like a Suit, because he needed to talk to Austin without Jamie around.

“Yeah, so?” Austin gave him a suspicious look.

“I was a broker for a Wall Street firm for ten years, and now I run a charitable trust foundation. I could use an intern for the rest of the summer.”

Austin looked interested for just a split second, then his features settled into blasé nonchalance. “Yeah, well, I’ve been convicted for hacking and financial fraud. No place decent will hire me to do anything but clean their fucking toilets. And I don’t want to clean your john.”

Jack couldn’t believe that Jamie and her boss let a convicted financial felon have access to all their computer files, data, and funding. He felt his eyes bugging out in horror. What anyone with half a brain could do with that kind of knowledge was astounding.

While the urge to shove past Austin and throw his arms across the PC was overwhelming, he controlled himself. “As a juvenile or an adult?” he asked, curious if this kid had actually done time.

Austin looked him over, hard. “Juvenile,” he finally answered. “I’m fourteen now. Thirteen at the time of the crime.” This was accompanied by a smirk, like he wasn’t the least bit remorseful for what he’d done.

Most people who committed financial crimes were sorry they got caught, not that they’d done it. It was hard to find remorse when actions were perpetuated by greed. Jack’s world was full of good old-fashioned greed, the desire to get more for less, to ride the wave of this stock or that market, to be on the inside of the next big thing.

“Is working here part of your parole?” Jack had thought Beechwood served primarily adults and families, not juvenile offenders, but he didn’t really know.

“Yeah.”

“How about we go grab a drink on me in the lunchroom I saw and we can talk about a job that won’t conflict with your work here. Nothing volunteer. Real money.”

“Go ahead, Austin,” Jamie said, looking just as suspicious as Austin.

It occurred to Jack maybe she thought he was trying to buy her affection again.

“You can take a ten-minute break.”

Austin looked like he’d just as soon join the ballet, but he stood up, pushing his MP3 earpiece off and letting it dangle around his neck.

There was a lunchroom with vending machines Jack had noticed two doors down the hall, and he led Austin there now. He bought two soft drinks and handed Austin one.

Austin didn’t take it. He narrowed his eyes and said, “Are you one of those rich guys who’s looking for a boy toy? ’Cuz I don’t do that shit.”

Jack nearly broke his jaw on the floor it dropped so low. Then he laughed, part embarrassment, part amusement. Yeah, he really did suck at this whole spy/intrigue thing. “No. Definitely not.” He gestured with his hand toward the door. “My interests lie more with redheaded women, you know what I’m saying?”

Austin nodded in understanding, accepting the soft drink. “I got ya. You’re looking to score points with Jamie, huh? Take the loser kid she feels sorry for and clean him up.” He pointed his finger at Jack. “Pretty slick, man.”

Jack took a seat at the plastic picnic table next to the vending machines. “Maybe that’s part of the plan, yeah. But it has also come to my attention that someone has been using Beechwood’s funds—nearly a hundred grand through ten different transactions—to trade, making money for themselves. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Austin shook his head slowly. “No idea.”

“It’s smart, done well. Pretty hidden, if you’re not looking for it, and you’re not experienced. And it’s one of those things that you figure, hey, you’re not hurting anyone, right? You don’t steal the money. You don’t keep it, you just borrow it. Make yourself a little quick cash, put it back, and no one gets hurt. But what if one time you mess up? You don’t make money, but lose it? What happens then?”

Jack was trying to sound casual, matter of fact. He had his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed. Austin wasn’t looking at him, but studying his Coke can as if the secrets to the universe were scrolled across it.

Finally, when the silence stretched out, Austin locked eyes with him. “What do ya want, man?”

“I want you to knock it off. I haven’t said anything to anyone. Jamie knows what’s going on, but she doesn’t know I think it’s you. But if you don’t quit, I’m going to have to tell her it’s you, and she’ll tell her boss. Or maybe I should do what I should have done in the first place and call the feds in.”

“You can’t prove shit.”

“Oh, give me a break, kid. You know how this works. A handful of people had access to these computers and that financial information. You’ve got a record for fraud. And you’ve probably got a few grand squirreled away somewhere. They’ll pin it on you and you know it.”

Austin popped the tab on his soft drink can and took a long drink. “So what, if all activity stops, you’re just going to let it go? I don’t believe that for a fucking minute.”

“Sure, I’ll let it go.” Jack might be insane, but he had the feeling Austin wasn’t a bad kid. He was just smart as hell and bored. “I’ll give you that internship I mentioned.”

“Whatever,” Austin scoffed.

But Jack figured they had just struck a deal.

The cell phone in his pocket rang, and when he answered it, Austin used the opportunity to slip back down the hall before Jack could stop him.

“Hello?” It was his sister’s number on caller ID.

“Oh, my God, Jonathon you have got to get here.” Caroline’s voice was dripping with exasperation.

“Where is here, dear?” Lately Caro had been morphing into a mini Bridezilla, and he hoped this wasn’t some kind of tuxedo crisis.

“The nursing home. Pops had some kind of tantrum, and the director of the home called Mom, who can’t get out of Darien because she’s in the middle of a color treatment. Foil wraps everywhere. And so I had to come down here because the nurses have refused to deal with Pops anymore, and I can see why. He’s being totally unreasonable.”

Jack could hear Pops yelling in the background, “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here! You always were too much your mother’s daughter, Caroline.”

“See what I mean?” she said.

“And I don’t need any damn nurses,” Pops yelled.

Jack rubbed his forehead. “Let me talk to him. I’m at Beechwood. It will take me an hour to get there with traffic, but I want to talk to him first.”

“Fine.”

“What?” Pops barked into the phone a minute later.

“Okay, what gives, Pops? You can tell me the real story.”

“I want out. I can’t live here, Jack. These people treat me like I’m a two-year-old and a dimwitted one at that. I have assets worth over a hundred million bucks and they won’t let me use a fork! This afternoon I had a cigar, and that nurse I hate, the one with the cauliflower legs and the voice like a band saw, she just grabbed it out of my mouth. Didn’t ask me to put it out, didn’t say it was against the rules. Just grabbed it, like I was a goddamn baby. So I grabbed her ass. See how she likes people getting grabby on her.”

Okay, that was funny. Jack fought a grin. “Guess she didn’t like it, huh?”

“Nope. Which probably explains why she’s so uptight. Doesn’t know how to appreciate a little slap and tickle.”

Even over the phone Jack could hear his sister gasp in horror.

But Jack suspected at this point, Pops was going for shock. He was tired of the nursing home and wanted to get his point across loud and clear. For a man who’d spent his whole life wheeling and dealing in the fast lane, Jack couldn’t imagine how hard of a fall this was for his grandfather. And he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

“Pops, you know you can’t go home yet.”

Pops just grunted.

“So why don’t you move in with me for a while? We can have a nurse drop in once every couple of days, and the therapist to do your physical therapy. The rest of the time you and I should be able to handle it.” Jack figured Pops couldn’t live on his own just yet, but he wasn’t senile, and he was well on the way to recovery. Being in a more comfortable atmosphere might actually facilitate his progress, and Jack had a fairly light work schedule. And apparently no social life now that Jamie was through with him.

Pops wasn’t saying anything, so Jack said, “What do you think?”

“So you’d do that for me?” Pops’s voice was tight.

Jack thought about the man who had showed up at all his ball games when he was a kid, the man who had taken him under his wing in the business world, and the man who had always been free with a hug to make up for Jack’s parents, who were stingy with affection.

“Yeah, I’d do that for you.”

“Don’t want to cramp your style when hard-on girl comes around.”

Jack laughed, even as his gut gave a little twist, like indigestion. “She gave me the ‘just friends’ speech, Pops. She’s not going to be coming around my apartment.”

“Well, shit. What the hell’s the matter with her?” Pops was indignant. “You’re a damn good catch.”

“Thanks. So okay, I’ll come down there and get things settled, and we can move you as soon as possible. Let me talk to Caroline again.”

“Sure. And thanks, kiddo.”

Now it was Jack who felt his throat tighten, but his grandfather passed the phone off before he could respond.

“Are you dating someone?” Caroline asked without a hello.

Jack could practically hear her nostrils flaring in anticipation of gossip.

“No.” He knew for a fact if Jamie had told Caroline about them, his sister would have been all over him. Clearly Jamie didn’t want Caroline to know they had slept together, so he wasn’t going to be the one to mention it. Especially since he’d been dumped.

“Oh. That’s too bad.” Caroline sounded gravely sympathetic, as though it were a national tragedy that he couldn’t find a date.

Time for a diversion. “Pops is moving in with me.”

It worked.

“Oh, dear, God. Mom’s going to burst a blood vessel.”

Chapter 13

“So what do you get paid to do this?” Mike, one of her reentry students, asked Jamie Friday afternoon.

She could see he’d drawn some incredibly detailed sketches on his paper. He was supposed to be writing a résumé, but as far as she could tell he had nothing more than his name on the paper and several well-endowed dragons.

“I don’t get paid enough,” she told him, truthfully. She smiled and tapped her pen on his paper, distracted. “Now put something down there so we can move on to your housing application.”

She’d seen Jack go down the hall past the open doorway. He’d given her a wave and a smile. Nice and friendly. Just like she’d suggested. Just friends.

Only why did it feel so lousy to get exactly what she wanted?

Jack had come in to the agency every day since Monday, laboring over something on the computer with Austin. He had told her that Austin was the one who had been doing whatever complicated thing Jack had thought someone was doing. Jamie didn’t understand any of it, nor was she sure how Jack was handling it, though he had assured her he and Austin had worked out a deal.

It irritated her that in typical businessman manner, he had just strolled in and taken over. It was her job to monitor Austin, not Jack’s. But since she didn’t understand the crime, and wasn’t willing to take it to the attention of the authorities, she was stuck letting Jack handle it. None of it thrilled her. She was disappointed in Austin. And a strange, weird, unpleasant part of her felt…cut off. Jack wasn’t seeking her out. Wasn’t trying to apologize or convince her to forgive him. It was like he’d given up, taken her at her word, and was okay with the label of friends even after the amazing night they’d spent together.

She wasn’t. Which meant she was nuts.

Another student, Luis, glanced up from the paper he was laboring over. “This is wack. I don’t understand why I have to fill all this stuff out. I never got any of this shit for free before…Who’s going to give me a job, an apartment, free day care now? I thought the government had budget cuts, man.”

“These are all private nonprofit organizations who sponsor programs to ensure your successful reentry into society. We work together with them to get you back on track. If you have a decent job, a nice apartment, a safe place for your kids, you won’t be tempted to do anything illegal, right?” Jamie put a warning in her voice.

Luis stared at her. “Right.”

“Because if you screw up and commit a crime, all these things will be taken away, you’ll be back in jail faster than you can say ‘this is wack,’ and your three daughters will be out on the street, ripe for the picking. They’re pretty girls, Luis, and your wife can’t watch them if she has to work two jobs to put food on the table.”

It wasn’t a threat, just the facts.

Luis got it. His jaw twitched. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?” he asked, going back to his paper. “That’s why I like you.”

“So, to get a break in life, all you have to do is commit a crime?” Richard, a physician convicted of insurance fraud, shook his head. “We live in a rather twisted state of emergency, don’t you think?”

“Shut up, Doc, and take your free shit,” Mike recommended.

“It costs more to maintain the judicial process and the incarcerated care of sixty-five thousand male prisoners in the state of New York than it does to provide services like these. The entire six-month heating and air-conditioning course that we’re enrolling Mike in costs less than it did to house him in prison for one week.”

“No shit?” Mike shook his head. “And the food wasn’t even all that great.”

That made Jamie laugh, even as part of her couldn’t focus entirely on her class. Her mind was on her father, her mother. And Jack.

She wasn’t sleeping well at night, and she wasn’t sure what to do, if anything. Jamie was a glass-half-full girl, and she knew she was okay, but she had no sense of direction.

What she should do. If anything. About anything. It made her feel helpless and lonely and frustrated.

Lucky for her, Beckwith had a plan.

Jack was headed out to his car after lunch to drive over to Hathaway for the rest of the day when he spotted Jamie’s father sitting on a bench across the street from the agency. He hesitated for a second.

The man wasn’t watching him, but was staring down at his feet.

Jack looked back at the Beechwood building. This wasn’t any of his business. Dealing with Austin wasn’t even really of his business, and yet he was up to his eyeballs trying to straighten that out, convinced that the kid showed promise and potential and shouldn’t be thrown away.

And here he was again, standing there knowing he should walk away, but completely unable to.

He and Jamie were friends, he’d like to think, as much as that label made him want to groan in agony and beat his head against the wall in frustrating despair. But that sort of move was a little dramatic for him.

Instead, he’d gotten drunk at Brad’s bachelor party and was spending all his free time with a teenage boy and an old man. It wasn’t a great form of therapy, but it beat wailing in the middle of Forty-fourth Street.

Jamie’s father glanced over at him, narrowed his eyes in recognition. Jack started across the street. He figured Jamie had invited him into the situation by crying on his shoulder. That had nearly killed him, and he didn’t want to see her hurt further.

Jack stopped in front of the man, who was now sitting straight up, looking suspicious and tense. Ready to fight, if necessary. Even with some hard years on him, Jack could see the resemblance to Jamie. Same eyes. Same freckles.

“I just wanted to tell you that Jamie knows who you are.”

“Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

But Jack could tell he knew. The guy’s face went white, his eyes ran scared.

“You know what I mean, Mr. Peters. And if you don’t want to talk to Jamie, maybe you’d better quit hanging around.”

Jamie’s father’s head fell into his hands, and he rubbed his scratchy unshaven chin. “I just wanted to see her…” he said, his voice breaking a little. “Just wanted to make sure she’s okay. I don’t mean her any harm.”

With a sigh, Jack sat down on the bench next to him. “Look, I don’t claim to know anything about relationships. My own family thinks communicating is critiquing each other’s clothing. And as you noticed, given the argument we had the other day, I’m not exactly Jamie’s favorite guy these days. But I think that you’re hurting her more by not talking to her. She wants to know where you’ve been, man.”

“I’ve been in prison.”

“Oh.” Well, shit, that explained a lot. Jack cleared his throat, embarrassed to have trod into something so personal. “Well, fortunately, Jamie understands that men make mistakes.”

He shut up, not sure what else to say.

“Listen, do you have a few minutes? I need someone to talk to, and you obviously care about Jamie.”

“I do.” More than he could express without sounding like a cream puff. “And sure, I have time.”

“Thanks. Name’s Jim, by the way.” He stuck his hand out.

“Jack.”

They shook.

And by the time they were done talking quite a while later, Jack had another new roommate, and a pretty good idea that Jamie was going to kill him.

By the end of the day Jamie had seven new voice mail messages on her cell phone. Walking to the subway, feeling sluggish and slow, her peasant skirt trailing on the sidewalk, she curiously listened to her messages. She couldn’t imagine there were seven people trying to get ahold of her in one afternoon.

First message. Sent at one-twenty-two P.M., the robotic female voice said in her ear. Then, “Sugar, I had another vision. I saw ice, I saw coffee, I saw anger. Call me.”

Jamie played with the amber beads on her necklace. That prediction meant nothing to her, so she waited for the next message.

Next message. Sent at two-twelve P.M. “Why haven’t you called me back? You need to give me your new work number. There are times when I have to talk to you and I don’t like being put off with this cell voice mail bullshit.”

Jamie would have to be insane to give Beckwith her new work number. As it was, she was lucky he hadn’t just shown up at her office.

Next message. Sent at two-seventeen P.M. “You know, you’re lucky I’m getting my nails done or I’d just come down there. There’s a great disturbance in the force,” Beckwith said in his deep yet somehow feminine voice. “There’s like a Darth Vader moment right around the corner for you.”

That made Jamie grin. Darth Vader? Geez, Beckwith certainly had a flare for the dramatic.

Next message. Sent at three twenty-one P.M.

Jamie didn’t need psychic powers of her own to guess it was going to be Beckwith again.

“My crew keeps saying, “They’re here…” like that freaky little girl in Poltergeist. Why the hell am I seeing your future in movies? And who are they? Jams, you’ve got to call me before I have an aneurysm.”

If he’d stop leaving voice mails, maybe she would have time to call him back.

Next message. Sent at three forty-seven P.M. “Whatever you do, do not go to Jack’s apartment, do you understand me? I sense criminal feelings…like death, prison. Maybe the doorman has a violent past or something, but do not go over there, do you hear me? I repeat, do not go to Jack’s apartment.”

The frightened tone in Beckwith’s voice made Jamie shiver a little, even as the sun beat down on her bare arms. He was great at drama, but he wasn’t usually prone to hysteria. Yet she couldn’t believe she’d ever come to harm in Jack’s presence. Despite his lying, she felt in her heart that she could trust him not to ever hurt her physically. He could shred her heart like mozzarella if she let him, but physically she’d be fine.

Next message. Sent at four-oh-one P.M. “Jamie, this is Jack. I was wondering if you could come over to my apartment tonight after you get off work? I need to talk to you…” Jack hesitated. “It’s about your father.”

Jamie sucked in her breath. That must have been the feeling Beckwith was getting. He was mixing sensations about her father with Jack. Prison, a crime…dark shadows of the past like Darth Vader.

“You can come over any time. I’ll be here.” There was another pause like he was going to say something else. But he only ended with a soft, “Thanks, Jamie.”

“Damn,” Jamie whispered out loud, heading down the steps into the subway. She wanted to blow Jack off. To hold on to her anger over the lies, and her irritation with the way he’d taken over handling the situation with Austin. But she couldn’t. She had a heck of a time saying no to anyone, and Jack had been comforting to her when she’d seen her father.

And no matter how far apart their lives were, or how many issues lay between them, part of her would always remember the night they had shared, when everything was simple and it had just been amazing between them.

She hesitated on the platform. Maybe she should run home and change into a fresh outfit. Maybe her yellow sundress.

Next message. Sent at four-twelve P.M. “Okay, sugar, fine, don’t listen to me. Go over there and get murdered. But at the very least, have pity on me and do not wear that yellow dress. It makes you look like a banana.”

Okay, apparently she wasn’t changing. Jamie stepped on the train and glanced down at her green skirt, and smoothed her red hair.

Watermelon. Banana. Same difference.

“Okay, just hear me out,” Jack said when he met Jamie in the lobby.

Met her in the lobby. That was not a good beginning to the evening. Like there was something so utterly horrible and depraved about to blurt from his lips he needed to say it to her in a public space.

“What?” she asked cautiously, sliding her camel-colored hobo bag in front of her. Not that she intended to beat him with her purse or anything, but it felt safer to have a barrier between her and those pleading, pretty eyes.

“Sit down,” he suggested, his hands in his jean pockets as he nodded toward the red chairs.

“No, thank you.”

One, she wasn’t going to be staying that long. Two, those chairs reminded her of that night, which she’d rather not be reminded of, thank you very much. Too much contemplation on that morning’s particular activities and she would either start crying or spontaneously orgasm.

“Okay, then I’ll just get right to the point.”

Please do, God, he was going to drive her to drink.

“Your father is upstairs in my apartment and he wants to talk to you.”

Maybe she should have sat down. Jamie’s cheeks went hot, and her legs turned to rubber. “I’m sorry?”

Jack reached out like he was going to touch her, but he hesitated. “He was outside Beechwood, and I talked to him, told him you knew who he was, and that maybe it was time for him to speak to you. He told me he’d just wanted to make sure you were okay, but didn’t want to bother you. I convinced him that it would be no bother. That his daughter would like to speak to him. Was I wrong?”

He looked anxiously at her, and Jamie felt tears well up. She shook her head rapidly. “No, no, you weren’t wrong. Thank you.”

Suddenly terrified, she glanced at the elevators. “Should I go upstairs or is he coming down?”

“He’s waiting upstairs.”

When Jack took her hand and squeezed, leading her toward the elevator, Jamie didn’t shake him off. And when he said, “I know about the whole prison sentence,” Jamie found that she was grateful for the compassion in Jack’s voice. Glad that her father had felt comfortable enough to confide in Jack.

Stepping into Jack’s apartment, bracing herself to come face-to-face with her father for the first time in twenty-some years, Jamie found herself leaning closer to Jack. It wasn’t such a bad feeling to have a man like Jack at her back.

Especially when she saw Austin and an older man, not her father.

“Austin? What in the world are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he called from the sofa, looking mighty comfortable with his feet on Jack’s coffee table.

She swiveled to level a gaze at Jack, waiting for some kind of explanation for why a teen criminal was channel surfing on his plasma TV.

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “He’s such a bright kid and he’s living on the streets, Jamie. This is temporary, until I find the right boarding school for him.”

“Boarding school? Who on earth is going to pay for that?” That was sure in the heck not in Beechwood’s budget. Private school tuition was probably more than Jamie’s entire annual salary.

Jack didn’t answer, but Austin did, flipping his hair out of his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder. “Dude’s crazy, Jamie. He’s going to shell out money for me to go to some fancy-ass school. You should stick around, he’ll probably throw some cash your way, too.”

Her mouth stopped working. Shock made her lips numb. It took several seconds for her to regain control enough to form words. “Do you want to go to boarding school, Austin?” she asked, amazed. It was a little hard to visualize him in a blazer, or with his pants actually around his waist instead of his knees.

“Hell, yeah. It was either that or prison. And I’m kind of looking forward to showing up those preppy pimps.” He cracked his knuckles. “I can get straight A’s with my fucking eyes closed.”

“Well, everyone does have their own unique talents,” she said carefully, feeling floored. Flummoxed. Freaked out. All kinds of f words.

The older gentleman in the wheelchair spun himself around. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Jack-o?”

“Of course, Pops. Jamie, this is my grandfather, Will Hathaway. Pops, this is Jamie Peters.”

She managed a smile at Jack’s grandfather, remembering all the wonderful things Jack had said about him. “It’s so nice to meet you. Jack’s told me how much he admires you and all your accomplishments.”

His grandfather cracked a laugh. “I can only imagine. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, young lady. Jack’s been gushing like a faucet about how beautiful you are, and for once I have to agree with him.”

Jack made a coughing sound, and Jamie felt a blush rising over her neck and cheeks.

“So, where’s Jim?” Jack asked.

Jim. Her father. Jamie stiffened, heart thumping painfully.

Austin’s eyes darted back to the TV, but Jack’s grandfather set his mouth in a tight line and shook his head.

The silence drew out for a long, awful moment.

“He stepped out for a minute,” Pops said.

Jamie felt her throat close off.

“Is he coming back?” Jack asked, loud and demanding.

“He just bugged out,” Austin said. “He didn’t say shit to us.”

The room blurred as tears came swiftly, cementing her mortification. It was just disappointment, really, but still she was ashamed of the emotion.

“Hey, uh, Austin, why don’t you and Pops run across the street and get some dinner?” Jack pulled out his wallet and handed Austin forty bucks.

That was all the incentive Austin needed to leap off the couch and grab hold of Pops’s wheelchair. “Come on, old man.”

Pops swiped the money out of Austin’s hand. “Got to be quicker than that, punk.”

They paused right beside her. “Sorry,” Austin said, solemn and uncomfortable.

Pops reached out and patted her hand with his strong, wrinkled one. “He’ll come around.”

She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak, their compassion nearly shattering her. When they were gone, she shook her head, pulled her hand out of Jack’s. “Please don’t say anything. Thank you for trying, but please don’t say anything.”

If he tried to apologize, she was going to cry. Jamie took a deep breath and called on all her strength. This was not a big deal. Nothing was different about today than yesterday. She was a strong, independent woman who could wrestle a pig to the ground and fend off barbs from ex-cons with equal success.

Her father’s rejection was nothing new, and she wasn’t going to let it crumple her. The only thing that had been known to bring her to her knees thus far was ice cream, and aside from a slight heaviness in the thighs—some of it genetic anyway—that wasn’t a crisis.

“Jamie…”

“I’m fine, Jack.” Or she would be once she got out of his expensive apartment and went home to collapse on her purple bedspread. Took a breather and meditated to regain her equilibrium.

“No, you’re not.” He tried to reach for her, tried to pull her into his arms.

Those arms looked all too appealing. Knowing if she let him, she’d be helpless, defenseless against his kindness, she stepped back in a panic.

“Don’t.”

She expected him to protest.

What she didn’t expect was him to drop his hands, stare her straight in the eye and say, “I love you.”

Where the heck was Beckwith’s helpful second sight right now? She could have used a little warning on that one.

Chapter 14

Why the hell he had chosen that particular moment to confess his feelings, Jack couldn’t possibly fathom. As he stood there waiting for Jamie to stop gaping at him and actually say something, he remembered a Maxim article he had read out of desperation in LaGuardia when his flight had been delayed and he’d been dying of boredom.

It was the ten most humiliating responses a woman can give when you tell her you love her for the first time.

He had the horrible feeling he was about to get served one of them.

“Thank you,” she said.

Ouch. She slammed number three over the net right into his face. It felt just about as good as a real tennis ball to the nose would. He felt smacked, stung, stupid.

“That’s sweet of you, and I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. Honestly.”

Did she think he was professing love to make her feel better? Jesus. He’d told her for purely selfish reasons because he wanted her to smile, say she felt the same way, and agree to move in with him. If he had just wanted to make her feel better, he’d have sent her flowers and gotten her drunk. And it had never occurred to him that anyone would think his love was some sort of balm to any wound.

Take my heart, it’s like Neosporin.

At times in life there were no words. Or at least not any that Jack could think of.

So he just went with instinct. Moving in front of the door where they were still hovering, Jack shook his head. “No thanks necessary.”

Then when her mouth opened to protest, he closed the space between them at the speed of sound and took her lips in a demanding kiss.

The plan was to catch her off guard and stun her into forgetting she wanted to leave. The stunned part seemed to be working, but that was all. Jamie’s lips were slack beneath his, and he had the feeling her eyes were wide open, though he wasn’t going to look for confirmation.

This required a step two. Wrapping his arms around her, Jack molded her lush body to his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, letting his thumbs brush across her lower back as he eased up on her lips. Kissed her softly, gently, his mouth caressing hers.

Better response. She gave a small sigh and kissed him back. Her hands didn’t go so far as to encircle his neck, but she made it to his shoulders, which was good enough for him. He had missed her. One night, or one morning, actually, and he’d ached every day since for her.

After worshipping her mouth for a few minutes, he felt the shift in her response, felt her leaning closer to him, felt her kisses change from accepting to questing.

He buried his hands in her hair, his body tight, her mouth soft and giving as they moved from tentative to lustful.

“I love you,” he murmured against her mouth, wanting her to understand, to acknowledge he meant the words. And maybe it would inspire some more gratitude, this time in the form of her hand on his fly.

She tried to break away from him.

He wasn’t having any of that. He bent half over and scooped her up into his arms, one arm firmly under her backside.

Jamie let out a startled shriek. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being Rhett Butler, but without the moustache. You know, from your favorite movie.”

“I’m no Scarlett,” she said, though she did crack a smile. “And you said that movie is overdramatic and displays male-female relations in a negative light.”

“Han Solo and Princess Leia?”

She shook her head, and tried to put her feet on the ground. “I’m more like Luke than Leia.”

Jack let her get down, but he nudged her up against the wall and trapped her with his arms. “You’re a man?”

Laughing, she shoved against his chest. “No. I’m whiny.”

Jack couldn’t believe that. He took a risk, knowing it was a big one. “Maybe in the beginning Luke was whiny with that whole Uncle Owen, I want to fly thing, but there has never been anything whiny about you. And in the end, Luke thought more about other people than himself. You’re like that, Jamie. And your father is not Darth Vader.”

Her eyes widened. “Darth Vader…God, that’s ironic.”

“What do you mean?” He was just using a movie reference to dance lightly around a sensitive issue.

“Nothing. And please don’t say you love me…you can’t. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. I don’t even understand you.”

“I do know you.” Jack let his hands drop away from her. He was no longer feeling like Rhett. “Being with you, talking to you, getting to know you, you’ve changed the very foundation of my life, Jamie Peters. You showed me what’s important. That when I concentrate on other people and their happiness, instead of myself, my life makes sense.”

She skirted out past him, careful not to brush against him. “I’m glad if you feel like I’ve had a positive effect on your life. But truthfully, I’m sure generosity was there in you the whole time.”

“Maybe it was, but I certainly wasn’t using it.” When he reached for her again she moved right up to his front door. Why the hell was he always reaching for her and she was always pulling away? That was starting to irritate him. “Why won’t you let me love you?”

“I don’t trust you,” she said.

Well. That pissed him off. “Don’t trust me? Or don’t trust yourself? Look, you said you have a bad track record with men. But all those losers, and whatever went down between you and your father, it has nothing to do with me. Nothing.”

Her face leeched of all its color. “Maybe Beckwith’s prediction was right. I was destined to meet you.”

That sounded about right to him. So why did she look as if she’d eaten bad fish?

“You found a new career direction. I found my father and my conviction that I am happy with my life the way it is.”

“Uhh…” Shit, he had nothing left to throw out there. He was a pitcher about to be yanked from the game.

“I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”

Whoa. Dude. The ultimate brush-off. This was almost worse than the thank-you after his love confession.

No. Nothing was as bad as that.

But nonetheless, this pretty much sucked, too.

Jamie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax so she could survive this ordeal.

“You look like hell,” Allison whispered to her from the chair next to her.

She knew that without Allison pointing it out to her. “Thanks a lot.”

Her eyes remained closed as she swished her feet around in the warm tub of water. They were lined up all in a row, all three roommates, soaking their feet in a midtown salon, the morning before Caroline’s wedding.

“Maybe you should call him or something,” Allison whispered.

Jamie nearly groaned with confusion and longing. How could she explain to Allison that she wanted nothing more than to call Jack and accept his offer of love, his promise of a future. But she couldn’t do that. Jack wasn’t who she had thought he was.

He was Jonathon.

And he had lied to her about several things, starting with being unemployed and ending with his chichi apartment. Which meant she couldn’t trust him, no matter how much her heart wanted to believe otherwise.

But Jack wasn’t the only liar. Jamie was lying to herself. She wasn’t staying away from Jack because he had money, or because he had lied to her the day they met. She was staying away because she was in love with him. Because when she looked at him, and talked to him, and watched him with his grandfather and Austin, her heart melted to mush, about the consistency of goetta or grits. She was that much in love with him. And terrified that if she told him that, he’d have the power to hurt her as much as her father had hurt her.

“I’m not calling him.” She was happy with her life the way it was, or she would be as soon as she got over being miserable.

“Well, you know you’re going to see him tonight at the rehearsal dinner.”

As if she hadn’t thought about that every second for the last six days. And regretted that she’d been so abrupt in her dismissal of him at his apartment. She’d never been so cruel in her life—he professed love and she said thank you?—but she had been desperate to get out of there with her panties still intact. “I know.”

Mrs. Davidson swept into the room, bringing a tray of fruit with her. “Here, girls, I brought you some goodies while you’re getting your pedicures.” She set the tray down on a table and smiled at them, beaming with maternal pride.

Jamie couldn’t look her in the eye for fear Mrs. Davidson would immediately know that Jamie had seen her son naked. The knowledge felt fairly burned all over her. Slept With Jack. In neon flashing lights across her breasts.

Caroline looked up from her own seat across from Jamie, her long, tanned legs showing under the feminine floral dress she wore. “Thanks, Mom. That looks great.”

They shared a smile, which made Jamie feel even worse. This was Caro’s big day, and she had done the utterly distasteful by sleeping with the brother of the bride.

Mrs. Davidson was an attractive woman of fifty-something with blond hair shot with silver. She was wearing a sleeveless dress in turquoise, showing well-defined arms that made Jamie feel like a soft down pillow. Caroline and her mother were long and slender, with firm everything, while Jamie was soft and squishy. Jack had called her lush, which had sounded wonderful in the moment.

Now it sounded fat.

Her lip trembled. She felt the signs of a serious pity party descending on her.

“Jamie, honey, are you all right?” Mrs. Davidson asked, picking up one of her hands and rubbing it maternally. “You look a little tired.”

Jamie wiggled her toes in the bubbly water and attempted a smile. “I am tired. I think I’m getting a cold.”

Allison made a coughing sound behind her hand.

Mrs. Davidson patted her again. “Oh, summer colds are the worst, aren’t they? Get lots of rest this afternoon and take some echinacea. Here, have a strawberry.”

She accepted the fruit Mrs. Davidson was pressing on her.

“Thank you.” A tight smile was all she could manage, but fortunately Mrs. Davidson moved on.

“Mandy, you look absolutely adorable. Motherhood agrees with you, and wherever did you get those cute maternity capri pants?”

Her mother might have accepted her lame excuse, but Caroline frowned at her. “Are you sure you’re okay, Jams? You haven’t looked good all week. Maybe it’s the flu. I’d feel terrible if you were sick for the wedding.”

“I think it’s just a cold. The flu would have me knocked out flat. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Jamie held the strawberry with one hand and rubbed down the front of her loose, long skirt with the other. She didn’t have so much as a sniffle, but she couldn’t exactly tell the truth.

Caroline leaned forward, cupping her hand so her mother wouldn’t hear. “You’re not…pregnant or anything, are you?”

Oh, Lord.

The strawberry fell out of her hand, tumbled down her skirt, and landed with a plop in her feet water.

“No!” She wasn’t, she knew that for a fact. Jack had used protection every time, and it had been the wrong time. Of course, Caroline knew none of that.

Caroline grinned. “Just checking. You’d be a great mom, of course, but I can’t imagine you raising a baby Scratch.”

Not that she had ever actually slept with Scratch. “I haven’t seen Scratch in months.” The implication, of course, was that she hadn’t had sex since then, which made Jamie feel like a Big Fat Liar.

This was awful. The very second Caro stepped off the plane after her honeymoon, Jamie was going to come clean.

Time to change the subject. She fished the strawberry out of her water. “So, everything’s all set, Caro? No last minute things we can help you with?”

Caroline smiled in satisfaction. “Everything is set for the rehearsal tonight and the whole day tomorrow. Oh, I forgot to tell you. You know I’ve packed up all my stuff in the apartment, and I thought Brad would just get it when we got back from Paris. But Jonathon offered to move everything to the new apartment for me while we’re gone.”

Allison gave that horrid fake cough again, her brown eyes dancing with amusement.

Jamie saw nothing funny about it. “Oh, great. Have him call ahead so we can let him in.” And so she could be on the other side of Manhattan when he showed up. Maybe even in Queens just to be safe.

Mrs. Davidson leaned against Caroline’s chair. “I don’t see why you just can’t hire a mover, Caroline. It’s not like Jonathon knows a thing about moving furniture. Unless that’s something else he kept from his family.”

Jamie couldn’t imagine why anyone would keep the ability to lift wardrobe boxes a secret from their family, but Mrs. Davidson looked serious.

Caroline pursed her lips. “Jonathon actually has hired a mover. He’s going to let them in and oversee the loading and unloading so we don’t have to deal with it when we get back. It’s a wedding gift.”

“I’m surprised he has the money since he lost his mind and quit his job.”

And Jamie thought she had issues. Clearly, Mrs. Davidson hadn’t been thrilled when Jack left Wall Street.

“Mom, please, don’t start like this…” Caroline started to rub at her temples.

“I think that’s awfully nice of Jack,” Jamie blurted out, darting an urgent “Help Me” look to Allison. She didn’t want Caroline and her mother getting into a fight in a salon the day before her wedding.

Mrs. Davidson tilted her head and looked at her in surprise. “How did you know Jonathon’s nickname was Jack? No one really calls him that anymore.”

Jamie froze. Oh, help. She was busted. “I…”

“Jamie works for an agency that requests funding from Hathaway, Mom. I’m sure she understands why he quit his job.”

Okay, uncomfortable family undercurrents. Would Caro’s contempt shift to her if she found out Jamie had slept with Jack? But this was her opportunity to at least partially come clean. “Yes, and this week I actually met Jack in person. He’s working with one of my teenagers.”

Caro looked smug, Mrs. Davidson looked appalled. “He’s doing what?” she said.

“Oh, yeah, Jack and Jamie have been working very closely on this project,” Allison said, humor in her voice.

Turning, she shot Allison a warning look. Allison was the one who had gotten her started on this whole secret sex thing, and now she was about to force questions Jamie didn’t want to answer while her feet were soaking in a salon. Or actually, she did not want to answer them ever.

Saved by the pedicurists. As four technicians stepped into the room, Mandy asked, “Why aren’t you having a pedicure, Mrs. Davidson?”

Jamie could have kissed Mandy for taking the conversation off of Jack/Jonathon.

“Oh, I had a spa day yesterday. I knew I would be too nervous to relax today.”

A woman dressed all in black sat on a little stool in front of Jamie and pulled her right foot out of the water and dried it with a fluffy white towel.

She tried to relax, forcing herself to take deep breaths and listen to the classical music playing softly above her head. Okay, that was better.

This was not a big deal. So she was lying. No biggie. So she had bolted out of Jack’s place like a redheaded chicken. So she was in love with him. Not a problem.

All she had to do was spend an entire weekend in a wedding party with him and pretend they were platonic acquaintances. Of course, that was no mean feat, considering she had touched every inch of his glorious body and had begged him to make her come.

She had been certain he’d been exaggerating when he’d said he loved her. Sure she’d been doing the right thing. She had thought it wasn’t a good idea for them to get involved, but now she couldn’t really remember why. The only thing she did know was that she wasn’t handling this whole thing very well.

Jamie had always prided herself on being a clear-headed person. Sitting in that chair she felt about as thick as Derby pie.

She had sort of run out on Jack twice.

A flush raced through her.

Maybe she wasn’t as mature as she liked to think.

Mrs. Davidson started across the room. “My cell phone is ringing. Excuse me, girls, I’ll take this in the lobby.”

Caroline closed her eyes as a pedicurist started massaging her feet. “She’s driving me crazy.” Then her eyes reopened, fists relaxed, and Caroline looked determined to ignore her mother. Her tone was brisk, efficient, purposefully pleasant. “Mandy, you’re partners with my cousin, Steve.”

“Is he cute?” Mandy joked, flipping her wispy hair back. “Damien will be jealous if he is.”

“I do think he’s cute, yes, even though he’s my cousin. He’s something of a flirt, too. I don’t want to cause problems, Mandy. I can partner you with Finn, Brad’s awful cousin from Ireland.”

“No, no, leave me with Steve.” Mandy grinned, her hands resting on the baby bump below her waistband. “It practically guarantees that Damien will want to shag me when we get home that night. Branding, you know. And reminding me that I made the right choice in picking him.”

Jamie was appalled. Torturing your husband all night just sounded so cruel.

Allison just laughed. “You’re too cute to be so manipulative, Mandy. I love it.” Then she turned to Caroline. “So, who do I get? The awful cousin or your brother?”

“The awful cousin.” Caroline winced. “I’m sorry, Allison, but the thing is I trust you to control him. Jamie, well, sweetie, you’re just too nice.”

Nice. Sure. That’s what she was. Lying and running out on men. She felt just sweet as sugar.

Why had she bolted like that? She might have ruined her new friendship with Jack, except that she knew despite their best intentions, neither one of them could claim they were purely friends.

Allison rubbed her hands together. “Controlling a man sounds like it could be fun, actually. So what do I have to do? Keep him from draining the Cristal, or from trying to look up skirts of fifteen-year-old girls?”

Eew. Jamie wasn’t too nice to handle a guy like that, but she sure in the heck didn’t want to.

“Allison, he’s not that bad. He’s not a pervert, just a jerk.” Caroline’s mouth drew down in a frown, and a hand went back up to rub at her right temple.

“So what’s so terribly wrong with him?” Mandy asked.

There was no hesitation. “He’s rude, he turns everything into a joke, he’s underdressed in scrubby clothes at every occasion, and he’s an artist, of all things. A broke, mooching artist, and for some reason Brad thinks he’s the coolest thing since MP3s.”

“I can handle that type, no problem.” Allison waved her hand in the air. “I’ll prevent him from making an embarrassing toast at the reception, I promise.”

Wait a minute. It suddenly occurred to Jamie exactly what that meant.

It meant…

“So, that means Jamie is with Jonathon.”

Gak. She’d thought that’s what it meant. Her heart slammed into her gut. No, no, no. She could not spend the next twenty-four hours being forced to walk with, sit next to, dance with, and pose in pictures alongside Jack.

It had been hard enough to resist him the first week, when he’d just been friendly and pleasant at Beechwood. It had been damn near impossible to say no to the silent plea he’d had in his eyes after he had kissed her, told her he loved her.

Put him in a tux, with champagne swimming through her system, and she might as well throw her skirt over her head and let him at it.

A gurgling sound came out of her mouth. The pedicurist glanced up at her, her eyebrow lifting.

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea, Caro? It might make Jack uncomfortable since we know each other in a…professional capacity.”

Allison gave another hideous cough. “Maybe Jamie has a point, Caroline. I can partner up with Jonathon. It will be fun, since I’ve known him for years, and he’ll feel comfortable.”

Bless Allison’s heart. She was trying to save her.

“No.” Caroline shook her head. “Jonathon will be fine with Jamie. I seriously need you to baby-sit Finn. God, why do we even have relatives?”

Jamie was dead. That’s all there was to it. Unless she invoked the three R’s. Reduce, reuse, recycle? No, that wasn’t right. Resist, reject, retreat. That was it.

Clearly, she had been right in saying she wasn’t ready for a relationship. She was a total emotional mess, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of them to race down a relationship course that would leave them both bruised and bleeding when they crashed at the bottom.

Sinking back in the chair, she resigned herself to her fate—a really uncomfortable, sexually frustrating weekend.

Jack huddled in the backseat of his cousin Steve’s SUV and tried not to grimace. He, Steve, and Pops were on their way to the wedding rehearsal, then dinner, and Steve’s driving was making him sick.

Or maybe his life was making him sick.

His empty, lonely, meaningless life.

How could Jamie have left him like that? After he’d handed her his bleeding heart on a bloody stick.

It was the question that had been repeated a thousand times in a thousand different ways.

And he had yet to come up with an answer.

Steve took the corner at forty miles an hour, nearly annihilating a group of tourists trying to cross the street to see the Rockefeller Center.

“Slow down,” he growled, pushing his sunglasses firmly back up his nose.

Steve glanced at him. “What’s the matter with you? You don’t look so good.”

“I think I ate bad chicken.” It was a total lie, but was better than blurting out the truth, that he was mooning over Jamie. Steve would spend the whole damn night telling him I told you so.

“Uh, bad timing, Jack. You can’t be puking at your sister’s wedding. It won’t look good on the video.”

No, he didn’t imagine it would. “I’ll be okay if you slow the damn car down.”

“Fine, fine.” Steve shot him a grin. “I saw enough of you tossing your lunch last week at the bachelor party.”

Jack groaned. “Don’t even bring that up again.”

The memory made his head pound. After spending a lonely night wondering why the heck Jamie had left him, he had gone to the bachelor party and had proceeded to drink himself under the table. Literally.

He hadn’t done anything that stupid since he was twenty-one.

Steve wasn’t finished razzing him, though. Shifting gears, he said, “I’ve never seen anybody throw up down the front of a stripper before.”

“It was an accident.” One that held no comedic value for him, despite the laughter in Steve’s voice. He didn’t imagine the stripper had found it all that funny either. It had taken a profuse apology and a five-hundred-dollar tip to keep the whole bachelor party from being thrown out of the club.

But he hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t been interested in the stripper at all, in fact, had waved her away. She had persisted, shaking herself and her red-tasseled breasts in his face. His perception had already gone the way of the whiskey, and she had made him dizzy with all that wobbling. And then an image of Jamie wiggling out of her jeans topless had risen in his mind, and before he even knew what was happening, he had thrown up, splashing those tassels and her red high-heeled shoes.

Not one of his finer moments.

“It was disgusting,” Steve said with relish.

Jack wasn’t going to argue.

Nor did he feel like discussing it any further.

Pops, who had been making his way through a bag of peanut M&Ms in the front seat, added his two cents. “Bad chicken? Bah. Looks like girl trouble to me.”

“Are you supposed to be eating those?” Jack asked, grabbing for a subject change.

“Do I give a shit?” Pops threw a green one in his mouth and chewed defiantly. “I don’t have a peanut allergy. And stop changing the subject. If you’re pissed that Jamie dumped you, you should do something about it. A hard-on girl doesn’t come along every day.”

Steve let out a laugh. “What in the hell is a hard-on girl?”

Jack considered crawling under the seat to avoid this conversation. Pops shared none of his embarrassment.

“A girl who gives you a hard-on just by thinking about her. Jamie does that to Jack.”

He swore under his breath while Steve nearly ran them off the road from laughing so hard. “He’s pitiful, isn’t he?” Steve asked. “You should have seen him begging her to meet for coffee. It was sad to see how far the mighty have fallen.”

“Fuck off.”

Steve only laughed harder. “Come on, Jack, even you have to admit your strategy didn’t exactly work.”

“So what do you suggest I do, since you’re such an expert?”

“You can stop being so dramatic for one thing. No chick is going to like a puppy dog following her around with hopeful eyes.”

Pops nodded. “Kid’s got a point. And I read that metrosexuals are on their way out of favor. Women want manly men, who take charge.”

Oh, good God.

“So stop acting like a crybaby and seduce her,” was Pops’s conclusion.

“Seriously,” Steve added. “And drop the whining about being rich. Makes you sound like a spoiled brat.”

Wow, the sympathy pouring forth from his family was just overwhelming.

The evening stretched ahead of him, long and unpleasant.

And he couldn’t even seek solace in the wine.

With his luck, he’d throw up on the entire bridal party.

But maybe Steve and Pops had a point, when you waded through the useless crap they had spouted. Maybe he needed to stop moping like a bad cliché and do what had always come naturally to him—take action. Meet the challenge head-on and emerge triumphant.

As he hit the button for the car window to go down, he pictured life without Jamie in it. Desolate, empty. Siberia of the heart. Nope, that just wasn’t going to happen.

He would love her, damn it, and she’d learn to like it.

Chapter 15

“Oh, my God, what is he doing here?” Allison said as she opened the door of a cab. “Quick, get in before he sees us.”

“Who?” Jamie turned around and spotted Beckwith. He was kind of hard to miss, wearing that floral dress and Charro earrings. “Maybe he was just in the neighborhood.” She waved at him.

Allison grabbed her hand and yanked it down. “Stop that! He’ll see you, and we’re on the verge of being late to the rehearsal. Caroline will have a cow if we’re late.”

“Jamie!” Beckwith spotted her and waved both hands. “Don’t leave, I have to talk to you.”

“Who cares?” Allison got in the cab. “Come on, Jamie. Tell him to call you later. Like next year.”

But Jamie didn’t like the look of concern on Beckwith’s face. Even his lip liner couldn’t keep his mouth from turning down in a pinched frown. “What’s wrong, Beckwith?”

The cab driver yelled out the window, “You going to stand there, lady, or get in the car? I don’t have all day.”

“We can get another cab,” Jamie said to Allison, feeling a little guilty, but needing to see what Beckwith wanted. She couldn’t just blow him off without spending the whole night worrying about him.

Allison sighed and opened her purse. She handed the driver a ten. “Here. Give her five minutes.”

“Five minutes. No more,” came the gruff, staccato reply.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Listen to this guy, Jamie,” she said out the window. “He sounds just like a Speak-N-Spell. It’s amazing.”

But Beckwith was now in front of her, thick hand resting on his heaving chest. “Girlfriend, I ran three blocks in these heels. Nearly broke my fucking ankle six times. And now I have sweat stains. Do you know when sweat dries on rayon you can still see the circle? This is a new dress, too.”

“Did you need something, Beckwith? I’m on my way to Caroline’s rehearsal dinner.”

“You need to stop this wedding.”

“What? Why? I can’t do that.”

“He’s going to hurt her, sugar. I mean, rip her heart out and feed it to the fishies.” Beckwith wiped the dew off his upper lip.

Jamie believed him, and was sorry for it. It made her ache for Caroline, but she also knew Caro was not the type to believe a cross-dresser’s vague warning, even if his predictions for Mandy and herself had come true. Well, hers had been only partially accurate. Man of her dreams might have been a stretch.

“I can’t stop the wedding. Caroline has to want to stop it, and trust me, that’s not going to happen.”

Beckwith grabbed her arms, shook her just a little. “Then you have to be there for her when the ax falls.”

“Okay. Okay. Of course.” Jamie bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He let go of her. “Oh, and sweetie, I was right about Darth Vader, wasn’t I? But this isn’t about your father, remember that.”

“What is it about?” she asked, frustrated. “Knowing my destiny is a bad idea, Beck, because I just feel like I’m spinning in circles trying to decide what it is.”

“Well, stop it!” Beckwith said, squinting against the sun. “Stop thinking! Just listen to your heart.” He grabbed at his chest, clasping his faux breast.

If he broke out into a love song, she suspected she was going to be embarrassed.

“Just trust me, sweetie.”

Jamie jumped when the cabbie blared his horn. “Your time is up. Get out of the car.”

“I will not,” Allison declared, but she did lean out the door and call to Jamie. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“I have to go…”

Beckwith squeezed her hand. “Don’t let him drive at first. He’ll take wrong turns.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Be happy, precious.”

Then he turned and walked down the street, limping as if his open-toe sandals were pinching his feet.

Jamie slid into the cab. She didn’t even have the door half closed before the car ripped away from the curb and merged into traffic.

Beckwith’s words rang through her head. How could Beckwith be so sure when she was so confused?

The cards were wrong. They had to be.

Jack was from a different world than she was. She had only scratched the surface of knowing and understanding him.

“We are going to be so late.”

“I never told you this…but Beckwith said Jack is the one he saw in the cards.” Jamie turned to Allison, wanting to accept her destiny, terrified she’d make a false move and get hurt.

“You have a big red lip print on your forehead.” Allison reached out and rubbed it off. Then her brown eyes softened. “Maybe Beckwith isn’t so crazy after all. I’ve never seen you like this over a guy.”

“It could never work, Allison, you know that.”

“I don’t know that.” Allison was wearing a plum-colored sheath dress, her dark hair pulled back from her face, chandelier earrings swinging as she shook her head. “It can work if you want it to. Jonathon doesn’t need fixing like your other guys. He’s in move-in condition.”

“He’s attracted to me because I’m different than his usual type.”

That was her real fear. That he would dump her when the novelty wore off and go on with the rest of his life. Just the thought of it had fear clawing up into her throat. She wasn’t afraid of a lot of things, not even spiders or dogs over seventy pounds, but the thought of giving Jack her heart and having him reject it made her feel downright sick.

Part of why she dated the men she did was because she knew there was no permanency there. She knew the relationships wouldn’t work, and when they split, and he went off to a better life, like Scratch had, she’d felt happy, not sad.

But it wouldn’t be that way with Jack. It would be like losing her father all over again.

“What makes you think he would walk away?”

Plucking at her skirt, she shrugged. “When you strip away the lust and the fascination, what is there? What do we have in common? Nothing.” She stared out at the piles of garbage lining Bleecker Street. “I wish you hadn’t talked me into wearing this dress. I feel ridiculous.”

Jamie rolled her shoulders in the floral dress in agitation. Instead of being long and loose like the dresses she normally wore, it was short, with a high waist. It was a fun, flirty, summer look, and now she just knew it would send the wrong message to Jack.

Like, Look at me, I’m a silly goofball.

Black would have been better.

“My legs look like cracker barrels in this dress.”

Allison’s eyebrows rose. “What is a cracker barrel? Never mind. I don’t want to know. And stop pulling on the neck-line. The dress looks great. You look great. You look sophisticated. Tall.”

It was easy for Allison to look sophisticated at five-footten with long, straight, dark hair. Jamie had to work at it.

Gripping a crystal worry stone she’d pulled out of her purse, she tried to think serene, calming thoughts. Waterfalls, dolphins, daisies. Nothing helped. She was hysterical.

“You were right, Allison. We should have never gotten our fortunes read. Now I have all this horrible knowledge weighing down on me. I feel burdened.”

What would she have done differently if she’d never known anything about her destiny? How could she possibly face Jack knowing that she’d been acting like a fool?

And in this stupid, clingy, short, short dress?

“I feel late,” Allison said, grabbing her purse. “Check your boobs and get a grip. You have to walk down the aisle with Jack, and I have to spank an Irish cousin if he gets out of line.”

Jamie glanced down at her cleavage, saw too much of it, and yanked her dress up. “Can we switch places? You walk the aisle with Jack, and I’ll spank the Irish cousin?”

“No way. Spanking is more my style than yours.”

An image of Jack behind her, giving her a playful swat, rose in her mind, and she flushed. That was not what Allison meant, and here her mind went right in that direction. Dang. Her dress was too clingy, and her willpower too shaky to be having thoughts like that.

“You’re right. No spanking for me.”

Jack busied himself chatting with Pops and ignoring his mother.

It was a bit of a challenge since she kept approaching them to fuss over Pops and criticize both of them, but he was making an effort. This was his sister’s wedding rehearsal, and he was in church. He’d be charitable, no matter how difficult it was.

“Jonathon, I’m so glad to see you got a haircut. You were looking absolutely slovenly.” His mother reached out as though she wanted to straighten his tie, then thought better of it. His mother led the family in questioning his sanity.

“I’m thinking of growing it out, Mom. Going for a retro beach look. Taking up seashell collecting and opening a hot dog stand.”

She darted a quick look around before whispering fiercely, “I’m sending my therapist to you. He can fix your little crisis.” Her hand went up to pat her hair, check her earrings. She was perfection as usual in an ivory dress, minus the suit jacket that accompanied it. It was sleeveless, to show off the biceps her personal trainer, Rafe, was carefully sculpting.

“I’m not having a crisis. I’ve made a lifestyle change.” It was probably cruel to push his mother’s buttons like that, but he was feeling downright put upon. No matter what he did, it was wrong.

His mother wanted him rich. Jamie wanted him to be broke. Meredith wanted him back at the firm.

And he wanted what he couldn’t have.

“Margaret, lay off the kid. This is your daughter’s wedding…can’t you just pull the stick out of your ass for twenty-four hours and enjoy yourself?” Pops looked disgusted, and his words were firm, despite the slight slur that was still present in them.

Jack’s mother clamped her jaw shut. “You should have brought a nurse with you, Dad. Who is going to keep an eye on you?”

“I don’t need a goddamn nurse. I can even wheel this chair around by myself.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Jack said, so they wouldn’t cause a scene. Not to mention that it was still something of a secret that Pops had moved in with him the week before.

“Oh, wonderful. The blind leading the blind. I’m so reassured.” With that, his mother turned on her heel and left them.

Pops smacked Jack’s thigh with his right, stronger arm. “Don’t let her get to you, Jack-o. She’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

But Jack only half heard his grandfather because Jamie had just walked into the church and was coming down the aisle. Wearing a dress that clung to her impressive breasts and sort of shifted and floated all around her. It reminded him of lingerie, soft and delicate, sexy as hell. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, spilling over her peaches-and-cream skin.

He’d never seen her wear shoes with stiletto heels, but these were some serious Barbie sandals. They sent her two inches higher and showed off every bit of her legs from the knee down.

“Wow,” he said, gripping the back of Pops’s wheelchair.

He’d seen Jamie naked, touched every inch of her, and watching her walk down that aisle brought it all back to him in excruciating detail. What he’d had. What could never be his.

“What?” Pops followed his gaze. “I still can’t believe you’re actually interested in the con’s daughter. She’s a little porky for your tastes, don’t you think?”

Porky? The very word offended him. Jamie was gorgeous. “No, I don’t think that! Watch your mouth, Pops.”

The old man just laughed. “There’s nothing like a hard-on girl, is there?”

“She’s much more than that.” Though he did have a hard-on, right as he was speaking. Fortunately, the back of Pops’s head was blocking his crotch from general view.

Jamie looked stunning.

“Well, roll me over there and let me chat with her. Barely had time to talk last week, what with her all upset over her father. And I’ve always liked girls with curves. More to squeeze.”

“Pops…” Jack was not in the mood to joke about Jamie. “Seriously, don’t, okay? This isn’t funny. I have a lot of respect for Jamie.” Even if she had brushed him off. Twice. Even if she obviously didn’t love him the way he did her, or she would have had more to say than thank you.

He wasn’t sure how to fix what was between them. How to show her that there could be a relationship between them.

He’d never wanted anything in his entire life—not a deal, not money—the way he wanted Jamie Peters.

Not to possess, but to please, share his time and life with.

Maybe she wouldn’t agree with him, but he had to at least try and plead his case.

Will Davidson sobered up. Tried to glance at his grandson over his shoulder, very interested in the tone of voice Jack was using. “Alright, I’ll lay off. I was just joking.”

The girl was nothing in a million years like the kind of woman Jack usually would be interested in. She was pretty, very natural, looking a bit shy as she made her way toward them. Curvy. Very Chelsea or the Village, without a drop of Wall Street in her.

Will had met two or three of Jack’s previous girlfriends, and they were all cut from the same cloth—skinny blondes with careers in finance. But none of them had put that arrested look on Jack’s face. Personally, even after five minutes, Will had thought Jamie was Jack’s best pick so far, and given his reaction when Will had yanked his chain about Jamie’s weight, Jack thought so, too.

Jamie stopped in front of them, biting her lip and tipping her ankles off her heels. “Hi there, Jack. How are you?”

And damned if she wasn’t a southerner on top of it all.

Her gaze shifted to him, and she smiled. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hathaway.”

“Call me Will, please.”

“Alright, Will.” Jamie had stuck her hand out to shake, which pleased Will. She was talking to him as though he was an intelligent person, not the senile old coot everyone seemed to think he was lately. He was only seventy-seven, and that damn stroke had jerked with his body parts, not his brain.

Will shook, keeping her hand in his. “Jack and I were just discussing how beautiful you looked strolling down that aisle, Jamie.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “Oh,” she said, giving a little nervous laugh. “Thank you.”

“Beautiful is an understatement,” Jack said, in a husky tone that made Will suddenly feel as if he were caught in between a bulldog and a juicy steak bone.

Jamie’s gaze dropped to the floor, before she glanced back up. “Caroline would like us to be partners for the ceremony, Jack.”

“She always was my favorite sister.”

Will was impressed. That was a pretty smooth line. But it was time for him to exit before Jack embarrassed the hell out of the girl. She was shooting him helpless, awkward glances.

“I think I see the minister waving everyone up to the front,” Pops lied. “Run along you two, before Caroline flips her wig.” That one had a bit more of her mother in her than Will would have liked, but she was a good kid. Just a little uptight at times.

“Will you be at the dinner?”

“Of course.” He wasn’t leaving until Jack did. And thank God he wasn’t going back to that mausoleum. Rest home. Hah. It was so restful it had almost put him into a coma. It was like living with Dawn of the Dead zombies wearing bathrobes.

“I look forward to chatting with you, then.” Jamie gave him a bright smile and started up the aisle.

Jack swore under his breath. “I’m telling you, Pops, I just look at her and I feel like I’m being electrocuted. Fried from one end to the other. It’s insane.”

It was called lust, which very possibly could lead to love, if Will wasn’t mistaken. And he thought that just maybe, this girl was worthy of his grandson.

Will had been surprised that Jack had chosen to leave his career behind, but he had supported him. Only Jack still wasn’t happy, and if Jamie Peters could give him a reason to smile again, then Will would owe her a huge debt.

“Embrace the insanity, Jack-o. You just might enjoy going crazy for a while.”

Chapter 16

Jamie heard one out of every ten words the minister spoke.

“Commitment…relax…fun…left…”

Jack was standing next to her, thoroughly distracting her. He wasn’t doing anything exactly, just breathing. She could hear it. In, out, a little sigh emerging every now and then. Out of her peripheral vision she could see his fingers twitching on his pants leg.

Seeing him in that gray suit had nearly dropped her like a KO’d boxer. He was so darn hot, looking dark and dangerous, yet so vulnerable.

Plus she’d had Beckwith’s words ringing in her ears when she laid eyes on Jack, and it had taken all the courage she possessed to speak to him. But she figured better to get it over with than have it looming over her all night.

Having his grandfather there had been a useful diversion, but now it was just she and Jack, standing side by side in front of a minister. Okay, so there were twenty other people sitting in the room, and the entire wedding party standing right up front, but it didn’t seem to matter.

The only thing she was aware of was Jack.

He touched her elbow, and she nearly jumped out of her dress.

“You cold?” he murmured in her ear, his breath tickling her flesh. “You have goose bumps. Did you bring a sweater?”

“I should have,” she whispered back. “I’m always cold in air-conditioning.”

“I remember.” He gave her a smile that told her he was thinking of exactly how cold she had been naked on his couch before she’d thrown the blanket over her. Before he’d heated her with his own flesh, his tongue.

Jamie shifted. Those were not good thoughts to be having in a church.

And there was something about Jack tonight. He seemed…dangerous. Intense.

Polite and gracious, yes.

Thoughtful of his grandfather’s needs, Caroline’s needs, and her own, but somehow smoldering under the surface. She had a feeling she was seeing a different side to him, the one who went after a deal, the one who focused on success.

Tonight he was focusing on her, and it was disconcerting.

“Do you want my jacket?” he asked, rubbing the small of her back just ever so lightly.

To the casual observer, he was attentive to his wedding partner, but clearly out of duty only. Jamie knew better. Somehow, Jack was managing to look reserved, but he was not. Far from it.

He was boiling under that polite façade. He was touching her, in a casual way, but with eyes that said clearly he wasn’t.

That he remembered.

That he wanted her.

That there most certainly was something between them.

It was just a hand on her elbow here, fingers on the small of her back there. But those fingers shifted down as they waited for their turn to aisle march, lower than was appropriate for the recent acquaintances they were supposed to be. Not so low as to be crass, but low enough to claim possession.

Jack’s fingers said she was his, that he had touched her there without a dress between his skin and hers.

Jamie shifted a little, fully aware that Allison and the Irish cousin were standing right behind them. Not to mention Caro and her father just a few feet back.

Jamie glanced around the vestibule, searching for a safe conversational topic, and turned to include Allison and Finn, reaching for sexual safety in numbers. “The stained glass here is beautiful.” It was a stone Episcopal church with gothic arches and extensive windows.

Jack glanced down at her, an eyebrow arching.

Allison looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Very pretty, Jamie.”

The Irish cousin Caroline had complained so much about turned to study one of the windows. “Have you been to Ireland, Jamie?” he asked in his lilting brogue, which seemed a bit thicker now than it had when she’d been introduced to him earlier.

“No.”

“With your coloring”—he pointed to her head—“I thought you might be a fellow Gaelic.”

She didn’t really have true red hair, and she was tired of people saying she did. Hers was auburn, heading toward regular old mud brown.

Finn didn’t have red hair either. He was the black-hair, blue-eye variety of Irishman, and really attractive. He was also a bit scruffy, like Caroline had described. He was wearing a suit, but it looked a little wrinkled, like he couldn’t be bothered to press it, and there was no tie in sight. He needed a haircut, but he didn’t seem to be the pig Caroline had suggested he was.

“Oh, I’ve got Irish somewhere in my blood. I think it was my great-grandmother. She was from Cork. But I’ve got so many different nationalities in me, I’m just a mutt.” Jamie took a peek toward the front of the church. Mandy and Steve were still standing there, waiting for the signal.

“Well, the village churches in Ireland aren’t on nearly so grand a scale as this, but they do serve to show that sometimes the most startling beauty can be found in the simplest of things.” He reached his hand out and moved it in a half circle back and forth in front of her face. “Like the way the light is playing over your striking cheekbones right now.”

Jamie was a little startled, but still felt a bit like sighing. That was awfully flattering. Jack stiffened next to her.

“Have you ever had your portrait painted, Jamie?”

Allison snorted and gave Finn a smack on the arm. “Jamie’s with Jonathon, if you know what I mean, so give it up.”

Finn just shook his head. “My interest is purely professional, as an artist. I’d love to paint Jamie, capture that shadow as it passes over her face. The Madonna and Child, that’s the face you have.”

Jamie felt that very face split into a beaming smile. She didn’t think anyone had ever compared her to the Mother of God before. “Well, that’s awfully sweet of you, Finn.”

“What kind of face do I have?” Allison asked.

“Aphrodite,” he told her without hesitation. “Helen of Troy. Cleopatra. The kind of woman men would kill to possess.”

“Wow.” Allison grinned. “I’ll buy that for a dollar. How about Mandy?”

“She’s Alice in Wonderland—whimsical, dreamy, smart, tender.”

That sounded just like Mandy.

“What about Caroline?” Jamie asked, interested despite the fact that Jack made an impolite noise.

Finn turned and glanced back at Caroline, who was standing with her father, fussing with his tie. Her blond hair was pulled back, her ivory dress classic and stunning. Jamie thought Caroline was a beautiful bride, striking in a way she could never hope to achieve.

Hands in his pockets, Finn’s head went back and forth slightly. “Caroline? Caroline is Sleeping Beauty, locked in her ivory tower.”

Jack placed her hand on his elbow. “It’s our turn.”

Jamie cast a glance back at Caroline, wondering what Finn had meant. She would have never thought of Caroline that way. But Allison gave her a push, and she focused forward, staring down that church aisle.

“You don’t remind me of the Madonna,” Jack murmured in a low voice, his lips tickling her ear.

“No?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer.

“To me you’re Venus, a gorgeous, awe-inspiring goddess. And I’m going to love you, Jamie. I’m going to talk to you, make love to you, be there with a ride when you get caught in a thunderstorm. Do you understand me?”

And before she could blink, he was leading her up the aisle, gripping her hand tightly over his elbow.

Chapter 17

Jamie loved weddings. She had been looking forward to Caroline’s wedding since the engagement ring had been stuck on her finger nine months before.

Unfortunately, Jamie had gotten zero sleep the night before, worrying about Jack. Wondering how he would react to her today, and what he might pull in the name of loving her.

Regretting that her strategy to resist Jack had failed so miserably at the church the night before. He’d spent the whole night whispering phenomenally inappropriate things in her ear. How was it she’d told him she didn’t want a relationship and he’d morphed into Don Juan de Wall Street? Throw in a Spanish accent and he’d have the whole thing down pat.

Yet she was determined to enjoy the wedding day, despite Jack and his roving fingers. If Jamie ignored the fact that Jack was constantly undressing her with his eyes, and the encroaching hands, she could make it through this day without making a fool of herself. Not that she was expecting a repeat of the night before.

Nope. She was expecting much worse. He was going to be coming on to her left and right, and she was going to have to be strong. Which she could do.

Now, if only her bridesmaid’s dress would cooperate.

“Allison!” she howled to her roommate as she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, newly hers and hers alone, now that both Mandy and Caroline had moved out. The rent was going to kill her, but Mandy and Caro had both paid for several more months, until the lease was up. Then she and Allison were probably going to have to take on new roommates, which wasn’t at all appealing, or find a cheaper place.

As she surveyed herself in the mirror with dismay, she yanked on the dress hard. She honestly did not remember the dress looking the way it currently did when she had gone to her last fitting.

It was ice blue, which complemented her auburn coloring, but sleeveless, which Jamie was always a little leery of given her healthy chest. Yet if sleeveless was paired with a high neck, it wasn’t usually a problem.

This wasn’t a high neck. It was straight across the top of her chest, forming a band over her breasts. Strapless. In theory it was an attractive dress, with a straight full-length skirt.

On Jamie the bodice appeared to be suspended in midair a foot from her body due to the thrust of her D cup breasts. Which meant anyone looking over her shoulder could see all the way to the promised land. And it wasn’t manna they were going to find.

She yanked harder, trying to move it up. The force of gravity contained within her fifteen-pound chest dragged it back down again.

“What’s the matter?” Allison called down the hall from the bathroom.

“Something’s wrong with my dress!”

“Hold on, I’m putting mascara on.”

Mandy appeared in the doorway, having come to the apartment to get ready with them. “What’s wrong with it?”

Jamie looked at her friend. On Mandy, the dress looked stunning, complementing her fair skin and light brown hair swept up on top of her head. Since she was neither short nor tall, the straight cut of the dress served to visually lengthen Mandy’s legs. It attractively hugged the small bump of her belly.

And her bodice fit snug against her skin.

She looked cute, damn it, pregnant and all.

“Look at my chest.” Jamie pointed a finger to herself, wondering what exactly she had done to deserve such bad karma.

Mandy’s eyes widened. But she said, “It looks a bit…low, but it’s fine.”

Jamie didn’t believe her for one second. Mandy, bless her heart, was trying to spare her feelings, knowing perfectly well there wasn’t a single thing Jamie could do about the dress two hours before the ceremony.

Allison wasn’t quite as diplomatic when she walked in behind Mandy. “Whoa. Where’s the stripper pole?”

Jamie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Mandy said, “Allison! That’s a hideous thing to say.”

“I can’t help it. I’m jealous.” Allison looked down at her flat chest and shook her head. “I don’t have enough, Jamie’s got too much. So unfair.”

Jamie yanked the dress again and threw her arms up in despair. “If I could share them I would, believe me. That’s it! I’m getting a breast reduction.”

“Today? I don’t think there’s time, sweetie.” Allison smiled as she patted a hair back into place that wasn’t even out of place, that Jamie could tell.

She laughed, in spite of her dress. “Very funny. I meant later, but soon. As soon as I save up some money.”

Mandy said, “But you know if you do that you can’t breastfeed.”

Jamie hadn’t thought about that, but she was doubtful she would be able to, even though she usually advocated anything natural. “Mandy, can you see me breastfeeding? I’d have enough to feed a small village.”

Allison snorted. “There’s a mental image. It takes a village…or Jamie.”

The buzzer at their front door rang as Jamie wished her breasts to perdition.

Allison rushed to the door and hit the button. “What?”

“It’s us. Come on down, the limo is parked in the fire lane.”

Jamie knew that voice belonged to Jack because of the way her breath disappeared and her legs started to spontaneously wobble like one of her mother’s Jell–o molds.

“Oh, God!” She dug her hands into her bodice and pulled up as hard as she could. Her hand slipped on the satin, and her fist ricocheted back and whacked her nose.

“Ow.” She rubbed her throbbing nose, eyes watering.

Allison ran across the apartment, her skirt lifted up in her hands. “I can’t find my purse, and I told Jonathon we’d be right down. He said we’re late for pictures.” Allison started throwing the sage green couch cushions on the floor in her frantic search.

Mandy had already padded back down the hall, calling, “I don’t even have my shoes on yet.”

The buzzer rang again.

Allison went into the kitchen, eyes darting left and right for her purse. “Jamie, go on down and appease them. We’ll be right down in a sec.”

Great. Just what she wanted to do. Appease Jack.

Grabbing her own clutch and giving her hair, pulled back in a knot, a final smoothing, she took a deep breath and headed for the door.

Walking down past the third floor she reminded herself that Jack was Caroline’s brother and wouldn’t misbehave at her wedding.

Past the second floor she reaffirmed that ending their relationship, such as it was, was the smart, intelligent thing to do.

As she gulped and stepped up to the front door, she told herself that grimacing from desperate lust most definitely would not look good in the wedding pictures.

She pushed the door open, and there he was, his hand in his pocket, rattling change.

If Jack had looked good in a suit, he looked like sexy sin in a tuxedo. Jamie felt longing blaze up in her like a five-alarm fire.

Her mouth went dry.

She might have squeaked.

And she started to wonder if maybe she should just accept what Beckwith and Jack and even Allison were telling her.

That fate wanted her to get naked with Jack.

Jack turned from hitting the buzzer for the third time and stopped cold. Or rather, hot. Holy shit.

Jamie had opened the door and was standing there, a vision in pale blue with her hair tamed and wound up on her head. A picture of passion. His every fantasy called up and brought to life in breathtaking beauty.

She was the most intriguing combination of shy and sensual, naïve, yet knowledgeable. She licked her lips with a little sigh, the wetness of her tongue making a small smacking sound as she rolled it around her mouth.

Blood was rushing in his head, and other obvious places, as he lowered his eyes to her chest.

The sight that greeted him was awe-inspiring. In defiance of the laws of physics, somehow her dress wasn’t in a pile around her waist, but was just hanging there in front of her. Barely covering her considerable assets, and leaving a whole expanse of creamy white flesh exposed.

He came close to passing out, a garbled moan forcing out of his mouth.

“You look…amazing,” he managed to say.

Her cheeks tinted pink. “Allison and Mandy will be down in a minute. Allison lost her purse.”

He didn’t care one flipping bit about Allison and her purse. “This is nice,” he murmured, reaching out and brushing his thumb against the smoothness of her hair, so different from her normal tumble of curls.

A tendril had escaped and spiraled defiantly, and Jack twirled it around his finger. “I love your hair down, but this lets me see your long, luscious neck.”

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had leaned forward and placed his mouth below her ear.

She jerked back and crashed into the door of her apartment building. “Stop that. Steve and Finn are sitting right in the limo.”

He didn’t care about them any more than he cared about Allison’s purse. “So, it would be okay if we were alone, then?”

“Yes.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I mean no! Of course not.”

She was flustered, and that was a good thing.

He smiled and started forward, intent on claiming another kiss. He’d thought a lot the night before, wondering what it was about Jamie that he admired so much. After mentally listing about nine hundred things, he had decided the bottom line was that Jamie was totally unselfish and knew herself.

That was very sexy. Except she was completely wrong about what they should do now. She wanted to end whatever was growing between them. He wanted to nourish it, explore it, enjoy it.

“I meant what I said last night, Jamie. I’m not going anywhere. Every time you turn around, I’m going to be there, waiting until you’re ready.”

Jamie’s eyes went wide, and she pressed herself back against the glass door. “You can’t,” she whispered.

“I can.” Jack was almost there, anticipating her mouth under his, her breasts dancing across his chest, when the door was propelled forward and Jamie tumbled into his arms.

Her breasts weren’t dancing across his chest now. They were crushed against him, virtually spilling up out of the top of her dress as she struggled to regain her balance.

Allison gave a blithe, “Sorry,” as she came through the door and stopped on the sidewalk.

Though Allison didn’t look at him as she put on gigantic white-rimmed sunglasses, he thought he detected a slight smile.

Which meant he owed Allison a hearty thanks, if she supported his quest for Jamie.

Who was squirming in his arms, causing a good amount of her to wiggle against a lot of him.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine.” Her gaze dropped to his lips, then back up to his eyes. She gulped. “Really, you can let me go now…”

He pressed against her, taking care to meld himself to her body in a particularly intimate spot with his very obvious erection.

“Oh, gracious!” she said, her head falling back, as her eyes drifted half shut.

His sentiments exactly.

He went in for the kiss he was determined to take this time.

And met with air.

Jamie had maneuvered out of his arms and was walking in a zigzag drunken manner toward the limo, wiping her hands on her dress.

He stared in disbelief for a minute until Mandy came through the door and said, “Sorry I’m late. Are we all ready?”

Then her gaze landed on the tent his tuxedo pants were making. Her mouth fell open.

First Pops, now Mandy. He hadn’t been caught with this many public hard-ons since junior high. Then he had simply stopped wearing sweatpants and watching Baywatch.

There was nothing he could do now about being with Jamie. Or that taunting dress.

Mandy hid a laugh behind her hand. “That answers my question. You are absolutely ready.”

Jesus, was he blushing?

Mandy shot him a backward grin as she bent over to climb into the limo. “If I didn’t have such a delicious husband, I think I might be jealous of Jamie.”

He frowned. “She told you about…us?” Did that mean his sister knew? He would have thought Caroline would have mentioned it to him. It wasn’t as if it were a secret or anything, but he hadn’t found it necessary to tell his sister either. Especially since Jamie had dumped him.

“Normally, Jamie cannot keep a secret. But this time, she hasn’t said a word. I’ve just got eyes in my head and the prescient skill of a pregnant woman. Don’t worry, Caroline doesn’t know.” She climbed into the car and left him standing in the sun.

“Know what?” he complained to no one in particular, waving a fat pigeon away from his feet. “That we could have, almost, sort of had something going on, but after one incredibly mind-blowing night, it’s dead in the water because of me?”

The pigeon didn’t answer him, so he got a grip and joined the bridal party. When he got in the limo, Jamie was having a heated argument with Allison.

“I think the girls should sit on this side, and the guys on the other,” Jamie said, her face flushed. She wasn’t sitting down, but was doing an odd sort of hovering in the center of the limo, head and back hunched over.

“What is this, eighth grade?” Allison rolled her eyes. “I’m not moving because it doesn’t matter.” She patted Finn’s and Steve’s knees on either side of her. “Besides, I like all this muscle around me.”

Mandy sat down on the seat by the window, and Jack slid in next to her, leaving the only seat available for Jamie right next to him by the door.

Amused that Jamie didn’t trust herself to even sit next to him, he patted the seat invitingly. “I showered today and remembered my deodorant.”

Her lip curled.

Allison told Jamie, “You’re screwing up your hair standing there like that. It’s scraping against the ceiling.”

“Shoot!” Jamie grabbed at her head and took the seat next to him, patting her hairs back into place.

In an attempt to avoid him, she flattened herself against the window and turned a little so her back was to him.

It gave him a nice view of her round little behind outlined in satin.

Which he took the liberty of gawking at for a large portion of the drive, alternating staring at her butt with checking out her cleavage. The one time he managed to pry his gaze away, he caught Steve’s eye, who gave him a knowing look.

He shrugged.

Steve grinned.

When they pulled up in front of the church, Jamie bolted out of the door first and ran up the steps. He followed her in time to see her retreat into a little room at the back of the church where the bride was meant to wait until her big entrance.

The photographer was pacing in the vestibule and grabbed him by the arm as he walked through the door.

“Where’s the rest of the bridal party?” he asked in exasperation. “We’re supposed to take pictures of each of you individually, then together, then the groomsmen together, then the bridesmaids together, then the siblings, then the bride and her father.”

Jack blinked at the laundry list of photo shots.

The man yanked on his tie and frowned. “We only have thirty minutes or so before guests start arriving.”

Jamie must have forgotten about pictures in her haste to put space between them. He told the photographer, “I’ll find them.”

Or her.

What a great excuse to go and hunt down Jamie.

He knocked on the door and waited a minute, listening to the string quartet warming up in the balcony above. Loud, chattering voices came through the door, and he suspected they hadn’t heard his knock.

With a shrug, he opened the door and stepped inside.

His sister was standing there with their mom, looking absolutely stunning.

Forgetting Jamie momentarily, forgetting his mother’s unhappiness with him, he went over to his sister and took her hand. Kissed her cheek. “Caro, you look beautiful.”

She was cool and classy, his little sister, her straight blond hair pulled back off of her face. Her dress was long and narrow, and she carried a tiny bouquet of white flowers in her hand. Looking very bridal and serene, she made him proud.

The smile she gave him was warm and excited. “Thanks, Jonathon. How’s everything going out there?”

“I came to get Jamie. The photographer wants pictures.”

Jamie, who had been hiding in the corner, heard him and started toward the door, obviously planning on leaving without even looking at him.

Caroline called out, “Wait, Jamie, you don’t have your necklace on.”

Jamie’s hand flew to her neck. “Oh! I forgot to put it on, it’s in my purse. I need help with the clasp though.”

His mother opened her mouth and held out her hand, but he was faster. “I’ll help you.”

Both his mother and sister were preoccupied with the back of Caroline’s dress, which they kept touching and tugging, so neither noticed his near run across the room to reach Jamie.

Everything had become absolutely clear to him. He wanted this woman. As his. Wearing white herself.

Good God, he could actually envision that, and he was just going to explain—coax, seduce, threaten, beg—that to her until she agreed.

Jamie thought about just bolting out of the room, but decided that wasn’t good form given the circumstances. She’d been raised better than that. She could practically feel her granny’s hand slapping hers.

Instead of taking off, she pulled the sterling silver necklace that had been a bridal gift from Caroline out of her purse and tried to squeeze the clasp. If she got it open in the next two seconds, Jack’s help wouldn’t be needed.

No such luck.

He was behind her, taking the necklace, leaning over her, breathing into her hair.

“Let me help you,” he whispered. “There are times I can help you, too, you know.”

His arms came around her, resting the chain against her bare skin, as she fought the urge to lean back and close her eyes.

He was telling her something, only her brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity. Jack was too close; she couldn’t think with the warm aftershave smell of him clouding her nostrils.

Then he dropped the necklace.

And it slid down, down into the cavernous depths of her cleavage.

She was too stunned to move, and heat suffused her cheeks.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Then his hand came over her shoulder and started toward her chest as he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Oh, God, help her.

If she screamed, Caroline and Mrs. Davidson were going to wonder if she had lost her mind. Or worse, see Jack’s hand down her dress.

Right now they weren’t looking at all.

But if she just stood here while he…

His fingers trailed along her breasts as he descended, and she bit her lip hard to prevent a groan from slipping out. His mouth was right next to her ear as he leaned over her shoulder to see where he was going.

To better torture her.

“I’ve almost got it,” he whispered, fingers sliding up and down against her bare skin.

She sucked in her breath when without warning he dipped his tongue into her ear.

If Caroline turned now, there would be no explaining why half of her brother’s arm was down Jamie’s bodice and his tongue was cleaning out her inner ear.

But Caro didn’t turn, and Jack went farther, until his hand was cupping her breast, squeezing it, and she felt the room tilt in ecstasy. Felt her body respond by hardening, tightening, moistening. Nails digging into her palms, she tried to stop the flood of yearning, the hitch of sexual desire.

It was possible that the entire top of the dress was about to drop off of her in the ultimate wardrobe malfunction, and she didn’t care.

All she cared about was Jack, and the feel of his breathing over her hard and urgent, a definite erection pressing into her backside.

When he came up with the necklace, she was shaking and desperately disappointed.

And acutely aware that she was no match for Jack. She didn’t have a prayer of resisting him.

She wanted Jack Davidson, and he knew it.

And he was going to torture her until she let him make delicious love to her.

How did she end up with these tragic problems?

When put that way, it sounded so damn silly.

As Jamie smiled and posed her way through approximately seventeen thousand photos, she wondered why she couldn’t just have Jack.

Oh, she knew the reasons. They were as long as her arm, and they mattered, but it was so hard to resist Jack. So hard to say that they couldn’t at least try.

She was an optimist by nature. She wanted to believe if she just loved Jack, it could work out. But the very part of her that wanted to fix the world at work had seen enough of reality to know that nothing was ever that simple.

And she was afraid. When she’d had the chance to talk to her father the week before, and he had chosen to bolt instead, she had been devastated. Now it occurred to her she was in fact her father’s daughter. A coward. She was just as afraid to face an uncertain future as Jim Peters was.

“You with the red hair, move closer to your partner, please.”

Jamie frowned at the photographer. She was not a redhead. She moved an eighth of an inch closer to Jack.

“Closer.”

They were standing on steps on the side of the stone church, and she was already practically in Jack’s arms.

Gritting her teeth, she moved again.

Jack’s arm shot out, wrapped around her waist, then yanked her until she was snugly molded to him, her thigh resting against his hard leg.

“Good.” The photographer clicked his camera.

Jack’s hand had slid to her behind and he gave a little squeeze.

“Stop it,” she whispered, her smile feeling more and more forced. She suspected she looked like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

She expected him to say something slick, or suggestive, or to simply ignore her and cop another feel.

Instead, he disarmed her by saying quietly, “I’ll catch you if you fall. I haven’t always shown them to you, but I do have good qualities, Jamie, and loyalty is one of them. I’d always be there for you.”

“Jack…” She didn’t know what to say. He had shown her good qualities, particularly when it came to Austin and Jack’s grandfather.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. He’d see her heart in her eyes, the longing she felt. Which wasn’t good. Longing, that is. But come to think of it, nausea wasn’t good either, and she was experiencing that in constant waves. And she was not pregnant, contrary to Caroline’s off-the-wall concern.

Jamie was still standing next to Jack, speechless as the photographer clicked, clicked, aware that Jack was waiting for her response.

Fortunately, at that moment, Mrs. Davidson opened the church doors and said, “We’re ready. Let’s go inside, please, when you’re done with that shot. All the guests have arrived.”

The next few minutes were a scramble as they assembled at the back of the church as quietly as possible. She and Jack were walking down the aisle after Mandy and Steve, just like at rehearsal. Caroline had opted out of having a maid of honor, not willing to choose between the three of them, and not having a sister or a future sister-in-law to single out.

The church was air-conditioned, and the murmuring of the guests settled down into shuffling silence as the musicians began to play louder. Jamie fought the urge to grip her stomach and took deep breaths to steady herself.

She could do this.

The sea of faces, Brad waiting expectantly at the front of the church, all swam in front of her. Jack offered his arm with a sultry smile, and she took it.

He squeezed her hand and whispered to her, “You look fantastic, Jamie. But I bet you would look even better in white.”

Whatever calm she had managed to achieve fled. Was he hinting about marriage?

She thought she might have a cow right on the spot.

Because of the insanity of the idea, and the presumptuousness, and the fact that they hadn’t even managed a second date yet.

And for a much different reason.

Gazing down that aisle, poised next to Jack, she realized she wanted to believe Beckwith. She wanted Jack to be her forever.

Maybe from the minute she had laid eyes on him she had wanted him. Beckwith had said he would touch her soul, and Lord, she was feeling pretty touched already.

She gripped her bouquet of lilies like it was a winning lottery ticket she didn’t want to drop.

“Thank you,” she said, for lack of anything better. They certainly could not have a major discussion regarding their relationship right at this moment. But Lord, thanking the man for a compliment like that was downright lame. Next he’d propose, and she’d be giving him a thumbs-up.

Then Allison nudged her. “It’s time to walk.”

“Just like in practice,” Jack whispered to her. “No sweat.”

Did he actually remember the practice? She couldn’t remember anything except the tidal wave of lust that had been crashing over her at Jack’s touch.

But she had been walking since her first birthday, after all. She could handle this.

They walked up the aisle, her fingers lightly on his tuxedo sleeve, and Jack’s presence next to her reassuring and masculine. She smiled like a beauty pageant contestant and sank into her seat at the end of the aisle with significant relief.

Best of all, Jack was sitting across the aisle with the other groomsmen, so she could actually relax and not have to worry about his wandering hands.

Everyone stood and watched Caroline walk up the aisle on the arm of her beaming father. She looked stunning, confident and poised, and Jamie felt tears pricking at her eyes.

It was a wonderful day for Caroline, and from the looks of Brad, wide-eyed up front, he appreciated the woman he was getting. Jamie was so happy for her friend, and equally determined that Beckwith was wrong in Caroline’s case. She didn’t look like a woman poised for tragedy, and Brad didn’t look like an uneasy groom.

Beckwith’s prediction for her rose up into her mind again and haunted her as the minister began to speak about the responsibilities that accompany marriage. Beckwith had said Jack was going to make her happy, and touch her soul.

Well, he had. For one night.

Beckwith had never said anything about forever or marriage.

So there.

Jack could find himself a nice little properties lawyer in a red power suit, and they could settle down in TriBeCa during the busy work week and head out to the Hamptons on the weekends.

That would leave her free to find a wonderful…someone. That she didn’t want.

She wanted Jack.

How dumb was that?

Chapter 18

Jack stood in the corner, choking on a piece of bruschetta. He had been minding his own business, stalking the door, waiting for Jamie, when he had realized something.

He was going to have to give up all of his money if he wanted Jamie.

The thought had come to him out of nowhere that if he donated every last cent, she would see that he was sincere. That he wanted Jamie for the long haul—for forever. For a marriage that lasted until death did they part.

Pounding his chest with his fist, he dislodged the wayward appetizer and sucked in a startled breath. He must have thrown all common sense out the window to think that he and Jamie…that marriage to her…that she could…

That he could give away the financial rewards of ten years of hard work for something that wasn’t a guarantee.

Jack took a huge swallow of wine, dribbling some on his chin.

He had only known Jamie for a couple of weeks. He couldn’t possibly love her enough to give up all his worldly possessions and live like a monk. Well, like a monk without the celibacy vow. No, no, he could not even be considering this. Living in a tiny walk-up. Selling his car. Cooking at home and having to fly coach class. My God, he couldn’t believe he’d do that for anyone.

Yet that sack of pudding in his chest said otherwise.

He’d do it. He’d shed all vestiges of his wealth for Jamie. He’d join a freaking commune if she wanted. Okay, so he wouldn’t go that far. But he would definitely take the subway for her. And tell Meredith a big fat resounding no on the job offer.

Now so he could declare his intentions before he changed his mind and went to visit his mother’s therapist, Jamie and the other bridesmaids had to actually show up. The rest of the guests and the bride and groom had been mingling for fifteen minutes now and nibbling food off the trays of tuxedoed waiters moving through the room silently.

The minute the limo had pulled up at the hotel and they had all entered the lobby, Mandy, Allison, and Jamie had disappeared. So Jack was staking out the door for when they walked in, which ought to be any minute now or they were going to risk being noticed as missing by his mother.

He wanted to be nowhere near her if and when that happened.

He hid behind a potted plant and tried to look nonchalant. By all accounts, he should be networking and shaking hands, not stalking the entry, but he was powerless to move away.

Female voices rose in excitement. Jamie. She was coming through the doorway.

“Oh, my God. Look at this place, y’all! It’s like a garden tent inside right here in Manhattan.” Jamie clapped her hand over her mouth as she came to a standstill in the doorway.

The heightened hitch of southern in her voice made Jack smile. She was so unbelievably sexy.

Her arm in the air was giving a mouth-watering rise to her chest, while her dress stayed in place where it was.

Which was way lower than her chest. The exposed creamy, curving flesh taunted him.

Jamie shook her head. “I sound like a total hick, don’t I?” she said.

Allison nodded. “Yes, but that’s okay. I’m feeling a little plebian right now, too. This is a cool hotel.”

“Oh, please,” Jamie replied. “You’re from Connecticut, and Mandy’s from a swanky British country estate. You may not be filthy rich, but at least y’all know which forks to use. I seriously don’t have a clue.”

Jack came around the corner, not willing to let her escape him again. “You start from the outside and work your way in. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back, remember?”

Mandy said, “Excuse us,” grabbed Allison by the arm and took off into the throng of wedding guests. He really liked that Mandy.

“I didn’t know you were standing there,” Jamie said, swallowing hard.

“I was.” He closed the remaining two feet between them and set his plate down on an end table, feeling as though what he said to Jamie tonight might be some of the most important words he’d ever spoken. He needed to go easy, exercise caution. Not scare the crap out of her by attacking her the way he really wanted to.

“Would you like some wine?”

“Okay. Sure.”

“You like red, don’t you?”

She nodded, so he handed her his glass. “Here, take this.”

Their fingers brushed, her mouth slid open in surprise. He watched her lips as she drank the wine, running her tongue across the bottom to catch the stray drops.

Her eyes darkened.

Desire shot through him.

All it took was a little tug, and they were together behind the potted plant. He obviously needed to work on that caution thing.

She shook her head. “No, Jack, no, not here.”

“Where, then?” He nipped that bottom lip, tasting the sweetness of the wine, the warm scent that was uniquely hers.

That little hitch in her breath, the gasp escaping her, made Jack’s control start to slip. He tightened his hold on her.

“Nowhere.” But she didn’t pull away, and she didn’t say no to his tongue tracing down to her neck, worshipping that graceful arch.

“I miss you, Jamie. Whenever you’re not with me, I miss you.” He was aware that he was begging for trouble here. Begging probably being the key word. He felt capable of begging if she said no.

But she wasn’t saying no and he had little ability to stop where Jamie was concerned. He groaned and forced himself to take a step back so he wouldn’t yank the top of her dress down and sink his teeth into that luscious flesh.

“You miss the sex,” she whispered.

“No.” He pulled back. “Well, yes, I do.” He smiled. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant I miss you. Your smile. Your laugh. The sweet, sweet things you say. The conversations we have. I like you, Jamie, is that so wrong?”

She sighed. “No. I like you, too.”

Then that was all he needed to know. That was enough for now.

“It’s probably time for dinner,” Jamie said.

“You’re right.” He smiled and set the empty wineglass down on the end table as they emerged from behind the plant. “Though I don’t think what I want is on the menu.”

That’s what Jamie was talking about. How was she supposed to resist the man when he was being sweet, intense, tossing out sexual innuendos left and right?

It was bad enough she was seated next to him at the dinner table, but every time she glanced at him, he looked ready to devour her.

Or he came right out and said so.

When he wasn’t throwing her off guard by asking her thoughtful and informed questions about her job or her childhood or whether she liked Thai food.

It was getting on her nerves.

Because she was unable to resist. She was talking with him, gushing really, if the truth be told, and enjoying every sappy second just like their night together.

“So what do you miss about Kentucky?” he asked her, his thigh brushing against hers under the table.

Wishing she were wearing a really thick dress, made out of say, upholstery, Jamie moved her leg to remove it from his reach.

Now she could think. Somewhat. “My mother, of course. Green space. Horses, like I told you before.” She grinned at him. “And Derby pie.”

“What’s Derby pie?”

“Nothing but chocolate. Layers and layers of ooey gooey chocolate.”

“What makes it Derby pie?” Jack cocked his head to the side, as if he were going to venture a guess, then thought better of it.

“My mom always said because it looks like the track the horses run on at Churchill Downs, but to me it looks more like the infield where we always sat on blankets when I was a kid. Muddy and gross.”

He laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

Jamie pushed her fork around her plate, aware that she had paid attention only to Jack for the entire meal. She was virtually ignoring Steve on her right, but she couldn’t help herself. It was a sickness.

“It was. And in high school we used to go with our boyfriends.”

Jack reached over and stabbed the last shrimp on her plate and ate it.

“Hey!”

He smiled again, that slow, crooked, sinful smile that made her feel like she was having a menopausal hot flash.

Then Jack moved so quickly she nearly fell backward out of her chair. He stood up and took her hand.

“Dance with me.”

“There’s no dance music yet. It’s background music.” She was forced to stand up as well since he was tugging her arm.

“Well, what are they waiting for? Everyone’s done eating.”

And as if the band had heard him, they began to announce the first dance, calling the wedding party up to open the floor.

Jamie noticed with mortification that neither Steve and Mandy, nor Finn and Allison, were holding hands the way she and Jack were.

And when they danced, neither of the other two couples was flush up against each other sharing oxygen.

“Back up a little,” she said to him, trying to shrug away from him without getting off the music.

She didn’t even want to consider the fact that three hundred people were watching them right now, including Caroline and Mrs. Davidson, who would have to be blind and stupid not to notice the sex vibes radiating off of her and Jack.

Unfortunately, Caro and her mother were neither.

In fact, Jamie peered around Jack and saw Caroline’s mother, his mother, studying them with eyes narrowed. Jamie broke out into a sweat and pictured all of her makeup sliding off of her face and onto her chest.

“Jack, your mother is watching us.” Jack was already on the outs with his mother, and Jamie didn’t want to further contribute to that antagonism.

“So?” His thumb traced circles on her back with his hand.

What did he mean, so? It was obvious. “We don’t want her to think there’s anything going on between us.”

“Why not? There is something going on between us.”

He was not being reasonable about this at all. Jamie felt a little desperate, especially since his thigh was rocking into her, raising her temperature yet another five degrees. “No, there’s not.”

“Yes, there is.” He bent over her, holding her snug against him, his mouth hovering inches above hers.

Lord, he was going to kiss her right on the dance floor, like a groping teenager at a nightclub, while everyone else danced elegantly to this classical kind of music that she couldn’t identify. She closed her eyes briefly in anticipation, or mortification, she wasn’t sure which.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Instead he said hoarsely, “I want you, Jamie. I need you.”

Yikes.

But she could have stayed strong. She could have resisted that raw heat in his voice, until he spoke again.

“All I want is a kiss. Just one, please. And a date. Promise me we can try that, see what happens. That’s all I’m asking. For now.”

It was that erotic pleading that undid her. It left her limp against him, eyes still half closed as she confessed, “My head says this is a mistake. That there are too many negative variables making anything between us a poor risk. But my emotions are disagreeing.”

“Listen to your emotions and tell your head to go kiss off,” he said coaxingly. “I can’t wait another minute. I’ve been wanting you since I woke up and found you gone.”

The evidence was pressing against her. As was the knowledge that she, too, had spent two weeks suffering from Jack withdrawal. Right at the moment she felt like someone had been setting off pyrotechnics in her pricey bridesmaid’s dress.

So despite the feeling that she had lost all common sense and decency, she heard herself saying, “There’s a room in the hall, called the retiring room or something like that your mom said. It’s meant for the bride and bridesmaids to use for their stuff—purses and for make-up checks and everything.”

She took a deep breath and studied the tie on his tux. “Maybe we should go talk, get away from everyone.” Have hot sex.

God, had she really just suggested they head somewhere private? That had a couch? What the hell was she thinking?

Jack’s fingers tightened on her back, and he nodded once, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

When the dance ended, he led her off the floor, dodging his mother, who looked ready to stop them, her mouth open to say something.

“Jamie’s not feeling good, Mom, the room’s too hot. I’m taking her outside for some fresh air.”

All Jamie had time to hear was, “Oh, dear,” from Mrs. Davidson before Jack whisked her away.

She was sure even the roots of her hair were blushing. “I can’t believe you lied to your mother!”

But Jack only shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “What am I supposed to say? That I’m taking Jamie out into the hall to have hot sex with her?”

Now everything on her body was blushing, with the focus on parts south. “I said we could go talk! You said all you wanted was a kiss.”

“You cannot convince me you suggested a retiring room so we could talk about pie and past love affairs.”

“Well…” She hadn’t thought she was suggesting anything more, but it did seem pretty lame now.

“So where’s the room?” He stopped in the hall and looked right and left.

“First door on the right.” She let him half drag, half carry her down to the little lounge.

She dug her heels into the carpet, plagued with second thoughts. This was tacky. They could get caught. She wasn’t the kind of woman who did things like this, and she wouldn’t embarrass Caro for the world.

“I’m not having sex with you in this room.”

Jack turned back and stared at her. “Okay. You can have sex with me in my apartment after the reception. Right now I’m just going to take a little taste, that’s all.”

Well, if he insisted.

Then he pulled her into the room, the door swung shut, and all hope of walking away disappeared.

His mouth was on hers before she could catch a breath, let alone object again. In fact, she was just as aggressive as he was. They were both tasting and teasing and tugging, her arms in the back of his hair ransacking it.

He was right. She had been waiting two weeks for this. For the pleasure of being with Jack again.

For that perfect sense that they were right for each other. They belonged in each other’s arms.

Their kisses deepened, wet and anxious, and their bodies crushed against each other, seeking, needing.

Little taste. That’s all.

Then they’d stop.

Jamie slid her tongue over his, the red wine they’d both drunk mixing between them, swarming her senses.

His hands gripped her head. Despite the majority of her rational brain cells going to sleep, Jamie was still cognizant enough to pull back and stop Jack from shoving his hands into her hair. “No! I’ll never be able to fix it like the hairstylist did.”

He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her against him, hard. “Feel what you do to me.”

Everything about Jack was hard. And she wanted him. “I feel it. I want you inside me.”

Gad, had she just said that out loud?

The groan from him seemed to indicate she had.

His hands were moving around her back, rushing up and down. “How do I get this dress off?”

Aware that they were only two feet in front of the door to the hallway, Jamie said, “No, you can’t take it off.” Her sense of adventure didn’t extend to getting caught naked by some wayward guest.

Besides, tossing satin into a heap on the floor probably wasn’t the best idea. “It will wrinkle, and I’ll never be able to get it back on right.” Wait a minute. She wasn’t going to take the dress off anyway, because they were Not Going To Have Sex.

“We’re not having sex here.”

“I never said we were.” He held up his hands, a mock look of innocence playing across his face.

Then he reached out and popped her breasts right out of her bodice with one little flip of his wrists.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make you come.”

Allison watched Jonathon rush Jamie off the dance floor as if someone had yelled fire, and felt something akin to jealousy. Not over Jonathon. She had been serious when she’d said he wasn’t her type. Too restless, too intense.

There couldn’t be two divas in a relationship, and she had diva down pat.

But a little sex before she died would be welcome.

“It might be quicker if he just threw her over his shoulder,” Finn commented.

“Hmmm?”

“Your friend and Caroline’s brother. With him dragging and her digging in her heels, I’m just suggesting it might be easier if he picked her up.”

Allison studied Finn. She wasn’t sure what Caroline found so objectionable about him. Besides the scraggly hair and the five-o’clock shadow that never seemed to disappear, he was attractive and filled his tux well. He hadn’t burped or told any off-color jokes, and Allison hadn’t caught him smoking a joint in the coat closet.

Yet. “Is that what you would do? Go all caveman on a woman?” Personally, Allison thought she’d shove a stiletto up the ass of any man who tried to haul her anywhere. But that was just her.

“Nah. I’m the moody, artistic type. I’m more likely to forget we even have a date in the first place. I get absorbed in what I’m painting and forget the real world exists.”

Maybe that was what Caroline objected to. She revered punctuality and thought Thou Shalt Not Daydream should be a late addition to the ten commandments.

“Do you sleep with your models?” Allison asked as they glided around to the longest piece of music ever composed. God, she hated dancing. But at least Finn wasn’t staring at her chin, the way it usually played out at weddings. She was convinced every man over five-foot-ten was married.

There had to be statistics on it, with the proportion of men married decreasing with every inch under six foot. No woman wanted to look like an Amazon next to her man, and Allison thought it was damn rude that short women ran around snagging men ten inches taller than them, when in all fairness, those guys should have been left alone for the tall girls to pick over.

Finn laughed. “Well, I don’t sleep with the men I paint. But of course I sleep with all the women. Wouldn’t you?” He winked at her.

Okay, so it had been a stupid question. But she was kind of curious. The idea of having male models strip at her direction had a certain appeal. “Not the women. But the men, sure I would. At least that way you get to check out the goods first.”

“You’re a mercenary little thing, aren’t you?” The corner of his mouth lifted.

Allison didn’t like his tone. “So is your cousin, Brad. He worships at the altar of accumulate.”

At times, Allison wasn’t completely convinced that wasn’t why Brad had married Caroline. To gather the prettiest, proper society wife, who would balance a career and a family and leave him free to do whatever he felt like.

“If you have the money, why not?”

But he didn’t look like he meant it.

And Allison decided this guy was probably a better match for Jamie than Jonathon. Not that Jonathon looked like he’d be willing to give Jamie up anytime soon.

“So you think Caroline and Brad will live happily ever after in banker’s bliss?”

He flicked his hair out of his eyes and gave her a wild spin that was dangerous in a strapless dress. “What do I know? I’m just the artist cousin with his head in the clouds.”

“Whatever, brush boy.”

Chapter 19

Jack wasn’t going to have sex with Jamie in the retiring room. He really meant that.

But he couldn’t stop himself from giving her pleasure, a little taste of what he could give her later, if she came home with him.

Her breasts had burst eagerly out of the dress with barely any effort from him, and he was staring at her bare chest, creamy flesh, and dusky apricot nipples.

“Jack!” she said in shock. “You can’t do that. We’ll never get them back in.”

He grabbed her hands before she could stuff her breasts back into her dress. “Maybe they want a little fresh air.”

She laughed. “They don’t have a brain, they can’t think for themselves.”

“I don’t know. They seem to have a mind of their own…you’re telling me to stop and they’re looking pretty ready to go.” Jack plucked at one very tight nipple, his mouth going dry.

Jamie sighed. “Betrayed by my breasts. What can I say? But the breasts don’t always know best.”

“In this case, I think they’re smarter than their owner. They know sometimes you just have to feel.” Like he was. He wasn’t thinking, he was just feeling. Going with gut instinct. Jack ran his lips over her nipple, the taut pebble gliding over his flesh.

“Their owner?” Jamie said, a hitch in her voice. “That sounds completely bizarre. Like they’re pets. Like I could take them for a walk, feed them, play fetch. Though I have to say I’ve always kind of thought of them as beasts. Big monsters that shouldn’t really be there.”

“Not a healthy view to take of your own body. You need to make peace with your breasts, embrace them. Learn to love them the way I do. See, wouldn’t I make a good social worker?” Jack took her hand and placed it over her bare flesh. “Just feel it. Isn’t it just the most sexy thing you’ve ever touched?” He put his hand over hers, pushed them both forward a little, squeezing and cupping her with both their fingers.

“Touching you is sexier,” she said, and her free hand slid across the front of his tux pants.

Holy crap, he hadn’t been expecting her to do that. Jack gave a little groan.

“But now we need to get back to the reception before your mother comes looking for us.”

Now, there was a scary thought. “Okay, okay, we’ll go back. But promise me you’ll spend the night with me.”

Her eyes were glassy with desire, darkened with something else, an emotion Jack couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I’ll spend the night with you.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her softly. Then deeper. Then harder.

Every little taste made him want more. Jack trailed his lips over her warm flesh, down to her breasts, wanting just one last lick to tide him over until they could decently ditch out of the reception and head home.

Only she moaned. Which spurred his own desire. Which led him to give another lick. Then a suck. Which escalated into tugging and nipping and groping.

And somehow his hand found its way up her skirt, where she was wearing a scrap of nothing for panties. “Oh, Jamie, damn, what kind of panties are these?” He tugged at the spandex material and cupped her.

“Seamless panties. So you can’t see lines on my butt.” Then she gave a startled yelp as he sank inside her with his thumb.

She groaned, she shuddered, as he started to move in her. Jack held her waist, his mouth still on her breasts, and moved his finger with a desperate sort of urgency. The words weren’t there yet, weren’t making sense, but he had to show Jamie, had to reach in and grab her and not let go.

Needed her with him.

Nails clawed at him as she squirmed, rocking herself onto his finger in total abandon. There was a long pause, where Jamie went completely still, and her wide eyes locked with his. Then she came, shattering over him with soft desperate pants that were the most beautiful sound Jack had ever heard.

“That’s amazing, Jamie. Beautiful.” He kissed the side of her neck, her chin, the corner of her mouth, overwhelmed with what he was feeling.

And suddenly the words were there, gushing out of him like an unlocked fire hydrant.

“Jamie, I love you. I want to marry you.”

Jamie’s mouth fell open. Her jaw moved. But nothing came out.

Jack pulled his hand out from between her thighs. Let her skirt drop. Watched Jamie, this woman who had brought contentment to his life, which had been feeling aimless and dissatisfying.

“I’ll give it all up, Jamie, all the money. Donate it wherever you want me to, if it’s going to come between us. Just tell me who to give it to, and it’s done.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” she asked, her voice quiet, awed.

“I do.” And it didn’t even hurt to say that. He meant it.

He took a small step back, amused at her reaction. He’d never seen Jamie at a total loss for words before, but she was staring at him, mouth so wide he could drive his Beemer on in. “Now let’s get you decent and rejoin the party.”

“Decent? Oh, God, I must look awful!” Her hand went to her head, patted her hair. She fussed with her skirt, until every inch from the waist down was covered and she looked like a respectable bridesmaid once more.

Except for the high color on her face, and the shine in her eyes. The rumpled state of her skirt, and the swollen bottom lip. The disheveled hair and the crushed top of her dress. Her still very much bare breasts, which didn’t seem to want to go back where they had come from, no matter how much she tugged and pushed.

Respectable? Hell, she looked like she had just been thoroughly loved. Which she had. By him.

Jack couldn’t help but grin. “Here, let me help you.” He palmed her left breast with one hand and tried to lift the dress with the other, and stuff everything back where it was supposed to be.

The door flew open, and a voice called out, “Jamie? Are you in here?”

His sister’s voice.

The bride.

Oh, damn.

Jamie tried to step back, but his hand was still in her dress, so he went with her. Jamie let out a whimper.

“My mom said you weren’t feeling well, so I wanted to make sure you’re okay—” Caroline’s words were cut off by her gasp. “Jamie? Jonathon? What are you doing?”

The obvious answer would be that he was feeling her up, which was wrong, since he was trying to help her back into the dress. Yet it wasn’t entirely a falsehood either, since he had been touching her breasts sexually just a minute ago. But that seemed kind of complicated to explain. There had to be an easier answer.

Jamie wasn’t going to answer at all. She was motionless and facing him. Her cheeks were stained red, and her green eyes were huge.

It was up to him to smooth this one over. He said with a shrug, “Jamie’s having some problems with her dress. She keeps, uh, falling out.”

He dropped his hand, which left the blue fabric askew, only covering half her breasts. It had her looking like Pam Anderson trying to wear a tissue as a blouse. “I was just trying to help,” he added lamely.

His sister’s face contorted into incredulous disbelief. It wasn’t a good look with the veil and the dress. Then she started toward them, shaking her head. “Keep your hands off my bridesmaid, Jonathon. Jamie, didn’t you use double-sided tape?”

“No.”

For which Jack was very grateful. He’d have never gotten the dress off her if it had been taped to her skin. “That sounds medieval, Caroline.”

“It’s the best way to keep a strapless dress up.” She jerked her thumb toward the door. “Move along, show’s over. We’re going to have to take Jamie’s dress completely off to do this.”

“That doesn’t bother me,” he said, most sincerely. “I can be an extra pair of hands in case they’re needed.”

Besides, he had just told Jamie he’d toss over ten plus million dollars for her. Big moment, major declaration, all of that. He’d kind of like to stick around and see if she had any other response to that besides open-mouthed shock.

Caroline laughed. “Get out.”

“Shouldn’t you be out there throwing your bouquet? I can handle this, honestly. You know I’ve always been a problem solver.” But he was already heading for the door, knowing Caroline wouldn’t trust either him or Jamie not to make a mess of it.

If there was a job to be done, Caro liked to do it. Besides, Jamie didn’t look as if she’d be speaking anytime soon. Maybe a few minutes with Caroline would unlock her lips.

“Go dance with Brad’s mother. I don’t want her to feel neglected by our family.” Caroline was digging in a travel tote and emerged with a roll of tape and scissors.

Yikes. Jack didn’t want to see whatever she was going to do with those. “Alright, I can see you have this under control. I’ll go play charming host at your bidding, Caroline Davidson-Black.”

Caro stopped and smiled at him. “That sounds so awesome. I’m actually Brad’s wife.”

“Yeah.” Jack felt emotion reach up, choke him. Close off his throat, and prick his eyes. “Times are a changin’, aren’t they?”

“Only in good ways.” Caroline patted his cheek with her smooth, cool hand and smiled. “Now leave us women to the mysteries of double-sided tape.”

“Okay. See you in a few.” He paused at the door. “Jamie, remember your promise.”

She was spending the night with him, one way or the other.

He’d need the comfort after dancing with his sister’s mother-in-law.

Jamie clutched the front of her dress and tried to function. But her head was like a hunk of Swiss cheese. There were too many holes in her thoughts for any of them to make sense.

“Sorry, Caroline. I’ve been having trouble with the dress and it never occurred to me to get tape.”

“Turn around.” Caroline spun her and unzipped. “So how long have you been sleeping with my brother?”

Just when she thought she couldn’t get any more embarrassed. “Um…what makes you think we are?”

There was a loud ripping sound as Caroline pulled off a length of tape. Jamie glanced back over her shoulder. At least Caro was smiling. “Jams, he had his hand on your breast. I know you. You are not casual about your breasts. Any man touching them has been granted the key to the kingdom, so to speak.”

“Oh.” Good to know her friends understood her. She turned back around. “Well, actually it only happened once, a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to tell you, but wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it, and with the wedding and all, I didn’t want to stress you out.”

The dress was pooled around her waist, and she was feeling a bit ridiculous as Caroline held up the tape against her breast, measuring for width.

“You’re always so busy worrying about everyone else, sometimes I wish you’d worry about yourself.” Caroline tore the backing off the tape.

Jamie winced. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“So why only once?” With the precision of a surgeon she cut the tape and stuck it to Jamie’s breast.

“Why what?” Jamie tried not to squirm. She knew why it hadn’t occurred to her to put tape on her chest. It was really uncomfortable and weird.

“Why did you only have sex with Jonathon once?” Caroline slapped the other piece on the left breast and grabbed the dress.

As Caroline tugged and adjusted and pressed so the tape would stick, Jamie tried to come up with a coherent response. “Because I’m not his type.”

That sounded ridiculous, even to her.

“Jamie, that’s ridiculous. If you’re not interested, that’s one thing. But if you are, you should go for it. Jonathon is clearly head over heels for you.”

“He said he’s in love with me,” Jamie whispered as she was spun around again for a rezip. She wanted so desperately to believe that, but it seemed too unbelievable, too fragile, too circumstantial. “That he’d get rid of his money for me.”

Caroline paused. “Really? He doesn’t throw words around lightly, you know. Jonathon worked his ass off for years to earn what he has. But if he said it, he means it.”

“What if it’s an impulse?” And why was she even protesting? She already knew what she was going to do.

“What if it’s really love?” Caroline asked, patting her shoulders and turning her back face forward. “You once told me your aunt didn’t close the door of her double-wide trailer on love. Maybe you shouldn’t either.”

It was easy to believe with Caroline standing there in her wedding gown, looking serene and beautiful. “Oh, Caro.” Tears rose in her eyes like the sap that she was. “You don’t mind that I’m involved with your brother? I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

Caroline wiped the tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Of course you wouldn’t, silly. And why would I mind two of my favorite people hooking up? I love both of you and I know you won’t hurt him, Jamie.” She squeezed her hands. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly. You’d let it swim in your soup if you thought it was happy there.”

Jamie gave a watery laugh. “Is he a privileged uptown fly or trapped in a cycle of poverty in the ghetto?” She reached out and gave Caroline a hug, watching both their heads so there wasn’t a hair entanglement. “Beckwith told me Jack is the one in my fortune, that he’s my destiny. I really, really want to believe him.”

It made her chest feel tight just thinking about it.

“This has nothing to do with Beckwith and his farfetched predictions. Just do what makes sense to you. Jonathon is a wonderful, intelligent man. You’re a smart, thoughtful woman. Why shouldn’t it work out?” She hooked her arm in Jamie’s and headed for the door. “Now let’s get back to the reception before my mother sends a SWAT team after me.”

“She would, wouldn’t she?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Jamie figured like mother, like daughter. Caroline had just managed to convince her that it was completely in Jamie’s best interest to have a relationship with Jack.

Jamie felt taken down by logic.

So she might as well enjoy it.

Except when Caroline stepped back into the hall, Jamie happened to glance left and nearly fainted. Beckwith was strolling down the hall in a hot-pink taffeta bridesmaid’s dress, floral bouquet and all.

Oh, good Lord. Jamie followed Caroline in half a step, then exclaimed, “Oh, shoot, I think my bracelet fell off. I’ll be right there, Caro.”

Then she ran as fast as she could in Beckwith’s direction, grabbing his hairy wrist and dragging him into the coat-room alcove. “What are you doing? You have got to leave!”

The last person in the world who would appreciate the presence of a cross-dresser was Mrs. Davidson.

“I’m wedding crashing because I had to talk to you. And I thought if I wore this I might blend in.”

Jamie thought maybe that would have been better accomplished by wearing a man’s suit, but clearly that hadn’t occurred to Beckwith.

“I don’t think it’s going to work. The bridesmaids are all wearing ice blue.”

“Well, poo-poo.” He pouted as he sniffed the bouquet of teacup roses.

“Did you need something, sweetie?” Because if he didn’t, he needed to get the hell out.

“I can’t take it, sugar. I’m just plagued with worry for your friend. Are you sure you can’t convince Caroline to throw over her husband?”

“Positive.”

“And you’re sure you can’t work things out with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Touch My Soul?”

Jamie bit her lip. “Well, maybe I can. I want to try. But dang, I’m scared.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit!” Beckwith vowed, flinging his arms and bouquet around. “I can’t live my own life because I’m so bombarded by images of you screwing up your fate. You have got to trust this guy, for my sake, Jams.”

Well, gee, if it was all about him.

She couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes even as she reached out and squeezed his arm. “I’m trying. I’m seeing Jack tonight, after the wedding.”

“His name is Jack?” Beckwith narrowed his eyes.

“Yes.” And she was in love with him.

“Jamie.”

She about jumped out of her bridesmaid’s dress and probably would have if it wasn’t for the double-sided tape. Damn, that was Jack’s voice, and it was coming from no more than two feet behind her.

“Oh, hi,” she said as she turned and offered a weak smile.

“Do you know this…person? Everything okay?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded rapidly. “I’ll be back in a second; we’re just finishing up here.”

“I’ll wait for you outside the door.” Jack pointed ten feet down the hallway. “Right there.”

He obviously wasn’t going to go back into the reception without her, so Jamie was going to have to work hard to get rid of Beckwith. As Jack started down the hall, she opened her mouth to encourage Beckwith to leave, when she noticed him frowning.

“Who was that?” he asked, leaning around her to watch Jack’s retreat.

She raised her eyebrows. Who was the psychic here? “That was Jack. Tall, Dark, and Touch My Soul.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.” Was he kidding? Jamie stared at him. “The one you saw in the cards. I met him on the subway when I slammed his spaghetti into him.”

Beckwith pulled his lip back. “That is not the man I saw in the cards. This one’s sexy and all, but he’s not the guy I saw. Your soul mate looked more like Tyler Bond from the rock group The Gris Gris. You know, with the tattoos? Sings that song about not being able to satisfy lust. Anyhoo, that’s what your man looks like. I’ve never seen that guy”—he pointed down the hall at Jack—“in my life.”

“Are you serious?” Jamie felt the blood drain from her face.

“Totally.” Beckwith twisted the back of his platinum hoop earring.

“But that’s the guy I slept with.” She stuck her thumb out and jerked it in Jack’s direction. And that was the guy she’d fallen in love with.

“Well, why in the name of Liberace would you do that?” he asked, astonished. “Clearly you are not ready for love if you meet the man of your dreams, then sleep around on him.”

Jamie laughed so loud she actually produced a snort.

Chapter 20

Jack kissed his sister good-bye. Saw Pops into Steve’s SUV. Grabbed an uncorked bottle of champagne from a passing waiter.

Then went in search of Jamie.

Once he found her, he was going to rip that bridesmaid’s dress off and crumple the hell out of it when it dropped on the floor and he stepped on it. He was going to tear into Jamie’s hair and let all those straining curls loose. He was going to put his lips on every sweet, soft spot on her body.

But first he had to find her.

“You seen Jamie?” he asked Allison, who was lined up at the bar doing shots with Finn.

“She’s talking to your mom over by the door.”

Oh, great. He was tempted to ask Allison to go get her for him, but then he squared his shoulders and thought the hell with it. He was thirty years old, and his mother was already acting like a child. He shouldn’t do the same.

“Thanks.” He started to walk away, but Allison grabbed his sleeve.

She looked up at him with dark—heading toward drunk—eyes. Allison always looked as if she could be strutting down the catwalk, exotic and confident. Jack was comfortable with her, because they both mutually understood they liked each other as people, but weren’t in any way attracted to each other.

“Jonathon…be careful with her. Jamie’s always taking care of everyone else, but sometimes she needs someone to take care of her, too, you know what I mean?” Allison jerked on his sleeve so his wrist swung back and forth. “Jamie’s, like, gold and the rest of us are copper.” As Jack blinked, she started laughing. “God, that was a really sucky metaphor. I’m drunk, aren’t I?”

“I think so, darling,” Finn said cheerfully, and tossed back another shot.

“Well, don’t think you’re going to be able to take advantage of that.”

“I’d never dream of it.”

Jack disengaged his sleeve from Allison’s damp grip. “Why don’t you head home, Allison, and call it a night? And I know what Jamie’s worth. I really do.”

She was a grade A bond. A hot commodity. A blue chip company. The real deal.

“Oh, that’s so sweet. Look at his face, Finn. You really like her, don’t you?” Allison patted his cheeks. “You should tell her how you feel.”

“I’m trying to, but you won’t let me go.”

She let out a laugh. “Good point, lover boy. Fine, go, leave us.”

So he did. With a wave and a deep breath when he saw Jamie was still chatting with his mother. But he put on a smile and went up to them. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like to offer Jamie a ride home.”

Jamie bit her lip. “Well, uh, that’s very considerate of you, Jack—”

His mother interrupted. “I thought you were taking your grandfather back to the nursing home.”

“Steve did.” Took Pops back to Jack’s place, that is. But now wasn’t the time to confess he’d moved Pops out of the nursing home, or go into detail describing how Pops was still getting his daily physical and occupational therapy, that the apartment was handicap accessible for the wheelchair, and that he had a call button if he needed emergency assistance at any time when his nurse wasn’t doing her daily check-in.

No, he wasn’t about to get into that, not with Jamie standing there and Caroline and Brad still in the room. And he also didn’t want to mention that he had made arrangements with Steve for him to spend the night at Jack’s apartment with Austin and Pops. Or tell Jamie that he had booked a hotel room five minutes after she had agreed to spend the night with him, since he’d thought having a wild love fest with an old man and a teenager in the next room might be a little tacky.

“Oh, wonderful. It will be a miracle if they arrive at the nursing home alive. Steve thinks the speed limit is just a suggestion. He offered us a ride back home tonight and of course I refused.”

“You’re spending the night in the hotel?” Jack asked, horrified. That was something of a mood killer to know his mother was staying in the same building.

“Of course. I can’t even imagine driving back to Darien tonight. It always feels like I’m riding on I-95 for hours even though it’s only thirty miles, and I’m too exhausted tonight. I wish your sister would have gotten married at the club at home, but no, she had to have a Saturday wedding in Manhattan.” His mother laughed. “Our portfolio will never recover.”

Ha ha. Jack felt like grimacing. He was suddenly so tired of it all. The money, the games, the ever present push and shove of grasping people onto this financial ladder, that social stool. Don’t ever turn your back, Jack-o.

He just wanted to rest.

So he gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It was a wonderful wedding, Mom.”

“It did turn out, didn’t it?” His mother sighed, a tired, satisfied smile on her face. “Now where are you going with that champagne? Are you into drinking alone these days?”

Jack didn’t dare say a word. He just waited. It didn’t take her long. His mother looked at him. At Jamie, who was studying the floor.

“Oooohhhh, well, I see. Sorry, it’s been a long day. I’m not usually so slow.” His mother shook her head, her short hair immovable. “Have a good night, Jamie.”

“Good night, Mrs. Davidson.” Jamie managed to lift her head long enough to give a shaky smile.

But his mother was already gone.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Jamie covered her face. “Your mother thinks I’m a hussy.”

“No one thinks you’re a hussy, Jamie Lynn.” He was tired, and he was aching, and he wanted nothing more in the world than to just lie down next to her. “But I’ll drive you home if that’s what you want.”

Her hands fell away. “What’s the matter, Jack?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” He brushed her cheek with a fingertip. “I’m just worn out.”

It was an out, if she wanted to take it. She could show concern for him, suggest they spend the night together another time. As much as he wanted her, he didn’t want to coax or suggest or seduce tonight after all.

He’d offered her his entire fortune, and she hadn’t said one word about it.

But she said, “I don’t want you to take me to my place. I want to go home with you. I want you to tear this dumb dress off me.”

Now that perked him right up. In more ways than one.

“Then let’s go upstairs.”

“Upstairs?”

“I got us a room about an hour ago.”

Her head tilted. “Confident, weren’t you?”

“Just hopeful.”

Jamie was hopeful, too, as she followed Jack into his hotel room. Something about hearing Beckwith say Jack wasn’t in the cards for her had shifted a huge burden off her shoulders.

Destiny was for her to determine.

She couldn’t live in fear of a man leaving her, like her father had. She couldn’t live anticipating that her future was there for her, set out on an unalterable course.

The future was whatever she wanted it to be.

Jack took off his tux jacket, tossed it on the back of a chair, and turned to her. “Do you think you could ever love me, Jamie? Even…just a little bit?”

Oh, there was an understatement.

His shirt was stark white against the dark paneling of the wall behind him, and in his fears, in his love for her, he was vulnerable, this strong, intelligent man with a smart mouth and a smarter mind.

“Oh, yes, I could.” Already did. “That’s why I told you I couldn’t see you anymore. I knew I would fall in love with you. Knew that I could the very first night I met you.”

She didn’t need Beckwith’s predictions to tell her what now seemed so obvious. She and Jack. It was meant to happen, just like this.

“Then when I saw what you did for your grandfather and for Austin…yes, I knew I could love you.”

“Will you? Love me?” Jack undid the buttons on his shirt, one at a time, eyes locked with hers in the dark room.

It came to her that this was one of the most momentous moments of her life. Jack was The One. And she was about to tell him.

Everything was sharp and hot, frozen yet hurtling forward, and her heart galloped wildly.

“Once I love someone, I can’t stop. It sticks.” He had to see that if she let it go, let it out of its confinement, it could never be stuffed back in.

Jack yanked off his shirt. “I don’t deserve you. But I want you. I’m burning with love for you, Jamie, and I want some back.”

Hovering in front of the closet, she felt moisture in her eyes and blinked hard. Throwing her clutch in the direction of the chair, she moistened her lips.

“You have it. I love you.”

Ho, boy, no turning back now.

He grinned. “What’s that? I’m not sure I heard you.”

“I love you, Jack.”

“I really like the sound of that.” He tossed his shirt toward the chair. “Would it embarrass you if I made like Tom Cruise and bounced on a chair and pumped my fists? Because I’m really tempted.”

That made her laugh. “I have a better idea.” Reaching behind her, Jamie unzipped the top of her dress. Pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it loose, massaging her sore scalp.

“I’m all…ears.” Jack unhooked his belt.

Jamie walked seductively—well, her attempt anyway—and sashayed right past Jack, dodging his reach. She darted into the bathroom with a giggle, hoping to solve her problem quickly so they could explore her idea.

“Where are you going, you cruel, cruel woman?” He followed her, crowding into the tiny bathroom right behind her.

Jamie flipped on the light and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dress was definitely covering her chest adequately. The tape had done its job. Which was a problem. “I can’t get this dress off—the tape is stuck to my skin. I need the light to see how to torture myself.” She gave a few preliminary tugs and found it stuck tight. This was going to hurt.

“I’ll help.”

“No!” Jamie peeled the top half inch back and took a gander down her dress. Her skin was beet red at the edges of the tape. “I have very sensitive skin, and I’m probably going to look really weird and whimper when I pull it off.”

“Come on, I’ll hold your hand. Or better yet, you close your eyes and I’ll get it off.”

Jamie gave another tentative pull. Oww. Lily white, paper-thin skin did not appreciate double-sided tape on it. Not to mention that her nipples had never suffered such abuse. Gritting her teeth, she tried again and only succeeded in bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Ow, ow, ow, dang it. I’m trapped in this dress.”

“You could get in the shower. The water will loosen it up.” Jack put his hands on her waist and looked over her shoulder and on down her bodice.

“That would ruin the dress.”

“Are you ever going to wear this dress again?” he asked doubtfully.

“Maybe.” Probably not. But it seemed so wasteful to just willfully sacrifice it.

“Then close your eyes. I’ll pull it off. Like a Band–Aid. Just one quick jerk.”

That sounded about as fun as Chinese water torture. But she didn’t have a whole lot of options. She couldn’t go to work on Monday wearing a bridesmaid’s dress. She’d look like she was making a push for a prison prom.

“Okay, go for it.” She screwed her eyes shut, spots dancing behind her eyelids.

She felt Jack peel the back of her dress down and stretch it forward a little to give him more room. Then his one hand held her skin, the other her dress, and he yanked.

“Yowww, holy crap!” she screamed as searing, burning pain ripped through her. Before she could even recover, the pain was doubled when he moved to the other breast and repeated the process.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said, blowing on her stinging skin.

Jamie forced her watering eyes open and sucked in a huge breath. “Oh, my, the room is spinning. Do I have any skin left? Are my nipples gone?”

Because she certainly couldn’t feel them.

“Let me check.” Jack’s mouth closed over her, flicking his tongue across her stinging flesh, cooling it.

He gently kissed her nipple and her eyes rolled back in her head—and not from pain this time.

Yep. Still there.

And doing a cheer.

Jack felt such profound sympathy for the pain Jamie and her breasts were in that he decided to give her an orgasm to distract her. Free of charge.

God, she loved him. It was an amazing sensation of wonder and excitement that was zinging through him, filling him with restless energy and overwhelming pleasure. It was unbelievable how whole that made him feel, how strong, how generous.

He wanted to give her the world. But he’d start with an orgasm.

The way Jamie responded so quickly to him just from a flick of his tongue made him hard. He liked that she didn’t have that preoccupation with pacing and appearances and neatness that some women did. Jamie didn’t look in the mirror to see if her body was displayed in the most flattering way, and she didn’t temper the sound of her moans.

So when he sucked her nipple, Jamie didn’t give him one of those lazy, you might be on the right track if you work really hard, kinds of sighs, but a nice, drawn-out, guttural groan.

Her body had tightened against his, tensed.

“Feel better?”

“Much better.” She gripped his shoulders and shook her hair back off her face. “I’d be even better if you took my dress all the way off.”

He could do that. “Good idea.”

It was pooled around her waist, and it was easy enough to shove and tug until it went past her hips and dropped to the floor. She stepped out of it, and Jack kicked it into the shower.

“Jack! That’s an expensive dress.”

“There’s no room in here. This bathroom is the size of a mailbox. I need space.” He had meant to get on his knees and go down on her, but Jamie seemed to interpret it as claustrophobia.

Her face softened with compassion. “Oh, sweetie, are you claustrophobic? Let’s go in the other room. It’s too stuffy in here.”

It wasn’t bothering him at all, and he wasn’t some wimp who couldn’t handle a hotel bathroom. On the other hand, there was something to be said for having such a compassionate woman as his lover. And he hadn’t been called sweetie since he was four. He kind of liked it.

“No, we’re fine here. I’ll be okay if I just kneel down.” Jack held on to Jamie’s waist and dropped down.

“Are you sure? It will just take two seconds to move to the bedroom…you don’t have to be brave for me—oh, my!”

Jack rolled down her panties and kissed her. A nice, long French kiss. Between her thighs.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, shifting her legs farther apart with a nudge. “Very fine.”

“Alright then,” she said with a breathless squeak.

Jack pulled back an inch and studied Jamie. Her head had dropped back, her hands reaching out for the towel rack, the counter. Her stomach rose and fell anxiously. Shifting on his knees to a more comfortable position, Jack spread her with his thumbs and swallowed hard. The ripeness of her body, the curve of her thighs, her breasts, her backside. The way she was gleaming moist for him sent blood rushing south, his mouth hot and dry.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.” And getting really turned on. Wow, he could really learn to appreciate her body. She was a work of art. Worth ten million and then some.

Shifting one finger, he dipped it inside her. Jamie gave a startled cry. Jack stroked her long and deep, then pulled back. She sagged forward, her thighs bumping his shoulders.

He put his finger in his mouth. Sucked. Tasted Jamie’s musky desire. Heard her gasp.

Then pushed deep inside her again, mixing the slickness of his saliva on his finger with the hot smoothness of her core, enjoying the way she jerked reflexively.

“Oh, it’s cool from your mouth…it feels different.”

He could tell she liked it, could hear the growing excitement in her voice, the relaxing of her body down onto his finger, her thighs trembling. But he wanted to hear it. “Is that bad or good?” he asked as he stroked in and out, avoiding her swollen clitoris.

“Good…very good.”

So Jack pulled out and licked his finger again. Slid it back into her while she moaned, wiggled, tossed her head side to side. He did it again, and again, until his lips were slick and his finger slippery, until Jamie was whimpering and begging and knocking forward onto him.

Until he was so hard he was in pain, and his head swam, eyes narrowly focused on Jamie, on the pink prettiness of her body, the intimacy of what they were doing, what they shared.

And when he thought they might both break, he abandoned his finger and went in with his mouth. The taste of her exploded over his tongue, the warmth of her thighs surrounded him, and he closed his eyes in pleasure, held her ass tight when she bucked and thrashed.

“Jack! Oh, my, good gracious.”

Lifting his tongue up and down in slow movements, Jack savored the way Jamie felt, the way she opened for him, trusted him. Glancing to his right, he watched them in the mirror, his head buried between her thighs, Jamie’s back arching, her cheeks flushed with passion.

It was the sexiest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Focusing forward, he picked up the pace, gave a little suck on her clitoris, and held her tight when she broke in an explosive climax.

She moaned, she pinched his shoulders, she jerked backward, but Jack held on and drew out her pleasure even after she started pushing him away.

It was amazing. She was amazing. And for the first time, he felt as though he understood. That when you love a woman, your pleasure builds from hers.

Jack pulled back and wiped his mouth. He glanced up at Jamie as she shook her head and blinked. She looked dazed and delirious with pleasure.

Just right.

“Now we can go to the bedroom,” he said.

“Oh, mercy,” was her response.

Jamie tumbled down onto the bed, body flushed with pleasure, inner thighs still tingling. The all white bed appealed to her in its crispness, its stark contrast against the dark paneled walls.

“It looks like a ship cabin in here,” she murmured, pulling a stray hair off her lip as she settled her head on a fluffy down pillow, using a second one to cover her naked body.

Jack was stripping his pants off in front of her, his erection springing up. “Ahoy, matey,” he said, making her laugh.

He could look so serious when he said things like that—he was deadpan, subtle, where she was always so obvious. She liked that about him.

She loved him. So, so much.

“Come to bed, Jack.”

“In a sec.” He leaned over the chair, giving her a good shot of tight buns. He stood back up, a condom wrapper in his hand. “Do that again.”

“What?”

“That look.” His voice thickened. “The one that says, Get over here because I want you and love you.”

“That one’s easy to do.” Her heart was thudding, her nipples hardening as new desire sprang to life. For the first time ever in her life, Jamie felt sultry. Powerful in her sexuality. “But I don’t want you to get tired of it.”

“Never.” Jack met her gaze with a hot, hungry one. “Tell me again how you feel about me.”

Jamie swallowed back the thick arousal that crowded her mouth, made her tongue swollen. She dragged the pillow off of her body and dropped it to the side. Licking her lips, chest rising and falling rapidly, she dragged in a breath. She was turned on and shocked at herself, but she felt confident. “I love you, Jack.”

It was so easy to say that, to mean it.

“I love you, too. God, I can’t believe how much.”

Hands on the bed, he slid over her, covering her with his hard, warm body. “You feel good.”

Jamie sighed, content from her orgasm, from being with Jack like this. “The wedding was very lovely.”

“Mm-hmm.” He nuzzled in her neck, rubbing his lips over her flesh.

“Caroline seemed so happy.” Jamie wrapped her arms around his back, caressing him down toward his waist. His skin was hot, hard, his muscles tightening and relaxing as he moved over her, suckling her breasts. Jack was built, more than she would have expected for his lean frame, but he sported well-defined muscles that rippled when he moved. And it pleased her as she lay there stroking him.

“Yep.”

“You looked very handsome in your tux.” Jamie crossed her feet at her ankles, feeling warm and cozy and only a minute or two from falling asleep.

Jack bit her nipple.

“Ouch! Dang, that hurts.” It did, but it also was arousing. Sleep thoughts fled as Jack reached down and grabbed her ankle.

He uncrossed it. Spread her. “Don’t close your legs to me.”

Liquid heat pooled between her thighs as cool air swept over her warm skin. He was giving her that intense look again—that teasing, yet I really mean it kind of look. It was dark and a little dangerous, his hand still on her ankle.

“I’m always open to you,” she told him. “Unless you give me reason to close myself off.”

This was her leaping off into trust, and he had to meet her there, or she wasn’t sure she could take the risk.

“I promise to not screw this up.” He stroked her ankle, up the back of her calf. “Thank you, Jamie. For everything. For you.”

His lips followed his fingers, tracing the outline of her daisy-chain tattoo, then continued in a sensual climb from ankle, to calf, to the back of her knee and beyond. To the tight trembling flesh of her thighs, and the creamy wet center of her body. She shouldn’t let him pleasure her again, she shouldn’t be so selfish and take another orgasm before he’d had his first, but he was so talented, the way he stroked and plucked at her.

It was like drinking too much wine. Her head swam, her voice was too loud, and her body moved with a languid lurching as she lay there, thoughts scattered. Fingers clutching the pillow she had abandoned earlier, Jamie cried out when the hard thickness of his tongue pushed into her.

“No.” She tried to wiggle away, desperately turned on, wanting more than his tongue.

“No?” He looked at her, then gave a flick of his tongue just to torture her. “You don’t like it?”

“I like it too much.” She pulled back her hips, tried to slide up the bed away from him. She knew those prickling pulsing sensations vibrating around her inner thighs. One more lick and she was going to explode.

“Ah. So you want cock instead, is that it?”

Jamie flushed. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She wasn’t a prude, she wasn’t inexperienced, but she wasn’t used to Jack’s aggression either. Jamie had always dated men who were solicitous and nonconfrontational. They weren’t into discussing what they were doing; they just quietly went about their business, efficiently getting things where they needed to go.

Men who thought she was sweet and a bit dull. Men who loved her and left her, because she would never be exciting. Never be anything more than maternal.

“I can be gentle. I can be loving, Jamie.” He covered her with his body, heavy and hard.

With one hand, he spread her folds apart, stroked her with the tip of his erection. She moaned, her legs jerking in reflex as her clitoris spasmed in pleasure.

“But it will always be raw with me. That’s something I can’t help. Because to me you’re Venus, a total goddess.” And he shoved inside her.

Oh, dang it. Jamie tensed everywhere, holding on to him, feeling that deep, intense rush of ecstasy as he filled her. He stroked in her, then again, with delicious thoroughness, before pulling completely out.

“Just a little tease,” he murmured when she cried out in disappointment.

He kissed her with biting little sucks on her bottom lip, with a hot plunging tongue, with wet urgent presses that had her scrambling to keep up, squirming on the bed. She wiggled her hips, trying to get closer to him, trying to coax him back inside, knowing she was going to die from desperation if he didn’t get back in there and finish what he’d started.

But Jack leaned more heavily on her, pinning her beneath him so she couldn’t move. Couldn’t wiggle, couldn’t thrust her hips, couldn’t reach her hand down and stroke his erection, maneuver it into her. “I’m not allowed to move?”

“I was just afraid you might flip yourself off the bed.” He sucked her neck, pulling her skin out just a smidge, his face arranged in what could only be called a smirk.

“You’re so considerate.” Jamie tried to move her hips again, bouncing the mattress a little. “But I think I’ll be okay. If I start to fall, I’ll just grab on to you.”

“I would catch you.” He eased up on her, bent over to kiss each of her nipples softly.

“I know.” Jamie scooted down, found him with her fingers and stroked. He needed to know he wasn’t always going to lead the charge. Before he could protest or do more than bite off a curse, she aligned her hips and thrust, pushing him inside her. Her hand, still wrapped around the length of him, kept him from filling her all the way, but it was still more than nothing. It was damn good, and she closed her eyes briefly, her body throbbing and aching.

She didn’t think he would pull away, and she was right. He took over the pace, pushing in and out, her gripping hand sliding along the slick, thick length of him.

“Oh, yes, Jamie, shit, that’s good.”

It was. It was arousing to feel that impact, that wet hardness as it shoved into her, the way her body moistened, opened up for him. She moaned in soft, frantic little jerks, careening toward an orgasm quickly.

When she yanked her hand back suddenly and he slammed into her full force, his pelvis rocking hers, she came with a scream, tearing at the bedsheets. “Oh, oh, oh,” she said because no other words would form as she shuddered and jerked and dripped with pleasure.

“I do love you,” he said. Then exploded inside her, fierce and silent, jaw clenched, brow furrowed, muscles straining, cheeks sucked in.

“Yes.” There was a world of meaning in that one word, and she hoped he understood. That yes, she knew he loved her. Yes, she loved him, too. Yes, he was The One, the one and only man for her.

Ever.

Yes, to the future, and yes to everything.

Jack knew he wasn’t dreaming. Never could he have imagined anything this fucking hot.

Jamie sucking him in her mouth, making little slurping sounds.

After catching a power nap, and scarfing down half the food in the minibar, he had woken Jamie up, offered her champagne.

She had taken two sips, licked her pink lips, then set the glass down and gone between his legs.

Where she was driving him crazy.

A steely hold on his thighs, she rocked him forward, into her mouth, over and over, while he dug into her hair and tried not to embarrass himself by whimpering. He did moan though, as he buried himself in that hot hole, eyes half closed as he strained on his knees.

Then she slid down onto her stomach, while still sucking him, her knees going out, feet together. He thought she was getting more comfortable, altering the angle of her neck to take him deeper, which she did. Jack gripped her head harder, knuckles white.

But then her breathing got erratic, her movements jerky, and he suddenly realized that his thrusts were pressing her breasts and clitoris down into the mattress in teasing little brushes. Whether she had known that would happen or not, she clearly liked the end result. She was doing that excited little squirm she had. The floral tattoo around her ankle jerked, blurring in his line of vision, as she wiggled around on the bed.

Which turned him on even more.

He pumped harder, while she pulled him toward her. Her lips were shiny, spread around his cock, and her curls fell forward over her cheeks, nose. It was overwhelming, what he felt for her. It was intense, consuming, amazing, and he had to have her, all of her.

Had to let her know he knew what she was saying with her actions. That she was comfortable showing all of herself to him, that she trusted him. And he had immense gratitude for what she was offering him.

Leaning forward, he ran a shaky hand over the smoothness of her ass, dipping down between her cheeks. She jerked slightly, then her knees spread just a little bit farther in invitation. Jack knew he was pressing her face into his gut, but he didn’t care. He wanted to give her some of the ecstasy he was feeling.

So he dipped his middle finger deep down inside her, stretching her sideways before pulling back, trailing her moisture up and over her backside, as goose bumps rose on her flesh.

“I want to be inside you but I don’t want you to stop doing this.”

“We have all night,” she said, pulling back off him with a smacking pop. “We can do both.”

“You like that position, don’t you?” He bumped his cock against her lips. “The sheets are tickling your nipples and clit, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” Voice sultry and low, she licked at the tip of his erection. “I could probably come like this, with your finger.”

“Oh, really?” The very idea intrigued him. That she could have an orgasm while he was coming in her mouth, it fed his fantasies.

The maneuver was a little awkward for both of them, but it was worth it when she made a mewling, whimpering sound as he buried his finger in her. Buried himself in her mouth, cutting off her groan.

He stroked and she licked and they both lost it, climaxing together, blending their pleasure until Jack wasn’t sure where he stopped and she started.

Chapter 21

Jack had to shake his head as he and Jamie left the diner with Pops and Austin. He wasn’t sure how he’d wound up with a cranky old man and a crankier fourteen-year-old kid on his hands, but it occurred to him that somehow they had all become a package deal.

If Jamie was going to marry him, which he sincerely hoped, she was going to get stuck with these yahoos, too. Especially since he was in the process of officially making himself Austin’s foster parent.

“That lunch sucked,” Austin complained. “If you’re going to take me out for lunch, you should take me someplace good.” The wheels of his skateboard squeaked as he rolled up ahead of them.

“I was thinking the same thing, kid,” Pops said. “Here I get sprung from the nursing home and I get some weenie piece of fish slapped in front of me.”

Jack pushed Pops’s wheelchair and rolled his eyes. “Next time I’ll leave both of you in lockup, and I’ll go to lunch without you. Find myself some better company.” Not that he really minded their complaining. It seemed nice and normal to be this way, walking home from a lunch that he had to admit was definitely lacking in taste. “Take Jamie off by myself.”

“Jamie wouldn’t do that, would you?” Pops glanced at them over his shoulder. “She has respect for her elders, unlike you.”

Jamie laughed. “I would never abandon you, Will.”

“See?”

Jack kissed Jamie’s temple and whispered in her ear. “We can outrun these two, you know. Just say the word and we’ll cross the street and lose them in the park.”

She hooked her arm through his and smiled. Beamed, actually. He was hoping it was love and afterglow from the night before. And it would never rub off. He loved seeing that smile directed at him.

“Austin’s faster than me,” she told him.

“Hey, Austin, go grab me a coffee, will ya? There’s a deli right on the left.” He handed him a five when Austin shrugged in bored acquiescence.

“You’re crazy to give that kid money. He might not come back,” Pops said.

“You know, you’ve got to have trust. If he takes off, so what? But if he doesn’t, well, that’s a good thing.” He should have trusted Jamie in the beginning. Should have given her more reason to trust him.

“You’re a good man, Jack-o. But that lunch did suck.”

Jack laughed. They were almost to the deli when he suddenly saw him, Jim Peters, Jamie’s father, standing across the street in front of his building. Jamie made a soft sound next to him.

She was wearing an orange-colored tank top and a white floral skirt that fell above her knees, and when he glanced over at her, he saw her face was the same color as her shirt, her freckles stark and vivid on her pale skin. It struck him again how beautiful she was. How much he loved her.

“Sweetheart…I didn’t know he’d be here. Do you want me to talk to him?”

Jamie shook her head. “It’s fine. I want to speak to him myself.” She stepped in front of the deli store right as Austin came rolling out, a coffee in one hand, a big cookie in the other.

“Watch—”

Too late. Austin slammed into Jamie, who tripped over Pops’s wheelchair. Jack grabbed her arm to steady her and flinched when coffee hit him in the chest. When the commotion died down, he saw they were all covered in coffee splatters except for Austin.

“Shit. Sorry.” Austin took a bite of the cookie and stepped back a full foot, like he was thinking of bolting.

Jamie blinked, a big brown wet spot on her breasts. Jack patted his pockets as if napkins were suddenly going to materialize. Pops wiped drippage off his cheek.

Then she started laughing. Jack brushed at his own wet T-shirt and grinned in relief, glad to see Jamie was still Jamie. She didn’t sweat the small stuff.

“It’s okay, Austin,” she said. “Accidents happen.” Her gaze was already floating across the street to her father.

Jim had spotted them. When Jamie waved to him, he paused a minute, then raised his hand back.

They all stood around, covered in coffee, waiting expectantly as Jim crossed the street.

It occurred to Jack that maybe the rest of them should leave. But Jamie was gripping his hand and not easing up as Jim stopped in front of them, hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he said. “Do you know who I am?”

Jamie nodded.

Jim nodded, his eyes panicked and raw, as he looked away.

Jack stood helpless, wishing he could do this for Jamie.

But he didn’t need to.

She stood tall and proud, compassion in her eyes, and said, “I forgive you, Dad. And I love you.”

Jack was so damn proud of her and so scared for her heart, he realized he was holding his breath.

“Well, say something,” Pops told Jim after a long second had dragged out. “Girl tells you she loves you, you don’t just stand there gawking at her.”

Her father swiped at his eyes, blinking hard. “Jesus. I love you, too, Jamie Lynn. I always have. Every damn day I’ve been without you. God, I can’t believe this. I didn’t cry when they sent me to prison and here I am crying in the middle of Hudson Street.”

“Dude, don’t worry about it,” Austin said.

“Happens to the best of us,” Pops said.

“Can the two of you—” go to hell came to mind, but Jack restrained himself. “Go get yourself a better lunch.” He pulled out a twenty and handed it to Pops, who waved it smugly in Austin’s face.

“I get to hold the money again.”

“That’s only ’cuz I can’t hold the money and push you at the same time.” Austin dropped his skateboard in Pops’s lap and grabbed the wheelchair handles. “How fast can we get this thing going?”

Jack winced as they hit the door with the footrests on the chair, but they made it into the deli with minimal swearing and more speed than was probably advisable.

But at least they were gone. Now if he could get Jamie to release his hand from her iron grip, he could exit, too, and let her talk to her father.

Jamie was aware that Jack was trying to gently remove his hand from hers, but there was no way in hell she was letting him leave her. Her father was still just kind of staring at her, and she felt like at any given second her legs might give out. She needed Jack’s strength, support.

“After all this time I can’t believe I’m looking at you,” her father said, shaking his head. “That you’re this close. You’re beautiful. And you look like me. Except you have your mother’s eyes. Expressive.”

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just smiled. This was his move.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just wanted to protect the both of you. I loved you and your mother more than anything and I was just a damn coward, Jamie Lynn. Do you understand that? That I was weak, not that I didn’t care.”

“I understand. And trust me, I know a thing or two about being scared.” She’d been putting Jack and herself through hell for the past two weeks for that very reason. An image of the night before popped into her head. Well, it hadn’t been all hell.

“So things are going well for you? You like your job, living in New York?”

“Yes. I love my job and I’ve been happy here. I have great friends and…Jack.” His hand squeezed hers.

“You’ve got a good guy here, that’s for sure. Gave me his couch to sleep on when he found out I had nowhere to go. He called shelters all over town, but when no one had room, he just opened his apartment to me.” Her father turned to Jack. “And I thank you for that. I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”

“I think if Jamie is forgiving you, maybe it’s time you forgive yourself, Jim, and start over.”

That choked Jamie up. She felt the tears escape her eyes and start tumbling down her cheeks. Then suddenly she found herself caught up in her father’s arms, his callused hands patting her back.

“Don’t cry, baby girl. It’s alright. We’ll make it alright.”

He smelled the way she remembered. Like leather and Irish Spring.

That was a good scent. And there were good memories, right there, pulled up out of her childhood memory.

“Thanks. With both of us willing, we’ll definitely make it alright.” Jamie pulled back and saw Pops and Austin coming out of the deli with a large bag in Pops’s lap.

“Did you get some lunch?” Jack was holding her hand, keeping her close to him, and it was a nice, warm, fuzzy-blanket feeling.

She was surrounded by people who cared about her, and she had a darn good life.

“Yeah. We got Reubens,” Pops said. “Bring on the cheese, I always say.”

“Why don’t we go to my place and let Jamie and Jim talk a little more.”

Jamie nodded. “There are a ton of things I want to ask you about, Dad.”

Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be called Dad again.”

“Hey, there’s like a really hairy dude dressed as a lady trying to get your attention,” Austin said, gesturing down the sidewalk.

“What?” Jamie looked in the direction he was pointing.

Jack squeezed her hand tighter and asked in puzzlement, “Isn’t that the nut job who was talking to you last night in the hall at the reception?”

Of course it was. Beckwith was striding down the street, wearing a white sundress with Donna Reed pearls and waving at her frantically.

“Jamie! Honey baby, we need to talk.”

Didn’t they always. “What’s the matter, Beckwith?” She didn’t bother to ask about the dress. There was no telling.

“You know this guy?” Jack asked in disbelief, wrapping his arm tighter around her waist.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Allison told me you were probably here,” Beckwith called as he jogged the last few feet to her. Suddenly he drew up short. “Oh my gawd,” he said as he took in the group collected around her. “Who are all these men around you? And why is this one prettier than me?” he asked, pointing to Jack.

Jack blanched. Jamie laughed. “Beckwith, this is Jack Davidson, Will Hathaway, and Austin. Just Austin,” she said in a James Bond imitation voice. “And my father, Jim Peters. This is Beckwith Tripp, professional psychic.”

“Psychic? Dude, tell my fortune,” Austin begged. “But not if it sucks—just make something up if it sucks.”

But Beckwith was whipping his hands around in a sort of feminine karate chop as if he were being assaulted. “Whoa, too many sensations. But this makes so much sense, sugar. Oh, oh, oh, this all makes sense. Sadness,” he said, pointing to her father. “Darth Vader, and prison.” His finger shot over to Austin. “Prison. Prison? Kid, you’re too young to be a criminal. You’d better straighten out. But you’re past, present, and future in Jamie’s karma. These two both have the tattoos, we’ve got the light hair.”

Beckwith touched Pops’s shirt, causing the older man to swat at him.

“Coffee. Food. Dang, I am so good.”

She had no idea what Beckwith was talking about.

“Too many men, Jamie. They were all blending together, mixing with my mojo.” Finally he reached over and patted Jack on the shoulder, almost knocking Jack into the street. “He is the one for you! Shit, that’s so sweet. You didn’t have sex with him for nothing after all.”

While Jack sputtered, Jamie saw what Beckwith was trying to say. He’d seen them all in her destiny. Pops, Austin, her father. And Jack.

“Oh, Beck.”

Dang, she was going to cry. She’d chosen her destiny, and it was a good one.

“I know, I know,” Beckwith said, looking triumphant. “Okay, people. Everyone.” He clapped his hands together loudly. “With the true gift of a psychic, I can tell these two crazy kids need time alone. Everyone but Jamie and Jack needs to scat.”

“Can we go into the apartment?” Pops asked. “Or at least the lobby? My cheese is congealing.”

“Sure, old man.” Austin pushed the wheelchair, and Beckwith walked alongside it, giving a minilecture on karma, and the inappropriateness of giving predictions for old people and kids. Jim had lit up a cigarette and was ambling along beside them, listening attentively.

“What the hell just happened?” Jack asked.

“I think my father and I made some headway.”

“That’s great. But who was the guy in the dress? And do you think we can duck out and go hide at your place?”

She shook her head and grinned. “Not a chance. They’ll find us. Beckwith’s psychic, you know.”

“You really think he is?”

“I know he is. He told me about you, remember. That you’d make me so happy other people would gag at the look on my face.”

“Is it true? I make you happy to the point of causing illness in others?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“Did he predict this?” Jack picked her up, held her right under her ass, enjoying the feel of her tight up against him. He wasn’t letting her go, ever again. “Marry me. I don’t want to wait, there’s no reason to wait when I feel this way.”

She sniffled. “No, he didn’t.”

She hid her head in his shoulder, and Jack felt a little panic rising. She wasn’t answering him.

“Marry me, Jamie, and tell me where to give my money. Help me find a new start, a new apartment that we can afford on our pitiful do-gooder salaries.”

Then she lifted her head and said, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

Jack spun her around, nearly taking out a chihuahua trotting by on his leash. “Yes! That is totally the right answer.”

She laughed, her pert little nose lining up with his as she dusted a kiss across his lips. “I think so. And you don’t have to give away your money, Jack. I’m not that insecure, nor am I that selfish. You worked hard to earn that money, and you deserve to keep it and do whatever you want with it.”

Jack put her on the ground, stunned. “Are you sure? I don’t want the money between us, Jamie Lynn. Seriously.” But he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit he was glad. He kind of liked his cash.

“I know you’re a good man, a generous man. You donate a ton of your time and mental resources to other people. I have no problem with you keeping what’s yours.” Sincerity shone in her eyes.

“You’re amazing,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “And do you know, Jamie Lynn, that I have the feeling I was waiting to meet you?”

She sniffled as he repeated words he’d spoken that first night they’d met. “I couldn’t agree more.” Then she grinned. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Beckwith’s going to want to be a bridesmaid.”

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Abby was floating. The sensual heft of Zan’s black leather jacket felt wonderful on her shoulders, even though it hung halfway down to her thighs.

They’d reached the end of the boardwalk, where the lights began to fade. Beyond the boardwalk, the warehouse district began. They’d walked the whole boardwalk, talking and laughing, and at some point, their hands had swung together and sort of just…stuck. Warmth seeking warmth. Her hand tingled joyfully in his grip.

The worst had happened. Aside from his sex appeal, she simply liked him. She liked the way he laughed, his turn of phrase, his ironic sense of humor. He was smart, honest, earthy, funny. Maybe, just maybe, she could trust herself this time.

Their strolling slowed to a stop at the end of the boardwalk.

“Should we, ah, walk back to your van?” she ventured.

“This is where I live,” he told her.

She looked around. “Here? But this isn’t a residential district.”

“Not yet,” he said. “It will be soon. See that building, over there? It used to be a factory of some kind, in the twenties, I think. The top floor, with the big arched windows, that’s my place.”

There was just enough light to make out the silent question in his eyes. She exhaled slowly. “Are you going to invite me up, or what?”

“You know damn well that you’re invited,” he said. “More than invited. I’ll get down on my knees and beg, if you want me to.”

The full moon appeared in a window of scudding clouds, then disappeared again. “It wouldn’t be smart,” she said. “I don’t know you.”

“I’ll teach you,” he offered. “Crash course in Zan Duncan. What do you want to know? Hobbies, pet peeves, favorite leisure activities?”

She would put it to the test of her preliminary checklist, and make her decision based on that. “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Let me guess. You’re a martial arts expert, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Aikido is my favorite discipline. I like kung fu, too.”

She nodded, stomach clenching. There it was, the first black mark on the no-no’s checklist. Though it was hardly fair to disqualify him for that, since he’d saved her butt with those skills the night before.

So that one didn’t count. On to the next no-no. “Do you have a motorcycle?”

He looked puzzled. “Several of them. Why? Want to go for a ride?”

Abby’s heart sank. “No. One last question. Do you own guns?”

Zan’s face stiffened. “Wait. Are these trick questions?”

“You do, don’t you?” she persisted.

“My late father was a cop.” His voice had gone hard. “I have his service Beretta. And I have a hunting rifle. Why? Are you going to talk yourself out of being with me because of superficial shit like that?”

Abby’s laugh felt brittle. “Superficial. That’s Abby Maitland.”

“No, it is not,” he said. “That’s not Abby Maitland at all.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, Zan.”

“Yes, I do.” His dimple quivered. “I know first things, second things, third things. You’ve got piss-poor taste in boyfriends, to start.”

Abby was stung. “Those guys were not my boyfriends! I didn’t even know them! I’ve just had a run of bad luck lately!”

“Your luck is about to change, Abby.” His voice was low and velvety. “I know a lot about you. I know how to get into your apartment. How to turn your cat into a noodle. The magnets on your fridge, the view from your window. Your perfume. I could find you blindfolded in a room full of strangers.” His fingers penetrated the veil of her hair, his forefinger stroking the back of her neck with controlled gentleness. “And I learn fast. Give me ten minutes, and I’d know lots more.”

“Oh,” she breathed. His hand slid through her hair, settled on her shoulder. The delicious heat burned her, right through his jacket.

“I know you’ve got at least two of those expensive dresses that drive guys nuts. And I bet you’ve got more than two. You’ve got a whole closet full of hot little outfits like that. Right?” He cupped her jaw, turning her head until she was looking into his fathomless eyes.

Her heart hammered. “I’ve got a…a pretty nice wardrobe, yes.”

“I’d like to see them.” His voice was sensual. “Someday maybe you can model them all for me. In the privacy of your bedroom.”

“Zan—”

“I love it when you say my name,” he said. “I love your voice. Your accent. Based on your taste in dresses, I’m willing to bet that you like fancy, expensive lingerie, too. Am I right? Tell me I’m right.”

“Time out,” she said, breathless. “Let’s not go there.”

“Oh, but we’ve already arrived.” His breath was warm against her throat. “Locksmiths are detail maniacs. Look at the palm of your hand, for instance. Here, let me see.” He lifted her hand into the light from the nearest of the streetlamps. “Behold, your destiny.”

It was silly and irrational, but it made her self-conscious to have him look at the lines on her hand. As if he actually could look right into her mind. Past, future, fears, mistakes, desires, all laid out for anyone smart and sensitive enough to decode it. “Zan. Give me my hand back.”

“Not yet. Oh…wow. Check this out,” he whispered.

“What?” she demanded.

He shook his head with mock gravity and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s too soon to say what I see. I don’t want to scare you off.”

“Oh, please,” she said unsteadily. “You are so full of it.”

“And you’re so scared. Why? I’m a righteous dude. Good as gold.” He stroked her wrist. “Ever try cracking a safe without drilling it? It’s a string of numbers that never ends. Hour after hour, detail after detail. That’s concentration.” He pressed his lips against her knuckles.

“What does concentration have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with everything. That’s what I want to do to you, Abby. Concentrate, intensely, minutely. Hour after hour, detail after detail. Until I crack all the codes, find all the keys to all your secret places. Until I’m so deep inside ya…” his lips kissed their way up her wrist “…. that we’re a single being.”

She leaned against him, and let him cradle her in his strong arms. His warm lips coaxed her into opening to the gentle, sensual exploration of his tongue. “Come up with me,” he whispered. “Please.”

She nodded. Zan’s arm circled her waist, fitting her body against his. It felt so right. No awkwardness, no stumbling, all smooth. Perfect.

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Fabia cut off the communication and opened her door, quickly running down the hall and stairs and then pushing out onto the street. The temperature had dropped even more than the report had predicted, Fabia’s cheeks flushed from the slick slap of cold air. Rubbing her gloved hands together, she walked toward the man, slowing as she neared him.

“Hello,” she said softly, blinking against the streetlight.

He stared at her—no, past her—his face expressionless. His face was smudged with dirt, a deep, dark red scratch running from temple to jaw, one eye blackened. Blood swelled the skin under his eye and hung in a painful purple moon over his cheek. As Fabia moved closer, she realized that his hair wasn’t so much matted from the wet, dank air as from dried blood. There was a clear, perfect circle of reddish, broken skin around his neck, and she noticed now that the dirt she’d seen under his nails this morning was actually blood.

Whatever had happened, he’d fought back. Whoever he’d fought with probably looked as bad as he did.

“Are you all right?”

The man turned to her, tried to look up, and then took a deep breath, his mouth trying to move. He was trembling, his arms tight against his body now, his black eyes filled with fog and sadness. Again, she tried to reach for his mind, but the iron wall was still there, planted solidly.

What do you think? Fabia asked Niall without even meaning to.

All that blood, Niall thought. Maybe it’s not his. Moyenne are messy murderers.

He hardly looks capable of a right killing, Fabia thought.

True. He didn’t do his level best, there. So he might be on the lam. Injured from the barbed wire he crawled under, Niall thought. Just call the police.

Fabia stared at the man, ignoring Niall for a moment. Maybe she couldn’t read the man’s mind, but there was something about him. Something kind even in his quiet, painful desperation.

Bloody bleeding heart, Niall thought. But just be ready to escape. Be prepared to step into the gray, okay? Hop back to your flat.

Yes, sir, Fabia thought, shaking her head. But Niall was right. It was easier to extend this kindness knowing that if the man grew strange or crazy or even dangerous, she could disappear in an instant, traveling through matter to the police station where she could report the crime she’d just escaped. The Moyenne she worked with at the clinic were always amazed that Fabia would go to flophouses and tenements and dark alleys looking for clients. What she couldn’t tell them was that she was protecting them by doing so, keeping them away from danger from which they might not be able to escape.

Fabia bent down, trying to attract his gaze. But he wouldn’t look at her, and she could feel the tension radiating from inside him.

“Hi, there,” she said. “My name’s Fabia Fair. I live at the flat just down a bit.”

He didn’t move his eyes, but he blinked, once, twice.

“Would you like to come with me?” Fabia said, crouching down farther and looking into the man’s desperate, searching eyes. “How about a wee bit to eat?”

He licked his lips, breathing in, scanning the ground as if he’d dropped some change. Not drunk, Fabia thought. Schizophrenic.

Perfect, Niall thought. Go from Cadeyrn to just another crazy. Get yourself into another fankle.

Haver on, man! Would you mind affording me some space here? she thought back. Go watch your bleeding telly.

Fabia closed her mind to her brother and moved closer to the man. He was shaking, his knees hitting together. Again, he moved his mouth, but then shook his head, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.

Fabia watched him, trying everything she knew to get inside his mind, but there was no opening, as if the block was put there on purpose. And not by the man, who clearly was in no shape to create or even maintain a block, even if he were Croyant, magic, like her. And there was something about him, even with his quaking gaze and his long, thin, dirty body. Fabia couldn’t read his mind, but she could feel…kindness.

“All right,” Fabia said. “That’s it. Please, come with me.”

She stood up straight and held out her hand. The man breathed in, looking at her hand and then her face, her hand, her face, and then slowly, he lifted his dirty palm from his knee, studying his movements with surprise as if he’d never moved before. His fingers quivered, shook, and Fabia took them in her small gloved hand, feeling how cold he was even through the leather and wool.

Shit, she thought to herself, hating how Moyenne treated their castaways, knowing that in her world, the world of Les Croyants des Trois, this man would have food and a bath and a bed, no matter what was wrong with him. Adalbert Baird made sure of that, finding places for the damaged and weak—the only people who escaped his care were the ones who disdained it. Like Caderyn Macara. Like Quain Dalzeil. And what will happen if Quain wins? she thought.

We’ll end up like this poor sod, Niall thought.

Shut it, Fabia thought and clutched the man’s hand more tightly.

“Come on,” she said. “Don’t be scared.”

But the man was scared. More than scared. She felt his fear in the energy coming off his body, in the sizzling whites of his distracted eyes, in his stiff, hesitant walk. Who had done this to him? What had happened?

“It’s all right,” Fabia said, her hand holding his as they walked slowly to the door of her building. “You’ll be fine.”

He turned to look at her, his black eyes so dark she couldn’t see the irises. His forehead was creased with worry, his face gray with cold and hunger and fear. Despite the filth on his clothing, the blood on his head and body, and his clearly distressed mind, Fabia wanted to stop, pull him to her, and comfort him.

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He was thinking of warm Christmas cookies, songs on the piano, and strings of popcorn, when he spotted the confusion in front of the funeral home. Lights from a police car flashed blue and red and an elderly couple, bundled in coats over pajamas, gestured with excitement.

Ozzie pulled up behind the cruiser and parked. It took him only moments to identify himself to the officer and to find out that someone had stolen a donkey from the Nativity scene erected on the funeral home’s lawn.

Marci. Somehow, he just knew she was behind this. She’d probably claim the damned donkey was shy, or that he didn’t like the colored lights, or God-knew-what. But Ozzie’s instincts screamed and so, with a few more words to the officer, he gave up on the idea of sleep and instead headed to Marci’s apartment.

Lucius used to live in the apartment across from Marci but, thankfully, he’d recently moved out—so Ozzie didn’t have to worry about Lucius finding him at Marci’s door. He and Bethany had purchased a home of their own. Lucius still owned the apartment building, but he left Marci in charge of it.

Not a good idea, in Ozzie’s opinion, given that Marci was a kook. But far be it for him to tell Lucius how to run his business.

When he parked in front of the building, Ozzie looked toward Marci’s porch window and, sure enough, her inside lights were on. Okay, so it was seven-thirty and she was maybe getting ready for work.

Or hiding a donkey.

Ozzie slammed his truck door, trudged through the crunchy snow and ice, and went up the walk, inside, and up to Marci’s door. He knocked twice.

Breathless, Marci yelled, “Just a moment!”

His body twitched. More specifically, his cock sat up and took notice of her proximity. Damn it.

A full minute later, Marci opened the door. A look of pleasure replaced her formal politeness. “Osbourne. What a surprise.”

He stared down at her and thought, if she’d just not talk about animals, if she’d just smile at him like that, he’d be happy to ravish her for, oh…a few hours maybe.

When he said nothing, her smile widened, affecting him like a hot lick. She wore a soft pink chenille robe, belted tight around her tiny waist. Her small feet were bare, crossed one over the other to ward off the chill. Her baby-fine, straight brown hair had the mussed look of a woman fresh out of bed—or fresh inside from the blustery outdoors.

Shaking out of his stupor, Ozzie looked beyond her. He saw nothing out of the ordinary in her tiny apartment, but that didn’t clear her.

She took a step closer to him, staring up in what seemed like provocation to him, a heated come-on, a…

She tilted her head and said, “Osbourne?”

Lust tied knots in his muscles. He cleared his throat. “Busy?”

Big blue eyes blinked at him, eyes so soft, and with such thick, long lashes she didn’t need makeup. “I just got out of the shower, actually.” She patted back a delicate yawn. “It’s early. Would you like some coffee?”

He’d like her.

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Travis winked at her and she tossed him a narrowed eye hiss before walking back to the open grave and Manny. “Get rid of that reporter,” she said irritably to Travis. “Make sure he knows he’s not to print a word until he hears from me.”

Travis’s smug expression faded into one of confusion. “What reporter?”

She pointed to where she’d last seen the NYT wannabe. “That…”

“Hello, Greer.”

The husky undertone of that voice slammed into her with all the subtlety of a runaway freight train. “…reporter,” she finished weakly as she turned around and faced her past.

The air between them sizzled. She looked into the breathtakingly handsome face of the one man from whom she had no secrets.

The high-pitched ringing in her ears deafened her. The ground beneath her feet shifted. This simply could not be happening. Why did that damned loose end she’d left dangling for so long have to become a noose tied around her neck today? Why now?

Ash.

Her every dream, her every regret rolled into one painful reality staring her in the face. Those delicious dark brown eyes once filled with affection were now colder than the granite headstone behind him. She expected or deserved, nothing less.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she blurted rudely. The suit. She should’ve known. Standard FBI blue, she thought, remembering her own closet once filled with the same dull rainbow of subdued hues.

“The report you filed with VICAP. It was brought to my attention.”

“Faith.” Who else? Faith worked closely with Ash, and had been the only person she’d kept in contact with at the Bureau for a short time after she’d left. Of course Faith would’ve passed the report on to him. She was Ash’s eyes, ears, nose and throat for crying out loud.

Ash nodded. There was an underlying arrogance to the slight curve of his mouth that set her teeth on edge one second, then made her as nervous as a whore trapped in a confessional with a judgmental priest the next.

“And you thought you’d just come on down and take over my investigation, is that it?”

Travis cleared his throat. “I thought you—”

She glared at her boss, warning him to shut up. True, she wanted no part of the investigation, but having Ash breathing down her neck wasn’t something she was anywhere close to being able to handle.

Thankfully, Travis wasn’t a stupid man. “Never mind,” he said, then clamped his teeth around a half smoked, unlit cigar.

A glinting flash of light caught her eye when Ash moved his hands to tuck them into the front pockets of his trousers. Probably just the sun reflecting off his watch, she thought. Anything else was unthinkable.

“You know how the system works, Greer,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“You’re right. I do. And this case doesn’t come close to meeting the criteria for ISU’s involvement. I don’t recall a section in the manual about steamrolling an investigation, either. You’re not wanted here, Ash.” She didn’t want him anywhere near her. “Go home.”

He leaned toward her and she breathed in his scent. Flashbacks of a different kind peppered her conscience. A private celebration. Candlelight. Champagne. Making love until dawn. His hands, his mouth. Never getting enough of each other.

“You develop a sudden understanding of the word?” he said in a low voice with enough of a hint of controlled anger to push her past the edge of reason.

Bad Boys in Kilts

Bad Boys in Kilts

DONNA KAUFFMAN

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

This book is dedicated with love and a wink
to my sister, Kathy.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank those who helped me with this book. To all my Scotland contacts, the usual lot of suspects, once again, I couldn’t have done it without you. To my sons for putting up with the crazy hours and for keeping Dominos on speed dial. To my mom, to Kat, and to Jill for being my constant lifelines to sanity. I’m pretty sure it’s working, but let me have the fantasy if it’s not. You know I’m always here to return the favor. To my agent and champion, Karen Solem, who has steadfastly been there for me this past year in ways I will never be able to fully repay, thank you, thank you, thank you. And lastly, but very importantly, to Kate Duffy, my wonderful editor, whose unflagging support and enthusiasm reminds me every day why it is I write what I do for a living. Thank you all!

Contents

Bottoms Up

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

On Tap

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Night Watch

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

BOTTOMS UP

Chapter 1

“This place isn’t big enough for the both of us.” Kat Henderson wiped her hands on the already grimy rag hanging from a loop on her coveralls. She glared across the cobblestone square as Daisy MacDonnell flipped the OPEN sign over in the small stationery shop that sat catty-corner to the Hendersons’ own motor-body repair business. “Call me Daisy Mac,” Kat mimicked, remembering how Daisy—all perky American perkiness—had introduced herself several weeks back upon taking over the place for her late aunt, Maude.

Of course, if that sign in the window was the only thing Daisy was flipping in Glenbuie, Kat would have been first in line to welcome their newest resident to their small, eastern highland village. Every male in all of Tayside, it seemed, had been panting after the Yank since the moment she’d stepped out of that hired car.

“Come now,” her father urged. “Enough of that. Hand me that wrench. This bastard is being a stubborn stick in the arse if ever there was one.”

Kat absently handed over the wrench, her thoughts still on the American interloper.

“If you ask me, I say you go over and befriend the enemy,” her father said conversationally, between grunts as he tried to loosen whatever it was that was stuck now. Given the condition of the old Cooper he was working on, it wouldn’t surprise Kat if the whole undercarriage was permanently welded together with ancient axle grease and decades worth of dried manure. Only Hinky Thomas would think a Mini Cooper capable of being used as a farm vehicle.

“Make nice with her? Why on earth would I do something like that?”

“Do you a sight more good than standing here, shooting fiery beams of hell through her front door, that much I do know.”

Kat muttered something under her breath, and reluctantly pulled her gaze away from Maude’s shop. She took the wrench when he waggled it back up at her, then handed him a rag when he asked for one.

“You can’t blame the lads for sniffin’ about now, either,” he went on. “Of course they’re going to do a bit of ogling and the like. She’s a might bit younger than most of the single lasses about town, yourself excluded. She’s not hard on the eyes, and besides that, she’s—”

“Fresh meat. I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me.”

Alastair Henderson rolled out from under the car and looked up at his only daughter. “I wasn’t going to use quite that language, but aye, you’ve hit squarely on it with that observation. She’ll be a challenge to them for a bit, then the dust will settle. More than likely she’ll take up with one or the other, and all will return to normal.”

“She can have all the rest of them, but why did she have to set her sights on—” Kat’s rant ended abruptly as she spied the object of her lust strolling affably down the opposite walkway, stopping just in front of—“Och, the ruddy bastard! Already staking his claim. And in broad daylight, no less. Cheeky wanker.”

“Such language. Yer sainted mum is surely rolling her eyes in the heavens, hearing you talk like that.” Her father reached up and snagged the dangling tool from Kat’s hand before she dropped it on his head, then rolled himself back under the car. “And I sincerely doubt he’s in there doing anything other than chatting her up. Although God love him if he could swing something more at half past eleven in the morn—”

“Papa!” Kat kicked the trolley he was lying on with the toe of her boot. She scowled when he chuckled. “It’s not funny. I’m in pain here. Your only offspring’s heart is bleedin’ and you’re wantin’ to raise a toast to the man’s sexual prowess.”

“What better reason to raise a glass, says I,” he responded, completely unrepentant. “At least it gives the rest of us poor sods some hope.”

Kat shook her head. “Incorrigible, the lot of you.” Although she was certain Brodie Chisholm had had more than a toast raised to his prowess. Which was well documented in these parts. And those a bit abroad as well, if rumors were true. And they likely were. She’d known his charming self all her life, as well as most of the girls he’d spent time honing those skills with. None of whom had been her. Something, of course, she’d been fine with. After all, she was more to him than any of those backseat crumpets would ever be, and proud of it. She’d much rather be his valued friend and confidante than chance losing the special bond they shared for a brief peek at heaven.

Not that she’d ever had the opportunity to turn down the invitation.

“You wouldn’t have us any other way,” her father was saying. “Your mum would be quite disappointed in me for spendin’ as much time alone as I have these past ten years and we both know it.”

Kat had nothing to say to that, because her father was right. Her mum made him promise on her deathbed that he wouldn’t wallow in grief and be a burden to their only daughter for the remainder of his days. In fact, what she’d said was, Find yourself someone to care about and do it before you’re too grizzled for anyone to find ye’ charming.

“And,” he added, “she’d have no patience for the way yer still caterwauling about over Brodie Chisholm all these years later.”

“Shh,” Kat warned, looking over her shoulder. As if Brodie could actually overhear them from across the square. “I’m not caterwauling.”

“Mooning, then.”

She glanced across the street, wondering what was going on behind that closed door. “I’m, uh, I’m merely looking out for the best interests of a good friend. After all, what do we really know about her other than she’s Maude’s great niece, come from America to start a new life. For all we know, she’s running from a husband and a brood of children. Or…or worse. Maude never spoke of her.”

Her father rolled out just far enough to give her a look of reproach. “Maude never spoke much at all about anything in her personal life. Kept to herself, that one. And you’d do better to simply own up to your role in this and stop trying to pin it on some innocent bystander.”

Kat huffed out a sigh. “Okay, fine. So I had kind of a crush on him that summer after I finished my sixth-year highers, before Mum passed, when we were, what, seventeen? That was over ten years ago. We were solid friends way before then and have been ever since. So, am I wrong to worry that he’ll get caught up in some passing fancy with the American? Honestly, how do we know she’s not here on some whim? Thinking it a lark to take on her inheritance herself. As if running a shop in a small highland town is a game to be played at.”

“And you know all this about our newcomer because you’ve sat across from her so many mornings over tea?” Her father wasn’t much for sarcasm, and even now, his words were laced with affection.

Kat’s cheeks grew a bit pink. “I’m only sayin’ that he might want to be a bit more circumspect, is all. Until we know what she’s about.”

“And I’m sayin’ that it’s a sad day when a Henderson wants something and doesn’t go after it. I’ve the patience of a saint, which is a good damn thing considering this son of a bitching bastard is about clapped out and I promised Hinky I’d find a way to keep it going. But even I’m about out of patience with you on this matter.”

“I didn’t come running to you for advice now, did I?”

“I’m just sayin’ that I don’t know why you didn’t play your hand when you were the only game in town. No, ye go faffing about until another woman shows up, making all the lads come sniffin’ ’round, then ye start mooning over what might have been and lost chances and the like.” He rolled out from under the car. “There are no lost chances, only missed opportunities. And you know what I always say about that.”

“Opportunities are the chances you make for yourself,” Kat repeated with him. She tossed the rag at him as he sat up.

Her father dabbed the rag to his forehead, blotting off the beads of sweat but leaving a bigger smear of grime behind. “You can pull the wool over everyone else’s eyes, Kat-o-mine, but no one knows ye like your papa. You and I both know you’ve wanted Brodie Chisholm for so long that you grew comfortable with it, accepted it for what it was, thinking at some point perhaps you’d press for more. Now there’s someone who might compete with you for that spot in his heart and suddenly you’re all concerned, claiming you’re looking after his best interests. All I’m saying to you is that for once, you might want to look after your own.”

Her father was right and they both knew it. “You think I’m being silly.” She gestured at herself. “But look at me, Papa. Daisy is as fresh and pretty as her name. I’m—”

“Solid as a rock and the best damn thing going in this town,” Alastair answered automatically.

It was silly, but his instant and unwavering defense made her eyes water a little. She quickly recovered by glancing back across the square again. Brodie was in there right now with Daisy. And here she was, just standing in the shadows, watching. Knowing, as she’d always known, that this one would be like all the rest, just another passing fancy for him. Only this time she wasn’t so sure. Daisy might not be a true Glenbuie villager quite yet, but she wasn’t some tourist passing through town, either.

And Kat knew she wasn’t the only one feeling the changes that came with time. Brodie came from a strong family, as did she, each of them with ties to Glenbuie that went back several hundred years. Despite his playboy ways, he’d want his own family someday. Had said so to her more than once, hadn’t he? Of course it had been in that dreamy, can’t-imagine-it-now kind of way, but the longing was there nonetheless. She understood it as she’d begun to feel that same longing a wee bit herself.

Her father was right about another thing, too. A Henderson didn’t sit idly by and let others take what was theirs. Shamed as she was to admit it, it would serve her right if Brodie found the one who settled him down, and Kat hadn’t done anything to let him know she fancied herself as that woman. It was supposed to be her. That it was always supposed to be her.

“Thanks, Papa,” she said, “your defense is well noted and appreciated. It’s only that I can’t help but think he’s had plenty of time to notice me in that way, and he’s never once so much as hinted at it.”

“Brodie Chisholm might enjoy playing as much as he enjoys laboring, but the lad is anything but an idiot. Hagg’s Pub was never so profitable or popular when the old cuss ran it. Brodie’s a scamp and a scoundrel for certain, but his heart is fully meshed with Glenbuie and all who reside here. It’s that love and respect for his past that auld Finny Chisholm instilled in all his grandsons that makes Brodie good at what he does. Hagg’s is now the heart and soul of this village because Brodie has made it the heart and soul of this village.” He pushed to a stand and moved beside her. “Your heart runs just as deep and true, lassie. He knows that. It’s why ye have that special bond between you that you do.” He leaned down and bussed her forehead, then favored her with a wink. “You should have more faith.”

Kat leaned into him, pressing her shoulder against his, but her gaze shifted back to the door of the stationer’s shop. “I have faith in a lot of things,” she said after a moment or two. But my ability to attract a man, especially one who is all man like Brodie Chisholm, isn’t one of them, she thought, not putting her biggest fear to words. Knowing her father, she didn’t have to, anyway. He was the only one who saw past the tough-as-nails, tomboy exterior to the vulnerable woman beneath.

Proving the truth in that, he gently chided her. “So go clean yourself up and walk over there and buy a card or something. Give you a chance to size up your competition, and something to use to get a little attention.”

“Buy a card for Brodie? It’s not his birthday and the closest holiday is months off.”

Alastair sighed and looked up to the heavens as he shook his head. “Where did we go wrong, Maddy mine? Our girl has not a speck of the romantic fool in her.”

“A fool is exactly what I’m afraid I’m going to make out of myself.”

He was grinning broadly as he looked at his daughter. “Och, lass, where love is involved, you not only have to be willin’ to risk looking the fool, you have to embrace the inevitability of it. Cupid forgives those who make fools of themselves for love, you know. As do the targets of his arrows…if they’re worthy.”

Kat knew when she was beat. So she did the only thing she could do. She turned the tables. She snagged the rag from her father’s hands and snapped it playfully, a devilish smile ghosting her lips. “So why havena I seen you at Maude’s shop, buying a card or perhaps a few posies for Miss Eleanor?”

She had the distinct pleasure of watching her father’s already ruddy complexion turn a far more serious shade of red. “What I do and who I do or don’t buy posies for is my own particular business,” he blustered, snatching the rag back and turning once again to Hinky’s recalcitrant Cooper, which still awaited his magic mechanical touch. “Don’t recall asking for your advice either,” he grumbled.

“And there ye have it, my point exactly. But that didn’t stop you—”

“I don’t go mooning about over Eleanor Walth, daydreamin’ about things I’m too afraid to go after, when I’m supposed to be working.”

Kat batted her eyelashes and folded her hands under her chin. “Would that explain why ye almost burnt the place down the other night then? When you forgot to take the water from the stove after a certain someone stopped in to see about getting her brakes fixed? A double entendre if I ever heard one, ask me.”

“No one is asking you. And you can forget I ever mentioned anything. If you want to go on standing there and watching from the sidelines while that Yank snatches what you want right directly from under your nose, without even so much as making an effort after it, well, then I suppose you deserve the heartache you claim to be havin’. I’ll leave you to explain in your prayers to your sainted mum, why you’re content to let her see her one and only not so much as lift a finger to go after what she wants.”

“Don’t play Mum into this to distract me from my topic,” Kat said, partly to tweak him and partly because his words now were having a far bigger impact on her than his loving defense of her had earlier.

“I’ll stoop to whatever means necessary,” her father said, wholly unrepentant. “How do you think we Hendersons come to still be here, three hundred and a quarter years after first setting foot into Glenbuie?”

Kat mouthed the words with him, so often had she heard them, then leaned over and bussed him loudly on his still-red cheek. “I’m going to head down to Plough’s for some sandwiches. You want your regular?”

“When don’t I?” he said gruffly, but then he tugged at one of her braided ponytails. “Bring me an extra orange cream while you’re at it.”

“When haven’t I?” she shot back, glad they were back on even footing once again. She loved her father dearly, didn’t know what she’d do without him, but he knew her all too well. And she knew she’d chew over his comments far longer than she’d chew on one of Plough’s hard rolls. Which was saying something.

She went into the small washroom in the back and scrubbed at her hands, her thoughts already running back over their conversation as she let herself out of the side door of their corner shop a moment later…only to bang directly into the subject of that conversation himself.

Chapter 2

Brodie grabbed Kat by her shoulders to keep them both from going down on the cobblestones. “Have to love a woman on a mission,” he told her with a laugh, as she tugged free from his grasp.

“Aye. Going to Plough’s.”

He stepped aside and waved his arm in a courtly fashion. “Never stand between a woman and food, I always say.”

“And you always say the sweetest things,” she retorted, batting her eyelashes in a cynical fashion before pushing past him.

She took two strides before he snagged one of her braids and tugged on it, making her turn back. “What’s wrong with you? A little engine trouble?”

She glared at him before flipping the braid over her shoulder, pointedly out of his reach. “You might say that.”

Now he frowned. Had he missed something here? “Am I in trouble? You’re not still fashed because Pitts beat you at darts the other night? Everyone has an off night—I told you that. And I know he’s been a bit of a sod, gloatin’ as he does. But I still say if you’d just listened to me, and balanced the weight further back on the—”

She shrugged out of his grasp. “It was a game. I’m over it. Besides, we both know I can get back what’s mine the next time he gets paid. Now, if you don’t mind—”

She went to push past him, and again he tugged her back, knowing it would just rile her further and fine with that. Seeing as he had no idea what he’d done to earn her ire in the first place, he was willing to risk a little wrath to find out what was going on.

She glared straight through him as she blew the hair off her forehead with a little huff. Most women staring down thirty would look silly in braids, he found himself thinking. Not Kat. They looked as normal on her as did the grease-stained dungarees she wore. He couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t, and he’d known her since they were both six years old and in primary school together.

Might be it was the freckles sprinkled across her nose, the very same ones that had been there more than two decades ago. Or that fringe of blond wisps across her forehead that was forever needing trimmed, always tickling her eyebrows and making her chuff them away. Always defiant, his Kat. It was her never-say-die attitude that had drawn them together that long-ago fall day when they’d partnered up in Miss McKee’s P1 class, knowing they’d met a like soul from the moment they spied the mischievous twinkle in each other’s eyes.

But this chuff, while definitely defiant, seemed a bit different. It was a loaded chuff if ever he’d heard one. And he’d heard one or two in his day.

“I do mind,” he said mildly. “I mind that you’re snarling at me like a rabid fox, and I’ve yet to discover my crime. Don’t I deserve to at least know what I’ve done to put you in such high dander?”

She cocked her head. “You’re in the doghouse with at least three-quarters of the women in your acquaintance at any given moment in time, and you seem to suffer through that without much remorse. Why should one more or less matter to you?”

Brodie frowned. He knew Kat Henderson better than he knew pretty much anyone, save his own brothers. Sure, the two of them bickered on occasion, but there was always an affectionate edge. Today she was all prickly female and there didn’t seem to be anything affectionate or familial about it. On someone else, he’d blame the monthlies, but not on Kat. She was too ornery to put up with something as lowering and generic as PMS.

“Alastair doing okay?” It was the only other thing he could think of that would put her in this kind of mood. He’d only just walked past the open bay door to their motor repair shop and had seen the old man’s legs sticking out from under Hinky’s ancient Cooper, heard him cursing up a storm. All perfectly normal, or so he’d thought. “You two argue about something?”

She planted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “What makes you think that? He’s been nothing but wonderful to me.”

Brodie realized he’d somehow managed to cross into that netherworld of a woman’s logic in which he had no prayer of exiting unscathed. Better to cut his losses now. It was a small village. If it was anything important, he’d hear about it at the pub over ales. Or Kat would eventually tell him herself. They weren’t cut out to keep secrets from each other. Not important ones, anyway.

He lifted his hands, backed up a step. “Fine, fine. Sorry I asked. Ye seemed a wee bit on edge and I was only wantin’ to help out if I could.”

“Because that’s you, Brodie, helpful to a fault.” She jerked her chin toward the opposite corner of the town square. “Is that what you were doing in Maude’s earlier? Helping out?”

Now he was frowning. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“I don’t see any packages in your hands, so I’m supposing you weren’t in there shopping. Or maybe you were, but it wasn’t the kind of purchase that gets rung up at the register, if you catch my meaning.”

Now he cocked his head. She did look a little pale. Save the twin spots of heat on her cheeks. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten? Did you skip breakfast again?”

She threw up her hands. “Fine. Dodge the question.”

He hadn’t even heard a question.

“I don’t have time to stand here playing silly games,” she went on. “Games are supposed to involve darts or a pool cue. Life, on the other hand, is serious business, Brodie. You can’t just play at it.”

“At the risk of angering you further, I respectfully say I have no idea what you’re talking about. I went to Maude’s because Daisy stopped by the pub when I was out yesterday, looking for me.”

“Daisy is it now? And I bet she did,” Kat muttered.

“Huh?” Brodie shook his head. “Did something happen between you two? You want to fill me in? Because I have no idea—”

“This isn’t about what’s going on between the Yank and me,” she retorted, giving him a pointed look that only perplexed him further.

Brodie’s patience finally grew thin. Women. He’d never been one to lump Kat Henderson into that confusing and oftentimes frustrating category. Not that she wasn’t a woman, but she was different. A straight shooter who told it like it was and didn’t mess with his head on a regular basis. He could always count on Kat. He always knew where he stood with her.

Except for right now.

At the moment, where he stood appeared to be atop a very high cliff. And he was much closer to the crumbling edge than he’d like to be. All he wanted to know was how the hell he’d gotten there in the first place. He planted his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you tell me what is going on, then? I’d at least like to know what I’ve done to piss off her royal highness here before she lops off my head.”

“Men,” Kat fumed. “Everything has to be a game with you. A contest. With rules. And some kind of scoring system. And a clear winner in the end. So fine.”

She surprised him then by smiling. And it was something to behold, but not for a good reason. It was almost…feral. She moved closer and he had to fight the urge to retreat a step.

“Let’s say, then, that this is like a rousing good game of darts.” She poked him in the chest, right in the heart.

“This what? What this?” He was completely flummoxed. Not that it mattered, apparently, as she went right on without so much as pausing.

“The rules of play are, she who hits the bull’s-eye and sticks there for good wins the prize.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what that prize might be, but at the moment, he honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to know. There was something…different in the way she was looking at him now. As if she hadn’t eaten in a very long time—which he still suspected might be the problem here—and he was a perfect steak. It just didn’t make any sense.

“And just like in darts, there can only be one clear winner.”

“Kat, I have no earthly idea what you’re referring to. Is this still about Pitts and the dart game?”

She shook her head. “Don’t be daft. I have no interest in Pitts other than taking his money. My money, as it were. I’m talking about the game of life. And I’m finally realizing that I can’t win if I don’t play. So I’m in.” She poked him in the chest. “And you know me, Brodie, when I enter a contest, I play to win. Take no prisoners.”

Come to think of it, she did look a bit on the bloodthirsty side at that moment. Brodie was torn between laughing off this whole strange mood of hers…and covering his bits and pieces. Ultimately, there were times when retreat was the better part of valor, and he was beginning to suspect now was one of them. “Fine, fine. Pretend I never asked.”

“Oh, no. I’m all done pretending.” She patted the spot she’d poked a moment ago, her smile still a bit on the edgy side. “So there you have it,” she announced, sounding both relieved and, if he wasn’t mistaken, nervous. “I’ve gone and put it out there.”

Nervous didn’t apply to the Kat he knew. Unless she was trying to bank a corner shot to sink a double against a tourist who’d proven to be a bit more on his game than he’d let on, Kat Henderson rarely displayed nerves of any kind. Fearless she was. Around these parts, when it came to darts or billiards, she was the shark in the pond.

“You’ve been put on notice, Brodie Chisholm.”

He lifted his hands in surrender. “I have no doubt. Take whatever you want.”

“If it were only that simple,” she said with a long-suffering sigh, then pushed past him. This time she was fleet of foot and managed to sidestep his last-second grab. He thought about going after her, but somehow he doubted the real meaning behind her odd behavior would be further illuminated at this point. However, she had left him standing on the corner, literally scratching his head, purely puzzled by the whole of their conversation. And if there was one thing that provoked him, it was a good puzzle.

Then there came a round of metal clanking against metal, followed by another round of very creative swearing. Brodie smiled and walked back around the corner toward the repair-shop door. Something was up with Kat, and considering mention had been made of no prisoners being taken and the like, perhaps it might be best to be forearmed if possible. There was only one man on earth who knew Kat better than he did. Maybe he knew what in the hell had gotten into her.

“Good afternoon, Alastair,” Brodie called out as he approached.

The old man’s legs jutted out from under Hinky’s old Mini. “Not sure what’s good about it,” he grumbled, grunting as more metal clanged about, the sound ringing through the small garage and echoing back again. “But I suppose it’s better than not having another afternoon a’tall.” He grunted some more. “Seeing as this one is like to be my last, as I’m about certain this bloody transmission is going to kill me before I manage to wrangle it into—” Another ringing blow, then, “Bloody hell!” Alastair shoved the trolley out from under the car, holding one hand in the other. “Teach me to taunt the fates, that will.”

Brodie was already searching for a clean rag even before he spied the blood oozing rapidly between the fingers Alastair had clenched around his wounded palm. Brodie dragged the wicker wash basket out from under the tool rack and fished out what appeared to be something clean—clean enough, anyway—and tossed it to Alastair. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

“Just hand me some glue and some tape—I’ll be fine enough.”

The blood had already soaked through the rag. “So you’re sayin’ you don’t have a kit? I thought Kat had harangued you about that ages ago. She sees this and there will be hell to pay from now till all—”

Alastair scrambled up. “Now, now, no crazy talk like that.” He wobbled a little, having stood up too fast.

Brodie immediately slung an arm around his shoulders, taking the weight of the older man against him. Seeing as, at a few inches over six feet, he had almost a full foot on the man, stout of build though he might be, it wasn’t much of a burden. “Let’s get you over to the washbasin and see what we see.”

“Hello?” came the sound of a lilting female voice from the open bay door behind them. Even though she’d only spoken one word, he had no doubt who it was. There was only one American in town with a voice like that.

“Hullo, Daisy. Just a bit of first aid going on here.”

“Bloody hell,” Alastair muttered. “This is all I need. Kat’ll be back any moment.” He shifted his weight out from under Brodie’s supporting arm and stepped away. “Why don’t you escort Miss MacDonnell wherever it is she needs to go. I’ll take care of this. Hardly more than a scratch.”

Brodie waved Daisy back. “Just a moment.”

“Are you sure you don’t need some help? My mother was a nurse. I picked up a few things growing up. Maybe I can help. Or go after someone for you? Dr. Frampton, maybe? I think I just saw him heading to your pub for lunch, but perhaps—”

“I’ll be fine,” Alastair called out. “Thanks anyway.”

If he’d been striving for civil, Brodie thought, he’d missed it by a stone’s throw or two. And he’d never known Alastair to be anything but friendly. Probably the pain. The cut must be even worse than it already looked to be. “Maybe we should get Frampton over here.”

“For the love of all that’s holy,” he hissed, “get her out of here before Kat comes back, will ye? I’ve trouble enough on my hands today without adding a catfight to the mix.”

Brodie had been trying to get Alastair to put his hand back under the water so he could see just how deep the gash in his palm was. He paused, frowned, remembering now the reason he’d stepped back around the corner. “Are Kat and Daisy at odds over something?” Of course, they couldn’t be more different. But then, no woman was quite like Kat.

The American lass was open, cheerful to a fault, and exceedingly friendly. Partly, he’d felt, during the scant few times they’d had words, because she was eager to fit in with her new neighbors. And partly, he knew, because reading people was his business, after all; it was her nature to be bubbly. Nothing like her Auntie Maude, that was for certain. A more grim-faced woman he’d never had the displeasure of meeting. There had been a collective sigh of relief when the taxi ferrying Maude’s only blood relation came in from the train station and Daisy had turned out to be nothing like the auld bat, God rest her mortal soul.

Kat, on the other hand, though outgoing enough, was bold and brash, bordering on cocky. But no’ arrogant. The lass was quite able to back up any claim she made about herself and was quick to defend any in her acquaintance who needed defending.

She was also quick to extract retribution from those who’d done wrong.

Probably why he was a bit twitchy at the moment.

“It’s more than a flesh wound,” he said to Alastair, dragging his thoughts back to the moment. “You’re likely to need stitches. Why don’t I send Daisy off to Hagg’s to get Frampton here before he finishes off his first ale.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t want your stitches to be all crooked.”

He thought he saw Alastair pale a little at the last part.

“You’re not afraid of a little mending, are you?”

“’Course not.” He pried Brodie’s hand off of his. “Not the first time I’ve seen a little blood. Just get me something to wrap around it—I’ll be fine.” When he looked up and spied Brodie’s set expression, he relented. Slightly. “I’ll see the good doctor tomorrow, aye? We’ve cleaned it well enough. It’s hardly pumping out any fresh at all at this point.”

“That’s because you’ve got water running over it and it’s compressed. Lift one finger and it’ll be gushing again and we both know it.” Over his shoulder, he said, “We appreciate the help. Send Frampton here as soon as you find him.”

“Will do,” she said, with a cheery smile and an even cheerier wave.

He gave the same in return. It was almost impossible not to be cheery where Daisy was concerned.

“You might want to reconsider that hound-dog smile when Kat gets back here, lad. No use in rubbin’ her nose in it.”

“In what?”

“Anyone can plainly see yer moonin’ after our newest resident. No’ that I blame ye, lad, she’s quite a corker.”

Brodie was honestly surprised. “Mooning? Me? After Daisy?” He glanced back to the spot where she’d been standing, as if looking there would help him make more sense of things. What was up with the Henderson clan this fine day anyway? They’d both gone a bit starkers. “Did you have the exhaust running at any point today?”

Alastair scowled at him, as if he were being particularly dense. “The only brain that’s been clouded lately is yours. Right in front of your nose is where she is. Where she’s always been.”

“You’ve lost more blood than I thought,” Brodie told him. “Here.” He grabbed a clean wad of paper napkins stacked by the sink for drying hands. “Press this against your palm, and hold it tight. Daisy should be here any moment with Frampton. Why don’t we sit down until he gets here.” Not that Alastair looked particularly woozy now, but obviously he was more out of it than he appeared, given the gibberish he was spouting.

Of course, that didn’t explain the gibberish his daughter had been babbling on about earlier. I should have never left the pub, he thought with a slow sigh.

“I don’t need to sit down, I’m perfectly fine,” Alastair grumbled, just as Daisy stepped back inside the shop.

“Here we are,” she announced, ushering in the doctor.

“What have you gone and done to yersel’ now, Alastair?” Frampton was from Alastair’s generation and the two had not only grown up together in Glenbuie, they’d fought for the heart of the same woman. Alastair had won. But even though Maddy Urquhart Henderson—Alastair’s loving and devoted wife of almost twenty years—had gone to her great reward almost a decade ago, Ben Frampton had never quite forgotten or forgiven.

“It’s naught but a scratch,” Alastair told him, clearly not pleased to see the man. “I told them both there was no reason to drag you from your midday meal.”

“Better Daisy got him here to get you fixed up before Kat gets back and sees what you’ve done to yourself,” Brodie reminded him.

Alastair grudgingly held his hand out for the doctor and scowled over his bent head in the general direction of both Brodie and Daisy. “Thank you both for your concern, but I’m being tended to, so why don’t the two of you move on now, enjoy the rest of your day.” His grouchy countenance belied the ostensibly friendly words.

Brodie decided maybe it was better after all to let the Henderson clan sort things out on their own. “Right you are,” he said to Alastair. “We’ll be taking our leave.”

Alastair waved absently in their direction with his good hand, his head bent and getting in the way of Frampton’s efforts to see the wound more clearly.

“Those two are quite the pair,” Daisy said as they exited the repair shop. “I sense some tension there.”

“Long history between them. But Ben is the only doctor we have, so they tolerate each other when necessary.”

Daisy nodded, looked like she was about to say something else, but thought better of it. “I appreciated you stopping by earlier. I hope you’ll reconsider what I had to say about promoting the pub, but I can’t thank you enough for passing along Reese’s business card. You know,” she added with a smile, “if his business card is any indication, he’s in dire need of my services.”

Brodie laughed. “The only Chisholm less inclined to spend a lot of time tooting their own horn than me is, well, any of my brothers, actually. But by all means, take your best shot. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Thanks, Brodie, I really appreciate it. I know I’m an outsider here, and I understand Maude wasn’t the easiest person in the world. I do truly appreciate how nice you’ve all been to me since my arrival. You’ve always gone out of your way to make me feel at home at Hagg’s, and that’s been really wonderful. I don’t take your hospitality for granted.”

“Och, we’re a pretty friendly bunch here. No need to get territorial, especially with a lass as fetching as yourself.”

Daisy blushed quite becomingly. “You Scots are quite the flatterers,” she said on a laugh. “I still think you should give some thought to my ideas.” She grinned. “I think we could make a great team.”

Brodie grinned back, then glanced beyond Daisy’s shoulder…to where Kat stood, clutching a Plough’s bag to her chest.

Chapter 3

After spending the past twenty minutes castigating herself over her ridiculously foolish display with Brodie—what on earth had she been thinking?—it took less than twenty seconds for her to switch gears right back again.

She hadn’t but stepped around the corner for a few sandwiches, and he was already consorting with the enemy. Again! Make a good team, would they? No one made a better team than Kat and Brodie, and she had half a mind to tell Daisy exactly that. Then she looked at Brodie and the words lodged in her throat. Did he have any idea what kind of partnership Kat really wanted with him? What would he think if he knew?

Every single one of her insecurities came rushing in, swamping her, tying up her tongue…and her stomach. Maybe she was a fool. Not for stating her intentions to him earlier, but for having them in the first place.

Daisy had noticed the direction of Brodie’s gaze at that point and turned to face Kat. Her smile was instant and seemingly sincere. Of course, she had no idea of the turmoil she was wreaking just with her very presence.

“Hi, Kat. I was just on my way to find you.”

She raised one highly skeptical eyebrow. “Really.” She couldn’t imagine why.

“Your father—” Brodie started, but before he could complete the sentence, Doc Frampton stepped around Hinky’s Cooper and came over to where the three of them were standing.

Her heart squeezed and her stomach clutched more tightly, but for entirely different reasons now. “What happened? Is he all right?”

“Ornery cuss, so he’s fine,” the doctor told her, scowling himself, as if at war between his Hippocratic oath and his personal ones where Alastair was concerned. Which, knowing full well the history between the two, he likely was.

Kat felt her lips twitch. She knew Ben took the feud quite seriously, but after all this time, she couldn’t help but think what both of them needed was to down a few ales together and let bygones be bygones. “What happened?”

“Cut on his hand. Needed a few stitches. He should come get them out in a week.”

Everyone standing there knew Alastair wouldn’t be darkening Ben Frampton’s door unless it was life or death, and even then, only if it wasn’t his own. So she juggled the sack of sandwiches into one arm and stuck out her hand. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll make sure he takes care of himself.”

“Ale’s on the house,” Brodie told him as Frampton gave Kat’s hand a polite shake. “Thanks for coming right over.”

Frampton nodded and was gone a moment later.

“I should go see to him,” Kat said, motioning to the back of the garage. “He’ll be like a lion with a thorn for a few days, I imagine. You know what a baby he is when it comes to things like this.” She was bordering on babbling, and she knew it. Brodie likely thought she’d lost a marble or two after her speech in front of the shop earlier. And who knew what Daisy thought of her? She shouldn’t care. But a part of her wondered, nonetheless. The insecure part that was standing there in grease-stained coveralls, hair in ratty braids, nails torn and ragged, not so much as a swipe of makeup on her face. While Daisy stood there looking every bit as cute and perky as her namesake. Effortlessly so. She wondered what it would be like to have the kind of natural beauty that so easily turned heads, and the quiet confidence that came along with it.

Kat had plenty of confidence about a lot of things regarding herself, namely when it came to her abilities and skills. But when it came to things like appearance and attractiveness to the opposite sex, that same sense of self deserted her completely. Sure, she cleaned up okay, all things considered. She wasn’t a total grease monkey. Before going to Hagg’s for an evening of billiards, darts, and Brodie, she’d scrub herself clean, rebraid her hair, put on a clean pair of dungarees and a fresh shirt. But that was as girly as she got. No need to pretend otherwise, after all. She knew everyone far too well, and they her. What would be the point?

Aye, there might have been a moment now and again when she’d indulged in a makeover fantasy—hallucination was more like it—but when it came down to it, she had zero inclination to so much as paint her nails, much less her face. She was a take-it-or-leave-it type when it came to any sort of cosmetic enhancement. For the most part, she chose to leave it. Her feeling had always been that if she had to slap on layers of goop in order to get a man’s attention, it wasn’t worth getting. Men didn’t have to go to all that trouble. They shaved, brushed their teeth, and combed their hair. She was willing to do that much.

Standing there now, in the face of Brodie’s easy good looks and Daisy’s perky perfection, however, she began to have second thoughts about her stance on all things cosmetic. Brodie liked girly-girls. Well, to be fair, Brodie liked all kinds of women. His head could be turned by an infectious laugh as easily as a pretty face. It was one of the things she liked best about him, that he judged people for who they were and not what they looked like. And yet…when he looked at her, she doubted he saw anything resembling a desirable woman. He just saw good ol’ Kat. One-of-the-boys Kat. Best-buddy Kat.

“I, uh, I’d better get inside and make sure Papa isn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be,” she stammered, suddenly feeling out of her element and hating it. This was her town, her people, her place of business. It was ridiculous to feel like an outsider in any manner. “Thank you for taking care of him, I appreciate it,” she told them both, and meant it, but wanted nothing more than to get as far away from them as possible. Not waiting for a response, she clutched the sack of sandwiches more tightly in her fist and went inside the shop, leaving Brodie and Daisy standing there looking confused by her abrupt departure.

“Go ahead and make a good team,” she muttered. “See if I care. God, you’re such an idiot, Kat. To even think you could get him to—”

“Hey—”

She jumped when Brodie put his hand on her arm. The sack bobbled dangerously, clanking the soda bottles together that were tucked inside. Brodie moved easily to take the bag from her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you heard me.”

“What?” she said, knowing she sounded testy beyond reason and that he’d have no way of understanding why. But there wasn’t much she could seem to do about it. Hell, after her little performance earlier, God only knew what he was thinking. At the moment, she just wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and hope he eventually forgot all about today. Maybe Daisy could take his mind off of it. The thought made her scowl deepen.

He lifted his hand from her arm, palm out in a placating manner. “Nothing. I—I just wasn’t sure—” He broke off and cocked his head, his typical teasing smile nowhere to be seen. A sincere look of concern colored his expression instead. “Are you okay? You seem all jittery or something today and…well, and I don’t know. Just not you. Alastair seemed a little off with me today, too. Is everything okay?”

“He thinks he’s invincible and hates it when life proves him otherwise. I wouldn’t take it personally.” It took what was left of her control, but she held his gaze directly and did her best to sound like her normal self, praying he wouldn’t push this further. “I’ll come around later, after we close up, and let you beat me at a round of darts. Okay?”

His expression didn’t change, and she found herself holding her breath. Why-oh-why couldn’t things be easier? Staring into those beautiful hazel eyes of his, eyes she knew almost better than her own, knowing they reflected a soul that was just as beautiful…she wished she could have fallen for almost anyone else. Anyone other than her best and closest friend.

“Okay,” he said, his voice a shade on the gruff side. “But there will be no letting me win. You’ll have to beat me fair and square.” His lips quirked just a little, and that twinkle of mischief lit up his eyes. It was no wonder women couldn’t resist him. Lord knew she couldn’t.

Her heart was pounding, her palms were sweaty. It was ridiculous, letting him have this effect on her after all these years. And yet there was nothing she could seem to do about it. “I’m sure I’m up to the challenge,” she responded, a smile of her own threatening. It was hard to be around Brodie and not smile. Of course, he took her statement as typical Kat Henderson bravado, not the flirting banter she wanted it to be.

His smile grew to a grin that made the dimple in his chin deepen and the corners of his eyes crinkle. He needed a haircut, too, she noted absently, his unruly mop threatening to cascade down into his eyes. She wanted badly to reach up and push the tangle of dark curls off his forehead. Wanted to trace her fingertips across his lips. Her nipples went hard and the muscles between her thighs tightened in almost painful awareness. And she wondered just how shocked he would be if she told him what was going through her mind in that moment. How badly she wanted to trace that dimple in his chin with the tip of her tongue.

He pushed the bag of sandwiches back into her arms. “Better fortify yourself, then,” he told her. “You’re going to need all the help you can get. I’m feeling lucky today.”

If you only knew how lucky you could get, she thought woefully. “Big talk,” she retorted, edging away from him, wishing like hell he’d either leave and let her get herself back under some semblance of control…or rip the bag out of her hands and toss it aside before yanking her into his arms, pushing her up against the nearest wall and taking her right then and there. Now that would be lucky. “Save it for later,” she finished hurriedly, before turning tail and basically running away.

She’d made a big enough fool of herself for one day. She had no idea if she’d be in any frame of mind to go to Hagg’s later or not. At the moment, she just wanted to check on her father…and get far enough away from Brodie so she could get her head back on straight. Not to mention various other clamoring body parts. She had to get a serious grip. And she had to do it soon.

Five hours later the only thing she’d gotten a grip on was the undercarriage of Hinky’s Mini. “Bollocks,” she swore as a huge glob of axle grease plopped on her forehead and oozed back toward her hair. At this rate she was never going to make it to Hagg’s tonight. She’d talked herself into and out of going at least a dozen times. It was already an hour past the time they usually closed up shop, but with her father out of commission for the most part—hard to be a mechanic with only one hand—she’d taken on his project, as they’d promised it to Hinky before the end of the week. Or her father had, anyway. It was a wonder the damn thing ran at all, but to Hinky it was like a recalcitrant child who needed a bit of coddling or bullying from time to time. The one time she’d suggested that he might consider getting a new car, he’d looked at her as if she’d suggested he murder his youngest child.

“Maybe I’ll do it for him,” she muttered, thinking there was no amount of bullying that was going to save this rusted hulk this time. But she was also every bit as stubborn as any blasted automobile, and she’d be damned if this one was going to do in two Hendersons in one day. So, with a deep huff, she blew her hair off her forehead—the parts that weren’t mired in axle grease, anyway—and redoubled her efforts. If she could just get this last part dismantled without the whole thing cracking up, she could start actually replacing parts and putting it all back together in the morning.

What felt like minutes later, she heard the tower clock across the square chime eight times. How in the hell had it gotten so late? At this rate she’d never get upstairs and cleaned up in any decent fashion. She snorted at her foolish anxiety. Like it mattered what she showed up looking like. It was just another evening at Hagg’s. Not a person there hadn’t seen her looking just like this or worse. Which was half the problem. She wondered if Brodie even noticed her appearance anymore.

It was early spring, generally the height of tourist season in Scotland, but Glenbuie wasn’t exactly a hot spot of activity. Yes, they were known to some degree for the Chisholm family whisky distillery, which had been actively producing the locally famous Glenbuie whisky for over two hundred years. But being located on the westernmost end of the Tayside region, they weren’t exactly in the whisky tour loop that annually brought tourists to the highlands in droves. And with no castle ruins of any repute nearby, Glenbuie had been more or less left to prosper on its own merits. Some time periods in history had proven better than others, and at the moment, they were just hanging in there, doing their best.

The distillery was still the main source of income for most of the townsfolk, either directly as employees of the family-owned company, or the indirect beneficiary of having a large employer located just outside of the village. More and more, the younger generation had migrated north to Inverness or south to Edinburgh, or even farther, to London and points beyond. Kat, on the other hand, was perfectly content with her lot in Glenbuie. There had been Hendersons here almost as long as Chisholms, who had held the clan seat for close to four hundred years.

The motor repair shop was the only one in over a fifty-kilometer radius, so they managed okay. And okay was good enough for her. She was happy here, living amongst the same people she’d known her whole life. She’d never harbored dreams of being a big success somewhere else. She was quite content with her modest lifestyle and the security that came with knowing she belonged. She was well rooted to the land, the people, and the town itself, its past and its future. There was enormous comfort in knowing she was but one of a long line of Hendersons who had helped shape the course of Glenbuie’s history. And would continue to shape its future. Unless, of course, the line died out with her.

Her contentment ebbed, and her stomach knotted a little. Visions of Brodie, smiling and laughing as he served and sang with the townsfolk they’d both grown up with, swam through her mind. He was much like her in his beliefs, his feelings about life in Glenbuie, and his attachment to all that came with it. Why couldn’t he see how perfect it would be for the two of them to continue on together?

Of course, there was that wee problem of him not knowing she wanted him like that. But honestly…“How bleedin’ hard is it for him to see what’s right in front of his charming devil of a face?”

“Kat? Is that you under there?”

For the second time that day, she startled badly. This time it caused her to yank hard on the wrench in her hand, which had the fortunate result of finally loosening the damn oil pan. Which led to the unfortunate result of gelatinous glops of crud plopping down on her face. “Jesus and Mary,” she swore, spluttering.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Daisy bent down as Kat shoved herself out from under the car, blindly reaching for the rag, any rag, within groping distance. Daisy grabbed one from next to the tool tray. “Here,” she said, pressing it into Kat’s hand. “I’m really sorry.”

Kat sat up as she scraped the greasy goop from her face and fringes of her hair.

“You have some there,” Daisy said, helpfully pointing to Kat’s ear.

Kat purposely didn’t look at her for fear she’d say something she’d later regret. Why was it that the one person who, without even trying, made her feel like some kind of cretinous grease monkey, had to see her looking, well, like a cretinous grease monkey. She supposed it could be worse. She could have showed up with Brodie in tow. Not that he hadn’t seen her looking her worst many times over, but at least on those occasions she had been spared the immediate comparison to Miss Sunshine Bright here.

“Right,” Kat finally managed. “Is there something I can do for you?” As far as she knew, Daisy had come to town by train and taxi and didn’t even own a car. So it was doubtful she was here on business.

“I, uh, I was wondering…how is your father?”

Kat cocked her head. Daisy MacDonnell, nervous? Not that she knew the woman all that well, or at all, really, but in their brief acquaintance, Kat couldn’t recall her ever being anything but completely together, both in appearance and manner. “He’s grumpy and in general being a real baby about the whole thing. Nothing that I hadn’t expected. I sent him down to Hagg’s a few hours ago. I imagine he has a pint or two in him now and feeling quite fine. Which suits me, as I can get more work done that way.”

Daisy looked momentarily nonplussed by Kat’s lengthy response. Apparently she hadn’t been expecting such a frank answer to what had likely been a polite query and nothing more. Tough. Kat didn’t put a lot of stock in small talk or polite queries. Ask her something and she’d tell you what she thought.

When Daisy didn’t reply or, even better, wave her off and disappear, she said, “Anything else I can do for you?” Perhaps she was a bit more terse than absolutely necessary, but she had work to do, dammit. Any chance of making it to Hagg’s tonight was looking more remote by the minute. Although if Daisy was headed that way, Kat’s enthusiasm for an evening out dwindled rapidly. She had no actual plan in place for getting Brodie to notice her once she was there, mind you, but she wasn’t a complete idiot. Even she knew better than to play her hand while someone else held all the aces. She’d wait until the odds were at least partially in her favor. With grease currently dripping off her nose, it was a pretty safe bet that now was not that time.

“Actually, the real reason I came over here—not that I’m not interested in your father’s health, I am,” Daisy added quickly. “But as you know, I’m new to Glenbuie, and though I’ve met most everyone it seems, and you all couldn’t be more warm or welcoming, I, uh…”

Kat had to bite her tongue to keep from mentioning that it had been the men warmly welcoming her more than anything, but then as Kat was one of very few single women left in Glenbuie within a decade of their age group, that probably would have sounded a bit too much like sour grapes. Then she noticed Daisy was twisting her fingers together, and concern for her fellow man got the better of her. “Is something wrong? Did something happen at your shop? You seem a little…unnerved.”

Daisy laughed a bit unevenly, and Kat couldn’t help but notice that even her nervous laugh was melodious. Figured.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just, from the short time I’ve been here, I’ve noticed that there aren’t too many of us here in town.”

“Us?”

Daisy blushed. “Young, single women.”

“Well, I appreciate you pointing that out to me.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. God, I’m so screwing this up. I wasn’t meaning to offend, and I know I don’t even know you, but I was just thinking—hoping, really, I guess you could say, that, well…” She broke off and laughed again, only this time it was more solid, if a bit self-deprecating. “Jesus, I sound like a flighty dimwit. I’m not usually so off my game—it’s just that you’re a little intimidating, and it’s important to me that—”

“I’m intimidating?” Now it was Kat who laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

Daisy blew out a sigh and let her shoulders slump a little. “I am totally blowing this. You see, I was going to come over earlier today, when I saw you leave to go out for some lunch, offer to go with you, so maybe we could spend a little girl time together, get to know each other. But then I saw you and Brodie and I didn’t want to interrupt anything. And then your dad cut his hand and, well—” She broke off, shrugged. “It was probably silly of me. I just—I mean, I love it here and I am really enjoying everyone in town, but I guess I was hoping maybe we could—”

“Be friends?” Kat was still trying to digest the possibility that Daisy was nervous because of her. It was to laugh, really.

Daisy nodded, smiled a little. “Ridiculous hope, maybe, since you’ve lived here forever and probably aren’t in the market for new pals.”

“Nonsense.” Kat might be many things, but heartless in the face of someone putting themselves out there wasn’t one of them. She clambered to a stand and stuck her hand out, noticed the grease caking her fingernails, and quickly grabbed a rag instead. “I’m sorry. I’m a total mess here.”

“It’s amazing to me.”

Kat sent her a sideways glance. “What, that I’m constantly looking like something the cat dragged in, after dipping me in an oil pan? It’s rather difficult to fix cars without touching the greasy parts. Although, it’s possible, even probable that someone like you would find a way to manage it.” She hadn’t meant to make that last part sound so negative, really she hadn’t.

Now Daisy faltered. “What do you mean ‘someone like me?’ What I meant by amazing was that you’re a mechanic, and a very good one, to hear the people in town tell it. I can’t even change my own oil. Not that I have a car any longer to worry about, but when I did…” She shrugged. “I was hopeless at even the most basic repair. So the fact that you can dive in there and have any clue what’s what…” She trailed off and gave a self-deprecating shrug.

Kat felt her cheeks heat at the unexpected compliment. “I was raised with a wrench in one hand and a jack in the other. It’s in my genes, I guess. I can’t remember a time I didn’t know how to dismantle an engine.” She stared at Daisy, and though she really hated to admit it, she found it impossible not to like her. Just a little. Kat admired someone who went for what they wanted, especially in the face of their own insecurities. Bollocks. This just complicated things even further.

“And what I meant with my earlier remark was that no matter the weather, rain or shine, you always look as bright as your namesake. It’s a wonder to me. I’m about as inept at that as you are at changing your oil.” She smiled in response to Daisy’s grin, surprised at how natural and good it felt. “Once a grease monkey, always a grease monkey, I guess.”

Daisy impulsively stuck her hand out, then shook it a little, waiting for Kat to put hers there. “Come on. Grease and all.”

Kat gave Daisy’s perfectly manicured hand a tentative shake, but Daisy grabbed hold and pumped it properly, then smiled when she held up her grease-smeared palm. “There, now we’ve sealed it. I can too get dirty.”

Kat laughed. “That only proves half the battle. I still don’t clean up well.”

“Oh, don’t be so certain about that. I bet your hair is amazing when you take it down. I always thought blondes had more fun.” She pushed at her own auburn, shoulder-length bob. “Mine is pretty boring.”

“Shut up. It falls in a perfect, shiny waterfall.” They both grinned, delighted by the easy banter between them. “And I never take mine down. It’s a pain when it’s loose.”

“That is an absolute crime. With your skin and those eyes…” Daisy’s eyes twinkled. “Are you close to calling it quits for the night?”

Kat looked back at the Cooper and sighed. “No, but I think I will anyway.”

“Good!” Daisy surprised her by looping her arm through Kat’s. “My turn now.”

“Your turn what?” Kat asked, only hoping she didn’t sound as alarmed as she suddenly felt.

“To prove you clean up well. When we’re done, we’ll head to Hagg’s and let the crowd be the judge. Deal?”

Kat stood there, helpless against Daisy’s relentless enthusiasm. “Uh, sure. Why not?”

And somewhere between a long, hot shower and Daisy doing her hair, then helping her pick out something other than dungarees to wear, Kat completely forgot she was consorting with the enemy.

Chapter 4

“One more, then I’m cutting you off for the night,” Brodie warned.

Auld Fife was one of Glenbuie’s oldest residents, and everyone knew he could put away a fair number of pints before debilitating any part of what remained of his senses. But Brodie didn’t want to spend the hour after closing time seeing Fife all the way to his cottage door. Normally he didn’t mind, but tonight he had other things on his mind. Most of them involving what was going on between Kat, Alastair, and, apparently, Daisy. And just where was Kat this evening, anyway? Neither she nor Daisy had shown up. Even without their earlier dart game challenge, Kat could usually be counted on to put in at least a brief appearance after closing the shop, if for no other reason than to give him a hard time and beat a hapless tourist at billiards. But here it was, almost half past nine, and not a sign of her.

Alastair had been all but nodding off in his ale an hour or two earlier, probably because he’d ignored Frampton’s warnings and taken a pain pill before Kat had exiled him over here. Brodie had fed him a bowl of Marta’s Thursday stew, then had one of the lads get him back across the street. Where, presumably, Kat had gotten him upstairs and into bed for some much-needed rest. Probably she’d decided to stick close for the night. Like most men of his acquaintance, himself included, Alastair wasn’t the best of patients. But then, neither was Kat. Nor, he imagined, did she likely make a particularly good nurse.

He grinned as he wiped down the bar. Perhaps it was just as well he steered clear of the Henderson clan for a wee bit. Let things settle back to normal. He still hadn’t the faintest clue what bee was in Kat’s bonnet earlier today. Women. Love them he did, but pretend to understand them? Not a chance.

He finished cleaning, then drew another ale for one of the few travelers in Hagg’s that night. He liked springtime. The occasional tourist wandered in, but mostly it was the townsfolk, all emerging happily into the sunlight after a long winter. He loved the settled pace of life in Glenbuie, the steady rhythm and flow, as dependable as the change of seasons. Tending bar might not seem the most aggressive career goal, but although the Chisholm clan holdings did require a good bit of effort by all four brothers to stay afloat, all of them were in firm agreement that happiness, not a fat bank balance, was the truest sign of success. By that measure, well, other than his oldest brother, Dylan, perhaps, they’d all achieved a great deal of success. And Dylan would find his way, Brodie was certain of it. Time had a way of healing even the harshest of wounds.

Looking around the pub, he felt such a peace within himself. Who would have thought it? The rapscallion Chisholm lad, an entrepreneur before the age of thirty, and a successful one at that. His own place, filled with all the people he loved most. Hagg’s was the heartbeat of the village, located right on the square. Everyone stopped in at some point, for a pint or two, maybe some of Marta’s stew or a hearty platter of fish and chips, followed by a game of darts or billiards, a bit of dancing when someone brought a fiddle. More importantly, they came to talk, catch up on the business of the day, share the triumphs and curse the failures. And Brodie was right in the midst of it, reveling in the thrum. He couldn’t imagine a finer place to be.

Just then the big oak door pushed open, letting in a sliver of lamplight…along with the more cheerful sight of Daisy MacDonnell.

Brodie’s grin widened. Maybe there were one or two finer places a man could be after all. He hadn’t quite yet made up his mind about the newcomer, though some of Alastair’s comments earlier today had admittedly given him pause, but in the interim, there was no denying she was certainly a fair sight to look at. And nice scenery, in his estimation, was never a bad thing. Given the number of heads that swiveled in unison as she stepped into the darker environs of the pub, he wasn’t the only one. Which came as a surprise to exactly no one.

The available men in Glenbuie and surrounding parts—although the attention being paid to their newest resident certainly wasn’t exclusive to the single lads—definitely outnumbered those who were already spoken for. Most often it was the occasional wandering traveler or busload of tourists who brought welcome respite to the gender drought the village had been suffering through over time. An actual permanent resident was both rare and welcome. For the most part. Brodie imagined there were one or two significant others out there who weren’t too happy to see their men’s heads swivel.

He smiled. He had faith, however, that home and hearth would win out every time. He felt a little pull inside his chest at the thought. Lately, he’d been wondering about that very thing. He had his brothers, and they were close enough, and Lord knew everybody in Glenbuie felt like family to him in one way or another. But there was something else tugging at him lately. He found himself watching the couples that came into Hagg’s more and more of late, how they laughed together, played together, sometimes even argued together…and, ultimately, left together. He thought about that a lot as he climbed the stairs to his rooms above the pub each night, after closing up. Alone.

“So, what does a girl have to do to get an ale around here?”

So caught up in his reverie, he hadn’t realized Daisy was standing across the bar, an expectant smile on her pretty face. He’d also been so caught up that he hadn’t noticed the hush that had fallen in stages across the breadth of the pub. Those seated at the tables first, followed by those in the back, shooting pool or tossing darts.

“What?” challenged an irritable and entirely familiar voice. “Did I grow another head when I wasn’t looking? Rhys, you better snap your mouth shut before you catch a fly. And Conner, I believe you owe me a quid from that thrashing I gave your dart game last week, so the first round is on you.”

Brodie stood there, damp rag clutched loosely in one hand, a look of pure shock likely etched on his face. “Kat?”

The object of his attention, and everyone else’s, judging from the complete silence, turned and scowled at her apparent partner in crime. “See? I told you this was a ridiculous idea. Everyone knows I can’t pull this off.”

“I’d like to see you pull it off,” Fife shouted, his words slurred more from the toothless grin that accompanied the offer than the amount of ale in his belly. He raised his empty mug in her direction, finally breaking the extended silence as a riff of laughter skated through the crowd.

Daisy leaned closer to her compatriot and whispered none-too-quietly, “Well, it would help if you weren’t quite so surly about the whole thing.”

“Surly?” She turned to Brodie. “Am I surly? Never mind,” she added quickly, seeing his grin reappear. “And not a word from you about this.” She motioned to the brightly colored sundress she was wearing. And quite fabulously, if he did say so himself.

He nodded easily in response, knowing once he got over the absolute shock of seeing Kat Henderson in anything other than dungarees or coveralls, he would have a lot to say about it. All good, he was thinking.

“Besides,” she went on, “you’d be surly, too, if you had to dress up like this.”

“Oh, I imagine I’d be more than surly,” Brodie agreed, folding his arms. “I’m not big on dresses. I have the devil of a time finding ones that fit across my chest. I’ll stick with the occasional kilt.” He shot Daisy a wink. “My legs I don’t mind showing off.” He leaned over the bar and glanced down. “I’m just wondering why you’ve waited so long to show off yours,” he told Kat, much to the agreement of the rest of the pub patrons, if the sudden lusty cheer was anything to judge by. Instead of being flattered, however, Kat turned six shades of red and clutched Daisy’s arm.

“That’s it, I’m out of here. I appreciate the idea and the effort, really I do. But the last thing I need is a drink. My judgment is obviously already impaired beyond recognition.”

“Would you hush?” Daisy leaned closer then and whispered something in Kat’s ear. Brodie could barely make out what she was saying, but it was something along the lines of, It’s working, you idiot. Isn’t this what you wanted?

Was what, what Kat wanted? And since when were Kat and Daisy bosom pals? Last he saw, Kat was staring daggers at the Yank. But before he had time to puzzle any of that out, Kat replied, “I don’t know what I want, but I do know I can’t go about it like this.” She gestured to the flowery shift she had on, then flipped at her hair. “Or this.”

That was when Brodie realized that, for once, Kat was wearing her hair down. He’d been so caught up with the dress…and those legs…Of course he’d seen it down over the years, but usually that was only when she was in the process of braiding it back up again. It was all shiny and wavy, tumbling over her shoulders and partway down her back.

“I like it,” he said to nobody in particular. Both women looked at him, and he shrugged a bit sheepishly. “The hair, I mean. And the dress.” When Kat’s eyes narrowed, he quickly added, “Of course, I liked your hair before, too.” Women. Damn, but he never knew what was going on in their minds. Here she went to all this trouble, but she was mad now that anyone was noticing? Like they wouldn’t have? Somebody explain that to him.

“See?” she told Daisy, as if his comment explained everything. “Honestly, Daisy, I really can’t do this. He’s all yours.”

“But I don’t want—”

Daisy’s protest was cut off when Kat made a beeline to the door, amidst a few catcalls, an appreciative whistle, and another toast from Fife. Brodie tracked every step of her departure, and was still staring, somewhat dumbfounded, for a full ten seconds after the door closed behind her.

“Well,” Daisy said at length as the pub activity finally returned to its normal level of chaos. “So much for winning new friends and influencing people.” She slid onto a stool and propped her elbows on the polished oak bar, sinking her chin into her hand. “I should have left well enough alone, but no.”

“Ah, she’ll be fine. She’s been acting a wee bit off lately for who knows what reason, but she’ll snap out of it. Don’t take it personally.” Brodie drew her an ale and slid it across the bar to her.

“Thanks. But I still feel stupid.”

“Maybe if you explain what that little experiment was all about I can sort it out for you. I know Kat pretty well. Better than most, actually.”

Daisy sipped her beer and seemed to think long and hard about his offer. Although what there was to think about, he had no idea.

“She looked good,” he offered. “If that helps.”

Daisy just took another long sip of ale. “I shouldn’t have meddled,” she said at length. “I mean, I’ve only been here a few weeks and I’m still getting my bearings. It’s just, it seems like there aren’t many single women my age and I thought maybe Kat and I might hit it off. I know we’re a bit different—” She stopped when he snorted. “See? I knew I shouldn’t have meddled.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way, but you two are different.” Earlier today, when Kat had seemed downright bristly, had someone asked him he’d have said those two would have made an improbable pair. But then it was back to that not understanding the whims of women thing. In his experience, stranger things had happened. And he sort of thought it was nice that Kat looked to be taking Daisy under her wing.

Though, come to think of it, maybe Daisy had been doing the under-the-wing taking. He grinned at that. No wonder Kat had been so prickly just now. She was hardly the type to let others dictate to her.

Daisy sighed, took another quaff. “You’re right, but we’re still women of a similar age, and so I thought it might be nice to get to know her better. Maybe our different backgrounds and life experiences would lend themselves to an interesting friendship. Or something like that. And it did, sort of. Briefly. We got to talking and I sort of talked a bit about my past, then she sort of unloaded a little, and the next thing I know I’m trying to help fix her up with—” She suddenly clamped her mouth shut, then studiously avoided his curious stare while finishing off her ale at an alarming rate.

“Daisy—”

She slapped the mug down on the bar and began fishing through her purse. “I should be going. I have a lot to do if I’m going to be contacting your brother with my proposal.”

“I haven’t said anything to him yet, but we haven’t talked since I saw you this morning.”

“No, that’s okay, that’s okay.” Suddenly she was in a big hurry to leave. Or, as she continued to avoid looking at him, get away from him.

Brodie laid his hand on her arm, stilling her frantic search for her wallet. “The ale is on the house.”

“That’s okay, I can—”

“Daisy.”

She stilled. “Okay. Thanks.” But she still wasn’t looking at him.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly. Earnestly. “I really want to know.”

She said nothing, then finally blew out a long breath. “I so should have just gone straight upstairs tonight.” She dipped her chin further. “I promised myself when I came here that I would take things slowly, not get involved until I got a good feel for the town, the people, and here it is, only three weeks in, and I’m already embroiled in something that’s none of my business.”

Brodie heard the sincere redress in her tone, but found himself smiling a bit anyway. He nudged her arm with his hand. “Hey.”

Her shoulders slumped a little more, but she finally looked up at him. Any other time, seeing such a hangdog expression on her usually sunny face would have bothered him, but at the moment, it just made his smile grow a little. After all, she’d only been here three weeks—how bad could the situation really be?

“I have no idea what’s going on with you and Kat, but trust me, she’s the most self-sufficient person I know. Given how bad you seem to feel about whatever it is, I’m sure your heart was in the right place. She’ll know that.” Of course, he had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but he hated to see Daisy torture herself. “Besides, Kat rarely lets anything defeat her for very long.”

“I just hope I didn’t make things worse.”

“What things?”

She suddenly pushed her stool back. “You know, you’re entirely too easy to talk to.”

Brodie chuckled. “Well, I am a bartender. But you’re not exactly spilling your heart out here, luv. In fact, it’s rather like pulling teeth.”

“If you were anyone other than you, I probably would be.”

He frowned, confused. It was a feeling he was getting entirely too familiar with.

“I could use an outside opinion, and you’d probably be the best person for a lot of reasons, which also makes you the worst person.”

He shook his head, laughed. “Females.”

Daisy laughed a little, too. “I know I’m making total hash out of this. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“I can’t say one way or the other since I still haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. But I’ve never been short on offering up an opinion on things I know nothing about, so if you can’t find one that suits you, feel free to come back by and ask me. I’ll do my best.”

She smiled, nodded, gathered her purse, then paused, looked at him. “You are a really good guy, Brodie. If Kat knows what’s good for her—” She shook her head and shot him a fast grin. “I really need to shut up now and just leave. The meddler in me must be stopped.”

He leaned on the bar, propped his chin on his hands. “You do realize you’ve gotten me quite curious. One of the reasons I like runnin’ Hagg’s is because I’m nosier than an auld woman. Which makes me a good listener, too, by the way.”

“I already know you are. Too good.”

“So…?” He let the offer dangle, and when she continued to linger and didn’t immediately take her leave, he nudged a bit more. “Tell me what all this is about between you and Kat. Just because I’m a good friend of hers doesn’t mean I can’t keep my thoughts to myself. I won’t mention this talk to her if you’d rather I didn’t. But I canno’ help if I dinnae know what’s wrong.”

Daisy sighed. Clearly torn.

“Why the dress and the new hairdo?” he asked, figuring they might as well get right to it and stop beating around the subject. “What was the point of it all? Were ye’ tryin’ to make her over or something? Because, you know, Kat isn’t much for frills and the like. Everyone here knows her and loves her for what she is. She doesn’t need all that. I mean,” he turned his palms out, not wanting to offend, “she looked wonderful, as I said, but it’s not her.”

“But you thought she looked good?”

“Sure. Pretty lass in a pretty dress—what’s not to like?”

“So you think she’s pretty?”

That made Brodie pause. “Of course I do—why wouldn’t I?”

Daisy lifted a shoulder. “Well, she plays with auto parts every day and spends a good amount of time every evening scraping grease out from under her nails.”

“She’s an ace mechanic,” he said proudly, “almost as good as Alastair. Has nothing to do with whether or not she’s pretty.”

Daisy sighed. “Men.”

Brodie laughed. “Why do I feel that we’re both talking at cross purposes here?”

“Probably because we are.” She tapped her fingers on the bar, a look of internal debate clear on her face. “I wish I knew you both better—I’d be better able to figure out how best to handle this.”

“How best to handle what?”

“You really find her attractive?”

Brodie sighed. “Aye, aye. Why is this an issue?”

“You’ve known her forever. Best friends and all that. Have you two ever dated?”

Brodie’s mouth fell open. “No, of course not.”

“Why do you say it like that? You just admitted she was pretty. And though I’ve only been here a short time, I already know that you’re not shy when it comes to the ladies. Is it because you think of her like a sister or something?”

Brodie’s mouth was still hanging open. Was Daisy getting at…what it sounded like she was getting at? Because that was simply too preposterous to contemplate. “No, I don’t think of her like a sister. I think of her like a best friend. I wouldn’t mess with that. She’s closer to me than almost anyone.”

“But you don’t think of her like a sister,” Daisy repeated.

“No. At least, not in the way you mean. I think.” Now he was really confused. And starting to be very sorry he’d pushed his nose into this business. Especially as it was becoming increasingly clear it had something to do with him. “Maybe we should both reconsider our meddling ways,” he muttered.

Only Daisy apparently heard him and smiled. “You’re probably right.” She leaned across the bar. “So I’ll just leave you with this, and you can do with it whatever you want.”

“Do whatever I want with what?”

“The fact that she finds you attractive, too. And she definitely doesn’t think of you as a brother.”

Chapter 5

Honestly, she really did need her head examined. One minute she’d been giving Daisy MacDonnell the evil eye, and not ten minutes after her rival had extended the olive branch of friendship, Kat was pouring out her frustrations and desire for Brodie, carrying on about how she wanted him to look at her the way he looked at Daisy. Or any other woman.

To her credit, Daisy had laughed and taken the news a whole lot better than Kat might have if the opposite had happened. It helped that the only part of Brodie she wanted to get her hands on, or any other man in Glenbuie, for that matter, was his publicity business. She’d come to town ostensibly to take over Maude’s shop, but in fact, she was hoping to bring her skills and talent as a marketer to the local shopkeepers.

After listening to Kat bemoan her lack of feminine wiles—she still couldn’t believe she’d done that and had decided to blame it on the aftereffects of a very long day, far too much of which had been spent brooding over Brodie—Daisy had confessed that back in the States, she’d been known as something of a matchmaker amongst her friends. And though she didn’t claim to know Kat or Brodie all that well, it had appeared clear to her that there was definite chemistry between the two, and that maybe all Kat had to do was get him to open his eyes and notice her in a different way. She said that most men didn’t appreciate subtlety and suggested that perhaps it was time to take a more direct, more blatant path to getting his attention. It was all about marketing, really, according to Daisy.

Hence one of the more embarrassing moments of Kat’s life. My God, she’d never be able to show her face in Hagg’s, or anywhere else in town, for months after her little stunt last night. What the bloody hell had she been thinking? A dress, makeup, her hair hanging all over the place? Could she have looked any more ridiculous? They were probably still laughing it up at her expense.

Sure, sure, there had been that wee moment when Brodie’s look of shock had worn off and he’d actually given her a once-over that at any other time in her life she’d have swooned over. But she’d immediately realized that if the only reason he was noticing her like that was because she’d had to tart herself up, then she didn’t want him. Marketing be damned. But it was the truth. She knew right then that the only way she’d have him was if he wanted her for who she was.

And the only thing he wanted from the Kat Henderson he knew was a hot game of take-no-prisoners darts and a shoulder to occasionally lean on when times were tough. A friend. That’s what he wanted. A friend.

She wanted him as a friend, too. She also wanted him naked, sweating, and hot for her.

“Jesus and Mary, I need a drink.” A shame it was barely half past eight in the morning. She’d been hiding out down here since dawn, when she’d given up any hope of sleep. Mercifully, her father had gone off to Sudley shortly after daybreak to pick up supplies and wouldn’t be back till dusk. So she’d escaped his far too keen eye…and any chance he’d hear about her entrance into Hagg’s last eve.

She’d already finished up Hinky’s car, and now she was in the office, going over the books and paying the bills. Likely as not, he’d hear about it the moment he got back, but she at least had the remainder of the day to find her balance. She supposed she should be thankful Glenbuie was too small to support its own newspaper. She could only imagine the headlines:

MECHANIC TRIES TO WIN THE HEART OF PUB OWNER BY FLAUNTING HER BITS AND PIECES ALL OVER TOWN.

Not that the village needed headlines. Word would have spread by now. Laughingstock was what she was. Though honestly, she could handle the rest of the townsfolk giving her a hard time. The only part of the whole thing that really bothered her was that Brodie was likely laughing right along with them. Not that she could blame him. After all, if someone else had pulled that kind of silly stunt, she’d be right next to him, leading the chorus. Served her right to be the butt of every joke. Stupid, stupid idea.

The things a woman did for love. And the possibility of hot sex.

Kat glanced through the sole window in the tiny office. The round patch of leaded glass was permanently hazy, but clear enough for her to make out the shop across the square. Daisy was up. Her curtains were pushed open. Kat had waited tensely to see if her newfound friend would make an appearance, or stop by the shop to discuss the previous evening’s events. But, as yet, there had been no sign of her today.

Kat had thought about going over there herself, just to make sure Daisy knew there were no hard feelings. She’d certainly known better than to try to be something she wasn’t. She’d just gotten caught up in the moment, and Daisy’s enthusiasm. It had felt kind of good, actually. For a few moments, anyway. Her gaze drifted down the square to the corner, and Hagg’s Pub. She wondered what Brodie was doing this morning. Probably sleeping in, as usual. Such was the lot of a pub owner. Her gaze drifted to the narrow, gabled windows above the bar…and her thoughts drifted to images of what Brodie looked like, sprawled across that huge, heavenly featherdown bed of his.

Not that she’d been in it with him, of course. But she’d been with him when he’d bought it at an auction four years back. He was a big man, sixteen stone and just shy of a full two meters, and he’d bitched so often about his feet hanging off the bed he’d inherited from Hagg, that Kat had finally dragged him off to an auction in Inverness one weekend and made him open his tight fists long enough to see what a good investment a nice, big bed would be. She didn’t hold his frugal ways against him; in fact, she was quite proud of how hard he worked to contribute to the Chisholm clan coffers. It took a lot to maintain the family property, and Brodie was never one to demand much in the way of creature comforts.

But she would sure like to have him demand a few things of her in that big down bed of his. She imagined they could find all kinds of comfort, creature and otherwise, romping about in that oversized—

A light rap on the door made her jump guiltily and turn her attention away from the window and back to the books. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to find her doing anything resembling lusting after Brodie Chisholm today. Or any other one from this day forward.

So it figured, naturally, that the door cracked open and the devil himself poked his head in. “Mornin’.”

It was the lingering image of him sprawled naked across white linen sheets that had her flushing clear to her roots, but there was nothing to be done about it, so she brazened it out. “You’re up early.”

“Looks that way. Got a minute?”

God help her, he wanted to talk about her big entrance last night. What else would bring him here so early? “I’m, uh, doing the books, although I’d rather be doing just about anything else, so by all means, distract me.” Dear merciful heaven, that wasn’t at all what she’d meant to say. She really needed to shut up now. Distract her indeed. Could she be any more Freudian? Of course, she could quite happily give him a long list of things she’d like him to try. All of them featuring that bed of his as a backdrop. With her naked, writhing body as the centerpiece. The mere thought of which was guaranteed to keep her cheeks flushed for hours.

Brodie stepped inside the small office, filling the room and making it almost impossible for her to even pretend to concentrate on the columns of numbers in front of her. How had she let it come to this? She’d known the man forever—she should be able to keep herself in check. Except her mind would flash on that moment in the pub last night when he’d given her that inherently masculine once-over, making every inch of her body simultaneously tighten up and go strangely weak. She’d felt every inch the imposter and had panicked…but none of that erased that instant where, just for a split second, anyway, he’d looked at her with the kind of male appreciation she’d never thought to see him direct at her.

She was going mad starkers, really she was. She wanted his attention, then panicked when she got it. And yet, even now the thought of having to jump through all those ridiculous hoops of girlishness just to secure that attention made her cringe. Wasn’t there a way for her to get him to notice her when she was just being her?

“Earth to Kat. You okay?” Brodie leaned down a little and tilted his head to the side so he could make eye contact as she studiously continued to pretend she had a clue what was written in the columns in front of her.

“Tops,” she said. “Just some of these numbers aren’t adding up.” Well, something wasn’t adding up, anyway, though it had little to do with their accounts. “I keep telling Papa he needs to list the parts as they come in rather than just when he uses them, but you know how hardheaded he is.” Which was total bollocks, but she had to make some kind of conversation. If for no other reason than to stave off the moment when he’d ask what the bloody hell had gotten into her yesterday. Which, surely, he was going to do.

“Want me to take a look?” He started to get up and reach across the desk.

Kat slapped her arms down on the book, keeping the perfectly added columns from his view, and pasted on a smile as she finally looked up. “I’ll figure it out. I guess I’m just not in the right frame of mind to do simple math this morning.”

Brodie’s lips quirked. “What are you in the mood for?”

Kat’s throat closed over. He couldn’t possibly have meant that to sound that suggestive. Could he? No. It was just her imagination, still in overdrive from the whole Brodie’s-bed-with-her-naked scenario she’d just been contemplating. What if she just assumed he had meant it that way and responded in kind? Would he pick up on it?

Or worse, would he laugh it off as some kind of joke?

Merciful Mary, but she could use a glass or two. And it wasn’t even nine in the mornin’ yet. Why couldn’t she be cool about this? Daisy would be cool. She’d smile and laugh, verbally spar and parry with him, making it all look effortless and adorable, because for her it would be. Kat had never felt so clumsy and awkward in her entire life.

“Can you take a short break?”

“Huh?”

Brodie just smiled and shook his head. Shoving his chair back, he stood and extended his hand. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

She looked at the hand reaching for hers and wished with all her might she’d never started thinking of Brodie Chisholm as anything other than a friend. Because so help her God, all she could do was look at his broad, strong hand, with those long, dexterous fingers of his—a hand she’d held hundreds of times with nary an improper thought—and yearn for him to put it just about anywhere on her body.

Flustered and knowing he must be wondering by now if she’d gone completely ’round the bend, she glanced down, pretending she didn’t see his hand, and slapped the book shut. “Uh, sure. No problem.” She noticed the black grime coating her hands from finishing up Hinky’s car earlier and curled her fingers inward. “Just let me—” She’d been about to say freshen up, but that sounded ridiculous. She was also wearing grime-covered overalls, and she doubted Brodie intended for her to rush upstairs and change clothes, though she had a sudden, intense desire to do so.

Not the sundress—she wasn’t that far gone, but at least something less…grungy. It occurred to her that her wardrobe didn’t extend much beyond that. The dress had been Daisy’s. “I need to scrub a layer off,” she mumbled. “I’ll be right back.” She scooted out from behind the desk and did her best to skirt past him without brushing any part of her body on any part of his.

With his freshly shaved face and just-washed mop of hair still damp and curling about his head, wearing loose jeans and a faded green Hagg’s Pub t-shirt, he looked handsome and clean and so damn good. It made her feel even grungier.

“Don’t worry about that, it’s not—” But Brodie’s protest fell on deaf ears, as she’d already hurried through the open bay to the small washroom on the opposite side of the shop floor.

Kat closed herself in, then braced her hands on the tiny porcelain sink. “Get a grip, lass. Yer losin’ yourself here.” She lifted her head and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was parted and plaited as usual. There was a smudge of grease across her nose, along with a giant blotch on her jaw. Great. She scrubbed at each one with the back of her hand, which only made them worse. Sighing, she turned on the spigot and grabbed a hand towel from the pile stacked on the small shelf above the loo.

As she was scrubbing her hands and face, she found herself toying with the idea of unplaiting her braids. It wasn’t the same as putting on makeup or a dress, neither of which was comfortable for her. But hair was hair, right? She wore it in twin braids because it was functional, allowing her to lie flat on her back beneath a car without there being a lump under her head and neck, as would be the case with a ponytail or single braid. She’d really never thought much about it beyond that. Until yesterday.

Daisy had gone on and on about how lovely she thought Kat’s hair was, what a pretty shade of blond, how thick and naturally wavy it was when she’d insisted Kat wear it down, wondering out loud why Kat still wore it in braids after work hours.

Kat supposed that was because it was still functional. She liked to play billiards, throw a dart or two, and having her hair out of her face made it easier to play, all of which she’d told Daisy. Who had promptly asked her why she didn’t just cut it off then, wear it short. Too much bother, Kat had immediately replied. Her hair grew like a weed and she hated going to get it cut. It was long enough, hanging past her shoulders, that she could trim the ends of the braids when they showed signs of fraying and splitting, and it was an easy enough matter to trim her own bangs.

But she’d thought about it later that night, after her disastrous—to her way of thinking—debut at Hagg’s, as she was brushing it out before bed. Maybe she was a wee bit vain, after all. Because she’d been forced to privately admit that, if she were honest, she liked having longer hair for reasons that weren’t entirely practical, too. Granted, she didn’t use it to her feminine advantage, but it made her feel somewhat more womanly, just knowing it was there. She was toying with the elastic bands holding the ends in place, and had just started to pull one off with the intent to unbraid it and fluff it out, just to see what kind of reaction she got from Brodie, when a tapping came at the door, making her squeal in surprise.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Hold your horses, for God’s sake,” she barked, feeling immediately foolish for her silly daydreaming.

She heard Brodie chuckle. “We’re not meeting royalty, Your Nibs, so come on.”

She decided she should be thankful for the interruption, as it had likely kept her from making a fool of herself twice in a twenty-four-hour period. “He’s your best friend,” she whispered at her boring, regular old reflection. “And that’s a good thing. Be happy with that and get a grip.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she grumbled, and opened the door, which always stuck, so she shoved at it, not thinking. It came suddenly unstuck, as it did sometimes, and slammed right into Brodie.

“Hey!” He grabbed at the edge of the door, stopping it short from smacking him on the nose, sending it bouncing back on Kat, who lost her balance. Brodie grabbed her elbow and pulled her forward again, letting the door go so he could grip her other elbow and steady her on her feet.

Kat’s pulse kicked into overtime. The very last thing she needed was Brodie’s hands on any part of her body, even something as innocuous and innocent as her elbows. Which didn’t feel so innocuous at the moment, or innocent. What they felt like was far too close to her breasts. Her suddenly tight and achy breasts. She felt his fingers dig into her flesh a little as she continued to stare at him…and realized that neither of them was making any move whatsoever to disentangle themselves. His gaze remained steady on hers, those eyes she knew so well, that mouth she’d seen in every possible expression from a scowl to a hearty laugh…a mouth she wanted so very badly to taste for herself.

Then, as if in a dream, he was releasing her elbow and lifting his hand toward her face. Unable to stop herself, her breath caught in her throat, and she felt herself leaning in, eager for his touch.

“Here,” he said. Was it her imagination, or was his voice a bit deeper, a shade hoarse? “You missed a spot.” He rubbed his thumb over her nose as her lips were parting in anticipation of him cupping her cheek, pulling her face closer so he could—

And then his words sank in and she felt her cheeks go hot with embarrassment. She jerked away from him and rubbed furiously at her face, wishing she could scrub off mortification as easily as a grease spot. “Thanks,” she said tersely. “Come on, I don’t have all day.” She went to push past him, but he stopped her by sticking his arm out in front of her.

“Hold on just a minute.”

“I don’t care if I have grease in every nook and cranny, okay? As you said, it’s no’ like we’re off to see royalty.”

“Just calm down and turn back around here for a minute.”

She did as he asked with a defiant lift of her chin, even knowing her face was likely still red. “By all means, Inspector. We wouldn’t want you embarrassed to be seen with me.” She was speaking nonsense and she knew it, but her pride was wounded—her own foolish doing, of course—and, at the moment, who better to take it out on than the subject of all her foolish fantasies? If he only knew what torture this was for her.

“Just calm down for a minute, okay? What is wrong with you, anyway? “

She huffed impatiently, more disgusted with herself than anything, but stood still. “What did you want me to see? With Papa gone, I shouldn’t be gone long.” Though there were clearly no other cars waiting to be serviced. She stood her ground nonetheless.

“I wondered where he was. I was going to ask after his injury.” He winked. “Let me guess. He’s over at Miss Eleanor’s café having breakfast with a side of flirtation.”

Despite herself, Kat snorted a little laugh. They’d talked about her father’s recent fancy before, both of them enjoying the rather sweet, blossoming romance. “He turns six shades of red when I mention his attraction and wants nothing to do with anything I have to say about it, but he’s the first one to jump in with his opinions on how I should handle my lo—” She immediately stopped the instant she realized what she’d been about to say. And who she’d been about to say it to. That was the problem with lusting after your best friend. He was too damn easy to talk to and she was too damn used to telling him everything. Except, of course, that one thing. But he knew damn well she didn’t have a love life at the moment, so that would have been a might awkward…“He’s in Sudley, actually, picking up a shipment.” Better to stick with safe topics.

Brodie’s smile didn’t shift so much as a millimeter, but it seemed, to her anyway, that his gaze lingered on hers a moment longer than absolutely necessary. But instead of quizzing her on the obvious, he just took her arm and said, “I want to show you something. It will only take a few minutes.”

She closed the bay doors and followed him out of the shop, grateful he’d let the subject drop, determining then and there to keep her mouth shut and speak only in response to whatever it was he had to show her. It quickly became clear they were heading over to Hagg’s. “What do you need to show me at the pub?”

“Shh. Just be patient. I wanted your opinion before I got it, but I was at auction with Dylan, picking out a few things for Glenshire, and he was being his usual impatient, pain in the arse self, so I had to make a split-second decision.” He glanced at her and his eyes were all twinkly, like they got when he was really excited about something.

They entered the cooler, darker environs of the pub, which wouldn’t open to the public for an hour or two, at lunchtime. He pulled her through the tables in the front of the pub, around to the back and the door leading to the stairs up to the rooms above. His rooms.

Kat swallowed a groan. Of all the days…She did not need to see that big, huge bed dominating the open loft bedroom that comprised the entire second floor of Hagg’s. A conversion Brodie had made shortly after taking over the place. He’d torn out the walls separating the second floor into three smaller rooms and created one huge room for himself. One part was set off as a living room of sorts, with an ancient, overstuffed brocade couch and huge ottoman, around which were stacked piles of books and magazines on every subject imaginable. There was a small counter with a toaster oven, a coffeepot, and a sink, with a shelf nailed over it holding the few dishes and utensils he needed. He had a full kitchen right downstairs in the pub, so saw no need to recreate one upstairs.

The only private area upstairs was the loo, which she happened to know he’d converted into an almost sybaritic paradise, complete with a six-foot-long, deep-sided, claw foot tub that he’d found during a rummage sale of the contents of a manor house, put on by a remaining family member too deeply indebted to keep the place an ongoing concern. Something the Chisholms knew more than a little about, as they all struggled to keep Glenshire afloat, which had been in the family for more than four centuries.

“So, how is Dylan coming along with the conversion of Glenshire to a bed and breakfast? Do you think you’ll be able to open for business soon?” she asked, trying desperately to look at anything other than the huge bed she’d so recently imagined him sprawled across. Naked, of course. The more she tried to block the image, the more detailed it perversely became.

“Slowly. He’s still grappling with everything that happened, you know. But it’s all coming around.”

Dylan, the oldest of the four Chisholm brothers, was the only one who had left the clan and the village, building a life in the city, in Edinburgh with his city-bred wife. Her sudden death had deeply affected the whole family, but none so much as Dylan himself, who finally returned to Glenbuie a changed man. While one of those changes had been his recommitment to the family concerns, no one was really certain if it was such a positive change in the long run given the other, less favorable changes grief had wrought in him.

As much as she wanted to keep Brodie talking about anything that would keep her mind off throwing herself on that bed and just flat-out showing him what had “gotten into her,” talking about Dylan was not the best way to go. He turned his back to her as he went to get a box off the small café table tucked alongside the wall next to the counter and sink.

With his gaze away from hers, she took full advantage of the opportunity to look at him with all the unabashed desire that had been building up for what felt like eons now. Maybe if she just mentally played the fantasy all the way through, she could get this constant ache for him to finally dissipate. At least a little. She’d just gotten done imagining pulling his t-shirt over his head and unbuttoning his jeans, backwalking him to his feather-down bed before bracing her palms on the broad expanse of his chest and pushing—hard—when he turned back to face her, a small, carved box in his hands.

“Come here,” he said, eyes dancing with delight. “Look at this.”

For a short second, she was still in the fantasy…and his eyes were dancing because of her. Of what he wanted to do with her, to her, in that soft, wonderfully decadent pile of featherdown and white linen. And, her body achy and tight, she moved across the room toward him, her gaze locked on his.

Wondering what he’d do if she told him exactly what she was thinking that very instant…Or better yet, what if she just showed him…

Chapter 6

“Ihad no business paying anything close to what I spent,” Brodie told her, “but I couldn’t help it. The provenance on them was fascinating…and I knew you’d be the one to understand why I had to have them. Actually, truth be told, you’re the reason I had to have them.”

Kat stopped right in front of him, but her attention wasn’t on the carved box, it was on him. She was looking at him like…well, if he wasn’t mistaken, and when it came to women and this particular thing, he rarely was…it looked like she wanted to eat him alive. In the way every man with a pulse wanted to be devoured.

Since the moment last night when Daisy had uttered her not-so-veiled hint about the reason behind Kat’s unusual behavior of late, he’d thought of little else. She hadn’t been all that subtle, but Daisy was new and didn’t know anybody in town all that well. He had to believe she’d been seeing things that weren’t really there. Except he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted her to be wrong. And then his little voice had played devil’s advocate, saying that maybe it took an outsider, with no preconceived ideas, to see so clearly what he’d missed all along.

That Kat Henderson wanted him. All of him.

Looking into her eyes now, he felt his body stir. Much as it had last night, lying right there in the bed behind her, as he’d thought back over everything that had happened yesterday, everything she’d said…and realized that when interpreted through Daisy’s assumption, it all made far too much sense. In a Kat Henderson way, anyway. But because he did know Kat better than anyone, he realized exactly what she’d been getting at. She’d thought he wanted Daisy…and for whatever reason, that had sparked her to put her thoughts and feelings for him on the line.

His hands tightened on the carved box. He’d told himself he was up at dawn this morning for the first time in…well, ever, and off to see Kat because he was anxious to show her his new treasure, one he’d planned to show her last night before commencing to play their little challenge round. But he knew damn well he could have done that when she dropped by Hagg’s later, after work.

No, he’d been up early and across the square because he’d wanted to see her—needed to see her—to figure out once and for all if Daisy’s assumptions were merely those of a hopeful romantic…or if there might be some truth to her amazing claims. The fact that his heart had been pounding since he’d tapped on Kat’s office door, his palms sweating like mad, and the fit of his jeans becoming a might bit uncomfortable behind his fly, were clear indications to the conclusions he’d drawn during the wee hours of the night.

Except seeing her had only seemed to complicate things further. She was irritable and jumpy around him now, and he honestly wasn’t sure what that meant. Or what he wanted to do. Well, that last bit wasna entirely true. He had a quite detailed list of what he wanted to do, each of them more shocking than the next. His gaze strayed from her, to the bed behind her, back to her…and he cautioned himself to slow way the hell down, think with his head and not the part of him that was growing shockingly hard. Imagining Kat Henderson. Naked. In bed. His bed.

Was he crazy?

He jerked his gaze from hers, suddenly unsure about this whole thing. But now that Daisy had planted the damn seed in his brain, he couldn’t seem to shake it loose. Did Kat want him? Really want him? Because he’d come to the very real, stunning discovery that he wanted her, too.

She tapped insistently on the box, drawing him from his reverie. “So, are you going to show me or what?”

Irritable again. Now what had he done? And why the hell couldn’t either one of them just come out and ask the other about this? After all, they’d known each other forever. Talked about everything under the sun. Worst case is, she’d just laugh it off. Right? Crazy Daisy and her barmy ideas. No harm done. They’d just go right on being friends.

So why wasn’t he asking her?

Maybe for the same reason she hadn’t come right out and asked him. Because friends didn’t constantly picture their friends naked. Or because friends didn’t want to do the things to each other that Brodie couldn’t seem to stop thinking about doing to Kat. And her laughing off the suggestion wouldn’t stop the images flooding his brain. Or the burgeoning need filling him to the point of bursting. So maybe the harm had already been done. Thanks, Daisy.

He flipped the box open, banishing the thoughts, images, all of it, from his brain. They both just needed to get a grip. Find some common ground where they both felt comfortable. And that wasn’t going to be anywhere in the vicinity of his bed.

But he knew exactly where they could go. He lifted the box so she could examine its contents, never so thankful he’d had a weak moment and made this purchase.

Kat gasped. “Oh my God, they’re lovely.” She reached a tentative hand to very gently stroke the antique throwing darts. “How old are they? Hand-carved shafts, real feathers for flights. But the feathers look—”

“New. They are. I had them cleaned up and refitted with new points and feathers, but the shafts are the original carved wood. The points and feathers had probably been replaced numerous times over the years anyway, and both were half rotted away. It’s amazing the wood hadn’t suffered much, but it had been sealed with some kind of resin.”

“You had them refitted?” Kat looked at him like he was daft. “But that lowers their value, doesn’t it?”

Brodie just smiled. “I didn’t get them to look at, I got them to use.”

Kat’s mouth dropped open. “You want to throw them? But they’re at least—”

“Four and a half centuries old or thereabout. The shafts, anyway. They were reputedly made by a courtier to King Henry VIII. Anne Boleyn having given him a set, he supposedly had them commissioned for her.” Brodie winked at her. “Unfortunately for Anne, she lost her head before the gift was finished, and they were passed down to the courtier’s daughter instead.” He shrugged. “It could all be rubbish, of course, but that’s the story I was told. I did get documentation from the family dating them back to at least the late 1600s, but no actual proof of the royal connection. Still, they struck my fancy and I thought they would yours, too.” He handed her the box. “They were carved for a woman’s hand.”

She gasped again. “Brodie! I couldn’t.”

He just laughed when she pulled her hands away and pushed the box forward. “Go on. You’re the only one who appreciates the game more than I do. When I saw them, I thought immediately of you. Look at how slender the shaft was carved. I did pick them up, and despite the longer size, the balance is amazing for something made so long ago, without the technology we have today.” He pushed the box toward her. “I thought we could keep them here, on display somehow. But I wanted you to be the one to throw them.”

She took the box, her hands trembling a little. “I—I don’t know what to say.” She carefully eased one of the trio out of the velvet lining and balanced it in her hand. “Wow. You’re right. Amazing.” She slowly stroked her finger along one of the feathered shafts.

Brodie was shocked to feel his body harden further, as if she’d just slowly stroked him. Damn, but this was supposed to get his mind off of those kinds of thoughts where Kat was concerned. He glanced up at her face, but her attention was riveted on the dart.

“They are works of art, Brodie.” She looked up, caught him looking at her. Her lips quirked, but her cheeks pinked a little. “What are you smiling at?”

“You,” he said, thinking he’d always loved looking at her. Why hadn’t he ever thought of her any other way before? “You’re dying to give them a toss. Come on, admit it.” He groaned inwardly, thinking if she only knew what he was dying to toss. Her. Right onto that bed. “Why don’t we go downstairs right now and try them out?”

She looked at the darts, then back at him. “I still can’t believe you did this.”

He feigned a look of insult. “You implying I don’t ever do anything for you?”

“No, it’s just…you’re careful with money. We both are. And this…this couldn’t have come cheap. You said yourself you had no business buying them. I really shouldn’t let you—”

“But you will let me.” He took her arm and dragged her to the door, before he threw her on the bed and did things he could end up regretting the instant he was done. Though he was having an increasingly difficult time buying that particular argument. “And I’ll have ye know, I can be as impulsive as the next bloke.” If she only knew the impulses he was tamping down at that very moment.

They reached the first floor and Brodie flicked on the lights in the back of the pub where the billiard table and dartboards were. The rest of the pub was left in the early-morning dusk, the only light that which slid in through the cracks of the shutters on the windows.

She moved in front of him. “Okay, but it’s not even a birthday or special occasion or—”

He tugged her back around, so she faced him, keeping his hand on her arm. “Just seeing the look on your face when I opened that box made it all worthwhile. You’re important to me, Kat. I like making you happy.”

And as he said the words, he realized just how true they were. He did think about her all the time. She was a huge part of his day-to-day life. He talked to her about everything, looked forward to seeing her smiling face come in the door at the end of the day, got a major kick out of watching her banter with the locals and shark the occasional ballsy tourist out of his money. In fact, he couldn’t imagine life, as he knew it, without her. His goals, what was important to him, were much the same as hers. They both valued family, heritage, the villagers, more than anything else.

He had no idea why he’d never thought of her as a partner in every way before. Now he couldn’t seem to shake the idea that what he’d been looking for, waiting for, had been under his nose all along. And it had taken a blimey American lass to point it out to him.

The question now was what in the hell to do about it.

Just pull her close and kiss her? What?

Daisy swore that Kat felt the same way…but standing right here, right now, he felt he was suddenly standing right back at the edge of that very tall cliff…where one right step might send him soaring to the heavens…but one wrong one would send him plummeting to his doom.

Too much at stake.

Then he looked at the darts. And an idea formed in his mind.

“We haven’t played for stakes in a long time,” he said, oh-so-conversationally.

“What?” Kat had put the wooden box on the edge of the billiard table and was lifting out one of the darts. “I can’t believe I’m handling such history,” she breathed, then glanced at him, such excitement in her eyes. “Are you saying you want to play for money?”

Brodie grinned as he leaned against the table and folded his arms. “Something like that.”

Kat arched a brow. “Something like what?”

“Go ahead and toss these a few times, get used to them, while I figure out what the stakes should be.” He already knew exactly what the stakes would be. He was about to play the biggest game of his life.

Kat stared at him for another long moment, then gave a half-shrug and turned toward the dartboard. “Okay, suit yourself. But be prepared to lose whatever it is you’re going to bet.”

“Now who’s sounding ungrateful?” he teased. “Buy a lass some antique darts and she gets all cocky on you.”

She was lining up her shot, getting accustomed to the design and balance of the longer dart body, but paused long enough to toss him a look over her shoulder. “You should know by now that I can’t intentionally lose at anything. So if you were trying to bribe me with these, just so you could say you finally beat me at darts—”

“Ho, now. I’ve beaten you at darts plenty of times.”

She smiled sweetly. “Name the last time.”

“Well, it was—” He had to pause and think about it. “You know, I honestly can’t remember.”

“Exactly. You got tired of losing to me, so you conveniently only join in when I’m shooting pool.”

“You can’t tell me I don’t beat you at pool.”

“Oh, you do, all the time. But at least I still give you the chance.”

“Are ye sayin’ I’m a poor sport about things?”

She let her shrug speak for her.

“Och. Bloody females.”

“Quit yer bellyachin’. I’m here to give ye fair chance to win back yer manly pride.”

Brodie motioned her to turn back to the board. “Go ahead, warm up. You’ll need it.” One thing they also had in common—they were both competitive. Neither liked to lose. Which, at the moment, he fervently prayed would work in both their favors.

“What are ye telling me, Brodie? Have you already practiced with these?”

“I can’t say how many hands have held those darts, but other than to admire them, mine hasn’t been one of them. I plan to throw my own.”

“Ah, now I see your angle. Think to outplay me with me usin’ unfamiliar weapons.” She smiled and turned back to the board. “We’ll see about that, we will.”

It felt good, knowing they could ride each other, tease and even taunt each other, and that beneath all of it was a foundation of trust and certainty that was rock solid. As was his body at the moment.

How in sweet bloody hell had he come to this point so swiftly? Could it be only yesterday that he’d had no earthly idea that Kat might have feelings for him that were based on the desire for more than friendship, even one such as theirs? Even more shocking was the discovery that all he’d had to do was be made aware of the possibility and his body had taken off like a rocket on a mission to Mars. As had his head…and, it seemed, his heart.

He watched as Kat tossed the first one, then the second, then the third. “Not bad,” he claimed, as two hit the inner ring and one pinned the outside of the bull’s-eye.

She snorted. “Not bad, he says.” She grinned at him, a taunting grin if ever there was one, before sauntering to the board to retrieve the darts. “In fact, I won’t even take the rest of my warm-up shots.”

Brodie felt his body twitch hard. She was a saucy one. He’d always liked that about her. Only now he couldn’t help but wonder where else that would play to his advantage. Christ, but he’d be lucky to stand upright when the time came for him to throw.

“You want to practice?” she offered.

He shook his head. “Since you’re using an unfamiliar set, it’s only fair that I forgo mine to even the field a bit.”

She just smirked at him, as if to say he was fooling himself if he thought that would save him. He found himself grinning.

As she took her place back on the oche, the toe line, he surreptitiously untucked his t-shirt and rearranged it to at least make a modest attempt at covering the effect she was having on him. He was still working out the particulars of how he was going to use their game to ease her into exploring this newfound attraction they apparently had for one another as she took her first real throw.

Fifteen seconds later, she was hooting and giving a little victory wiggle with her hips. One dart in the inner ring, two darts had landed on the outside edge of the bull’s-eye. “Nice,” she said. “They feel really nice.”

“I should hope so, seeing as what they set me back,” Brodie said, knowing it would distract her. And it did.

She frowned immediately. “I told you it was too much, but you insisted. So you can’t very well make me a gift like that, then complain about the cost.”

He just laughed and stepped over to the wall that separated the dart area from the drinking area. He reached up and grabbed down his own boxed set of darts from the heavy oak support beam that ran overhead. “I’m just saying it’s good to see I’m getting my money’s worth.” He lined up at the mark, and with barely a moment of preparation, let his first dart fly. Inner ring, right next to hers.

“Show-off,” she muttered.

He grinned at her; then, in quick succession, let his other two fly. One matched hers on the outer edge of the bull’s-eye, but the other pegged the inner bull’s-eye square in the middle.

She folded her arms. “Rusty luck, I say. You never hit the bull’s-eye before your second round.”

“Maybe I’ve been practicing.”

She snorted another laugh. “You’ve been playing since you began workin’ for Hagg at the tender age of twelve, and probably threw a few before then as well. If that’s no’ enough practice for a body, I don’t know what is.”

Instead of walking to collect the darts, he stepped over to where she was leaning against the billiard table. “Maybe I was more motivated this time.”

She shifted a little when he closed the space between them a bit more than was absolutely necessary. Her pupils expanded…and her throat worked a bit. But she didn’t shift away. In fact, her gaze seemed locked on his. “Motivated,” she managed, though the word sounded a bit hoarse. “You don’t even know what you’re playin’ for.”

He stepped closer still, his grin slowly spreading. “Aye, but I do.”

Chapter 7

Kat swallowed hard, which was a rare feat considering how dry her throat had suddenly become. The way Brodie was looking at her was like…well, to be honest, it was a lot like she’d fantasized having him look at her. Which meant either the dim lighting was playing tricks on her eyes, or she’d finally gone off the beam completely and lost all sense of reality. Because, other than that brief moment when he’d stared at her legs last night, he’d never once in all the years she’d known him looked at her like anything other than a bud—

The rest of that thought vanished as he slowly lifted his hands and toyed with the ends of her braids. Which just happened to be brushing below her collar bones…and right above her breasts. Aching breasts now tipped by nipples that had contracted with such exquisite pleasure she’d choked on a gasp the instant the backs of his fingers had brushed along her coveralls.

Coveralls. Christ. She was hallucinating. Because no way was Brodie Chisholm fantasizing about anything sexual having to do with her. Stupid braids and baggy, grimy work clothes, and—

Then he shocked her mind blank all over again by tugging the braided elastic from the ends of her plaits…and slowly unweaving her hair with his fingers.

“Wha—what are you doing?”

“I won the first round.” His grin was lethal. “So I’m taking my spoils.”

“Spoils?” she squeaked. She’d never been anybody’s spoils before. The fact that she might be Brodie’s stunned her beyond comprehension.

He merely nodded and bent his head back to the task, leaving her to wonder what in the world was the appropriate reaction to something like that. Of course, what felt appropriate at the moment was to grab his head in her hands and thrust his mouth over the burgeoning tips of her breasts. But surely that wouldn’t be a good idea. No matter that the mere thought of it had her pushing a deep, very heartfelt groan to the back of her throat.

“What—” The single word came out like a croak, forcing her to stop and attempt to clear her throat. “Why?” she finally managed.

He glanced up, those green-brown eyes of his dancing through lashes that were far too sinfully thick to belong to a man already genetically blessed. All the Chisholm men were. How often had she teased him about being too pretty?

At the moment, she was too busy trembling as his fingers continually brushed the front of her heavy cotton jumpsuit. Surely he knew the havoc he was wreaking? He was a master at seduction, the tales in the village and surrounding hills having long since taken on legendary status. Which gave her momentary pause. If this was a seduction, then was she destined to merely be another notch on a thoroughly gouged bedpost?

At the moment, her nipples alone would have argued for the affirmative, and all her hopes and dreams be damned. Why hadn’t she thought this through? Probably because she never thought it would really happen. She wasn’t entirely certain it was happening now…but she was a damn sight closer to anything resembling it than ever before. She had to think, which was damn near impossible when he was standing so close, touching her. Why had he chosen now to do something like this? No way could he have known what she’d been thinking. The only other person who knew was her father, and though he loved to meddle in her business, he would never—oh, no. No. There was one other person.

“Brodie?” The single word came out like a croak.

He paused in his unwinding. His fingers brushed against the edge of her jaw and the side of her neck, making every inch of her sensitive skin there tingle with heightened awareness. He merely arched one brow in response, his hands still tangled in her partially unwoven hair.

“Why?” she asked again, though with different intent. If Daisy had told him, and she’d bet the family business she had, it still didn’t answer why he’d decided on this course. Could he possibly feel the same? Or was he just having fun, giving ol’ buddy Kat a thrill? No, he wouldn’t do that, trivialize her feelings…would he? She knew damn well it wasn’t to give himself a thrill. His exploits might be legendary, but her very lack of the same could have drawn an equal number of tales. Not that she’d never—she had—but an accomplished, confident lover she was not. Far from it, in fact.

He went back to unweaving her hair as he said, “Because you never wear it down. And last night I found myself thinking that was a bit of a crime.” He smiled at her, eyes dancing with mischief…and more. “So my choice for a prize this round is the pleasure of watching you continue to play with your hair all loose and wavy around your shoulders.” He lifted one of the long, shimmery blond strands and let his fingers rake through it. “You should think about wearing it down more often.”

“You’re just doing this to distract me from my game,” she said warily, finding herself hoping beyond hope that wasn’t the case. That he really was flirting with her. But experience forced her to maintain a worst-case scenario mindset. She reminded herself that nothing had to happen here. Legendary conquests notwithstanding, Brodie Chisholm was also a gentleman. He’d never force his attentions where they weren’t wanted. Granted, he’d likely never encountered such a situation.

This morning appeared to be no different.

“Trust me,” he said, “I’ll be far more distracted than you.”

Well, she thought, slightly stunned by his admission. Just…well.

Finally done with his task, he raked his fingertips along the back of her scalp as he sank his hands into the unwoven ropes of hair and raked them all loose. She shivered at his touch, and did nothing to help him. Nor did she make any move to stop him.

“There,” he said, a very satisfied, very male smile on his face. “Your turn, I believe. Second round.”

If she could have snorted in laughter, she would have. He’d just discombobulated her entire nervous system—and a few other systems as well—and he trusted her to throw sharp, pointy objects? She’d be lucky if she could take a single step without sinking to the floor. Her knees were about the substance of pudding at the moment.

As if reading her thoughts, he waggled his eyebrows and added, “You win and it’s your turn to take the spoils.”

The very idea that she could take something from Brodie, whatever she wanted, in fact, something that would give her pleasure, was more than a little overwhelming. And her senses were already reeling.

She still had no exact idea about what was really going on here, but she knew she wasn’t going to quit now, before finding out. Her natural competitive nature pushed through the fog of lust and need currently clouding up her brain…and humidifying other parts of her body. “Right, then,” she uttered. “Off I go.” She stumbled only a little on her way to removing the darts from the board, but took the wobble in stride, knowing it could have been far worse. Fire, Kat, that’s what yer playin’ with here. In over her head, to be certain. But when had that ever stopped her?

She almost choked entirely when she felt Brodie move in behind her. “I should get these out of your way.” His chest brushed against her back as he reached past her to dislodge his own darts from the board.

Och, he was a smooth one, he was. But practiced or no’, it didn’t seem to matter to her. Her pulse was roaring along like a racing engine, and her skin felt like she’d taken a sudden fever.

With more care than he could possibly know, she plucked each dart from the board. When she got to the last of the three, he leaned his head down so his mouth was next to her ear. “Steady hands, now.” He placed his own on her shoulders, then shifted and pressed his face lightly into her hair. After taking an audibly deep breath, he let his lips brush the rim of her ear. “Have I ever told you how much I like the scent of your shampoo?”

Okay, he was definitely pushing them beyond the boundaries of their friendship. He was surely flirting with her. Or perhaps it was more. Perhaps he was trying to seduce her fully. Rocked by the absolute reality of the situation she was in, it was all she could do to stand there, absorbing his touch, while the vibrations of his deep voice sent her nerve endings into their own little lust frenzy. Any actual response was beyond her at that moment. By the time she managed to say, “I don’t—no, I don’t think so,” he’d dropped his hands and stepped back.

She resisted the urge to fan her face, and, instead, resolutely moved back to the toe line, careful not to look directly at him. She’d waited forever for this, it seemed, but now that it was actually happening, it was rather terrifying. What if she screwed this up somehow? Where would they go from here if it proved to be a disaster? And how did a dart game come into the middle of it all?

Well, the one thing she understood was competitive sports. So if Brodie had chosen this playing field as his scene of seduction, then perhaps she owed him a debt of thanks. Just focus on the game. Let the victory…or defeat, unfold as it may. It was a pep talk she’d given herself many times. Admittedly, the stakes had never been what they were today.

She looked at the board, and took aim, uncertain for the first time if winning was in her best interest. What the hell would she take as her “spoils?” Although perhaps that concern was somewhat premature. At the moment, given her trembling fingers, she’d consider it a victory to hit the target at all. She took her stance, twirled the shaft between her fingers. She really did like the slender design of the dart body, the feel of the smooth wood. She wondered at the hands that had held it before, their stories. It was the distraction she needed to get the fine tremors in her fingers to still. She raised her hand and took aim.

The first dart sank deeply into the target, but it was the outer ring once again. Her second toss gained the same reward. Dammit. Taking her time, she took a slow breath as she lifted her arm for the last toss. When she finally lofted the dart home, she knew she’d thrown a ringer. It plunged dead center into the bull’s-eye.

She hooted and pumped her fist in automatic celebration, then turned to Brodie, only then remembering where she was…and what they were doing. Her first two throws weren’t that great, and bull’s-eye or no, he could still win this round, too. She shivered quite pleasurably at the thought, thinking it might have been worth it to simply tank that round straight off. But never one to show her soft underbelly, she gave him a cocky little curtsy, holding out the sides of her baggy jumpsuit, before stepping aside and leaning against the billiard table as he moved to the line.

Brodie’s responding grin was quite confident. Mr. Cock o’ the Walk himself, he was. She should know better than to try and out-peacock the peacock. He didn’t even pause, or try to make it look like he was worried. In short succession, he sank all three of his darts. One inner ring, one outer bull’s-eye…and, after a brief look at her, he buried the final one so close to hers it made the feathers quiver. She was beginning to know the feeling.

“I believe that puts me ahead,” he stated unnecessarily.

“I—I believe it does.” She found herself pressing her weight hard against the side of the pool table, as if it might steady her somehow, or even better, swallow her whole. She tried like mad to maintain a casual demeanor, but that was a daunting task. Because this time, when he turned and moved toward her, she knew what was coming. He was going to touch her again, somehow, some way. And, in that moment of brutal honesty, she acknowledged—fire, risk, and all—that she’d never wanted anything so badly in her entire life.

Her knees were already knocking, as was her heart. Her pulse rocketed even faster, and she had to work at finding even a trace of moisture in the sudden arid environs of her mouth and throat. She was having quite the opposite problem in other areas of her body. She pressed her thighs tightly together against the intense ache building there, her fingers digging at the mahogany billiard table behind her as he stopped directly in front of her.

She’d have given anything to be able to tilt her chin just then and give him some sort of cocky come-on. But that kind of bravado was well beyond her at the moment. Mostly because she wasn’t in the habit of making empty boasts…and in this game, she had no idea if she could back her taunts up.

“I guess I get to take my prize. Again.”

She said nothing. Her gaze was locked on his mouth as he spoke. Wondering what he would taste like. She was both terrified and thrilled at the very idea that she might get the chance to find out. This is Brodie, she reminded herself, scrabbling for an emotional foothold. You’ve known him forever. You can trust him to make this okay.

He held her gaze as he brushed her hair back over her shoulders, then toyed with the collar of her coveralls. For all her protestations, she found herself wishing fiercely that she was dressed in something more feminine. Or anything other than her grubby work clothes.

“You know,” he said casually, “I’ve probably seen you in these things, what, about a million times?”

Her heart sank and she wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow her shapeless, baggy self whole. She didn’t even bother to answer. As much as she wanted him to want her, she knew, deep down, that if she’d had to tart herself up as something she wasn’t, it wouldn’t be worth it. Although she admitted to a doubt or two as he tugged a little on the collar.

He let his hand drift to the first of a long row of buttons that fastened up the front, making her half wish she’d worn the zippered one.

“In all that time, I don’t think I’ve ever once wondered what you were wearing underneath.”

She gulped a little as her cheeks flamed. He’d never noticed her like she’d noticed him. He couldn’t be making that more clear. “Brodie,” she choked out, letting go of the table with one hand, intending to stop him.

Then he lifted his gaze to hers. And what she saw in his eyes wasn’t disinterest. Or even mild curiosity. What she found there wasn’t remotely casual. Anything but. She saw an intensity of want, and need. She saw desire. For her.

“Yet, right now,” he went on, his voice a husky murmur, “I can’t seem to think of anything else.” He slid the top button free, then another, pushing the edges apart. Her nipples were twin points of fierce need, and the muscles between her thighs had clenched so tightly together now, she might never be able to relax. He slipped another button free…then another.

And suddenly this wasn’t a game any longer.

“What changed your mind?” she blurted out. Don’t stop him now, you bloody loon! But whatever sliver of sanity she had left told her she’d forever regret this if she didn’t understand his reasons behind this sudden about-face.

“Does it matter?” He slipped another button free. “Do you want me to stop?”

She automatically shook her head. What? It was the truth. She didn’t want him to stop. She just wanted to know why.

“Then let me get on with discoverin’ what treasures ye’ve been hiding from me all these years.”

Her hand came up of its own volition and covered his. “Brodie.” She heard the urgency in her own voice, and she wondered what he saw when he looked into her eyes. “Why now?” she insisted. “I need to know.”

He let his fingers play through hers. “A little bird came whispering by and mentioned that maybe what I’ve been looking for all along was right under my nose.”

“A bird,” she managed, her entire body tightening as he slid his hand free and toyed with the next button down, this one between her breasts. “Or, perhaps…a flower?”

He paused, glanced up through those lashes. “Does it matter?”

Her heart stuttered a little. Why had she opened her big, curious mouth? “Yes,” she said quietly, knowing why. “It matters.” She forced herself not to pull away from him. To stand there and listen, and not run from the room before he could say the words that would crush any hope she had of ever getting him to love her like she loved him. If this was all a lark…

“Kat.” He snagged her hand and held it still against his chest. “I don’t want Daisy, if that’s what you’re asking. Do ye think I’d be here with you now if that were the case?”

“But it was Daisy who—”

He nodded. “But it’s me who is doing something about it. I was thinking ye might want to thank her.” He smiled. “I know I do.”

Inside she was a tumble of emotion and not a little confusion. “But all these years and you never once…” She let the sentence trail off, wishing she was as confident about this path they were embarking on. However playful, it was still going to change things. “And if we…and I’m not…things won’t be the same.”

He grinned then, surprising her with the force and surety of it. “I should bloody well hope things won’t be the same.”

She wished for a sliver of that confidence.

He feigned a wounded look and pressed her hand to his heart. “I’d rather ye’d keep me about, underfoot…and perhaps under other more interesting things as well. I’d hoped to be unforgettable.”

She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Oh, aye, ye are that, Brodie Chisholm. Ye are that.”

His lips curved and that mischievous twinkle returned to his eye. “Then perhaps ye’ll let me get back to claiming me spoils, and stop interrupting.”

She wanted nothing more in the whole world. “I want to. You have no idea. It’s just—”

“Och, so much worryin’. Of all people, you should trust me, shouldn’t you?” He stopped her from finishing with a finger pressed to her lips. “Let me ask you something, then.”

She nodded, moaning just a bit when it caused the warm skin of his finger to brush over her bottom lip.

“Why haven’t ye said anything to me, Kat? About what you were feeling? Why didn’t you approach me yourself?”

She dipped her chin then, but he lifted it right back up.

“We’ve always been the best of friends to one another,” he said. “You could have told me anything.”

“Anything save that,” she answered. “I couldn’t…I didn’t want to risk…because I do know you. I’m not your type. I know that. Hell,” she said on a watery laugh, mortified at the tears that suddenly threatened. Could she be any more pathetic? “I’m not anybody’s type.”

“Enough of that kind of talk.” He held her chin rather firmly when she tried to duck him again. “I’ll not have that from you, Kat Henderson. You deserve better than that from yourself. And I deserve better than that from you.”

Surprised by his outburst, she could only stare at him. She’d never thought of it like that.

“You’ve been closer to me than anyone and the fact that we’ve stayed close throughout should tell us both something. You were smart and recognized it for what it was before me.” He loosened his hold, let his fingers stroke along her jaw. “And you’re not the only one with insecurities, Kat-o-mine.”

She couldn’t recall the last time he’d used that nickname. It felt good to hear it from his lips again, better than ever before. In that moment, the way he was looking at her, touching her, saying her name like that, she felt more intensely female, and feminine, than she had in her whole entire life.

“What could you possibly be insecure about?” she asked him.

“Love.”

The single word, so seriously spoken, surprised her. “Why on earth would you be worried about that? Everyone loves you and you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

“I don’t doubt my capacity for love…I just—” He stopped, as if looking for the right words. He was really serious about this.

“Brodie—”

“I’ve dated my fair share. More than my fair share,” he blurted.

Her lips curved in a small smile. “Aye. A legend ye are, Brodie Chisholm. Which is why I find it hard to believe you’re looking at the likes of me.” She gestured to her grimy coveralls. “You could do a damn sight better.”

His gaze found hers and locked on. “That’s just it. I’ve dated plenty. But I haven’t given my heart, or didn’t ye notice? I was beginning to think maybe I wasn’t meant for the long term, and I’ve been finding myself thinking that it’ll be a lonely life for me indeed if that’s the case. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. He was a charming rogue, for certain, and every lass in a hundred kilometers likely knew his name. Or wanted to. She’d never once thought what he was thinking, how he felt, assuming he was happy, romping through the field of available women.

He toyed once again with the buttons, and as she watched the uncertainty fill his beautiful eyes, her heart melted further. Something she hadn’t thought possible. “You’re not destined to be alone, Brodie,” she said softly. “I can’t imagine such a fate for you. You’re the heart of this village. You thrive on people, on being around those who mean so much to you. You’d shrivel up without the fervor and hubbub of life around you.”

“And yet…Have you ever felt alone in a room full of people, Kat?”

The quietly asked question caught her off guard. “I—” She paused, thinking how often she’d felt that way when looking at other couples, wondering what it was that had given them the impetus to come together, and stay together. And why that magic forever seemed to elude her. “Aye,” she said softly. “Indeed I have.”

He tipped her chin up. “I don’t feel like that when I’m with you.”

Her heart skipped a full beat, then resumed beating in double time. “I—I…neither do I.” It was the God’s honest truth if ever there was one. But so was this. “Being friends, Brodie, isn’t the same as being lovers. I couldn’t bear it if—”

“That’s just it, Kat. I think I kept you in this special place in my heart, separate from all the playing and fooling around, because, to my mind, you were above all of that. Better than all of that. And I think now it was because I knew that fun was fun, but I’d never managed to find a way to make it more than that. Every relationship I’ve had has been disposable. Except this one. So I couldn’t see you like that. Do you understand? I didn’t. But I do now. And I want more. I want it all. And if you don’t think that terrifies me, too, then you’re daft. But the thing is, I trust you. If I’m ever to make this work, I can’t imagine it with anyone but you.”

He was looking at her with such earnest sincerity…and an intense desire that couldn’t be feigned. It was enough to shake her right down to her toes. She’d come into this wanting to get his attention. Well, she’d gotten it, all right. But she hadn’t expected that he might actually fancy himself in love with her. In the way she knew she was with him.

“And ye see me that way now? Truly?” She kept pushing, needing to be absolutely certain before taking another single step. “Because of something Daisy said? Or because I wore a dress? Because that wasn’t me, Brodie, that was me being stupid and insecure and thinking that I’d do almost anything to get your attention. And now you want my hair down and I’m thinking I’m no’ the woman you—” She broke off when he burst out laughing.

“You keep talking about yourself as if you’re not desirable. Don’t you understand? It’s no’ just the hair, or the clothes, that make the woman. In fact, it’s almost everything else that does.”

“That’s friendship, Brodie. I need to know that you—”

“Desire you?” He took the edges of her coveralls and yanked her to him. “Want you?” Pushing her back against the billiard table, he pressed the full length of his body against hers. “You mean like this?”

And, without wasting another breath, or even asking her if she was ready, he kissed her. Took her mouth, and claimed it, he did. There was no slow lowering of his mouth to hers. One instant she’d been standing there, clutching the pool table as if her life depended on it.

The next thing she knew, she was clutching him. Fists in his shirt and in his hair. Kissing him back as if her life depended on it.

And maybe it did.

Chapter 8

He was kissing Kat Henderson. Like there would be no tomorrow and this was his last chance at heaven. She tasted like heaven.

He groaned when she sank her fingers into his hair, then grabbed on and kissed him back with the same fervor. How in the hell had he missed out on this for so long? Their tongues dueled, both of them seeking to gain as much of each other as possible. It was insane, the need he had for her. It should rightly terrify him, and on many levels, it did. He knew her too damn well, knew everything there was to know about her…except this. Which served to make every touch, every taste, that much more intense, that much more primal.

Yet he knew immediately that this was what he’d been missing all along. A connection that went so deep it was like a joining of souls.

He heard what he thought was a whimpering moan coming from her, but when she pushed him back a little, she was smiling, her cheeks flushed as she shook her head in disbelief.

“What?” he said, struggling to pull back on the reins a little. It felt like he’d waited his whole life for this moment…and now that it was here, patience wasn’t looking to be his strongest suit.

“Us,” she said simply. “What the bloody hell are we doin’ here, Brodie?”

He grinned at that, at the excitement he saw reflecting so purely in her eyes. “If I have to explain that to ye, lass, we’re in a heap of trouble.”

She swatted at his shoulder, then gasped when he caught her hand in his and slid two of her fingers into his mouth. Desire made her pupils punch wide. Her lower lip dropped further as he pulled her fingers deeper and began to suck. He wanted to suck that lower lip of hers. Badly.

He released her fingers, letting them slide slowly, wetly, from his mouth, nipping at the soft pads just before letting go completely. Her gaze was locked on his as he cupped her cheek and pulled her mouth back to his. He nibbled at her bottom lip, making her moan deep this time, and perhaps there was a little groan of his own as she sighed and sank into him. He took her mouth again, and again. Leisurely, thoroughly. Her bottom lip was an irresistible delight, one he treated himself to repeatedly and with great indulgence. If her little whimpers were anything to judge by, he wasn’t alone in the pleasure it evoked.

Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. There was no battle this time as he continued his exploration, but a slow capitulation as she let him have his way with her mouth. His entire body was rock-hard and screaming for release, but with a clarity of sanity he was surprised he still possessed, he knew that they would both be better served by scraping together whatever patience they could find.

And take this one exquisite step at a time.

He had many firsts in his life with Kat. First fish caught. First bike ridden. First ale consumed, followed by far too many more, leading to their first time drunk, as well.

But this would be by far the most important first. He’d never forgive himself if he did anything to screw it up.

“Ye make me ache, Kat-o-mine, that you do,” he whispered against her jaw. She murmured something he couldn’t make out, but let her head drop back, allowing him access to the soft skin of her neck. Of which he took full advantage.

She moved against him, her hips shifting in the tight space between the table…and him. Now he was growling, and it was all he could do to maintain concentration on the task at hand. He alternately kissed, licked, and nipped at that place just below her ear…while simultaneously slipping another button open on her coveralls, and another still, until he could push the garment off her shoulders and down her arms, so the top half hung around her waist.

He didn’t want to risk making her feel self-conscious again, but he had to look at her. Had to see her with these new eyes of his. He lifted his head, holding her steady with his hands at her hips, gripping the bunched-up coveralls…and, more importantly, keeping part of her body in constant contact with a very needy part of his.

“Och, but what ye do for a man’s white t-shirt should be declared illegal, Kat.”

Under her coveralls she wore a tank-style, ribbed undershirt that was so thin he could see every detail of the bra she was barely wearing underneath. She was a tall woman, but small-chested, yet what she had was cupped sweetly inside lacy little cups of silk that plumped them up perfectly for the taking. And take them he would.

His throat went dry and his fingers dug into her hips as he struggled against the need to yank her tight to him and press his now-throbbing cock into that soft spot at the joining of her thighs. Where he knew she’d be wet for him, ready for him. It cost him. Dearly. But the reward was just as great. “Ye run about claiming you don’t like the frippery and such of bein’ a woman, so kindly explain to me where that wisp of nothing came from.”

She was blushing furiously, clearly wanting to believe he was aroused by her, and just as clearly not. She gripped his wrists, but didn’t try to wriggle free. “Please, don’t make fun—”

“A man never teases about something that makes his body harder than the marble cutting board atop his own bar.” He tugged her just a little closer, costing him another chunk of his restraint, but wanting her to know just how deeply she was affecting him. He pressed the bulge of his jeans hard between her thighs. “That’s what you’re doin’ to me.” He shifted his gaze to the perfectly budded peaks of her breasts, just begging to be suckled, then lifted his eyes back to hers. “And it’s glad I am that you seem to enjoy it, too.”

Her flush crept down her neck, but her lips twitched a little. And for the first time, he saw the other part of Kat, the part he knew as well as he knew himself. “I never said otherwise,” she teased. “And why is it I’m half undressed and you’re still—?”

“I believe I’m the one collecting my spoils here.” He pressed even more deeply into her, making her gasp and dragging a long, guttural groan from him as well. “However, if it’ll make you feel more comfortable, by all means, take a little for yourself as well.” He gamely held his arms out to the side, still keeping her hips pinned to the table behind her with his. “Like as not you’ll take the next round anyway, seeing as I’m a little distracted at the moment.”

She surprised him by reaching immediately for his shirt and tugging it up over his head. Seeing his slightly stunned expression as she tossed it over her head onto the table behind her, she smiled smugly. “When have you ever known me to take a pass on gaining an edge in a competition?” She took her time getting her fill, looking him over.

He had no idea how he looked to her, wondering if he suddenly looked as different to her as she had to him.

“You have a fine chest, that ye do, Brodie Chisholm,” she said on a sigh as her gaze all but gobbled him up, making him twitch even harder.

He grinned, liking that thread of need he heard in her voice. “Aye, something we both seem to be in agreement with about the other. Speaking of which, I believe I was in the midst of claimin’ my prize.” He reached around behind her. She stiffened slightly when he nimbly released the catch on her bra.

“What are you about now?”

He slipped his fingers inside the edges of her tank top and slid the straps down her arms, slowly dragging the lacy silk across those oh-so-perfect budded nipples of hers. She gasped first, then moaned, grabbing the edge of the table once again for support as her knees dipped a little.

Once he’d slid the garment free, it joined his shirt on the table.

“The only feminine bit I’m wearin’, and you—”

“Think you’re incredibly sexy standing there with your coveralls half hanging down from your hips, those perfect nipples of yours pushing through that t-shirt, begging for my hands to cup them.” Which he did, making her knees buckle a little again as he softly let his palms rub over her nipples through the thin, ribbed cotton.

“Dear, sweet Christ,” she murmured, her knuckles white as she gripped the table harder.

He lowered his head, unable to keep himself from her a moment longer. He captured one cotton-covered nub between his lips and pulled it slowly, softly into his mouth. Her groan was deep and satisfied, pleasing him in a way another woman’s climax couldn’t even compare with. She released her death grip on the table and clutched at his head, keeping him where he was, which was perfectly fine by him.

He slid his hand up and toyed with her other nipple, making her body twitch hard and her hips drive forward. So responsive, his Kat. Every inch of his body was rigid and aching hot. He pushed the t-shirt up, needing to taste her sweet flesh. Her nails raked his scalp as he finally circled her bare nipple with his tongue. Her hips were pumping now. He skated his palm across the nipple that was still damp from the t-shirt he’d suckled it through, then rolled it gently between his fingers as he continued to flicker his tongue over her.

She groaned again and again, holding him to her breast, her back arching now. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slip his arm around that arched back and lift her up onto the pool table. He pushed her back and climbed right up on top of her.

“Brodie,” she gasped. “What—” The word ended on another long groan as he pressed his hips to hers. When he’d dragged her onto the table, her coveralls had slipped down her hips, revealing a pair of soft rose-colored bikini panties that made the pale skin of her belly and thighs look luminous in comparison.

He slid to one side of her, needing to see all of her, touch all of her. With her blond hair all wild and spread out across the green felt, her skin so alabaster pure against the dark backing, all slender legs and slim torso, she looked like some sort of fairy sprite. Which, had he mentioned it out loud, would have surely brought a derisive snort from her.

The thought of it made him grin.

“That looks distinctly feral,” she told him.

“Och, but I’m a harmless bloke, merely looking to pleasure his lady.”

That earned him a short giggle, which somehow turned him on more than everything that had happened to this point.

“Yer doin’ a fine job of it so far,” she told him on a sigh.

For all that he had her sprawled across his billiard table, in complete dishabille, he’d have thought she’d have turned shy or self-conscious. Once again, the Kat he knew peeked through. There was almost a taunting thread to her tone now. “Of course,” she said, “you have me wondering just how much ‘spoils’ one round of darts should earn ye. And don’t think I’m no’ payin’ close attention, as I plan to best you for certain next round.”

Brodie reached across her and plucked one of the handmade darts from the table, twirling it in his fingers. “Do ye, now.”

Her eyes widened a little, but not in fear. He loved that about her most. She didn’t shy away from him. Never would. Their bond went far too deep.

He shifted onto his side next to her, propping himself up on one elbow as he continued to toy with the dart. “Lovely piece of art, don’t you think?” Then he looked at her and winked. “The dart is quite a piece of work, too.” And he got the satisfaction of seeing the pink rise in her cheeks again, even as the curiosity regarding his intentions flared to life in her eyes. Och, but she was a complexity of needs, his Kat. He was going to quite enjoy unraveling them all.

Slowly, and with great deliberation, he turned the dart around, cupping the sharp end in his palm…then softly twirled the feathers across first one bare nipple then the other. Both were still budded and damp from his earlier ministrations, and slightly flushed in color. Her hips jerked as her back arched deep, her sudden intake of breath coming out on a long moan as he slowly trailed the soft feathers down the line of her torso, circling her navel.

He leaned down and continued his exploration with his tongue. “Och, but a man could feast here for days,” he told her between suckling her nipples, the words never more heartfelt. “And yet…I am drawn to the rest of the feast.”

Her breath was coming in short gasps as he drew his tongue down along the path the feathers had taken. Shifting his body down, he hooked one finger in the slender strap holding her panties around her hips, and tugged. She gasped, arched again, and he could smell the musk of her. Aroused she was, which was a good thing. His boxers clung to the tip of his cock, so wet and ready was he for her. Had he ever wanted a woman this badly?

With his body, aye, perhaps, he acknowledged. But when the power of love was behind that need, it took him to a place he’d never dreamed of approaching. The need was deep, bordering on desperate, and came from places within him, deep-as-a-well places he hadn’t thought he possessed.

Possess her, that’s what he wanted. Nay, that’s what he needed.

Patience, lad. Handle this right…and she’ll be yours forever. The very idea almost made him come right there. And what a waste that would have been. The smile that brought to his lips also brought with it the much-needed edge he required to continue.

As he traced his tongue along the edge of elastic that ran between her jutting hip bones, she flung one hand over her head, clutching at the far edge of the table. Her other hand came down to grip his hair so hard he was certain he lost a few in the battle. The visceral nature of her need drove him even higher. But he also resisted her urging him to move his mouth to where she needed it most.

And smiled as he looped his finger under the other strap, and tugged, freeing her to him, but binding her thighs together at the same time. Tugging wasn’t going to work, so he flipped the dart and grabbed one of the delicate straps, using the sharp point to create a small tear.

“What do ye think you’re doing?” she gasped, as he ripped her panties free and tossed them aside.

“Shh,” he told her, then flicked the feathers between her legs, eliciting a surprised growl from her. “Lay back, let me play.” He glanced up at her. “We always did have the spirit of play between us, I dinnae see the need to stop it now. No’ when it might be the most fun we’ve had yet.”

She held his gaze and almost looked as if she wanted to argue the point. That was his Kat. But then he flicked the feathers again, making her body—and his—twitch hard. And she eventually let her head loll back once again on the green felt.

“I won’t leave you wantin’ for anything, Kat,” he murmured, as he traced his tongue from her hipbone to the fringe of her pubic hair. “That I can promise ye.”

Her nails raked his scalp again as her grip tightened once more in his hair. He teased her legs apart with the feathers. “Open for me. Let me have my way.”

She shifted her thighs apart—a long, keening moan ripped from her as he replaced the feathers with the very tip of his tongue, and flicked it back and forth across that most highly sensitized of nubs. Something primal within him roared as she shifted again and allowed him even deeper access.

He rose up, scraping the darts to the floor as he dragged her around so she lay on the length of the table, pausing only to fully remove the rest of her clothes and boots, leaving only that white t-shirt, bunched up above her breasts. He crawled up between her thighs, his face inches away from where she wanted him most. “Beautiful,” he whispered almost reverently. “Every part of you, Kat. Lovely. And all mine.” And then he buried his tongue deeply inside of her.

The sound that ripped from her was more bark than growl, her hips pistoning up, driving his tongue even deeper. He kept the rhythm, felt her climb. He slipped several of his fingers in his mouth, then slid his hands up her body and took her nipples between his wet fingertips, softly tugging them, flicking the pads across her engorged tips.

She went wild beneath him, and it was all he could do not to climb up her body and drive deep. But he wanted to taste her as she peaked. And he knew he could take her there again. She was so damn responsive to him, it was driving him insane. He skated the palm of one hand down her torso, then slipped his fingers between her thighs. She was growling deep now, raw, guttural sounds that drove him wild, her hips pumping, pressing herself into his face. As he slid his tongue up and over her wet, pulsing clit, pulling it gently into his mouth, he pushed one finger deep inside of her. She was hot, tight, and so ready. One slow slide out, and when he pushed back in, she climaxed. Hard.

He swore she almost came off the table completely, her hips jerked so violently, her back arched so deeply. She held his head with her hands, and clutched at his fingers, still buried inside her, with her body. The hot, slick folds were so wet, she could barely find purchase.

Then she was pushing herself up, reaching for him, for any part of him she could sink her fingers into, and pulling. “Come here,” she commanded. Not begged. Not his Kat. His needy, wanting, and oh-so-hot-and-wet Kat.

But Brodie had other ideas. He hadn’t waited all these years to discover her, only to take her like a rutting beast on a rock-hard billiard table, for God’s sake. Especially when he had a nice, soft, and very big feather bed waiting for them right up the stairs.

He slipped free from her, dropping a hot, wet kiss right between her thighs, making her arch again, moan again. Then he slid off the table and, gripping her thighs, pulled her to him. “Wrap your legs around me.”

“What?” She was still trying to make sense of the sudden change. Her eyes were half closed, her lips soft and relaxed.

She looked sated and drowsy and happy…and it was because of him. He’d never wanted anyone so much in his life. “Hold on to me, Kat.” And don’t ever let go, he thought.

“I don’t want to play darts anymore,” she said, the words soft and growly.

He smiled as she locked her ankles around his waist and he pulled her up and looped her arms around his neck. “No more darts.”

“Mmm,” she managed, “that’s good.” Her smile was so soft and so damn sweet, he had to taste her.

He kissed her, gently this time, tenderly. Her arms tightened around his neck, her thighs did the same around his waist, and she sank into the slow, sweet kiss with a soft sigh of contentment. He decided he wanted to hear that exact purr in his ear all his remaining days.

But if he didn’t get her off this table and up those stairs, those days would be cruelly brief as he was sure he would die a certain death if he didn’t have her soon.

“Come on,” he whispered against her lips.

“Where?” she managed, dropping kisses along his jaw, nipping at his chin.

He didn’t think he could be any harder, want her any more thoroughly. “Do ye have any notion a’tall what ye do to me?”

She laughed a little and squirmed against him, hooking her heels in as he swung her off the table and walked to the stairs in the rear of the pub. “Perhaps. A wee bit.”

“Wee?” he said, teasingly affronted as he wiggled his hips right back.

“Och,” she declared, pulling his mouth back to hers. “Men. Take me upstairs and ravish me properly, Brodie Chisholm. Then we’ll decide who won the bigger prize today.”

He made her squeal when he tossed her over his shoulder. It was the only way he had a prayer of making it upstairs. “Bottoms up.”

She reached down and smacked his as he climbed.

He was grinning like a mad fool as he kicked the door open to his upstairs loft. “That could likely be a topic for long and heated debate.”

She smiled and hummed against his neck. “Lucky me, then.”

No, he thought, his heart swelling as he put one knee on the bed and lowered her into the pile of linen and down. “Lucky us.”

Chapter 9

Kat felt drunk with power. And yet, all she’d done thus far was let him have his way with her. Not that he hadn’t seemed quite pleased with that particular setup, but she needed to know their partnership would be equal. Outside of bed, she knew they were well matched, well suited. In bed…well, she knew he was perfectly suited for her. A wicked smile of satisfaction curved her lips.

Now, however, it remained to be seen if she could be for him, what he’d so effortlessly become for her. A partner in full. She was particularly interested in that “in full” part…but first things first.

He was lowering himself down on top of her, and her resolve wavered for just a moment. She was so wanting to feel his full weight on her. Patience, Kat, patience.

At the last second, she caught him by surprise and hooked her leg around his, rolling him to his back and sliding on top of him in the process. Not that her slighter weight could pin him down by sheer force alone, but perhaps she could persuade him to see things her way. At least for a little while.

His momentary shock was quickly replaced by a devilish twinkle as she pinned his hands to the bed beside his head. “Claimin’ spoils ye didn’t earn, are ye?”

“Perhaps this is part of the game, no’ the prize.” She grinned. “I’ll let you decide who can claim the victory when we’re through and done.”

“I’m no’ so certain I’ll ever be through and done with you, Kat-o-mine.”

She smiled at that, her heart swelling a bit, but locked her ankles on his when she felt him start to move. She tightened her grip on his wrists as well. “Now, now, play fair and let me have my turn. Else how will we decide the winner?”

Brodie took a moment to consider this, then lay back, completely relaxed. “Have your way, then.” He closed his eyes. “Be gentle with me.”

She laughed. “Now, why would I want to do that?” She took the opportunity to flip his jeans open and drag them down and off, along with his shoes and socks. She gave a brief thought to the clothing and torn panties scattered across the billiard table and pub floor below…but was quickly brought back to the present when she looked upon Brodie in nothing more than his boxer briefs. She’d seen him in little more over the years, every time they’d taken a dip in the hot springs nestled in the outcropping of rocks just beyond Mr. MacClellan’s gooseberry patch.

But she’d never seen him quite like this.

“Do ye have any notion of how comely you look, wearin’ nothing more than that t-shirt of yours?” Brodie grinned, keeping his hands resting quite naturally next to his head. “Still a wee bit damp there in the front.”

Kat wasn’t sure where the moxie came from. Had anyone told her she’d be so bold in this situation, she’d have laughed them down the lane. Perhaps it was because this was, after all, Brodie, her closest, most trusted friend and ally. She’d thought it would be difficult, complicated, if they took this step. And yet it had been anything but. Aye, it had been arousing, thrilling, and downright perfect. And despite the pitch of nerves currently fluttering in her belly, she seemed to have no problem answering him with a saucy retort of her own.

She yanked the shirt over her head and tossed it away, amazed at how free and relaxed she was in her own skin. “I’m more than a wee bit damp in front, as you say.” She wriggled on him a little bit. “But you’re likely to know that better than I.”

It gave her quite a little thrill to see him momentarily without speech. She took full advantage, once again not willing to relinquish any edge ceded to her by the opposition. Though it was getting harder and harder to see him as the opposition. When she caught his naughty wink just before he wiggled his hips at her, she thought “partner in crime” might ring truer at the moment.

“Now you’re just braggin’ some,” she said on a laugh, then did the boldest thing she’d done yet. She slipped her hand around his still-cotton-clad erection and stroked him from base to head. “Not that you dinnae have a point there,” she added, somewhat shocked herself by her action. And yet, given the way his eyes immediately squeezed shut and his hips pumped forward as he let out a long, deep, growl…well, she might have to consider being bolder more often.

“You’re killin’ me, but I find I don’t mind dyin’ so much. As long as you don’t stop what you’re doing until I draw my last breath.”

She was sliding her hand up, then pulling his briefs down along with her hand, when he opened one eye a tiny slit and peered down at her, a cocky grin ghosting the corners of his mouth. “Stop taunting me,” she warned him, “or I’ll—” She loosened her hold a wee bit.

He immediately closed his eye and let his head press back into the duvet. “Have your way with me, then.”

With his boxers off, she took a moment to stare at the full glory that was Brodie Chisholm. Aye, to be certain she’d pictured him just like this, in this very place, many times over. But for all she had a quite vivid imagination, she hadn’t begun to do him justice. His body was big and rugged, muscles here, sharp angles there. He had a pretty face, that he did, but his body was more rough-hewn, owing to a life of physical labor, hoisting kegs of ale, and unloading truckloads of spirits. And, at the very moment, it was all hers, to do with whatever she wanted.

It was hard to know where to begin. It wasn’t every day a girl was granted her fondest wish. She didn’t want to squander it, on the off chance she’d awake to find this was all but a dream, never to be dreamt of again.

With his eyes still closed, his body sprawled there beneath her, ready, willing, and apparently quite capable, he casually stated, “Are you aware of the continued distress yer causin’ me by staring at me, all the while depriving me of your wonderful touch?”

“Maybe I don’t want to touch, but just look,” she teased.

Brodie was known for his continual good nature and charm, and no one would say he was afraid of a little hard work. But he did things at his own pace, in his own time, his own way. So Kat was once again caught quite off guard when he moved so swiftly, she was suddenly on her back, beneath him, with her own arms pinned above her head, all before she quite knew what had happened.

He was grinning down at her. “Ye know my ancestors were fond of raiding a castle or two in their time, perhaps ravishing a comely wench here and there.”

Kat laughed. “I don’t know about comely, but I certainly like the ravished part.”

Brodie leaned in and gently bit her chin. “You don’t know the half of it yet.” He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. “And I believe it was quite clear how comely I find you, so we’ll have no more of that.”

It was supposed to be harder than this, she thought. Tumultuous and angst-filled as she’d been, battling her insecurities and her fear that she wouldn’t be enough for him, she should have known better than that. She should have trusted him, the man she’d have easily trusted with her life. She should have known she could trust him with her heart, that he’d never do anything but take the same care of it as he had the rest of her. She settled beneath him, on that big bed, in the very place she’d imagined herself for so long…and felt as if she’d finally come home.

Her own lips quirked in a playful smile, and she shifted her hips beneath his, intending to tease a little, only to be hoisted by her own petard. Or his, as the case more clearly was proven to be. She swallowed a soft groan as he pressed that oh-so-beautifully-rigid length between her thighs. “I thought I was supposed to be havin’ a turn.”

“Turn’s over. You took too long.”

Now the smile came in full. “I wasn’t aware I was being timed.”

“Victory never comes to those who wait.”

“Sure it does,” she protested. “All the time.”

“Not today. Today, and from this day forward, you’re all mine.” He stared down at her, as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

She wanted to believe that with all her heart.

Then he leaned in, and rather than ravish her, he kissed her with such tenderness her eyes abruptly welled with tears.

“What is this now,” he murmured, kissing away the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. “We’ll have no weeping here. A bloke could get a complex.”

She snorted then, making them both laugh. “Right. You haven’t had any insecurities about this particular endeavor since you lost your virginity to Jolie Griffin in MacClellan’s gooseberry patch.”

He sighed. “We were trying to make it to the springs. What can I say—I guess the Chisholm charm wore her down.”

Kat rolled her eyes.

Then Brodie surprised her by turning serious. Bracing his weight on his elbows, he released her wrists and framed her face with his hands, weaving his fingers gently into her hair. “Dinnae have any fear with me, okay? This isn’t like anything before, I need you to know—”

She silenced him with a kiss. “I know,” she said. “That I know. I just…I want to be enough for you.”

He made her start when he barked out a laugh. Then he rolled to his back, pulling her atop him. “Enough for me? Since when havena’ you been?”

She straddled his hips. “Since about thirty minutes ago when we got naked and you made me see stars.”

He grinned. “Really? Stars was it?”

She swatted at him, then laughed as she settled her body over his. “It’s important to me,” she said at length, loving the strength of the arms holding her so tightly. “I need to know.”

Shifting his hands to her hips, he lifted her, then slowly pushed her down onto him. He entered her slowly, keeping his gaze locked on hers as each velvety-hard inch of him pushed inside of her. He held her there, tightly. “I know,” he said. Then he began to move beneath her. And her hips immediately found his rhythm.

They moved together fluidly, Kat gasping and Brodie groaning deep inside his chest. As she felt him quicken, felt his muscles gather beneath her, she locked her legs against his and used the leverage to ride him, to dictate the rhythm. They moved harder, and faster still, his hips pistoning into hers so hard he came half off the bed with each thrust. She gave back to him as fully as she got, matching him stroke for stroke, loving how fully and completely he filled her…and how well and truly she held him. She kept on until she finally took him over the edge completely, bringing forth from him a guttural shout that shook the bed.

He’d barely finished pulsing inside of her when she once again found herself on her back. “Tha’ never happens,” he said, still breathing heavily, his skin damp against hers. “I never finish that way, I have to be on top. How did you—” He stopped, laughed shortly, then kissed her soundly on the lips. “I should ha’e known you’d be different. You’ll take from me what ye will.” His face split wide with the devil’s own grin. “And I’ll be happy to give it to you.” He gathered her to him as he slid out of her and shifted them both to their sides. “So,” he said at length, stroking her hair, keeping her cheek pressed to the crook of his shoulder, “I suppose round one goes to the fair maiden.”

She lifted her head slightly. “Maiden?” she asked dryly.

He shot her a wicked smile. “Fair lady, then.” He tucked her head back down. “Now take your victory and don’t gloat on about it.”

“Like you wouldn’t have.”

“Och, ye know me too well. I can see where this could present me with a problem or two. I’ll no’ be able to charm my way out of situations of my own making, will I?”

Kat wriggled closer to him, tangling her legs with his, tucking her ankles as she settled against his body like she’d been born to fit there. “Oh, I suspect ye might be able to con me into forgiving you now and again.”

He stroked his hand down her back, then pinched her bum. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She pinched his nipple, making him hoot, then propped her chin on his chest. “So,” she said at length, “how do you propose we…” She drifted off, thinking perhaps now was not the time to question their future, but as it was going to be pretty immediate, she had to ask. “How did you want to…you know, tell everyone?” She paused for a second. “You do plan to—”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. But I dinnae think ’twill be much of an issue for us.”

“Why is that?”

He craned his neck and looked over at the clock on his nightstand. “Marta’s likely to be in the kitchen shortly, if she’s no’ already. I imagine she’s found enough evidence to put two and two together and—”

Kat sat straight up and went to scramble off the bed. Brodie pulled her right back down again.

“Do you have a problem with everyone knowing I wanted ye so badly I couldna wait to even get you up the stairs? A legend you’ll be.”

Kat paused, then laughed somewhat smugly as she snuggled back in his arms. “A legend, you say?” She wrapped her arm around him, tucked her legs back between his, and sighed as he tipped her chin up for a long, lingering kiss.

“Aye,” she said drowsily some time later. “I can live with that.”

ON TAP

Chapter 1

“I’ve no time to spare for her, Silas.” Reese Chisholm strode down the row of white oak casks that housed his family distillery’s aging single-malt whisky. There was a long list of things awaiting his personal attention, and he wasn’t happy about adding yet another to the queue. “I’ve got calls coming in about the new mash tuns and I need to make yet another attempt to track down a new supplier for—”

Silas silenced him with a clearing of the throat.

He stopped short and turned to face his floor manager. Reese had taken over the running of the distillery seven years ago, when his grandfather, Finney, had passed. But Reese had worked at Finney’s side since he was old enough to reach a tap. So when the time had come, no one had doubted Reese’s ability to run the place. Despite the fact that Silas had several decades on Reese in both experience and age, the two had long since come to a mutual respect for one another. Which was why Reese took the older man’s quiet rebuke in stride. “What have you done to me now, auld man? My schedule is already fashed and it’s no’ even noon. I’ve no time for chitchat about some mad business scheme with the newcomer in town.” He folded his arms when Silas merely smiled at him. “No matter how comely a lass she might be.”

Just because Reese, second of the four Chisholm brothers, was still single past the age of thirty—only by a year!—the local elders had taken it upon themselves to throw every available female within a fifty-kilometer radius in his path. And now that Brodie had managed to find love, they’d only redoubled their efforts. He reminded himself to soundly beat his younger brother at billiards the next time they played. Then ignored the niggling thought that it had been far too long since he’d made it down to Hagg’s, the pub Brodie owned and ran, for something as simple as an evening off.

“Ye work too hard,” Silas told him, as if reading his thoughts. And Reese wasn’t so sure the auld Gael couldn’t. “Ye need to think about more than aging whisky,” he went on. “You’re no’ getting any younger yerself, you know.” Silas’s eyes crinkled at the corners, that wee twinkle of his appearing in their faded blue depths. “She’s a fair sight, that she is. And, well, lad, she’s here. Parked in your office, pretty and fresh as her namesake. Said she’d cleared it through Brodie,” he added when Reese scowled.

He began to regret less his overlong work hours and neglect of his siblings. They were all doing as he was, trying to make a go of it at their own businesses, all for the sake of keeping the family holdings together. He could hardly be faulted for being a little overly involved in the distillery, seeing as it was the largest concern the family oversaw. At least, that’s what he told himself, anyway.

But he also knew when he’d been beat. Better to deal with her now and get them all off his back for a bit. He did a quick mental scan of his schedule, rearranging what he could, knowing that no matter what he did, this was going to set him back further. He gave it one last shot. “Silas, can’t you just get her card or something and tell her—”

“Don’t punish the messenger,” he said, lifting his hands, palms out. “Besides, I’ve already got three people waitin’ for me in my office. It’s only because I had to come find you to give you those estimates that I was elected to deliver the news in the first place.” His smile returned. “What harm is there in giving a pretty lass a few minutes of your time? The rest of your day will sort itself out, and who knows, might put a bit of a spring in your step.”

Reese just shook his head. “Springtime. I swear, it turns the lot of you into rutting beasts.”

Silas laughed. “I dinnae think that’s a seasonal condition, lad. But then, what would you know of it, anyway?” He continued to laugh as he moved on past Reese and hurried around the end of the cask row, off to attend his own business.

Reese was well aware he was the long-standing butt of many a joke, all centering around his workaholic ways keeping him from having any real social life. Not that the small highland village of Glenbuie afforded much of that. But, truth be told, even when he could make the time, he wasn’t much of one to gather with the locals at Miss Eleanor’s in the morning for breakfast, or at Brodie’s pub in the evening. Was it such a bad thing that after dealing with the details of the day, which were always myriad and typically fraught with problems, he sought out his own company in the evenings, where it was peaceful and quiet?

Tristan certainly understood that for the luxury it was, although Reese couldn’t cut himself off quite to the degree that his brother the sheepherder had. Of course, Tristan did a fat lot more than tend to the Chisholm flocks. He also tended to all their leased farm properties, the crofters, too. But, by and large, the youngest Chisholm was happiest when it was just him and his flock, away from the maddening world and the people who inhabited it.

As Reese approached his office door, he allowed himself the momentary daydream of joining his brother out on the moors and hillocks for a fortnight, driving the flock down to the valley, as they had in their youth. Of course, now that he thought of it, talk between them during those long hikes had often turned to the fair lassies of the valley…and how they could convince them to go wanderin’ with them on their way back up into the hills. That fond reminiscence kindled a quick smile, because they’d been successful, often as not. Maybe he had left behind more than one of the better aspects of being a carefree youth.

The smile lingered as Reese entered his office.

“Hello!” The young woman, who had been seated in one of the two studded leather chairs arranged in front of his desk, shot to her feet. “I’m Daisy MacDonnell,” she said, extending a slender hand.

Wow, was pretty much the whole of what went through Reese’s mind at that moment, blanking out everything else. For a wee bit of a thing, she packed quite a wallop where first impressions were concerned. The top of her head barely crested his chest…but what a head it was. She sported a face as fresh as her name, with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks that she did nothing to hide, which disarmed and charmed him all at the same time. Her blue eyes fair to twinkled at him, and her grin was downright infectious. All of that bright, energetic loveliness was topped off by a shoulder-length swing of deep auburn hair that she’d clearly come by naturally. And that he found himself quite uncharacteristically wanting to bury his nose in, wondering if she smelled as fresh as she looked.

Wow pretty much summed things up.

Coming to the realization that he was standing there, all but gaping, he cleared his throat—and his mind, while he was at it—and took her hand for a quick shake. Given the slimness of her lithe frame, he’d thought her touch would be cool, but instead her palm was warm when it pressed against his. Delivering another little jolt.

“A pleasure to finally meet you,” she gushed. “I know what a busy man you are, so it means a great deal that you agreed to meet with me.”

Disarming and charming, she was all that and more. He found himself reluctant to release her hand. “The pleasure is mine,” he said, surprised at the depth of sincerity there was in that standard platitude. “I can see why the lads are all panting after you.” He blanched. “Did I actually say that last bit out loud?”

Twin spots of pink bloomed in her cheeks, which only served to set off that scattering of freckles even more endearingly. She slipped her hand from his as she nodded in response, her smile one of amusement. Thank goodness.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said at once, completely at a loss. Which was so unlike him, it flummoxed him even further. “I can assure you I rarely use such poor judgment, especially with a prospective business acquaintance. Or…well, anyone, really. I’m not one of those boorish blokes who does the whole nudge, nudge, wink, wink, if you know what I mean.” Dear Christ, now he couldn’t shut himself up. What the hell was wrong with him? He sounded like a flaming loon.

Fortunately she reached for and found the aplomb that had so swiftly abandoned him. He couldn’t remember a time—even as a callow youth—when he’d been so quickly out of step.

“Not to worry,” she assured him in her crisp Yankee accent. “I appreciate that I’m…uh…appreciated.” The bit of pink still coloring her cheeks was most becoming, even as she turned—all business now—and scooped up a trim leather briefcase. “To be perfectly honest, though, I’d rather be appreciated for my business acumen.” She smiled and stepped back to her chair, silently encouraging him to take a seat. “If you have a few moments, I’d love to discuss several marketing ideas I have for both your whisky label and the distillery itself.”

Reese simply stood there, like a blinking fool. The remaining sliver of his brain that was still functioning finally nudged him forward, simultaneously reminding him about his overwhelming schedule, and that his game plan had been to put Ms. MacDonnell off until a future time. A distant future time. So why he moved behind his desk and took a seat, all attentive, as if he had the entire afternoon at his disposal, he hadn’t the faintest idea.

Okay, so he had a little idea. He was an admitted workaholic, but he was also still a man, with fully functioning hormones, among other things, if the sudden snug fit of his trousers were any indication. Ridiculous, really, to even consider pursuing this any further. He knew that—of course he did. He had no time for flirtatious banter and even less for starting up anything more involved.

Daisy was opening her briefcase and pulling out a sheaf of papers, which turned out to be several smaller proposals, each bound separately. Very professional, he noted. Of course, having Maude’s print shop at her disposal certainly made creating business proposals a little easier, but he was impressed with her attention to detail nonetheless. All he’d heard from Brodie, or his own employees who’d gotten a gander at Glenbuie’s newest resident, was how attractive she was, so bright and friendly and outgoing. She definitely lived up to the hype. Made him wonder if any of the lads had made any inroads on their plans to sweep the lass off her feet…and preferably right onto her back.

The thought made him frown a little, though he couldn’t exactly say why. It wasn’t jealousy, though perhaps envy might play a bit part. Aye, he could quite easily envision tumbling her back onto his bed, all that stunning red hair of hers splayed across his dove-gray sheets, her pale skin faintly luminous in the early morning light. He absently wondered where else she might have freckles…and how lovely it might be to while away the morning hours after dawn, tracing them…with his tongue.

“I don’t know if Brodie mentioned to you what I’m hoping to do here in Glenbuie,” she said, all brisk and businesslike as she organized her proposals.

He knew what he’d like her to do, was his immediate thought. But then he was having a devil of a time being brisk in thought or manner, much less thinking about anything having to do with business. “No, uh, I don’t believe he did.” Scintillating stuff there, Chisholm. Deep, too. He’d definitely been off the horse far too long.

She smiled at him, oblivious, he prayed, to the completely inappropriate thoughts he was having about the nicely tailored blouse she was wearing. The way pale yellow cotton hugged her breasts—which were small, but every bit as perky as the rest of her—just begged a man to reach out and—

“In conjunction with taking over my late great aunt’s stationer’s shop, I am also hoping to offer a variety of marketing and publicity services to the various businesses in Glenbuie and the surrounding area.” She slid the top proposal across the desk. “Before moving here, I headed up the marketing department for a well known, high-end catalogue company in Washington, D.C. So I’ve had the opportunity to work with a wide variety of products and clients. And though the commercial focus is very different here in the U.K., I think I can be of some service to you, and the other businesses in Glenbuie, if you’ll give me a chance.”

More to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts, and get them on anything other than the image of what Daisy’s perky breasts looked like naked, than because he had any interest in what she was saying, Reese took the proposal and flipped open the top page.

Daisy leaned forward slightly, enthusiasm and confidence radiating from her every freckle. “First let me say how impressive it is that you’ve kept Glenbuie Distillery a family-owned operation for over a hundred and fifty years. From my preliminary research, you’re one of very few to have had that kind of continued success without selling out to a corporate entity. So don’t think I’m trying to tell you how to run what is obviously a very successful operation. I just think, if you don’t mind my saying, that your approach to marketing and publicity is a bit…shall we say, outdated. Or perhaps narrow in focus is a better description. If you’ll look at my proposals, I think you’ll see that there are some simple, but highly effective ideas that you could incorporate at very little cost to you, while providing a potentially huge boost to both your local and global presence. The world is a very small place these days, Mr. Chisholm—”

“Reese, please,” he said automatically, forcing his gaze back to the proposal. It was that or stare at her like some entranced fool. Not that anything on the page was registering in his rapidly disintegrating brain. What was it about her that had him so gobsmacked?

It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy the attention of women on occasion. Every time he went to Hagg’s, Brodie’s pub, which he’d admitted was rare of late, but still, on those former occasions, he’d had no problem making small talk or sharing a tale over an ale or two. Of course, most often it was with someone he’d known his whole life, and most of them were spoken for. Friends rather than potential companionship, of whatever sort he might be interested in. But there was the occasional tourist, the occasional passer-through. Although, come to think of it, he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d done more than grab a casual snog or—

“Your office manager, Flora, was kind enough to give me your brochures, both from the industrial side of your company and the public aspect as well,” she was saying. “And thanks to your quite charming brother, Brodie, I have your business card. So, after looking at those, you’ll see where I’ve made some preliminary suggestions as to what you can do to emphasize your public persona, both in the business world and in the tourist industry. I’ve also—” She paused long enough to put another proposal on his desk. “I’ve also worked up a schematic for a proposed Web site. Glenbuie whisky has zero Internet presence, and I think you’re missing out on a tremendous opportunity to boost your bottom line. The investment outlay to immediate revenue ratio is very attractive. If you’ll turn to page three, there is a graph…”

Reese listened, or pretended to, as she continued on with her excited recitation of how she was going to single-handedly drag Glenbuie Distillery into the twenty-first century. However, the details were floating in one ear and out the other. She really had the most remarkable bow-shaped mouth. He’d read about them, in sonnets and the ancient fiction of the bards, but he’d never recalled actually seeing lips that pursed together like that. Bow-shaped indeed. Sweetly tilted at the corners, with that plump bottom lip and the delectably curved upper one, her mouth managed to evoke the innocent look of a cherub…while at the same time conjuring up the most carnal, indecent images he’d ever had the pleasure of imagining.

The very idea of watching her wet those lips before sliding them over and down the rigid length of his—Christ. He rolled his chair slightly forward so he was farther beneath his desk before shifting slightly to ease the sudden pressure of his rapidly growing, rigid length.

“Mr. Chisholm? Reese?”

It took several very determined seconds before he could forcibly banish the remarkably inappropriate images of Daisy sliding those cherubic lips over the tip of his now-throbbing cock. It took more willpower than he’d been required to exert in some time. Dragging his gaze from that mouth, he pretended to pore over the proposal in front of him. He hadn’t the faintest clue what she’d said to him. “You’ve put a great deal of effort into this,” he said, struggling to find a foothold in this conversation. And harness his suddenly out-of-control libido.

“I know this company has a long history here and that it is the lifeblood of the village in many ways. I wanted to make sure you understood that I also take my job very seriously and that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could provide a valuable service to you.”

Reese swallowed a groan. Oh, she could service him, all right. If she had any idea what he’d been thinking these past ten minutes…she’d either sue him or slap him, or both. Shoot him, even, if suitably armed. He’d have no defense for it, either. Guilty, guilty, guilty. And not particularly upset about it, either.

Mother Mary, but he needed to get his mind back on his work. Which meant getting her out of here, and blessedly out of his emerging fantasies as well. “I do appreciate all the effort you’ve put into this, and I have no doubt there will be other businesses that will want to take advantage of you—I mean, of what you have to offer.” He knew nothing of the sort, actually, and, in fact, suspected that the village shop owners would respond much the way he had. Set in their ways, it would take a lot more than one intoxicatingly perky, albeit seemingly qualified, Yank to make them consider any real change in the way they conducted business. Many of them were third, fourth, or fifth generation shop owners, as was he. And stubborn when it came to doing anything different from the way it had always been done.

Sure, as technology had advanced, he’d updated the process by which they made their whisky, but remarkably, those changes had been very few, and made only after protracted deliberation on his part. For the most part, Glenbuie whisky was distilled much the way it had been back at the turn of the nineteenth century when his ancestor, Donnghail Chisholm, had finally gotten a permit from the crown to turn his illegal still operation into a law-abiding, and profit-earning, production.

“But I’m afraid, at this time,” he went on, forcing an end to this otherwise delightful but untimely interlude, “I’m going to pass on your very kind offer.”

To her credit, she didn’t reflect even a moment’s disappointment. In fact, she looked as if she’d been almost expecting this exact response. “Mr. Chis—Reese,” she amended, when he lifted his hand, “I know looking at the way you’ve always done things with a new slant is asking a lot, especially from someone you don’t know, who is new to the area. I’ll admit there were selfish reasons for approaching you first—”

“I was under the impression that you approached my brother, Brodie, first.”

“Not intentionally,” she said, quite sincerely. “Hagg’s is easily the centerpiece of the village, and so I’ve been spending time there in the evenings, meeting the locals, trying to get to know everyone and give them a chance to get to know me. We had a talk over an ale, and he was asking me about what I did back in the States, why I’d decided to pack up and move my life over here, and one thing led to another and I told him I’d be happy to work up a plan.” She smiled then, and those eyes of hers crinkled at the corners, so damn lovely when combined with that splash of freckles. “He shot me down, of course. Seems to run in the family. But I’d asked about the family distillery and he was kind enough to drop off your business card.” With barely a breath taken, she pushed on before he could interrupt. “I won’t lie to you. I targeted the distillery right off, because I knew that if I secured any business with you, that it would make the other townsfolk more agreeable to at least hearing what I had to say. So it was definitely a calculated move. But I spent time on the proposals up front, in hopes you’d clearly see I take this very seriously and that it could be a mutually beneficial partnership.”

“And I appreciate the time you’ve taken. I do,” he said. Why was he even encouraging conversation? He should be standing and ushering her out the door, even as she raced on with her pitch. It was something he had done a hundred times over with other pushy salespeople, without a twinge of conscience for cutting them off mid-spiel. Well, one of the reasons he hadn’t was the very noticeable bulge in his pants, but that seemed to finally be under some semblance of control. He pushed his chair back. “But, Ms. MacDonnell—”

“Daisy, please.” She stood, too, and moved to stand directly opposite from him, with only the desk between them.

She was so petite yet curvy in that neat little suit of hers, and then there was that russet waterfall of hair—Reese immediately looked down, scooped up the proposals, and stood, before he was trapped behind his desk forever with a permanent hard-on. “Daisy, then. I really must—”

She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. His body all but leapt to attention even as his throat closed over at the unexpected contact. He shuffled the papers in his hand so that her line of vision was obstructed, and prayed like mad his body would calm the bloody hell down before she noticed.

“Can I ask you one favor?”

He swallowed hard, and wondered what she’d think if he told her the kinds of favors he’d be more than happy to extend to her.

She slid one of the proposals from his hand and placed it on top of the pile, inadvertently pushing the whole stack so it brushed the front of his trousers, making things quite worse for him. Reese had to fight the urge to sit down—something, anything, to keep her from spying his very visceral reaction to her. It was one thing to be mortified by his own sudden inability to control himself. He didn’t need to further complicate matters by drawing her attention to it. Awkward wouldn’t begin to describe the situation then.

But she seemed exclusively focused on business. Thank God. “If you would just look at the Web site proposal. It’s the one thing that would be completely separate from anything having to do with the way you otherwise promote or market your whisky. As it is something completely new for your company, it’s really an adjunct, and wouldn’t require you doing anything differently from the way you do now. I really think—”

“Fine,” he said, rather more abruptly than he intended. But she was killing him here. She smelled good, too. Wasn’t it enough that something about the—the energy she emitted just by being in the same room was enough to send his other senses reeling? She had to assault his olfactory senses, too? “I will be happy to look it over.” Anything to get her out of here.

“Wonderful!” she said, her smile as bright as the sun itself. “Perhaps I can talk you into letting me buy you an ale at Hagg’s or something—when you have the time, of course—and we can discuss it again when you’ve had time to really look it over.”

“Brilliant,” he said absently, more concerned with keeping the stack of papers in his hand angled over his fly as he skirted out from behind the desk. “As I said, I appreciate the time you invested in this. I really must get back to work, however—”

“Oh, certainly.” She quickly closed up her briefcase and followed him to the door. “I appreciate you taking time from your schedule to see me.” She paused in the open doorway and touched his arm again.

Reese fought not to groan. Or, worse yet, toss the papers to the floor and push her up against the doorframe and find out just how that delectably carnal mouth of hers would taste.

“You know, Brodie says you work too hard and don’t play enough.”

If he could, he’d have laughed out loud at that. He wanted to play, all right. “He works as hard as any of us,” he managed. “He just makes it look like more fun than I do.”

Her smile widened, stretching that bowed bottom lip, making him want to sink his teeth into it in the worst way possible. He shifted slightly, pleading with his body to cooperate, and praying she didn’t glance downward. “Well, I’ve been accused of working too hard myself.” She lifted her hand. “Guilty as charged. In fact, I moved across an ocean trying to find a little balance between work and play. I’m still trying to get the hang of it. So…maybe we could do some business together over an ale and just make it look like play. It would be a start, anyway.” She smiled again, perfect rows of white teeth emerging between lips created to drive men to their knees. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Then, finally, mercifully, she left.

He watched her walk all the way to the end of the hallway, and was still standing in his doorway a full minute later, his body every bit as much at attention as it had been the entire time she’d been there. “Right,” he finally muttered, stepping into his office and closing the door before slumping back against it. “Of course I do.” That was what he was most afraid of.

Chapter 2

Daisy paused before entering Hagg’s and gave herself a last-second hair, face, and clothes check. The leaded glass windowpanes on either side of the pub doors were thick and uneven, making her reflection waver. “Which is exactly how the rest of me is feeling right about now. Wavery.”

She’d debated with herself often over the past fortnight on whether or not to push Reese Chisholm into another meeting. She hadn’t heard a single peep from him. Though, to be honest, she wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d been less than enthusiastic about meeting with her, despite his outwardly professional demeanor. She’d had to basically shove the Web site proposal down his throat there at the end to get him to even look at it.

Getting him to look at her, however, had been a completely different matter. She shivered a little, despite the warm spring air. Even now, just thinking about the way those gray-green eyes had drilled into her, as if he was seeing right through her, made her skin tingle in awareness. Reese Chisholm gave a whole new meaning to the term intensity. He’d been smiling when he’d initially walked in, but from the moment he’d closed the office door, he’d been so intently focused on her, it had been all she could do to stay on point during her presentation. After meeting Brodie, who was the definition of “charming rake,” she hadn’t been prepared for such a deliberate sort.

Where Brodie was more the rugged hunk type, Reese was tall and lean, and even though his business wear had been a rather casual khaki trousers and polo shirt combination, he’d still come off somewhat refined in manner, almost to the point of seeming a bit stuffy. Brodie had an outgoing, engaging manner, with a brogue that thickened the more animated he got. Reese’s voice was deep, smooth, almost calming in the way he spoke—purposeful, with such measured precision. His brogue was there, but it was crisp, clean…as refined as its owner.

And yet, she found herself shivering a bit again, thinking about it. There was definitely an air of power and raw masculinity about him that had unnerved her, and later, when she’d calmed down enough to admit it, aroused her a little, too. When she was nervous, she talked faster, became more animated, and she’d known she was doing exactly that the entire time in his office. And yet every time she made an attempt to get a harness on her nerves, his gaze would connect with hers. It had been like wrapping her senses around a live wire. Her pulse had knocked up a few beats, her cheeks warmed, something would go a bit wonky in her knees…and she was off to the races.

And a man like Reese was the very last sort she had any business getting involved with. Mainly because he was business. Hadn’t she specifically said she was going to firmly separate church and state once she’d started over? For her that meant no fishing in the company pond. Or in the client pool, either. In her old life, she hadn’t had much choice. It was like actors dating actors. Who else understood the life better than someone who lived it? She’d only dated men who were as dedicated to their careers and their overextended daily schedules as she’d been to hers. BlackBerry Socials, she’d called them, as she’d scheduled them in as neatly as she did her next power presentation. After all, it was sort of the same thing, when you thought about it.

She had always thought sex was a lot of fun and had approached the event much as she did any other project, with gusto, good preparation, and perfect timing. Her partners had found her sex-tech terminology amusing rather than insulting…and invariably adopted it when they’d moved on to their next BlackBerry rendezvous.

But eventually that life began to catch up with her. Antacids were a staple in her diet, her skin was perpetually sallow, her hair limp, her nails split. Insomnia was her most frequent bed partner, and suddenly life wasn’t so much fun anymore. She was burning out, rapidly, and she knew it. Then the telegram had arrived from Scotland…and she’d taken it for the celestial sign it had to be.

Six months later, she was now a resident of Scotland. Her whole purpose in coming here was to slow down and get a life, rediscover the joy in living. It seemed she had this teeny problem with relaxing. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so teeny. But relaxed and laid back simply wasn’t how she approached life. How did anyone get anything done that way? Maybe it made a bit more sense in bed, but she’d never seemed to master that particular skill, either. There had never been enough time!

But that was all different now.

Which was why, though part of her new life plan was to operate a successful business—she still had to earn a living—the rest of it centered on eventually finding an easygoing, gentle, down to earth, earnest type who could teach her to slow down and enjoy the ride. Literally, if she was really lucky.

Her thoughts shifted back to Reese and she imagined what he must be like in bed. All sleek and sinewy and powerful, taking control and—she quickly shut down that train of thought. She was going to be sitting across a small pub table from him momentarily, and that was the last image she needed in her already fevered brain.

She’d tried to chalk her reaction to him up to nerves. He was out of bounds, anyway. After all, she had been quite honest with him about what taking him on as a client would do for her fledgling business idea. She was serious about making a success of herself here, and though she knew it might be difficult to convert the staid thinking of some of the longtime shopkeepers in the village, she very definitely wanted to contain her business to Glenbuie if possible. If she’d wanted her old life, complete with the frenetic pace, traffic jams, and endless work hours, she’d have sold her inheritance here and opened up shop in Edinburgh or Glasgow. But she hadn’t left her stressed-out city life just to trade it for another.

“Going in or just considerin’ it?”

Daisy jumped, belatedly realizing she must look like an idiot, standing there staring vaguely into the pub window. She turned to find Alastair Henderson standing behind her. “Working up my courage,” she said with a rueful smile. “How’s the hand?”

The old Scot ran the auto-repair shop on the opposite corner of the village square. He’d cut his hand a few weeks earlier while working on a car, and Daisy had happened to be nearby at the time and had offered assistance.

“Och, good as new it is.” He flashed his palm at her, showing her the healing wound. “Tried to tell you all it was hardly more than a scratch.”

Daisy happened to know it had taken seven stitches to heal the gash, but she nodded politely.

“So, I understand I have you to thank for the lovely smile my only daughter is sportin’ of late.” His tone was a teasing one. “Tried to tell her myself she should have made a play for that lad long ago, but oh no, she doesna listen to me, her dear father.”

Daisy flushed. “Kat would have managed fine on her own without my nudge.” In Daisy’s efforts to make new friends, she’d sort of helped encourage his daughter into doing something about her more-than-best-friends feelings for Brodie Chisholm. “I’m just glad to see the two of them figured things out.”

Alastair reached past her to open the pub door. “I’ll spot you an ale just the same.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile grew wider. “Kat mentioned you’ve quite a knack for matching up folks back in the States.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go in before him. “Makes a bloke wonder why a pretty young thing such as yourself isn’t likewise attached.”

Daisy laughed, even as her flush deepened. Where she had scheduled similarly minded, commitment-free men into her life with unerring precision, she’d also occasionally matched up coworkers. She had an eye for what worked…and what didn’t. Marketing, after all, wasn’t confined to mere products. Now if she could just figure out how to reach her new target audience…“You’re very kind. Let’s just say I tended to have a better eye for matching other people than myself.”

“I see,” he said, as he ushered her into the dimly lit interior. “Well, perhaps the lads on this side of the pond will treat your puir heart more gently.”

His kindly spoken words took her by surprise. “I, uh—thank you.” She smiled. “And…I hope so, too. But for now, I’m just focusing on getting my business off the ground and settling in here.”

“A thrivin’ business is all well and good, lass,” he said close to her ear. “But it willnae keep you warm at night. This I know, all too well.”

As did she, she thought ruefully, as did she. Daisy knew that Alastair had been a widower for the past ten years. The door shut behind them and she had to blink her eyes to adjust to the suddenly dimmer light. As he steered her through a small cluster of tables, a small, somewhat plump, older woman began waving at him. Miss Eleanor ran the small café off the square, and it was the worst kept secret in Glenbuie that she and Alastair had eyes for one another. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled up in her usual soft bun, her skin was smoother than that of most women half her age, but what drew the eye was the way her own sparkled at the sight of Alastair.

Daisy smiled at him and nudged his arm. “Maybe you should be taking your own advice.”

He surprised her by winking back. “I plan on doing just that. Seeing my own daughter’s happiness has spurred an auld man on to new and better things. Perhaps I owe ye an ale for that, too.”

Happily surprised by the news that he was finally going to bring their budding romance into the light of day…or the dim of the pub, as it were, Daisy patted his arm. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt your date. Besides, I’m meeting someone myself. Just business.”

“Of course,” Alastair added drolly, then leaned in close again so she could hear him over the din of clacking pool balls and shouts of encouragement coming from the dartboard area. “Dinnae make the mistake of believin’ that old myth about mixing business with pleasure. I met Kat’s mum when she came into the motor-repair shop as a young lass, looking to be hired on by my father.” He sighed in remembered pride. “Woman could rebuild a transmission like nobody’s business.”

Daisy laughed. Alastair was quite the character. And in a village filled with them, that said something. But she had a soft spot for both Kat and her father. Gauging from the look on Miss Eleanor’s face, she wasn’t the only one. “I’ll keep that in mind. Better not keep your date waiting.”

She scanned the interior of the pub now that her eyes had adjusted. No sign of Reese. He’d better not be standing her up. She made a mental note to choose a table out of the direct line of Alastair and Eleanor’s vision. She was nervous enough as it was, without their well-meaning glances. “Enjoy your evening,” she told him.

“I havena forgotten the ale. We’ll share one soon enough, aye?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, well. There’s your date now.” Alastair nodded toward the stool at the end of the bar. There sat Reese, listening to Brodie as he went on about something in his typically animated way.

“How did you know I was meeting—?”

He winked. “Small village. Big ears.”

“And it’s not a date,” she reiterated, but Alastair was already heading over toward Eleanor. Huffing out a small sigh, she resisted the urge to smooth her dress. When she’d been standing in front of her armoire earlier, agonizing over what to wear, the light summer-print sundress had seemed to strike the right balance between professional and casual. After all, they were meeting in a pub, not a four-star power restaurant. Now, however, it felt cute and flirty and that was absolutely the very last image she wanted to project. Wasn’t it?

She found herself watching Reese’s every move as she wound her way through the cluster of small pub tables. His belted khakis showed off his lean hips. But today he was wearing a pale blue cotton shirt with a button-down collar, still crisp even after a long day at work. The cut showed off the breadth of his shoulders. Had she noticed them before? And the way he’d rolled up the cuffs served to draw her attention to his forearms and hands. Big hands, she noted, as he downed a sip of ale.

Thanks, Alastair. The last thing she needed was to be thinking of Reese Chisholm as anything but a business prospect. Granted, he wasn’t quite the aggressive corporate shark she’d found herself drawn to back in the States, but he was certainly Glenbuie’s version of the same. She hadn’t crossed an ocean to get tangled up with that sort again, no matter the variation. From now on, business was business. And only business.

“Well, there’s the lovely lass now.” Brodie lifted a hand and beckoned her to the bar.

Now that was the kind of man she should go for. He was a big, lovable hunk of a guy, fun and playful, easygoing and relaxed, everything she was supposed to be looking for. Of course, he was Kat’s man now, and they were well suited. But surely there had to be more like him about. She’d heard about the youngest Chisholm brother, Tristan, sheep farmer and land manager. Low key to the point of being completely off the radar. Maybe she should wangle an introduction there. Talk about slowing down the pace. Just not Reese. The only corporate man within a hundred kilometers. And a prospective client, to boot.

Brodie pulled an ale for her and topped off Reese’s before lifting them both in his wide hands. “Why don’t you two take a table there around back and I’ll have Marta bring you out some of her stew. She’s made a buttermilk loaf to go with it that will suit you just right.”

Reese finally turned as Daisy stepped up to the stool next to him. He didn’t say anything, allowing her to decide. His steady gaze did that wobbly-knee thing to her. So she purposely glanced over to where Brodie had pointed.

“It would probably be easier to discuss this at a table,” she said, “if you don’t mind.”

Since Brodie was already carrying their glasses of ale out from behind the bar, Reese merely nodded and gestured for her to lead the way.

Don’t be nervous, she schooled herself. But she could feel him right behind her, like some sort of heat-seeking missile or something. It’s a business meeting. Focus on the bottom line.

And not his bottom line, either, she thought, fighting a sudden urge to snicker. It was nerves, that was all. She always got fidgety, talked faster, laughed too much, when she was nervous. This meeting was important and she couldn’t afford to get distracted like this.

“Here you go,” Brodie said, arranging their glasses on the small, round table. “Stew will be out shortly. Make yourselves comfortable.” Brodie winked at her, then cast a quick look at his brother. “You’re having a drink and a bite with one of the prettiest lasses in town, the envy of all around you. Least you can do is smile.”

Daisy flushed a little, wishing now that Brodie would go back to the bar. When Reese only managed a tight smile in response to his brother’s teasing, she worried that he might just get up and leave before she’d even had the chance to discuss the Web site proposal with him. She quickly pulled out her chair before either Chisholm brother could reach for it, sitting down right away to encourage Reese to do the same.

“Loosen him up a little, Daisy, okay? The man doesn’t understand the meaning of the word relax.”

“I’m not sure you’re talking to the right person,” she said, with a quick laugh. She fussed with the zipper on the leather binder she’d brought with her, then, feeling Reese’s attention shift to her, she tapped her palm on the cover. “Shall we get down to business?” she asked brightly.

“Would you like me to wait on the stew until you’ve had a chance to talk shop?” Brodie was still hovering.

“That sounds good,” she said, then hazarded a glance at Reese. He was sitting casually enough, but there was something about his gaze that made her feel pinned. Her knees knocked together under the table, and she pressed her thighs together for good measure. Damn, but the man had presence in spades, and he wasn’t even doing anything. Hadn’t said a word yet, in fact. “Is that okay with you? Or would you rather eat first?”

His gaze narrowed there a bit, or maybe she’d just imagined it. Either way, she’d gone from feeling pinned, to feeling a little like…prey. Dear Lord, this was going to be a long meeting. Because it was a meeting. Not a date. Something she’d do really well to remember. To cover her reaction to him, and because she needed the fortitude, she picked up her ale and took a sip.

Reese finally shifted his gaze back to his brother. “Give us a few minutes, will you?”

Brodie grinned. “I’ll give ye all the time you need.” There was a definite undercurrent going on between the two, making Daisy wonder what they’d been discussing before she came in. “Just give me a signal when you’re ready,” Brodie added, then finally, mercifully, went back to tend the bar.

Which left her completely alone with his reserved, enigmatic older brother. Maybe she’d been too hasty in wishing Brodie gone. A buffer, even one as intrusive as Brodie, suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She took another quick sip of ale, then put the glass back down and nudged it to the center of the table. After all but badgering his secretary to get him to agree to this, she’d been too nervous about meeting him to eat much today. She propped her binder in front of her instead. The last thing she needed was fuzzy thinking.

Pulling the zipper open, she resisted the urge to fidget in her seat. But she could feel Reese’s stare drilling right into her, and it was disconcerting to say the least. He wasn’t sipping his drink or looking around the pub. No, his attention was completely on her.

Sure, nothing to be nervous about.

It wasn’t unusual in her former line of work for her to stand in front of a conference table filled with corporate bigwigs, all eyes on her, and give a solo presentation as smoothly and comfortably as if she was standing in her own living room, surrounded by friends. So why was she hyper-aware of being the focal point of his attention? He was just another prospective client. Yes, her first and hopefully biggest client, but the nervousness didn’t feel all that business-related. Or she wouldn’t have to keep pressing her thighs together, would she? Or worry that he was going to notice the fact that her nipples were standing at attention.

“I’ve given your proposal some thought,” he said, rather abruptly.

His sudden comment after such complete silence startled her, and her half-open binder slid off the table into her lap. The contents came cascading out and slid across the polished hardwood floor. Both she and Reese moved to get them at the same time. For a tall man with such long legs, he moved quickly, crouching down beside the table as he reached for the scattered pages. Daisy had leaned down from her seat to reach what she could, then lost her balance a little. She overcorrected, grabbing for the table when her chair wobbled, and managed to pull the whole thing over with her as she slid from her seat…and landed right on top of Reese. Followed by the contents of both of their glasses of ale.

Other than the television over the bar, loudly broadcasting a soccer match, and the random clacking of a few pool balls, the rest of the noise in the pub came to an instant halt. Daisy could feel all eyes on them as she tried to scramble off of Reese. Her back was completely soaked, but at least she’d borne the brunt of the ale. Other than being knocked on his ass and having her sprawled all over him, Reese had come through it all relatively unscathed.

He grabbed at her arms, stilling her movements when her knee came dangerously close to changing that fact. “Hold on,” he instructed her, then carefully shifted both of them so she could get her feet under her. “There you go.”

Several other patrons had jumped up to help, one righting the table, another picking up their glasses where they’d rolled across the floor, and yet another helping Daisy to her feet.

She immediately reached a hand to Reese. “I’m so sorry. I—”

“Now, now, what is all this? I let ye come into my place of business to do a little courtin’ and the next thing I know, you’re tossing her to the floor.” Brodie tugged his brother easily to a stand, then watched him with a broad grin as he brushed off his trousers. “Come now, Reese, I thought you had more polish than that. I know it’s been a while—”

Reese’s glare cut him right off, but not before laughter skittered through the avidly watching crowd.

Brodie turned to Daisy. “Can’t take a joke, never could.” He ran his gaze over her. “Och, look at you. A bit of a mess there. You want to go upstairs and—”

“I’ll take care of her,” Reese said, startling both of them, and a goodly number of the other customers as well if the looks on their faces were anything to judge by.

“I can take care of myself, thanks,” Daisy said, clearly hearing the undercurrent suddenly flowing between the brothers and figuring it best to put a swift end to it. “I just need to—” she broke off when she looked down to find her notes and presentation information all stuck to the hardwood floor, sodden through with ale “—gather my notes,” she finished lamely. “Bollocks.”

Her very Scottish swearing in her very American accent made those around her laugh good-naturedly. And, most surprisingly, got a tiny crook of the mouth from Reese as well.

“I’ll take care of your papers and such,” Brodie said. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up, then come back for some stew and we’ll see what we can salvage from this date.”

“It’s not a date,” Daisy muttered, but no one was listening to her.

Brodie was looking at Reese, but before he could say anything else, Reese was turning to her and taking her elbow in a gentle but determined grasp. “Let me walk you out,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

At the moment, he wasn’t going to get one from her. Even if his touch was warm, and his hand did feel big and wide and strong propping her up. And all those reactions she’d forgotten about for a moment came rushing back in, double time and double strength. She’d worry about that just as soon as they got out of the pub and done with being a public spectacle. She’d quite probably already ruined any chance she had to get Reese to take her seriously, but that didn’t mean she wanted the entire village to think her a laughingstock. Not if she planned on doing business in Glenbuie, anyway.

As soon as the pub door closed behind them, leaving them both blinking a bit in the sudden brightness of the late spring day, she extricated herself from his hold and stepped back. “I appreciate the assistance. And I’m so sorry I’ve made such a mess of this.” She gave him a small smile. “I promise I usually manage to conduct business quite professionally and with very little spillage.”

Reese’s mouth quirked at the corner again and she found herself staring. He really was arrestingly attractive, and with all that intensity, too…even if he wasn’t her type. Well, not anymore, anyway.

“Accidents happen,” he said, his deep voice so smooth, almost melodic. “Let me walk you to your shop.”

“I can manage. If you’d like to go back inside and talk to your brother, or—”

“No, I think I’ve given Brodie enough openings for one day. I’m certain they’re all having a spot of fun at our expense and I’d be loath to interrupt.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to attract unwanted attention—”

He surprised her by letting out a short bark of a laugh. “You have little experience with village life, I take it?”

Her responding smile was rueful at best. “Very little. Guilty.”

“If you’re planning on residing in this one for any length of time, then you might as well get used to unwanted attention right off. The term ‘none of your business’ does not apply here. Best to understand that straight off.”

“So…you’re not angry with me?”

“Of course not,” he said, looking sincerely perplexed by the thought. “Why would you think that? It wasn’t as if you did it on purpose.”

“It’s just…I’d all but badgered you into coming in the first place, and then—”

His deep sigh stopped her from going on and risking making things worse. If such a thing were possible. He said nothing, however, just braced his hand on the back of her elbow once again, and resumed escorting her across the square to her shop. “If you’d prefer, I can wait out here while you change.”

“Wait?” She’d assumed their meeting was postponed. Indefinitely.

He held her gaze for an interminably long moment, then said, “Am I really as bad as all that?”

She frowned. “What do you mean? I’m the one that knocked you to the floor and got ale dumped all over us.”

Rather than clarify, he said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait. I don’t know you very well, but I’m guessing you are well prepared enough that you don’t really need those notes.”

“You still want to discuss—never mind,” she said hastily. The man wanted to keep his business appointment and she was standing there second-guessing him? Was she crazy? “It will only take a second. Promise.” She hurriedly unlocked the door and stepped inside the small vestibule. In front of her was the glass-paned door to the shop and to her left was a paneled door leading to the stairs up to her rooms over the shop. She debated a half-second on inviting him up, but decided he might take the invitation the wrong way. She’d done enough wrong already.

Not to mention the fact that she didn’t need him prowling around up there while she was stripping off her clothes. She was having a hard enough time concentrating around the man as it was.

“You can wait inside the shop, if you’d like.”

“That will be fine.”

She opened the door for him, then turned toward the stairs. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“I’ll be right here.”

She stood there, but he didn’t go into the shop. He was still staring at her. And she didn’t go up the stairs, either. She was all caught up in staring back. The moment stretched beyond the socially acceptable, but neither of them made a move to break eye contact. Her thighs trembled a little as the silence continued…but it wasn’t all that uncomfortable. Well, not in a bad way, anyway. Laugh, say something witty, run up the damn stairs, her little voice counseled. But the intensity in his gaze might as well have been a tractor beam for all the power she had to look away from it. “I…uh…” she finally stuttered.

He shifted an almost imperceptible space closer. But suddenly it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the tiny vestibule. “Do you need any assistance?”

Her entire body went on red alert. Had he really just asked her that? Really? Or had she just hallucinated what she wanted him to say?

Either way, she was in deep trouble.

Chapter 3

Dear Lord. Had he really just said that? Was he insane? Damn Brodie for provoking him, for putting thoughts of Daisy into his head that…well, okay, to be honest they had already long since taken up residence there. He’d spent the past fortnight trying to get them out, with a complete lack of success.

Now she was staring at him and he was wondering how to make her understand exactly what he’d been offering. Which he would, just as soon as he decided for himself. “Your dress…is soaked down the back.” Something his entire body was quite well aware of at this point. Trailing behind her a few steps out of the bar had been pure torture. He told himself he was just blocking her rear view from the gawkers inside the pub, but that hadn’t exactly kept him from gawking at the view himself, now had it?

The way the thin, wet fabric clung to her curves had already made him wish he hadn’t been sipping an ale for the past half-hour before she’d arrived. He didn’t need any less control than he already appeared to have. Seeing that dress all wet and plastered to every inch of her tight bum was like adding fuel to an already banked fire. One he was having an increasingly hard time putting out. Hard being the key term there.

“I thought you might need help, you see, with the buttons up the back—” He stopped short and raised a hand between them to stall her response. “Right. Completely inappropriate. I didn’t mean anything untoward.” Which wasn’t entirely true, as it happened.

Brodie’s earlier ribbing at the pub echoed through his mind. Reese wasn’t a social outcast, as his brother proclaimed; he was simply focused on getting his job done. So he was a wee bit overly work-oriented. He’d had to be for so long, back during those first years right after Finney died, maybe he’d forgotten how not to be. Brodie had pointedly asked him when was the last time he’d even thought about going out on a date, much less actually gone on one.

Reese had taken so long to think about it, his younger brother had laughed at him outright. Point to Brodie.

“I just thought,” he said absently, his mind still going in circles, “with it being wet like that, it might be tricky…” He trailed off again, realizing he was only making it worse. “I’ll wait in the shop.”

He’d glanced down, not at all used to feeling quite so utterly foolish. When he glanced back up, however, it was to find Daisy smiling at him.

“No offense taken. I know you were just trying to be a gentleman.”

She’d said it so matter-of-factly. As if never in a million years could she fathom someone like him making an advance. It pricked at him, made him want to prove her wrong. A reaction that, in and of itself, should have been a glaring warning sign. Maybe it was the ale lowering his defenses, but he doubted it. He’d grown up helping his grandfather run the distillery and he’d sampled more than his fair share of Glenbuie over the years, and knew his limits well. It would take more than a few sips of ale to cloud his judgment. What was it, then, that so provoked him when it came to one Daisy MacDonnell? Certainly not Brodie’s pointed jibes—they were a common staple among all four Chisholm brothers, of one form or another. Well, three of them, anyway. No one teased Dylan overly much these days.

He’d only agreed to see her because he knew she’d persist in disrupting his carefully maintained schedule if he didn’t settle her business proposition once and for all. And again, he knew he was lying to himself almost the instant he finished thinking it. He’d wanted to see her again from the very moment she’d exited his office.

“Would you…why don’t you come up,” she said. “I should have offered before. Excuse my poor manners, please.” She smiled. “You’ve been nothing but kind, and I—I shouldn’t make you stand around down here.”

For some reason, this only served to irritate Reese further. Why in the world he wanted her to see him as some sort of dangerous threat he had no idea. It made absolutely no sense. And yet her sudden willingness to invite him up, clearly believing herself to be perfectly safe in his presence, made him feel somehow less than himself. Not that he wanted her to feel there was any danger to her physical well-being…but he couldn’t help but wish she felt at least a tiny bit threatened by the more visceral reaction he seemed to have in her presence.

Before he could formulate a response of any kind, whether it be a tight refusal…or backing her up against the vestibule wall and seeing if she thought he was quite as harmless when every hard inch of him was pressed between those lovely legs of hers, she was unlocking the door leading up the stairs and beckoning him to follow.

“I can’t vouch for the state you’ll find it in,” she said lightly, not a care in the world, followed by that musical laugh of hers. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

He could vouch for the state he was in, he thought, somewhat morosely as he trudged silently up the stairs behind her, watching her hips sway right in front of his eyes, unable not to, and finding himself not really caring at this point how rude it might be. He had no idea what was coming over him or why it was happening, but he decided right then he wasn’t going to thwart it or shove it aside. Best to tackle it as he did any challenge when presented to him: head-on.

“Here we are,” she said, pushing open the door at the top of the stairs. It was painted a shade of periwinkle blue that contrasted with her auburn hair perfectly as she leaned back against it to politely allow him entry in front of her.

It was all he could do to keep himself from pausing in the narrow doorway, his body filling almost the entire space remaining there. How easy it would be, he thought, to turn to her, press her up against that door, and—“Please don’t let me keep you,” he heard himself say, his tone so perfectly modulated when he felt anything but, he had no idea how he managed it. “I’m sure you must be uncomfortable.” Lord knew he was. He shifted past her, part of him hoping she didn’t notice the state he was in…and another tiny part of him wishing she would. What would she do if she knew the effect she was having on him? How would she react if she had so much as an inkling as to the thoughts that were running through his supposed you’ve-been-nothing-but-kind mind?

She smiled, her laugh self-deprecating this time and every bit as endearing. “Yes, there is a bit of a chill.”

Maybe for her, he thought, feeling increasingly reckless, torn between being the gentleman he’d been born and bred to be…and the man who found his gaze drawn immediately to the front of her sundress, wanting to know just how chilled she was and uncaring what she thought of his less-than-polite perusal. He was leaning dangerously toward being the man who, when discovering her nipples were pressed hard against the thin cotton of her sundress, wanted to take them in his mouth and make sure their erect, tightly budded tips remained that way because of him, and not some aftereffect of spilled ale.

Why there was this need to claim her in some way, to make his mark on her, to feel this need to possess—Christ. He abruptly swung around and pretended to look around her second-floor flat. It was much smaller than Brodie’s, whose flat took up the entire second floor over the far more spacious pub. Having never been up here during the time Maude had owned the shop, Reese had no idea if Daisy had made her own imprint on it or kept it the way it had been decorated before. He didn’t know her well enough to have any sense of what her style might be, or if the somewhat overdone theme of morning glories and lavender truly suited her. Somehow he didn’t think so. “How are you faring here?” he asked, striving almost desperately for byplay that felt even close to normal. “You feel settled yet?”

“Mostly,” she said, clearly no longer standing right behind him.

He turned to find her crossing the narrow living room area, which butted up with the kitchen nook that faced the rear of the building, heading to the only other door. Presumably that led to her bedroom. He resolutely refused to let himself imagine what it looked like. Hopefully like something an old maiden aunt would sleep in, if there was any mercy in the world. And yet, unbidden came the images of him tossing her straight on her back amidst chenille morning glories and lavender-scented pillows…and he was having no problem whatsoever being exceedingly turned on by the prospect. Maiden aunt be damned.

“I’ve spent most of my time focusing on learning how Maude handled the shop and deciding how best to start up my own business ideas. But eventually I’ll work on making this my space up here. It’s homey enough, but…” She let her words trail off as she opened the door.

Reese had a quick glimpse beyond, enough to note the walls were a pale lemon yellow, but couldn’t see the bed or the spread across it. Not that his imagination required such actual facts.

“I’ll be out in a moment.” She waved a hand toward the settee and the one overstuffed chair and ottoman that comprised the living room arrangement. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He was nodding agreeably, intending to do as asked, and yet his mouth opened and out came, “Are you sure you don’t need a hand?”

This time she didn’t brush off the offer with an innocent smile and a wave. Maybe because this time his offer hadn’t sounded so innocent. But she didn’t look annoyed—or worse, alarmed, either. She looked…well, confused, actually. Her gaze remained on his for a long, silent moment, as if she was trying to decide exactly what he was offering. And then she’d be annoyed or alarmed, most likely.

He should just brush it off, as he’d done before. She looked at him as a potential client, nothing more. Which was exactly when he realized what he wanted. He wanted her to look at him as if he had the potential to be more than a harmless business contact. He wanted her to look at him with the same intent and interest he was fairly certain she saw on his face this very moment.

“I…” She started, stopped. And the disconcertment on her face shifted a little as he continued to hold her gaze.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked her, unaware the question was coming until he’d given voice to it.

She went more still, if that was possible, but she’d yet to look alarmed in any way. “Okay.”

“It’s rather awkward, but I’d appreciate a straightforward response. And this is an aside to any business talk we have. I’m—there’s just something I’m curious about, man to woman.”

She frowned now, wary but clearly curious. “Okay,” she said again.

“Before, down in the foyer, when you invited me up, you made it clear I don’t make you feel threatened in any way.” He quickly lifted a hand. “Which is good. I don’t want you to ever feel alarmed in my presence, as you have no reason to be.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, then followed with, “but?”

He took a step closer without thinking, needing to see her eyes more clearly, and at a closer range. She could say anything, but the eyes always gave a person’s true feelings away. At least he’d found that to be true in business. One assumed it held true in other situations. “I suppose I always fancied the idea—much as any bloke would, I guess—that, given the right circumstances, I could make a woman nervous…in a good way.”

She held her ground. Her expression remained smooth. But her pupils dilated a bit.

Encouraged, he moved closer. “According to my brother, I’m far too much a gentleman, far too much of the time. And he likely has a point. It’s just…I’m rarely provoked to be anything other than one.”

He stopped a foot away from her. Her pupils had all but swallowed up the green of her eyes. And her nipples were still quite pointedly pronounced…whether from still being trapped in a wet dress, or because of his proximity, he had no idea. But he was going with the latter. He needed all the support he could get.

“So, what—” She paused to clear her throat, her voice having gone slightly hoarse. “What, exactly, is your question?”

He’d come this far. No point in sticking to hypotheticals now. “From the moment you walked into my office a fortnight ago, you’ve left me feeling somewhat…provoked.”

Her eyes widened and her throat worked, making him want to press his lips to the side of her neck. He pushed on, knowing he’d never pursue this particular line of questioning with her again, if not now.

“Which I’m certain puts me in rather crowded company, as you’ve managed to turn a number of heads here.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly and he’d thought it impossible for her to be any more beautiful. Or arousing. He’d been wrong.

“But it occurs to me now…that perhaps it wouldn’t matter if I was provoked or not. Maybe women simply don’t see me as anything other than a nice, polite chap who—”

She surprised him—shocked him silent, actually—by bursting out with a shout of laughter, then quickly clamping a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, though it was clear she was anything but. “I wasn’t laughing at you—I was laughing because…are you kidding me?”

Now it was his turn to frown, to be confused. “I assure you, I was quite sincere.”

Which sent her off giggling again. “No, wait, don’t frown like that.” She grabbed his arm when he went to step away. “I’m sorry, really. I just…I can’t believe someone like you, in your position especially, doesn’t have a very clear idea of your impact on the opposite sex. I mean, you can be a little stuffy—”

“Stuffy?”

She blanched. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. Maybe not so much stuffy as proper.”

“What’s wrong with being proper?”

“Nothing. It’s just, you do come across as professional and all business, but you definitely—” She broke off, shook her head. “I know you said this is off the record, but I am seeing the cornerstone of my business plan going right down the tubes here. I should stop talking now.”

“No, please don’t.” He covered her hand with his own, keeping its place on his arm. “I definitely what?”

She stilled, and looked down to where they touched. “I, uh…” She trailed off, then looked back at him. “You’re really serious, aren’t you? This isn’t some kind of game?”

“What game would I be about playing? I’m all but surrendering my integrity here. It’s doubtful I’d have anything to gain by asking such potentially ego-crushing questions of you.”

She smiled a little. “It’s the way you phrase things.”

“What way?”

“Very…properly. Polished.”

“I like to make sure my meaning is clear.”

“It’s an interesting mix, is all. That crisp brogue, and your—”

“My what?” he asked when she paused.

“Your intensity.”

“My—you think I have intensity?”

She grinned. “Ah, yeah.” She held her thumb and forefinger close together. “Just a wee bit.”

He felt his body tighten again. There was a definite twinkle in her eye now…and it was most definitely directed at him. And he didn’t think it was remotely business related. “And this intensity…it’s a good thing?”

“You asked about women seeing you as anything other than a proper gentleman. You have this way of focusing on something quite intently. When that something is me—well, a woman,” she amended, “then I think you can safely say she might feel a little…provoked. In a good way.”

“And that’s why you laughed?”

She cocked her head. “You really don’t think you have that kind of magnetism?”

“Honestly, it’s not something I thought much about until…well, until I met you. Brodie poked a bit today, and I suppose it’s made me think. I do have a habit of focusing rather intently on one thing in particular. The distillery. And he suggested maybe I needed to spread my attentions around a bit. Then there you were, being quite provocative, although I’m certain it was innocently played…but you didn’t seem the least bit affected by my reaction.”

“What reaction?”

Had he been the rogue he claimed he wanted to be, he’d have pulled her into his arms and she’d have felt quite clearly the reaction he was having. As it was, he took her hand off his arm and turned her around so her back was to him. “Perhaps we should end this discussion now, before it does intrude on our business dealings with one another.”

She went to turn, but he kept her firmly in place with his hands on her shoulders. Once again, she stilled. And though he’d only intended to aim her at her bedroom door, now that her back was to him, the feel of the play of muscles in her shoulders, shifting through the thin cotton beneath his fingertips, made him wonder if there was such a thing as touching her impersonally.

“What are you doing?”

“Here,” was all he said, as he pushed her hair over one shoulder. “Hold that.”

She gathered her hair in one hand, then glanced back at him. “So does this mean we’re going to have business dealings with one another?”

He didn’t respond—he was too intent at working the damp fabric to release the top button of her shift.

She stilled, her breath held.

“Just getting the hard-to-reach ones for you.”

She said nothing…but didn’t move away, either.

Once done with the first, he attacked the second one, then debated on the third. He’d left the fabric clinging to her skin, not parting it, not tormenting himself more than he already was. And yet, there was her exposed neck, tilted so perfectly for him to access the tender skin with his mouth. Just one taste. He even found himself drifting closer, dipping his head just slightly, before pulling back. “There.” With great effort, he dropped his hands. “You should have an easier time of it now.”

She, however, did not turn back around. “Still the gentleman.”

He let out a sigh. “I suppose I’m doomed.”

She still didn’t move. Neither did he.

“And this business talk we’re going to have…” She trailed off, then was silent for so long, he finally prompted her.

“Yes?”

Once again she glanced back at him. In that moment, with her gaze intently on his, her dress half undone, and her hair moving in a curtain of silk back across her shoulders as she released it…He was forced to curl his fingers inward to keep from reaching for her right then, and damn the consequences. Whatever they might be.

“What is your stance on mixing business with…being provoked?”

At any other time, coming from any other person, the question could have only been interpreted as in invitation. An invitation to provoke…and keep provoking. But there was a look in her eye, something almost wary, that made him wonder if perhaps this was a trick question after all. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’ve never had the occasion to give it any thought.”

“Hmm,” she said, giving him absolutely no indication of the murmured sound’s meaning. “I’ll be out in just a moment.” And then she was gone and the door between them shut quietly.

Leaving him to wonder what in the hell had happened.

And just what the bloody hell he wanted to happen next.

Chapter 4

Daisy closed the door between them, then immediately slumped against it. Was he kidding? Back home, men in his position of power—even one without Reese’s good looks and intensity—always had a very clear idea of their appeal and hold on the opposite sex. Maybe it was a Scottish thing.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered a little. Which had nothing to do with the damp dress, either. Just picturing the sincerity in Reese’s eyes as he’d asked his questions made her body respond. No, he hadn’t been playing any games. He’d said she’d provoked him. She rubbed her arms, and squeezed them more tightly against the ache in her breasts. He’d certainly managed to do that to her. How could a man like him honestly believe he didn’t have the right kind of mojo to pull that off? What, were the single women of Glenbuie napping or something? Surely, even if he’d been too buried in his work to do the chasing, some bold lass would have given it a go her own self. He had to know that not only was his reserved nature an incredible turn-on, but he had the kind of intensity and focus that, if harnessed properly, could shoot laser beams or something.

The way he’d been looking at her as he’d asked her if he could be the kind of man who provoked a woman…And then, the feel of his hands on her, ever so lightly brushing her skin as he unbuttoned the back of her dress. It had been all she could do to stand there and not lean back against him, feel the length of his body bracing hers. Her gaze shifted to her bed, and her body quivered at the thought of the two of them there, naked, skin on skin, passionately entwined, rolling amongst the sheets and pillows, wrestling, teasing…Provoking one another.

There came a tap at the door at her back. She let out a little squeak of surprise and leaped away from the door, as if he could see her standing there, staring at the bed, fantasizing about the two of them together.

“Daisy? I’m going to step down to the shop, take a look about.”

“Uh, sure. No problem. I’ll be down in a minute.” She immediately started peeling the sodden dress off, feeling foolish for giving in to her urges, even for a moment. He’d asked her a couple of highly personal questions, sure. And definitely there was some serious electricity bouncing between them. Business, Daisy, stick to business. She hadn’t moved all the way across the Atlantic Ocean just to fall back into the same patterns she’d gotten herself into before. Reese Chisholm was her ticket to building a strong financial base from which to launch her small-business plan. She wouldn’t make a fortune here, but she’d make a living and, more importantly, a home. In quiet, quaint, wonderfully off-the-beaten-track Glenbuie.

She’d find a nice local lad and settle into an easy, calm, relaxing relationship. No pressure, no high stakes. Given the fact that Reese had already bailed out and gone downstairs was proof he’d also thought better of instigating anything further.

And yet her gaze went once again to the bed. There was the critical difference this time, and it was the one thing she couldn’t shake. Yes, Reese was quite confident about his role in his professional life, which he put first, investing the lion’s share of his energies into it at the expense of a more fulfilling personal life. In that respect, he wasn’t much different from the men she’d become involved with in the past.

Where he was different, however, was in his personal life. He was quite restrained there. Not taking advantage of his powerful position in any personal, private way. He was very focused on his job, but not because he wanted to improve his social standing, or gain power, or increase his financial net worth. He wanted his business to succeed in order to help his family, not for any personal measure of success. In that respect he was very different. Which led Daisy to speculate just what it would take to make a man like Reese take some personal time, maybe lose a little of that ingrained, controlled restraint. Her gaze remained fixed on the bed, the images flashing one after the other through her mind.

Reese, naked, all long and lean, sinewy and perfect, lying flat on his back as Daisy moved on top of him. Starting with his mouth, then moving down along his body, making his hips buck, eliciting guttural moans from somewhere deep in his throat. She’d slide down his body, run her tongue down the center of his torso, then take him in her hand, slide her mouth slowly down every rigid inch of his—

No. No, no, and no.

She yanked her dress the rest of the way off and tossed it in the direction of her hamper. No more carnal images, no more thoughts of exactly what she’d like to be doing to him in that bed right now. Or what she’d like him to do to her. She resolutely pulled a pair of crisply pressed, khaki capri pants and a short-sleeved yellow camp shirt from the towering walnut wardrobe that doubled as her closet. No more dresses around Reese. She’d be buttoned down and covered up and wouldn’t give romping in the sheets with him another thought. Who the hell was she kidding? She slipped on her blouse, then slumped down on the edge of her bed as she did up the buttons. She really had to get a grip.

She’d come here to learn to relax. To find peace and embrace a slower pace of life. One that didn’t involve eating antacids like candy, and where intimacy meant more than grabbing the occasional nooner with a power broker during her lunch hour.

Reese was off limits. Only his business was up for grabs. Nothing else.

She stepped into her bathroom and pulled a brush through her hair, then smoothed it back and clipped it at the neck. There. Very sedate. Quite professional. Almost schoolmarmish. There would be no more off-the-record chats with Reese. She would go down to the shop, then very carefully and precisely lay out her business plans, and do whatever it took to make him understand that refusing her services as a marketing and publicity consultant would be detrimental to his business and that of the residents of Glenbuie.

She sighed. “I’ll be happy if I can get him to agree to let me launch a Web site for him.” Which was her basic plan. Get her foot in the door, introduce him to the global world of the Internet, give him a taste of the kind of exposure his distillery could be enjoying, then gradually get him to let her overhaul his entire marketing scheme. Once the other residents saw what she was doing for the distillery, they’d surely clamor to have her help them expand their global presence as well. On a much more minor scale, of course, but one that would enable her to settle here quite comfortably. Not that running the stationer’s shop as it was wouldn’t provide her with a decent income, but she wanted to incorporate her own skills, do the things she loved to do. Just on a far more modest, down-to-earth scale.

With a determined smile, she squared her shoulders again and resolutely refused to so much as glance at her bed as she marched through the bedroom and across her flat to the stairs leading below. She’d get Reese’s business. And that was all she was interested in getting from the man.

Really.

She found him downstairs in the shop, looking at a display of patterned envelopes by the front window. His head was bent and he appeared to be giving the arrangement the same kind of focused interest he seemed to give everything that crossed his path. Including her. She felt that shivery little rush of arousal again and very purposefully shut it out of her mind. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He straightened and turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “Not a problem.” His gaze stayed on her face and didn’t so much as dip beneath her chin.

Of course, that was exactly what she wanted. That’s why she’d pulled her hair back and dressed more conservatively. She was positively thrilled that they were back on a professional footing, and the awkward conversation between them was going to be pushed aside as if it never existed.

Now if she could only have the same kind of convenient amnesia about the electricity that had crackled between them upstairs. In her flat. Not a dozen feet away from her bed. Her big, empty bed.

“If you want to come back to my office, I can show you some of the other Web sites I’ve designed and we can talk a little about what kind of thing I’d have in mind for the distillery.” She was already talking too fast and her voice was pitched higher than normal, but if Reese noticed, he didn’t let it show. He merely nodded and fell into step behind her.

She crossed the small shop floor, wending through the narrow aisles filled with stationery, cards, notepads, journals, and the like, along with a variety of ink pens and marker sets, until she arrived at the set of paneled doors in the back. One led to a tiny bathroom, the other to her almost equally tiny office. With shelves lining one wall and a desk and office chair wedged into the corner, it was more a nook with a door, actually.

Something she became painfully aware of the moment he stepped into the small space behind her, all but filling up what little available room there was. Bad idea, she thought, her body already reacting to the proximity of his, clearly with a mind of its own, no matter what restrictions she tried to impose mentally. “Um, there is a stool just outside the door. Maybe if you want to slide that in here and…”

She heard him moving around behind her, but took that moment to slide into the chair facing her desk, which faced the back wall. There was a giant tackboard hanging in front of it, with a few photos that Maude had pinned up there, along with various articles and columns she’d clipped from the newspaper, all of them yellowed and faded. There was a dried rose with some baby’s breath still entwined around it, tacked next to a picture of the shore. She hadn’t removed any of Maude’s memories or notes, but had merely made some room for her own. Notes, that is. She’d left all her memories behind, intent on making new ones here.

In the center of the tackboard was a flowchart she’d drawn up with a list of the various local businesses she intended to target, followed by a basic marketing plan for each. She wondered what Reese would make of it, and his prominent position at the top of the chart, but it would be too obvious to remove it now. And besides, she had nothing to hide here. Her plans were for the good of the town. And her own business, of course, but she hoped Glenbuie and its residents would come to embrace her business savvy as they’d seemed so willingly to embrace her.

She heard the scrape of the stool across the tiled floor and felt Reese angle himself just behind her right shoulder. It was imposing enough to be stuck in these small quarters with him after what had transpired upstairs. Having him in such an alpha position, his body seemingly surrounding hers as he leaned forward to get a better view of the monitor…well, it was nothing short of pure torture.

She moved the mouse and clicked on the Chisholm Distillery icon she’d created along with his file. Pay attention to the monitor. Not to the fact that Reese’s body was emanating heat, and hers had somehow become a heat-seeking missile. “I’ve worked on a variety of accounts over the years that have successfully marketed products ranging anywhere from imported Scandinavian furnishings to a line of Japanese jeweled collars for your pet.” She paused and delicately cleared her throat. Somehow her voice had gone a bit hoarse. “I initially worked on print ads and catalogue layouts, but eventually, as the Internet became an important tool in the global consumer market, I shifted my focus to building a Web site catalogue for my company that complemented the print, radio, and television ad campaigns for our larger clients.”

“Sounds interesting. And complicated.”

She tried not to shiver. His voice was so deep, so smooth…and so close. She wondered what it would feel like if he just dipped his chin slightly, and pressed his lips to that sensitive spot on the back of her neck. “It can be,” she said, with a bit more forced cheer than absolutely necessary. “But the beauty of it is we can adapt each Web page to the needs of the client. Make it eye-catching, inviting, user-friendly, and, most of all, memorable. So that the person browsing your site thinks of Glenbuie first the next time they buy a bottle of whisky. Or, better yet, orders it directly on-line from one of your distributors. Or, one step beyond that, plan a trip to the Scottish countryside to tour the distillery in person. We can facilitate all of that very easily, in a single, unified site that will link—”

“We don’t rely heavily on that kind of tourist market,” he interrupted. “We’re not close enough to the tour loop for that to be—”

“Nonsense. If people think you have something unique to offer, they will go out of their way.”

“While I would like to think that the whisky that has been my family’s pride and joy for close to two centuries is something unique, I’m afraid there are too many distilleries in Tayside alone to—”

“You are one of the only family-owned distilleries left in Scotland.” She made the mistake then of turning to look at him. He’d been leaning down to see the monitor, so she found herself quite abruptly face-to-face with him. His gaze immediately shifted from the monitor…to her. She felt it like a physical touch.

“Yes, we are,” he said, not so much as blinking. “But that by itself isn’t such a big attraction.”

“I, uh, it can be,” she said, struggling not to just sit there and stare into his eyes.

Finally he shifted back in his seat, which, in a way, was worse, as now she had to stare up at him. And he was dominant enough at the moment.

“It may not be something that would attract the locals,” she said, persevering. “But if you promote yourself properly to the tourist trade—”

“We’ve never really been after that market. We give tours, yes, but only as a standard courtesy. In the overall scheme of things, ’tis no’ the focal point of my business plan.”

He was such a clear speaker that his accent was all the more melodic for it. She could listen to him talk all day. And night. Don’t go there, Daisy. “I’m not suggesting you change your overall business strategy. I’m merely saying that the expense of investing in an Internet presence would be far superseded by the potential returns. It might never be a focal point in terms of income, but it doesn’t have to be that to still be a viable, cost-effective part of your business plan. Heightened visibility is never a bad thing.”

He continued to stare at her, and the silence spun out for a long moment. There was still a tension between them, no matter that they were trying to pretend otherwise. Or maybe that was just her. He didn’t seem to be having the same difficulty focusing that she did. He was probably thinking about her proposed business scheme…while she was still struggling mightily to keep from wondering what those hands of his would have felt like if he’d continued to unbutton her dress…

“I’m still not sold on the idea,” he said abruptly, proving she’d been right. He’d asked one off-the-record question upstairs. Probably because she had the kind of sunny disposition that invited confidences. Yes, he’d admitted that he was specifically asking her, but he’d apparently put aside the whole provocation discussion when he’d left her flat for the business environs of her shop. It was only Daisy who couldn’t shake the whole idea.

“What would it take for you to be able to give me a clearer idea of how the site would benefit my business?”

She blinked, thinking she hadn’t heard him right. He’d been about to brush off her and her marketing proposal, she’d been sure of it. She quickly regrouped. “I can show you some other sites I’ve developed—”

“I’m not particularly Internet savvy. I don’t know that it would make much sense to me to see other sites—”

“Well, it would give you an idea of what kind of interactive elements we can incorporate, the kind of design plans I would use. If you’d like, I could do a mock-up of something specifically geared to Glenbuie Distillery, but I don’t have enough information at this point to really do it justice.”

“What would you need for that?”

Her heart skipped a beat. He was considering it. Despite the complete lack of enthusiasm in his tone, he was really considering it. She had a toe in the door; now all she had to do was keep it there until she could wedge the rest of her in there as well. “I’d want to know more of the history and folklore surrounding both the area and the distillery itself. But mainly I’d need access to the distillery, all parts of it. I’ll need to photograph everything, and I’ll need a full tour. Someone, perhaps, who could explain the entire process in detail, in layman’s terms, which is the same language I’d use on the site.”

“Why would that matter to anyone?”

“Because people are a curious lot by nature. Designing a Web page is a little like telling a story. If you make it look and sound fascinating—and frankly, anything new can be fascinating if presented the right way—they’ll be interested in it. They’ll want to know. I’m not saying I’m going to exhaust anyone with a detailed manual on whisky-making, but the more I know, the more I have to work with.”

He seemed to ponder that for a moment.

Not content to let him think on it too long, she plunged ahead. “If you could spare someone for just an hour or two, for a more detailed, behind-the-scenes tour, with a healthy question-and-answer session, that would be a good start.”

“Start?”

“I’ll need to know more about what you do, to know what kind of other information I’ll want or need. After the basics, I’d ask that you let me wander around a bit—safely, of course—and take some pictures, get a feel for how the place operates on a normal day, maybe talk with a few of your people.” She held up her hand. “I’d be very unobtrusive, I promise.”

It was hard to tell from his enigmatic expression, but she got the impression he wasn’t all that keen about having someone underfoot.

“Just a few days. Then maybe a sit-down with you to cover any final questions I might have. Then give me a week and I’ll put together at least a basic idea of what to expect. We would then work together to develop it into something that you feel represents Glenbuie as you envision it. I’ve done some research on the other competing sites on the Internet and I think I could easily duplicate their traffic successes with your site, perhaps exceed them.” She was babbling again. She took a short moment, breathed, and smiled. “And don’t worry, this is all on spec. Nothing from you except some time and a little access. If you like what I come up with, we’ll talk contract then.”

“You sound quite confident.”

Her smile grew slightly. “If I didn’t, you’d never have given me this much of your time.”

“Quite good at your job back in the States, I’ll wager.”

She felt her cheeks warm a bit. “I did okay.”

He studied her for a moment. “I’m guessing that’s an understatement.”

She said nothing. Success had a different meaning to her before. But on any scale, yes, she’d done quite well for herself.

“So why relocate so far away? And pitch your lot with such a small village? What of your family? And your career? No matter if you have every one of us on your client list—I’m sure it won’t match what you were accustomed to before.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m here. Because I don’t want what I had before.”

“What do you want, Daisy MacDonnell?”

Oh, there was a loaded question if ever there was one.

“I want access to your distillery so I can show you what I can do.”

His eyes sharpened at that, and she wondered, for a moment, if he was as unaffected by her as he appeared to be. “Okay.”

She’d already opened her mouth to rebut his reply—then the single word sank in. She snapped her mouth shut, then smiled. “Really?” She quickly regrouped. Never give a client a moment to doubt their decision. “I mean, thank you. You won’t regret it.”

There appeared to be an almost amused hint of a smile hovering around his mouth, the corners of his eyes. It was mesmerizing, really, that little hint. “Now that I’ve given you what you want, tell me the real answer.”

“Real answer?”

“Why did you come to Glenbuie? Surely your life goal was not to create a Web site for some obscure, family-owned distillery. I know it was an inheritance that lured you here, but you could easily have sold that, remained in the States. But you didn’t. You uprooted your entire life and transplanted yourself amongst strangers. Again, I ask, why?”

She cocked her head slightly. He wasn’t making small talk. He was hardly the type. In fact, he seemed quite serious. But then, when wasn’t he? “Why does it matter?”

“I guess I’m curious to know what drives you. Success, clearly. I recognize that, as I see it in the mirror every day. But for that you could have remained where you were. Why here? Why us?”

His gaze settled on her then in such a way as to make her feel as if he could see straight through her. Or want to, anyway. It might have been business on the surface, but the way he held her gaze felt eminently personal and intimate to her. Foolish on her part, for sure, but it encouraged her to speak more freely, more frankly, than she otherwise might have. “I want a different kind of success. I don’t have any real family per se. My dad took off when I was little and my mom passed away right after I graduated from college. So my career has been my partner in life, my haven, my security. But somewhere along the line, I let it become my entire life. I let it define me. All of me.”

She paused, but he didn’t say anything, encouraging her to continue. “I want a balance. I want a blend to my personal and professional life.” She laughed. “I want a personal life, period. When I got the telegram saying I’d inherited this place from a relative I didn’t even know I had, I decided it was a sign. That if I really wanted to alter my life drastically, a life-altering change was necessary. And I knew I could always go back. But from the moment I stepped out of the taxi into the village square, I knew I’d done the right thing. Glenbuie feels like the perfect place to find the new me.”

He stayed silent for the longest moment, then looked like he was about to speak, but thought better of it. With a short shake of his head, he stood, pushing the stool back. “Then I believe you’ll find what you seek.”

Daisy impulsively stood as well, put her hand on his arm. “What else?”

He raised a questioning eyebrow in response.

“What were you about to say just now?” When he hesitated, she prodded him. “There was something else you were about to say, but you didn’t. Come on. You’ve asked me some pretty personal questions.”

He looked down at her, then sighed. “You came here to find balance. Yet, I’ve lived here all my life, and I haven’t managed to find it.”

“But you think I will?”

“I don’t imagine any goals you set eluding you for too long.”

Her lips quirked at that. “I’m not so sure that’s entirely a good thing. All that goal-setting, I mean. Maybe I need to learn how to just let life happen. It’s one thing to plan with business, quite another to plan out a personal life. It should be more spontaneous, more impulsive.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “I’m still working on that part.”

“Spontaneous,” he said, his voice dropping to a deeper, softer note. “Impulsive.”

Her heart rate kicked up a notch as his gaze dropped from her eyes…to her mouth.

“Perhaps,” he said, slowly and quite intently, “we could help each other with that part.”

“We could?” she asked, hearing the breathlessness in her voice and incapable of doing anything about it.

“Aye.” Slowly, so slowly that she had plenty of time to deny him, he lowered his head to hers.

Her mouth went dry. The rest of her…didn’t. “Reese…”

“I like to hear you say my name,” he said. He tipped her chin up with his hand, then went about claiming her as if that very goal had been his sole desire, planned quite well and thoroughly. He started with kisses along her chin, then moved to the corners of her mouth.

She sighed and leaned into him.

“Like that,” he murmured against her lips. “Just like that.”

“Yeah,” she said shakily. “Just like that.”

Chapter 5

Reese took his time before finally claiming her mouth. She could have stopped him, could have kept things all business between them. It was well beyond him at that point. Provoked, indeed.

She hadn’t stopped him. Nay, she’d sighed and leaned into him, that’s what she’d done. And turned his world upside down, even as something had settled deep inside him.

Heaven she was, the taste of her. As sweet and intoxicating as he’d wagered she’d be. He’d spent more time than he’d care to admit over the past fortnight, imagining this moment. Never once truly thinking he’d take it this far. But what she’d said, about finding balance in her life, had struck a chord in him, in a way all the teasing in the world from his brothers never would. She’d changed her whole life to find something more for herself. Such bravery, he thought, and heart. Others might see such a move as foolhardy, but to him, she’d shown she had the capacity to stand up for herself, to put her needs first. A trait he, himself, did not apparently possess.

Until this moment. Kissing her was the most selfish thing he’d done in a long time. Possibly ever. There was no good reason to cross such a line, and plenty of bad ones. And yet there he was, taking her mouth like a man starved for it. And perhaps he was.

She moaned softly as he took the kiss deeper. He cupped her face, tilted her so he could dip his tongue past those perfectly shaped lips into the decadent recesses of her mouth, and for all that was holy, she let him. Despite the difference in their heights, she fit him well, her body curving into his, making his scream more loudly with need. Heedless of the stool behind him, or the small confines of her office, he staggered backward, taking her with him as his back hit the door. Another groan, this one his, as her hands came up, braced against his chest. He’d thought perhaps nothing could top the taste of her, the feel of her beneath his hands. He’d been wrong. The feel of her hands on him threatened to unravel what little control he had left. Her living quarters were but a short jaunt up the stairs. All that softness awaited them if he only had the nerve to take them there.

At the moment, the animal she’d unleashed inside him would have been perfectly happy to have her right there, bent over the counter or up against the nearest wall. Naked, legs wrapped around his hips as he pistoned deep inside of her, their bodies glistening and—

“Hello? Daisy? Are you back there, dear? Halloo?”

Daisy went stock-still in his arms. The blood was pounding so hard in his ears, he didn’t immediately catch on. “What’s wr—?”

Then the voice drew closer. “I know the sign says closed, dear, but I saw the lights on and thought you wouldn’t mind if I dropped in to pick up that adorable stationery set I was in here looking over for my niece. I need to get it posted tomorrow if it’s to make it to her on time.”

Daisy looked up at him with much the same look that deer get when headlights pin them to the middle of the road in the dark of night. Her cheeks were flushed, her neck and jaw slightly reddened from his attentions, her hair mussed as well, half out of her barrette. Any one of them a dead giveaway, but combined, there was no way she could brazen it out and not be the immediate talk of Glenbuie. Not after the ale stunt at Hagg’s.

Reese pushed her back into the office before she could decide otherwise. “Stay here. I’ll take care of this.”

“You will? How? I mean—” She paused, shook her head a little, as if to clear it. He understood the need. “It’s just—”

“Doris Granger,” he finished for her. He’d recognized the voice. And the auld bat would love nothing more than to spread the word that Glenbuie’s newest resident had been caught in her office juggling a little more than her books. “I can take care of her. Perhaps you’d like to step into the WC for a moment.” He made a vague motion toward her head. “Fix your barrette.”

Her hand flew up to her hair, then her cheeks. To his surprise, rather than scowl, she covered her mouth and snickered. “I don’t suppose she’d believe I got into such a state unpacking the latest order of self-filling ink pens. Perhaps if I wedged a Styrofoam noodle or two in my hair.”

Caught off guard by her amused reaction, he found himself smiling in return. Immediately they were partners in crime, rather than stuttering initiates. “Perhaps. But how would you explain me?”

The flush in her cheeks did deepen then, but her response was just as direct and frank as he was coming to expect from her. “I have no idea how to explain you. I’m still working on that one my own self.”

There would be no dodging the awkward moment with Daisy. His respect for her grew. As did his smile. “I’d like to help you out with that. Give me just a moment, and I’ll gladly return and provide more assistance on that matter.”

She tilted her head, her smile growing bemused. “I wouldn’t have thought you had a teasing side to you like this. I like it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Daisy? Are you back there?”

He shot her a quick wink, so completely out of character for him, he should have been alarmed. Except he was grinning like a loon and felt as if he floated out the door of her office on a cloud. Amazing what a kiss from a beautiful woman could do for a man’s spirit, he thought. Even as he knew there was likely far more to it than that. Or could be, if he’d let it. She didn’t seem opposed to the idea.

So many things to consider, his mind was racing in a dozen different directions.

“Reese!”

Daisy’s voice hissed behind him and he turned back just before stepping beyond the first row of racks.

She made a motion of tucking in her shirt. He glanced down and realized his own clothing was somewhat askew. When had she tugged at his shirt like that? He quickly straightened things out and swore he heard her snicker, but looked up in time to see the door to the bathroom close. For good measure he raked his hand through his hair, took a deep breath, then squared his shoulders and moved to the front of the shop, prepared to do battle with the dragon for his fair maiden.

That thought made him smile a bit. Daisy MacDonnell was all woman, of that he had no doubt. Just as he knew she could battle her own dragons when need be. And possibly a few of his as well. So it was only sporting that he stepped in to help out when he could.

“Hullo, Doris,” he said, announcing his presence as he stepped out from behind the end display on the middle aisle.

“Reese Chisholm!” Her gossip radar went on immediate alert, as he’d expected. She looked past him for a sign of Daisy, and was obviously disappointed. “What brings you in here?”

He could only hope she hadn’t stepped into Hagg’s at any point this afternoon and heard the tale of the spilling ale with him and Daisy. But Doris would have already mentioned that, were it the case. “Daisy is working on a marketing plan for the distillery, updating some of our publicity. We’re neck-deep in a planning meeting at the moment. She sends her apologies—she’s on the phone getting some cost estimates.” It was a wee white lie, but he felt it was necessary to expedite Doris’s exit. “Is it possible you could come back in the morning when the shop opens again?”

The dour older woman studied him for far too long a moment. “Marketing plan, is it? What has that to do with running Maude’s stationer’s shop?”

“Yes. Perhaps you haven’t heard,” he said easily, knowing this would tweak Doris, who liked to pride herself on knowing absolutely everything. “Daisy was quite the marvel back in the States when it comes to things like that. She’s looking to add that service to her shop here as well. Perhaps you and Fergus should consider consulting with her to see if she can do anything for your place.” Doris and her husband ran the butcher’s shop on the opposite side of the square. Fergus was notoriously tightfisted, and Reese doubted he’d avail himself of Daisy’s services, but at the moment it was a much needed distraction and so he went with it.

Doris was clutching the stationery set she’d come in for. She stared at his guileless expression, apparently trying to figure out what wasn’t right with his story. Admittedly, it wasn’t a surprise that she thought it odd to see him here. He rarely did any shopping in town, usually getting his assistant Flora to help him out, or having Brodie pick a few things up for him. His needs were pretty simple. Given that he spent most of his time at the distillery, there wasn’t a need for much.

“I do need to get this in the post,” she said at length, motioning with the package in her hand. “Perhaps she wouldn’t mind if I stepped back to her office and asked if it would be okay to take this with me and settle up with her tomorrow? She knows me well enough to know I—”

“I’m sure she does, and that’s a fine solution,” Reese said. Then, taking her by the elbow, he gently steered her toward the front door, thinking if he could get her outside and the door locked and lights turned off, he could possibly get back to Daisy in time to pick up where they’d left off. It should have unnerved him a bit more, the hunger and desire she’d unleashed in him. He felt like some kind of rutting beast all of a sudden.

And he couldn’t seem to care much about thwarting it, either.

“I’ll square it with her,” he assured Doris. “Just come around tomorrow and all will be fine.” He continued to nudge her forward, having to restrain himself from bodily ejecting her from the shop.

“Hello, Doris.” Daisy maneuvered around one of the displays and met up with Doris and Reese as they reached the door. Other than a slight flush to her skin, she looked as fresh as usual. “Sorry it took me so long to get up here.” She smiled at Reese. “Thanks so much. I can handle it from here. I’ll get in touch with you tomorrow about…what we discussed. And to schedule a time for the tour.”

Reese just stood there, dumbfounded. He was being herded out the door now? When had he become the dragon?

Daisy turned to Doris. “Meet me over at the register and I’ll be glad to ring you up. I’ll be just a second.”

Doris was all smiles, so happy to have things go her way she barely gave the two of them a look. “Lovely! Such a nice girl.”

She bustled over to the counter, and Daisy turned to Reese and gave him a rather conspiratorial grin. Which further confused him. Was he being given the bum’s rush or what?

“I really appreciate you helping me out.” She leaned closer, even as she shuffled him a bit closer to the door. “I—I think maybe we’d better—or I’d better—call it a day. I need to put in some time here tonight, in the office. Will you let me know when it will be a good time to tour the distillery?”

He didn’t know what to make of her. Aye, he was out of practice, but he wasn’t that far out that he didn’t know a brush-off when he was on the receiving end of one. Perhaps he should have felt some remorse. After all, he’d pressed suit fairly hard back in her office, just minutes ago. But she’d responded…aye, how she’d responded…

Somehow he was back in the vestibule again. Once the door to the shop closed behind him, Daisy positioned herself in front of him so Doris couldn’t see past his back to her. “Reese…about what happened…in the office—”

“No, that’s okay. I understand.”

Daisy smiled then. “Do you?”

This is why he spent all his time at work. Running a company with a few dozen employees on the payroll was far less complicated than understanding the inner workings of the mind of one lone female. “Perhaps no’. Enlighten me.”

“When I said I was looking for balance between my professional and personal life…I didn’t necessarily mean—” She stopped, her smile faltered. Then she sucked in a breath and shot him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ve mixed business with pleasure before and it’s generally not done me any favors in the end. I—this is a bit different. Everything here is different.” Her laugh was a wee bit self-deprecating. “You’re most definitely different.”

“I’m no’ so certain I’m wanting you to explain that last bit.”

She touched his arm, and her eyes warmed up as she stared up into his. “I just didn’t want you to think…that what happened, in the office, had anything to do with my wanting you as a client.”

Now it was Reese’s turn to bark a short, surprising laugh. “I thought nothing of the sort. I’m afraid my ego is a wee bit shaky on this point, but trust me when I say, I was hoping your reaction to me was anything but mercenary in intent.”

Daisy’s smile grew. “Designing Web sites was the last thing on my mind when you kissed me.” Suddenly her gaze sharpened and she looked past Reese’s shoulder and gave a short wave and a smile.

Reese was beginning to have a strong dislike for Doris Granger. “Perhaps it is best that we part, give each other—how do you say it in the States? Some space?”

“Space, yes.”

“I’ll be in contact with you, then. About the tour.”

“Okay.”

When he didn’t say anything else, her confident expression faltered a bit. For the first time, he felt like perhaps they were back on an even footing, neither quite certain of where they stood. And, for the moment, that was enough for him. No sense in rushing anything. Though it would take a considerable amount of time, and possibly another ale or two, to erase the images he’d conjured of how he’d have liked this evening to go.

She turned then, pushed open the door to the square. “I’ll hear from you soon, then,” she said, all professional once again.

Reese couldn’t see who might be milling about beyond the door, but he was quite certain he had an avid audience of one behind him. And he knew it was best, for now anyway, until the two of them had time to sort things out in private, to keep things just that: private.

So what impulse drove him to pause beside her, just before stepping outside, he couldn’t have said. Not exactly. But pause he did, tilting his head just a fraction so as to keep his face averted from curious eyes, and lowering his voice so only she could hear him. “Were it not for potential spectators, I would be finding myself hard-pressed to allow even the tiniest of spaces to remain between us. For at least a lingering moment or two.”

She stilled completely. He saw the pulse in her neck jump, and it made him want to press his mouth there.

“I’ve hungered for many things, most all of them having to do with keeping the Chisholm holdings afloat. I’ve rarely allowed myself to hunger for more personal wants.” He shifted enough to snag her gaze and held it. “I believe that is about to change.”

Chapter 6

“Meet me tonight at half past nine for your private tour. The employees entrance, around the back. Nothing will be off limits for your inspection. Questions and curiosity encouraged.”

Daisy punched the button on the answering machine, but didn’t play Reese’s message again. Tempted though she was. His voice did things to her. “Everything about the man does things to me.”

Nothing will be off limits…

She rubbed her arms, but not because she was cold. No, and her nipples weren’t hard for that reason, either. Damn. Who would have thought proper Reese Chisholm could have such an improper streak in him? She grinned, unable to stop herself. Lucky her for discovering it. At least, she hoped she was going to get lucky. That had to be what he meant. Why else the after-hours tour?

She wished she’d gotten to the phone in time, talked to him herself. She punched the button and listened to the message again. It made her shiver in anticipation. Again.

It figured. She’d been sitting at her desk for the past four hours and the one time she got up to use the bathroom, the phone rang. She hadn’t been expecting him to call so soon…certainly not tonight. So she’d been surprised when she’d played the message back and his voice had echoed through the small room. The small room where just hours before he’d kissed her speechless.

She sat down in front of her desk, but nothing on the monitor registered in her brain. Her thoughts were far and away from getting any actual work done. Which had been the case since she’d finally hustled Doris out the door. The older woman had managed to keep Daisy standing around talking for close to an hour after Reese’s departure. Daisy hadn’t really minded. One of the things she loved about Glenbuie was the slower pace and the family feel the tight-knit community had, and had begun extending to her as well. It really was exactly what she’d wanted, what she’d hoped for. No matter how gung ho she was about her business plans, Glenbuie moved along at its own pace, which was stubbornly slow. A pace she was getting used to…and finally beginning to enjoy.

Sure, the idea that everybody knew everybody’s business took some getting used to, but it wasn’t much different from working for a large corporation, really. Only instead of having her business conduct examined and analyzed, it was her personal life on display. Which hadn’t been much of a concern, seeing as she hadn’t had much of one.

Until today.

Her nipples tightened to the point of pain, and she pressed her thighs together as she thought about what she’d potentially started today. Or what she’d potentially let Reese start. All those lectures she’d given herself about building a personal life separate from her professional one were falling on deaf ears. Ears that only heard the echo of that guttural groan Reese had made when he’d taken his kiss deeper. Dear God.

Thankfully, Doris—one of the nosier gossips—hadn’t really seemed to pick up on anything happening between her and Reese. She’d asked a question or two about the publicity business Daisy was hoping to launch, but steered their chat in other directions almost immediately. Daisy smiled, knowing quite well that Doris had been afraid Daisy would try to sell her and Fergus on her services. If she only knew, Daisy thought, she could have relaxed. Daisy hadn’t lived here long, but even she knew better than to put the Grangers’ butcher’s shop on her list of potential clients. Even if every shop on the square hired her in some capacity, she doubted Fergus would follow suit. Still, she’d happily followed Doris’s conversational lead.

She’d needed something, anything, to distance herself a little from what had taken place today. All of it, from the spilled ale, to the discussion up in her apartment, to the toe-curling kiss he’d delivered right before Doris’s untimely arrival. She needed perspective, needed to put some distance between her still-raging libido and rational, common sense.

Daisy had no idea what to do about Reese Chisholm. Well, that was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted to do about him, and that was drag him to the nearest available bed, strip them both naked, and get him to put his hands and mouth on her again. On every part of her, in fact. Lingering in certain places perhaps longer than others. For a man who professed to be all business with no social skills…well, he had skills, all right. In spades.

With a sigh, she shut down her computer. She’d spent the past few hours pretending to work on some details and ideas about the other businesses in the area she’d targeted after, she hoped, getting the distillery account. But she finally admitted defeat. The more she tried to shut Reese out of her mind, the more he invaded it. And now there was his invitation for tonight.

How would the village respond to an outsider pairing up with one of their own, especially when that one was Reese Chisholm? And if it ended up a fling, nothing more, then what? If she’d thought it was awkward when the man in question was a corporate peer, how much worse would it be when she had to live in what amounted to a fishbowl with the guy? And with his brother running the pub right across the square? She’d come here thinking she’d settle in, find her balance with the shop first—business was the one thing she understood—and let the rest of her life sort of figure itself out. So what did she go right out and do? Get the hots for the one guy she’d targeted to do business with. Who also happened to be the only guy in town who could be considered a high-octane executive. The Glenbuie version, anyway.

Relaxation was as foreign to Reese as it was to her. For all the reasons she’d come here, she’d be crazy to give in to lust the first time it tempted her. Most especially with him. To even consider going to the distillery tonight was the beginning of the end of her carefully rationalized life plan. She had to think beyond her empty bed upstairs, and how badly she wanted him in it, to the bigger picture. A far better idea would be for her to put her physical reaction to him in its proper perspective, then call his office number and leave a message saying she couldn’t make it and would prefer something during the day. Reese was a sharp man—he’d get the message within the message. And if her swift turnaround on the subject of them continuing any personal liaison cost her the account, then so be it. From what she knew of the man, she doubted that he would be the punitive sort. He practically wore his integrity on his sleeve.

So, she thought, emitting a long, dejected sigh. It was decided, then. She’d end this before it went any further, return their liaison to a business-only proposition, and go back to her initial new-girl-in-town game plan. So what if he made her pulse jump like no one else ever had? So what if he looked at her in a way no one else ever had? So what if he had that rare combination of intensity and reserve she’d never seen before? She thought she’d been with enigmatic, charismatic men in her past, right?

But not one held a candle to Reese’s controlled intensity, her little voice whispered insidiously. Not one had his innate ability to focus. Especially when that focus was on her.

Just thinking about that did make her squirm a little in her chair. No. She mustn’t give in to that…that need to shiver whenever she so much as thought about him. In time that would pass. It was hormones talking. She’d been here alone for six months. It was natural she’d feel a bit needy. So her reaction to an alpha male like Reese was perfectly understandable. Hell, she’d be worried about herself if she hadn’t reacted that way. Right?

She slumped down in her seat, dejected. The truth was, she could counsel herself until she was blue in the face. None of that changed the fact that, even though nipping this in the bud was the absolute smartest thing she could do, she wanted to go tonight. Badly. Wanted to see where this…whatever it was that had flared up between them, would lead. And the hell with the collective village opinion of her, the hell with keeping business separate from her private life, and the hell with not being able to hold steady to her hard-made decisions at the very first opportunity to fall right back into her old ways.

The real question was, which would she regret more? Falling off her self-imposed wagon? Or not finding out what she might have with Reese? No matter how short-lived?

Or incredibly hot.

“God, I hate this,” she murmured. Before she could second-guess herself any further, or talk herself out of it—and into more trouble—she jerked up the phone and punched in the office number for the distillery.

After getting the canned recording, and honestly, she was going to have to mention that to him—he really could spruce that up a bit—she waited impatiently for the beep. Her heart was pounding and her palms were a bit sweaty. What was she doing, turning down a man like Reese? And potentially her biggest future account along with it? Despite knowing he wouldn’t hold it against her, he wasn’t exactly gung ho on the idea in the first place. Integrity or not, this could easily be the deciding factor, and she could hardly blame him if it were. Then the beep echoed in her ear and she scrambled to sound cool and professional with her message.

“Hello, this is Daisy MacDonnell. With regret, I can’t meet with you at the requested time. Please contact me so we can set up a time most suitable to both of our schedules. Daytime would work best for me. Thank you.”

She hung up, then immediately slumped over and covered her face with her hands. “You are such a moron.” But, she hoped, this time a smarter moron. She wondered how Reese would take the message. She hoped he didn’t think she was being coy, or playing some hard-to-get head game. She felt bad enough just jerking him around this much. It hadn’t been intentional, though, which she’d make sure he understood when they did talk. Showing up tonight would have been essentially tacitly agreeing to continue to explore what they’d started today. Hopefully he’d make things easier and realize she’d had second thoughts and decided to keep things businesslike between them.

Out of habit, she turned back to her computer and was reaching to flip it back on again when she caught herself. It was late, well past any normal working hours. And there was absolutely nothing that required her immediate attention this evening. Talk about falling back into old patterns.

So she resolutely got up, flipped off the lights, and headed upstairs. To do what, she had absolutely no idea. She had Maude’s ancient black-and-white television, with its hideous reception. A decent radio, but little patience to keep skimming for something decent to listen to. She had her own stereo and music, which had provided an almost constant soundtrack for her in the early weeks when she’d felt a little homesick in a strange, new world. She’d long since grown tired of them, but had been so busy familiarizing herself with the business and making her future plans that she hadn’t gotten around to expanding her CD collection just yet.

There was always Hagg’s, which had been her destination often as not when she was looking for something to do in the evenings. But after her disastrous late lunch there earlier today, she thought it best to steer clear for a little while. She climbed the stairs, thinking she could be having a social life right now if she’d taken Reese up on his offer to mix a little pleasure with their business. But no…And there would be no second-guessing now—she’d already cancelled on him.

“You really are a moron.” But it had been the right thing to do. She knew that. Trudging up the stairs, however, she was having a hard time rousing any excitement for the evening ahead. She could kill some time folding the pile of laundry awaiting her. Then maybe she’d really get wild and read one of the murder mysteries in Maude’s extensive collection. One thing she wouldn’t do was give in to the urge to go back down to her office and work, so she’d feel productive. This was off-hours. She didn’t need to produce anything. Hell, she could even flaunt convention and leave her laundry unfolded for another whole day if she wanted to. She could waste the entire remainder of her evening lazing around doing absolutely nothing. And learn to like it, dammit. She smiled a little at that as she let herself into her flat.

She flipped on the lamp by Maude’s knitting chair and glanced down at the basket of yarn that was still tucked beside it. Maybe she should take up knitting. It would teach her patience and give her a much-needed hobby at the same time. She reached down, lifted out a soft spool of blue yarn, and rubbed it between her fingers. She glanced over at the ormolu clock on the mantel and saw it was closing in on nine-thirty. Yep, a whole evening ahead with nothing to do but sit back and relax and just enjoy the hell out of her brand new personal life.

Who was she kidding? “Yeah, well, at least you gave it a try,” she murmured, then tossed the yarn back in the basket, turned, and walked straight out of her flat, not even bothering to flip off the light.

Ten minutes later she was right where she really wanted to be, and life plans be damned. She stood in front of the employee entrance to Glenbuie Distillery, praying Reese hadn’t picked up his phone messages yet.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, then lifted her hand and rapped on the steel door. In addition to the old Renault she’d recently bought, there was one other car and two company trucks parked in the rear lot. Hopefully one of them belonged to Reese. She waited what seemed like an eternity, and had just about decided she’d blown the whole deal when the door cracked open.

It was darker inside than out, so Reese was totally cast in shadow, little more than a disembodied voice. “Change your mind?”

She flushed a little. “You got my message?”

“Aye. I was just locking up. In fact, if I hadn’t seen you on the surveillance camera, I wouldn’t have known you were out here.”

He sounded quite professional, cool and distant. Maybe she’d already blown it and he was just being polite now. She really felt like the moron she’d accused herself of being earlier. He must think her a complete flake. She couldn’t say she blamed him. “Do you—do you want me to go?”

He stepped back and pushed the door open wider. “We can still do the tour if you’re up for it. Did you bring a recorder or something, to take notes?’

“What?” Still off guard, she stepped inside the building. He flipped a switch and the short hallway they stood in was immediately illuminated. She blinked a few times against the sudden brightness. “No, I, uh…I didn’t.” She definitely felt like an idiot. She’d rushed out of her apartment and raced over here, thinking about nothing other than seeing him again, about finding out what exactly was going on between them. For once in her life, business had been the very last thing on her mind. Quite naturally, given all her mixed signals, he probably had no idea what she was thinking.

If she hadn’t been so mortified, she’d have laughed at herself.

When her eyes adjusted to the change in light, she finally looked at him, trying to determine if he was merely teasing her, or…or if he wasn’t. She had no idea how to play this without further embarrassing herself, or him. So rather than play at anything, she simply came right out and asked him. At this point, what did she really have to lose? “I was under the impression from your invitation that, perhaps this was a more…personal tour.”

Reese didn’t make a move to leave, or escort her further into the building. She couldn’t see beyond him down the hall—he filled her entire line of vision. He held her gaze quite intently. “I was under the impression from your message that you were no’ so thrilled with that suggestion.”

“I was perfectly thrilled, to be honest. But then I stupidly got to thinking and, well, it made me second-guess myself.”

He shifted forward slightly, keeping her between him and the door at her back, with little space to spare. “That whole issue about mixing business with pleasure, you mean.”

She nodded. “My goal here was to find a way to separate work from play. Or to find time to play at all.”

“I don’t believe these are work hours.”

“But taking a tour, being here at all, is work-related.”

“So would you rather I’d left a message inviting you to my place instead, then?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He still hadn’t come right out and answered any of her questions. “Is that what you’d rather have done?”

His mouth quirked a little at the corner, but his eyes were dark and enigmatic, difficult bordering on impossible to gauge. “You wanted to see the distillery. For business purposes, yes. And I’d like to show you the business my family has spent centuries building. For personal purposes. Because it’s part of who I am.” He made a short, almost self-deprecating snort. “Aye, perhaps too much, but I canno’ change that fact. If you’re going to capture the spirit of this place in order to effectively promote it, then I felt it was imperative that you see it through my eyes.”

She was mentally scrambling to keep up. “And for that you felt we needed to do this after hours?”

“After hours there is less distraction and no immediate demands on my time, so yes, that was part of it.”

“Part?”

“The other reason was maybe a little foolhardy on my part. You seem to bring out that side in me.”

“Why foolhardy?”

He shifted closer still. “You invited me in today, gave me a glimpse of yourself, your private self. I liked getting to see that side of you, getting to know more about you. And so I was hoping you might feel the same. Sad to say, but this is my private self.” He gestured behind him. “I thought to offer you some insight into me. Maybe help reduce the problem we both have about that balancing problem you mentioned earlier.”

“That doesn’t sound foolhardy to me. It sounds…” Sweet, she thought. And sincere. The latter didn’t surprise her. Reese Chisholm was nothing if not earnest and forthright. But he was also edgy and enigmatic. Not to mention sexy as hell. Sweet hadn’t been the first trait that had come to mind, or the second.

“I’ll admit, I still don’t know about the whole Internet thing. But I am curious to see what you’d do with it. More because I’m curious about seeing how you work, how your mind works.” He smiled then. “I figured, worst case, the evening would be a personal bust, end up all business, but I’d get a Web site out of the deal, eh?”

She smiled at that, and began to relax a little. “So…you do want me to take notes, then.”

“I dinnae think that will be necessary this evening.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me show you a little bit of my world. We’ll start there. You can take notes next time.”

Next time. Her heart began to thump, and her thighs trembled a bit. He hadn’t called her here because he wanted to get her naked. Although she was fairly certain he’d given it some thought. As she had. But he was right—if that was all they were about, he’d have just invited her to his place, they could have jumped each other, and gotten it out of their systems. No, instead he’d offered to share a different, but perhaps more intimate, part of himself with her. He was serious about trying to figure out how to proceed with her, with…this. Whatever this turned out to be.

It should have unnerved her, or at the very least disconcerted her. She’d caved and given in to his request because he’d gotten her hormones hopping, yes. But she was also here because she’d been wrong in her initial assessment of what she’d live to regret. There was something about Reese Chisholm that was different from any man she’d ever met. And that something had called to something inside her that was new, and very different as well. That call was only getting stronger.

And now here he was, telling her he felt the same tug, the same pull. A shiver of awareness raced over her skin as his fingertips brushed along her cheek.

“Okay,” she told him. “Show me.”

Chapter 7

Reese was surprised he didn’t lose it right then and there. Show me.

If she only had any idea what that quiet request made him want to show her. It took considerable restraint not to bury his fingers in her hair and drag her mouth to his. It still shook him, the primal way in which her very presence snatched at his control. Never had he felt so driven by impulses he had such little power over. His reaction to her should have made him run far and fast. Which had been precisely what he tried to tell himself to do when he’d left her shop earlier today.

And that argument had lasted all of the ten minutes it had taken him to get back to his office.

She’d apparently applied the same logic, or tried to…and had lasted only slightly longer than he had.

He’d spent the remainder of his afternoon wandering around the distillery in a bit of a daze, the taste of her still on his lips, the scent of her filling his head, the sound of her little moans echoing through his mind. He found himself wondering what she’d think of the place, seeing it through new eyes as he imagined showing her around, explaining the distilling process to her, the history behind it, the indefinable essence, the magic of knowing what to bottle and when. He tried to imagine what she’d make of it, how her creative mind would go through its own distilling process, taking the rather technical and not particularly seductive information and blending it with the history, the importance of what the Chisholm experience lent to the process, to the area, and blend it into a provocative on-line elixir intended to give Glenbuie whisky a global audience.

Although, to be honest, he spent more time imagining watching her, gauging her reaction to this vital part of himself, wondering what she’d think of it all. He’d been so distracted by it, in fact, that his stillman had been forced twice to ask him to come check one of the hydrometers. In the end, he’d extended the invitation for her to come by tonight, telling himself that until he did that and figured out this next step with her, he’d be useless.

Now that she was here, showing her around the distillery was the last way he wanted to spend the rest of the evening…and night. And to think he’d always prided himself on his patience. If Brodie could only see him now, antsy like a schoolboy readying himself for his first dance, he’d have a fine laugh indeed.

“This way,” he blurted out, perhaps a bit more gruffly than intended, a wee bit embarrassed at realizing he’d been standing there like a dullwit, silently contemplating her for too long a moment. “To really understand the process, we should start outside. I wanted to take you out and show you the burn—pure spring water is a crucial part of distilling, and the water used matters in the end result. We’ve been distilling with water from that spring and brook for over two hundred years, long before this was a law-abiding enterprise. But it’s too dark, so perhaps another time.” He was essentially babbling. He never babbled.

“Another time,” she agreed, and he could have sworn he heard an amused tone in her voice.

He opened the door at the end of the hall and took her elbow, guiding her around a corner, then through a large set of double doors. “It starts with barley. We malt our own.” He glanced down at her, but quickly looked away. If he had any hope of keeping even a semblance of continuity and coherence, he had to keep his eyes, and hands—he realized he was gripping her elbow now and let it go—off of her. “Malted barley is barley that has been soaked in water—”

“From the burn, I take it.”

There was that amused tone again. He slowed a step. “Aye. We soak it until the germination stage, then dry it slowly. The starch in the barley turns to sugar, which is the first stage of turning it to alcohol.” He entered a large room and turned on the overhead lights. “Here we grind the barley into grist, then mix again with water. Our mashman—”

“Mashman?”

“Aye. He rules this particular domain. The temperature must be carefully controlled. The grist is put in the mash tun—” He gestured to the large vats lining the room. “And the end result is called worts.”

“Worts.” She looked up at him. “I really should be taking notes. There isn’t going to be a quiz on this later, is there?”

Her smile eased a lot of the surprising tension and nerves he felt, but jacked up a few other internal reactions. “It’s a lot to take in, I know. But not to worry—we can go over all this again.”

“Tonight?”

She held his gaze intently. But before he could decide what, if anything, to do about it, she slipped from his side and walked over to one of the vats. “How long does the whole process take? From here to the bottle? I know it ages from that point, but—”

“Actually, it ages in huge oak casks. The kind of oak used is very important as it affects the final taste as well. We make our own casks.”

Her eyes widened. “Impressive. Actually, all of this is impressive, and I know we’ve barely begun.” She crossed the room toward him. “So tell me more about how it all began. You said something about using water from the burn even before it was a legal operation?”

He nodded. “Initially, two centuries past, there were over a dozen stills in this general area, all tucked away between burn and glen, amongst the rocks and such. And all run illicitly, as there was no way to pay the heavy taxes levied by the government. Young ladies from the village used to come up to the hills here and hide tin pots of whisky beneath their skirts and spirit them back into town.”

Daisy laughed at that. “I’ve long agreed that ingenuity is the mother of invention.”

“Aye, that it is.” He found himself smiling as well. “Early in the nineteenth century, the heavy duties were lifted and Glenbuie obtained legal license to distill, as did a few others. However, ours was the only one that survived to become a legitimate concern. I’d like to believe it’s because we’ve always strived to maintain the original methods, as much as one can, to maintain the quality even as we increased the quantity. We guard quite fiercely the specifics of our processes, not that there are any left in this area that care. We’re quite on the outskirts of the more popular and larger concerns and definitely out of the tourist loop, as I’ve said. But we’ve remained a family-held business and I’ve no plans to change that fact in order to improve our bottom line. Finney and all the rest of my ancestors would collectively roll in their graves, right before leaving them to come haunt me.”

She had gone off to stroll the length of the room, walking along the row of mash tuns, but grinned at that last remark as she wound her way back to him now. “I know this is everything to you, and I think it’s all fascinating. Romantic, even, in some ways.”

He gave her a look of disbelief, but she held up her hands. “I’m being quite sincere. I know the process itself is technical and dry, but there is a lot of the process that can’t be defined or specifically spelled out. There is a magic in that.”

“I agree. I suppose I was just a bit surprised that you see that, too.”

“You talk of the burn and the land being part of all this, land that’s been in your family’s hands for hundreds of years. Do you realize how few people can really fathom such a thing? Around here, perhaps, but think bigger, broaden your horizons. Or let me. If I can get the process detailed in layman’s terms, along with the historical background of how it all began, and I’ll need photos of all of it, including whatever you might have from the past. Also, pictures of the building now, the surrounding land, all so picturesque and beautiful, the village, too, as the distillery plays such a big part in its success, I—well, my mind is already spinning with the things I can do with this.”

His mind was spinning, too. And it had absolutely nothing to do with something as banal as an Internet Web site. Her eyes were shining and her speech had picked up pace, along with the animated hand gestures and body language. She captivated and commanded his full attention.

“What?” she asked, a bemused smile curving her lips as she noticed he was staring. “Am I sounding like a hopeless optimist here? Because I am very much one in this case. It’s a slam dunk, Reese, trust me. I know these things.”

He wasn’t quite certain what a slam dunk was, but assumed it was a good thing. “I was just thinking that you have as much natural enthusiasm for your job as I do mine. I find that…intoxicating.”

She flushed a little, but her smile widened. “Good. Then maybe you’re beginning to trust my judgment a little.” Their gazes caught, and held a little longer. Then she cleared her throat and made a vague gesture to the room behind her. “So, what is the next step? The casks?”

He shook his head, but made no move to continue the tour. “That stage comes later. Much later.” He, on the other hand, wanted to come a great deal sooner. Bloody hell, but starting this up with her tonight of all nights, after the afternoon they’d shared, had been a daft idea.

It was important to build the right foundation, handle these new feelings with care, and not to go blundering in, all rampaging libido and lustful urges. Perhaps he should have given himself a wee bit longer to cool off.

He should have headed home hours ago, taken a long shower—or a quick dip in the icy cold burn—and crawled into bed with some ponderous historical treatise or other. Anything to get his mind off of Daisy MacDonnell for a long enough stretch that his rampaging…well, rampaging lots of things…calmed down.

But he hadn’t gone home, had he? He’d invited her here instead. So now not only had she invaded his thoughts, she’d invaded his personal space as well. The space most important to him, anyway. He’d never be rid of her now—she’d linger on in his thoughts ad infinitum. He’d picture her smiling face, hear her laughter echoing through the cavernous room, for some time to come, wouldn’t he now?

“Lead on,” she said brightly.

Eyes dancing, mouth curved ever deliciously so…he didn’t want to be rid of her. In fact, he found himself craving quite the opposite.

“Is something the matter?”

“Loaded question, that,” he said, the words barely more than a murmur.

She moved closer, so she could look up into his eyes. “I know this is a personal part of you and it means a lot to me that you’re sharing it with me. I’m just having a hard time switching off the other part.” She grinned. “Big shock, I know. But don’t think I don’t appreciate it on both levels—I do. I won’t burden you with the dozens of questions popping about in my head, honest. I’ll let you lead and just absorb as much as I can, but I’ll want to come back when I can spend more time, maybe talk to the people who work here, get a few testimonials, maybe from the locals, too, and—” She cut herself off and let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m stopping, right now. Promise.” She made a gesture as if she was zipping her lips. Which made his body twitch hard with the need to taste them again.

She was so animated, so certain of herself. Of him. He grinned.

“Wow,” she told him. “You should do that more often.”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“Grin. Flash those white teeth. It’s…” She merely blew out a breath and shook her head. “Lethal is the word that comes to mind.”

“I smile. Don’t I?”

She gave him a rather pitying look. “You’re quite serious, actually. But it’s part of your edge.” When he continued to frown, she bumped his elbow with hers. “Come on now, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious about it. You smile, yes. But that grin…” She shook her hand as if to say “shew.” Then she reached up and pushed at the corners of his mouth with her fingertips. “It’s no’ so hard now, is it?” she said.

His lips twitched.

“See?” she said, in obvious delight.

He impulsively captured her fingers before she could pull her hands away. “You’ve a horrible Scots accent, you know.”

“Have I no’?” she said, proving his point, then laughing at herself.

“I used to be better at that,” he said.

“Well, yours might be a bit more on the proper side, but—”

“There’s that word again.” He shook his head. “I’ve no doubt you’re right. But that’s no’ what I meant. I meant laughing at myself. You’re right—somewhere along the way I’ve allowed myself to become far too serious a man.”

“Maybe you’ve had to be. I can’t claim to understand what it would be like to have the burden of my entire ancestry on my shoulders. I’ve only had to handle my own, and I didn’t do so well. Brodie has told me some of what you all face with your property and the family holdings.” She shook her head a little. “So I shouldn’t tease you like that, but that’s all it was, you know. Teasing.” She smiled a little, even as he held her fingers still in his grasp. “Something about you provokes me.”

He smiled then, and lifted her fingers to his lips. “You’re like some kind of russet-haired pied piper, you know. You even have me believing in this modern virtual world. And I don’t care a bloody whit about it.”

Stung slightly, she pulled back.

“No,” he said instantly, tightening his grip, pulling her closer. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He hated that he’d dampened even a flicker of the excitement that lit up her face. “I meant that if you can make even a doubter like me think that the arduous process of distilling malted barley into whisky can be made to sound like some kind of magical and fascinating subject to anyone other than a Chisholm, so that someone would willingly spend their free time reading about it, then I have no doubts of your ability to convince these supposed flocks of Internet wanderers as well.”

She stilled, even as the energy emanating from her very being seemed to crackle in the air between them. “So, you’re saying you’ll let me do it then?”

He nodded. “Aye.” His hands were already on her, having tugged her close by the elbows. “I’ll allow you your access. You can hound my mashman and badger my still manager with your eager questions.” He was certain they’d find her intrusion into their busy schedule as charming and undeniably appealing as he did. And if they didn’t, well, they could answer to him.

“Oh, Reese.” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

He wrapped her in his arms, and couldn’t recall a moment in his life when he’d felt so…weightless. An odd word, but it was the one that floated through his mind. As if the worries of the world were lifted and all was right and in balance, at least for that space in time when she was beaming at him as she was now.

“You won’t regret it,” she vowed. “I promise you that. We can sign a contingency contract based on traffic and hits-per-month, then—”

He silenced her excited chatter with a kiss. It was well beyond him then to stop. She’d have to be the one to tell him he’d crossed a boundary, that she wanted their liaison to be a professional one only. Because he’d discovered in the past fortnight, and most definitely in the span of the last hour, that he wanted far, far more where Daisy was concerned.

And though he’d certainly honor her wishes were that the case, he discovered something else about himself in that moment. All the parts of him that he’d invested in making Glenbuie whisky continue to be a success, for both family and the villagers, the drive he felt, the determination to succeed…was now being channeled in a wider direction, with some of it circling back to him, to his needs, his wants. He wanted Daisy MacDonnell. And by damned he was going to fight for this with the same energy he’d bring to bear on anything else that mattered to him And she already mattered.

He wove his fingers through that glorious russet waterfall of hair and shifted her mouth so he could plunder it fully. She accepted him, allowed him in, with a satisfied groan that only served to wind him up further. “Daisy,” he murmured against her lips, breathing heavily as he ran the edges of his teeth along her jaw. The very taste of her made him voracious with hunger and need.

“I know,” she said, her own breath coming in short gasps as her fingertips dug into his shoulders. “It’s crazy. But I don’t want to stop this. It’s different here. My whole life is different here. For the first time I feel like I do have a life. And—well, I want you in it. And not just as a client. I’d—I’d even give up the whole Web site idea if—”

“Nonsense. And maybe you need to think about this a different way. Things are different here. We can make time if we want to. But honestly? I dinnae want only one part of you. Who you are in here—” He tapped her forehead. “Your brilliant business mind, all that creativity, spark, and boundless energy for doing what you love, is also a part of who you are here.” He pressed two fingers over her heart. “I wouldn’t cheat myself by only wanting half of you.”

Her eyes went a little glassy at that. “I never thought of it that way. I would have to say the same. About you. I can’t imagine only knowing you away from this. It’s the heart and soul of you.”

He grabbed her fingers and kissed their tips. “I think perhaps I have a wee bit of room left over there.”

She grinned again, and sniffled. “Yeah? Well, it’s quite possible I might as well.” She turned his hands and kissed his knuckles. “Maybe this balancing life stuff isn’t so hard as I’ve been making it out to be. Maybe I was trying too hard to separate it so completely. I don’t guess that would have really worked out.” She grinned. “I’m a complete package. All or nothing.”

“I want all.” Then he swung her up in his arms, eliciting a squeal from her.

“We’ll just have to make time away from our business parts.”

He grinned. “Not a problem. I have a real thing for your personal parts, if ye havena’ noticed.”

She giggled. “Well…it’s closing in on midnight, and here we stand, doing business. We’re a hopeless lot, the two of us, aren’t we?”

“At the time, it seemed the only way I could have any part of you, so I selfishly took it. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have you here after hours because it was the only way I might get you all to myself again, even as nothing more than a business associate.” He was already striding from the room, kicking at the double doors and swinging them both through them.

“I rather hope you don’t carry your other associates around like this. Or kiss them breathless, either.”

That made him smile. “I make you breathless?”

She laughed. “I know, the way I chatter on, that’s quite a feat.” She tightened her hold on his neck. “But yes,” she said more quietly, “yes, you do. And it’s bloomin’ wonderful.”

She toyed with the edges of his hair, sending increasing ripples of arousal through him that threatened to undermine his ability to get her out of this building and off to where he wanted her most. In his bed. Beneath him.

“I could walk, you know.”

“I rather like having you in my arms,” he said, moving down the short hall now to the employees’ exit. “I feel as if I’ve waited centuries to get my hands on you, and I’d like as no’ to keep them on you as much as possible, if you dinnae mind.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, pressed her lips to the side of his neck, right on his pulse. “No,” she murmured, kissing him again. “I dinnae mind, a’tall.”

He stopped just short of the exit and turned her toward the wall, pinning her there so he could lift one hand to her head and tip her chin up to his. “Come here,” he told her. “I can’t wait another second to—” And he didn’t. His mouth found hers as if it had been its destination for years. She opened for him and he slid his tongue into her mouth, dueled with hers, then let her pull it deep and tight. As she pulled and suckled him, his hips moved of their own volition, pressing against her, the rigid length of his cock straining to be released, to be taken into her mouth just as his tongue had been, to be suckled just like that, in confines so tight and wet and—he growled and let her slip from his arms.

He shifted her back to the wall and pulled her thighs over his hips, pinning her there so he could bury himself, as much as he could, between her thighs. Now she was moaning, squeezing him tightly between her legs, driving him bloody starkers.

“Hold on,” he commanded, wrapping his arms around her and swinging her from the wall. He pushed open the door to the back lot, not bothering with the lights or the locks.

“Where are you taking me?” She kissed the side of his neck, then teased him with a light bite along his pulse, then another on the lobe of his ear.

“Not much farther than this parking lot if you dinnae stop what you’re doin’.”

She laughed against his fevered skin. “You mean this?” She nibbled the lobe of his ear, then ran her tongue along the outer rim. Then she dropped kisses all along his jaw, interspersed with more teasing nibbles. “Or this.”

“You enjoy teasing, do ye?”

“Oh, aye, that I do,” she informed him, her accent just as lousy as ever, and driving him absolutely mad with it anyway.

“Well,” he said, crossing the lot and climbing the hill just beyond it. “So do I. We’ll see how well ye like it then, when it’s my turn.”

The short hill was rocky but there was a narrow path, one he’d walked so many times since he was a wee lad, he knew it even in the dark. The moon was close to full and cast the glen beyond in an unearthly glow. He could hear the babbling sounds now, of burn running over rocks. Ahead, on the other side of the stream, was the dark shadow of a stone croft.

“What is this?” she asked, then squealed as he waded through calf-deep water without concern for clothing or leather shoes. “Reese!”

“Now ye’ve seen the burn.”

She laughed and tightened her hold as she tried to turn and look over her shoulder to where they were headed. “Where—”

“This was the original legitimate distillery. Or a part of it, anyway, before my ancestors began building down below. We renovated it some time back, preserving it, thinking to add it to the tour, but I ended up renovating it again.”

“Into what, an office?”

He stepped up on the small porch and slipped a key from the frame over the door. “No,” he told her, pushing open the door. “As my home.”

Chapter 8

Reese slapped his hand on the wall as he kicked the door shut and a small lamp illuminated the room, filling it with a warm glow. Daisy had little time to notice the interior of Reese’s home, other than it was small, cozy. The main floor was one big room, much like a cabin, with a living area that opened up to a kitchen and dining area on the opposite side. A big potbellied stove was situated in the center of the room, where it could heat both living area and dining area. Beyond that, she saw little as he carried her straight to the spiral, wrought iron stairs that ascended to the upper floor at the far side of the room. “Hang on,” he told her.

“Reese, your shoes. Your pants. You’re tracking water—”

He silenced her with his mouth on hers, and she willingly sank into him. For a man who claimed to be all work and no play, he sure knew how to kiss. There was nothing tentative about the way he took her mouth, exploring, teasing, taking. He dueled with her tongue, coaxing her into his mouth, before sliding into hers. He groaned when she sucked on him, which made her squirm in his arms. Carnal images flashed through her mind, of exactly what she’d do as soon as she got him upstairs and naked. She wanted to make him growl, she wanted to make him buck his hips helplessly against her, she wanted to make him lose control.

And then she wanted to let him do the same to her.

The way things were going, she might not make it out of her clothes before climaxing. Wrapped around him as she was, she knew his body was lean and hard. Some parts more than others, she thought, tightening her thighs around him, pulling the rock-hard length of him closer to where she needed it most. She felt constricted by her clothes; so stuffy and hot, she wanted to claw them off. As he moved his attentions to the side of her neck, running his tongue along her pulse point, nipping her earlobe, then kissing her again, she wanted nothing more than to strip down and feel his mouth on every inch of her body, feel his skin brushing hers, tangle herself up with every lean, hard inch of him.

They topped the stairs and he flipped on another small lamp, but she didn’t look around—her gaze was solely on him. She’d never seen anyone look at her the way he was right at that moment. Need, desire, want, all so focused, so intent. She shivered in anticipation, so very glad she’d reached for what she wanted. If her goal was to find a life outside of work…well, she doubted she’d be thinking of anything work-related for the duration of the time he kept looking at her the way he was right then.

“You’ll have the grand tour later if ye want,” he said, his voice roughened with need. “But no’ now. I can barely take my hands from you long enough to gi’ you yer balance.” His accent was more pronounced now, his voice gruffer and not remotely polite or stuffy. The intensity only served to heighten her need further.

He shifted so she could unhook her legs and slide down his body, making them both groan a little. She wasn’t sure her legs would support her at this point, she was so close.

He settled his hands on her hips, keeping her body up against his as she steadied herself. She reached for his face, to pull his mouth back down to hers, but he moved back, just slightly. “Yer sure o’ this, Daisy? Sure of me?”

“I’d have stopped you long before now if I weren’t. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Ye need to know—you’re no passing fancy for me. I dinnae believe in just carrying on for the sake of it. I should be courting you properly, doing this right, makin’ ye see we can find a balance first, and—you’re around me for five minutes and I can’t think straight. I’m no’ handling this properly and I shouldn’t chance ruining anything by rushing—”

She grinned. “Reese.”

“What?”

“Get me naked and make love to me properly. We’ll balance the rest later.”

“Dear God in heaven,” he breathed, sounding so relieved. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He’d been so confident, so certain, so assured in the way he’d literally carried her to his bed. She hadn’t realized he’d been nervous or worried. That he had been, that he’d stopped long enough to ask her, when it was clear she wouldn’t have stopped him from doing pretty much anything he wanted to her, made her heart swell, and tip even further in his direction. She stroked the side of his face, then curved a hand around the back of his head and tugged him down to her, while simultaneously unbuttoning his shirt with the other. “I’m asking,” she said softly. “Take me to bed, Reese Chisholm.”

“Och, Daisy, the things you do to a man.” He pulled her into his arms, trapping her hand between them.

“The only man I want doing anything to me, is you.”

He took her mouth again, only this time there was a fierceness to it, a visceral edge, as if he were claiming her instead of merely joining with her. His hands slid down her back, then up beneath her shirt as he took the kiss deeper.

She moaned at the feel of his hands against the bare skin at the small of her back. She pressed against him, wishing she was still straddling him as her hips were too far below his to match need for need. She yanked his shirt from his waistband, but he grabbed her wrist. She looked up him, surprised to find him grinning. He really should do that more often. It did things to her. Really amazing things.

“You said I should get you naked. I dinnae recall there bein’ any talk of myself.”

She smiled back. “I assumed that was understood.”

He spun her around and laid her back across his bed. It felt like she’d fallen through a cloud. “Oh,” she said in surprise, then followed that with a deep sigh of appreciation. “Wow.”

One side of his mouth curved in a wicked grin. “And I’m no’ even undressed yet.”

She laughed, really enjoying this side of him. She hadn’t thought she could feel any needier. She’d never been more wrong. “I was talking about your bed. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt.”

“I can but hope that’s the only thing you find soft this eve.”

She pushed up on her elbows and very deliberately let her gaze run over him from head to toe, and, with lingering appreciation, back up again. “I don’t believe that will be a problem.”

His eyes flared and she squirmed on the bed. She pressed her thighs together against the growing ache between them. He pushed his knee between her legs, parting them as he bent low over her, toying with the buttons on the front of her shirt. “I want tae see all of you, Daisy.” He plucked her buttons open one at a time, pushing her shirt apart as he did.

Her hips bucked a little and her nipples were hard as rocks. Between the rough accent and the look in his eyes, she was all but quivering at this point. She wanted to grab him, any part of him, and put it where she needed him most. She wanted his mouth on her breasts and the rigidly hard length of him buried deep inside her. She groaned at the very idea, as he continued his excruciatingly slow removal of her clothes.

He released the front catch of her bra and bared her to him. The cooler air brushed over her hot skin, making her nipples tighten further. Her back arched of its own volition as her body tried to get closer to his touch.

“You’re lovelier than I even imagined.” He glanced from his approval of her bare breasts, to her eyes. “And I’ve imagined you plenty these past weeks.” He pushed the flimsy bra and shirt aside, completely baring her to him.

She was trembling for his touch, so highly aroused the very air on her skin made her moan. “Reese,” she pleaded.

“Oh, aye,” he assured her. “A man could get drunk just on the vision of you.” Slowly, so slowly she thought her heart might burst from her chest, so fast it was racing, he lowered his mouth to her. With the tip of his tongue, he circled her nipple, jerking a cry of pleasure from her. She reached for his head, wanting more than that teasing tip, but he swiftly pinned her wrists over her head with his hand. “Allow me this pleasure.” He glanced up, his eyes almost completely black in the low light. “We’ve all night, after all.”

She moaned and let her head drop back on the bed. Dear God, she wasn’t sure she’d survive this slow, intoxicating torture. She was used to calling the shots. Men claimed they liked to be in control, but she’d never met one yet that minded a woman taking over and giving all her attention to his pleasure. In her past life, she’d always been pressed for time and found it saved a lot if she just took matters into her hands, as it were.

But now…here…tonight…She squirmed beneath his continued attentions. Relaxing was near to impossible in this situation. She wanted to urge him to go faster, to get on with it…and then he took her nipple between his lips and slowly suckled her, almost making her climax right then and there.

His groan of pleasure, almost a growl, as he continued his exploration, kept her from dragging her hands free and rolling him to his back. If she straddled him, she seriously doubted he’d stop her. She could quite clearly see the effect she was having on him, and—“Oh,” she gasped, when he pulled on her nipple, then let it pop free. Only to make her gasp again when he did the same to the other. God, but that felt…“Ohh,” she groaned, her hips moving again without her consent. Her arms went limp, her wrists his to control. “Don’t stop that,” she pleaded, when he shifted his mouth away. “That’s—” It was her turn to growl when he again suckled her nipple. She’d never felt such a direct connection between them and the intensely pleasurable ache between her legs.

Assured she would keep her hands above her head, he slid his hand down her arm, then slipped it behind her back, arching her to him, so he could pull her bra and shirt completely off. He kept his tongue—and teeth—busy on the budded tips of her breasts, until she thought she’d go mad if he didn’t pay attention to her—“Yes,” she moaned as he laid her back against the bed, and let his tongue draw a lazy trail down the center of her torso.

She’d spent so much time imagining doing this very thing to him, she’d neglected to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end. It was doubtful she could have done it justice, anyway.

He toyed with her nipples, rolling their damp tips between his fingers, then shifted to unbuttoning and unzipping her pants. With little urging, she lifted her hips so he could slide them off. Her sandals fell to the floor along with them. All she had on was string bikini panties of pale yellow cotton, which he left on. Much to her initial dismay.

Soon, however, she found she didn’t mind so much.

He pulled her toward him so he could kneel at the edge of the bed between her thighs. Her arms extended over her head and lay there, limply, as she focused exclusively on the delicious sensations he was creating by running his tongue along the elastic edge of her panties. Normally, by now she’d be dragging clothes off of her partner, in somewhat of a frenzy to get on with it. Said partner rarely ever minded, of course. There was always more work to be done, deadlines to be met. Pleasure was something scheduled in between client meetings and sales conferences.

At the moment, she couldn’t imagine there being anything more important in her entire world than what Reese Chisholm was presently doing between her thighs. In fact, the only urgent thing about this moment was the anticipation of what else was to come. Mainly her, and soon, if—“Oh, please, you have the rest of my life to stop doing that.”

She felt, rather than heard, him chuckle. He teased his tongue down the center of the cotton panel, then pulled it between his lips, soaking it further, teasing her through the wet fabric until she wanted to claw them off and let him finally, blessedly, get to where she needed him to be. In fact, she was lifting her hands to do just that when he pressed her hips to the bed. “Let me play,” he said, glancing up at her. “I’ve waited too long for this. I dinnae want to rush.”

Who could turn down such a sincere request? Not her, as it turned out. She let her arms go limp once again, then a split-second later arched her back sharply as she gasped when he pushed his tongue against her.

He slid his hands down her hips, and, with excruciating slowness, peeled the straps of her bikinis down with him. He kept his tongue pressed firmly against her as he slowly, oh so slowly, peeled back the damp cotton. As the night air brushed her damp curls, she bucked against his mouth, cursing the thin layer of cotton that still separated that devil of a tongue from her—“Yes!” She thrust her hips against him as he finally pulled her panties down enough to let his tongue slip up and over her, then plunge deeply inside of her.

She bucked almost violently as she climaxed instantly. Again and again, the waves of it rushed over and through her. She was reaching for him again, wanting him to slide up and push the best part of him into the now throbbing, wet, and waiting part of her. Once again, he stilled her by pinning her hips to the bed.

“Surely there is another,” he murmured against the damp skin of her inner thigh.

“Another?” she asked weakly. She was still feeling the twitchy aftershocks of the first one. Usually she’d be well on her way to milking the one and only orgasm she was lucky to get for all it was worth, by taking her partner for his final, climactic ride. Meetings were scheduled. No time to tarry and linger. But she wasn’t in D.C. anymore.

She was in the Scottish highlands. In a small stone croft. With a man who wasn’t in the least bit of a hurry. Here it was, closing in on midnight. And there were no meetings scheduled, no early morning conference calls to take, no clients to pick up from the red-eye at the airport. In fact, the only thing she had on her agenda for the rest of the night, and quite possibly the rest of her life…was—thank you, God—more of this.

“Another,” she repeated, then smiled like the Cheshire cat as she stretched and released a deep sigh. For the first time in her adult life, she felt well and truly at peace. “Why, I believe I will.”

Another chuckle tickled her skin, making her twitch. He teased her with the tip of his tongue, softly, gently, building her up again. He drew fingertips across her stomach and up to her now neglected nipples. Toying with them again made her squirm. What he was doing with his tongue only heightened the sensation. He took her up slowly this time, let her roll her hips, find her rhythm with him. And just when she was close, he slowly slid his finger inside of her.

She gasped, and quite deliciously peaked all over again, squeezing hard against his finger, pushing up against his tongue, squirming against the way he flicked the tips of his fingers across one nipple, then the other. The waves rolled, and rolled, and she thought they’d never stop. She was still riding the crest when she felt him grip her hips and slide her back up the bed.

She hadn’t realized her eyes were shut, her neck arched, until she felt his bare skin brush hers as he moved his body up between her legs. Her eyelids, so heavy now, opened to discover the absolutely brilliant sight of a very naked, very aroused Reese Chisholm. She was so drowsy, so sated, her body so sunken into the puffy down bed, she had to work to form words. “My turn,” she mumbled.

He smiled. “You’ll have your go at me, I assure you. But I’m not quite done with my turn yet.”

“I wanted to undress you.”

“The very next time I have clothes on, you have my full permission to take them off.” He settled his weight between her legs and she could feel him so hard, the damp tip of him ready for her. “But I confess I don’t plan on donning any for the foreseeable future.”

“Brilliant.” She groaned, bucking her hips against him, trying to get him to push every one of those brilliantly hard inches inside of her. “Good show.”

He nuzzled the side of her neck, bit her ear, and the brush of the hair on his chest teasing her so sensitive nipples made her back arch again.

“Your accent needs a lo’ of work, luv,” he told her.

“So teach me.”

“Come here,” he said softly, but with a quiet urgency that had her turning her head and opening her eyes once again.

“What?” she said, his lips so close to hers now that when she spoke, they brushed each other.

“I just wanted to be looking into your eyes, the first time I did this.” And with that, he gripped her hips, lifted her slightly, and drove fully inside of her.

His growl was low, long, and intensely gratifying. He stayed deep, pressing his forehead against her hair, his breathing uneven. “Bloody hell. I’m no’ going tae last long, I’m afraid.”

She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him even deeper. “So?” And she laughed as she began to move beneath him. “You in a hurry to go somewhere?”

He grunted, tried to hold back, but a split-second later he gave in and began to match her, thrust for thrust. “Nay. I’ll be…right here…until ye kick me off.”

Then he buried his face in the curve of her neck and took her with him until they were both panting and grunting, their bodies slapping together as they both went about staking their claim on one another. And that was exactly how she felt. Both taker and taken.

“Daisy,” he panted, nudging her face back to his. They were both glistening with sweat, and he felt so incredibly good inside of her.

“Right here,” she told him, staring into his eyes. And she realized right then that if she’d been looking for home, she’d just found it.

“Aye. And that’s where ye’ll stay, if I have a say in the matter.” Then, as his back arched, he pulled her legs up higher and buried himself as deeply as he could, shuddering through a climax that rocked them both.

He gathered himself up and rolled from her, taking her with him, nestling her against his chest as they both stared blindly at the walls and fought to catch their breath. He toyed with the long strands of her hair, she stroked the crinkly soft hair on his chest. “What say tomorrow we take a grander tour,” he said at length, his voice still a bit rough.

Fighting a yawn—when had she ever felt so replete?—she smiled and propped her chin on his chest. “What sort of grand tour? And would this be an after-work excursion? Because I have this new client, and I hear he’s quite demanding.”

He surprised a squeal out of her, rolling her swiftly to her back and pinning her amidst the pile of bedding. “Aye, that he is.” He wiggled his eyebrows and it was so completely out of character with the man she had so swiftly fallen for, that she burst out laughing. He immediately adopted a mock wounded look. “A bloke could get a complex now.”

She quickly reached up to stroke his face, knowing quite well that the smile now curving her lips was decidedly wicked. “The only complex you’re going to have is figuring out how to juggle my demands with yours.”

His eyes widened. So did his smile. “Really, now. You don’t say.”

“I do say.” She slipped her hands down his back and over his buttocks. Finely formed as they were, she lingered there a bit.

He pinned her wandering hands back over her head. “About this tour…”

“I thought I was already taking one. And quite grand it ‘twas.”

“Yer accent wavers between Scot and a nice Irish brogue.”

“I guess you’ll have to work on me. It. I meant it.”

“Sure ye did.” He grinned, nipped at her bottom lip, then took it in his mouth, before slowly turning it into a long, savoring kiss.

She sighed deeply when he lifted his head, and stretched languorously beneath him. “I could get used to that.” She bumped her hips up. “And this.”

“Good. I don’t fancy lettin’ ye go anytime soon.”

Any other time in her life, she’d have already been in the bathroom, washing up, gathering clothes, checking her BlackBerry. At the moment, she couldn’t fathom why anybody would want to do something as mundane as think about their job. Ever. “So…about this tour…”

He rolled to his back and took her with him so she sprawled across his chest. “I was thinking perhaps we’d play hooky.” When she raised her eyebrows, he mimicked her. “Aye, I know. Scandalous behavior for two such fine, upstanding citizens.”

She pretended to ponder the idea. “Do you think the village will recover?”

“I’m fairly certain they will get on for a few hours without loading up on the latest stationery, and the whisky will age perfectly well without my constant attention.” He reached up and kissed the tip of her nose. “At least for the length of a day, anyway.”

“Oh, we’re such rebels, aren’t we?”

“It’s a start,” he countered.

She dipped down and kissed him. Hard. “And a damn fine one it ‘tis, too. Where are we going?”

“I thought I’d take you out, show you the rest of the Chisholm property. Including the crumbling old manse that is our family estate. My oldest brother, Dylan, is in the midst of turning a portion of it into a bed and breakfast setup. A way to help defray the ever-mounting costs of maintaining the poor auld thing. I willnae vouch for his disposition. A cheery sort, he isn’t. But he’s had his share of troubles, so we leave him to it. I’d like to take you around anyway if you’re game.”

“Brodie has mentioned him, and the fledgling business. Of course I’ll go.”

Reese smiled. “Och, I can see the light dawning in your eyes already. I should have started with my youngest brother, Tristan, first, then. An artist’s heart he has, but he’s our farm manager by trade. He’ll have nothing of interest for your businesswoman’s soul, and you’ll be safely mine.”

“You didn’t exactly make Dylan out to be a catch, you know.”

“Trust me,” Reese told her, “he’s got that wounded warrior spirit that women love to take on, thinking they’ll be the one to mend his broken heart.”

“Broken-hearted? Is that why he’s ‘not a cheery sort’, as you say?”

“See? Your heart is already tilting. What is it about—”

“We’re nurturers by nature, Reese. We want to fix it and make it better.”

“Well, you’ll have your hands full enough fixing me,” he said, rather gruffly, which made her laugh; then, to add insult to injury, she ruffled his hair and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “And as I was saying, if you’re considering coming to him with a business proposal,” he added, “well, if you think I was a hard sell when it came to convincing me of the lure of Internet marketing—”

“You weren’t exactly hard.” She pressed against him. “Well, except where you needed to be. “But don’t worry, I have no intention of selling your brother on the merits of proper marketing and sales.” She winked at him. “No’ until I get to know him a wee bit better, anyway.”

Reese rolled his eyes, but his smile was amused. “I’ve created a monster, I have.”

“Oh no, you’ve tamed her, to be certain. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll send bottles of Glenbuie to all my friends back home for Christmas.”

“Ye drive a hard bargain, lass.”

Suddenly reenergized, she moved on top of him so she straddled his hips, making his eyes widen a bit when she pinned his hands to the bed. “We’ll see about that.”

He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and let her have her way with him. “See, perfectly balanced we are.”

“Aye,” she said, leaning down and taking his mouth, before slowly fulfilling her every fantasy—and his, if the way he groaned and moved beneath her was any indication—as she slid down the length of his body, her tongue taking a slightly longer, more lingering path. He lifted his head and watched as she slid her tongue around him, then took him in her mouth and suckled him back to life.

“You have the rest of your life to stop doing that,” he said, echoing her earlier claim.

“Deal.”

Balanced, indeed.

NIGHT WATCH

Chapter 1

“Aye, aye. I’ve said I’ll be there and I will be. Now let me get back to my sheep, ye auld sod.” Tristan Chisholm stared out at the expansive glen, a stunning vista of the greenest grass to be found beneath the heavens, rolling endlessly before him like the most luxurious carpet. Dotted here and there with the burly white wool and black faces of his sturdy flock, taking their afternoon graze while he once again tried—and miserably failed—to capture the essence of the darkening sky with a stubby piece of charcoal and a dog-eared tablet of drawing paper.

The tall outcropping of rock atop the hillock on which he was presently perched was one of only a rare handful of spots on the hundreds of acres of Chisholm grazing land where he could get signal. Figures. He couldn’t believe he’d gone to the trouble of climbing all the way up here with the intention of losing himself for a few hours with nothing more than pad and paper to record his thoughts…only to have his serenity rudely intruded upon by one of his brothers.

It mattered little that the reason for the call was a joyful one. Far be it from Brodie not to use the rare occasion of a conversation with the youngest Chisholm to point out his failures. Failures according to Brodie, anyway. Ungrateful, the lot of them, he thought grouchily. His brother would be lucky if he brought so much as a bottle of wine as an engagement present. Cocky bastard. How a fine young woman like Kat Henderson had ever agreed to latch herself to his miserable hide for all eternity…well, if Tristan didn’t know better, he’d think she’d been sipping too much ale at Brodie’s pub. Lord knows he’d have to be falling down pissed to even consider tying himself to anyone.

“I dinnae need to be scolded like a wet lad,” he informed Brodie when his older brother finally took pause for a breath. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing to my own needs, carnal and otherwise, thank you very much. And ye wonder why I prefer the company of my flock.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward when Brodie made the obvious joke, but didn’t bother to rise to the bait. He was long since used to this treatment.

Sighing wearily, knowing he was more disgusted with himself, really, after another disappointing afternoon of trying to coax his muse to the surface, Tristan listened to Brodie continue his very amusing soliloquy on the state of his youngest brother’s love life, or sorry lack thereof. He finally lost patience with both brother and the age of technology that made invading his privacy out here in the wilds as easy as punching in a few numbers into a plastic keypad. He didn’t bother to ring off. He merely clicked his mobile phone closed and pocketed it. Handy thing, that little automatic OFF button. Let them call him a social misfit—he was perfectly happy with that moniker if it meant he got to stay out here, far away from the maddening crowds, aka his brothers and the other nosey villagers. If his siblings wanted their brotherly attentions reciprocated, they’d soon learn not to ride him every chance they got.

He stared down at the mess of charcoal streaks masquerading as the distant, late afternoon skyline and shook his head as he flipped the cover back over the pad. He’d thought perhaps returning to the more rustic rudiments of charcoal would free him up a little. Watercolors hadn’t done it the week before. Nor pastels the week before that. He refused to even consider a pallet of oils. Autumn was turning the hills into brilliant rainbows of color, second only to the rebirth of spring for inspiring his artistic soul. Through at least half of his twenty-seven years, he had documented each of them in the way that moved him most. No two seasons, no two renderings, had been the same. He took great pleasure in finding something new at the turn of each and every season, each and every year.

For some time now, however, it appeared as if inspiration had finally deserted him. He couldn’t even rediscover the old, much less tap into anything resembling fresh and new.

“Jinty!” Tristan whistled for his four-legged companion, then when the border collie pricked her ears and looked in Tristan’s direction, he gave her the signal to begin rounding up the sheep. With Jinty barking and yipping as she raced to and fro, Tristan gathered up his things. He stowed them in his pack and began climbing down the back side of the rocky outcropping, before hiking around the base of it, back toward the glen. He was halfway down when he heard the first true grumblings roll across the heavens. It took another twenty minutes to hike the path that led around to the field where Jinty was still collecting strays and to regain a view of the setting sun on the horizon.

The encroaching storm wasn’t so distant now. He’d gauged the front to be moving far slower than it was, which was unusual for him, as it was his business to be able to read those kinds of signs. It wasn’t much beyond half past three in the afternoon, but this time of year it was full dark by five, and with the storm darkening the skies, that timetable would be accelerated. Apparently he’d been more distracted by the call than he’d realized, even as he admitted it was likely the frustration with his sketches that had caused him to lose track of time. Brooding again, his brother Reese would tell him. But Tristan didn’t brood. Thinking, pondering, wondering, those things he did. Entirely different.

He whistled again and gave a sharp hand signal. Jinty shot toward him, raced around his legs, then took off to her post on the far side of the field. Picking up the pace, he and the collie moved as a team, herding the small cluster of sheep he’d come up here to round together so he could push them back down the valley where they could rejoin the main thrust of the herd.

Lightning strikes streaked east and west through the rapidly darkening sky, but Tristan kept his steady pace. He’d get them back to the front fields before the worst of it hit, but he’d likely take a bit of the brunt of it himself before he saw the inside of his own four walls this evening. Ah well, it wouldn’t be the first time. And there was nothing in his backpack worth worrying about preserving, that was for sure. A little rain might even improve his lines a little.

By the time he and Jinty had shuffled the stragglers through the narrow pass into the lower valley, it was dusk bordering on dark, and thin drops of rain began to spit from the skies above. Stacked stone fences sectioned off the valley floor like a giant game of tic-tac-toe. He shoved the gate closed behind him as he entered the first of several walled fields spread out ahead of him, each a good twenty acres square, content to leave the gang here for the night. He’d get them the rest of the way tomorrow.

“Come, Jint!” He slapped his thigh, then reached down to give her a good scratch as she fell happily into step beside him. The rain began to pick up pace, and so he did, too, jogging for the far wall, with Jint easily pacing him, racing to and fro, barking for the sheer joy of being alive. Och, to have such a carefree heart, he thought. The lightning strikes came closer together and hit closer to home. Thunder vibrated the very air around them. “Come on, girl. Let’s get home.”

Home was a large stone croft with a soaring, traditional thatched roof that required constant maintenance, but which Tristan had resisted replacing with more current textiles. He didn’t mind the extra work. He’d often thought he’d been born in the wrong century anyway, a tenet also held by his brothers. Not that he didn’t appreciate some of the more modern amenities, such as indoor plumbing and running water, but he liked the look of the place, knowing that those who had come before him had come home to much the same stacked stone gate, the same hand-laid stone walls, and the same thatched roof. All built by Chisholm hands.

It had been added onto over the past two centuries, as various managers and their families had lived there, and current amenities had been installed. It was a rambling, one-story affair, all told. The whole of the place currently housed three bedrooms, two full bathrooms and a half of another, an open living area complete with a large, peat-burning stove for heating, and an expansive kitchen with a rustic oak table suitable for at least eight people with room to spare, plus an outdoor oven pit as well. Tristan had created half of a second floor by constructing a loft space, which he used as his art room. He’d put in a skylight and a large inset window at the peak of the roof for light. Not that the loft had seen much use of late.

It was all far more than Tristan needed, but it was the manager’s croft for a reason. Location and access. Tucked up against the rocky hills that framed the eastern boundary of the Chisholm grazing property, it looked out over the lower valley, which was marked with fenced-off sections of land, some dotted with smaller crofts that were leased out to farmers and other flock owners. It was Tristan’s job not only to maintain the Chisholm flocks, but also to manage the leased properties and the concerns of all the tenants.

The far boundary of the lower valley was marked by the loch, which fed a narrow tributary that ran alongside the main road and helped to irrigate the crop fields. A single-track road ran between stream and field, and was the only access to the area from Glenbuie, the local village and home to the Chisholm clan for more than four hundred years.

By the time he and Jint scooted through the final gate and made their sprint across the last field heading home, the setting sun and the storm had joined to render the sky full black; no hint of stars or moon, making it nigh on impossible to see more than a scant yard or two in front of his face. But he knew this ground as he knew his own self and he navigated it easily.

Jinty had an even keener sense of where the best path lay, so he followed her lead, arms up to brace his face against the wind-driven needles of rain. She kept circling back to him, herding him home much the same as she did with the rest of her flock. It was raining hard now and he’d long since become soaked to the bone. As soon as he had Jinty fed, a long, hot shower was next on his list. Lightning strikes continued to light the black sky, and thunder literally shook the ground at his feet.

As he reached the steps leading to the back door and mud room, a loud, shrieking noise pierced the sound of the storm. He paused, but with the thunder and heavy rain, it was impossible to know what he’d actually heard. Typically the only sounds that floated through his valley, other than those created by Mother Nature, were the sheep baaing and dogs barking as they went about their chores. Whatever that had been didn’t fall under any of those headings.

When the sound didn’t repeat itself, he opened the rear door and shuffled inside, shooing Jinty in before him, then closing it with a heavy rattle behind him as the wind helped drive it shut. He’d go investigate if need be when the rain died down a little. Probably just a tree down and the wind having its way with the wayward limbs. It was amazing the odd echoes of sounds the valley and mountains could create.

The dog gave a good shake as Tristan dropped his pack and grabbed a towel off the stack. “Good work out there,” he praised her. She wriggled under his ministrations, loving nothing more than a good towel rub. With another shake when he was done, she bounded from the room and set to prancing in circles in front of the kitchen pantry just beyond.

Tristan chuckled. “I’m coming, just hold up a minute.” He took a second to drag his boots and socks off, then peeled out of his sodden shirt and pants as well, leaving him in cold, wet boxers. “The hell with that,” he grumbled, and dragged them off as well. One of the blessings of living out in the midst of nowhere. And he much doubted any of his tenants would be dropping by with a grievance this stormy evening.

Giving his own shoulder-length hair a good rub with a fresh towel, he shook it out much as Jinty had hers, then wrapped the towel around his hips as he padded into the kitchen. “What’s on the menu tonight?” he asked her, as he opened the doors to the pantry and looked at the canned meat on the shelves. He dumped some dry kibble in her dish, the mere sound of which made her all but quiver in paroxysms of pleasure, then cranked open a can of corned beef and dumped some of that in as well. She worked hard, so if he spoiled her a little, well, who was to know?

She danced out to the kitchen with him and sat next to her water dish, tail going like a propeller against the hardwood floor. Tristan popped her dish to the floor and gave a dry smile as she dug in with gusto. If only it were so easy to please everyone who depended on him, he thought. “Cans of corned hash for all!” he announced with flair, waving his arm in a beneficent gesture in front of him, as if king to kingdom. Shaking his head at his own folly, he contemplated heating the rest of the can up for himself, then decided a shower sounded like the better option at the moment. Maybe if he felt half human, he’d find the energy to actually cook something up.

He paused by the peat stove and stuffed in a few fuel bricks, feeling a chill in the air that went beyond his damp, mostly naked state. Though warm enough during the day, the late October nights were considerably cooler of late. He wound his way through the living area toward the rear bedrooms. He’d converted the smaller of the two into his personal office—even though there was an outbuilding housing his official one, he liked being able to work here when he could—leaving the larger bedroom with the en suite bathroom for himself. There was another bedroom off the far side of the main house, with a second full bathroom wedged between it and the kitchen, ostensibly for guests. Though, over the years, it had housed only his brothers on the rare occasion that one or the other came out to share a bottle of the family whisky and opted not to head home until morning.

He was halfway through the front room when he noticed oddly angled shafts of red light piercing the rainy night beyond his front windows. Backtracking, he peered through the panes of glass, but the heavy rain made it difficult to see. Then a crack of lightning split through the gloom and he got a momentary flash of the track road leading to his house. And that’s when he remembered the screeching noise he’d heard before stepping inside.

The red beams of light belonged to the brake lights of a small car, the rear of which was presently jacked up on the low stone fence that ran alongside the track road, next to the storm gully, which handled the overflow of stream water during heavy rains.

A second flash of lightning showed that those storm waters were rapidly rising. And that the front end of the car was already submerged.

Chapter 2

Well, won’t I have the last laugh now?

That was the last thought Bree Sullivan had before she lost control of her car completely. She could see the headlines now:

INTERNATIONALLY FAMOUS AUTHORSWERVES TO MISS SHEEP, DIES A WATERYDEATH BEFORE DELIVERING NEXTBLOCKBUSTER NOVEL.

Followed, of course, by the one millionth article explaining, in detail, why nothing she might have written could ever have hoped to match the phenomenal, best-selling, record-breaking sales of her first and only novel, Summer Lake, anyway.

If only she’d done something clever, like have six more connected books already outlined and ready to go, sales all but guaranteed. But no, the former small-town Missouri librarian hadn’t thought ahead to her obvious future as a sudden celebrity. She’d totally failed to foresee that the entire free world would be rushing out to buy her first book, thereby turning her little world completely upside down. And silly her, she hadn’t foreseen that she would spend a whirlwind ten months plugging her suddenly hotter-than-DaVinci novel on locations around the globe she’d never dreamed of visiting, while being interviewed by celebrity newscasters she’d formerly only seen on her television set. Where they’d been interviewing actual famous people. Not quiet little Bree Sullivan from Mason, Missouri.

Now, almost eighteen months after Summer Lake had first hit the shelves, she could hardly remember the woman she’d been back then. The one who’d led such a sheltered life that she’d been bowled over by an invitation to do a local radio talk show about her book. The same woman who’d all but swooned, certain she’d really hit the big time when she’d been invited on that local morning talk show in St. Louis. Sure, she’d dreamed of having some modest success, enough to hope that someday she could quit her day job and write for a living…but even her fertile writer’s imagination hadn’t extended much beyond that. Hell, she’d been thrilled just to see the book in print.

Then the invite had come to be on The Dave Stevens Show. Oh, wow, she remembered thinking, to be flown to the big city and be on national television? Well, her world just couldn’t get any bigger.

Ha.

If she’d only known then what was about to happen, she’d have stayed in Mason and kept her day job. She’d have clung to her normal, middle-class, Midwestern lifestyle with everything she had. But no. Hot, edgy, controversial talk show host Dave Stevens had seen the local St. Louis spot and picked up a copy of her book. Hosting the first daytime show geared toward men, Dave had intended to use his ratings-grabbing, confrontational format to needle her about the value, or lack thereof, of sappy romance fiction. He would drill her on why women fell for such delusional claptrap, after which they’d give the men in their lives a hard time for not measuring up to the book’s fantasy hero.

Only instead, when he’d read the book in preparation for the show, he’d shocked himself by liking it, and had ended up doing a twist on his own format by making himself the butt of his own confrontational style, putting Bree in the interviewer’s seat—and grabbing the highest ratings ever for a daytime talk show. He’d ended the show by daring his male viewers to pick up the book and read it with a significant other.

“Guys, if you want to understand what women want—and trust me, if you want to get any on a regular basis, you do!—read this book. It’s like an instruction manual for clueless men.”

She couldn’t have devised a more brilliant marketing campaign if she’d thought it up herself. Her publisher was over the moon, her agent immediately began to field offers. In less than one week, all hell had broken loose. Summer Lake sold faster than they could print and ship it out. It topped every best-seller list and stayed there. Going from the summer’s must-read beach book, to everybody’s book club pick for the fall, to the must-have stocking stuffer for the holidays. You weren’t considered cool and in the know if you couldn’t debate in detail which of the three lead heroines you most identified with, or which of the three heroes you’d most like to sleep with. By spring, she’d been the subject of one of David Letterman’s Top Ten lists, made the cover of People magazine—not once, but twice. She’d attended actual film openings in Hollywood and London, wearing clothes by designers she’d only read about, and had her book fought over in a much-publicized battle by two major studios for film rights, which had eventually gone for over seven figures, with all six lead roles claimed by the hottest reigning box office stars.

But no—for some silly reason, Bree had stupidly never foreseen that particular, mind-blowing, once-in-a-lifetime, winning-lottery-ticket-like future, and so she had only written a single, stand-alone novel, with no obvious follow-up spin-off. What had she been thinking?

And so the inevitable had happened. As the first anniversary of the book’s release loomed, the paperback version hit the stands and renewed the buzz all over again. Everyone had been asking when the next book was coming out, but now the questions were impatient, edged with concern that maybe her success had all been a fluke. Well, of course it had been a fluke, she’d wanted to shout. So, at first she’d laughingly told interviewers that she hadn’t exactly had much time to write lately, thinking it was nice that they were at least interested enough to ask. And, at first, they’d laughed along with her, all the while gushing over her overnight success story.

But now her diehard fans had turned into an unruly mob, with the press fueling the flames every chance they got, all demanding to know when—or if—she’d deliver the goods again. As if it were a given that she had a litany of blockbusters floating around in her brain, just waiting for the chance to get jotted down. Journalists began to speculate, quite nastily at times, that she would flame out as a one-hit wonder. Bree Sullivan Backlash erupted. As if she’d asked for the fame and the fortune in the first place! And now, by not feeding the hungry hordes, it was as if she was intentionally not making good on that unspoken promise.

She’d been hounded to the point of going into seclusion to avoid the inevitable cross-examination. So her publisher had happily taken up where the media had left off. After all, she had signed a deal for two books—which had thrilled her to no end at the time—and, dollar signs floating in their eyes, they would love to know when she planned on getting that next one turned in. Everyone wanted to cash in while she was still hot, everybody wanted a piece of her. None of this was exactly conducive to her creative process, which had abandoned her completely somewhere right around that St. Louis talk show a million years ago.

She fought to keep the car on the road after swerving to miss the sheep that had suddenly appeared in her headlights. But there was no saving it. The back end of her car slid from the road, slinging gravel and mud everywhere before plunging into a water-filled gully, which surged the back end up onto a low stone wall…and shoved the front end nose-down in the rushing water.

It all happened so fast. It was so dark, the wind so strong, the rain so heavy, that the whole event was a veritable blur to Bree. She’d been fighting unfamiliar terrain, the sudden loss of light, the ratcheting winds and pelting rain on one mountain curve after another. She hadn’t even been aware she’d descended into a valley, so snake-like was the track road she was on, until the strobe-light effect of the harrowingly powerful, ground-shaking lightning strikes had illuminated a stretch of fenced-off fields…and what looked like a rapidly swelling stream. She’d made it across the single-lane bridge, but then had been plunged back into the worst of the storm.

Shoulders hunched, heart in her throat, neck long since gone completely stiff, it was almost a relief to have the battle finally over, even if it meant losing. Because, hey, by dying, she’d rob them all of the chance to continue the endless, nauseating speculation about what, where, and, most importantly, when, her next effort would finally appear. And it served the double bonus of saving her the global-scale humiliation and embarrassment of proving the gleeful naysayers right. Six months of staring at her laptop screen had produced exactly nothing. Nothing worth publishing, anyway. If only this particular solution didn’t, by necessity, include the actual death part, she might have signed up right then and there.

Instead, she fought back, grappling with the wheel and stick shift, but a sudden overdose of adrenaline combined with bone-deep fatigue and abject terror served to rob her of whatever driving skills she’d managed to amass since going AWOL before dawn this morning and running away from her life. It had been hard enough in calmer conditions to sit on the right side of the car, keeping track of the brake, gas, and clutch pedals, using the regular arrangement of feet while shifting gears with her left hand…and combining all that with driving on the wrong side of the road.

She heard someone scream as the car screeched along the stone wall, yanking the back end up and sending her slamming forward as the nose end of the car was sucked immediately into the rushing gully waters. Only then did she realize, as the echoes reverberated through the interior of the car after the motor instantly cut out, that it had been her.

“S—seat belt,” she stammered, her body beginning to tremble as the enormity of the situation began to really hit her. She immediately grabbed at the straps and began yanking, before finally getting a slight grip on herself and her rising hysteria. “Latch, unlatch it.” Hoping the rational sound of her voice would calm her down, she tried to take a few deep breaths, but immediately began almost convulsively gulping air, as if her body thought the car was already filling with water and drowning was imminent. The belt mercifully popped free, which had the unfortunate result of plunging her chest-first into the steering wheel due to the steep forward pitch of the car.

She glanced wildly around the passenger seat of the rented car for her purse, her computer bag, as if those things really mattered at a time like this. Like she had anything on the computer worth saving, anyway. But they had been thrown to the floor on the passenger side, out of reach, the steep pitch sending them halfway up under the dash. The tiny two-seater had little room for maneuvering in general, but at its current angle, she had none at all. She felt the panic rise again as she tried the door handle and found it wouldn’t budge. Electric locks. The windows were electric, too. With the motor dead and flooded, nothing worked.

“I was only kidding!” she shouted. “I don’t want to die, dammit.”

She was wrestling around in her seat, trying to push herself back with her legs so she could angle toward the door, try and see if there was any manual way to pop the locks. Why-oh-why had she let her British editor talk her into renting such a teeny beast of a car? She wasn’t the hot rod type. Hell, she wasn’t the type to jet set over to Britain and take up residence in a four-hundred-year-old manor house, either, the guest of a baron no less, in an offer of solitude to write her book.

Yeah. That hadn’t worked out too well. Baron Farthingham had let it slip that she was staying with him. At a grande ball, no less. By dawn the gates and walls surrounding the place had been besieged by press and fans alike. When she hadn’t appeared to talk to them, the tabloids had taken up the gauntlet. And the Brits thought Americans were rude. She’d been shocked at some of the headlines:

BITCHY BREE BAGS A BARON!
ALL PLAY AND NO WORK EQUALS NOBOOK FOR LOYAL FANS.
DIVA SULLIVAN TOO BUSY TO CARE?

She could only imagine what they’d say now. Maybe she wouldn’t be quite having the last laugh after all. “It sure doesn’t feel too funny at the moment,” she said between gritted teeth as she tried and failed to pry up the little nub of a lock on the door.

A sudden pounding on the passenger window made her scream. And there was nothing ambiguous about who had made the sound this time. Someone was out there, in the storm-ravaged gloom.

A rescue! Oh, thank God.

Except, she was out in the middle-of-nowhere Scotland. Which pretty much described the highlands, as far as she could tell. Before the storm she hadn’t seen so much as a red phone booth for hours. Who in the world would happen to see her car go in a ditch way the hell out here?

She looked at the window as her rescuer peered inside…and got her answer. A deranged lunatic.

She choked on a terrified scream as her throat completely closed over. Staring in at her was what appeared to be a very naked man, with long, wet hair plastered to his head and face in stringy ropes. A naked man with a very determined look on his face as he banged repeatedly, almost violently on the passenger window, shouting something unintelligible at her.

Death by drowning suddenly looked preferable.

Chapter 3

“Release the locks!” Tristan shouted again. One of the rear tires had ridden up onto the low stone wall, tilting the car at an odd angle, and burying the front end of the tiny sports car into the storm-filled gully. But with the force of the water pushing at the side of the car, it could go at any second, and when and if it did, it would likely turn over. And right onto him. The driver’s side was propped up too high and too close to the wall for him to fight his way to that side, which left him here, dangerously downstream. And there she sat, like a fish in an empty bowl, waiting for it to fill up. Idiot woman would like as get them both drowned before he could get her out of there.

He tried the door, but it was still locked, so he banged on the passenger window again, motioning to the top of her windshield. “Unlock the top!” Between the wind and the raging rain, not to mention the windows being up and sealed tight, maybe she wasn’t hearing him. But she was sure as hell staring at him. Why in bloody hell wouldn’t she just put the damn top down and climb out?

It occurred to him that she might be hurt. For all he could see in the dark, the car hadn’t sustained any heavy damage. The side closest to the wall was probably scraped up, given the screeching noise he’d heard, but it wasn’t bashed in. It appeared as if she’d just lost control at the bend of the road and ended up sideways up the other side of the gully. Maybe she had knocked herself a bit senseless during the spin-about. What other reason would there be for just sitting there? She had no seat belt on, so maybe she’d hit her head on the steering wheel or side window. Of course, the fact that she had the little convertible roadster out in a storm, racing along single-track highland roads, didn’t speak well for her being all that safety-minded in the first place.

She jumped suddenly and looked down, then began squirming in her seat. He couldn’t see into the gloomy interior of the car well enough to know for sure, but he’d bet the water had just found its way in. She looked back at him, then down at her feet, then back at him, clearly panicked if the terror etched on her face was any indication. She seemed to be wriggling about enough to indicate she wasn’t too severely injured. Surely she could get the damn top unlocked. If she’d been worried about what the rain might do to the exposed leather seats, the water coming in through the bottom of the car should erase that concern.

Again he pointed to where the windshield and canvas met and shouted, “Pop the locks!” He made flicking motions with his fingers, putting them right next to the glass in hopes she could see clearly what it was he meant for her to do. He was hip-deep, freezing cold water rushing around him, literally freezing his balls off, and the adrenaline punch that had sent him racing out here in nothing more than a damp towel knotted around his hips was beginning to level off to the point that he was well and truly feeling the effects of it. He was starting to tremble from the exposure, and his hands rattled a little against the windshield.

Lightning strikes continued to rain down at alarmingly close range, with the accompanying thunder reverberating through the ground moments later. And he was rapidly losing patience with his rescuee. If her antics were any indication, the water level in the car was rising rapidly. There was only one thing to do. He waded back through the gully, slipping in the mud and muck several times before getting back up onto the bank, losing his towel completely as he scraped his way to a stand. He didn’t bother trying to get it back—there was no time. It was risky leaving her as it was, even if only for the minute it would take to get to the house and back. But he didn’t see where he had much choice. He could hardly break into the car bare-handed.

He raced bare-assed back up the lane to the croft and let himself into the mud room, never more appropriately named as he was covered in it, and snatched his wet pants off the floor.

Jinty, excited by his sudden reappearance, barked in excitement, dancing around his legs.

“Aye, girl, aye, a bit of excitement out there.” He gave her head a quick scrub, then grimaced at the muck he’d matted in her fur. He tried to pull on the pants, but they were so wet and his body so muddy he didn’t have time for that battle. “Bollocks.” He unclipped his knife from his pants before tossing them back to the floor, then grabbed his boxers instead and yanked them on, shivering as the wet material clung to even wetter skin. He’d catch his death saving her from her own. Idiot woman. Jinty raced to the door ahead of him.

“No’ this time, sweet. I’ll be back in a flash.” And with that he took off around the croft and back down the lane. If she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—save herself, he had no choice but to do it for her.

Bree slumped down in her seat and let out a long, shaky breath when the lunatic banging on her window suddenly ran off into the night. Where the hell had she landed that naked men ran around in the middle of a storm? She immediately regrouped. She had no idea if he was going to come back, but she knew she had to get the hell out of this car. When he’d shown up, any thoughts of rescue had quickly fled with one look at him. He was clearly deranged. She’d thought maybe she’d be safer in the car than out. Her heart had about stopped when he’d tried the door, then banged on the window.

Then the water had come rushing in over her feet. Drown in her car…or escape into the clutches of a madman. Honestly, it was like a bad suspense novel. Who’d believe this? The storm and high winds raged on unabated, as did the lightning and the thunder. Even having nowhere to run, and a possible raving lunatic on the loose, staying inside the stranded car was no longer an option as the water level was rapidly rising.

“Calm down, take deep breaths. And think, dammit. Think.” But all she could picture was the wild man outside her car, banging on her window and making obscene hand gestures. He’d kept stabbing his finger at her and shouting something she couldn’t hear. She turned the key in the ignition to trigger the battery, hoping to get the windows to roll down, but nothing.

She pounded her fists on the steering wheel, frustrated, scared out of her mind, beyond fatigued. Not just from the storm, but from…well, her entire life. She let her head fall back. “Think, Bree. There’s got to be a way out of this.” She didn’t have anything heavy enough to break the window with…except maybe her laptop. The water crept higher—it was up to seat level now, and she tried to pull her legs up, but she was trapped in the deep bucket seat with the steering wheel, stick shift, and door keeping her penned in. Why-oh-why had she listened to Dana and rented a damn convertible hot rod?

“Shit!” She looked up. “You fucking idiot!” She was sitting here, drowning…in a goddamn convertible. How had she let herself get so freaked out that she’d somehow become the embodiment of every stupid heroine she’d ever read about and hated? Christ, she deserved whatever fate was in store for her.

She reached up to release the locking mechanism…right as the wild man’s face reappeared in the passenger window. She froze. Shit, shit, shit! But it wasn’t until he pulled out the knife that she screamed.

A flash of lightning outlined him in a sudden burst of light, creating a strobe effect just as he swung his fist up, blade clenched in his grip, and brought it down, plunging it into the canvas roof.

She screamed again and fought to climb out from behind the steering wheel but she was well and truly trapped. The blade of the knife came through above the passenger seat, preventing her from reaching for the other lock. Not that she was interested in opening the top now…although he was coming in one way or the other, if the look on his face was any indication. The only weapon she had was her laptop. One good crack to the head…

Except it had been flung to the floor on the passenger side and was currently under water. Plus there was the little matter of a knife blade between it and her. Her attacker pulled at the blade and began sawing with it, ripping at the canvas. Bree plunged her arm into the water swirling up to her lap now and tugged off one of her shoes. Shaking hard with both the cold and an overdose of adrenaline, she took the sopping-wet shoe and began beating at the knife, hoping to make him drop it. Not that this would slow him down much, but then she’d at least have the weapon.

“Hey!” he shouted angrily, loudly enough so she could hear him clearly. Or maybe that was because there was now a gaping hole in the roof of her car. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

What, she was supposed to let him destroy her car and attack her? Wasn’t she already having a bad enough day? She just kept beating on his hand until he pulled it back out. With the knife, unfortunately. “I’m trying to rescue your wet, ungrateful arse and giving myself a nice case of pneumonia doin’ it,” he raged. “Maybe yer tryin’ to kill yourself and I’m just getting in the way. So fine, fine.” He lifted his hands as if in surrender.

“Saving me?” she shouted, her nerves so badly frayed at this point that she simply snapped. “Saving me?” With the knife safely removed, she reached out and popped the other latch, then pushed the top back far enough so she could climb out.

Freedom!

She used the steering wheel to pull herself onto the awkwardly angled seat, having to clutch at it to keep from falling. The rain beat down on her head and the heavy wind snatched at her hair, but she hardly cared at this point. She was already soaked to the waist, anyway. Standing up a little made the car list dangerously and sent her would-be attacker scrambling out of the way. He slipped and slid in the muck, so soaked and covered in mud already that she could hardly make him out. She glanced around, trying to figure out what her best bet was to get safely out of the car without sending it all the way over.

“Climb out the high side,” he called out.

She looked over to find he was on the edge of the swollen gully. It appeared he wasn’t entirely naked after all, but close enough. He had to be completely insane, regardless. Trying to save her. Right. Probably some dotty nutcase that lived in a cave in the hills or something and had seen her go off the road, figured she’d be ripe for the picking. Why else was he out in the middle of the night in his boxers?

“Are ye comin’ down or are ye going tae stand about in the storm all night? The water didn’t get you but the lightning still might.”

Now that Bree knew she wasn’t going to die, at least not immediately, she realized that once out of the car and on solid ground…then what? Where was she supposed to go? And what the hell was she going to do about the nutjob Scot, who, despite his claims, hadn’t left her to do as she pleased? Even if he meant her no harm, and she certainly wasn’t sure of that by any stretch, she didn’t really fancy whiling away the nighttime hours with him until daybreak rolled around and she could see some sign of life she could hike toward. Maybe she could run, just flat-out run, find something to hide behind, or whatever. It was so dark now he’d never find her. Except he likely knew this area far better than she did.

“Come on, jump!” he shouted, pacing the side of the gully. “We could be inside and dry by now. Just wade around the front and I’ll help pull you up the bank. You’ll get yer clothes muddy, but there’s no hope for that now, so no sense in worryin’ about it.”

He thought she was worried about her clothes? And why, suddenly, did he actually sound almost…normal? Wait. Had he said they could be inside? And dry? She swung her gaze around, looking for lights or a nearby house, but from her crouched position, clutching the steering wheel, the wind plastering her hair into her eyes, she couldn’t see squat. She swung her gaze back to him. Did she dare even allow herself to contemplate—

“I’m no’ leaving until you get out, but I’m not so sure what good I’ll be other than gettin’ in the way. I can’t get around to that side, but if you get in and make your way around the front of the car, the water’s only about waist-deep. Just take your time, go slow. I’ll pull you out. But you need to get away from the car. Upstream.”

He’d gone from raging attacker to cajoling rescuer. A new ploy, perhaps? Or had her fertile imagination just taken one look at a naked wild man and run with it? She could hardly be blamed, given the extreme circumstances…Could it be he really was a Good Samaritan? The whole situation was too surreal. Whatever the case, he wasn’t going anywhere, and he seemed a great deal calmer now. And she had nowhere to turn.

What she couldn’t do was stay crouched on the seat of her sportscar in a raging electrical storm one moment longer. So she made the split-second decision to work with him. If he thought she was being agreeable, maybe he’d let his guard down. She could use him to help her out, then take off at the first opportunity. She hadn’t forgotten he was armed with a knife, but there wasn’t much she could do about that at the moment. Maybe if he thought she wasn’t a threat of any kind, he’d be lax enough so she could snatch the knife.

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all she had at the moment.

“Okay,” she called through the howling wind. “I’m climbing out the high side.”

“Jump clear, use the car for leverage,” he instructed, sounding tense but remarkably sane all of a sudden.

Balancing her weight by holding on to the windshield frame, she propped her foot on the skinny edge of the raised window, which was harder than it looked. She silently counted to three, then hoisted herself up and leaped into the rushing gully waters. The car rocked dangerously as she pushed off, but she didn’t—couldn’t—look behind her to see if it had rolled or not. She was too busy finding her footing in the water and muck. You should have taken your other shoe off, she thought as she stumbled and fought her way around the front of the car—which was still upright and partially wedged on the stone wall framing the opposite side of the gully. And she’d left the other one back in the car. Along with her backpack and her purse…and well, everything else she’d taken with her when she’d fled this morning. Smart. Real smart.

But there was no way she could retrieve anything at the moment. She was stuck out in the middle of nowhere, in a storm, with a half-naked man who may or may not be completely mad. No identification. She tried not to think about her laptop, presently in the watery grave of the car. Everything gone now. Not that there was anything to lose, really. She shuddered and it was only in part because of the murky water rushing around her waist as she continued with her painstakingly slow, slipping, sliding progress around the front of the car.

It struck her, though, even in the midst of her current situation, that instead of being horrified by the loss of her accumulated hard work, as she should have been, given the enormity of the consequences…she felt strangely freed.

There was a sudden large splash, and she looked up from the slow, deliberate pace she was attempting, trying hard not to slip and go under…thinking maybe the car had come loose…only to find her rescuer presently wading toward her. As he drew closer, a particularly violent lightning strike illuminated his features.

She’d been so overwhelmed with her predicament, all she’d noticed before was that he was wild-looking…and mostly naked.

The unearthly white flash of light cast him in a rugged, harsh relief. His face was angular, his jaw a hard, square line. His eyes were bottomless pools of black, his long, dark hair plastered to his head and neck, reaching all the way to his shoulders. Broad shoulders, she noted. Muscular, in a lean, defined way.

He reached a hand toward her. She’d expected something broad, with blunt, work-roughened fingers. So the refined hand with the long, almost elegant fingers surprised her.

“Come, lass,” he said, his voice roughly cajoling but impatient. He beckoned her with his hand. “I dinnae know about you, but I’ve had all of this wet I can stand for a night.” He braced his weight, squared his hips, and reached for her.

She looked from his hand to his face, and back to his hand.

Then he grinned. And it changed everything.

“No’ to worry. Ye’ve had me in this water so long anything I have that might do ye harm is frozen.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. Not because he suddenly looked harmless. Far from it. No matter the fact that he was standing thigh-deep in water, bedraggled and shivering…this man would never look harmless. Not with a smile like that.

She laughed because this whole episode was so absurd that there was nothing left to do but laugh. “And if I don’t get out of this water, I’ll be too frozen to care what you do.”

“Now that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.”

She could only hope so. She reached out and took his hand.

Chapter 4

Her hand was slender and cold to the touch. Not a surprise, given the circumstances. What was a surprise was the strength in her grip. Thus far, she’d struck him as an entirely helpless female—and somewhat flighty as well.

“Grab on to my wrist,” he said, reaching past her hand to take firm hold of her arm. “Our fingers are too slippery.”

Once he had a good grip, he didn’t waste time. He turned away from her and began to guide her out. The sheeting rain and heavy winds hindered his forward progress, forcing him to duck his head down, barely able to see his way to the bank. The water was running higher and faster now, and it was so slippery and muddy he wasn’t sure how he was going to get up and out again, much less pull her up behind him. But that was all he allowed himself to focus on. Not the droll tone in her voice just now, one that hinted that she was someone of far greater intellect than he’d originally assumed. Nor did he let himself think about her face, all pointed chin and angular cheekbones, with a veritable waterfall of hair billowing out about it, dwarfing her narrow features, even with the rain quickly reducing it to a heavy, wet mop. No, no point in thinking about her as anything other than a major pain in the arse. And an unwelcome intruder into his solitude.

It would only be for the night. He’d survive. By morning the flash flooding would have abated and they’d haul her car out of there and see what was what. He’d get Alastair to come take a look at it, tow it in for him. And yes, he’d offer to replace the canvas top, if the rest was salvageable. How was he supposed to know she’d finally figured it out? He’d apologize later. They’d almost reached the bank. Now that the car wasn’t providing a breakfront for them, they were in the narrow section of the gully where the water was rushing unabated. With the wall lining the other side, there was no other choice but to find a way to crawl out this side. He scanned the edge for the least-steep angle out, but visibility was well limited…and it really didn’t matter much at this point. He did look back then. “I’m going to lift you out first.”

Her face was set in determined lines as she braced herself against the current, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded instead.

He braced himself as best as he could, then pulled her closer. “Hold on to my shoulders, and I’ll give you a leg up and out.”

She nodded again, then turned so the water came at her side and bracketed her legs in the muck before tentatively putting her hands on his shoulders. At no time did she so much as look at his face.

“Ye’ll have to hold on better than that.”

She did look up then, just as a particularly heavy gust of wind caught her back and had her clutching at his bare shoulders, her nails digging into his chilled skin. He found himself grinning and couldn’t, for the life of him, have said why. “Better. Now up ye go.”

He gripped her hips, trying not to note how trim she was, how lithe, as he bent his knees and lifted her up and more or less heaved her onto the bank. She grappled at the slick ground, scrabbling for a hold so she didn’t slide back down again. He reached up and caught her foot and gave her an extra shove, sliding her chest deep across the grass and mud.

She grunted a little, but continued fighting for purchase, finally finding it and immediately climbing to her feet. She wobbled for a moment, but quickly regained her balance. She looked out and around into the dark of the storm, then looked back at him.

She wasn’t close enough to read her expression, but Tristan could tell from the coiled tension in her body that she was thinking of running. Where to, he had no idea. Was she so afraid of him still? He had a flashback to the look on her face when he’d knifed the canvas roof. Perhaps from her perspective, he wasn’t exactly a friendly face.

But before he could say anything to calm her down or reassure her—what that would have been, he had no idea—she turned back to him.

“Can I help you?” she said, yelling over the roar of the wind.

So. Well, then. He didn’t know what to make of her.

“I’m fine,” he said, then set about making his entirely graceless exit from the gully waters, which almost included the loss of what little modesty he’d managed to preserve during his rescue effort as he dragged himself up the slick bank. Mercifully he found purchase before his boxers were scraped clean off him. An instant later she was on her hands and knees in front of him, grabbing at his wrists and pulling with all she had.

The leverage was unexpected, and he’d just found a toehold and shoved with his feet. The end result was that he catapulted up the slope and knocked her clean to her back. Landing square on top of her.

She grunted, surprised by the impact, then turned her face to look directly into his. “Well,” was all she said.

Again, his lips quirked. “Aye.”

He rolled off her, managing to catalogue just how her body had felt beneath his despite the brief contact, not to mention the complete inappropriateness of such a thing. “Are ye okay?”

She sat up. “Define okay.”

He laughed. “Come on. I’ve got dry clothes and a warm house just down the lane.” He rolled to his feet and extended a hand.

She crawled to a stand without taking advantage of his offer. She started to brush herself off, then shook her head at the useless effort. The rain continued to beat at them and the wind snatched at her clothes and hair. “Th-thank you,” she said, stuttering a little as she began to shake. Whether from the aftershock from the accident itself or the chilling effect of the water, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.

“I mean ye no harm. I live just down the lane and saw your brake lights streak across my front window. My family owns this property, far as you can see. I manage it. I’ll take you into the village first thing. Beyond that, you’re just going to have to trust me. There’s nowhere else to go and it’s no’ safe standing out here any longer.”

She studied him for a moment, then, crossing her arms across her chest, she looked back at the gully and her mostly submerged car.

“We’ll get it pulled out tomorrow.”

She nodded, rubbing her arms and shivering. She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked back at him. “Okay.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

She shook her head.

He paused, then turned and led the way at a trot. She stayed behind him, but said nothing else. He glanced over his shoulder every couple yards to make sure she was keeping up with him and hadn’t had a change of heart and bolted across the field.

A minute later he was opening his gate and motioning her to the rear of the house. “Mud room,” he shouted over the wind.

She didn’t even hesitate, but put her head down and scurried around back. He matched her pace, both reaching the door at the same time. “I have a dog,” he told her as they hunkered down. “Excitable, but friendly. Jinty is her name.”

She just nodded with a jerk of her chin, shivering and shifting from one foot to the other while Tristan opened the door. He went in first, mostly to run interference. He corralled the dancing Jinty and herded her through the mud room door into the kitchen. “You can say hello in a moment,” he told her, then closed the door between them, much to her whining dismay. “Sorry,” he said, turning back to his guest.

She was standing in a growing puddle, looking anywhere but at him. An odd one, he thought. Forthright one moment, shy the next. He supposed being wrecked, stranded, almost drowned, then stuck in a strange man’s house was likely enough to put anyone a bit off their stride, and decided to withhold further judgment. He pulled a towel from the pile and handed it to her. “Start with this,” he instructed, “and I’ll go see what I can round up in the way of dry clothes.”

It was only then that he noticed her gaze had tracked to the pile of wet, muddy clothes he’d already left on the floor earlier. Which then led him to slowly glance down at himself. Och, Christ. And here he’d been thinking her a loon for not being able to rescue herself from her own car. In all the while he’d been freezing his balls off out there, not once had he stopped to think of the picture he was presenting. He’d been focused on getting her out safely and nothing more.

He shot her a quick smile as he snatched a towel from the shelf and wrapped it around his hips. “Perhaps I should see about dry clothes for us both. I apologize for my lack of modesty, but I’d just come in from the fields, caught in the same storm, and peeled out of that muddy pile. When I saw your car head into the gully moments afterward, it seemed best to make haste.” He didn’t bother to mention he’d been even less appropriately clad during his initial rescue attempt. Likely she’d seen him run bare-assed down the lane, anyway. Too late to worry about that now.

She’d wiped her face and arms with the towel he’d given her, and was presently wrapping the dry end around the length of her hair and squeezing the extra water out. All with her gaze carefully averted. But now she looked at him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so uncooperative and seemingly ungrateful. I’m not, really. I just thought you were…” She let the words trail off, obviously—if the slight color returning to her cheeks was any indication—realizing that whatever she’d been about to say might come off as less than gracious.

“A loon,” he provided, easing her discomfort. He smiled as he took the wet towel from her hands and offered her another dry one. “Dinnae fash yerself,” he told her. “You can hardly be blamed for drawin’ that conclusion, now can you?” He scrubbed at his own hair and let his smile ease into a grin.

For a moment there, he thought he saw her lips twitch, but she was still shivering and trembling, so it was hard to tell. “Enough chatter,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment. Use all you need,” he said, motioning to the pile of worn, frayed towels stacked on the shelf next to the washer. “Those are for cleanup and the like, but they’re fresh washed.”

“Th-thank you,” she said, her lips a bit on the bluish side. “I do really appreciate this.”

“Not a problem.” He slipped out of the room and headed swiftly to his bedroom, Jinty dancing at his side the whole way. “Aye, we have company. And I’ll expect you to be on your best behavior.” He realized he sounded almost jovial about the prospect, which wasn’t like him in the least. But there was no denying the bedraggled woman intrigued him.

He gave Jint a quick scratch, then opened his closet doors and frowned. Jeans, trousers, work pants, a few pairs of summer shorts. There wasn’t much in the way of anything that would fit her smaller frame. He rooted about and finally dug out a pair of dark-blue cotton drawstring pants that he’d had for ages but rarely wore. He grabbed a sweatshirt down from the shelf, then thought to toss an old Hagg’s Pub t-shirt on the pile as well. A quick dive into his dresser produced a pair of heavy socks. “That should do. Come on,” he said to the dog as he headed back out. “Might as well greet our new guest.” Whose name, he realized, he hadn’t bothered to ask as of yet.

He returned to the washroom to find her still standing right where he’d left her, except she’d taken off her one shoe and was standing on several smaller towels in an effort not to drip any more water onto his floor than necessary. Both of them were covered with grit, grime, and mud. A shower was mandatory, but he didn’t feel right asking her to strip down in here. “Follow me—I’ll show you to the guest room. There’s a bath, fresh towels, and soap. Not sure on shampoo, but I’ll check. Take as long as you like.”

“I don’t want to track muck through your house,” she said, and it struck him then that she was American. He’d been so caught up in the rescue process, he hadn’t really paid attention to her accent.

“Och, no worries. This auld place has suffered far worse the last few hundred years and fared well enough. It’ll survive a bit of grit and grime.” He smiled. “Or a bit more, I should say.” He gestured to his own less-than-shiny-clean self. He didn’t wait for her to argue. He opened the door and let the dog romp into the room. She set to racing circles around his guest, tail whipping back and forth.

“This is Jinty, my sheep dog and all-around companion.”

His guest didn’t shy away from the dog at all, quite the opposite. She immediately reached for Jinty’s ears and gave her a good scratch. “Hi, there. Good girl.”

Jinty all but preened, quite pleased with the attention. Tristan found himself warming even more toward his guest.

“You’ve a friend for life now,” he told her. “Come on, follow me.” He steered her through the kitchen, into the living area, and turned the opposite way from his own rooms. “Guest room is here,” he motioned. “Bathroom in here.” He opened the door and stuck his head in. “I think you have what you need. Take as long as you like. I’m going to the opposite end of the house and take a shower myself. Make yourself at home when you’re done. I’ll find something for us to eat once we’ve scraped ourselves clean.”

He held open the door and she scooted past him. She was a head shorter than he, and even with muck and mire, or maybe because of it, he found himself drawn to the unusual angles of her face. She had shadows beneath her eyes and hollows beneath her cheeks. Somehow he doubted those were just the result of this evening’s adventures. Her eyes reflected a fatigue that went far beyond a single, difficult night.

“Thank you,” she said. “I won’t take too long.”

“I’ve a water heater at both ends of the house, so take all you need. No hurry.” He smiled. “It’s no’ like we have anywhere we have to be.”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach very far. He couldn’t recall ever seeing someone who looked so…weary. Soul-deep weary.

He put the pile of dry clothes on the small towel stand beside the tub and left her to it. But even as he stood under the stinging spray of his own hot shower, he couldn’t erase those eyes from his thoughts. It made him wonder what she’d been doing out here after all, racing around the countryside in that little death trap of hers. Maybe he’d been too quick to assume. Had she been running toward something? Running away?

Of course, he had no idea. But he couldn’t look into those eyes of hers and make himself believe she’d just been happily out and about, only to find herself suddenly stuck in a storm burst.

No, there was a story behind those eyes.

He’d always been drawn to landscapes, wanting to capture the energy of nature in all her glory with nothing more than a pen or brush. But something about his guest made his fingers twitch with the need to draw, to sketch those eyes, that face, to ferret out her secrets and find a way to convey them to paper so as to have more than his memory to call upon when he thought about her.

He shook his head at the folly of that and turned his face toward the spray of water. One night. Then she’d move on. She wasn’t going to linger under his roof.

If only he could be so certain she wasn’t going to linger any longer in his thoughts.

Chapter 5

Bree carefully stepped into the high-sided, claw-foot tub and pulled the circular shower curtain around her. She groaned in deep appreciation the instant the hot water hit her skin. I might never come back out of here, she thought, as all the accumulated tension from the past several hours eased out of her muscles.

And if she stayed in the shower forever—or at least till morning—there was the added bonus of not having to face her rescuer again tonight.

She shivered a little, only this time it had absolutely nothing to do with being stuck in bone-chillingly wet clothes. Or no clothes, which is what he might as well have been wearing. Jesus. She had to stop thinking about him. She closed her eyes and ducked her head under the spray. But that only served to allow his image to pop up, fully formed and quite detailed, in her mind’s eye.

Out in the dark, in the storm, he’d looked like nothing more than a crazed lunatic.

However, standing in his mud room, with nothing more than a towel wrapped around his lean hips and a grin on his handsome face…well…She twitched a little as she ran the washcloth over her breasts and belly, sensations that were definitely pleasurable as they skated across her skin. Dangerous thoughts, Bree. But, dear Lord, who wouldn’t have X-rated thoughts about a man like that? With those dark eyes, that long hair, a hint of a beard shadowing his jaw, and a bottom lip just made for nibbling on…not to mention the accent. Seriously, with the accent. He was every woman’s Scottish hero fantasy come to life. He was certainly hers, anyway. The man cut quite the arresting figure, even in a towel.

She started vigorously scrubbing at her arms and legs. She was the one who should be arrested. She had no business thinking anything remotely of that sort about him. He’d raced out into a dangerous storm to rescue her, and what had she done but scream and beat at his hand with her shoe. Lord, but he must have thought her a completely brainless twit. She realized now, of course, what he’d been so wildly gesturing at. No wonder he’d looked so fierce and wild. Trying to rescue a woman who was drowning in a damn convertible.

She dropped her chin and let the water beat on her back and neck. She’d always thought she’d be calm and collected in the face of crisis, but no, she’d completely lost it. So what if she hadn’t slept in days and was a little strung out? No excuse for the total loss of anything resembling common sense. She’d apologized to him, but of course that was hardly enough, considering.

She could offer him a monetary reward for his heroics, but something told her he’d reject that out of hand as a matter of pride, and might even be insulted. She’d have to figure out something. Just as soon as she found the energy to get out of this heavenly, steamy shower.

She massaged shampoo into her scalp and worked it through her hair, trying to focus on a plan of attack for tomorrow. She’d need another car, she’d have to decide whether or not to contact Dana, or anyone else, and let them know she was all right. She’d intended to do that once she found a place to stay—she didn’t want anyone to worry. Not that she’d planned to tell them where she was, just that she was fine. She just wanted to drop out for a while, find someplace where nobody knew her, and be left alone to figure things out. But there had been no signal anywhere—then the storm had whipped up.

And once again, her thoughts drifted back to him. To his broad, sculpted chest, the scattering of hair dusting the taut skin, arrowing down his flat belly in a nice little line that went straight to—she cut herself off before she could think of how indecently his soaked boxers had molded to his body. He might as well have been naked, as she pretty much knew the contour of what lay beneath. And…well…she definitely needed to stop thinking about that.

Not that it helped. Her rampant thoughts merely hop-scotched to that moment he’d gripped her hips and heaved her up onto the bank. Granted, there was nothing remotely sexy about being shoved face first into mud and muck…but that hadn’t negated for one second her surprise at his easy strength. He’d barely exerted himself. And those hands…she remembered being surprised they weren’t broad and rough-hewn, as the rest of him would indicate. Long, tapered fingers…almost elegantly refined…and yet they’d dug into her hips with surprising confidence and power.

She absently slid her hands over her body again, then realized what she was doing and abruptly went back to rinsing the rest of the suds from her hair. With everything that had happened to her over the past year and a half, it wasn’t any surprise she had lacked any kind of intimate companionship. Not that it wasn’t available. As even a minor, flash-in-the-pan celebrity, she’d had guys all but throw themselves at her. She just hadn’t wanted to catch any of them. Their motives were all suspect now. Besides, she’d been so overwhelmed with the whirlwind her life had become, that despite the fact that she’d long since grown tired of crawling into a hotel bed alone at the end of another exhausting day, it wasn’t like she had anything left to devote to a relationship of any kind. And one-night stands were not for her.

All she’d wanted lately was to crawl into a cave somewhere, nurse herself and her creative spark back to life…and write. Write something all for herself. With no expectations, no pressure, no deadline.

Ha. Fat chance.

But it was nice to know she had enough of something left inside herself to react at all to the rather virile charms of her rescuer. Any other time in her life, she might even entertain a few impure thoughts of just how she could pay him back for his troubles. She snorted and rinsed the last of the soap from her skin. Yeah, right. Worn out, beaten down, and recently hysterical, she was just certain he was all but drooling at the chance to have her. Not that it really mattered one way or the other. She might be world-traveled now, having hobnobbed with celebrities and even dined with royalty. But when it came down to being a woman, she was still a small-town librarian from Mason, Missouri. And while not entirely the embodiment of the tight-bunned, and even tighter-assed cliché long associated with her profession, she was hardly a wanton, either. This was the first time that it had actually bothered her, though.

Sighing in regret, for that and the fact that her wonderfully rejuvenating shower was over, she stepped carefully out of the tub and grabbed a couple of towels. Heck, as many of those as she’d gone through already, maybe she could repay him by doing laundry for the rest of the night.

Which led her completely inappropriate thoughts circling back to him, and wondering what he was doing right that moment. Wrapped in another towel, slung low on those lean hips? Or still in the shower, with all that hot, sudsy water running down his chest, over that flat belly, only to get all hung up on—Jeez, Bree.

She wrapped her hair in one towel and used the other to dry off. She had to stop thinking about him like that. Really, she did. In a few minutes she’d be facing him again and she couldn’t afford to be distracted by…well, by anything other than sincerely thanking him for his help and offering to somehow repay him for his selfless kindness. She could not be thinking about the way that towel had clung so precariously to his lean hips. And she definitely couldn’t be thinking about how those soaking-wet boxers had clung to, and indecently outlined, every inch of his anatomy. Some inches more indecently than others.

She tried, and failed, to remember him as the crazy man she’d initially believed him to be, wildly gesticulating at her and looking so fierce. Instead, all she could remember was him turning to her in the middle of a deluge, extending his hand…and grinning. Her heart had literally skipped a beat. There he’d stood, mostly naked, long hair plastered to his neck and shoulders, grime and grit streaked across his wet and gleaming torso, with lightning dancing about the skies and thunder rocking the ground beneath their feet. All things considered, that smile should have made him look even more visceral and wild…and it had. But not in a way that had made her want to run screaming into the night. Quite the contrary.

He was completely different from any man she’d ever met. A rough-hewn Scot, tucked away far out in some rural landscape, doing heaven knew what to get by for a living. A man who, at the first sign of danger, had run straight at it without thought to his own safety or comfort.

Those wet boxers flashed through her mind again. She really had to stop that. And she would. Any second now.

Leaving her hair wrapped in a towel, she reached for the pile of clothes he’d brought. The first thing she noticed was how soft they were, well worn and laundered. Without thinking, she buried her nose in the soft cotton. Yes, it smelled like home. No artificial scents, just the aroma of fresh, clean air. He’d dried these outside, she’d bet on it, just as her mother had, and as she had, as well. Stupidly, it made her eyes well up. God, she missed her old life. The slow pace, the peaceful surroundings, the people who all knew your name and cared about you as one of their own.

She was just tired, she told herself, sniffling back the tears and putting the pile of clothes back down. She shook out the t-shirt and slipped it on. The shoulders were halfway down her arms and the hem fell past her hips. His broad chest and well developed shoulders and arms flashed through her mind. She rubbed the soft cotton on her skin, imagining him in this shirt, pulling it over his head and—

Right, right. She was stopping.

She pulled on the drawstring pants, then had to roll them down a couple of times on her hips to keep them up. The ends trailed past her feet, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. The fabric was too loose and soft to be rolled up. She pulled on the thick socks and found herself relaxing into the soft comfort the clothes brought to her. It was too steamy in the bathroom to need the sweatshirt he’d given her, but looking down at the way the t-shirt hung on her bare breasts and detailed the very erect nipples she was sporting at the moment…she yanked the hooded sweatshirt over her head anyway. Or tried to. She’d forgotten about the towel wrapped around her hair. A minute later she was in a straitjacket of towel, hair, sweatshirt, and drawstring.

So, naturally her erstwhile savior and host chose that moment to knock. “Beef stew okay with you?” he called through the door. “I’m afraid the menu is limited.”

Bree’s response was a muffled grunt.

There was a pause, during which she managed to make things worse rather than better. Turning in circles as she fought with the sleeves and snarled hair, she managed to bang into the towel cabinet.

“Is everything all right?”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. At what point had her life gone from a Hitchcock movie to a Laurel and Hardy filmfest? Straining her neck in order to find a breath of available air, she called out, “I’m stuck.”

She heard him fumble with the door. “Are you decent?”

Now she did laugh. Asked the man who had just spent the past hour running around quite indecently, she thought. “Yes,” she managed.

Her face was completely swallowed in towel, hair, and sweatshirt, so she felt him enter the room, rather than saw him.

“Here, here,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder to still her movements. His touch made her jump, but not so much in surprise as in…well, as in she really didn’t need to go there, now did she? Bad enough she was standing in his bathroom, wearing his clothes, and feeling every inch the naked woman she was beneath them, too. Then there was the fact that she had no idea what he was wearing…or not, as the case may be. More images she definitely did not need went floating through her mind. And to top it all off, he was touching her with such gentle confidence. Using those beautiful hands of his.

“Hold still.” He tried to turn her with his hands on her shoulders, but she was so tangled, he opted to steer her around with his hands on her hips. She swallowed a little moan when he held her hips square, then tugged her a little closer. She could only hope he assumed it was the discomfort she was in, not the fact that his mere proximity was tangling her suddenly reawakened libido into far more complex knots than this sweatshirt-hair-towel combo could only hope to achieve.

“You’ve made quite a nest of it,” he said, almost more to himself than to her. “See if you can slide your arm down a little—no, no.” He stopped her movements by taking hold of one arm, then sliding his hand from wrist to bicep. If he had any clue what havoc his touch was wreaking with her senses…

He tugged a little. “Okay, I have hold of the towel and the shirt. All you have to do is move your hand a little and—”

She slid one arm free, and that gave her just enough wiggle room to get her other arm extricated. Suddenly loose, the sweatshirt tugged at her snarled hair even more as the towel fell mercifully to the floor. “Ouch,” she said, wincing as she grabbed for the sweatshirt.

He did, too. “I have it now. Ye’ve only to hold still.”

She did as he asked, trying hard to keep her restored line of vision aimed anywhere but at his chest, which was mere inches away. It didn’t matter that he had on a t-shirt now. Her memory was quite fine, thank you very much, and incredibly detailed, as it happened. He worked to untangle the wet strands from the drawstring that ran through the hood of the sweatshirt. She found she was more than willing to let him toy with her hair as long as he wanted to. He was very gentle and she was rather enjoying the view, no matter what she told herself. She’d given up trying not to stare. It’s not like he cared, or knew where her thoughts were going anyway, right?

“Och, but you have a horse’s mane, that ye do.”

How flattering. That was one way to cure her of her wandering imagination. If only it had worked. “Sorry to be such a pain.”

“Dinnae worry,” he said, in that smooth burr of his. “No extra charge for the second rescue. And I didn’t have to risk drowning in anything but terry cloth and hair this go.”

She felt her cheeks heat a little. “Not that you’ll believe this, but I’m generally a very self-sufficient woman.”

“Oh, I pass no judgment. You’ve had a hard enough time of it.”

“You have no idea,” she murmured.

His hands paused for a moment, then continued with the mission. “There,” he pronounced, freeing her from the sweatshirt string. “All is good. Though it might take you a wee bit to get a comb through it.”

She took the sweatshirt from him and their gazes locked for a moment. “It’s usually a bit of a nightmare. I’m used to it.”

He said nothing, just held her gaze, that slight half-smile of his playing at the corners of his mouth. “It’s quite lovely, really. Worth the effort, in my book.”

She was so caught off guard by the compliment she wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d said it directly enough, with no real overtones, save that hint of a smile. Whatever the case, the moment ended when he broke eye contact to reach down and scoop the towel off the floor.

“I—uh, thank you,” she stammered. Oh yeah, she was smooth. Dined with royalty, no problem. But couldn’t untie her own tongue in the presence of a hot Scot. “I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me. If there is anything I can do—”

“Just come out by the stove and settle in, warm up. If stew is all right with you…?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll be glad to help do…whatever.”

He cut her off with a real smile. “Grab a comb and follow me. I have a feeling I’m going to have the easier job at my task than you will with yours.”

She found a comb, scooped up her dirty clothes, and followed him out to the main room. After insisting, he reluctantly let her take her things to the laundry room and load the washer. As she tossed his muddy things in as well, then added soap, she realized she was smiling. In spite of the earlier, harrowing drama, she was, to be quite honest, very content with her situation at the moment. Though not intentionally, it appeared as if she’d stumbled across exactly what she’d been looking for when she’d raced out of Edinburgh this morning, and driven headlong into the highland mountains, wanting only to get as far away from civilization as possible.

Well, she’d accomplished that. She’d landed in an alternate universe of sorts, where no one knew her name. No one cared what she did for a living. No one cared if she ever wrote another word. At least it felt that way at the moment.

It should have given her pause at the very least, stuck with a strange man in the middle of nowhere, cut off from everyone, not a soul knowing where she was. But it was that very notion that had her smile warming to something approximating an actual grin.

A taste of true freedom. At least for now. And for now, a taste was enough. More than she’d thought possible.

She recalled following him out of the bathroom and down the hall. Her gaze had been drawn to the jeans he was wearing…and how he was wearing them. Long, lanky legs that she happened to know were very nicely defined. His t-shirt had fallen in a straight sheet from his broad shoulders, left untucked at the waist. His thick hair was drying in long waves that reached well past his shoulders.

As alternate universes went, she found herself thinking the view from this one was pretty spectacular…

And she couldn’t help but wonder just how long she could play at being Alice in her new little wonderland.

Chapter 6

Tristan paused at the door to the mud room and watched her for a moment, undetected. She looked completely ridiculous swallowed up in his shirt and pants. Her hair was a snarled mess. But she was smiling as she started the washer on its cycle, and seemed relaxed and content. And for whatever reason, that settled something inside of him. He wasn’t used to having company and was generally quite satisfied with that status quo. So why the thought of having her here didn’t bother him quite so much, he couldn’t say. Especially given that she’d been nothing but trouble thus far. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, but her smile didn’t falter as she closed the lid on the washer and turned to him. “It was the least I could do, trust me.”

“Stew is heating. Why don’t you come sit by the stove, warm up.”

She picked up the sweatshirt and comb and followed him back to the living room. Jinty looked up from where she’d settled in the middle of the room. She thumped her tail, but went back to the chunk of rawhide Tristan had given her to calm her down. He motioned to the chair closest to the peat stove. “Here,” he said, shifting the chair and accompanying footstool so they angled closer to the warmth of the fire.

“Thank you.” She sat and went to work on untangling the snarls.

He watched for a moment, knowing he should make himself scarce and give her some space…but not particularly motivated to do so. “So, what sent you out into a raging storm in that little buggy of yours? Or did you get caught unawares?”

She paused for a moment, and he could see the mental debate she waged. So…there was more to the story then, as he’d thought. As it was, he was having a hard time matching the calm, seemingly level-headed woman who sat before him, with the panicked, borderline hysterical woman who’d been trapped in her own car an hour earlier. Perhaps she simply didn’t do well under pressure, but his instincts were telling him otherwise. And the silent debate she was waging backed that theory. He sat on the end of the oak-plank coffee table and waited for her response.

“I definitely got caught unawares. But, I—my life has been a little crazy of late, and I was just trying to, um, you know, get away from things for a little while. I was still struggling to learn the whole shifting left-handed thing and driving on the wrong side of the road—then the storm just whipped up, with the wind and everything, and right in the middle of it a sheep jumped in front of my car and I lost control. Anyway, as I said, I’ve been a bit frazzled of late, and I certainly didn’t handle the whole situation as well as I otherwise might have.” She’d gone back to picking at the knots in her hair with the comb during her little speech, the most she’d spoken since they’d crossed paths.

And she carefully hadn’t looked at him once, he noted.

So, she had been running from something. From her “crazy life.” But it wasn’t any of his business what that crazy life entailed. At least she wasn’t the hysterical twit he’d thought her to be, and he should just be thankful that she’d be out from underfoot by morning.

As it happened, he didn’t feel quite like that. It made him think back to what Brodie had been teasing him about earlier today. Which now seemed a lifetime ago, given everything that had happened since. Thing was, he did like his life out here. He enjoyed the solitude and serenity. Not that he minded the village and the bustle and noise. On occasion. For very limited periods of time. He wasn’t a hermit, but he didn’t like to be in the throng of things. Nothing wrong with that. Out here he was left to his own devices, the king of his domain. He enjoyed dealing with the tenant farmers and handling their issues, as they were few and far between and generally left him plenty of time to herd the sheep, contemplate the world, and sketch and paint to his heart’s content. If anything, he’d always assumed others would be jealous of his lifestyle, not the other way around.

Only Brodie had had one point. Companionship was something he missed. Specifically that of a female nature. But that was where things got tricky with the life he’d carved for himself. About the only female who was compatible with it, or would ever be, was Jinty.

Just then, his guest winced as she picked at a particularly bad snarl and he was reaching for the comb before he thought better of the gesture.

“No, that’s okay,” she said, automatically shifting away from him. Not alarmed, but not exactly comfortable, either.

He slipped the comb from her hands anyway and shook his own unruly mop. “I happen to have some experience with this and there have been more than a time or two when an extra pair of hands and someone with some patience would have come in handy.”

She did glance up at him then, a hint of a smile on her lips. “You are blessed with more patience than I, and I can’t blame that on ulcer-inducing stress or killer fatigue,” she said, then apparently realized she’d let a little too much slip. But she didn’t look away.

He held her gaze, and found himself imagining how he’d draw her. Pastels, maybe. Charcoal first, though, to get the feel of all those sharp angles. He wondered if her face was always so lean, almost hard at the edges, or if it was a result of that stress and fatigue she’d just mentioned.

He realized he could have continued to stare into those eyes, questions upon questions coming to his tongue, for an endless period of time before tiring of the view. So he nudged her shoulder and said, “Shift around, sit on the hassock here. Let me get the worst at the back.” He pushed the padded footstool that sat between her chair and the coffee table more squarely between them. “You face the fire and let me work on the knots.”

“You’ve done more than your share, and I’m already intruding on your hospitality. I—”

“Humor me. I don’t often have company out here. It’s just me and my sheep.” As if sensing her exclusion, Jinty took that moment to thump her tail on the floor. Tristan laughed. “And my girl, Jint. But she’s not much for chatting. If you’d like to repay me, not that you need to, but I wouldn’t mind the conversation.” He looked back at her—and realized he didn’t know her name. He switched hands with the comb and stuck his right one out. I’m Tristan, by the by. Tristan Chisholm.”

Instead of making her feel more comfortable, however, his overture made her go completely still. She stared at his hand, then at him. She glanced past him, taking in the room, looking for or at what, he had no idea, then finally back to him. “I’m Bree,” she said, finally looking back at him and taking his hand in a quick shake.

The lack of a last name was so blatant it had to be intentional, but he let it go. She was a woman alone, after all, and it might have been simply a cautious move on her part. But it was harder than he’d have thought not to dig. His curiosity, now piqued, was only growing.

“Turn,” he told her, deciding it better to let her dictate the course, if any, of their conversation. She hesitated, but when he smiled, did as he asked. He started working on the ends of her hair, his mind going a million miles a minute. For a man who lived in, and cherished, peace and quiet, it was taking an enormous amount of restraint to allow the silence to continue between them. Surprisingly, she broke it first.

“I—I really do apologize for…well, everything. You’ve done so much and, I just…you really don’t have to do this.”

“I dinnae mind,” he said, never more sincere. “As I said, other than the occasional annoying visit by one of my brothers, I lack for company on a regular basis. So if I have to rescue a fair maiden in order to have a dinner companion, well…”

She made a sound that could have been a laugh, but it was so soft he couldn’t quite tell. “Seems an extreme measure,” she said, then added, “Just how far are we from the nearest town?”

Ah, so she was thinking of her safety, out here alone with him. He could, of course, reassure her all he wanted, but she’d either believe or not. He’d have to let his actions speak for him. Which made him work to hide a grin. At the moment, his actions had him playing with her hair and sporting the definite beginnings of a hard-on. Not exactly keeping a safe and respectable distance.

But what an amazing mane she had. Snarled, wet, it didn’t matter. He wanted to sink his hands into it, to turn her to him and see if he could spark life all the way into the depths of those wary eyes of hers. He wondered what the fair Bree would say if she had any inkling of his thoughts.

“Glenbuie would be closest,” he told her. “About a half-hour from here. My brother owns the pub there, Hagg’s. Another runs our family distillery, located on the far side of the village from here. My oldest brother is presently turning our crumbling family manse into a bed and breakfast, in hopes of keeping it from disintegrating entirely.”

She said nothing for a few minutes, so he continued to work his way through her hair. Then, finally, she asked, “And you?”

So…she wasn’t as impervious as she appeared. Good to know. He was growing less impervious by the moment. Noticing things he had no business paying attention to, like the way her slender neck curved into shoulders that she held so carefully square. Or the way she kept her spine stiff and straight, as if she dared to allow herself to relax for one brief moment, something terrible might happen. Gone was that momentary peace he’d noted earlier, when she’d thought herself alone in the mud room.

“Aye, I tend to the family flock. I also tend to the needs of the farmers who lease out our grazing property. But their needs are minimal. Mostly I have the run of the land. Jinty and I, anyway.”

“It sounds quite…solitary.” She didn’t say it in a condemning way. In fact, she sounded almost…wistful.

“Aye, that it ‘tis. But I enjoy it. I fancy myself an artist from time to time, though no’ so much of late. I seem to have lost my muse.”

Now she did snort, but added no commentary.

He found he couldn’t let that one pass so easily. “What? Is it me being an artist you find so unbelievable?”

“No, not at all,” she immediately said, clearly not wanting to insult him. “It was a self-directed comment, trust me.”

“Have you lost yours as well, then? What is it that your muse inspires in you?”

She held her tongue, but he was patient. She’d proven to have curiosity and he doubted it was her nature to be silent and withdrawn, as when she let her guard down, she was quite personable, even if only for a moment here and there. Those were glimpses of the real Bree—he’d bet on it.

“I’m a writer,” she said, then almost held herself even more rigidly than before, as if waiting for an unseen blow.

He frowned now, unable to imagine what about the written word would inspire such trepidation. “A journalist?” he asked. Perhaps she’d written some volatile political piece or something.

“No.” She didn’t elaborate. When he didn’t press, but simply returned to his task, she said, “Do you read much? Novels, that sort of thing?”

“No’ so much novels, no. I enjoy history, books on art, farming, business.”

She seemed to take that in. “Newspapers? Periodicals?”

She wasn’t a journalist, so he wondered why that mattered. “The local village puts out a paper every Saturday, but otherwise, no’ so much. My world is here.”

She took that in, but added nothing. He finished with the section of hair in the back and paused. “Why do you ask?” It couldn’t be helped. He had to know. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

She turned then, looking over her shoulder at him. “Why do you ask that?”

He smiled. “Why do you deflect the question with a question?”

She said nothing, but twin spots of color bloomed quite becomingly in her cheeks.

“If you’ve someone after you and I’m giving you shelter, perhaps I should know about it. That’s all. Not that I’d turn you out,” he assured her. “But being prepared is half the battle.”

“I didn’t run away from any one person.”

“Ah,” he countered, holding her gaze, keeping his tone light. “But you do admit you’ve run.”

She started to turn away from him, hide herself once again, as he was certain she’d been doing instinctively for some time now. Just as he was certain it was not her nature, and that in doing so, it had taken quite a toll on her. How he understood this, he couldn’t pinpoint, other than that her eyes, her expression, spoke to him in a way that communicated more clearly her thoughts than others could with a whole dictionary of words at their disposal. Yet again, his fingers itched to grab pen and paper and begin trying to capture all that she was so silently, and yet so loudly, communicating to him.

“Does the name Bree Sullivan mean anything to you?” she asked, quite bluntly and abruptly, her tone both confrontational and somewhat wary at the same time.

“Mean anything in what way?”

“You’ve not heard of it, then?”

“Other than from you, no, I can’t say that I have.”

And in that instant, her shoulders slumped a little, the stiff line of her spine softened. She dipped her chin and if he wasn’t mistaken, he thought he saw her jaw quiver a little. As if she was fighting tears, or some other wave of emotion.

“Hey, there, come now.” Gently he took her shoulders and turned her to him. When she wouldn’t look up, he used a gentle finger beneath her chin to coax her into it anyway. Her eyes were huge and glassy wet, her face so clearly weary and spent. “The day has taken a toll on ye, hasn’t it, luv?” he said gently. “And here I’ve been badgering ye.” It was clear there was far more involved than that, but he felt bad now for pushing, he who so prized his privacy. “Let me get some warm stew into you—then you can crawl in and sleep until you don’t need any more.”

“I—you—thank you,” she stuttered, clearly embarrassed by her near-breakdown. There was a small sniff, then she pulled her chin from his touch and gathered her wits about her once more. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. I’m…not myself. I’m sorry.”

“Dinnae fash yerself, lass,” he assured her. And the side of him that saw lambs into the world and cared for his flock, Jinty included, but rarely beyond, found itself extending to include her as well. She was most definitely a lost sheep. And for the span of this night, she was his to care for. “I think I’ve tamed the worst of it,” he said, offering her back the comb. “You should be able to reach the rest okay.”

She took the comb, her expression so grateful it made his heart ache a little. “Thank you. For—for more than you know.”

“Come now,” he teased, trying to give her space to recoup, “we Scots are famed for our friendly hospitality.” He smiled. “I canno’ say the same for our food, though.”

“I’ve had no complaints,” she said, relaxing a little again. “I’m from the Midwest. Meat and potatoes are staples of life there. As far as I’m concerned, the simpler the meal, the better.”

“The Midwest. Farming, perhaps?”

“Not my family, but yes. Missouri,” she offered, when he didn’t speak right away. “Small town. So I know how nice it is to have your peace and solitude.”

“It’s been some time since you’ve had that then, I take it?”

She didn’t freeze up again, but the wary look made an immediate reappearance. “Yes. A very long time, it seems.”

“So you crossed the big pond looking for it here?”

“Something like that.”

“Not entirely successful, I take it. Given the flight today in your car.”

“No,” she agreed. “Not much luck at all. I’m not sure it’s available for me.”

“Well, you have it here,” he told her. “Other than my annoying, probing questions, anyway.”

“You have it here,” she corrected him. “I’m just borrowing it for the night. But I’m more thankful for that one night than you can possibly know.”

He held her gaze for the space of several long seconds, and then the offer was made before he could think on it a moment longer. “I’ve room,” he told her. “And I dinnae think my peace and solitude will be shattered too much by the addition of another soul.”

She turned, stared at him. “What do you mean?”

He hadn’t planned this, had planned in fact to have her gone within twenty-four hours. But that was a lifetime ago, too. Before he was intrigued. Before he was entranced. Before his muse had made a very unexpected reappearance. “I mean, you can stay here. For however long you’d like.”

“But I can’t just—”

He cut her off. Because he’d seen that instant spark of hope in her eyes. And because he’d felt the same spark inside of him as well. He didn’t claim to understand it, but he wanted the chance to try.

“Yes, you can just.” He stood and extended her a hand. “Sometimes it really can be just that simple.”

She looked at him, so wary, yet so obviously wanting to believe. When she put her hand in his and stood, he knew at once he’d been right. It really could be that simple. Just as he knew, and surprisingly accepted, that it was quite likely nothing was going to be simple, ever again.

Chapter 7

“Simple,” Bree echoed. She wanted to laugh at the mere suggestion that anything in her life could ever be such again. But he was holding her hand, and looking into her eyes…and standing so close. It had been all she could do not to squirm the entire time he’d had his hands in her hair. If he had any idea the kind of thoughts she was harboring about him, especially when he’d been nothing but a gentleman…she wondered if the invitation to stay would still be open. “You don’t know what you’re offering. It isn’t that simple.”

“You’re right. I don’t know the whole story. I only know you have one. And that it seems as if you could use a break.”

“You should know,” she started, but he lifted his free hand, halting her.

“If you want tae tell me, fine. But don’t feel ye have to. You’re safe here, I can tell you that much.”

“No one is after me, or anything like that.” Well, the entire free world was hounding at her heels, but that wasn’t quite what he’d been intimating.

He pushed the hair back from her face, and it made her breath catch in her throat. “You’re runnin’ from something, Bree Sullivan. I’m just offering you a place to stop for a bit and collect yourself. That’s all.” Then, as if realizing he was touching her with far more familiarity than he should be, he dropped his hand.

She almost sighed in disappointment and had to catch herself. He was right about one thing, she did need a break. She did need a place to stop and gather her thoughts, decide how she wanted to go forward. But while she’d expected or hoped to find some little out-of-the-way bed and breakfast or something, she hadn’t quite counted on this. Much less him.

She was intensely attracted to him—there was no point denying that any longer. But now was not the time to be adding any complications to a life already far too complicated for one person to manage. Simple, he’d said. And yet she knew there was nothing simple about her life…or about this man. Staying under his roof might help her to solve some of her problems in the short term…but it would be sorely tempting her to create a few new ones at the same time.

“I’m an author,” she said, quite abruptly. If she was going to stay here—and she realized even as the thought formed in her head that she’d already decided she wanted to—he had to know exactly what he was getting into. At least as it pertained to the life she’d led up until the moment she’d spun out into that gully. “I had a book out, about a year and a half ago, that sold very well.”

She looked at him, waited to see if he put the name and the book together, but he simply continued to look at her. Could it truly be that she’d not only stumbled across a decent, generous man, but one who truly had no idea who she was, or anything about the phenomenon that Summer Lake had become?

“It did so well, in fact, that I became something of a celebrity. I haven’t had much in the way of a private life ever since. And…and now the world is waiting for me to follow things up, and everyone is getting very impatient with me. Only…” She let the sentence drift, as the heavy weight of what awaited her out there lowered itself once again onto her narrow shoulders…and pressed heavily against her heart.

He tipped her chin up, and she belatedly realized they were still standing deep inside one another’s personal space. And that she rather liked it. A lot. The part of her brain that was rational knew it was just a human reaction to something—or someone, in this case—providing much-needed shelter and comfort. But the rest of her, the parts that were trembling and quivering, knew she wanted to be far deeper in this particular man’s personal space than she already was. And for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with seeking safe harbor. There was nothing remotely safe about the way his mere proximity was tripping every sensory alert she had, and a few she’d had no idea she possessed.

“The expectations we put on ourselves are usually what doom us the fastest,” he told her, his voice hardly more than a murmur. And then there was the way his gaze dropped to her mouth, before moving back to her eyes. Could it be he was having those same thoughts?

The very idea made her press her thighs together against the instant need that sprang to life between them. Ridiculous, really, to assume such a thing. Certainly, he wasn’t having the same kinds of thoughts she was. She looked a fright and had been nothing but a nuisance to him.

“I canno’ imagine having the weight of the world’s expectations piled on top of my own,” he went on.

His fingers traced lightly along her jaw. She went perfectly still. He…the way he was looking at her…had he seen something in her eyes? Was it wrong of her to want, almost desperately, for that to be true?

When she didn’t move away from him, he slid his fingers beneath the weight of the hair on her neck. “But at the moment, I can only seem to think of one thing and one thing only…”

Her breath caught when he pressed lightly against the nape of her neck, tipping her head back.

“And what would that be?” she asked, amazed she’d found the words at all.

“Finding out what you taste like.”

Her heart was pounding much as it had earlier, in the car, when she was trapped. Only now it wasn’t in fear and trepidation…but the rather exquisite torture of anticipation. If she allowed herself to think at all in that moment, she’d pull free, push him away. He was certainly giving her plenty of time.

So she simply refused to think.

Life had been too hard for too long, and she’d felt so guilty for hating what, by all rights, was a fairy tale existence most people could only dream of having. But the truth was, she hated that life. She wanted to be left alone to write, to pursue the craft she loved without all the hoopla and pressure. Right now she didn’t want to think about any of it. For far too long now, she’d felt very alone in a constant sea of people. Swimming in chaos and trying not to drown.

It had taken almost drowning for real for her to step outside of that chaos. And into the arms of the man standing in front of her. One man, surrounded by nothing but serenity and peace…even in the midst of a raging storm. He was like a life preserver being thrown right into her hands. She could hardly be blamed for wanting to grab on to it—him—and hold on tight. The rest could sort itself out later.

“So why don’t you?” she told him, shocking herself, but the hell with that, too. “Find out, I mean.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said. “The offer to stay was no’ contingent on this, ye know that.”

“So, if I asked you to stop, would you?” she asked.

He instantly started to lift his head, to pull back. Without thinking, she reached up and slid her hand into the thick mane at the back of his neck, not pulling him closer, but keeping him where he was.

“What if I’m curious, too?” she asked. “What if I’ve been thinking about this, too, ever since…” She broke off then, feeling her skin heat up. Images of him, soaked to the skin, all but completely naked, flashed through her mind, and she realized that no matter how worldly wise she’d become over the past year and a half…in the ways that mattered at the moment, there was still a lot of small-town librarian left in her.

His mouth kicked up a little at the corners. “Ever since when?” He shifted slightly, put a hand on her hip and held her close to him without actually allowing their bodies to make contact.

Just the way he moved, the easy confidence he had in the way he touched her, moved her…made the ache spread. Words might be her life, but speaking them out loud to a man who was looking like he wanted to devour her whole, was suddenly impossible for her. She tugged his head a little closer. “Since I had enough sense to know better…and still wanted to, anyway.”

His eyes grew darker and his fingers dug into her hip as his grip tightened. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage and I don’t do that.”

Take advantage, she wanted to scream. Couldn’t he sense how rare it was for her to be reckless? She didn’t want him to be all reasonable and levelheaded, she didn’t want to stop and think.

“I know I shouldn’t, but…there’s something about you, Bree Sullivan. You’ve been through a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

“So, we probably shouldn’t.”

“Probably.”

“Are ye tellin’ me to stop, then?”

She gave him a slight shake of her head, her gaze never once leaving his. “I’d really rather you didn’t. I have been through a lot. I feel like I’ve been living my life for a whole lot of other people, because I feel I owe it to them for all they’ve given me. Even if I didn’t exactly ask for it, or expect it. It’s been a very long time since I did anything that was just for me, and to hell with what everyone else wanted. I took off this morning knowing I needed to get away, to stop the world and get off, at least long enough to ask myself some hard questions about what I want, about what I need. And where I want to go from this point forward.”

“So ye don’t need me crowding ye, makin’ demands—”

“What I need,” she said, with surprising force, “is to do whatever I damn well please. I’ve been so micromanaged for so long, I don’t even know myself any longer. I don’t want to overthink things, I don’t want to analyze. I just want to feel. I want to do what feels good and right and natural, without worrying to death about who might think what if I do this, or don’t do that. I just want, for once, to follow my instincts and the hell with everything else.”

He surprised her with a sudden grin that made his eyes twinkle in such a devilish way, she should have had immediate doubts. Yet, all it did was make her want him more. After all, if she was going to jump, she might as well jump big.

“If your instincts are tellin’ ye to come after me, ye might be more battle-weary than ye think.”

His teasing just made him all the more attractive to her newly discovered renegade spirit. He made it easy to respond in kind. “I don’t know about that,” she countered. “I think I’m getting a second wind.”

“Are ye now,” he responded, the twinkle still there, but his voice had dropped to a murmur…as his gaze once again dropped to her mouth. “I’ll have ye know we’re both playin’ with fire here.”

“I can stand the heat,” she parried, secretly thrilled by her ability to do so. He called to something inside of her, and she discovered a side to herself she hadn’t known she possessed. A somewhat playful, demanding spirit she could never have owned up to before. And she liked it. Quite a lot. Perhaps if she’d been more in touch with this side of herself, she’d have been more insistent about creating a better balance to her life in the past year or so, instead of being a doormat to everyone who made a demand on her time, feeling as if she owed everybody everything for the success they’d made her into.

He tugged her an inch closer. “I meant what I said,” he told her, his tone a bit more gruff, and a bit more rough with need. “I’ll stop if ye but give me the word. You’ve found yer haven, but that does no’ mean ye have to let yer host—”

She took the final step and closed the remaining space between them, pressing her body against his. A small moan slipped out when she felt the proof of his desire for her pressing rigidly into her belly. “We’re consenting adults.” She looked up into his eyes. “I’m consenting, Tristan.”

His eyes went even darker, if that were possible, and she felt him twitch, where he was trapped between their bodies. “I like the way my name sounds on your lips, with that accent of yours.”

She smiled. “I don’t have the accent, you do. In fact, it’s probably the only reason I’ve fallen under your spell.” He was so much fun to tease, and it came so easily to her, she should be shocked. And a part of her was. But it felt like she’d been set free, to romp and play and be completely herself without fear of reprisal, very public reprisal. No, this was private and personal and for no one other than the two of them, as it should be. It was intoxicating, to be certain. And far too much fun to waste a second worrying about whether she should indulge or not.

“Is that so?” He grinned again and moved against her, eliciting another little gasp of awareness from her. “I suppose we’ll just have to see about that, now won’t we?”

“I suppose we will,” she breathed. And in that moment, the rest of the world fell away. For now, her existence was based exclusively on herself and Tristan, and the very private, exquisitely intimate world they were about to explore together. “So, what are we waiting for?”

Chapter 8

Indeed, Tristan thought. What was he waiting for? He’d given her every opportunity, hadn’t he? She was correct—they were consenting adults. So why wasn’t he carrying her off to his lair to have his wicked way with her?

He was so rock-hard with need he was in pain. He should be ecstatic to have such a delightful surprise drop literally into his lap. After all, she was just passing through. And more than willing to while away a little of her time with him. What wasn’t to like? He couldn’t have dreamed up a better scenario.

He looked down into Bree’s eyes, alive now with desire. So thoroughly filled with trust.

It was that last part that was hanging him up.

Not that he couldn’t be trusted. He was dependable and fair to a fault. And they’d clearly made no claim on each other beyond this storm-filled night…and whatever additional nights they chose to share beyond it. So why he looked into her eyes and felt…not guilt, exactly—he wasn’t taking advantage of the situation any more or less than she was, after all. But…something. Something more, or perhaps different, than he should be feeling if this were nothing more than a simple roll in the hay.

There was that word again. Simple.

And that, right there, was the crux of it. She wouldn’t be simple. He already knew her life was being lived on a far grander stage than some rocky, highland acreage dotted with nothing more than heather and sheep. Which was fine by him, as he couldn’t care less where life took her once she left here. Right?

Right.

Except she was smiling up at him, and he felt something shift inside his chest, in a spot very close to his heart. There was something about Bree Sullivan, something about the combination of her warrior spirit and her wounded soul, that reached a place deep inside of him. It made no sense—he hardly knew anything of her, really. But what he did know of her made him want to draw, made him want to create. It had been a very long time since he’d felt so moved, so truly inspired.

Och, he thought ruefully, knowing why he hesitated in carrying her off to his bed. She’d captured his muse’s fancy, that was a certainty. But…the fear was, what if she went beyond that? What if she did what no one else ever had…and captured his fancy as well? Not that he was opposed to such a thing ever happening…he’d always assumed it would at some point. But as he was tied to this land, to his family’s heritage here, and to the way of life he’d carved out for himself, he’d also supposed it would be with a local lass, someone well suited to highland life.

Not a Yank with no intention of hanging about.

And yet here she stood, tempting parts of him never before tempted. She was a dangerous one, if his clamoring instincts were to be listened to. He was borrowing trouble by just allowing her to stay under his roof…much less in his own bed. She’d hardly warmed his arms, and he already felt the pull. He’d yet to even taste her. It made no sense. And much as he wanted to blame it on long-overdue physical need, he knew the difference between wanting to rut for the sake of it, and wanting…something more.

It was his muse talking. Or that is what he tried to make himself believe. He was feeling a connection of spirit, but that didn’t mean he had to take it further. Like as not, they’d both have their fill of each other and be perfectly sated and more than happy to move on, leaving their time shared together as nothing more than a lovely reminiscence, something to be pulled out and remembered fondly at some future moment in time. His muse had been properly titillated, but his memory was the good and detailed one of an artist…he didn’t need to keep her around for constant inspiration.

So stop being such a knobknock, he told himself. Take her to bed. Bury yourself in her sweet, welcoming body, and dinnae think of naught else but her pleasure and yours. She wants it the same as you…what in God’s name are ye waiting for?

With perhaps a wee bit more intensity than intended, he tipped her head back and took her mouth with his. Mostly, initially, to get a move on before he could stupidly talk himself out of this amazingly fortunate set of circumstances. Any other man would have had her naked by now.

But the instant he tasted her, the instant he felt her body go soft in his arms…the intensity became quite real. Need for more of her, all of her, right this instant, roared to life inside of him with such ferocity, that that alone should have been warning enough. But he was all done waging battle with himself. He was committed to it now, and the only thing that would or could stop him would be her.

She was pliant in his arms, her mouth opening willingly beneath his, accepting him with a fervor almost as greedy as his. Stopping him was clearly something she had no interest in doing. So, have her he would. Thoroughly and well, until neither could catch their breath. And once they did…he’d have her again. The hunger she roused inside of him was that voracious a beast. Consenting adults, she’d said. And consent they both had.

She was a lithe, slender bit of a thing, he noted, as he hauled her body up against his. He buried one hand in that tangled mane of hair, keeping her mouth tipped perfectly to his so he could take it at his own will, his own pace. He wrapped his free arm around her hips, lifting her to the tips of her toes so he could fit himself where his body so badly ached to be. She moaned against his mouth, and he thought he might shoot off like a rocket right then and there. No, that is no’ how this eve would play out. Not if he had a say about it.

Eliciting a surprised squeal, he bent slightly and scooped her up high against his body. “Wrap your legs,” he murmured against her lips, lips that, in that moment, he thought he could explore for the remainder of his days and be perfectly content to do so.

She gripped his shoulders, digging into his skin as she hooked her heels around his lower back, grappling to stay up against him even as she continued to kiss him with everything she had. Something about that visceral need, the bite of her nails into his flesh, the simultaneous way she bit gently into his bottom lip, sent him stumbling blindly through the living room toward his bedroom, almost tripping badly over Jinty, who sprang to life behind them.

He managed to send her a hand signal, holding her where she stood. He heard her little whine of disappointment, but would gladly make it up to her later. At the moment, there was only one female he wanted in his bed, and she didn’t possess four legs. Only two. And dear sweet Lord, the way they were squeezing his waist so tightly, he wasn’t certain if perhaps he hadn’t really died out there, after all. He certainly felt thunderstruck.

He kicked the door shut behind him, then turned and pressed her up against it, holding her there with his weight against hers…so he could bury his hands once again in all that hair. She made these soft, needy little whimpers that drove him wild. She let her fingers skim along from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, toying with strands of his own hair as she nibbled once again on his lower lip.

“You’re making me mad,” he murmured.

She pulled away slightly. “I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “No’ mad as in angry. Mad as in crazy.” He nipped at her bottom lip—fair was fair, after all. “Wrap yourself tight,” he instructed.

She hooked her arms around his neck and he spun them both around, and down onto his bed, so that she landed sprawled beneath him. His feather down duvet swallowed her up and she sighed in pleasure, then groaned in approval as he lowered himself fully onto her. He started to shift his weight off a bit, not wanting to smother her, but she immediately pulled him down and locked her ankles around his calves.

He grinned, gazing down into her beautiful, desire-filled eyes. “I like a lass who knows what she wants.”

“Good,” she responded tartly, tightening her hold, though her flushed cheeks and overbright eyes made it obvious to anyone paying attention that her bravado was hard-earned, that the journey she’d begun with him wasn’t a path she’d taken often, if at all. And Lord knew, she had his full attention.

He wanted to devour her whole, to bury himself to the hilt inside of her petite, limber body, and piston himself into sweet oblivion. Given the way her hips were already moving beneath his, he was fairly certain this was her plan as well. So why he propped himself up on his elbows and slowed things down, he had no idea. Except rushing this just seemed a crime of sorts. There was so much to enjoy…and he knew better than to trust there would be time for that later. Later was unpredictable. Right now she was all his. And he wanted all of her he could have.

She reached for him, but he pinned her hands next to her head. Her eyes widened slightly, but in interest, not alarm. Her smile was both guileless and a wee bit challenging. How was it she could be both worldly and so sweetly naïve?

Pinning her arms with his, he framed her face with his palms, brushing his thumbs over the stark relief of her cheekbones. She’d been through an ordeal, that much was clear. Even if, on the surface, her life had seemed a fairy tale, he doubted the hollows beneath her eyes, the tautness of the skin stretched over her cheeks, was typical of the content Midwestern lass she’d been a scant few years ago. It made him want to care for her, see to it that she did right by herself, to provide safe haven for her and help her defend against those who would swallow her whole with thought only for their own gain. Insanity, perhaps, to feel such depth for what amounted to a total stranger. And yet she didn’t feel like a stranger to him. It made little sense, but perhaps it wasn’t intended to. It was as if she’d finally found her way here. To him. And he finally felt at peace, with her in his arms.

“Bree Sullivan,” he murmured, thinking perhaps he was the deranged lunatic she’d initially feared him to be, after all. Had she but a single clue as to where his thoughts were at the moment, she’d be perfectly within her rights to run screaming right back out into the storm. And he wouldn’t blame her. The very idea of her vanishing as suddenly as she’d appeared had him settling his weight more directly onto her, holding her beneath him, keeping her there, until…

“Yes, Tristan Chisholm?” she responded, interrupting his thoughts.

His body twitched—hard—at the sound of his name on her lips. It had nothing to do with her flat, American accent, and everything to do with the way the corner of her mouth kicked up as she said it, like she knew some highly amusing secret that she might share if properly convinced.

He wanted to know all of her secrets. Wanted to be in on every amusing thought that crossed her mind. Wanted to inspire a few of his own. “What is it you’re doing to me?” he whispered, not realizing he’d given voice to the words until she wiggled her eyebrows and hips at the same time.

“I thought that was rather obvious.” Her half-smile became a crooked grin. “Just how long have you been out here with your sheep, anyway?”

Her unexpected comeback elicited a quick snort of laughter from him. “Too long, to be certain.” He pushed her hair away from her face, then traced her eyebrows with the sides of his thumbs before framing her face with his palms once again. So fragile, yet so sturdy. She’d let the world in, let them take too much, but she’d fought back, too. Her self-preservation instinct might have slipped a little, but it was there. She was strong, his Bree. At least for the moment, she was his. “Is that all it is, then? Accumulated need?”

“Is that all what is?” she asked, her eyes darkening with need when their hips continued with a rhythm neither could seem to control.

“This,” he said, his own voice going hoarse as he moved between her thighs and pressed into her, as much as their clothing would allow. “It’s insanity, really, the hunger you’ve unleashed in me. I’ve never all but dragged a woman to my bed.”

“I don’t recall you having to do much dragging. What with me clinging to your hips and all.”

He grinned, loving her quick mind, her sharp mouth. “True.”

“And I have a hard time believing you’ve ever had to coerce anyone out of their clothes and into your bed.”

“You think so, do you?”

“An educated guess.”

She was right—he’d never coerced anyone. But he’d never cared enough to, either. He’d always let things happen…or not. Never much caring, really. Tonight, however, he was fairly certain that he’d have done whatever was necessary to get her to at least give him a chance. “One could say the same of you,” he parried.

She laughed. “One could. If one was seriously delusional.”

“Come now.” He gently raked his fingers through her hair so it fanned across his bed. It was a vision he’d take a long time to forget, if ever.

“I’m trying,” she quipped, her cheeks going bright pink even as she grinned and pumped her hips again, making them both groan a little.

“You’re quite cute when you blush,” he said, stroking his thumbs across her cheeks, then across her mouth, pressing against the fullness of her bottom lip until she parted them and bit at the tips of his fingers. His body leapt in response and he tried desperately to keep himself in check. “A saucy wench with a heart of gold, is what ye are.”

Her face lit up. “Really? Saucy? Hmm…I rather like that description.” She slid her ankle down the back of his calf. “Something about you makes it easy to be playful.”

“I’m so very glad to hear that,” he told her, never more sincere. He reared back onto his knees then, eliciting a quick frown of dismay from her. He leaned down and kissed it away, feeling starved for the taste of her after only minutes apart.

She sighed as he lifted his head, then pouted quite prettily when he sat back on his haunches. But she didn’t move from where he’d had her pinned, her arms still splayed next to her head. With her dark hair fanned out on the white linen, her eyes all liquid with need, her skin flushed, her mouth slightly parted…his heart tilted dangerously and it was getting harder and harder to remember why she wasn’t perfect for him. “You’re stunning,” he murmured. And you’re mine, was the thought that immediately followed.

Inappropriate and certainly untrue, that he knew. And yet, the basic tenet simply refused to shake free.

He reached for the rolled-down waistband of the pants he’d loaned her and hooked his fingers inside, tugging lightly. She didn’t immediately lift her hips, but if the way her eyes went all heavy-lidded, and the way she tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, was any indication, she wasn’t going to stop him, either. “Ye’ve seen most of me,” he told her. “I want to see you.”

He tugged gently but insistently until she lifted her hips, keeping her gaze tightly on his, but gnawing ever further on that bottom lip. Saucy wench indeed, but innocent as well. He hardly imagined she’d had no experience in these kinds of situations, but it was clear the worldly exploits that had come with the sudden fame of the past year or so hadn’t jaded her to this particular form of interaction. Far from it, if the blush now stealing from her cheeks, down across her throat, and, he was fairly certain, clear to her chest, was any indication.

“Ye’ve naught to worry about,” he assured her, sliding the soft cotton slowly down her hips. “You’ve but to tell me to stop and I’ll—”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she said, and with surprising conviction. “I wasn’t kidding about this…kind of thing not being a regular part of my life…but don’t let my relative lack of experience slow you down.” The crooked smile reappeared as she tried for insouciant…and missed by a mile. “Please.”

Dear God, she was of a piece…and snatching up bits of his heart quite effortlessly in the doing.

“Your wish is my command,” he told her, before finally breaking their locked gaze so he could look down upon the absolute loveliness that was her body as he bared her legs completely and tossed the pants aside. Straddling her ankles, he slid his hands along her calves, and up over her knees. Her neck arched, as did her hips, when his fingertips brushed along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “Lovely,” he said. “Bloody brilliantly lovely.”

He shifted down and moved between her thighs, sliding his hands to her hips, pushing up the edges of the long t-shirt, baring her to him even as he held her down to the bed, keeping her right where he wanted her to be. She bucked against him, but her soft moans were ones of pleasure. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another one a pace or two higher, then another higher still…

She whimpered, her hips lifting, searching, reaching. “Tristan, I’ve never exactly done this sort of—”

He didn’t want to hear what she’d never done, didn’t want her to stop him now, to keep him from what he so badly wanted, what he knew she’d enjoy as well. “You will have now,” he said, and dipped his head between her thighs. “And if you’ll guide me, tell me what feels the best, I trust you’ll want to again. And again.” He brushed his lips across the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, then pressed a soft kiss there. “Promise.”

Chapter 9

It felt a bit scandalous, the frank way in which he spoke about the things he planned to do to her…his certainty that she’d enjoy it. She was quivering so hard at this point, so on edge, he could breathe on her and she’d likely climax. Which was good, because as wanton as he made her feel, and despite the occasional quip thus far, she wasn’t so certain she could be quite as direct as he was and tell him exactly what she wanted him to do…and where.

He pinned her hips down, and settled more contentedly between her thighs. She tried to relax, but her muscles were clenching to the point of pain. She wasn’t overly modest, nor particularly self-conscious about her body…but the truth was, she’d never been intimate with anyone who, well, who enjoyed this particular kind of foreplay. She tried not to think about it, to just relax and let herself feel—

“Bree,” Tristan said, his tone coaxing, his breath feathering across her oh-so-sensitive skin.

“Mmm,” she responded, eyes closed, neck arched as she tried in vain to get him to ease his hold on her hips so she could lift up and press against his lips. Just one little teasing kiss…she was so close, if he’d only—

“Bree, look at me.”

Did she really have to? This would be a lot easier the first time if he’d let her disassociate a little.

His fingers pressed more urgently into her hips, and he teased her by dropping hot, wet little kisses all along the insides of her thighs. So close, and yet just far enough away to drive her crazy.

“Tristan, please.”

“Mmm,” he responded, “so polite. Tristan, please what?”

He damn well knew what she wanted—she shouldn’t have to say it. Without thinking, she lifted her head and looked down at him. He chose the exact instant they made eye contact to shoot her a wicked grin, then flick his tongue over her most sensitive spot.

She jerked hard against the feel of his tongue flicking at her, slapping her palms down on the sheets and grabbing on as she fought against the need to buck wildly against his mouth. More. More of that, she wanted to tell him. A lot more.

She was still watching him, couldn’t look away. There was something downright primal about seeing him there. His eyes were twinkling with mischief and she wanted to be irritated with him for toying with a woman so obviously on the verge. But there was no denying it only served to drive her up even higher. She wished she could be more blasé about this, casually make her demands, but—He stopped her train of thought with the sweetest kiss, right where she needed it.

She gasped, trembling now.

“Tell me, Bree. Come on…”

“I—just, more,” she managed. She let her head drop back, closed her eyes.

“Of what?” He kissed her again, so sweet, and so close, but it wasn’t quite enough. “More of that?”

“Mmm.” More of that would be really great, but she needed more beyond that, and he damn well knew it. She wanted him to use his tongue. But the words stuck in her throat. She could write this scene, quite graphically, with absolutely no problem whatsoever. Saying it out loud, however, to her lover was another thing entirely. Her lover.

She found herself looking at him again. His hands on her hips, his hair spread across his shoulders and her thighs…This man would be her lover. Was her lover. Kind, generous, fearless, playful. She’d dropped barriers for him she never dropped for anyone. He made it so easy, almost too easy. And now he was asking her to drop a few more.

In all the likely scenarios that had crossed her mind of where she’d end up when she’d left the baron’s palatial estate this morning, none had come close to where she found herself at this exact moment. In a man’s bed, with him taunting her toward an explosive orgasm.

“Bree?”

There was a note of question in his voice, as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts. He would stop if she asked. She knew that. No matter that she was a breath way from a screaming climax…and that he was rock-hard and likely dying for release himself. He must have felt the pull of her gaze as he looked up at her, eyes filled with desire, with need. For her. She felt like she’d been staring into those eyes for ages. He made her feel tended to, cared for. She trusted him, even though she knew quite rationally how dangerous it was to invest such a vulnerable emotion in a relative stranger. But he certainly didn’t feel like a stranger at the moment.

In fact, from the instant she’d reached for his hand in the middle of that storm, he’d ceased to be one.

Yes, this man was going to be her lover. Her partner in rescue, and now her partner in pleasure. Did it matter if there was never anything else?

Kind, generous, fearless, playful. Those things she knew firsthand. She could most likely add loyal, protective, honorable, and trustworthy to that list. An ache of a different kind spread inside of her. The ache of wondering what it would be like to find out for herself if her instincts about him were right. He’d offered her his home as a haven. He’d offered her himself for her own pleasure. No strings. She called the shots.

What if she decided she wanted more?

“I want you to use your tongue on me,” she blurted, propping herself up on her elbows. Suddenly, telling him what she wanted in bed was the least scary thing about what was happening between them. Or could happen between them. Had he any clue the dangerous turns her thoughts were taking, he’d likely regret ever rushing out into that storm in the first place, much less carrying her off to his bed. But it was almost impossible not to wonder. He made it impossible. And in her immediate situation, she could hardly be blamed for wanting more, now could she?

His eyes widened in momentary surprise at her blatant demand.

She smiled at him. Something about the way he so confidently commanded this situation made her feel inherently safe within it. As if she could do anything, say anything, and he’d rise—literally—to the occasion. His sense of play was equal to his sense of honor. He’d stop if she asked.

Just as he’d likely use that tongue of his on her all night if she asked him to.

“I want you to make me come.” Her thighs twitched and she trembled as she moved against the hands that restrained her. “And then I want you to do it again.” When he continued to stare at her, she smiled. “You said my wish was your command?”

He grinned then, and it was so wickedly perfect, she found herself laughing in sheer joy of the moment. Of finding the perfect partner in crime…or passion, as the case may be. “As it happens, your command dovetails nicely with my own wishes,” he told her, then leaned closer, his gaze still locked on hers. “Like this, then?” he asked, oh-so-innocently. Wicked, wicked man that he was. He flicked out his tongue, expertly brushing over her, making her hips jerk hard, making her moan.

“Yes,” she managed, sliding down so she lay flat on the bed once again. “Most definitely yes.”

“Or perhaps this.” He drew his tongue slowly over her, then pulled her between his lips, gently suckling, then flicking his tongue over her again.

The sensations wound tighter and tighter, so close, so close. She wanted it to last, this exquisite pleasure. It was so good, too good. But he wouldn’t let her. Not this time. He continued teasing, tormenting, until her gasps became whimpers, and her whimpers became moans, until she was begging him, with her body, with her words, to finish what he’d so brilliantly started. “Tristan, please—”

And please her he did, driving her over the edge with a series of tiny tongue flicks that had her swearing she saw stars as she came almost violently against him.

“Bree,” he coaxed, once she’d stopped thrashing against him. “Bree, luv,” he said, kissing her thighs, soothing her as she came back to earth.

Quite drowsily, she managed to open her eyes and gaze down at him. “Wow,” was all she could manage.

He chuckled, and even that gentle vibration made her twitch and jerk as aftershocks of pleasure still continued to rock her.

She reached blindly for him, wanting to feel the weight of him on top of her, wanting him to fill the aching, desperately needy void inside of her that had yet to be met. But he nudged her hands away. “I’m no’ finished with you yet,” he warned her, all teasing smiles and devilish twinkle.

“No?” she asked faintly.

In response, he very gently, very softly, drew his tongue down over her, making her gasp and buck involuntarily. “No,” he murmured. “Relax, let me have my fill of ye.”

Well, when he put it like that…He followed up his request by continuing to caress her, gradually building her back up. She was deliciously relaxed now and a languid peace had spread its way through her. The intensity and need built slowly this time, her soft moans becoming more insistent as he brought her from one plateau to another. Her back arched almost lazily, but fully, as he drew her closer and closer to the edge. He kept her hovering there, a breath away, as her heart rate increased, her whimpers turned to growls, and her hips bucked with growing impatience, only then did he push one finger inside of her. She gasped sharply, clenched tightly…and came instantly. Muscles so aching with need clamped down on him hard, as she writhed beneath him and milked the orgasm for every last drop of pleasure it could give her.

The sensations were still shimmering through her in delicious little aftershocks when he finally drew away from her. She whimpered in automatic disappointment at his sudden absence, and fought to open her eyes, pull herself back from the foggy haze of pleasure she’d drifted into and focus on the moment. The fight was worth it. As she opened her eyes, she saw Tristan standing at the foot of the bed, slowly shucking his shirt and pants.

Splayed before him like the wanton, sated creature she’d so easily become, she took unabashed and quite avid pleasure in watching him disrobe. She’d seen him close to fully naked before, but it was nothing compared to now. Lit only by a small bedside lamp, the soft yellow light bathed his tautly muscled body in shadowy hues, highlighting every dip and curve so beautifully, she thought she could be content simply staring at him.

Until he slid off his pants, and she saw for the first time the full depth and breadth of his desire for her. Then she decided a far more up close and personal exploration was definitely going to be in order. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, unaware she’d actually spoken the sentiment until he glanced up at her as he slid a condom packet out of his dresser drawer and tore it open with his teeth. It was hard to tell in this light, but he looked a little abashed at her blunt appraisal, and glanced away as he rolled the condom on.

“Are you blushing?” she asked, a very satisfied smile spreading across her face. She felt edgy and needy again, and liked the idea that he wasn’t impervious to their byplay, either. She wanted him badly, and yet she found herself in no immediate hurry to speed things up. She understood now his desire to slow things down when he’d had his turn with her. His body twitched at her slow appraisal and her smile spread to a grin. Somehow she didn’t think he was going to be any more patient than she’d been. Come to think of it, she didn’t want to be patient, either.

“Perhaps I’m no’ used to being looked at as if I were Sunday supper,” he said at last.

She laughed, unable to remember a time when she’d felt this good, this relaxed, this happy. “Is that a bad thing?”

He crawled onto the bed and she shuddered in anticipation.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice close to a growl. “Why dinnae ye tell me?” He moved slowly up and over her body, pulling one of her thighs up onto his hip as he did.

He lifted her up as he slid between her thighs, stopping just as he pushed against her. She wrapped her legs around him, keeping her hips tilted, wanting to push herself up onto him, but let him set the pace. Even if it killed her. She wasn’t an aggressive partner in bed. Or she hadn’t been. Tristan made her feel very earthy, intensely female, and definitely like his equal. He made her want to play, made her want to drag him down…and deep inside…and keep him there. For a very, very long time. Forever was sounding pretty good at the moment.

She’d come to her senses later.

He pushed one hand into her hair and cupped her neck, tilting her face to his. “Bree, luv, I wanted to take this quite slow, savor every bit of you…but I’m afraid my restraint is about worn through.”

She nudged him closer by digging her heels into his backside. “Slow next time,” she told him, her voice quivering right along with the rest of her body. He made it so easy for her to speak her mind, say the things she’d only ever let herself think. “Hard and fast now.”

He didn’t flash a grin as she’d expected. If anything, his face grew more serious, his eyes reflecting a desire that should have overwhelmed her…but instead made her feel cherished and cared for.

“Bree…”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.” She slipped her hand behind his neck and urged his mouth to hers. And as she mated her tongue with his, he pushed into her. She groaned, deep down in her throat…and felt something move inside her chest, close to her heart, as he started to move inside of her body.

The soul kiss continued as their bodies moved together, almost the more intimate of the two joinings. She felt his body gather, tighten, as he moved deeper, faster. She met him thrust for thrust, grunt for grunt, and when he finally came, they both cried out.

He gathered her close and buried his face in the curve of her neck, pressed his lips to the pulse point he found there, then rolled them gently to their sides. She felt thoroughly loved and wonderfully replete…which probably explained where the sudden lump in her throat came from. It had, after all, been a very long day, fraught with a lot of emotional highs and lows. It was only natural to feel a bit weepy.

Tristan shifted up, grabbed a couple of pillows and stuffed them under his head, then pulled her up next to him, cradling her in the shelter of his bigger, stronger body. Tucking her close, he pressed his face to her hair and slid one of his legs across both of hers. Never had she felt so cosseted, so cared for…so completely and utterly safe.

She pressed a small kiss to the center of his chest, then snuggled in and let sleep overtake her. She’d sort out the avalanche of emotions tomorrow when she was rested and thinking more clearly. For now, she was going to enjoy a night of deep, undisturbed sleep. In Tristan’s arms.

“Thank you,” she whispered, not sure he heard her, nor that she wanted him to. She didn’t want to explain all the reasons she felt that way, most of which had very little to do with the physical pleasure they’d just shared. Because then she’d have to explain them to herself.

Tomorrow. She’d deal with everything tomorrow.

Just as sleep claimed her, she felt him smooth back her hair and press his lips against her forehead. “Aye,” she thought she heard him murmur. “’Tis thankful I am, too, luv.”

Chapter 10

They’d awakened at some point during the night and crept out to the kitchen, like two thieves in the night, whispering for no reason, only to have to stifle bursts of laughter and a squeal or two of surprise when one or the other would snatch the other close for a quick kiss or teasing squeeze.

Tristan had let Jinty out into the stormswept, early morning hours for a quick run while the two of them made quick work of the stew he’d left warming in the covered pot on the stove. Then he’d made her squeal quite loudly when he’d tossed her over his shoulder and taken her back to bed, where he’d stripped his t-shirt off of her and spent a delightful hour exploring her exquisitely sensitive nipples, then making love to her once more. He’d intended to go slowly, to savor it more, savor her more. But she’d surprised him and taken control, rolling him to his back, straddling his hips. From the moment she’d sat up, shaken her hair back, and grinned at him, he’d been completely lost. He gripped her hips and let loose, each of them taking the other for a wild, fast ride that left them both breathless and laughing in delight.

She was absolutely irresistible to him. He told himself it was simply because she was something bright and shiny-new to play with…intoxicating and initially addictive. But as he’d lain next to her afterward, watching her sleep well past the wee morning hours, he wondered about that. He felt as if he’d known her forever, his comfort with her was so utterly complete. It had been but one night…and he already didn’t want to imagine a morning where she wouldn’t be nestled beside him. He’d been alone thus far in life, and he was comfortable with that, but he’d never been lonely. When she left…he would be both.

Tristan shifted slightly in the armchair so the thin, early-morning light sifting through the window just behind him would illuminate his sketch pad somewhat more brightly. He didn’t turn on the bedside lamp. He wanted to capture the sunrise precisely as it was, with the light gradually sliding across his bed, across Bree’s body and face. His hands moved swiftly, with easy confidence, as he studied the tableau laid out before him.

He looked over the rough charcoal sketch, but even his overly critical eye liked what he saw. He flipped to a fresh sheet and began again, this time drawing her legs, tangled in the sheets, one foot tucked beneath her other ankle. He smiled, liking the fact that he already knew she liked to hook one foot over his ankle in her sleep and draw him close, keep him close. He’d awakened about an hour earlier to find her sprawled next to him, flat on her stomach, her face turned away from him…but hooked at one ankle…and with her hand comfortingly pressed to the center of his chest. He’d lain there for the longest time, thinking he rather liked the sensation of being claimed, liking that she’d felt proprietary about him, even in her sleep.

It should have made him feel cornered or trapped, which was typically how he reacted when someone got the least bit clingy. But those former someones weren’t Bree Sullivan. With her, he wanted to be a marked man, wanted her to want him, wanted her to want more of him.

Wanted her to want to stay.

He continued sketching. Another of just her feet, one of her hand, clutching a fistful of bed linen. His body stirred, remembering what those fingers had felt like, clutching a fistful of his hair. He wanted her again. Had never stopped wanting her, even when his body was too spent to do anything about it.

He flipped another page and did a few quick studies of her face, not quite smooth or serene, even in sleep. He wanted to soothe away the last of those hollows, see the shadows leave her entirely. He imagined he would be able to recreate her face at will for ages to come, without ever having to lay eyes on her again, so permanent a mark had she made on him. He studiously avoided thinking about that day, the day that she’d leave here. Perhaps even today.

He absently rubbed at the spot on his chest, soothing the immediate aching sensation that very thought had incurred. For all that he was artist and dreamer, he was also a pragmatic realist. Flock owners, landowners, had to be. He’d already put a call in to Alastair Henderson’s repair shop, leaving a message that he’d need the older man, or his daughter, Kat, to come out with their tow truck at their earliest convenience. He smiled a little, imagining his future sister-in-law’s reaction upon finding a very tousled and happily content woman tucked away under his roof. She’d tease him mercilessly, for certain, then immediately hunt down Brodie to tell him all about it. But she’d also be sincerely happy for him. And it was that fact that had given Tristan what little peace he’d been able to scrape together about this whole ordeal.

He wanted Bree to stay. For however long she thought she could manage it. Sure, he knew he was only asking for greater heartbreak when the time ultimately came that she had to go. But he knew life was too short and too unpredictable not to cherish the things that made a man happy and fulfilled for whatever the duration of that happiness. It was something he’d tried to tell his oldest brother, Dylan, on several occasions. Not that he’d listened. He’d shrugged off his baby brother’s insight, saying he’d dealt with his grief and had moved on with his life. Even though it was quite plain to anyone with even a passing knowledge of the tragic circumstances of Dylan’s recent past, that nothing could be farther from the truth.

But his brother losing his wife so abruptly had only underscored Tristan’s beliefs in holding on tightly and enjoying fully whatever life brought his way. He paused in his sketching and watched Bree snuffle softly into her pillow. She might only be in his life for a short time, but his heart had immediately recognized her as someone very special. He didn’t bother to analyze it. A waste of far too precious time.

Yes, he’d shamelessly and selfishly do whatever he could to keep her here for as long as possible, if he thought she’d benefit by it in some way as well. If it was better for her to go…then he’d respect that. But she’d said herself she needed a safe haven, needed a place to step out of the insanity and regroup. He could give her that, wanted to believe that was why their paths had crossed, if for nothing else.

And Kat and Alastair Henderson could help him in that endeavor. He’d enlist their help in keeping Bree’s identity under wraps, keep her from any unnecessary intrusion by the world at large. His village might be filled with nosey, opinionated busybodies who, in his estimation, spent far too much time concerned with the business of others…but they were also fiercely loyal and protective of their own.

And if Bree was in Tristan’s care, then by extension their loyalty would convey to her as well. If he asked them to help him maintain her privacy, he knew they’d rally for him. It was one of the things he cherished about life out here. And they knew, each and every one, that he’d do the same for them.

He smiled a little, his sketch pad forgotten as he watched Bree begin to stir and stretch. Yes, he’d willingly endure endless ribbing from the same townsfolk whose help he intended to enlist, but that was part and parcel of the deal. The outside world would be persona non grata…but the gatekeepers would assume full access to this new chapter in his life. Payment for services rendered.

Tristan was surprised to discover that the prospect of being the focal point of village gossip for the immediate future didn’t bother him so much. In fact, it shocked him somewhat to realize that he rather fancied the idea of taking Bree into Glenbuie, introducing her around. But not quite yet. He hadn’t gotten his private fill of her yet, and he was feeling quite greedy and proprietary over her himself.

He slid the sketch pad to the floor and stood, stretching the kinks from his back and shoulders, having lost track of the hours he’d spent in that chair, capturing every detail of Bree for all posterity. Images that needed no recording as they’d be perfectly preserved in his mind’s eye for the remainder of his days. Of that he was certain. And yet, it had felt so wonderful to translate those images, his view of her, to paper. He’d felt freed, his creativity finally unshackled and available to him again, to command at his whim. He’d never again take that gift for granted.

She rolled to her back, and the invitation was too much for him to pass up. He crawled onto the bed, stretching his body out on top of her, eliciting a surprised little grunt. Before she could fully awaken, he rolled to his back and pulled her across his chest, tucking her against him and hooking his legs around hers to keep her nestled atop his body.

To his everlasting pleasure, she immediately snuggled closer. “Mmm,” she managed, then pressed a sleepy kiss to his throat.

“Hungry?” He’d already fed Jint and let her out for a run. His stomach had grumbled earlier, but at the moment he hungered for something else.

Bree wriggled on him a little, as evidence of his newly awakened hunger grew. “Is that a proposition?” she mumbled, yawning and stretching a little.

He groaned as her hips pressed against his, and had her flat on her back beneath him an instant later. “Would you like it to be?”

Her eyes blinked open, but took a moment to focus. She stared at him for a long moment, then her lips curved in a slow, sweet smile. “And here I thought coffee was the only thing that could perk me up first thing in the morning.” She surprised him by coming very suddenly awake, pushing him to his back and straddling his hips. “Did I mention I’m a morning person?” She pressed her thighs against his hips and pushed down on him.

He choked a little as his body surged fully to life. “No, I dinnae believe so,” he managed. “But I rather like that you are.”

“Do ye now,” she said, in a rather good imitation of his highland burr.

“Aye,” he said, grinning and tugging her down on top of him. “Aye, that I do.” He kissed her, and thought he could quite easily get used to this byplay being the start of his every day. All he had to do was convince her of that.

She tried to pull away. “I should brush my teeth and I likely look a fright—”

He kissed her soundly. “You’re nothing but stunning to me.”

She snorted, which made him laugh. He loved how unconcerned she was about herself. “Well, I’ll feel better if I’m cleaned up a little.”

“I can take care of all of those worries.” He rolled up to a sitting position, making her grab at his shoulders. He tucked her legs around his waist as he swung his legs off the side of the bed. “Hold on.”

She did without hesitation. “Where are you taking me?”

He kicked the door open to the bathroom. “Scrub my back and I’ll scrub yours?”

“Heavenly idea,” she said, kissing her way up the side of his neck, nibbling on his ear.

“We might only make it as far as the sink if you don’t stop teasin’ me.”

She tugged his earlobe between her teeth, then ran the tip of her tongue along his jaw. “And that should bother me because…?”

“I’ve forgotten,” he admitted, letting her feet drop to the floor beside the tub so he could reach in and turn on the spigots for the shower. She slipped out of his arms when he tried to kiss her again, and stepped toward the sink, but he turned her right back into his arms. He gathered her close, kissing her until their smiles faded, and soft moans of need took their place as steam filled the air. “I’m no’ sure I’ll ever have enough of you.”

Her arms tightened around his waist. “I feel as if I’ve awakened into some kind of fairy tale.” She laughed a bit dryly. “And I was supposedly already having one of those.” She smiled up at him. “I’m liking this one far better, if you don’t mind my saying.”

“I dinnae mind a’tall. In fact, I’m rather pleased.” He pushed her hair back with fingers. “I’d like ye tae stay with me, Bree. For as long as life will let ye.”

Her smile stayed, but her expression shuttered a bit. He hated being the one to do it, but it was a subject that needed broaching. He’d have much rather pretended that she had no other concerns, no other life, than one here with him. Which, of course, was the real fairy tale.

“We’ll get your car taken care of,” he told her, continuing to toy with her hair. “I’ve already placed a call to a friend in the village. They should be here sometime this morning. Is there anyone you should contact? Let them know you’re okay?”

“One or two. I’ll reimburse you,” she said quickly. “I’m sure my cell is toast. As is my laptop and everything else I had with me.” She didn’t sound quite as bereft about that fact as he’d have thought.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said. “Don’t worry about the calls. Your work—”

She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, drowning what little I’d managed not to already trash was a merciful death. I—I haven’t exactly been coming up with…well, anything inspired of late.”

“I can’t imagine it wasn’t brilliant.”

She laughed and patted him on the chest. “Thank you for that, my staunch and loyal supporter. Don’t take this personally, but you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m quite capable of writing complete rubbish, I assure you.” She shook her head. “Although at this point, to be honest, I’m so my own worst enemy, I couldn’t judge the relative merit of anyone’s work, much less my own.”

“I can’t pretend to understand the pressures put on you, but I do know the feeling of being abandoned by your own creativity.” His smile was a shade wry. “I like to pretend I can draw, paint a little. Lately, a child with a pot of finger paints could do more inspiring work.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? Can I see some of your work? Do you have a studio out here?”

He thought about the sketch pad lying by the chair in the bedroom, and wondered how she’d feel about being his unwitting subject. “The loft is my studio of sorts, though I do most of my work outside. But trust me when I say I can produce rubbish quite easily as well.”

She slid her arms around his waist. “Land manager and businessman. Shepherd and painter. A dreamer’s soul in a workman’s body. You’re a fascinating man, Tristan Chisholm.”

He felt his skin heat a little at her description of him. “Och, you’re a romantic,” he told her. “I’m no’ so interesting as all that, tucked away from the world such as I am.”

She rolled her eyes again, then impulsively kissed him hard on the mouth. “And you’re not a romantic? Please. And I can’t imagine anything more heavenly right now than being tucked away from the world.” She laid her head on his chest. “I envy you your solitude and contentment with your life.”

Share it with me, then, he wanted to say, feeling immensely more content with his life now that she was standing in his arms. It was premature, no doubt, to offer himself up like that. A week from now, a month, he could discover that she wasn’t remotely compatible with him, or this life. She could be driving him straight out of his gourd. But oh, did he want the chance to find that out for himself. How else did one manage to know those things other than to try?

“My offer still stands.” He nudged her chin up, looked down into her eyes. “And if ye think ye could work out here, I have a computer ye could borrow. Technology has invaded Glenbuie as well.” He let the offer sit out there, his heart beating hard at the unmistakable leap of hope he’d seen in her eyes. An instinctive reaction that, one she couldn’t have manufactured. It was almost too much to allow himself to hope for. He wanted it too badly, and he knew the folly of that.

And almost immediately, that hope in her eyes was extinguished, the shadows that he hadn’t seen since yesterday returned. “I…you have no idea how attractive that offer is.” She looked into his eyes. “Or how badly I’d like to take you up on it, for…for a lot of reasons, and not all of them having to do with writing. You’ve been…so much.” She traced her fingers along his cheek and jaw. “More than I had any right to hope for, much less ask to keep.”

“Bree—” he began, quite prepared to beg if it would get them both what they so obviously wanted.

But she cut him off. “I couldn’t do that to you. You have no idea what you’d be asking for. I might be able to sneak off for a short while, but the world will eventually figure out where I am. As you say, technology reaches everywhere, even here. They’ll find me…and the hounding will resume. That’s why I ran away from Edinburgh yesterday.”

“Sometimes small villages are better at keeping their resources tucked away from public scrutiny than big cities.” He smiled. “Glenbuie managed to hide its illegal distillery trade for almost a hundred years, before they were finally able to make it a legal enterprise. It’s our way to keep our treasures close…and our loved ones closer.” He drew her arms over his shoulders and scooped her up high against his chest, so her face was even with his. “Stay, Bree. At least for now. If it gets untenable at some point, we’ll deal with it then.”

“You’ve really no idea what you’re asking for, Tristan. Or asking your village to handle, for that matter.”

“Then we’ll go into town later and take it up with them directly.”

She laughed. “What, call a town meeting?”

He grinned. “Share an ale at my brother’s pub. Same thing, really.”

She smiled with him, but there was a poignancy to it and his heart squeezed, fearing he’d already lost the battle, with the war soon to follow suit. “I’m not your village’s treasure, nor am I a cherished loved one. In fact, I could be their worst nightmare when the vultures descend.”

“Why don’t you let me deal with that,” he said. “Right now, there’s soap and a washcloth callin’ our names.” She started to argue, but he was already pulling her into the shower with him. Moments later, they were both slippery with suds…and she was quite preoccupied with making sure every part of him was squeaky clean.

He was preoccupied as well, but only partly on the matter very literally at hand. Her ever so lovely and quite talented hands.

She’d given him the opening he needed…she wanted to stay. Now it was up to him to prove that her trust in him was well placed. He already knew he had the trust of his family and friends. He’d make this work.

He groaned as she stroked him, thought his legs might not support him. Then she was kneeling before him and examining her handiwork quite up close and—“Dear God in heaven. You’ve eternity to stop doing that,” he said on a sigh of deep appreciation.

Aye, he’d find a way to make this work, or die in the trying.

Chapter 11

Bree was flipping through the sketch pad she’d found on the floor when Tristan came back into the bedroom.

“Alastair is here. You ready to go salvage—” He broke off when he saw what she had in her hands.

“I don’t claim to know anything about art, but these are really amazing,” she said, then glanced up to find him looking rather guilty. “It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I mean, it surprised me a little. No one has ever drawn me before. Awake or asleep.” She flipped through a few more pages. “I wish I looked as good for real as I do in your eyes.” She looked at him. “It’s flattering. Embarrassing, kind of, but flattering. Were you going to show me?”

“Probably. Maybe.” He entered the room and she handed him the pad with a laugh.

“Well, at least you’re honest.” She smiled at him and could see he was clearly uncomfortable. “Stop worrying. If anyone understands sharing something they’ve personally created with someone else, it’s me. It’s like stripping down in public, thinking about other people actually reading my work. Have you ever shown yours? In public, I mean?”

“No. I have my job to do here. This is just something I do for me.”

She grinned. “There are days when I wish I’d kept mine in my desk drawer, too. And I’m the last person who should tell you to share your talent with the world.”

His lips quirked. “But…”

She shrugged, smiled sweetly. “I’m just sayin’…”

He returned the knowing look. “I hear you.” He tossed the sketch pad on the bed and took her hand. “Come on, let’s go see what we can salvage out there.”

She sighed before she could stifle it. She really wasn’t ready to face her life again.

He stopped immediately and pulled her close. “I know. I’m sorry you have to deal with it. And I’ll pay to have the canvas repaired—”

“Please,” she said, waving away his concern. “I’m sure that’s the least of the problems with it. I had coverage, anyway.” She looked past him out the side window, but that view didn’t extend to the road out front. “I just…” She just wanted to stay here, in Tristan’s farmhouse, with the stunning mountain and valley vistas right outside her door. She could understand why his creative talents were sparked by living out here. She had a feeling hers might be, too. She’d love the chance to find out.

“We’ll deal with it,” he told her. “One step at a time. Car first. Then whatever comes next. It will all get done in its own time.”

She smiled wistfully. “You’re so very pragmatic. I used to be. Somewhere along the way I lost that, lost my ability to focus on only the next thing. And instead I let myself get overwhelmed by everything all at once. It all seemed so beyond one person’s ability to manage.”

“Didn’t you have help?”

“My editor, my agent, a publicist. But I felt beholden to them, too. And they had other agendas as well.”

“What about family?”

“My parents are older, retired. I was a very late-in-life baby. When all the hoopla happened, they were hounded to the point of being in seclusion. I finally moved them all the way from Missouri to a private resort community in Arizona.” She smiled. “My dad actually loves it down there. He’s learned to play golf and almost has my mom convinced to join him. It’s turned out okay for them. The rest of my town, though they support their own, were happy to see me go, I’m sure.” She smiled a bit sadly. “I don’t want to do that to you or people you care about.”

“One step at a time,” he told her, then kissed her on the corners of her mouth, before groaning a little and pulling her close for a deeper kiss.

She was sighing when he finally lifted his head. “You’re just saying that because you’re enjoying the perks of having me here.”

He slid his hands up her waist and ran his thumbs across her nipples, making her gasp. “You are perky, and I won’t deny I’m enjoying it. But I’m also a grown man who knows his surroundings…and knows what he wants.” He nudged her chin up when she glanced away. “I want you to stay here. I want a chance to find out.”

“Find out what?”

He grinned. “How long we’re both going to enjoy you staying here.”

She laughed. “I wish it were that simple.”

“I know you might have a hard time believing it, given what you’ve been dealing with…but sometimes it can be easy.” He took her hand, tugged her to the door. “Come on, Alastair is waiting.” He looked back over his shoulder. “One step at a time. Deal?”

She couldn’t help it. He was like a Scots pied piper. And she wanted to follow him anywhere. “I’m trying.”

“Wow. You get to look at this every day?” Bree topped the rocky outcropping, breathing a bit heavily. Even though she’d been out walking the moors of the loch with Tristan every day when he came in from the fields, she hadn’t gone out to run the sheep with him until today. She didn’t have her highland lungs quite yet, but for this view, she’d willingly work on it. She’d been here, with him, for two weeks now. It felt like a lifetime…and it also felt like time was ticking way too fast. Not that there was any reason for her to leave just yet. But there was an impending sense of doom she couldn’t shake, though she’d done a pretty good job of pushing it to the background.

That first morning, she’d contacted her agent, who, together with her publicist, had put the word out that Bree was stepping out of the spotlight to work in seclusion on her next release. Which, as it turned out, was actually, finally true.

There was magic here. She’d felt it that first day, and it had only grown stronger the longer she stayed. She wasn’t sure if it was the utter privacy, the stunning vistas right outside her door…or the cocoon of emotional security that Tristan had so effortlessly woven around her. For a man with an artist’s soul, he was incredibly well grounded. Just being around him extended that sensibility to her. She only wished she’d met him sooner, but perhaps the old adage was true: all things happened when they did for a reason. Perhaps it was only now, at this point in her life, that she would truly appreciate this newfound gift in her life.

Tristan had talked with Alastair the morning they’d towed her rental car out of the gully. It had been a total loss, so rather than drag it into town and provide a trail for any diehard member of the media hell-bent on finding out where Bree had run off to—though she’d told no one, not even her agent—they’d tucked it away in one of the shearing sheds for the time being. She’d deal with it later. At the moment, she had no intention of going anywhere that required transportation. She was quite happily stranded and perfectly content to remain that way.

Alastair and Bree had hit it off immediately—it was impossible not to love the old Scot. He was charming, and soon to be part of the Chisholm family when his daughter wed Tristan’s brother Brodie the following spring. He had vowed to keep her whereabouts and identity to himself, and made it clear that whenever the time came for her to surface, the village would rally around her and do their best to protect her privacy. They had little patience for rudeness, he informed her, and a great deal of respect for people’s right to lead their lives as they saw fit. The fact that Tristan was obviously sweet on her wouldn’t hurt her stock, either, he’d added with a wink.

Alastair, along with two of Tristan’s brothers, Brodie and Reese—who threatened to show up every day, but who had so far left them to their peace—were every bit the shining knights Tristan had sworn they would be. Each had worked in their own way to assure her they’d watch her back and make sure she had the room and space to simply exist for the time being. Her faith in basic human kindness was making a remarkable comeback. She felt closer to the woman she’d been back in Mason, Missouri, than she’d ever hoped to be again.

She hadn’t been into the village just yet, but Tristan had already warned her that while the world at large might be leaving them alone, the price to be paid would be having the village assume complete proprietary rights to their budding relationship once they came out. She assured him that small towns were small towns…and that she rather liked the idea of being adopted into the bosom of his. Small fishbowls she could handle, because the underlying motivation was affection and respect.

Which was what was making her so nervous. The longer she stayed, the more deeply involved she was becoming. Okay, who was she kidding? She was head over heels already, and every new thing Tristan introduced her to made her fall that much harder. It was scary how much this place suited her, soothed her, settled her soul. And how much the man himself did the same for her heart.

Scary, indeed.

Because something this good couldn’t last. It just couldn’t. She’d learned over the past year or so to stay perennially braced for the next wave to thunder over her. The minute she let her guard drop? Pounded straight into the beach.

But as the hours turned to days, and the days to weeks, she wanted desperately to allow herself to believe her own personal paradise might stay intact.

Tristan stood behind her and wove his arms around her waist. “I was thinking maybe we’d work up here sometime later this week. It’s getting a bit brisk, the closer we get to November, but if we time it for midday, it might be worthwhile.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, and she reveled in that shivery sensation that shimmered through her every time he touched her. “I’d like that.”

He slid his hands under her shirt and skimmed them up over her breasts. She pretended to smack at his hands. “Right in front of the flock? What kind of example is that setting?”

Tristan laughed. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve had to watch these guys mate for years. They owe me.” He nuzzled her neck, and toyed with her nipples. “If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”

She leaned her head back against him. “Have I stopped you yet?”

“Hmm,” he said, and she could feel him grin against her skin. He nipped at her ear. “Makes me wish I’d brought a blanket.”

She smiled and tipped her face to the sun. “Me, too,” she said, sighing as he turned her in his arms. “Next time?”

“You know I always like the sound of that.”

Yes, she did. One thing she’d learned about Tristan was that he wasn’t afraid of asking for what he wanted, or making his needs known. He made her feel wonderfully desirable, and desired. And without being pushy or clingy, he made sure she knew where he stood. He wanted her here, wanted her to stay.

He kissed the tip of her nose, then the corners of her mouth. “Will it bother you if I draw while you try to work?”

“If we bring a blanket next time, I can’t promise either of us will get much work done,” she told him, getting better every day about telling him what she wanted, too.

“I’m going to have to teach Jinty to fetch, that’s all there is to it,” he said. “She’d have the blanket here in no time.”

Bree laughed. “And you tell me I’m the impatient one.” That was another thing she’d learned about him. The man enjoyed taking his time. It wasn’t taking her quite as long to learn that letting him was always a good thing for her.

“So,” she asked, “am I going to be the subject this time, or are you going back to landscapes?”

He’d given her carte blanche to go through his loft and she had marveled over the absolute power and drama of his work. Much to her dismay, he’d reiterated his lack of desire to show his work, but she felt it was a shame not to share his talent with others. So she’d tacked a few watercolors up in the corner of his loft that she’d sectioned off as her workspace. He hadn’t minded, so she figured maybe eventually she’d convince him to frame a few properly and hang them in the house…and who knew—if that went well, maybe eventually Brodie would hang one in the pub, or Reese could mount one in the reception area of the distillery. Far too soon for her to be pushing him like that…but the ideas were there anyway, in the back of her mind.

He was trying to get her to narrow her focus, to worry more about her own needs than those of every other person on the planet. And he’d made remarkable inroads in a short time. So maybe she’d get him to expand his world just a teeny tiny bit and let others enjoy the fruits of his artistic labors. They were too stunningly beautiful not to share.

“Maybe I want a chance to combine the two,” Tristan said. “Although you’re a lovely landscape all on your own.”

She laughed and tugged his head down for a long, hard kiss. “You flatterer, you.”

“I think you almost believed me that time.” He turned her back around so they could both look out over the pastures below. Jinty was barking and moving back and forth, keeping the strays in line. He propped his chin on her head. “So, what do you think? Are you game to try?”

She knew he was talking about working up here, but she couldn’t help but expand that to include the life she was slowly embarking on here.

“Yes,” she said, “yes, I am.” She thought about what it would be like, spending the occasional afternoon up here, working peacefully side by side. It was a way of life she could never have imagined…and one she badly wanted a chance at keeping.

She’d rediscovered herself here. She’d been writing longhand since starting back on the book. Not having to stare at a computer screen had also been freeing to her. She hadn’t intended to start at all, actually. Tristan had encouraged her just to relax and be, to walk the moors, settle in and not push herself. And maybe it was truly giving herself that freedom that had had her itching to get back to work. She’d been standing by the window in his loft the day the story idea had hit her, almost fully formed. Instinctively she’d grabbed one of his sketch pads and begun furiously making notes, getting down as much information as she could.

She’d been both jubilant and emotional when she’d finally come up for air. She had begun to think that part of her was well and truly dead. She wasn’t even sure it was a good idea, but she was excited by it, and that was more than she’d had in a long, long time. She hadn’t said anything to Tristan about it, not wanting to jinx it until she’d looked at it again. Besides, it had only been one day, albeit a momentous one.

But the next day when he’d headed out with Jinty, she’d climbed up to the loft and begun putting together a more detailed outline. Which had led to actually beginning to write the opening pages of the book. And that’s how he’d found her late that afternoon, sprawled in front of the window, with barely enough light to write by, but writing furiously, as if it might disappear on her if she didn’t get it all down right then.

He’d flipped on the soft track lighting overhead and waved her to continue working when she’d startled at his sudden reappearance, long since lost to what time of day it was. She’d smiled at him, he’d winked at her. They’d celebrate later. Then he’d done the perfect thing…he’d moved to one of his easels, and begun quietly working himself, sketching her. She should have felt self-conscious, and initially she had, but she was soon pulled back into her story, which was all but gushing out of her. And sharing that moment with him was celebration enough. Although the bottle of wine and bubble bath he’d drawn for them later that night had been pretty special, too.

She sighed and tugged his arms more tightly around her waist. “What did I do to deserve this?” she murmured.

He didn’t question the track of her thoughts—he rarely did. They had a rhythm that was natural, easy. She cherished it already.

“It’s no’ about deservin’,” he told her. “It’s about allowing yourself the right to live life as you please. On your own terms.”

If anyone understood the value of that, it was the man currently holding her in his arms. And it was his innate strength that gave her the courage to voice her biggest fear. “I want to. But for a long time now, I’ve felt like I owe a lot of people for my success, that I had to somehow repay them for supporting my work so spectacularly. They just want more, and it should be flattering. It was flattering. But it was also enormous pressure. I didn’t want to let any of them down.”

“Ye wrote them a good story, Bree. And they enjoyed it. Ye didn’t demand success, it came to you for work already well done. Ye may owe your publisher another story, but you dinnae owe them or anyone yer soul.”

“They’d believed in me, and I didn’t want to disappoint.”

He turned her in his arms, looked steadily into her eyes. “Who did you write that first book for? Not for them. They didn’t exist yet. You wrote it for you. And that’s the only person you should ever write for.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It can be. We’re proof of that, don’t ye think?”

“I want to believe that. I truly do.”

“Then take hold of it, and make it be what you want. You get to say. No one else.” He smiled. “Well, save for me, anyway.”

She didn’t smile in return; instead, she grew more serious. “But what if—”

“Och, Bree, ye can’t ‘what if’ yer life away.” He framed her face. “Do you want to be here? With me? Write your stories, enjoy your days?”

“The nights aren’t so bad, either,” she quipped. But he wouldn’t let her dodge. Now he was serious, as serious as she’d ever seen him. “Okay. Yes. Yes, I want to be here. With you. And I’m excited about what I’m writing when I never thought I would be again. Yes, you’re right, I’m finally writing for me. But I am afraid. How petrifying do you think it is to know the whole world is going to judge the book, and me, and quite publicly. I’d think you of all people would understand. For the same reason you don’t share your work. You don’t want to be judged and found wanting.”

He laughed outright at that.

“What?”

“I don’t share my work because in my case, it truly is for me. I honestly dinnae care what others think. But then, it’s not my lifeblood like writing is for you.”

She had other ideas about that, but one battle at a time. “I’m trying to let that fear go, really I am. I am writing, and I am finding the joy again. But the pressure is there, the expectation. I can’t hide here forever. I will have to face it at some point. When or if the book ever finally hits the stands, you, your friends, your family, everyone in the village, they all might have to, too.”

“Then they’ll have to decide how to handle it, won’t they? You’re doing it again, living for others. It’s no’ selfish, Bree, to put your needs first. You’re not neglectin’ anyone, you know. It’s no’ your responsibility to oversee how your career affects every living being. It’s sweet and wonderful that you care, and they’ll all know that about you, as I already do. You live here, you write here, and you can be published again here. We’re all adults and we’re all in this together. We’ll figure it out.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Most things worth having aren’t. My brothers and I have held on to property that has been in Chisholm hands for centuries. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s worthwhile. Because the alternative is untenable.” He framed her face. “That’s how I’m comin’ to feel about you. But you have to feel that about yourself, your work, too. I’ll fight for you, Bree. But you have to learn to fight for yourself, or no one can help ye.”

She held his gaze, feeling the truth of his words clear down to her soul. “I guess, the more I have, the more I risk losing. And it scares me, to care that much again. I don’t want to risk losing any of this.”

“All of life is risk. So you do what you must to hang on to what you have, to what you want. It’s all any of us can do. Ye can’t live waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“But—”

“No buts. Do you want what we’ve begun here to continue, Bree?”

“Yes,” she said immediately.

“I do, too. I want you here. I want you in my life. So we go from there. What comes our way, we deal with when it gets here. You’ve made me as aware as possible of what’s out there, and we’ve done our best to protect ourselves. Beyond that, we live for now, not in fear of then. We live for us. No’ them.” He kissed her, so tenderly it made her heart melt. He pressed his forehead to hers and wove his fingers through her hair. “Trust me, Bree. But more importantly, trust yourself.”

He was so certain. Of course, he had every right to be. His whole life had been led on his terms. He took care of business and those he loved, but he made no apologies for living in a manner that made him happy and gave him peace. So…what made her happy? What gave her peace? The answer, as it turned out, was rather simple indeed.

“I feel like I’m meant to be here,” she told him. “With you.”

Tristan smiled. “Then stay. That’s all you have to do.”

Simple. So simple. And maybe, just maybe, it really was.

Epilogue

It was a beautiful, late-spring afternoon. The sun shone through the stained-glass windows of the abbey, cascading a rainbow of color across the excited, chattering congregation.

Tristan stood at the head of the aisle, his hands behind his back, palms sweating. The pews of the centuries-old Chisholm family church were packed with smiling, happy faces, all eagerly anticipating the momentous occasion.

Brodie glanced past brother Reese, his best man, and shot Tristan a grin. “You look like ye’ve had a taste of bad meat, lad. I thought I was the one who was supposed to be nervous.”

Tristan looked at his brother, the groom, who, from all appearances was relaxed and quite delighted by the impending event. “Why aren’t ye?”

Just then, the double doors swung wide and Kat Henderson stepped through the church doors on Alastair’s arm. She was an absolutely stunning vision. “That’s why,” Brodie whispered, voice tight, eyes a wee bit glassy. “Because I’m no fool. I know I’m the luckiest man on earth.”

Tristan did smile at that. “You do have a point.” He felt the hairs lift on his arms as organ music swelled inside the small family abbey, and Kat began her walk down the aisle. His heart picked up speed and he glanced behind him, at Dylan. He was glad their oldest brother had consented to taking part. It had been three years now since Maribel had passed away and he’d come home to Glenbuie. Well past time, they’d all thought, for him to join the land of the living again. They’d all done their best to encourage it, but with little success. But standing in a chapel for a wedding…well, that tied itself to memories that no number of years could erase, and they’d have each understood if he’d begged off. Tristan had taken it as a hopeful sign when he hadn’t.

Tristan’s gaze shifted across the aisle, to Kat’s two attendants. The maid of honor, Daisy MacDonnell, was a vision her own self, and soon to become Reese’s intended. His brother had confided that he’d only put off asking because he hadn’t wanted to overshadow Brodie and Kat’s joy, along with the rest of Glenbuie, in the planning of their wedding. Daisy’s eyes were misty as she watched Kat’s measured procession toward the altar, and Tristan knew she’d make an equally stunning bride. And that Reese was also a very, very fortunate man.

Daisy had made a huge impact on the village with her business acumen. The Web site she’d constructed for the distillery had not only increased their sales internationally, but had created quite a stir village-wide with the throngs of sightseers who were now flocking to Glenbuie, both for a tour and taste of the family whisky, and also to enjoy the village itself. She’d woven together a ring of connected Web sites for many of the village shops, all extolling the charm and endearing ambience of the town square. The family would benefit further from her creative genius when Dylan finally opened the bed and breakfast. She’d cross-promoted it on the Web ring, and he was already booked for the season.

Which led his gaze to Kat’s other attendant. Bree. His pulse bumped up a little faster, as it always did when he looked at her. Seven months had passed since she’d stepped—or swerved—into his life, forever changing it. And him.

“And here I thought the bride was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in the room,” Reese whispered in his ear.

“Oh, she’s stunning enough, she is,” Tristan said, never taking his eyes from Bree.

“We’re a lot, aren’t we?” he said with a light chuckle, his own gaze clearly on Daisy. “Do ye think the village can take so many Chisholm weddings in such a short period of time?”

Tristan glanced back at him. “How many?”

Reese grinned. “Are ye tellin’ me you’re not contemplating dropping down on one knee yourself?”

His hands shook a little. “I’ll gladly wait my turn.”

Reese just smiled and shifted back in place. “Perhaps I should wager on that.”

Tristan wisely said nothing. Bree had finished her book just last week. The entire village had celebrated the joyous occasion. They’d long since adopted their new resident author as one of their own, and considering they’d each done their share to protect her privacy as the media had eventually discovered her whereabouts and descended en masse, they all felt a bit proprietary of both her and the book itself. Bree had happily obliged and throughout the nightlong celebration had made certain they knew, each and every one, what their support meant to her.

He was so proud of her, so in love with this amazing woman, he’d had to bite his tongue to keep from begging her to marry him right then. He hadn’t. Partly out of respect for Reese’s plans, but mostly because the completion of her novel was cause all by itself for a joyous celebration.

He was willing to wait until the moment was all theirs.

Standing where he was now, however, the enormity of that moment truly sank in and took hold. Yes, it made his heart pound; yes, it made his palms sweat. He was rarely nervous, but admittedly, the idea of standing before the entire village and watching her walk toward him down that very aisle…

Bree looked up just then and smiled at him. Just for him. And he thought about all she’d handled, all she’d overcome, the leap of faith she’d taken, both with him and with herself.

Kat arrived at the altar, and Tristan watched as Alastair gave her hand over to Brodie, who quite eagerly took it in his own, anxious to declare himself to her and begin their new life together.

His gaze went back to Bree. He wanted that. He wanted to declare his commitment to her. Only not here. He wanted to do it outside, on the land he’d also committed himself to. He wondered what Bree would say about taking their vows high up on their rocky bluff. A small, intimate gathering, with just his brothers, their wives, her parents perhaps, standing in attendance. They could celebrate all night in the village afterward if she wanted to.

He listened as Brodie and Kat repeated their vows, unable to tear his gaze from Bree’s. And he realized he’d marry her in the middle of a crowded train station if that was what she wanted.

His hands stopped trembling. His palms stopped sweating. The only thing that mattered was that she say yes. All he had to do was ask her. She chose that moment to wink at him.

Simple, really.

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With an indulgent smile, Axel Dean watched the young lady exit the room of suffocating, overbearing people. Damn, she was sweet on the eyes. Tall, nearly as tall as him, with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes and an air of negligence that dared him, calling on his baser instincts, stripping away the façade of civility he tried to don in polite company.

Her straight hair skimmed her shoulders, darker than his own, blue-black without a single hint of red. It was so silky it looked fluid, moving when she moved, shimmering with highlights from the glow of candles. The white catering shirt and black slacks didn’t do much for her figure, which he guessed to be slim and toned. She didn’t have the lush curves he usually favored, but what she lacked in body she made up for in attitude.

And attitude, as he well knew, made a huge difference in bed.

As a waiter passed, Axel plunked his empty glass down onto the tray and headed for the sliding doors. He hated uptight formal affairs that being a doctor often obligated him to attend. That didn’t mean he had to linger. That didn’t mean he had to mingle.

Especially when more enlivening entertainment waited outside.

Making certain no one paid him any mind, he slipped through the doors and onto a wide balcony lit by twinkling lights that mirrored the stars in the evening sky. He waited, saying a silent prayer that no one followed him. Every time he attended a gathering, women hit on him. And that’d be fine and dandy by him, given that he adored women, but not within his professional circle.

He absolutely never, ever dated anyone in his field. Not even anyone related to someone in his field.

Despite the martial bliss of both his brother and his best friend, he had no intentions of settling down any time soon. That being the case, it wouldn’t be wise to get involved with relatives, friends, or associates of the people he worked with. Walking away could cause a scene, and then the entire situation would get sticky and uncomfortable.

There were plenty of women who weren’t interested in medicine, like secretaries, lawyers…or caterers.

He’d been prepared to be bored spitless tonight. Then he’d seen her hustling around the crowded room with robust energy. At first he’d assumed her to be a mere waitress for the catering company, but given how she performed each and every job, from putting out food to collecting empty dishes to directing the others, she might actually be the one in charge. Given her air of command and confidence, he figured her to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. Sexy. Mature. Flirtatious.

His heartbeat sped up, just imagining how the night might end.

When no one followed, Axel went down the curving wooden stairs to the garden paths behind Elwood’s home. The pompous ass loved to flaunt his money, and why not? He had plenty to flaunt.

Spring had brought a profusion of blooming flowers to fill the air with heady scents. The chilly evening breeze didn’t faze Axel as he searched the darkness for her. Then he saw a flare of light, realized it was a match, and made his way silently toward her.

She had her back to him, going on tiptoe to reach the top of an ornate torch anchored to the ground and surrounded by evergreens. Just as the wick caught, Axel said, “Hello.”

She went perfectly still, poised on tiptoes, arms reaching up to the top of the torch. Slowly, in an oh-so-aware way, she relaxed and turned to face him.

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He smiled slightly as his gaze traveled over her face, the fall of her dark hair, just noticing the gold flecks in her brown eyes. Her expression was at once innocent, and sexy. A hell of a combination. Jack wasn’t much on centerfold types, pretty was good, but most times, after a couple months, he didn’t like what he found beneath. With Syd, he already knew what lay beneath, besides a wicked sense of humor.

“Well, don’t just jump to answer. Take your time.”

“I’m thinking a kiss will never be enough,” he murmured, lowering his head.

“I’m so wide open to suggestions it’s pathetic.”

His dark chuckle rumbled in the hallway an instant before he laid his mouth over hers. Something unfamiliar crackled through him. It wasn’t instant, it’d been there, waiting—in that place he’d packed away most of his emotions, the need to link himself with her when he’d been solitary for so long. He kissed her and kissed her and somewhere in between, the barrier broke, poured like water from a shattered dam.

Sydney felt it, a difference in him. Patience turned possessive, as if he was staking claim, that he knew she’d deny him nothing of herself. She wouldn’t. His hands splayed her back, driving up her spine as his warm mouth rolled back and forth over hers. She felt his restraint, his need to crush and take. Her brain went fuzzy, her thoughts centered on only one thing. More. I want more with this man.

Jack gave. “You know where we’re going.” It wasn’t a question.

Yet her answer spoke when her tongue slid into his mouth, in her hips rising to mesh with his. Jack nearly roared, letting go a little more. His hands mapped her contours and she moaned, a delicious little sound that nearly tore through his restraint.

Impatiently, he backed her up against the nearest wall, devouring her mouth as his hands plowed over her body.

She winced and jerked back. “Ow, sorry, oh, that stings.”

He looked down at her leg. It was bleeding again. “Oh, hell. Sorry, baby. Let’s have a look now. Have a seat in the kitchen, the light’s better.”

Almost robotic, he turned away, and went deeper into the house. She stared at his back for a second, too turned on to move.

Then he called out, “And take those pants off, too.”

She smiled. “You’re always telling me to do that.” She went into the kitchen and slipped her jeans off.

He came back with a large plastic toolbox. “And you keep doing it. What’s that say?”

She sat at the kitchen table in panties and a T-shirt, peeling the layers of gauze. Her breath hissed.

“Stop that before you tear the skin,” he said, and she looked up. He tugged her to her feet, gripped her at the waist, and lifted her to the counter. She gasped at the cold stone under her bare skin.

“Do you always just do what you want without asking?”

He looked chagrined. “By your leave, ma’am, I’m not used to waiting to take action.”

“That just excites me all over. Bossy men, who’da thunk it?”

He snapped on latex gloves. “Wiseass.” He carefully cut the bandage away and started cleaning the wound. It was bleeding at the point of impact, but the rest was dried and sticky.

He wasn’t all that gentle and Syd smacked him on the shoulder when it hurt too much. “Ease up. I’m not a Marine, ya know.”

“Oh, I know.” He winked, then rummaged in the large kit. He snapped the cap of a small plastic tube with a needle on the end. “This will help.”

“Is that necessary?” Though it felt on fire right now.

“Unless you have an amazing pain threshold, this is really gonna hurt. Too much blood is caked on the wound. There could be fibers from the jeans in it, glass. It did pass through the window. And who was telling me about how fast germs multiply?”

She gestured for him to keep working. “You could have stopped at fibers.”

“I have to open it back up.”

“Gee, no stick to bite? No whiskey?”

“I have morphine.”

She shook her head. “Go ahead.” He injected the topical anesthetic, then while he waited for it to take effect, he laid out his bandages.

Syd grabbed a stack and with some antiseptic, cleaned the couple of cuts on his jaw and neck. “They aren’t bad. But you have flakes of glass only a shower will clean.”

“We can try that later.”

“We?”

He slid her a dark sexy look that liquefied her muscles. “Nothing gets past you, huh, Einstein?”

“Not unless I want it to. And I could jump on you right now, boo-boo and all, like an undersexed teenager.”

“Undersexed?”

She lifted a bottle from the kit, read the label. “Antibiotics? Prescription?”

He got the message. She didn’t want to discuss her sex life. Fine with him. His mind was already on that lacy bra he’d bought and how it looked on her—because the transparent panties were just about driving him nuts as it was.

“Rick’s a corpsman, Navy.”

“I thought he was a Marine.”

He soaked a cloth in the sink. “Might as well be.” He hesitated for a second, in voice and moves, then said, “He found me in the mountains.”

Sydney felt oddly privileged. The tiny piece of him made her feel closer to him. Rick had saved his life. “I should thank him for that. But I swore an oath.”

He glanced, flashed a smile, then applied a wet cloth to the wound, softening the dried blood. He blotted and rubbed, taking tweezers to pluck out debris. “This will burn,” he warned and drizzled hydrogen peroxide on it. He blew and blotted again, but when she didn’t utter a sound, Jack looked up.

She sat perfectly still, gripping the counter ledge, her lips tight. Yet tears cascaded down her face.

“Aw, honey I—”

“Keep going, please.”

He felt helpless, a first in about a dozen years. Silent tears were a powerful thing to see, and he hated causing her more pain. She’d had enough for someone who didn’t wear Kevlar to the office. She bit her lip, swallowed hard, trying so hard not to sob, and Jack leaned in and kissed her, focusing everything into it, a slow molten roll of lips and tongue. She responded instantly, and he felt a tender ache in his chest when she cradled his jaw and took control. It was an eating kiss, as if her pain flowed through it, almost dark and ravenous, and when he pulled back, she looked more exotic than before.

“It still hurts like hell.” She sniffled.

“I was trying to take your mind off it.”

“And that’s all you came up with?” Her fingers dribbled down his chest to his jeans.

Christ, the woman was going to make him an idiot. “Give me a minute, I’ll think of something else.” Jack went back to cleaning the wound down to the tissue. It bled again.

Syd wanted to cry like a baby, but what good would it do? She stared at the long, narrow gouge, seeing exactly how close they came to dying today. She’d have a permanent reminder of how precious life had become.

“I know it looks bad,” he said, “but it has to heal from the inside out. It’s broad enough that stitches would just make the scar worse.”

“The scar’s the least of my problems.”

He covered it with antibacterial ointment, then bandaged it. He sat, and propped her leg on his shoulder to wrap the ace around her thigh. “Bad fashion statement in a bikini?” He secured it, then pulled off the surgical gloves.

“As if. You do not want to see this body in a bikini.” She was glad to think of anything but the pain right now.

His gaze lingered over her. “You underestimate yourself, Einstein.” He kissed her bandaged leg.

“I rarely do, Jack. I know my weaknesses.” She slid her leg off his shoulder, and for a moment she just stared. “Algorithms, English Lit, loading i-Pods…” Suddenly, she gripped handfuls of his bloody shirt, yanked. “And right now—you.”

Her mouth covered his in a swoop of heat and put every seductive nuance into it. There wasn’t much information in her past to gather. She’d spent her adult life getting her doctorate or using it. But she tried.

And she was winning.

Jack felt like a puppet being played and he let her. Her life was in shambles and she wanted control, wanted to command something and he let it be him. She teased, drawing back and making him chase her, then erotically licked the line of his lips before she pushed her tongue between. A hot, desperate need riddled him down to his heels as she kissed him. He wanted her, right now, on the counter, and the image made his dick like lead in his jeans. When she broke the kiss, it was to peel off his shirt. Her hands scraped over his skin, and she dragged her tongue across his nipple, then suckled.

It left him trembling, his head thrown back, and he gripped her hips, wedging closer. His hand slid upward, under her shirt, shaping her ribs, teasing the underside of her breasts cupped in a lacy bra. Her kiss intensified.

“Keep that up, Marine. Please.”

He drew off her shirt, his lip quirking at the pink lace bra. A quick flick and it was falling. Jack swept it away. His gaze rolled down her body, and everything between them seemed to go still for a moment. By increments she leaned closer, her nipples grazing his chest. That first press of flesh to flesh held a sort of euphoria, crossing the line of intimacy. Jack had helped a lot of people, rescued many, killed to save them, but nothing compared to the single moment when you invited someone this close. He fought for patience when he was craving her like air, his body flexing with need. Although Syd might have a mouth on her, he sensed this was a brave thing to do.

She was still, waiting for his touch, watching his hands come toward her and when they did, Syd experienced something close to nirvana. She covered his big hands and arched and Jack kissed her and kissed her, loving her moans, her eagerness.

He wouldn’t last long.

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Andi straightened and caught him staring. Tuck shrugged. He was attracted to her and wasn’t even going to pretend he wasn’t. Everything about her turned him on.

Suddenly all the confidence he’d seen seemed to drain away. She held the can out to him and hurried behind her standard issue desk. There was something different in her body language now. This wasn’t the same woman who’d joked with her men about strippers.

He hooked his ankle over his knee. Popping the tab on the top of the can, he took a long drag hoping the icy beverage would cool the heat of his body. The heat that was being generated by the woman sitting across from him—eyeing him warily.

He held the Coke can loosely in one hand trying to look as non-threatening as possible. But he wanted her and he knew himself well enough to know that he wasn’t going to back away without a fight, or watching her and waiting for everything to click into place.

As an arson investigator he had to be intimately aware of human behavior. The subject had always intrigued him. He’d never met a person who he hadn’t wanted to figure out. Find out why they behaved the way they did. It was the same techniques he used to find arsonists.

He just had to figure out what the turn-on was. Why they were drawn to fire. And what they hoped to get out of it.

Shamelessly, he used the same techniques with women. And nine times out of ten it worked. Of course, that one time when it didn’t work, had served to keep him humble. He knew on one level that he didn’t know everything about women or about human nature. But he’d been willing to turn failure into success.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked, her voice dropping an octave.

“I like the way your mouth looks,” he said, his own voice sounding deeper and huskier than normal. Damn, this woman made him hotter than he’d been in a long time. And, honestly, she wasn’t doing anything other than being herself. He didn’t understand this attraction to her but he knew himself well enough that he didn’t question it.

“You are making me uncomfortable,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. “And I don’t like it.”

“Your mouth is making me uncomfortable.” She wasn’t helping him get his mind back on business. “And I do like it.”

“I can’t be responsible for your fantasies,” she said, in a way that made him realize that this was a woman at home in the business world but not one-on-one with a man.

“Yes, you can.” She was solely responsible for those fantasies. He’d never had this problem on the job before. But if she nibbled on her lower lip one more time, he was coming across the desk and tasting her mouth for himself.

“Why? If I was a guy sitting here you wouldn’t be having those fantasies would you?” She sat up straighter in her chair and that fire that he’d seen earlier was back.

It was there in her eyes. She had the kind of passion that most women were afraid of. And he knew she was afraid of it too, but when she felt threatened it came out with her temper.

“No, but neither of us can change the fact that you are a woman. One I can’t help but notice.”

She opened one of the files on her desk. “Well, stop.”

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Unwrapped
Copyright © 2011 Kensington Publishing Corp.
“Blue Christmas” copyright © 2011 Erin McCarthy
“Santa in a Kilt” copyright © 2011 Donna Kauffman
“Snow Angel” copyright © 2011 Kate Angell

You Don’t Know Jack
Copyright © 2006 by Erin McCarthy

Bad Boys in Kilts
Copyright © 2006 by Donna Kauffman

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ISBN: 978-0-7582-8047-3