His Virgin Mistress Bundle
Author: Sarah Morgan; Robyn Donald; Melanie Milburne; Lee Wilkinson
Date: 2009-01-01 00:00:00+00:00
Description: He's worldly, wealthy and always in charge. She's beautiful and innocent...but ready for love. And when they meet, neither of them will ever be the same again. Experience all the intense emotion as our heroines explore passion and their heroes find love--both for the first time--in the four stories included in this Harlequin Presents Extra Bundle: The Sheikh's Virgin Princess by Sarah Morgan, Ruthless Billionaire, Inexperienced Mistress by Robyn Donald, The Virgin's Price by Melanie Milburne and Mistress Against Her Will by Lee Wilkinson.
Publisher: Harlequin
Rights: Copyright © 2008 Harlequin Books S.A.

Best of Virgins Bundle

The Virgin’s Price

The Virgin’s Proposal

His Virgin Secretary

One Hot Texan

The Innocent Virgin

Undercover Virgin

A Single Demand

The Virgin’s Seduction

Craving Beauty

The Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Table of Contents

The Virgin’s Price
By Melanie Milburne

The Virgin’s Proposal
By Shirley Jump

His Virgin Secretary
By Cathy Williams

One Hot Texan
By Jane Sullivan

The Innocent Virgin
By Carole Mortimer

Undercover Virgin
By Becky Barker

A Single Demand
By Margaret Allison

The Virgin’s Seduction
By Anne Mather

Craving Beauty
By Nalini Singh

The Millionaire's Virgin Mistress
By Robyn Donald

The Virgin’s Price

By Melanie Milburne

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘I CAN’T believe he wrote that about me!’ Mia threw the morning’s newspaper down in disgust, her grey eyes flashing with rage. ‘It’s the first real acting job I’ve had and he completely rubbishes it. My career will be over before it even starts.’

‘I wouldn’t take it too personally,’ Shelley said as she reloaded the café dishwasher. ‘Bryn Dwyer rubbishes just about everything. Did you hear him on drive-time radio yesterday? He made a complete fool of the person he was interviewing. It’s how he gets the ratings he does. You either love him or you hate him.’

‘Well, I hate him,’ Mia said with feeling. ‘I just wish I could have the chance to tell him to his arrogant, stuck-up face.’

‘Yeah, well, you never know your luck,’ Shelley said as she placed the washing powder in the compartment of the dishwasher. ‘He was in here three mornings in a row last week, each time with a different woman. You should have seen the way Tony gushed all over him as if he was royalty. I nearly puked.’

‘In here?’ Mia’s eyes began to sparkle with hope. ‘Bryn Dwyer?’

Shelley straightened from the dishwasher. ‘Listen, Mia, just remember you’ve only just started and Tony only gave you the job in the first place because I put in such a good word for you. If you so much as—’

‘One cappuccino and a double decaf latte on table seven.’ Tony Pretelli, the café owner, slapped the order on the counter and scooped up a plate of raisin toast on his way past. ‘And make it snappy. Our favourite celebrity is here again this morning.’

‘Uh-oh,’ Shelley said as she took a quick peek over the counter.

‘Who is it?’ Mia asked as she peered over Shelley’s shoulder. She whistled through her teeth when she caught a glimpse of a tall man with dark brown shiny hair and broad shoulders sitting chatting to an attractive brunette. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’

Shelley grabbed her by the arm. ‘Don’t even think about it, Mia. You know what Tony’s like. He’ll fire you on the spot if you do anything to upset a customer, celebrity or not.’

Mia unpeeled the waitress’s fingers and, giving her a sugar-sweet smile, reached for the coffees the barista on duty had just made. ‘I think I’ll risk it just this once. Anyway, it will be worth it to get back at that pompous jerk for giving me such a bad review.’

Shelley winced as Mia swept past with the coffees. ‘I don’t think I can watch this…’

Mia sauntered up to the table where Bryn Dwyer was seated with his back to her. It was a very broad back, she couldn’t help noticing, and even though he was wearing a pale blue business shirt she could see the bunching of well-developed muscles through the expensive fabric. His shirt cuffs were rolled up at the wrists, revealing tanned forearms sprinkled with dark masculine hair, and an expensive silver watch on his left wrist. His hair was neither long nor short or straight or curly but somewhere in between, and was styled in a casual manner that suggested his long, tanned fingers had been used as its latest combing tool.

She didn’t need to see his face; it had been splashed on the cover of just about every women’s magazine for the past month as for the second year in a row he had been awarded the Bachelor of the Year title. His prime-time radio slot and popular weekly column in a Sydney broadsheet gave him the sort of fame and fortune most people only ever dreamed of, but even without that, he was a multimillionaire from some clever property investments he’d made all before he’d hit thirty-two or-three years or so ago.

Mia gave her reflection a quick glance in the mirrors above the booth section of the café on her way past, reassuring herself that he couldn’t possibly recognise her from last night’s performance. With her shoulder-length blonde hair scraped back in a high pony-tail and no make-up on she looked just like an ordinary café waitress. She gave a mischievous little smile as she mentally rehearsed an Irish accent; even better—a visiting-from-abroad café waitress.

‘Top of the mornin’ to you both. Now, what do we have here—a cappuccino and a double skinny decaf?’ she lilted cheerily, as she hovered by Bryn’s elbow.

‘Mine is the decaf,’ the brunette woman said with a friendly smile.

Mia reached over to place it in front of her and then turned to the woman’s dark-haired companion, who hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge her presence. ‘And what is it that you will be having, sir?’

‘The cappuccino,’ he said without looking up from the document he was reading.

‘One cappuccino coming up,’ Mia said and proceeded to pour it into his lap.

‘What the hell…?’ Bryn sprang to his feet and tugged the fabric of his trousers away from his lukewarm groin.

‘I’m terribly sorry, how very clumsy of me,’ she said with no trace of sincerity. ‘I’ll get you another one straight away.’

‘I don’t want another one!’ He glared down at her and then, narrowing his eyes a fraction, asked, ‘Hey, don’t I know you?’

She gave him a vacant look and began to turn away. ‘Sorry, but I think you must be mistaken. I have never met you before.’

‘You’re that girl…’ he stalled her with a very large, very firm hand on her arm ‘…the toilet-paper advertisement, right?’

Mia unhinged his fingers and dusted off her arm, shooting him an imperious look. ‘I’m sorry, but you must have me mistaken for someone else.’

‘I never forget a face and yours is certainly very—’

‘You are fired!’ Tony Pretelli bellowed as he strode towards them. ‘Do you hear me, Mia Forrester? F.I.R.E.D. Fired. Now. Right now as of this very minute.’

‘Mia Forrester?’ Bryn frowned.

‘Sorry, Mr Pretelli,’ Mia said, momentarily forgetting to employ her Irish accent. ‘I didn’t mean to do it. It just slipped out of my hands.’

‘I saw you, Mia; it didn’t just slip out of your hands. You poured it on the poor man! Get your things and leave immediately,’ Tony snarled at her and then, turning to Bryn, softened his tone to an obsequious level. ‘Please accept my sincere apologies for the appalling behaviour of my staff—er—ex-staff member. I will see to it that she personally pays for the damage to your trousers. I’ll organise another coffee for you immediately, and can I tempt you with a slice of our house speciality? It’s a tiramisu and absolutely delicious—on the house, of course.’

‘No, thank you,’ Bryn said with a cool little on-off smile.

Typical. Mia gave a little snort. He looks down his nose at everybody. What a pompous jerk.

‘But I would like a private word with your—er—ex-staff member,’ Bryn added, training his dark blue gaze on her.

Mia’s eyes widened in alarm and she started to step backwards. ‘But I’m just leaving…’

‘Not so fast, Miss Forrester,’ he said, capturing her arm once more, his long fingers like a vice around her slim wrist. ‘I’m sure your ex-employer won’t mind if you humour me for a moment or two.’

Mia looked to Tony for help but he was already on his way back to the kitchen, shouting out another order from table five.

‘I think I’ll leave you to it,’ the brunette woman said to Bryn before sending Mia a pleasant smile. ‘I’m Annabelle Heyward, by the way, Miss Forrester. I’m Bryn Dwyer’s publicist.’

‘Poor you,’ Mia muttered not quite under her breath as she took the older woman’s hand with her free one. ‘But I’m pleased to meet you. I’m sure you’re a very nice person despite the company you keep.’

‘Excuse me?’ Bryn’s dark brows met over his eyes.

‘I’ll call you later with the latest ratings, Bryn.’ Annabelle gave him a little wave as she left the café, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

‘Please let go of my arm,’ Mia said through clenched teeth. ‘Everyone is watching.’

‘I don’t care who is watching.’ He glowered down at her darkly. ‘I’d like to know why you think you can get away with tossing a cup of coffee in my lap.’

‘I didn’t get away with it,’ she pointed out with a pert tilt of her chin. ‘I got fired, remember?’

‘And so you deserved to be. What the hell is the matter with you? What have I ever done to you, for God’s sake?’

‘How can you ask that?’ she spat back, wrenching her arm from his, rubbing at her wrist where his fingers had been. ‘Not only have I been fired from here, but I’m also sure I’m going to be dropped from Peach Pie Productions because of what you wrote in this morning’s paper. It was my first real live theatre performance and you ruined it. The principal actor was sick and the director asked me to fill in for her and now my career is going to be finished because of you and your stupid opinion, which I’m sure is completely biased and—’

‘Oh, that Mia Forrester,’ he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Mia stared at him in outrage. What did he mean, that Mia Forrester?

‘So you got a bad review,’ he said dismissively. ‘Get over it.’

‘Get over it?’ She stepped closer and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger. ‘How about you get over this? You are the most arrogant, opinionated, chauvinistic smart alec I’ve ever met. You think you can say whatever you like or indeed write whatever insults you like but I am not going to allow you to get away with it. You have definitely picked the wrong person this time to make fun of. If I lose my understudy job over this, you are going to be very sorry. I will make sure of it.’

Bryn looked down at the little spitfire in front of him with increasing interest. When was the last time anyone had told him off, he wondered, really told him off, no-holds-barred? Most people—particularly women—bowed and scraped to his every whim, but she was something else again. She was all flashing grey eyes and swinging blonde pony-tail, looking more like a schoolgirl than the seductress she’d played so appallingly last night in Theodore Frankston’s new play.

‘You should stick to toilet-paper ads,’ he said. ‘Or have you ever thought about a career change?’

‘Have you ever thought about a personality change?’ she tossed back, her eyes like twin diamonds of sparkling fury.

Bryn suppressed a smile as he let his gaze run over her lazily. She had a neat figure, very trimmed and toned, and her skin had a healthy glow to it as if she was well used to outdoor activity. She wore no make-up but she had a fresh-faced beauty that was totally captivating. He couldn’t help thinking she might be just the type of girl his great-aunt Agnes would approve of. It would be the perfect solution to a problem that had been worrying him for quite some time.

‘Listen, Miss Forrester.’ He took her to one side out of the way of the hearing of table six. ‘I’m sorry you’ve lost your job here, but really, what’s a talented actress like you doing in a place like this?’

She scowled at him. ‘You didn’t call me talented in your article this morning. You said, and I quote: “A pathetic attempt at portraying a femme fatale from a clearly inexperienced actress.” Isn’t that what you said?’

‘It might have run something along those lines.’

‘What?’ She eyeballed him in fury. ‘You don’t even remember what you wrote about me?’

‘Look.’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I had a deadline to meet and I’d been out and it was late…’

‘Are you telling me you were drunk when you wrote that column?’

‘Of course not.’ He glanced around to make sure no one had heard her fiery accusation. ‘Will you keep your voice down? I can do without bad publicity right now.’

Mia straightened to her full height which still left her at a distinct disadvantage to his six-feet-three. ‘Do you think I give a damn about your career when you’ve so cavalierly destroyed mine?’

He compressed his lips for a moment. ‘Look, I’ll strike a little deal with you.’ He took out a business card and handed it to her. ‘If you’re dropped from the play, give me a call and I’ll try and find some other work for you. OK?’

Mia tore the card into tiny pieces and, stepping on her tiptoes, reached to where his top button was undone and stuffed the pieces down his shirt. ‘Thanks but no thanks,’ she said crisply. ‘And I’m going to tell all my friends not to listen to your radio programme ever again. And let me tell you I have a lot of friends.’

Bryn watched her flounce back to the kitchen, where, after a short interchange with one of the other waitresses, she scooped up a shoulder bag and left via a rear entrance, her pony-tail still swinging in fury.

He looked down at the neck of his shirt where the sharp little edges were digging into his skin and smiled.

Yes, Great-Aunt Agnes would most definitely approve.

He reached for his mobile and pressed in a few numbers. ‘Annabelle, can you text me Theodore Frankston’s number and the name and number of Mia Forrester’s current agent?’

‘What are you up to, Bryn?’ Annabelle’s tone was full of suspicion.

He waited until he was outside the café before responding. ‘Listen, Annabelle, I’ve got a plan. You know how you said I needed to improve my image to encourage more female listeners? Well, this is a perfect way to do it.’

Annabelle gave a groan. ‘This isn’t another one of those publicity stunts that will make me cringe, is it? I really don’t think I can cope with the fallout if you get involved with yet another married woman.’

‘No, this isn’t anything like that. And by the way Summer Riley was divorced, or as good as.’

‘She was a slut, Bryn, and for the whole time you were involved with her your ratings slipped to an all-time low. Female listeners fell away in droves and we still haven’t got them all back.’

‘But that’s exactly my point,’ Bryn said. ‘If I play my cards right with this I could overhaul my image within a matter of days. Think about it. What could be better right now than me having a whirlwind romance with a struggling actress I’ve just savaged in the Press? Women will love it. It’s got that whole love-hate chemistry just like a Hollywood movie.’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this,’ Annabelle muttered.

‘No, listen, Annabelle,’ he insisted. ‘Women all over Sydney will tune in to hear how our relationship is going. It’s perfect!’

‘And how exactly are you going to convince Mia Forrester to have a relationship with you? Last time I looked you were wearing the cappuccino she tossed in your lap,’ Annabelle pointed out with more than a hint of dryness.

‘I have a strategy in mind that I think will do the trick. Text me those numbers as soon as you track them down. Ciao.’

A few minutes later Bryn phoned Theodore Frankston. It was a short conversation and very much to the point.

‘It was a rotten review,’ Theo growled when Bryn identified himself.

‘It was a rotten performance,’ Bryn returned. ‘That girl was totally wrong for the role. What were you thinking, Theo? You should get rid of her immediately before your reputation is damaged any further.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then on air this afternoon I will warn my listeners to stay away from your play and stay at home and watch TV instead. Your little production company will lose all its sponsors before you can blink.’

‘She’s not going to like this,’ Theo grumbled. ‘I like the girl. She’s a bit raw but I think with a little more work she’ll improve.’

‘I like her too,’ Bryn said. ‘Leave her to me. I’ve got big plans for her.’

‘You’re an arrogant bastard,’ Theo said. ‘Has anyone told you that lately?’

‘As a matter of fact they have,’ Bryn said with a lazy smile. ‘And I liked it so much I can hardly wait until she tells me all over again.’

His phone call to Mia’s agent was even more productive. He’d met Roberta Askinthorpe at various social events and although they had flirted occasionally nothing serious had come of it, but he knew she would do anything he asked.

‘Long time no hear,’ Roberta cooed at him. ‘Are you ringing to apologise for that incendiary review you wrote about one of my favourite clients in this morning’s paper?’

‘Not exactly.’

Roberta laughed. ‘No, the Bryn Dwyer I know would never apologise for his actions. What was I thinking?’

‘I need you to do something for me, Roberta, but it has to remain a secret.’

‘Your wish is my command, you know that, Bryn, darling.’

‘I want you to temporarily take Mia Forrester off your books.’

‘Why do you want me to do that? She’s a real sweetie with bags of potential. I know Theodore’s play was a bit out there for her but Sabina was sick at the last minute. Anyway, every actor needs stretching occasionally.’

‘I have something else for her to do.’

‘But how will I explain it to her?’

‘Use my review as an excuse,’ he suggested. ‘It doesn’t have to be permanent. You can take her on again later. I just need her to be without work and representation so she will agree to work for me for the time being.’

‘I must say, this sounds very intriguing,’ Roberta said. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the girl?’

Bryn laughed off the suggestion. ‘Come on, Roberta, you know me better than that. I’m not the falling-in-love type.’

‘Perhaps not, but Mia Forrester is rather a pet,’ Roberta pointed out. ‘I wouldn’t want to see her get hurt. What have you got planned?’

‘Stay tuned and you’ll find out,’ he said. ‘But remember this is between you and me.’

‘I’ll do it but I’m warning you it’ll cost you dinner some time.’

‘You’re on,’ he said. ‘Dinner it is.’

‘In Paris,’ she added.

He smiled as he hung up the phone.

CHAPTER TWO

THE telephone started to ring as soon as Mia entered her flat. She stared at it for a moment, wondering if she just ignored it she could put off the inevitable for a little while longer.

‘Are you going to get that?’ Gina, her flatmate, called out from the bathroom, her voice muffled by the sounds of tooth-brushing.

Mia picked up the phone. ‘Mia? Is that you?’ her younger sister Ellie’s voice sounded in her ear.

‘Hi, Ellie. Where are you calling from? Are you still in South America? This line is terrible.’

‘I know…’ Ellie said, breathing hard. ‘Listen, Mia, I’m in trouble. Big trouble.’

Mia felt her insides drop between her knees. ‘What’s wrong? Where are you? What’s happened?’

‘I’ve been arrested.’ Ellie let out a little sob.

Mia’s eyes widened in shock and her grip on the phone became white-knuckled. ‘Arrested! What on earth for?’

‘You know that rainforest-logging protest rally I’ve been involved with in Brazil? Well, I got arrested and I need bail money wired over to get me out of here.’

‘Oh, my God!’

‘Please don’t call Mum and Dad,’ Ellie said. ‘I don’t want to ruin their holiday with Jake and Ashleigh.’

‘But we’ll have to call them!’ Mia insisted.

‘No, Mia, please. Dad would have a heart attack on the spot, you know how his doctor told him to take things easy since that last scare.’

‘But what about Jake? He’d gladly help out financially. I just know he would.’

‘No, Mia. Please don’t tell Ashleigh and Jake about this. Ashleigh will be hysterical and it will upset the kids. Promise me you won’t tell.’

Mia was all too aware of her sister’s fierce pride and had no choice but to reluctantly agree. ‘All right, I promise.’

‘Thanks, Mia. Just send me some money via my credit card. I’ve luckily still got that and my passport, although my backpack with my return ticket has been stolen.’

‘How much money do you need?’

Ellie told her and Mia’s stomach threatened to hit the floor this time. ‘I’ll send it as soon as I can,’ she said. ‘It might take me a couple of days to find that kind of money. I have a little in my account but not quite that much.’

‘It’s all right, I’ll manage until you can get it to me,’ Ellie said. ‘I’m so sorry about this. Please don’t tell anyone about it. Not even Gina. I don’t want people to worry for nothing. This will all be sorted out in no time and I can’t bear the embarrassment of having to explain it all ad nauseam when I get back.’

‘What about the Australian Embassy? Should I call them and get them to help?’

‘No, just do as I said, Mia,’ Ellie said. ‘Once that money’s in my credit-card account there’s a guy here who can help me. It’s how things work over here.’

‘I’m so worried about you…’

‘Don’t be, Mia. I’m fine, truly. Look, I’ve got to go. The guard’s making a fuss about the length of the call. I had to bribe him with my last chocolate bar. I’ll call you when I’m free. Love you.’

‘Love you…’ Mia stared at the dead phone, her heart sinking in despair. The amount of money Ellie needed wasn’t huge but things had been tight lately and now, with her café job over, if Theodore didn’t keep her with the company things could get rather desperate.

The phone rang again while she was still holding it and she answered it to find Theodore on the other end informing her of his decision to drop her from the company. He cut the conversation short as soon as she began to protest.

‘Sorry, Mia. My investors are threatening to pull out on the deal after that review. Goodbye.’

She couldn’t believe it. Her first foray into live theatre had come to an ignominious end. One bad review and she was back to waiting on tables full-time, except for the fact that, because of this morning’s encounter with Bryn Dwyer, she no longer had any tables to wait on. And with Ellie’s life in danger thousands of kilometres away she had to have money and fast.

She took a deep, calming breath. Right, I just have to find another acting job, she told herself firmly. No matter how small or demeaning it was, she had to find work.

She quickly dialled her agent but the conversation, like the one she’d just had with Theodore, was brusque and just as disheartening.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gina asked on her way past a short time later. ‘You look like you’re about to murder someone.’

‘I am,’ Mia said, gritting her teeth as she searched for her car keys. ‘I’m going to track down the person responsible for making me lose two jobs in one day and tell him exactly what I think of him.’

‘You’ve been dropped from Peach Pie Productions?’ Gina’s eyes went wide.

Mia tossed one of the sofa cushions aside to retrieve her keys. ‘Not just the company but the café as well, and as if that weren’t enough my agent just made some pathetic excuse about being too busy to represent me any more. Grrrrr!’

‘But why?’ Gina asked. ‘I thought you were brilliant last night, no matter what the review in this morning’s paper said.’

‘So you saw what he wrote, did you?’ Mia asked, scowling furiously. ‘God knows who else has seen it and completely written me off as an actor. I can just imagine what everyone is saying. I’m probably the laughing stock of the whole of Sydney by now. No one will ever offer me a role again and as for getting a new agent, who is going to take me on now?’

Gina did her best to be reassuring. ‘Try not to worry, Mia, all actors get bad reviews from time to time. It comes with the territory. Maybe a new agent will be a good thing in the long run.’

Mia ground her teeth without answering. Her worries about Ellie made her anger towards Bryn Dwyer escalate to boiling point. He was responsible for this and he was going to pay—big time.

‘But why did you lose your job at the café? I thought Tony liked having someone nearly famous working there part-time?’

She gave her flatmate another furious scowl. ‘Because I tipped a cup of coffee in a customer’s lap, that’s why.’

‘You mean…’ Gina gave her a wide-eyed look ‘….on purpose?’

Mia lifted her head in proud defiance. ‘He had it coming to him for writing such a horrible review.’

Gina’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘You mean you tipped a cup of coffee in Bryn Dwyer’s lap? Bryn Dwyer, the Bachelor of the Year and multimillionaire playboy prince of radio?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Oh, my God, your career is over.’

‘Not if I can help it,’ Mia said determinedly, jangling her keys in her hand.

Gina gave her a worried look. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Like I said—I’m going to see him and tell him exactly what I think of him. He told me to call him if I was dropped from the company, but I’m going to see him in person.’

‘Do you think that’s such a good idea? He probably has bodyguards or something. He had a stalker before. I remember reading about it in all the magazines. A crazy woman was following him for months, turning up wherever he was, threatening him all the time. His minders might think you’re just like her and going to do him some harm.’

Mia gave her a glittering look over her shoulder as she opened the front door to leave. ‘I am going to do him some harm,’ she said. ‘And I don’t care who tries to stop me. The upsized egotist Bryn Dwyer has finally met his match. You just wait and see.’

The studios of Hot Spot FM were in the leafy suburb of Lane Cove. Mia parked in a side-street and approached the security check-in point.

‘I’m here for a live interview with Bryn Dwyer,’ she informed the attendant assertively. ‘Mia Forrester. I’m an actor.’

The man looked down at his schedule for a moment. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have you marked down on my sheet. Are you sure your interview is for this afternoon?’

‘Yes, I spoke with Mr Dwyer this morning over coffee,’ she said and, taking a risk added, ‘He asked me to come and see him in person. Perhaps if you could call his studio and check, I’m sure he will verify it for you. We’re—er—old friends.’

‘Just a second.’ The man pressed some numbers and had a brief conversation with the producer before he turned back to her and handed her a security pass through the booth window. ‘Here’s a security tag.’ He activated the boom gate for her and added, ‘Go right through, Miss Forrester; it’s studio number five, the third one on the left. The producer will let you know when it’s time for your interview. Mr Dwyer’s been expecting you.’

Mia walked through with forced casualness while her brain was shooting off in all directions. What did he mean, Mr Dwyer was expecting her? How had he known she’d be storming over here to have it out with him?

The two-part studio was where the boom operator had indicated and one of the crew opened the door at her knock and ushered her through. Mia could see Bryn sitting in the transmitting studio next door, his headphones and mouthpiece in place. As if he sensed her presence he swung his chair around and mouthed ‘hello’ to her, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite identify.

She pursed her lips and, although she was seriously tempted to give him a very rude sign with one of her fingers, somehow she resisted the urge and sent him a frosty look instead.

‘He’s got one more song until the news and weather and then he’ll be able to speak to you,’ the producer informed her from where he was sitting behind his computer console.

‘Thank you,’ she said and took the chair he offered.

She could hear the sound of Bryn’s deep, mellifluous voice as the show was broadcast around the studio. There was a seven-second delay, which she found a little unnerving because inside the glassed-in section she could see he had stopped speaking to swivel his chair to look at her again.

She gave him another cold look but just then she heard his voice announce his next guest.

‘Right after the news and weather I will have with me the utterly gorgeous Mia Forrester, whom I met for the first time this morning when she accidentally spilt a cup of coffee in my lap. Hey, all you out there in radio-land, I’m in love.’

Mia’s eyes went out on stalks as she sat forward on her chair, her stomach tripping over itself in alarm. What on earth was he doing?

He gave her a quick, confident grin and his voice continued, ‘So call me after the news, all you lovers out there in listener-land, and tell me about your most romantic meeting.’

‘On air in three minutes,’ the producer informed Mia as he flicked another switch on his console.

‘But I—’ She clamped her mouth shut when she saw Bryn’s lazy smile. All right, she thought. I’ll do it. I’ll go on radio and tell him exactly what I think of him. You just see if I won’t.

She was led into Bryn’s soundproof studio, fitted with a pair of headphones and seated opposite him in front of a microphone. She could hear the news segment coming to an end and then Bryn smiled as he spoke into his mouthpiece.

‘Thank you for joining me in the studio this afternoon, Mia. This is Hot Spot FM and I have with me here the beautiful Mia Forrester, whom I met by accident this morning. And I can tell right my life will never be the same again. I’ll take caller number four, who wants to tell us about how she met the love of her life. Hello, Jennifer from way out at Campbelltown. Tell us about your romantic meeting.’

Mia swallowed as a young woman’s voice sounded in her ears. ‘Hi, Bryn and Mia. I met my husband when he ran into the back of my car at the traffic lights. I was so furious with him but after I’d vented my spleen I suddenly realised how gorgeous he was. He asked me out and the rest, as they say, is history.’

‘Thanks, Jennifer, what a great story. Now we have Andy from Castle Hill on the line. Hi, Andy; how did you meet the love of your life?’

This time a male voice sounded in Mia’s ears. ‘I met my fiancée when she waxed my legs in preparation for a triathlon I was competing in.’

‘No kidding?’ Bryn said, winking at Mia. ‘So how many waxes did it take to ask her out?’

‘Five, but it was worth the pain.’

Bryn laughed. ‘Way to go, Andy. Who says men have no sense of romance? Now I think it’s Mia’s turn to tell you about how she met me this morning. Mia?’

Mia met his dark blue gaze and tightened her mouth. ‘I met Bryn Dwyer in the café where up until this morning I was employed part-time. But as a result of my—er—spilling a cup of coffee in his lap I lost my job on the spot and—’

‘And lost her heart as well, isn’t that right, sweetheart?’

‘I—’

‘You know the number.’ Bryn cut her off as he addressed his listeners. ‘Call in and tell us if you agree with the concept of love at first sight.’ He took the first caller.

Mia listened with one ear as she tried to make sense of what was going on. Was this some kind of joke? What the hell was he playing at, pretending he’d fallen in love with her?

The switchboard was buzzing with incoming calls and the producer gave Bryn a thumbs-up sign from the studio next door, his face beaming.

‘Now we have Sharon from sunny Seaforth, who has a question for Mia,’ Bryn said. ‘Go ahead, Sharon.’

‘Mia, did you feel an instant attraction for Bryn or did it take a few minutes before you realised you were falling in love with him?’

‘I…’ Mia caught the gleam in Bryn’s dark gaze and sent him a blistering glare. ‘No, not instantly…it was more of a slow realisation that here was a man who would stop at nothing to get his way and—’

‘See how well she knows me already?’ Bryn cut her off again. ‘How about a question from Corinne? Go ahead, Corinne.’

‘Mia, I was wondering if you are worried about falling in love with one of Sydney’s notorious playboys. What if he lets you down?’

‘I don’t think he’ll let me down,’ Mia said, finally catching on and hatching a vengeful little plot of her own. She gave Bryn a beguiling smile and added, ‘Not now that we’re planning to get married as soon as possible. He proposed to me this morning and I said yes.’

Within seconds the switchboard was jammed with calls and the producer gave the signal for the next bracket of music to be played.

Mia waited until she was sure they were off air. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m not in love with you!’

‘I know,’ Bryn said, leaning back in his chair to survey her outraged features. ‘But the listeners don’t know that and neither does my producer.’

‘You mean…’ she glanced at the still beaming producer in the studio next door and then back at Bryn ‘…you mean they think it’s…real?’

‘Of course they think it’s real.’

‘Are you crazy or something?’

‘Not crazy, just hungry for more ratings.’ A segment of advertisements began to play as he continued, ‘I thought since you ruined a pair of Armani trousers this morning the very least you could do was give my ratings a boost by pretending to be in love with me for a week or two.’ He pressed another button. ‘But that bit about marriage was total overkill. It’ll be all over the papers tomorrow.’

Mia felt her heart give an extra beat. ‘The papers?’

‘Yep. Journalists love this sort of stuff. Celebrity playboy meets perfect match.’ He smiled a white-toothed smile. ‘But we can go along with it for a while. What do you think?’

‘I think you’re a jerk, that’s what I think. I lost my job because of you.’

‘I told you you’re wasted in the café; you could do much better than that.’

‘Not the café, although that was bad enough,’ she bit out through clenched teeth. ‘I was dropped from Peach Pie Productions this morning. Theodore Frankston saw your review and decided to pull me out completely. Then I spoke to my agent who told me she was too busy to represent me properly but I know it was because of your stupid review.’

‘Too bad.’

‘It’s worse than bad. I have bills to pay.’ And I need a heck of a lot of money to get my sister out of trouble, she wanted to insert but stopped herself just in time. ‘I’ve not long moved into a flat with a friend. How am I going to meet my commitments when I no longer have a job and no agent to find me a new one?’

‘Ah, but you do have a job,’ he said. ‘I just gave you one.’

She frowned at him in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’

He leaned forward in his chair until his knees were almost touching hers. Mia hadn’t realised how very dark his eyes were until that moment and she felt her tummy do a funny little moth-like flutter as she was pulled into their deep, ocean-blue depths.

‘I want you to act the role of my devoted fiancée,’ he said. ‘I would have settled for girlfriend but, since you mentioned the M word in front of two-point-four million listeners, I’m afraid we’ll have to run with that role instead.’

‘Your fiancée?’ She gasped. ‘You want me to pretend to be your fiancée?’

He flicked a glance at the monitor and pressed another button before he sat back in his seat. ‘You’re an actor, right?’

She gave him a resentful look. ‘Yes, but according to this morning’s paper not a very good one.’

‘Here’s your chance to prove me wrong,’ he said. ‘If you can convince the Press and my listeners that you are indeed in love with me then I’ll take back everything I said. I’ll pay you, of course. What was Frankston’s company giving you?’

She told him and he gave a snort. ‘What a joke. No wonder you didn’t put your heart into that role. I’ll pay you four times that much, plus expenses.’

‘Expenses?’

‘Hang on a minute.’ He turned his headphones back on and began to speak on air. ‘You heard it first on Hot Spot FM. Bryn Dwyer the confirmed bachelor is in love with a little lady who has promised to be his wife. You know the number. Give me a call to congratulate me. This is one very happy man.’

Mia sat silently fuming. This was getting ridiculous. Surely he didn’t expect her to take him seriously?

She chewed her lip for a moment.

It was a lot of money he was offering. Besides, it might only be for a week or two, maybe a couple of months at the most. And it would certainly solve Ellie’s problems, which was her biggest priority right now. And she was an actor, so it shouldn’t be a problem playing the role, but still…

She stole a covert look at him as he chatted with another caller. He was smiling, which made his eyes crinkle up at the edges in a rather attractive way.

‘So what do you say?’ he said as he went off air again.

‘What if I don’t agree to this?’ she said, not wanting to feed his ego by sounding too keen.

He shifted his lips from side to side as if he was thinking about a suitable plan of action. Mia felt distinctly uneasy. She felt as if she was now under his control and she didn’t like it one little bit. She had come storming to the studio to tell him what she thought of him but somehow he had turned the tables on her.

‘There were witnesses to your assault on my person this morning,’ he said into the little silence. ‘And, like you, I have a lot of friends, several of them with impressive law degrees. All it would take is one phone call and you could be in very hot water, even hotter than the liquid you tossed in my lap.’

Mia’s throat moved up and down. Surely he wouldn’t press charges if she didn’t fall in with his plans?

She met his midnight-blue eyes and swallowed again,

Yes. He would.

She lowered her gaze. ‘You mentioned something about expenses…’

‘Yes. You’ll need to have nice clothes and get your hair done occasionally. I don’t expect you to pay for that out of your own pocket. I’ll make sure you have a substantial clothing and grooming allowance. So have we got a deal?’

‘How long do you expect me to play this role for you?’

‘Not long; a week or two, maybe longer.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘How much longer?’

‘What say we give it a month at the most and then we’ll call it off?’

‘What will happen to your ratings then?’

He gave her another grin. ‘They’ll probably increase due to my heartbroken state. Everyone will feel sorry for me being dumped.’

Mia rolled her eyes.

‘I’m off air in thirty minutes,’ he said, flicking another switch. ‘Wait for me in the cafeteria and we’ll go somewhere where we can have another chat about the deal. But in the meantime, don’t let the cat out of the bag. I don’t want anyone at the studio to suspect this is a stunt.’

‘What about your publicist?’

‘I’ll tell her only what she needs to hear but no one else is to know, not even your family and friends.’

‘I can’t lie to my family and friends!’

‘You’re not lying, Mia. You’re acting. There’s a difference.’

She opened her mouth but he went back on air before she could get a single word of protest out. She blew out a breath of frustration and, snatching up her bag, made her way to the cafeteria she’d seen on her way in.

CHAPTER THREE

MIA was almost relieved when Bryn finally joined her half an hour later. She’d been practically besieged by staff rushing up to congratulate her on her impending marriage to Sydney’s crown prince of the airwaves.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said as he led her to an office down the hall. He smiled at her as he pushed open the door marked with his name. ‘See what a sensation you’ve caused?’

‘I’ve caused?’ Mia swung around to glare at him once they were alone inside. ‘If you hadn’t rubbished me the way you did none of this would have happened.’

‘You were the one who told everyone we were engaged,’ he pointed out.

‘I only did that to get back at you for saying we’d fallen in love this morning.’ She gave him a disparaging glare and added, ‘As if I’d ever fall in love with someone like you.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so upset,’ he said. ‘Your season with Theodore would have ended in two weeks anyway—then what were you going to do? Wait on tables until something else turned up? I’m doing you a favour, Mia. I’m giving you the sort of exposure most wannabe actors would give a right arm for. Your face will be on every national paper tomorrow. The Press will want interviews, magazines will carry your picture on their covers and before you know it every film or theatre producer in town will be begging you to audition for them. You’ll have agents falling over themselves to represent you.’

Mia frowned as she thought about it. It certainly would get her name out there, but at what cost? How would she ever explain it to her family?

‘I don’t like the idea of being used as a marketing ploy, especially without consultation with me first,’ she said. ‘And I don’t appreciate being blackmailed.’

‘Yes, well, I don’t appreciate having my groin soaked with hot coffee,’ he returned with a glint in his eyes.

Mia’s eyes went to his groin. He was leaning against his desk, his long legs outstretched, the fabric of his trousers pulled tight over his…

She wrenched her gaze away and forced herself to meet his laughing blue eyes. ‘I’m sure no permanent damage was done and even if it was I’m sure the rest would do you good. It’s a wonder it hasn’t dropped off by now from overuse.’

‘Maybe you should check it out just to make sure it’s still on active service,’ he suggested with a lift of an eyebrow.

She gave him a withering look and folded her arms across her chest. ‘I don’t think so.’

He laughed and pushed himself away from the desk to stand right in front of her. He tipped up her chin with one long finger and looked into her eyes. ‘You’ve got such an expressive little face. I can’t stop looking at you. Those big grey eyes of yours remind me of a stormy afternoon sky, one minute dark and brooding, the next flashing with lightning sparks of fury.’

Mia held her breath as he began to trace his thumb across her bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth until she could feel her mouth tingling. She knew she should have at least made a token effort to move out of his reach but somehow his touch was totally mesmerising. Her heart began to hammer behind her chest as he placed his hand on her hip and brought her even closer.

‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she croaked.

He held her firm, his long fingers splayed over the slim curve of her hip, his mouth tilted in a little smile. ‘I thought we should get this bit over with in private. That way when we have to do it in public it won’t feel so strange. It’s like a rehearsal, if you like.’

‘A rehearsal?’ She gave a quick nervous swallow. ‘A rehearsal for what?’

His head came down, hovering just above hers, his warm, hint-of-mint breath brushing over her lips as he said in a deep, spine-tingling voice, ‘We need to rehearse the kiss scenes we’ll be expected to play in public.’

Her stomach gave an unexpected lurch. ‘K-kiss scenes?’

His mouth moved a little closer, his chest so close now she could feel the deep rumble of his voice against her breasts when he spoke. ‘Yes, you know—where I put my mouth on yours and you kiss me back.’

‘I know what a kiss scene is but I—’ Mia began but before she could get the full sentence out, his mouth had come down and settled firmly on hers.

It was a shock to feel his lips moving over hers so persuasively. She’d had every intention of fighting him but somehow as soon as those firm, warm lips connected with hers she felt an electric charge rush through her as if some sort of visceral energy was passing from his body to hers. Before she knew it she was responding to him, her mouth opening at the first sweep of his tongue. He entered her mouth with a toe-curling thrust that sent a riot of sensations through her body from her breasts to her thighs. It was madness but she just couldn’t help it. She kept reminding herself how much she hated him but what she was feeling in his arms took over the rational, cool-headed, thinking part of her brain. Every part of her body reacted to him. She could feel the prickling tension in her breasts as he brought her even harder up against his chest and deepened the kiss. She could even feel her inner thighs quivering at the thought of what was pressing so insistently just above them. She had never been so thoroughly kissed in her entire life and this was just a rehearsal! God knew how she would cope with the real thing.

But none of this is real, she told herself sternly. It’s an act, a publicity stunt for him to increase his ratings. It has nothing to do with reality, nothing to do with real feelings and responses.

It was an act.

Bryn lifted his head and looked down at her flushed features. ‘Wow, I think I might have to take back everything I said in my column. That was an Oscar-winning performance. No one would ever think you weren’t in love with me after that.’

Mia eased herself out of his hold, her eyes flashing with rage. ‘If you think I’m going to be manhandled by you whenever you feel like it then you’re in for a big shock.’

‘It’s only a performance, just like any other,’ he said. ‘Besides, you kissed the leading man last night, not very convincingly in my opinion, but then maybe he had bad breath or something.’

‘He did not have bad breath.’

‘Then what was the problem? Didn’t you like the guy?’

‘Actors don’t have to like the person they’re playing opposite, which is just as well, as I can’t think of a person I hate more than you.’

‘What a professional challenge this will be for you, then,’ he observed with a mocking smile playing about his mouth. ‘Convincing the public you’re in love with me when all the time you really hate my guts.’

‘I can do it,’ she bit out with pride-fuelled determination. ‘I’ll show you I’m not the inexperienced, pathetic actor you apparently think I am.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘We’ll start with public performance number one this evening. I’ll send a car for you at seven. Wear something glamorous and sexy.’

‘I don’t have anything glamorous and sexy.’

He reached for his wallet and, opening it, peeled off a thick wad of notes and handed it to her. ‘Buy something.’

Mia stared at the money without touching it.

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘It’s part of the deal, remember?’

‘I don’t want your disgusting money. I’d rather wear rags than take anything off you.’

He tugged her towards him and with a deftness that left her completely breathless he tucked the wad of notes down the front of her cotton top right between her heaving breasts.

‘When I say go and buy something sexy and glamorous I mean it, Mia. Got that? You’re playing a role for me and I expect and indeed am paying you to give a brilliant performance.’

Mia gave him a fulminating glare as she retrieved the money out of her top and stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans. ‘I might have to act my heart out in public but when we’re alone I’m still going to hate you with every bone in my body. Got that?’

‘Loud and clear,’ he said, holding the door open for her. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.’

‘I can find my own way.’ She made to brush past but he put out an arm to stop her. She jerked back from the feel of his muscled arm against the softness of her breasts.

Her eyes locked with his and her heart gave an extra beat at the diamond-sharp glitter in his dark gaze.

‘Don’t fight me, Mia, because when I fight, I fight dirty. You’d be wise to remember that.’

‘Tell me something I don’t already know,’ she tossed back. ‘You’re an unscrupulous playboy with nothing better to do with your time than manipulate people to do what you want. How pathetic.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s pathetic,’ he said, a thread of anger beginning to tighten his voice. ‘Your little attempt at pay-back this morning was a childish impulse that clearly demonstrates how ill-suited you are for anything other than those ridiculous toilet-paper ads you’ve done in the past.’

Mia clenched her fists by her sides. ‘Why don’t you just go ahead and sue me? Go on. I dare you.’

‘Don’t tempt me, little lady. How long do you think it would take you to find another job if I tell the truth about what really happened this morning? There isn’t an agent who would take you on and you damn well know it. You reputation as a hot-headed little prima donna would make anyone think twice about representing you.’

Mia tried to outstare him but something about the rigid set of his jaw warned her against pitting her puny strength against his. He was a man used to having things his way and anyone in the way would be ruthlessly disposed of with whatever means he had available. She knew she would never find work in the industry again if he put his mind to it. He had connections and in the acting world that meant everything. One bad word and her reputation would be ruined. One bad review was enough. How much worse would it be if he took it into his mind to totally alienate her future career prospects?

She lowered her eyes and though it irked her intolerably she made no demur as he took her hand and led her out of his office through the building and the grounds until they came to her car.

‘See you tonight,’ he said, stepping back from the car as she started the engine.

‘See you in hell,’ she muttered darkly as she backed out.

Bryn watched her roar away in a clang of clutch and gears, her smooth cheeks still bright pink with outraged colour.

Once she was out of sight he ran his tongue over his lips. He could still taste the summer-strawberry flavour of her soft mouth where it had been pressed against his. Even his chest felt as if she were still up against it, her slender curves fitting so neatly against him as if she were tailor-made for him. Holding her close had triggered a deep pulse of desire that even now he could feel thudding insistently in his blood. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so turned on by a woman.

He gave himself a mental shake. He didn’t believe in love at first sight. He didn’t believe in romantic love at all. The term ‘love’ was all too often used when the word ‘lust’ would have been much more appropriate. Lust at first sight; now, there was a concept he could get his head around.

He was in lust with Mia Forrester.

That was more like it.

Lust he could handle.

But even so, a tiny frown closed the distance between his eyebrows as he turned and walked back to the studio building.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘OH, MY God, is it true?’ Gina gasped as soon as Mia walked through the door of their tiny flat in Neutral Bay. ‘I listened to you on the radio. Are you really engaged to him?’

‘Um…well…you know…I…it…we…’

‘It’s just soooo romantic!’ Gina gushed. ‘I thought you hated him and now you’re going to be married. Talk about a whirlwind affair. Can I be bridesmaid?’

‘I’m not…sure what plans we will be making about that just yet,’ Mia said, hating Bryn all over again for making her lie to her closest friend. ‘It’s all happened so fast. My feet haven’t touched the ground yet.’

‘How did it happen? I mean, did you just suddenly realise he was the man of your dreams? Was it truly love at first sight?’

Mia had to dig deeply into her acting repertoire to sound anywhere near convincing. ‘I went there to tell him what I thought of him but as soon as I saw him sitting there…I couldn’t control my reaction. It was…unbelievable.’

‘God, I wish some gorgeous guy would sweep me off my feet like that,’ Gina said. ‘And think of how rich and famous he is. You’ll never have to worry about the rent again.’

‘His money doesn’t matter to me in the slightest,’ Mia lied.

The truth was, Bryn Dwyer’s money was the only reason she was doing this, to help Ellie, otherwise she would have told him exactly where to put his stupid fiancée role with considerable relish. She’d already deposited the wad of money he’d given her into her sister’s credit-card account, which had in some way made her feel a little less compromised about what she was doing in playing the role he’d assigned her. At least it would tide her sister over until she could get her hands on some more.

‘I’m sure his money doesn’t matter to you but every little bit helps,’ Gina responded pragmatically. ‘So when are you seeing him again?’

Mia glanced at her watch and felt her stomach clench in panic at how she was going to be ready in time. ‘In about two hours.’

‘Two hours?’ Gina looked aghast. ‘But you haven’t even done your hair!’

‘Can I borrow that black evening dress of yours?’ Mia asked as she kicked off her shoes and released her pony-tail.

‘Which one? The one with the diamanté halter-neck or the one with the split up the thigh?’

‘Which do you think is sexier?’

Gina scrunched her face up as she thought about it. ‘Definitely the split—besides, you’ve got the legs for it.’

Mia stared at her reflection an hour and forty-five minutes later. There was no trace of the struggling and out-of-work actor now. In her place was a sophisticated vision in close-fitting black satin, her blonde hair scooped up in a casual but still elegant twist on top of her head, the glittering drop earrings she’d borrowed off Gina giving the final touch of glamour.

‘Wow…you look fabulous. Bryn is going to fall in love with you all over again when he sees you,’ Gina said.

Mia stifled a cynical little laugh. Bryn Dwyer didn’t seem to be the type to fall in love with anybody but himself. The Press had been full of his numerous relationships, none of them lasting more than a week or two. And no wonder, she thought uncharitably. With his ego the size it was, there wouldn’t be room for anyone else’s in any of his relationships.

‘That’s him!’ Gina whispered as the doorbell sounded. She scooped up the evening bag she’d lent Mia and ushered her towards the door.

Mia flicked a loose tendril out of her eye and opened the door to find a man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform standing there.

‘Good evening, Miss Forrester. My name is Henry. I’m Mr Dwyer’s driver. I have been instructed to take you to him for this evening’s event. He had another commitment but told me to tell you he will meet you there.’

Mia saw Gina’s eyes go out on stalks but she herself was not so impressed by such opulent wealth. She hated unnecessary displays of prosperity and couldn’t help feeling Bryn had done it deliberately to remind her of his power over her. She inwardly fumed as she wondered what his other commitment had been—no doubt a quick dalliance with one of his numerous lovers.

She gave the driver a pleasant smile and followed him out to the stretch limousine and turned around in her seat to give the awestruck Gina a little fingertip wave once Henry had settled her inside.

A few minutes later they were travelling across the Harbour Bridge into the city, the summer sun still high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the high-rise buildings. There were numerous yachts out, their white sails in perfect accord with the sail-like structure of the Sydney Opera House, which sparkled in the bright sunshine.

Within a short time Henry drove into the sweeping driveway of one of the premier hotels, where a host of paparazzi were already gathered in anticipation as one of the hotel staff stepped forward to open her door.

Mia had to rely on what she’d learnt in a role play workshop she’d done a few months back. She stepped out of the vehicle as if she were royalty, smiling graciously for the flashing cameras as she made her way across the red carpet to the ostentatious foyer.

The ceiling was dripping with crystal chandeliers, the marbled floor beneath her high-heeled feet was polished to perfection and huge, fragrant floral arrangements dominated the centre table in front of the grand, sweeping staircase.

A journalist thrust a microphone in her face. ‘Miss Forrester, tell us how it feels to have won the heart of Sydney’s most confirmed bachelor.’

She smiled sweetly and answered in a breathy tone. ‘It feels absolutely wonderful.’

‘You are the envy of the young and single female population of Sydney,’ another one said. ‘No one ever thought he would commit. Can you tell us your secret?’

‘There is no secret about love,’ she said. ‘It takes you by surprise when you’re least expecting it.’

‘Is it true you met by accident?’ a female reporter asked.

‘Yes…’ Mia gave a coy smile. ‘I accidentally spilt a cup of coffee in his lap.’

‘Is there any truth in the rumour that Mr Dwyer’s comments in this morning’s paper in regard to your performance in Theodore Frankston’s latest production precipitated your—er—little accident?’

‘No, of course not…as I said, it was an accident. It just slipped out of my hand,’ Mia lied with increasing confidence. ‘It was only when he stood up that I realised who he was and…well…I was overwhelmed by my feelings, as indeed he was too.’

‘There has been some suggestion that this is all a publicity stunt,’ another journalist said. ‘Do you have any comment to make?’

‘Yes.’ She looked towards the television camera, giving her lashes a little flutter before she continued in the same breathy tone. ‘I would like to say to all those sceptics out there that there is such a thing as love at first sight. Bryn and I are living proof of it. As soon as we met it was like…kismet.’ She was on a roll and continued with a hand pressed to her bosom. ‘I could almost hear the angels singing.’ She gave a dreamy sigh. ‘I can’t wait until we’re married. It’s like a dream come true.’

‘Er—thank you, Miss Forrester.’ The journalist turned to the camera. ‘Well, you’ve heard it straight from the filly’s mouth, so to speak. To those who’ve just tuned in, Sydney’s twice-in-a-row Bachelor of the Year has finally met his match. The official engagement of Miss Mia Forrester and Mr Bryn Dwyer has made headlines around the country.’

Mia turned as a hand touched her on the elbow.

‘This way, Miss Forrester,’ a hotel staff member said as he directed her towards the staircase. ‘Mr Dwyer will be here shortly. The ballroom is on the first floor.’

Mia picked up the tiny train on her dress and glided up the stairs as the cameras flashed behind her. It occurred to her then that she was quite enjoying herself. She hadn’t expected to but somehow she was relishing the role of Bryn’s fiancée. She was particularly pleased with her portrayal of a star-struck ingénue. Who said she couldn’t act?

The ballroom was decked out with pink and blue balloons and streamers, the arc of tables beautifully and elegantly set for dinner around a small dance floor.

The other guests had already assembled and were enjoying their pre-dinner drinks as the waiters began to lead them to their tables.

‘You’re on table one,’ the same staff member informed her. ‘Come this way.’

Mia followed him to the table where some of the guests were already seated. They sprang to their feet as she approached and congratulated her effusively.

‘Such wonderful news!’

‘I always knew he’d do it some day.’

‘But you’re gorgeous! No wonder he was instantly smitten.’

Mia lapped it up. She felt like a Hollywood movie star. She smiled and took each hand in turn, doing her best to memorise names and faces as each person introduced themselves.

‘Here, sit next to me.’ An older woman called Jocey Myers patted the seat beside her. ‘Bryn will be here soon.’

‘Thank you.’ Mia sat down and settled her gown around her.

‘He’s probably visiting his great-aunt,’ Jocey said in an undertone. ‘Has he told you about her?’

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer. She was supposed to be his fiancée. Surely a fiancée would know just about everything about the man she was about to marry. ‘Um…yes…’

‘She’s not expected to live much longer, poor dear,’ Jocey went on. ‘He doesn’t know I know. I only found out by accident, as my mother-in-law is in the same palliative-care unit.’ She leaned towards Mia conspiratorially. ‘No one at the station knows, of course; it just wouldn’t go with the image, now, would it?’

‘Er—no…’

Mia frowned as she took in the information about Bryn’s relative. She felt as if she’d done him a disservice, assuming he’d been off with one of his lovers when instead he had been sitting by the bedside of a terminally ill relative.

She thought of her own elderly relatives, the extended family that she so adored, uncles and aunts, great-uncles and great-aunts and her three remaining grandparents. They had filled her life with such amazing love and security and given true meaning to the word family.

Jocey tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Ah. here he is now.’

Mia turned to see Bryn approach the table, his tall, commanding stance turning every head in the room. He bent down and, before she could do anything to counteract it, pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth.

‘How’s my beautiful fiancée this evening?’

She gave him a tight smile without answering, but she sent him a message with her eyes which she hoped no one else could see.

His mouth tilted as he tapped her gently on the tip of her nose with the end of one long finger. ‘I can see you’re speechless with love for me. How adorably sweet.’

‘You lucky dog.’ One of the older men thumped Bryn on the shoulder on his way past to the drinks waiter.

‘I told you it would happen eventually,’ another guest said.

‘I thoroughly approve,’ one of the other women said. ‘You should have seen how she handled the media. A natural, if you ask me.’

‘How did you handle the media?’ Bryn asked softly as he sat down beside her.

Mia couldn’t help feeling a little ashamed of her earlier behaviour with the Press. She’d come across as an empty-headed, star-struck bimbo. If only she’d known he was visiting his dying relative. Now she just felt silly and childish.

‘It was a piece of cake,’ she whispered back.

‘Good girl,’ he said and reached for his glass. ‘I’d hate for this children’s charity to be spoilt by a bad Press release.’

Mia stiffened in her seat. Children’s charity? She glanced towards the podium, where a brightly festooned sign portrayed the emblem of the charity for kids with cancer. Bryn’s name was printed there as principle sponsor and another wave of shame passed through her from head to toe.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘You look a little flustered.’

Mia bent her head and stared at her cutlery. ‘I’m not the least bit flustered.’

‘Why are you blushing?’

‘I’m not blushing,’ she denied even as her face felt as if it was going to explode with heat. ‘It’s hot in here.’

‘Let’s go get some air,’ he said and drew her to her feet.

She had no choice but to go with him. The other guests looked on indulgently as he escorted her from the ballroom, a couple of cameras flashing at them as they went past.

He waited until he’d led her into a quiet alcove out of the way of the Press. ‘I’m sorry I was late. I had something to see to.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting your great-aunt?’

He frowned down at her, his dark eyes narrowing into slits. ‘Who told you about my great-aunt?’

‘Jocey Myers.’

His features darkened and Mia noticed his hands begin to clench by his sides. ‘She had no right to do that.’

‘I think she had the right to tell me the important details of your life and background,’ she said. ‘I can’t act this role if I don’t know who the other principle character is.’

‘You don’t need to know me. This is all an act. Just run with the script I gave you.’

‘The script you gave me has some very big gaps in it,’ she said. ‘I can’t do this convincingly if I don’t know who you are as a person. No one will believe I have fallen in love with you unless I can prove I know who you really are.’

Bryn thought about it for a moment. ‘All right, I’ll fill you in on some details but they are to go no further. Understood?’

She nodded.

‘Right, then.’ He took a breath and wondered where to start. ‘My parents were killed when I was seven. I hardly remember what they looked like now. My great-aunt Agnes stepped in and brought me up. End of story.’

Mia frowned. ‘But surely—’

‘I don’t remember, OK?’ His eyes hardened as they lasered hers. ‘Now let’s go back and do what we’re here to do.’

‘What exactly are we here to do?’ she asked as she trotted to keep up with his long strides.

‘We’re here to raise a hundred thousand dollars for the Children’s Cancer Ward at St Patrick’s.’

She stared at his back as he started back towards the ballroom. ‘Wait!’ She tugged on his arm and he turned to face her. ‘What do you want me to do?’

He looked down at her mouth for a moment before he tore his gaze away. ‘I told you this afternoon. I want you to act the role of the devoted fiancée. Did you happen to cover that at stage school?’

She lifted her chin. ‘That was in Tricky Relationships 101.’

He threw back his head and laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked. ‘You don’t think I can do tricky relationships?’

He placed a casual arm around her shoulders as he led her back into the ballroom. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve seriously underestimated your acting ability.’

‘I told you I can act,’ she said through a forced smile as someone stopped to take their photo.

‘So you did but up until today I hadn’t seen you do it very convincingly.’

‘I was going on instinct rather than experience in Theo’s play. I just needed more time to get my head around the role. I was the understudy, remember,’ she said.

He stopped in his tracks to look down at her, a small frown beetling his brows. ‘So what you’re saying is you’ve never actually been in love?’

‘Um…no…’ She shifted her gaze. ‘I’ve had a few close calls but nothing very serious.’

‘Have you lived with anyone before?’

‘No…’

‘Been engaged before?’

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘No, of course not. In case it has escaped your notice, most women these days prefer to be in love with the man they’ve agreed to marry.’

He gave her a thoughtful look that seemed to go on and on for endless seconds, his dark blue eyes steady on hers.

Mia began to brace herself for his next question. Here it comes, she thought.

The big one.

Have You Slept With Anyone Before?

‘I think you’ll enjoy the rest of the evening,’ he finally said. ‘Do you like dancing?’

It wasn’t the question she’d been expecting and it took her a moment to register what he’d asked. ‘Oh, yes…I love dancing…’

Bryn glanced down at her when she wasn’t looking his way. She had dressed beautifully for the evening, the clinging black satin showing off every toned curve of her slight frame. Her bright and intelligent grey eyes were highlighted by a smoky eye-shadow and eyeliner and her soft mouth glistened with a camellia-pink lip-gloss.

There was an ingenuous air about her he found incredibly alluring. So many women he’d been involved with in the past had been so street-smart and worldly he’d found it grating after a while. He knew his money and status had been the draw card in such relationships, but Mia had no interest in him either as a person or for what he could give her in terms of money or prestige. She was with him under sufferance and he knew as soon as they were alone again she would take the very first opportunity to remind him of it.

His gut gave a tiny twinge of guilt as he thought of the conversation he’d had with his great-aunt earlier that evening. He’d hated lying to the one person who had stood by him all of his life, but it had been worth it to see the sheer joy on her pain-ravaged face as he’d confirmed his engagement. He wasn’t sure if she would believe him at first but somehow she had. He’d told her as soon as he’d met Mia he’d found the woman of his dreams. It was after all more or less the truth. Mia Forrester was exactly the stuff male dreams were made of.

‘Oh, my darling boy!’ Agnes had clutched his hand in both of her frail ones in delight. ‘I’m so pleased. At first I thought it must have been a publicity stunt or a way to get me to change my will. I know you weren’t happy about my conditions but I couldn’t risk you throwing yourself away on someone who was only after you for your money. And, besides, your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to be this bitter for so long.’

Bryn inwardly grimaced at the thought of how his great-aunt’s will was written. It was a lot of money, not that he needed it personally, of course, but he wasn’t going to stand by and see the person responsible for his parents’ death inherit the lot. That was taking forgiveness way too far.

‘You’re exactly like your father,’ his great-aunt continued. ‘He fell in love with your mother the very first time he met her. It was so romantic.’ She gave a heartfelt sigh and added, ‘I have dreamed of this moment. I have wanted this for you for so long, for you to settle down with a nice girl instead of those money-hungry ones you usually date. I heard her on the radio with you this afternoon—she sounds so sweet. When can I meet her?’

‘I’ll bring her to see you tomorrow,’ he found himself promising, hoping his acting fiancée would agree to it.

‘That would be wonderful; I can hardly wait to see her. I’m sure she’s absolutely perfect for you.’

Bryn bent down and kissed her papery cheek as he made to leave. ‘Yes,’ he said, a funny flutter coming and going in his chest as he brought Mia Forrester’s feisty little heart-shaped face to mind. ‘She is perfect. Absolutely perfect.’

The first course was being served as they came back into the ballroom. Mia sat down with considerable relief when Bryn’s arm slipped from around her shoulders as he turned to speak to the person on his right. Having him so physically close was deeply unsettling, for ever since he’d kissed her that afternoon her awareness of him had lifted to an almost intolerable level. All her senses were finely tuned to pick up on his every movement or gesture. When she turned her head towards her left shoulder she could even smell his cologne on her skin where his arm had lain. She knew she’d have to get used to having him touch her in public but each time he did so she felt as if another part of her was being made more vulnerable to him.

She reached for her wine glass and felt his leg brush against hers. She tried to edge away but his hand came down on the middle of her thigh. The weight of his fingers felt like a scorch through the thin fabric of her gown. And her heart began to pick up its pace when he turned to speak to her, his dark blue eyes steady on hers.

‘Everything all right, sweetheart?’

‘F-fine…just fine…’ She moistened her lips and forced herself not to flinch away when his hand moved upwards a fraction.

He leaned closer to whisper in her ear, ‘Relax.’

‘I am relaxed.’

‘No, you’re not. You’re as tense as a trip-wire.’

‘Only because your hand is where it shouldn’t be,’ she said, smiling inanely as someone took their photo.

‘I’m your fiancé. I’m supposed to touch you.’

‘In public—yes.’

‘This is in public. In fact, it couldn’t be more public. There are at least five hundred people in this room.’

‘It’s not public under the table,’ Mia pointed out tightly.

He gave her a lazy smile and took his hand off her thigh to place it on the nape of her neck, his long, warm fingers toying with the silky tendrils of her hair. ‘Is that better?’

A shiver of reaction passed right through her from the top of her head to her toes. She forced herself to maintain eye contact, knowing that people were watching, but it was increasingly difficult to disguise her reaction to him. She hoped he would assume she was simply acting but something about his smile suggested he was well aware of the effect he was having on her.

‘Let’s dance,’ he suggested after a little silence.

Mia was glad of an excuse to move out of his embrace, but it wasn’t until she was on the dance floor with his arms pulling her into his rock-hard body that she realised she had just stepped out of a sizzling frying-pan and straight into the leaping flames of a fire she had no hope of controlling.

There wasn’t even room for air between their bodies as he turned her into a quick-stepping waltz. She was pressed to him from chest to thigh, the thin, close-fitting fabric of her gown no barrier to the searing heat of his body. Her breasts were pushed up against him and he took full advantage of it by dipping his gaze over their creamy curves.

Mia felt her skin tingle from the burning heat in his eyes, and her stomach did a nervous little flip turn when she felt the unmistakable evidence of his growing erection against her belly.

‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…’ she said, trying not to blush but knowing she was failing miserably.

‘Why?’ He skilfully turned her in his arms and brought her even closer. ‘I’m enjoying myself.’

She gave him a caustic look while her back was turned to the tables. ‘No doubt you are but let me tell you I am not.’

‘I thought you said you liked dancing?’

‘This is not dancing, this is making out in front of an audience!’ she hissed back.

‘You want to go somewhere more private?’

‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’

‘Careful, Mia, there are cameras everywhere. We have a deal, remember? Now, stop looking at me as if you’re going to take me apart piece by piece and kiss me instead.’

She gave him a recalcitrant look. ‘I am not going to kiss you.’

His dark eyes held hers challengingly. ‘Yes you are.’

She elevated her chin defiantly. ‘Make me. I dare you.’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said and tugging her up hard against him brought his mouth down on hers.

CHAPTER FIVE

MIA was determined not to respond to his kiss but her awareness of the rest of the guests watching made it difficult for her to put her resistance into action. She began to kiss him back and told herself she’d had no other choice, but another part of her wondered if she would have responded anyway, audience or not.

His kiss softened and she felt herself being carried away by the swell of passion his searching tongue evoked as it entered the warm, moist cave of her mouth. She heard her soft sigh mingle with his and something hot and liquid seemed to burst deep inside her, running through her in a flowing tide that melted her to the core. Her chest was thrumming with a build-up of unfamiliar emotion, an acute neediness she had never experienced before. It frightened her at the same time as it intrigued her. How could someone she hated so much provoke such intense reactions in her body? Had she no control over her responses to him? Was it lust or something much more dangerous?

Bryn stepped back from her and looked down at her flushed face for a long moment, seemingly unaware that the band was still halfway through a song. Other couples were dancing around them but Mia felt as if time had come to a halt right where they were standing facing each other. She ran her tongue over her lips and her chest fluttered again when she saw his eyes dip to her mouth, lingering there for several pulsing seconds.

‘We should get back to the table,’ he said, his eyes dark and unreadable when they slowly came back to hers.

‘Yes…yes…we should…’

He took her arm and, sliding his hand down its slender length, curled his fingers around hers and led her back without another word.

The rest of the meal passed without incident, although Mia felt as if her face was going to crack from smiling all the time. Guest after guest approached her to congratulate her on taming the wild heart of Bryn Dwyer, and, while she thanked them each in turn, she found by the end of the evening she was totally exhausted by the pretence. It seemed wrong to be deliberately misleading everyone; she felt terribly compromised saying one thing while, indeed, the very opposite was true.

Acting a role had never been so challenging. She’d played some awkward parts in the past, things she hadn’t felt well prepared for and somehow struggled through, but nothing had ever been like this.

Dancing with Bryn was the hardest, for while she was sitting next to him at the table at least she could turn her head to talk to someone else, distracting herself with pleasant conversation, but each time he led her back to the dance floor she felt the pulse of his body against hers and the blood began to pound heavily through her veins. Circling the floor with his arms around her, held close to his hard male body, she had no way of protecting herself from his magnetic attraction. She fought it constantly, but each look he gave her made her heart race, each time his thigh brushed one of hers she felt the shock waves of reaction rush up her spine, and every time he smiled that devastatingly handsome smile she felt another chink of her armour fall away.

It annoyed her that he was so effortlessly attractive. There wasn’t a woman in the room, old or young, who didn’t simper up at him in open adoration and the last thing she wanted was to join their number.

‘Time to leave,’ Bryn said a little later as the ball began to draw to a close. ‘I saw that big yawn of yours.’

‘It’s been a long day,’ she said, his fingers curling around hers as he drew her to her feet.

‘And it’s not over yet.’

‘What do you mean, it’s not over yet?’ she asked with a little frown.

Bryn just smiled as another camera snapped in front of them. Mia forced her fixed lips into a smile as he led her from the room and down the sweeping staircase, waiting until they were in the back of the limousine before repeating her question. ‘What do you mean, the night isn’t over? I’m tired and I want to go home.’

Bryn leaned forward and closed the sliding glass panel that separated them from the driver. ‘There’s something I need to discuss with you. I thought we could go back to my place, where we won’t be disturbed.’

She stiffened in her seat. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you. Take me home. Now.’

‘We’ll be in private so you don’t need to worry about me having my wicked way with you.’

She gave him a cynical glance. ‘You expect me to believe that after the dirty dancing and under-the-table groping routine?’

‘You’ve got great legs,’ he said. ‘I was just wondering if they felt as good as they looked.’

She rolled her eyes scathingly. ‘I can’t imagine how you have acquired your Don Juan reputation if that’s any indication of the pick-up lines you resort to.’

‘It wasn’t a pick-up line, it was the truth. You do have a fabulous figure.’ He reached for her hand and ran his finger down the length of her bare ring finger. ‘Now that we’re engaged you need an engagement ring. I have one at my house.’

‘How very convenient,’ she scoffed. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

He ignored her comment and stroked her finger again. ‘I want you to wear it.’

She snatched her tingling hand out of his grasp. ‘I can just imagine your taste in jewellery—no doubt it’s as overbearing and pretentious as you.’

The line of his mouth tightened. ‘Actually I think you might be pleasantly surprised.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Let’s wait and see,’ he said and for the rest of the journey remained silent.

Mia sat back in her seat and scowled. She was tired and wanted the safety and security of her own little flat and the familiar, friendly face of Gina, not the company of a man who made her feel as if she was on the edge of a precipitous cliff all the time. No matter how hard she tried to resist his dark good looks she found the pace of her heartbeat increasing every time she met his fathomless blue eyes.

She turned her head away from his silent figure and looked out at the lights fringing the water as Henry drove them along the Cahill Expressway towards the eastern suburbs.

Her sleepy eyes struggled to stay open with the soporific motion of the luxury vehicle. She fought to keep them from closing but in the end she gave up and let her eyelids drift downwards…

Bryn looked down at the silky head resting on his lap, one of her hands on his thigh, her small, neat fingers splayed against him. He watched the in and out of her breathing, the slight movement of her chest lifting the creamy curves of her breasts tantalisingly. Her body was totally relaxed against him; gone was the stiff, defiant little firebrand with her quick-witted tongue, and in her place was a young woman who was breathtakingly beautiful now that the earlier tension had left her body. She had a sweet vulnerability about her, as if she had slipped to his lap in unconscious trust that he would do nothing to harm or exploit her.

He gently tucked a strand of hair off her cheek and secured it behind the small shell of her ear, her soft murmur as he did so making his chest feel a little strange, as if someone had caught him with a tiny fish hook deep inside and given it a quick little tug before just as swiftly releasing him.

He sighed and wondered if he was doing the right thing after all. He was used to women who were happy to play by the rules he set down, took what he offered and were grateful for whatever time and attention he afforded them. Mia Forrester, however, was not likely to appreciate what he had in mind for her and it bothered him. It bothered him a great deal. But he had to find a way to convince her to go along with his plans. Time was running out and this was the only way he could see to solve the dilemma he was in.

Mia woke up as soon as the car came to a halt.

‘Hello, sleepyhead.’ His glinting eyes met hers, his mouth tilted in a little smile.

She struggled upright, appalled that she had draped herself all over him. She looked outside and saw they were in the driveway of an imposing-looking mansion in the exclusive suburb of Point Piper.

‘Is this your house?’

‘Yes. Come inside and I’ll show you around.’

Mia got out of the car reluctantly. Pretending to be his fiancée in public was one thing; coming back to his house and being alone with him was something else again. She didn’t trust him not to insist on another kissing rehearsal. How would she be able to keep a clear head if he decided to take things even further? She was already in over her head as it was. He was exactly the sort of man she’d actively avoided all her dating life. He was too self-assured and too experienced for her to keep at arm’s length. She just didn’t know how to handle men like him.

Bryn opened the soundproof panel and addressed the driver. ‘You can go home now, Henry, I’ll see that Miss Forrester gets home.’

‘Thank you, Mr Dwyer.’ He took off his cap at Mia and added, ‘Miss Forrester. Enjoy the rest of your evening.’

‘Thank you.’

Mia waited until the driver had left before turning on Bryn. ‘I thought I told you I didn’t want to come back here with you. I’m tired and I want to go home.’

‘You can sleep in tomorrow. It’s not as if you have to get up for work.’

‘Thanks to you,’ she said with an embittered look.

‘You can’t tell me you enjoyed working in that café, Mia,’ he said as he opened the door and ushered her in. ‘It was a pittance of a wage and you had to be polite to obnoxious people all day, which I can only assume from what I’ve seen of you so far was incredibly difficult, if not at times impossible.’

‘Not all of them were obnoxious,’ she countered with a narrow-eyed glare.

He shrugged himself out of his jacket and tossed it to one side before reaching to loosen his tie. ‘Would you like a drink?’ ‘No.’

He led the way to a sumptuous lounge with stunning views over the harbour. Two luxurious caramel-coloured leather sofas dominated the room, the floor was covered with deep cream carpet and the walls adorned with original paintings from some well-known Australian and international artists. There was a well-appointed bar at one end of the room and an impressive-looking sound and entertainment system along the far wall.

Mia stood looking out at the view rather than meet Bryn’s dark eyes. ‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked.

She heard the chink of a glass behind her. ‘A couple of years or so. I wanted a place where the Press can’t hound me all the time.’

She turned around to look at him in puzzlement. ‘I thought you actively courted the Press. Isn’t that the whole reason I’m playing this role for you, to increase your ratings?’

He took a sip of his drink before answering. ‘It’s one of the reasons you are here.’

She gave him a wary look, her heart beginning to thud unevenly. ‘You mean there’s more than one?’

He put his glass down and came to stand in front of her. Mia tried to step away but the backs of her legs came up against one of the sofas. She drew in a sharp little breath as she brought her gaze up to his. His eyes were so dark she felt as if she was staring into the moonless midnight sky.

‘When you poured that coffee in my lap this morning I thought it would be a good opportunity to give my ratings a boost by pretending to have a whirlwind romance with you, and it worked. The public fell for it, hook line and sinker. Annabelle called me earlier with the ratings for this afternoon’s show and they were absolutely phenomenal. The stuff the Press releases tomorrow will ramp them up even more. But it’s not the only reason I have for wanting you to act this role for me a little longer.’

Mia waited for him to go on, wondering what other reason he could have for continuing this ridiculous charade. She wanted it to stop before things got out of hand. She already felt as if she’d stepped over some sort of invisible barrier after he’d kissed her, not once but three times. She wasn’t even sure if what she was doing was even acting any more. The more time she spent with him the more the lines blurred between what was real and what was fantasy.

‘Jocey mentioned my great-aunt Agnes to you this evening,’ he said after a small pause.

‘Yes…’

‘She’s my only living relative and I owe her a great deal.’ He let out a small sigh and scored a rough pathway through the dark brown silk of his hair before adding, ‘She hasn’t got long to live and I would give anything to make her last few weeks of life as happy as they can possibly be.’

Mia was surprised by the sincerity in his voice, he sounded as if he really cared for his great aunt.

Truly cared.

She found it difficult to fit his public persona as a thirty-three-year-old filthy rich playboy with a reputation for shallow, short-lived relationships with the man in front of her, who obviously cared very deeply for an ageing relative.

‘I’m sorry about your great-aunt’s health,’ she said softly. ‘It must be an awful time for you both.’

His gaze meshed with hers once more. ‘My great-aunt’s only wish is to see me happily settled. She sacrificed her chance at marriage in order to raise me when my parents died so suddenly when I was a child. She gave up everything for me.’

Mia swallowed at the sudden intensity of his blue-black gaze.

‘You see, Mia, a simple engagement might be enough for the Press and the public, but it is not going to be enough for Agnes.’

‘I-it’s not?’

He shook his head gravely. ‘No. What she wants more than anything in the world before she dies is to see me officially married.’

‘M-married?’ she gulped. ‘Officially?’

‘Yes, in front of witnesses, preferably in a church and legally binding.’

‘You surely don’t expect me to…’ She found it impossible to finish the sentence in case by saying it out loud it would somehow make it inescapably true.

‘I’m asking you to marry me, Mia,’ he said, confirming her worst fears.

She stared at him open-mouthed. Surely she’d misheard him. He couldn’t possibly have…

‘Of course, I don’t expect you to do it for nothing,’ he went on evenly. ‘I will pay you a lump sum up front and a generous allowance for as long as the marriage continues.’

‘You want me to marry you? For real?’ She gawped at him incredulously. ‘You mean you’re actually serious about this?’

He frowned at her stupefied expression. ‘I’m not asking you to jump off the harbour bridge, Mia, just to wear my ring until such time as it is no longer necessary.’

Mia’s stomach felt as if she’d just jumped off Centrepoint Tower, which was a whole lot taller than the harbour bridge. How could she possibly consent to marrying a man she hated? And even worse—for money?

‘But marriage?’ she asked again, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘Yes, as in vows and rings and stuff.’

‘Marriage is a whole lot more than vows and rings and stuff,’ she said. ‘It’s a legally binding agreement between two people who are supposed to love one another and promise to do so until death parts them.’

‘So we’re not exactly up to scratch on all the particulars but we can still pull this off,’ he said.

‘You sound as if you’re discussing some sort of business proposal.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m discussing. A business proposal.’

Mia frowned as she tried to take it all in. ‘You mean this won’t really be a real marriage?’

‘It will be real in the sense that it will be official and legal. I can’t risk someone uncovering it as a sham but as for us being a normal couple…’ he hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, ‘well, of course it won’t be real.’

She moistened her bone-dry lips. ‘So we won’t be…you know…’

His dark eyes met hers. ‘Having sex?’

‘Yes…’

‘Not unless you want to.’

Mia felt her cheeks burning but forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘Of course I don’t want to!’

His expression was contemplative as he held her gaze for several moments before he responded. ‘Fine; however, I must insist that for the duration of our marriage you refrain from sleeping with anyone else. I wouldn’t want anyone to suspect things are not normal between us if you are seen with someone other than me.’

She gave him a pointed look. ‘Do I get to insist on the same rule for you?’

‘I will do my best to be discreet if the need should arise.’

‘Then I insist on the same for myself. I, too, can be discreet.’

‘As you wish, but let me tell you if you put one step wrong I will be extremely angry. I don’t want my great-aunt to be upset by any rumours of impropriety.’

‘She won’t be upset by me,’ Mia said confidently. ‘At least I don’t have any empty-headed bimbos in my background.’

He gave her a droll look. ‘As of today I have finished with empty-headed bimbos. You are now, for all intents and purposes, the love of my life, and I expect you to maintain that illusion for as long as is necessary.’

‘And I thought my four years at stage school were challenging,’ Mia muttered resentfully.

‘The challenging part for you will be controlling your propensity for insulting me at every opportunity.’

She gave a cynical snort. ‘That’s rich coming from the High Priest of Insults. If you weren’t such a pompous jerk I wouldn’t find it so challenging.’

‘If you weren’t such an uptight little cat you would see I’m nothing like the public image I project,’ he clipped back.

She folded her arms across her chest, her expression full of scorn. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re really nothing like the Bryn Dwyer the public has come to love and hate. Oh, please. Spare me the violins. Anyone can see you’re a self-serving egotist who would stop at nothing to achieve his ends. This crazy scheme of yours to hoodwink your great-aunt is a case in point. What kind of man would openly lie to a little old lady by marrying a woman he has absolutely no feelings for?’

‘I happen to love my great-aunt very dearly and I would do anything to make her last days happy, even if it means temporarily tying myself to a shrill little shrew to prove it.’

‘Shrill little shrew, am I, now?’ She glared at him. ‘Well, let me tell you I don’t think too much of you either. You’re hardly what I’d call the ultimate choice in husband material.’

‘You don’t have to think much of me,’ he said. ‘All I want you to do is marry me. We’ll sort the feelings end of it out later.’

‘I don’t have any feelings where you’re concerned other than unmitigated dislike.’

‘Good. You’d be best to keep it that way. I wouldn’t want to complicate things any further with you forming an emotional attachment to me.’

‘Where exactly did you go for your ego-enhancement surgery?’ she quipped in return. ‘Was it horrendously expensive?’

Bryn struggled to hold back his amusement but in the end gave up. His face cracked on a smile. ‘I think you are definitely wasted as a serious actor. You have a real future in comedy.’

‘Yes, well, this little farce is definitely running along those lines. You’re asking me to act a role that is totally immoral. Acting in front of an audience is one thing but acting in front of a dying old lady is another. And marriage! It just doesn’t seem right.’

‘It will make her happy. That’s all I want.’

‘I don’t want to do this, Bryn; you can’t force me.’

He held her gaze for an uncomfortable pause. Mia felt as if she was being slowly but steadily backed into a tight corner. She even wondered if it had been wise to mention the word force. She could see the steely determination in his darker than night eyes and her stomach felt as if something with tiny clawed feet had just scuttled across it.

The sudden silence was like a third presence in the room, brooding and somehow menacing, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck lift one by one.

‘I’m hoping it won’t have to come to me actually forcing you,’ he said. ‘At this point in time I’m simply asking you to help me bring a small measure of happiness to an old woman who sacrificed her own to raise me. I am willing to pay you well. I know it will be difficult for you. I also know you hate me, but I can’t help feeling you are the one person my great-aunt will take to. She heard us on the radio this afternoon; she already thinks you’re perfect for me. There are plenty of women I could ask to play this role, but I know my aunt well enough to know that the only one she will accept as the real thing is you.’

Mia tried not to think of how she was going to explain all of this to her family or friends. Instead she thought about an old lady who had sacrificed her life to raise a child who had been devastated by the loss of his parents. She thought too of the little boy of seven who had suffered such a tragic loss. A little boy with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes, a little boy who had become a man who, as far as she could make out, hid his childhood pain behind a façade of cocksure arrogance.

It wasn’t as if it was going to be a real marriage, she did her best to reassure herself. After all, actors did this stuff all the time. God, how many times had Julia Roberts been married on screen? It meant nothing.

It was all an act.

A role to play.

Temporarily.

But still…

‘Can I have some time to think about it?’ she asked. ‘This is totally surreal. I can’t quite get my head around it.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But I’d like you to meet my great-aunt tomorrow; it will perhaps help you to make up your mind.’

She captured her bottom lip for a moment. ‘What if I don’t agree to marry you?’

His eyes locked down on hers. ‘Then you’ll be throwing away a fortune.’

Mia gave a tiny swallow. ‘Exactly how big a fortune?’

He named a sum that sent a shock wave through her brain. Mia came from a comfortable background and had never really wanted for anything in her life, but the amount of money he was willing to pay was unbelievably generous. The money he’d already given her had helped ease Ellie’s situation fractionally but if she could send her thousands it would mean her sister would be out of danger for good.

But marrying Bryn Dwyer?

‘If you do decide to take up this offer there will be some legal documents to sign,’ he said into the silence, ‘a prenuptial agreement and so forth. And, as I mentioned in the car earlier, as my fiancée I’d like you to wear an engagement ring.’

Mia watched as he went across the room to where a large painting was hanging. He shifted it to one side as he activated the code on the concealed safe set in the wall and, opening the safe, took out a blue velvet box before closing it again and repositioning the painting.

He brought the box over to her, took out a solitaire diamond engagement ring and handed it to her.

‘It was my mother’s,’ he informed her.

Mia turned the white-gold ring in her fingers, staring down at the simple perfection of the diamond.

‘Try it on,’ he said.

She slipped it on her ring finger, not sure whether to be surprised or spooked by the perfect fit. It was nothing like she’d been expecting. There was nothing ostentatious or flashy about it. It was simply a beautiful ring that had once been worn by his mother, a woman who had been torn from his life when he was a small, vulnerable child.

‘If you don’t like it we can choose something else,’ he said into the silence.

‘No…no, I like it…it’s…beautiful…’ Tears welled in her eyes and her throat felt tight, but she wasn’t sure why she was feeling so emotional.

‘It’s not worth a lot of money but it’s one of the few things I have left of my mother,’ he said, turning away to hunt for his car keys. ‘Come on, I’d better take you home. It’s nearly three a.m.’

Mia followed him out of the house in silence, the ring on her finger tying her to him in a way no priceless jewel could do.

It’s just a stupid old ring, she chided herself, but somehow whenever she looked down at the diamond winking up at her she felt as if something elemental had just taken place in their relationship.

He didn’t speak on the journey back to her flat. Mia stole covert glances at him from time to time but his expression was closed. She could see the lines of tiredness around his eyes and wondered what sort of day he had ahead. She knew that working in radio was not just a simple matter of turning up for the time he was on air but that hours of research and preparation had to be put in before and after. She also knew it was a fickle business. A radio personality could be the flavour of the month only to be cast aside the next. Ratings were everything and contracts were cancelled or renewed on what they revealed. But Bryn hardly needed the money. He was a multimillionaire, so whatever satisfaction he got from having his own prime-time show must be motivated by something other than monetary reward. Fame? Prestige? Power? Or was it the desire to be known as something other than who he really was?

‘I’ll call you later,’ Bryn said as he pulled up in front of her flat.

Mia didn’t answer. She got out of the car when he opened her door and with her head down began to move towards her front door.

‘Mia.’

She stopped as his hand came down on her shoulder and slowly turned around to face him.

‘You did a good job tonight,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Her chin lifted in pride. ‘So you’re finally admitting I can act, then, are you?’

He bent down and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. ‘That’s what I’m paying you to do,’ he said as he straightened. ‘Goodnight.’

She watched from her window as he drove away, her fingers absently playing with the ring he’d given her, a small worried frown taking up residence on her forehead.

Yes, he was paying her to act, but what if she forgot her script and began to make up her own?

A script that wasn’t for the temporary season he had in mind but for much longer?

CHAPTER SIX

‘OH, MY God, look at this!’ Gina thrust the morning’s paper at Mia. ‘And this one…and look at this magazine! You’re famous!’

Mia looked at the articles spread out before her and forced a stiff smile to her face. ‘Hey, I don’t look so bad, do I?’

‘You look absolutely gorgeous and the Press loved you,’ Gina answered. ‘Here, listen to this:

The beautiful Mia Forrester, a struggling part-time actor and former café waitress has stolen the heart of Sydney radio personality and multimillionaire Bryn Dwyer, in a whirlwind romance that has to be seen to be believed. Miss Forrester is a radiant young woman who clearly has taken to her role as Bryn Dwyer’s future wife with enthusiasm. It is rumoured that the wedding will take place within a matter of weeks. The young couple dined and danced the night away at the St Patrick’s Children’s Charity Ball before spending the night together at Mr Dwyer’s Point Piper mansion.’

‘I did not spend the night with him!’ Mia said indignantly and then, seeing her friend’s raised brows, hastily tacked on, ‘or at least not the whole night.’

‘I know that but it just goes to show you can’t believe everything you read in the Press, now, can you?’

Mia lowered her gaze to the photo spread and answered with more than a hint of irony, ‘No, you certainly cannot.’

Gina put her chin on her hand and sighed. ‘You know, I really envy you, Mia. You’re so lucky you haven’t had a string of disastrous love affairs in your past like me. That’s just so special these days when just about everyone jumps into bed on the first date. Your honeymoon will be so romantic, the memory of your first time together will be something you’ll treasure all your married life.’

Mia felt a hot, trickling sensation low down in her belly at the thought of the possibility of Bryn Dwyer becoming her lover.

She hadn’t intentionally held back from conducting a sexual relationship with previous boyfriends but neither had she rushed into anything she hadn’t felt ready for. She’d always believed making love should be about exactly that—making love, not having sex just for the sake of it. She knew it was perhaps a little old fashioned, but a part of her was proud that she had maintained her standards in spite of peer and popular-culture pressure.

One of her friends had been very ill with a sexually transmitted disease as a teenager and it had made Mia all the more determined to wait until she was absolutely sure it was the right step to take. Besides, she had never been in love with anyone, at least not seriously enough to consider committing herself physically.

Gina gave another dreamy sigh as she flicked through the rest of the articles. ‘He’s just so gorgeous—look at the way he’s smiling at you in this picture. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more in love.’

Mia looked over her friend’s shoulder and frowned. It was strange, as she was supposed to be the professional actor, but Gina was right; Bryn Dwyer had given a truly brilliant performance as a man totally smitten by love.

‘What did your parents think of your news?’ Gina asked.

Mia faltered over her reply. ‘Um…I haven’t actually called them yet…time differences and so on. I’ll probably email them later today.’

‘What about Ellie? When does she get back from her wilderness trek in the Amazon?’

Mia carefully avoided her flatmate’s eyes. She hated lying but Ellie had expressly asked her not to tell anyone. As much as she wanted to break her promise, deep down she understood Ellie’s motivations. News had a habit of travelling and if her parents got wind of the danger Ellie was in it could trigger another heart attack for their father. It was going to be bad enough when they got to hear of Mia’s impending marriage.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said evasively. ‘She said something about staying on for a little longer. You know Ellie, if there’s a crusade she can put her name to, she will.’

‘It seems a shame none of your family is here to celebrate your engagement with you.’ Gina closed the paper. ‘Wouldn’t it be absolutely awful if they didn’t get back in time for the wedding?’

It would be wonderful, Mia thought privately; that way I won’t have to stretch my acting capabilities to the limit. But as she responded verbally she had to yet again draw deeply on her acting experience to sound genuine. ‘You know something, Gina, I’ve always sort of dreamed of a private wedding. The only person I want there is the man I love. If the church was full to the rafters I’m sure I wouldn’t even notice a single soul except for the one waiting for me at the altar.’

‘You’re right.’ Gina smiled. ‘Who cares who is there as long as your future husband is there, ready and waiting? But I insist on being there—I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

Mia gave her a smile, even though her jaw ached with the effort. ‘It will be nice to have you there, Gina; after all, who else is going to catch the bouquet?’

Mia watched from her window as Bryn arrived in front of her flat a short time later in a powerful red Maserati. He unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, the casual clothes he was wearing highlighting his height and lean, athletic build as he strode towards her front door. She opened the door at his firm knock and tried not to be overwhelmed by his disturbing presence as he stepped inside.

His eyes ran over her but before she could mumble a single word of greeting Gina came bounding out of her room.

‘Wow! I can’t believe it’s really you.’ She stuck out her hand to him. ‘I’m Mia’s flatmate, Gina. I’ve been dying to meet you. I absolutely adore your show and your column. I’m a huge fan and so are all our friends, but most especially Mia, she never misses your show, right, Mia?’

Mia stretched her lips into a semblance of a smile. ‘That’s right.’

Bryn smiled as he drew Mia closer, stooping to press a long, searing kiss to her mouth. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. ‘That’s what I like to hear—the woman I love is my biggest fan.’

Mia had to wait until they were in the car and on their way before she could vent her spleen. ‘Did you have to be so…so completely over-the-top? I’m sure you embarrassed Gina by kissing me like that. It was totally unnecessary. A simple peck would have done.’

He sent her a sideways glance, his eyes glinting darkly. ‘I’m not a simple-peck sort of guy. If I’m going to kiss someone I’m going to damn well do it properly.’

Mia felt a fluttery feeling between her thighs at his statement. She was already well aware of his kissing skill and couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to experience his whole lovemaking repertoire. She imagined he would be a demanding but consummate lover who would take his partner to the very heights of sensual experience.

Her gaze strayed to his hands where they rested on the steering wheel, her skin tightening all over at the thought of those long, tanned fingers touching her intimately. How would it feel to have him stroke her…?

Bryn caught the tail end of her glance, noting her heightened colour and the agitated look on her face. ‘If you’re feeling a bit nervous about meeting my great-aunt, don’t be. I’m sure you’ll take to her immediately; she’s that sort of person.’

‘I’m not nervous…’ she said and began chewing at her bottom lip.

He sent her one more thoughtful look but she had turned her head and was looking out of the window, her fingers playing absently with the engagement ring on her hand.

The private palliative-care unit Agnes Dwyer was residing in had a peaceful atmosphere and was beautifully landscaped with sweet-smelling roses that could be viewed from every window.

Bryn’s great-aunt was in a room overlooking a trickling fountain adorned with cupids and dolphins, the sound of wind chimes signalling the movement of the summer breeze across the exquisite garden.

Mia looked at the emaciated figure lying on the bed, the sunken eyes closed, the hollow papery cheeks speaking of a life long lived and now coming to its inevitable end.

Her heart contracted painfully as she glanced up at Bryn. His expression, unguarded for a fraction of a second revealed the depth of his emotions at the loss he must soon face.

‘Aunt Aggie,’ he said softly, taking his great-aunt’s hand in his.

Mia watched as the old woman’s eyes opened and gradually focused.

‘Oh, darling…you caught me napping.’ She struggled upright with Bryn’s gentle, solicitous help and met Mia’s clear grey gaze at the end of the bed. ‘Come here, my dear, and let me look at you. My eyes are not as good as they used to be.’

Mia stepped forward and took the thin hand that had reached for hers. ‘Hello.’

‘My, oh, my, but you’re gorgeous,’ Agnes said. ‘One of the nurses brought in the papers this morning but you are even more beautiful than the photographs in them.’

‘Thank you,’ Mia said shyly.

Agnes smiled. ‘You are just as I hoped Bryn’s future wife would be.’

‘I—I am?’

‘Yes, indeed. I so wanted him to find someone genuine. You have a big heart; I can see it in those big grey eyes of yours. You are perfect for him.’

Mia felt the daggers of guilt prod at her sharply. She could barely stand to look into the old woman’s eyes in case she saw the truth about her relationship with her great-nephew.

‘I—I’m glad you think so…’ she said, lowering her gaze and hating herself for yet another lie as she added, ‘He’s perfect for me too.’

‘I knew it would be this way. His parents were the same, you know. When my nephew first met Bryn’s mother it was love at first sight.’ The old woman gave a sad little sigh. ‘But they didn’t get the chance to live the life they should have had together…’

Mia could sense Bryn’s discomfiture at his great-aunt’s disclosure and her heart went out to him again for what he must have suffered. She felt uncomfortable with the way she had judged him so rashly; it didn’t seem right to have written him off as a self-serving playboy, given what he’d been through. No wonder he lived life so shallowly when life had let him down so early.

‘It was a long time ago,’ he inserted gruffly.

‘I know, darling, but now that I am facing…well, you know what I’m facing…I can’t help feeling that I could have done more for you.’

‘That’s totally ridiculous and you know it,’ he said. ‘You’ve been the most wonderful support. I couldn’t have asked for a better guardian.’

‘But I wasn’t the real thing, was I?’ Agnes said. ‘I was just a substitute for the real thing. I could never be enough. I could never be your parents, no matter how much I tried to be.’

‘Please don’t say that…’ Bryn said, squeezing her hand gently.

‘Darling, darling boy,’ Agnes sighed and, giving his hand an affectionate pat, turned her head to Mia. ‘You will have to take over from me, sweet child, and love him when I’m gone. It won’t be long now…’

Mia swallowed the solid lump of emotion in her throat. She could feel the sting of tears at the backs of her eyes and her chest felt as if someone had clamped it in a vice. Guilt assailed her and passed over her skin like a scalding burn.

‘I will love him…for you and for me…’ she said softly. ‘He’s a wonderful man…’

‘I’m so very glad you think so,’ Agnes said through misty eyes. ‘Very few people know the real Bryn, but I can rest in peace now that I know he has found someone who loves him for who he really is. It’s not easy being in the public eye, but then you’d know all about that, being an actor yourself.’

‘I’m not a very good one, I’m afraid…’ Mia said with downcast eyes.

‘Your modesty is delightful,’ Agnes said. ‘But perhaps Bryn was right when he wrote that review, although he was a very naughty boy to put it quite the way he did.’ She sent her great-nephew a mock-reproving glance before turning back to Mia. ‘You were miscast. You have a delightful air of innocence about you which is so rare these days.’

Mia wondered just how innocent Bryn’s great-aunt would consider her if she knew what was really going on between her and Bryn.

‘We mustn’t tire you,’ Bryn said to his great-aunt. ‘We’ll leave you to rest for now. I’ll pop by again later.’

‘Thank you, darling.’ Agnes took Mia’s hand again and gave it a tiny squeeze. ‘You probably haven’t even had time to discuss when you’re getting married but personally I’m not a great believer in long engagements. In this day and age, when practically everyone is cohabiting, what is the point? Besides, I haven’t got much time left. It would be a dream come true to see my Bryn happily married. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I do so want to be there on your special day if it’s at all possible.’

‘I want you to be there too,’ Mia said, swiping at an escaping tear.

Bryn slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer as he addressed his great-aunt. ‘We’ll let you know as soon as we have a date set.’

‘Thank you, darling…I’m sorry to be such a bother.’

Bryn stooped down to kiss his great-aunt’s cheek. ‘You could never be a bother. Now, have a good rest and I’ll see you later.’

Mia slipped out of Bryn’s embrace to kiss his elderly relative, her eyes bright with tears as she straightened. ‘It was lovely to meet you.’

‘You have made me so very happy,’ Agnes said. ‘I cannot think of a more wonderful partner for Bryn.’

Mia was blubbering uncontrollably by the time they got back to where Bryn had parked his car. She began to hunt for a tissue when he pressed a clean white handkerchief into her hand, his expression thoughtful as his dark blue eyes met her streaming ones.

‘I’m sorry…’ she choked out. ‘I just can’t help it…’

‘It’s all right,’ he said and drew her up against him, his hand going to the back of her head to bring her head to his chest.

‘It’s just so sad…’ she sniffed. ‘I don’t know how you can bear it…it reminds me of when my granny died…I still feel emotional every time I see someone with grey hair and it’s been seven years.’

Bryn kept stroking his fingers through her hair, his chest feeling a little strange as he breathed in the fragrance of her light but unforgettable perfume.

Mia lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen and her bottom lip still trembling with emotion. ‘I feel so guilty lying to her…I know you’re going to think this is really weird, or dumb even, but I wish we had fallen in love…’ She gave another little sniff and added, ‘I wish this was really true and not just an act.’

Bryn stared down at her uptilted face and felt another gear shift in his chest. Something warm and indefinable began to slowly spread and then fill him inside as he thought about being loved for real by her.

The only person he had ever felt truly loved by since he’d lost his parents was his great-aunt. The truth was, he hadn’t always been that lovable. Although he’d always denied it, he had been seriously traumatised by his parents’ death. He had never been able to find it within himself to forgive the person responsible for taking his parents from him.

He’d been a lonely, angry child and his behaviour throughout his childhood and adolescence had been nothing short of deplorable. Even as an adult he’d been selfish and arrogant, riding roughshod over people with a ruthless disregard for their feelings. To a very large degree his bad-boy image had propelled him into the success he’d experienced and most of the time he played it to the hilt. The public expected him to be cutting and sarcastic, it was his trademark, but it wasn’t who he really was or indeed who he really wanted to be.

‘Does this mean you’ve decided to go ahead with our marriage?’ he asked after a little pause.

‘I don’t see how I can possibly say no,’ she answered somewhat grimly. ‘Agnes is dying…it seems so unfair not to grant her this last wish, even if it is all an act.’ She bit her lip and then released it to add uncertainly, ‘I guess I can see it through for a week or two…’

‘We have to see this through, Mia, no matter how compromised each of us feels. I don’t want her to know this is all an act. It would destroy her.’

‘I know…’ she said and eased herself out of his embrace. ‘I just feel uncomfortable…I’m being paid to be your wife. It just seems so…so…you know…terribly tacky.’

‘You’re thinking too much,’ he said as he unlocked the car. ‘It’s just money and I have plenty, so you don’t need to worry on that score. Think of it as any other acting job. I’m sure every actor has been assigned roles that aren’t quite to their taste, but they do it for the money.’

Mia frowned as she got in and fastened her seat belt. It wasn’t the money she was really worried about, she knew he had plenty and what he was paying her would hardly make a dent in it, and it would certainly solve her sister’s dilemma. It was what he couldn’t give her that worried her more. She was being paid to pretend to love a man she had previously thought unlovable, but somehow as he’d held her a few moments ago she had felt a tiny flicker of something deep inside, as if something was trying to make its way out to the surface but was being blocked in some way.

She sneaked a glance at him as he drove out of the car park. His expression was mostly inscrutable except for the tiny glitter of sadness she thought she could see in his dark eyes. But, as if he sensed her looking at him, he reached for his sunglasses on the dashboard and put them on his face and she was shut out once more.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE next few days passed in a whirlwind of activity that left Mia spinning. There was legal work to be dealt with and, although she felt uncomfortable signing documents that were so legally binding, she did it for the sake of Bryn’s great-aunt. She just couldn’t stop thinking about the older woman’s life coming to an end and how it would impact on Bryn. She was his last living relative. Once she died there would be no one else but him. His final link with his parents would be gone.

As far as she could tell he had spoken to no one about his dying relative. Jocey Myers had only found out by a quirk of fate. There had been nothing mentioned in any of the newspaper articles about Agnes Dwyer’s role in his life and certainly no mention of the tragic loss of his parents when he was a child. She wondered if he did it deliberately, as Jocey had suggested, to keep his hard-as-nails image in place or whether there was some other reason.

The Press went wild when the news broke of their impending marriage; requests for interviews flew thick and fast and wherever she went paparazzi followed, hoping for a candid shot of Bryn Dwyer’s intended bride.

It made Mia totally rethink her life-long dream to be famous. Now fame was becoming a reality she found she hated it. She couldn’t do the most basic things without being followed; even going for her morning run or thrice-weekly visits to the gym became an exercise of subterfuge in order to escape the intrusion of journalists and cameras.

Bryn, on the other hand, seemed to take it all in his stride. He insisted they dine out regularly and she was forced to put on a bright smile and accompany him to yet another high-profile restaurant.

‘I don’t know how you stand this,’ she said at the end of the second week of their engagement. They were in a harbourside restaurant and had only been seated for three minutes when a rush of fans had come up for autographs and impromptu phone-camera photos.

‘It’ll soon pass,’ he reassured her. ‘Once we’re married they’ll leave us alone.’

‘I certainly hope so…’ She toyed with the stem of her glass agitatedly as the maître d’ ushered the last of the lingering diners back to their tables.

Bryn gave her a quizzical look. ‘I thought your goal in life was to be famous. Isn’t that what every actor wants?’

She let out a tiny sigh. ‘There’s fame and there’s fame. I guess I didn’t really think about it too much…you know…how it would be if I ever made it into the big time.’

‘How long have you wanted to be an actor?’ he asked.

He watched as her mouth tilted engagingly, his chest feeling that little fish hook tug again. ‘I think I was about four or five years old,’ she said. ‘I’m a middle child and apparently I was always trying to be the centre of attention. It was the Christmas pageant when I was in kindergarten that finally decided it for me. I was cast as the front end of a donkey in the nativity play and that was it. I decided I wanted to be on stage. I went to ballet and tap classes and gymnastics and joined the school swimming team and then a junior drama club when I could finally persuade my parents to pay for it. My poor mum was run off her feet ferrying me back and forth to everything.’

‘Tell me about your family.’

‘Well…’ She smiled fondly as she met his eyes. ‘My mum and dad have been happily married for nearly thirty years. They are wonderful, just as parents should be. I have a sister, Ashleigh, a year older than me, who’s married to Jake and they have a son and a little daughter. I adore them. I have a younger sister, Ellie, who’s adopted. She’s fantastic.’

‘So you’re a close family?’

Mia gave him a very direct look. ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my family. I would give my life up for any one of them at a moment’s notice.’

He returned her look for a lengthy period before asking, ‘Have you told them about us?’

She chewed her lip for a moment and lowered her gaze. ‘My younger sister is…somewhere in the wilds of the Amazon. My parents are overseas at the moment with Jake and Ashleigh and the kids, so I haven’t got around to it. I’m not sure I want them to rush home for a wedding that’s not really real. Apart from a quick visit to London a few years ago, this is the first European trip my parents have had since they were married, so I didn’t want to ruin it for them.’

‘I hardly think attending their daughter’s wedding is going to ruin their holiday,’ Bryn said.

Mia looked up at him with a slight frown. ‘But it’s not as if it’s a proper wedding. What would be the point? Besides, as soon as your great-aunt…’ she faltered over the words ‘…passes away the marriage will be annulled.’

He gave her another lengthy look, his eyes very dark as they held hers. ‘What if my great-aunt doesn’t die in the next few weeks?’

Her hands gripped the edges of the seat. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’

‘I was speaking to her oncologist earlier today,’ he said. ‘Her condition has improved remarkably since she heard the news of our engagement. Her spirits have lifted and she’s making a real effort to eat again; the last bout of chemotherapy hit her hard but she’s put on a bit of weight and has more energy.’

‘But that’s a good thing, surely?’ Then at his wry look she stumbled on, ‘I mean…for your great-aunt, that is…maybe it’s not so good for me…us…well, you know what I mean…’

‘Of course it’s a good thing for Agnes, but it may mean we will have to continue our charade for a bit longer than I initially expected.’

Mia lowered her gaze to her wine glass as she considered the possibility of being married to him for months on end. The very last thing she wanted was to hurry up his great-aunt’s death, but living with a man as his wife for several months was just asking for trouble, especially with a man like Bryn. She was already fighting an attraction to him that was threatening to get out of hand.

‘How…how long do you think we’ll have to stay married?’ she asked after a little silence.

He picked up his wine glass and took a sip before answering. ‘It’s hard to put a time on it. Three or four months.’

She swallowed thickly. ‘That’s a long time…’

His mouth twisted. ‘It’s not such a long time when you’re the one who is terminally ill.’

‘No…no, I guess not…’

He reached into his top pocket and handed her a card with the name of one of Sydney’s top bridal designers on it. ‘I’ve organised an open account for you to purchase what you need. I’ve also deposited funds in your bank account which you will no doubt need to draw on in preparation for our wedding.’

Mia found it a little unsettling for him to be discussing their marriage in such terms. She couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like planning a proper wedding, with both parties excited at celebrating the most important day of their lives. Her sister Ashleigh’s wedding to Jake after four long years of separation had been one of the most moving experiences she’d ever had. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the house and even now, more than a year later, the photos of that special day still brought tears to Mia’s eyes.

How different would her wedding day be? She’d be marrying a man who was using her as a career hoist, not to mention colluding with him in fooling his dying great-aunt that her greatest wish for him had come true.

But then, she reminded herself, she had her own reasons for going through with it. Her sister, for one thing, but then there were those feelings that kept her awake at night. Feelings she really had no business feeling…

‘After the wedding we will be going on a short honeymoon,’ he announced into the silence.

‘A honeymoon?’ She stared at him, her heart thudding in alarm. ‘Whatever for?’

‘All newly married couples go on a honeymoon.’

‘I know, but surely in our case it’s not necessary. I mean, what would be the point?’

‘It will be a good opportunity for us to get to know one another a little better out of the way of the Press,’ he said, and then added with a teasing grin, ‘You never know, you might even start to like me a bit.’

She gave him a castigating look without answering.

‘There is something else we need to discuss about our living arrangements,’ he said after another tiny but telling pause.

Her gaze flicked nervously back to his dark and unwavering one. ‘I get to have my own room, right?’ she asked.

‘If you want one.’

She blinked at him. ‘What do you mean, if I want one? Of course I want one!’

‘There is the perplexing little matter of my housekeeper,’ he said. ‘She comes in three times a week.’

‘So…what are you saying?’

‘If Marita sees two beds being used instead of one she’ll immediately suspect something is up and it will be all over the papers the next morning.’

‘Can’t you pay her to keep quiet or something?’ she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. ‘There are very few people I would trust even under payment.’

‘I don’t suppose you could dismiss your housekeeper…I mean, I can cook and clean if you want me to.’

‘I have no intention of dismissing my housekeeper. She has a young family to support.’

‘So what are you suggesting? That we play musical beds or something on the days your housekeeper is there?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought it through.’ He gave her a sexy grin and added, ‘Who knows, you might have decided to sleep with me by the time we are married.’

She looked at him incredulously. ‘You surely don’t think I’d take things that far?’

‘I will leave that decision entirely up to you. The agreement we made is that this will be a paper marriage but if you at any time wish to change your mind about consummating it, I will be perfectly happy to do so.’

‘Just because we will be sharing a house temporarily doesn’t mean we will be sharing anything else, housekeeper or no housekeeper,’ she said with force.

He gave a casual shrug and reached for his wine. ‘There are plenty of women in your position who would jump at the chance to share my bed and my body.’

‘And I’m quite sure legions of them have, but you can forget about putting my name in your little black book. I’m not interested.’

‘I promise to keep my hands to myself as long as you promise the same.’

She sent him a frosty look. ‘You seem very confident I’ll be tempted by you.’

He smiled wickedly. ‘You have been so far. Every time we’ve kissed you’ve got all hot and bothered.’

‘I was acting!’

His smile tilted even further. ‘Maybe, but when you kissed Clete Schussler on stage that night it didn’t look half as convincing as when you’ve kissed me.’

Mia wasn’t sure how to defend herself. Clete Schussler was undoubtedly a damn good kisser but, acting or not, he was not quite in the same league as Bryn Dwyer. Was any man?

‘It was first-night nerves,’ she said. ‘I’d only ever been the understudy. We had six weeks of rehearsal but I hadn’t kissed him before.’

‘I’d only met you a few hours before I kissed you for the first time, and as far as I’m concerned we did a much better job.’

Mia was inclined to agree with him but didn’t want to give his already oversized ego another boost. She gave him a stony look instead and remained silent.

Bryn smiled at her brooding expression. ‘Come now, Mia. Admit it. You might not like me all that much but you are very definitely attracted to me.’

She rolled her eyes disdainfully. ‘You’d have to try a whole lot harder to get me to agree to a physical relationship with you. No one’s managed it so far and…’ She stopped when she realised what she’d inadvertently revealed.

He frowned at her in puzzlement. ‘No one’s managed what so far?’

‘Um…’ Her cheeks flared with heat and she had to look away from his probing gaze.

Bryn leaned forward a fraction, his expression becoming incredulous as realisation dawned. ‘You mean you’ve never actually had sex?’

She didn’t answer.

‘You’re what…twenty-four years old and you’ve never—?’

‘Will you keep your voice down?’ she hissed back at him. ‘Someone will hear you.’

He sat back in his chair and shook his head in amazement. ‘I can’t believe it.’ He gave a quick self-deprecating laugh. ‘I employ a virgin to act as my wife. Hell, I must be out of my mind.’

She gave him a resentful scowl. ‘I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about it. Anyway, most men still maintain the double standard by having sex indiscriminately until they decide they want to choose a wife and future mother of their children, then they want someone who hasn’t been around the block too many times.’

‘No wonder you couldn’t act that role,’ he said. ‘I was right after all. You didn’t have a clue how to play a seductress.’

‘I do know what goes on, you know,’ she said. ‘I’m not totally clueless.’

His midnight-blue gaze twinkled. ‘So you’ve gone south solo a few times to see how things work?’

Hot colour flooded her face but she forced herself to hold his taunting look. ‘That’s none of your business.’

He gave a soft laugh at her discomfiture. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s delightful. It shows you’re not a total prude.’

‘There’s nothing prudish about being selective with whom you share your body, especially these days. You don’t know what you might catch.’

‘No, indeed there isn’t, but you surely can’t have had a lack of opportunity. You’re a beautiful-looking young woman with a great body. You must have been fighting men off for years.’

Mia berated herself for reacting to his compliments but she just couldn’t help feeling a glow of warmth as his words washed over her. She disguised her reaction by saying airily, ‘I’ve had a few boyfriends.’

‘But no one has ever tempted you to sleep with them?’

She met his eyes once more. ‘No one so far.’

He gave her an unreadable little smile as he signalled to the waiter for the bill. ‘Then I guess the road is wide open to me.’

She hitched her chin up a fraction as he drew her to her feet. ‘Better men than you have tried and failed,’ she informed him coldly.

His eyes were alight with challenge. ‘No, what you mean is, better men than me have tried and given up. I don’t believe in giving up. If I want something, I make damned sure I get it.’

‘Not this time,’ she said with overblown confidence. ‘If you don’t keep to your side of the deal I won’t be obliged to keep to mine.’ She drew in a breath and tacked on recklessly, ‘I will go to the Press with the truth about our relationship. Then what will your great-aunt think of you? She’ll know you lied to her when she was most vulnerable, and no matter what your motive was, I don’t think she will forgive you.’

His eyes started to smoulder as they held hers. ‘If you do that I will be forced to play dirty with you, Mia. Don’t make me show you how ruthless I can be.’

She didn’t get a chance to respond, for he grasped her hand and practically dragged her out of the restaurant and over to his car.

‘Get in,’ he bit out as he opened the passenger door.

She got in but only because people were starting to look at them, and she didn’t want to create a scene. She sat stiffly in her seat and watched as he strode around to the driver’s side, his expression dark with simmering anger.

He waited until they were on their way before he spoke, his voice chillingly hard and determined. ‘I swear to God, Mia, if my great-aunt’s last weeks or months of life are ruined by you leaking something to the Press you will seriously regret it. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll throw everything at you. You will never work again—in any industry. Don’t think I wouldn’t or couldn’t do it, for I can, and I will.’

Mia felt deeply ashamed of her impulsive threat but there was no way her pride would allow her to show it. ‘I’m not scared of you,’ she tossed back. ‘You can threaten me all you like but I’m not scared.’

‘Then perhaps you should be,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you read the fine print on those documents I sent for you to sign?’

She felt an icy shiver pass over her skin. She had read the documents but only briefly. The legal terms had been off-putting enough, but when Gina had come home unexpectedly and started to peer over her shoulder Mia had hastily signed the highlighted sections and stuffed the documents back in the return express envelope and posted it.

‘Let me refresh your memory,’ he continued when she didn’t respond. ‘There is a clause on page five that states that if you, the undersigned, at any point during the duration of our marriage reveal intimate information about our relationship to the Press or anyone else, you will have to repay all monies already allocated to you as well as the legal fees in the subsequent defamation case I will immediately activate with my legal advisors.’ He sent her a quick, brittle glance and continued in the same chilling tone, ‘In case the legalese is a bit hard for you to understand, let me put it in layperson’s terms: I am going to take you to the cleaners.’

Mia compressed her lips as she thought about how much money might be involved. It was a daunting scenario and one she was going to have to do her very best to avoid. Her parents were comfortably well off but certainly not in Bryn’s league and, while her brother-in-law, Jake, was extremely wealthy, she didn’t want to involve him in a public fight that could turn out to be very nasty. And until Ellie was out of danger she had no choice but to play by the rules.

Bryn’s fierce loyalty to his only living relative was certainly admirable and perhaps a clue to whom he really was as a person, but she didn’t like the thought of being on the receiving end of his wrath if things didn’t go according to plan.

‘Anyone could have heard you in there,’ he said into the tight silence. ‘You know the deal. In public we are like any other normal couple in love, if you want to pick a fight with me then please have the sense to do so while we are in private.’

‘I won’t go to the Press if you stick to your side of the deal. You can pay me to be your wife but there’s no amount of money on this earth that I would accept to become your lover,’ she said stiffly.

‘Fine.’ He shoved the car into top gear. ‘But as I said, if you ever change your mind just let me know.’

She gave a scornful snort. ‘As if.’

His eyes clashed with hers for a brief moment. It was hardly more than a fraction of a second but Mia had to turn away.

She felt herself being thrust back in her seat as he floored the throttle—the atmosphere crackled with tension and her stomach gave a funny little quiver when he drawled, ‘We’ll see.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

TWO days before the wedding Mia visited Agnes at the palliative-care unit. She had deliberated over it for days, wondering if it was wise to see the old lady without Bryn present, but the temptation to find out more about his background from the person who knew him best was far too tempting to resist. She didn’t tell Bryn about her intention to visit his great-aunt the night before when they’d had dinner together in yet another of Sydney’s premier restaurants. For days after their terse exchange when she’d threatened to go to the Press he had been distant and formal with her in private, although whenever they were in public he acted the role of attentive fiancé with his usual and somewhat unnerving expertise. For all his charming smiles and spine-tingling touches when others were looking, Mia knew he was still angry with her, and she also knew, if she was truly honest with herself, she really couldn’t blame him. He wanted his great-aunt’s last weeks of life to be as happy as possible, and she had threatened to jeopardise his plans, with what would appear to him a callous disregard on her part for what his great-aunt would feel on hearing such a revelation.

The nurse on duty led the way to Agnes Dwyer’s room and, after announcing to the old lady she had a visitor, she gave Mia a quick smile and closed the door on her exit.

‘Mia, my dear, what a wonderful surprise! How lovely to see you,’ she greeted her with a warm smile. ‘I thought you’d be far too busy organising your wedding to take time out to visit me.’

Mia came towards the bed and held out the bright red, orange and pink gerberas she’d brought with her. ‘These are for you…I thought you might like something colourful for your room.’

‘They’re gorgeous, my dear. What a lovely gesture. Most people give me dull, old-lady-type flowers. I’m fed up with lavender and lily of the valley. These are marvellously cheery. I’ll get the nurse to put them in water. Now, come and tell me how the wedding plans are going.’ She patted the bed beside her. ‘Sit next to me here…go on, I won’t bite.’

Mia perched on the edge of the bed and the old woman reached for her hand. ‘I was hoping you’d come to visit me,’ she said. ‘Bryn comes in twice a day but I wanted to speak to you privately.’

‘Y-you did?’

‘Yes,’ Agnes said. ‘I thought it would be nice for us to have a little woman-to-woman chat.’

‘Oh…’

A small silence fell into the room. Mia could hear the rattle of a tea trolley further down the corridor, and further away the sound of a relaxation CD playing in another patient’s room.

Agnes finally spoke. ‘Bryn won’t be an easy man to live with, Mia. I feel I should warn you, since it’s really my fault you’re rushing into marriage so quickly. You haven’t had time to get to know him properly. I know you love him, that’s more than obvious, and he very clearly is devoted to you, but you might find things tough going once the first rush of love passes.’

Mia remained silent, her heart doing a funny hit-and-miss beat in her chest.

‘I always knew it would take a very special woman to melt the ice around Bryn’s heart,’ the old woman said. ‘He’s been so guarded for so long. He has never let his emotions rule his heart before. I’m so very glad he found you.’

‘Thank you…’ Mia said softly, her eyes falling away from the unwavering gaze of Bryn’s only relative.

‘You see, Mia, Bryn has never really come to terms with his parents’ death…’

‘It was an accident, wasn’t it?’ Mia inserted into the silence.

‘Yes, but it wasn’t really anyone’s fault,’ the old woman said. ‘The young driver of the car that hit my nephew and his wife head on lost control on a bend. He’d only had his licence a short time. He wasn’t speeding and the inquest found that no alcohol or drugs were involved. It was just one of those accidents that wouldn’t have even happened if Bryn’s parents had driven past just a few seconds later.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘It’s hard to imagine how different things would have been just for the sake of a few seconds…’

Mia swallowed the lump of emotion clogging her throat. ‘You’ve given up so much for Bryn…’

‘Yes, that’s true, but he needed me and I was happy to step into his parents’ role. He was such an unhappy little boy. What Bryn needed was his parents, but due to circumstances beyond our control he could never have them. He has harboured such ill feeling towards that poor man for most of his life. Forgiveness is something he finds very hard. I guess you could call him stubborn.’ She gave Mia a little smile. ‘No doubt you’ll come up against his strong will from time to time.’

‘I’m sure I’ll be able to handle it,’ Mia said. ‘I’m pretty strong-willed myself.’

‘You will need to be, my dear. Bryn can be a wonderful friend but a powerful and deadly enemy. But I am sure with your gentle love you will be able to help him let go of the past and find it in himself to forgive.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Mia promised.

Agnes gave her hand a little squeeze. ‘Are you excited about the wedding?’

‘Um…nervous really…’

‘That’s understandable. It’s been such a rush.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘I wish I had more time allotted me, then you would have had more time to prepare for your life together. It doesn’t seem fair for you to be fast-tracked into marriage without the time to plan things properly.’

‘It’s fine…really,’ Mia reassured her. ‘It’s what Bryn and I both want.’

‘You know, Mia, I was in love once,’ Agnes said softly. ‘It happened late in life; I was so excited. We were going to be married but when Bryn’s parents were tragically killed my fiancé wasn’t keen on having an instant family. He gave me a choice. It was either him or Bryn.’

‘And you chose Bryn…’

‘Yes. But then I had to act as if I was no longer in love with my fiancé. It took some doing, I can assure you, especially when after a few months he married someone else and had a child with her. I was heartbroken but I had to carry on.’

Mia felt the sting of tears at the backs of her eyes for what both Bryn and his great-aunt had been through. How had she coped with losing the man she loved? And how had Bryn as a child so small and defenceless coped with such a terrible loss without it leaving permanent scars?

‘Bryn shut down emotionally after his parents died,’ Agnes went on sadly. ‘I tried to ease him out of it but I’m afraid he resisted all my attempts to get him to talk about it. It was as if his parents had been permanently erased from his mind. He never mentioned them. He still doesn’t. Even the photos I kept about the place would disappear without explanation. I gave up in the end.’

‘He speaks so fondly of you…’

‘Yes, he’s a darling, but as I said you’ll have your work cut out for you. I never thought he’d ever settle down. No one did. It’s a miracle it happened while I was still alive to see it.’

Mia moistened her lips self-consciously. ‘Yes…it is…’

‘I can’t tell you how much it means to me to see him so happy at last,’ the old woman went on. ‘I am so excited about the wedding. I am living for the day.’

Mia gave a tight swallow. ‘So am—’ Her words faded as a tall figure suddenly appeared in the doorway.

‘Is this a private meeting or can anyone join in?’ Bryn asked as he entered the room.

‘Bryn, darling, you’re early,’ Agnes greeted him warmly. ‘Look at the lovely flowers Mia brought me.’

Mia watched as he stooped to press a kiss to his great-aunt’s cheek, trying to work out if he had overheard any of their conversation. She could imagine he would be very annoyed to find her discussing his past with his only living relative. How long had he been standing there?

‘And how is my gorgeous fiancée?’ He turned and pulled her into his embrace, lowering his head to place a scorching kiss on her lips.

She forced herself to meet his glinting dark gaze once he’d lifted his mouth from hers. ‘Hi…’

He held her look for what seemed a very long time before he turned back to his great-aunt. ‘Are you all set for the wedding?’

‘Yes, dear,’ Agnes responded. ‘The nurse is coming with me, as you arranged. I can hardly wait.’

Bryn took Mia’s hand and tucked it through his arm, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. ‘Nor can I, isn’t that right, sweetheart?’

‘Um…that’s right…’ Mia gave a shaky smile.

Bryn waited until they were outside in the car park before he spoke, his tone and frown accusatory. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to visit my great-aunt?’

‘It was a last-minute decision,’ she said, lowering her gaze. ‘I thought she might like some flowers.’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘Not much…the wedding arrangements and stuff…’

His frown increased at her evasive answer. ‘You weren’t tempted to act on your threat to spill the beans?’

‘No, of course not.’ She looked up at him. ‘I didn’t even mean it when I said it, much less intend to ever act on it. I was angry at you. I would never do anything to upset her.’

His eyes were hard as they clashed with hers. ‘You’d better be telling me the truth.’

‘I am telling you the truth but if you don’t stop glaring at me like that your great-aunt along with the staff around here might draw their own conclusions about the true state of our relationship,’ she warned him.

He let out his breath in a ragged stream, his mouth tilting wryly. ‘You’re right. I must have pre-wedding nerves or something.’

‘It’s not too late to call it off,’ she said, fiddling with her car keys in an effort to avoid his eyes again. ‘I’m sure Agnes would understand if you told her the truth.’

‘No.’ His tone was implacable. ‘Our marriage is going ahead come hell or high water. It’s what she wants more than anything. Besides, Annabelle rang me just before I arrived here and told me my latest ratings. My popularity is at an all-time high. If we pulled the plug now it would destroy my credibility and totally ruin my career.’

She gave him a haughty look as she unlocked her car. ‘I hope you’re not expecting empathy from me if that should ever happen.’

‘It’s not going to happen, Mia,’ he said with steely determination. ‘Because we are going to be husband and wife in forty-eight hours, and like I just said to Agnes: I can hardly wait.’

‘You look absolutely beautiful,’ Gina gushed as Mia put the final touches to her bridal make-up two days later. ‘I can’t wait to see Bryn’s face when he sees you.’

Mia gave herself a critical look in the mirror. The skirt of the white satin and tulle gown was voluminous and emphasised her slim waist, and the close-fitting strapless top showcased her upper body to maximum effect. Her make-up was subtle but highlighted her clear grey eyes and the creamy texture of her skin. Gina had done her hair for her, setting it in Velcro rollers first before arranging it on top of her head in a sophisticated style that made her feel like a princess.

‘I guess I look OK,’ she admitted grudgingly.

‘More than OK,’ Gina said, then added with a tiny sigh, ‘But it’s a pity your family aren’t here to see you.’

Mia pretended to be concentrating on attaching her veil rather than meet her friend’s eyes. It had been the hardest thing she’d had to do so far when she’d called her parents the previous night and told them she was getting married the following day. In many ways it had been the performance of her life. She had managed to convince her entire family that it was the real deal, including Ellie, who had called her from Brazil saying she was going to be released in forty-eight hours thanks to Mia’s efforts on her behalf.

Mia had told each of them of her whirlwind love affair with Bryn and how very happy she was. Her parents had initially been disappointed that she had left it so late to tell them but when she explained her reasons they understood her concern that they have the holiday they had planned for so long without interruption.

Ashleigh, so much in love with her own husband, was an easy person to convince. She had fallen in love with Jake Marriott at first sight, so there was no way she would have ever questioned Mia’s story.

‘I think that’s Henry now,’ Gina said, peering out of the window.

Mia took a steadying breath as she reached for the bouquet of white roses, her stomach turning over in trepidation.

There was no way out now.

She was going to be married to Bryn Dwyer within the hour.

Officially.

Legally.

Temporarily.

‘Ready?’ Gina asked with a huge excited grin.

Mia smiled until it hurt. ‘I’m ready.’

Bryn turned to watch Mia walk up the aisle; she had refused his offer of someone to give her away in the absence of her father and decided to do it all by herself with just her flatmate as bridesmaid.

He caught the eye of his great-aunt, who was sitting with a nurse in attendance. The sheer joy on her frail, pale face was all he had ever hoped for and it made him a little less guilt-stricken about how he’d engineered his relationship with Mia.

From the very first moment his eyes had clashed with Mia’s in that café, he had wanted her. And when she’d come to the station and bawled him out he had wanted her even more. He liked her fighting spirit. He liked the way she stood up to him defiantly when every other woman would have given in. He also liked her soft heart; the way she had openly cried when she met his great-aunt for the first time had touched him very deeply. And though he knew it was probably terribly chauvinistic of him, he couldn’t help but feel pleased she hadn’t slept around. It seemed likely she would be less inclined to be indiscreet with someone else, but on the other hand it meant he would have his work cut out for him convincing her to sleep with him, which he very much wanted her to do. He had thought of nothing else; his desire for her throbbed constantly in his blood, until he could barely think about anything else. He saw her as a particular challenge, and the one thing he liked in life was a stiff challenge. She hated him and he looked forward to the challenge of making her fall for him just like every other woman had in the past. It had nothing to do with his feelings. He had no intention of complicating his life with emotions that could only come to grief. He liked her, of course; who wouldn’t? She was feisty and quick-witted and when she wasn’t tearing strips off him her personality was sweet and caring.

He looked down as Mia came and stood next to him, the scent of her flowery perfume filling his nostrils, her tentative smile as she met his gaze through the film of her veil making his throat feel unusually tight. He cleared it discreetly and faced the front, straightening his shoulders and taking a breath as the priest began the ceremony in a solemn, authoritative tone.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…’

CHAPTER NINE

MIA stood very still as Bryn turned to lift her veil from her face at the priest’s command to kiss the bride. His dark gaze meshed with hers for an infinitesimal pause before he lowered his mouth to hers. A soft sigh escaped from her lips and disappeared into the warmth of his mouth as it covered hers in a lingering, passionate kiss that sent rivers of sensation through her body.

You’re not acting, a little voice inside her head began to taunt her but she refused to acknowledge it. Of course she was acting! That was what Bryn was paying her to do, to convince the world that she was in love with him when the very opposite was true.

She hated him.

No, you don’t. That same little voice was back and even more insistent this time.

‘I do.’

Mia hadn’t realised she had spoken the words out loud until she saw the quizzical look on Bryn’s face as he straightened from kissing her.

‘We’ve already said that bit,’ he whispered with a teasing little smile.

‘I—I know…I was just…’ She gave up in relief when the priest announced the signing of the register would take place before the bride and groom would exit the cathedral.

Once the register was signed and some photos taken, they made their way back down the aisle to the strains of Handel’s music, the congregation and interested bystanders swelling towards them as they stepped out into the warm summer sunshine.

The reception was held at the same hotel as the ball had been, the room beautifully and lavishly decorated, and the champagne flowing freely by the time they arrived from having the official photographs taken.

Speeches and toasts were made, the cake was cut and the bridal waltz performed, cameras still flashing madly until it was finally time for Bryn and Mia to leave.

Gina had a tussle over the bouquet with several other young women but she was victorious in the end, although the bouquet she held proudly aloft was suspiciously short of a few blooms.

The ever-present journalists pressed forward as Bryn helped Mia into his car, their microphones outstretched. ‘Where’s the honeymoon going to be, Mr Dwyer?’ one of them asked.

‘How long will you be away?’ another pushed in.

‘No comment,’ Bryn said and closed Mia’s door. He waved to everyone before he got in the driver’s seat and leaning across gave Mia a long, sensual kiss for the benefit of the cameras.

Mia was already feeling a bit light-headed from all the champagne she’d consumed and his kiss made her head spin even more. She sank against him, her senses reeling at the erotic message being communicated by his lips and tongue.

He lifted his head and, smiling once more for the Press, he gunned the engine and they were away, balloons and tin cans and streamers trailing in their wake, the shaving-foam message ‘Just Married’ scrawled all over the back window.

‘How are you holding up?’ Bryn asked the silent figure beside him a few minutes later.

She sent him a rueful sideways glance. ‘My face aches from smiling all the time.’

He gave a soft chuckle of laughter. ‘Yeah, so does mine.’ He glanced in the rear-view mirror at the bouncing cans and pulled over to the side of the road to remove them, placing them in a rubbish bin on the pavement before getting back in behind the wheel and easing the car into the traffic.

Mia stared down at the two rings on her left hand. It hardly seemed real that she was sitting next to a man she hadn’t even met in person a little over a month ago. And now she was going on a honeymoon with him to his private retreat in the Queensland Sunshine Coast town of Noosa.

‘Do you think the Press will follow us?’ she asked to fill the little silence.

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ he answered. ‘I think now the wedding has come and gone their interest will die down. It has to. All they were really interested in was whether or not we were really getting married. No one thought I would ever do it.’

Mia gave her rings another twirl, not trusting herself to chance a glance his way. ‘Your great-aunt seemed to be very happy for you.’

‘Yes, she was.’ His eyes flicked to her briefly. ‘I guess I should thank you for playing the role so well. You must have acted the beautiful-bride part before. You were a natural.’

‘I’ve been to a lot of weddings,’ she said and then added in a self-deprecating tone, ‘besides, the priest tells you what to say. It’s hardly challenging. It’s like having an Autocue to prompt you.’

He smiled as he took the turn to the domestic terminal. ‘I guess the challenging bit is yet to come.’

Mia decided not to respond. She’d been steadily panicking about the bit to come all day and wondered how in the world she was going to negotiate her way through it.

Ever since she’d spoken with his great-aunt Mia had felt increasingly confused about her feelings towards him. She could still taste his kiss on her lips and it worried her that once they were alone she wouldn’t have the resolve to keep her growing attraction to him under control. He was hard enough to resist while she hated him. How much more tempting would he be if she started to like him?

But you do like him, the little voice in her head returned. She tried to block it but it kept on filling her head with nonsense.

You’re in love with him.

You want to spend the rest of your life with him.

You want to have his children.

She clutched at her bag with both hands, staring down at the rings on her finger that bound her to him.

It couldn’t possibly be true. How could she love a man who had destroyed her career with a few words he’d written, thinking nothing of it, as if it were a simple game of sport?

She was just falling under his sensual spell like every other silly woman who didn’t have a measure of self-control. She would just have to try harder to avoid becoming yet another of his conquests.

Falling in love with Bryn Dwyer was too dangerous.

Their relationship was temporary.

She had to remember that.

‘Come on, Mia.’ Bryn’s voice broke through her reverie as he opened her door a few minutes later. ‘Our plane leaves in forty minutes. We need to check in before the flight closes.’

The flight to Maroochydore took an hour and a half and Mia was glad that for most of it she had slept. She woke just as they were coming in to land, the lights of the coastal town situated on the south bank of the Maroochy River twinkling in the clear night air.

Bryn had organised a hire car for them and as soon as the luggage was collected he began the thirty-minute drive north to Noosa.

‘Have you been to Noosa before?’ he asked once they were on their way.

‘Yes, but it was quite a while ago, ten years at least. We came on a family holiday,’ she answered. ‘It might have completely changed by now.’

‘That’s what so nice about it up here,’ he said. ‘It never really changes. Sure, there’ve been developments up and down the river and along the coast, but nothing like the massive high-rises on the Gold Coast. Noosa National Park is a great place to walk through. You can even do a beach crawl if you want. There are quiet, shady bays or great surf spots, so whatever your mood you can usually find somewhere to relax.’

‘I remember the national park. My sister Ashleigh hated the long walks my parents kept taking us on. Ellie wanted to stop and look at every bit of wildlife and I kept running on ahead, driving my parents crazy in case I got lost, which I seem to recall I did on more than one occasion.’

‘You must have been a cute kid,’ he said after a little pause. ‘I envy your family life. It must have been wonderful having such a loving environment to grow up in.’

‘It wasn’t always fun and games,’ she said. ‘I love my sisters but we fought a lot when we were younger. I guess all kids do.’

There was another lengthy silence.

‘I often wondered what it would have been like to have a brother or a sister.’

She looked at him. ‘It must have been very hard growing up without your parents.’

‘It was. But I learned to cope. My great-aunt did the best she could but I wasn’t the easiest person to be around at times.’

‘Do you have any photos of your parents?’

‘I guess I have them somewhere.’

‘Why don’t you have them out on show?’

‘I’m not the sentimental type,’ he said. ‘It’s in the past and I’m only interested in the future.’

Mia decided to step out on a limb. ‘Your great-aunt said you used to hide any photos of your parents when she put them out. Why did you do that?’

He gave her a hard little glance. ‘You sound as if the two of you had a very cosy chat.’

‘I just wanted to find out a bit more about the man I was marrying.’

‘And did she enlighten you?’

Mia frowned at his sharpened tone. ‘There’s no need to be so defensive.’

‘I’m not being defensive. I just don’t appreciate you interfering in things that don’t concern you.’

‘I think I have the right to know what has made you the way you are.’

‘Why? So you can reform me, to make me more user-friendly?’

‘You’re way beyond reform,’ she snapped back irritably. ‘I wouldn’t even bother trying.’

‘Good. Then at least we know where we both stand.’

Mia frowned as she sat back in her seat with a sigh of frustration. He was like a closed book. As soon as she tried to prise open the pages he would just as quickly snap them shut. She knew he was hurting—she could almost feel it coming off him whenever the subject of his childhood was raised. It was like an aura surrounding him. He didn’t trust life not to hit him from the left field again when he was least expecting it.

He reminded her of Ashleigh’s gorgeous husband, Jake. He had hidden his inner pain behind a façade of cynicism that had very nearly destroyed her sister’s life and his own as well. But Ashleigh’s enduring love had found a healing pathway to his soul.

Did she have what it took to do the same for Bryn? And more to the point—did she even want to try?

‘I think you’ll like my house,’ Bryn said after another lengthy silence. ‘I had it designed specially.’

As olive branches went it wasn’t quite what she had been hoping for but she realised he was making an effort and she forced herself to accept it in the spirit in which it was given.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ she said.

Mia looked around her a few minutes later in awe. She had been expecting Bryn’s beach hideaway to be luxurious but nothing had quite prepared her for the sheer brilliance of the design that gave him sweeping views over the Noosa River on one side and the beaches and national park on the other. The house was on three levels and was tucked in the bush land that fringed the area, offering a level of privacy that was unbelievable. There were no curtains at any of the main windows—they weren’t necessary as the house was set higher than the rest of its neighbours and the thick surrounding bush was an effective screen.

‘What do you think?’ Bryn asked as soon as he’d shown her the entry level where the main lounge was situated as well as the kitchen and spacious dining area.

‘It’s…wonderful…’ She turned to look at him. ‘No wonder you love coming here. It’s like a private paradise.’

‘Come and I’ll show you the rest of the house from the top floor down,’ he said, leading the way to the open-plan stairs.

Mia followed him as he showed her the three large bedrooms on the top level. A wall of built-in wardrobes gave each room a feeling of space, as did the minimalist décor and pristine white bed linen on the beds. Each en suite had a large, free-standing bowl-like white basin on top of a simple vanity and a big walk-in shower, and the floor and walls were tiled with marble the colour of flecked sand.

He led her back down the stairs to the lower level, where an impressive gym was set up in a large room that led out through French doors to a lap pool in the private garden in which frangipani trees scented the balmy night air.

‘Wow…’ Mia breathed in wonder as she looked around. ‘You sure know the way to an exercise junkie’s heart.’

Bryn chuckled as she bent down to trail her fingers in the water of the pool to test its temperature. ‘I was wondering how you maintained that stunning figure of yours. Now I know.’

Mia felt his compliment wash over her like the warm silk of the water around her fingers. She straightened from the pool and tried to hide her reaction but he caught one of her hands and brought her to a standstill right in front of him.

He stroked the backs of the knuckles of one hand over the heightened colour of her cheek in a movement so gentle her breath came to a stumbling halt right in the middle of her chest. Her stomach gave a little flutter, just like the wings of a trapped moth inside a tiny confined space.

She moistened her suddenly dry mouth at the dark intensity in his midnight-blue gaze as it locked with hers.

The perfumed air swirled around them, wrapping them in a sensual mantle of summer warmth, the exotic atmosphere tipping the balance of distance Mia had desperately tried to maintain between them ever since their marriage was formalised that afternoon.

She felt sure he was going to kiss her. She could feel it along the exposed skin of her arms and legs, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifting in anticipation as his head came inexorably closer. Her eyelids fluttered closed as his mouth touched down on hers with breath-like softness, as if the moth from inside her stomach had somehow escaped and landed ever so gently on her lips.

Bryn lifted his head a mere fraction, his mouth still so close she could feel the movement of air from his breath over her acutely sensitive skin.

Two beats of silence passed before he lowered his mouth back to hers, the pressure increasing subtly and tantalisingly. Mia felt the full rush of her blood surging through her veins at the first stroke of his tongue over her lips. She parted her lips and he entered her mouth with gentle but firm insistence, searching for her tongue and mating with it possessively.

Mia felt the prickling of her breasts as he drew her closer into his embrace, her nipples tightening, while her legs and spine felt as if they had been instantly liquefied when one of his hard thighs slipped between hers. She leaned into his hold, her body craving more of his touch, her senses on fire where his hardness probed her softness. Desire exploded inside her, running like a hot stream that threatened to get out of control now it was finally unleashed. She tried to pull it back, tried to get her responses under some semblance of control, but it was impossible. His mouth was like a lighted taper to the spilled fuel of her need, sending hot, licking flames to every single part of her body. She could feel the fullness of her breasts aching for his touch and almost unconsciously began to press herself closer. His erection burned and pulsed against her and she heard his low groan of spiralling need as he deepened the kiss even further.

Without taking his mouth off hers he pressed her back against the wall of the house, one of his hands going to her breast, cupping it through the thin fabric of her top, his thumb rolling over the hardened point of her nipple. Mia felt her breath trip over something invisible as he lifted his head from her mouth, his dark eyes glittering as they held hers for a tiny pause.

Her stomach gave a complete somersault as he slid his hand beneath her top, the warm glide of his fingers over her bare flesh sending her senses into a tailspin. He pushed aside her lacy bra and brought his mouth down to her breast, his lips closing over her nipple and suckling gently until she felt as if he had pulled on an invisible string that was attached to her feminine core. She felt each delicious tug on her sensitised flesh, the tiny arrows of delight like spot fires being lit throughout her quivering body.

His lips left her breast to return to her mouth, this time with increasing urgency, as if he was not quite in control of his reaction to her. She felt his struggle to hold back, the increasing tension in his body where it pressed so temptingly against hers and the latent strength in his arms as he hauled her even closer.

Her hands were in the dark brown silk of his hair, her mouth kissing him back with all the passion of her nature. Her tongue flirted with his, danced with his and became boldly intimate with his, while her heart raced with breakneck speed and her body pulsed with escalating need.

She heard him give another low, deep groan as he wrenched his mouth away, looking down at her with eyes ablaze with unalleviated desire.

It was a moment or two before he spoke but when he did he did so with an ironic twist to his mouth. ‘I can only assume from your unbridled reaction to me just now that none of your previous would-be lovers had a comprehensive gym and pool with which to impress you.’

She injected her tone with disdain. ‘So you can kiss. Big deal. So can most primates, even chimpanzees and gorillas.’

He gave a soft chuckle that tugged on that invisible string again. ‘That’s not all I can do, baby. If you continue to respond to me like that—virgin or not—I’m not sure this is going to stay a paper marriage for very long.’

‘You shouldn’t have kissed me in the first place,’ Mia said. ‘It’s not exactly as if we have an audience right now.’

‘I know, it was a bit unfair but you were so tempting I couldn’t resist one little kiss. You have such a beautiful mouth when it’s not slinging insults my way.’

‘I wouldn’t sling insults your way if you would just keep your hands and mouth to yourself.’

‘I seem to remember your hands and mouth doing their own little bit of wandering.’

‘You’re imagining it. I was trying to get away.’

He gave her another taunting smile. ‘That was some struggle you were putting up.’

She gave him a withering look without answering.

‘In case you’re wondering, there is no housekeeper we have to act in front of here,’ he said. ‘The place is maintained by the neighbours. I pay them a fee to keep an eye on things when I’m away, but while we are here we will have absolute privacy.’

He held the French doors open for her and once they were indoors added, ‘You can have whichever bedroom you like.’

‘Which one is yours?’

‘Are you asking because you want to avoid it or to share it?’

She gave him a glittering glare. ‘What do you think?’

He held her defiant look for a little longer than was comfortable. Mia felt herself inwardly squirming under his steady surveillance and wondered if he could see the truth written on her face even though she did her level best to disguise it.

She wanted him.

For the first time in her life she had come face to face with a man who was temptation personified. Her flesh was still tingling from his touch and she knew if he took even one step towards her and took her in his arms again she would not have the strength of will to resist him.

‘Go to bed, Mia,’ he said after a short, throbbing silence. ‘Otherwise I might be tempted to ravish you right here and now.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

His night-sky eyes grew even darker and his voice when he spoke was gravel-rough. ‘Don’t play with matches, sweetheart. I’m sorely tempted to finish what we started out by the pool and one look from you is all it will take to get the flames going again.’

Mia turned for the stairs, forcing herself to go at a dignified pace even though she felt like bolting.

‘Goodnight, little virgin wife of mine,’ Bryn said, his tone distinctly mocking.

She gritted her teeth and with one last blistering look over her shoulder, opened the first bedroom she came to and closed the door on his taunting smiling face.

CHAPTER TEN

MIA headed straight for the en suite. Shutting the door, she stared at her wild appearance in the mirror, her hands clutching the edge of the vanity to steady her trembling legs.

She had to learn to control herself around him! What was she thinking, kissing him back like that? It was totally crazy. It was just asking for the sort of heartbreak she could well do without.

She turned around and, leaning back against the vanity, released a heavy sigh. Of course, resisting him would be a whole lot easier if he weren’t so damned tempting. Those dark blue eyes positively smouldered with sensuality every time they locked with hers. And those lips! What woman could resist a kiss that felt as soft as a butterfly landing on an exotic bloom, or not respond when the same kiss turned into something deeply erotic with the determined thrust of his searching tongue?

She looked down at her breasts and suppressed a little shiver of reaction as she thought of his mouth around her nipple. He had been so very close to tipping her over the edge if only he knew it.

She gave a little scowl as she reached for the shower tap.

Maybe he did know it.

The shower was just what she needed; it was cool and refreshing and washed away the dust and damp stickiness of long-distance travel.

It had been a long day and tiredness was creeping up on her, making her sway on her feet as she wrapped the soft, fluffy white towel—bigger than any towel she’d ever seen before—around herself like a sarong.

The bed beckoned her as soon as she left the en suite, its wide white-feather softness looking like a cloud of comfort in the middle of the floor.

She gave the room a quick, sweeping glance for her suitcase so she could retrieve her nightwear. She’d seen Bryn carry their luggage upstairs earlier but there was no sign of it in here.

She gave a little shrug of tired indifference and slipped the towel off, climbing in between the cool sheets and laying her head down on the soft-as-air feather pillow as she closed her eyes with a sigh of relief…

‘So guess who’s been sleeping in my bed?’

Mia’s eyes sprang open at the deep, lazy drawl, the bright glare from the overhead light making her wince as she struggled upright, clutching the sheet to cover her nakedness.

‘Your bed?’ she gasped, her heart thudding in alarm as she registered that he was wearing nothing but a towel slung loosely around his waist.

Bryn gave her an indolent smile. ‘And here I was, thinking it was going to take me the best part of the week to convince you to sleep with me.’ He reached for the edge of his towel and dropped it to the floor.

Mia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. She suddenly realised she was staring and quickly flung the sheet over her head. ‘For God’s sake, cover yourself!’ she croaked.

He gave a deep chuckle of laughter. ‘Haven’t you seen a naked man before?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice muffled from under the sheet.

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘My nephew is five years old, that’s what’s the problem.’

‘So he’s got a bit of growing to do, but we all end up more or less the same.’

Mia wasn’t so sure about that. She’d seen plenty of toned male bodies at her local gym, admittedly covered by close-fitting gym gear, but Bryn’s was something else again—especially naked.

She felt a little tug on the sheet covering her and clutched at it in panic. ‘What are you doing?’ she shrieked when it slipped out of her desperate grasp.

Bryn’s gaze burned as it ran over her and she hastily crossed her legs and covered her breasts with her hands. Her words of protest locked somewhere in her throat as he stepped towards her, her mouth going dry and her heart threatening to make its way out of her chest when he sat down next to her, his muscled, hair-roughened thigh touching her smooth one.

‘You’re in my bed, which I can only assume means you’ve changed your mind and now want to sleep with me,’ he said.

‘I—I didn’t know it was your bed.’

He stroked a finger over the upper curves of her breasts where her hands couldn’t quite conceal them. ‘Don’t be shy, Mia. I want to look at you. All of you.’

Mia could hardly breathe; his touch was so light but so very tempting. She could feel the stirrings of desire deep within her and there was nothing she could do to control them. Electricity fizzed along her flesh wherever he touched; even the air seemed to be charged with it. She could feel the crackling tension as his eyes roved her slim form, lingering on the length of her tightly crossed legs and what she was desperately trying to hide from him.

‘Uncross your legs, Mia,’ he commanded gently.

She shook her head, her lips tightly compressed, not trusting herself to speak.

‘I want you, Mia, and I know you want me,’ he said. ‘I can see it in your eyes, I can feel it in your kisses and I can even smell it on your skin.’

She wished she could deny it but she could smell it herself. The delicate feminine fragrance of desire, the silky liquid that betrayed her vulnerability to him as nothing else could do. He had only to touch her where she most ached to be touched and he would feel it for himself. She could almost feel the thick, smooth glide of his finger moving inside her, stretching her in preparation for his possession.

‘It’s just hormones,’ she said, somewhat breathlessly. ‘You shouldn’t be feeling flattered at all.’

She could tell he didn’t believe her by the laughing glint in his eyes but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he patted her thigh and stood up, not even bothering to hide his erection.

‘I’ll leave you in peace. I was just teasing. I know you’ll come to me when you’re ready.’

‘You’ll be waiting a very long time,’ she said with much less conviction than she’d intended.

‘I can be patient,’ he said, holding her defiant gaze. ‘Besides, there are some things in life that are well worth the wait. It makes the prize all the more valuable if you’ve had to wait for it, don’t you think?’

She gave him a sour look. ‘If you want a prize, go and enter a meat-tray raffle. I’m not on offer.’

He picked up his towel and wrapped it around his waist once more, a smile still playing around his mouth. ‘Sweet dreams, Mia. I’ll be in the next room if you want me.’

‘I don’t want you,’ she said but she knew it was more for her own benefit than his.

He picked up the sheet off the floor and spread it over her, tucking her in like a child, stooping to place a soft kiss to her forehead. ‘So you keep saying but we both know it isn’t true.’

‘I suppose someone with the ego the size of yours could only be expected to say something like that,’ she bit out resentfully. ‘Has there ever been a woman you haven’t been able to lure into your bed?’

‘Not so far.’

‘Poor misguided fools,’ she muttered. ‘I wonder if there’s a support group for them all. It should be called BDCO.’

‘What does that stand for?’

‘Bryn Dywer’s Cast-Offs,’ she said. ‘Life-time membership free in exchange for a broken heart.’

His shoulders shook as he laughed. ‘As far as I know I haven’t broken any hearts irreparably,’ he said as he reached for the door knob. ‘Sleep tight. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Mia let out a slow, prickly breath as the door closed behind him. If she wasn’t very careful hers could well be the first heart he would damage beyond repair. If she was honest with herself, she was more than halfway to being in love with him as it was; it wouldn’t take too many more of those scorching kisses of his to make her go beyond the point of no return.

Mia woke to brilliant sunshine and the chorus of birds, the distant roll of the ocean in the distance filling her with instant energy. She tossed the sheet aside and came up short when she saw her suitcase next to the built-in wardrobe. Bryn must have brought it in during the night or the early hours of the morning.

A feathery sensation passed over her at the thought of him seeing her sleeping in that big bed, perhaps uncovered and totally vulnerable. She’d been hot during the night and recalled throwing the sheet off at one point until the cooler air of the morning had made her reach for it again.

She gave herself a mental shake and quickly unpacked a bikini and a two-piece sports outfit and trainers from her case and dressed quickly, tying her hair in a high pony-tail.

The house was quiet as she came downstairs but she saw signs of Bryn having had a cup of tea in the kitchen. The kettle was still warm and his cup was rinsed and placed upside down on the draining board.

She heard the clang of weights below her in the gym downstairs and pictured him working out, no doubt lifting three times her body weight as if it were nothing. She decided against joining him. She’d seen enough of his body last night and didn’t need reminding of how fabulously toned and muscled he was.

Besides, it was a beautiful day and she could hear the ocean calling. Hard exercise was what she needed to clear her mind from the disturbing images that kept creeping in. Images of her pinned intimately by Bryn’s hard body, his hips moving in time with hers as they both climbed towards the summit of sensual release. She could imagine he would be an exciting and demanding lover; every time he’d touched her she’d felt the hot charge of sexual energy pass from his body to hers.

She let out a frustrated breath and set a brisk pace as she ran down the steps leading to the footpath to the beach.

There were a few surfers already out riding the point break on Main Beach and she jogged along until she came to the pathway leading to Noosa National Park. She followed the coastal track looking out over Laguna Bay and then on to Boiling Pot and Dolphin Point, the growing heat of the morning making her turn just past Winch Cove to head into the cooler shadows of the melaleuca and tea-tree forest.

The honey-sweet smell of the white-canopied bush filled her nostrils as she jogged past gnarled banksias and spiky pandanus. Bush turkeys scratched around the undergrowth and overhead she heard the flap of large wings and looked up to see a pair of glossy black cockatoos flying past.

Further along the track she passed a young couple who were walking hand in hand, their easy-going, loving chatter striking a note of regret in Mia’s chest.

How wonderful it would be to be loved like that, she thought. She wanted to be loved the way her sister Ashleigh was loved by her husband, Jake, the way her parents had loved each other for nearly thirty years.

But what she wanted was impossible; Bryn wasn’t the thirty-year-relationship type. Thirty days was too long for him. He wasn’t interested in continuing their association past the point of his great-aunt’s death. And that could be a matter of just a few short months or possibly even weeks.

The track veered back to Laguna Bay and Mia ran on down to Main Beach, and, leaving her shoes and outer gear on the sand, headed for the waves in her red and white bikini.

She swam the length of the beach, which ran parallel to the popular shopping and restaurant strip of Hastings Street. She turned at the rocky outcrop at one end to go back the way she’d come, the water warm but still refreshing. Every so often a swelling wave would pick her up and let her down again in a gentle rolling movement before it gathered force on its way to the shore.

The sun burned down with intense summer heat and when she waded back through the wash to the sand she could see the numbers on the beach had swelled. Young children were playing at the water’s edge with buckets and spades, their parents close by, where several colourful umbrellas were already up in defence against the scorching rays of the sun.

She sat and looked out to sea, hoping for a moment to gather her thoughts before returning to Bryn’s house. But even after sitting there soaking up the warmth of the sun for several minutes she had to finally acknowledge that her vigorous run and swim hadn’t been able to do what she’d hoped they would do. It was impossible to avoid any longer the truth that was as persistent as the waves as they drummed against the shore.

She couldn’t escape it any more; there was no running away from it even if she ran around the world and back twice over.

She was in love with Bryn Dwyer.

She wasn’t sure how it had happened. She had thought him the most detestable man alive and yet somehow over the past few weeks he had become the very focus of her life. She couldn’t imagine how her life was going to be without him in it once their marriage was brought to its inevitable end. How would she cope with hearing him on the radio every weekday or reading his acerbic comments in his weekly column? Perhaps once his great-aunt was no longer around he would even joke about his publicity stunt, making a fool of Mia in front of the whole of Sydney, telling his listeners he’d married a twenty-four-year-old virgin who couldn’t act to save herself.

‘I thought I might find you down here.’ Bryn’s deep voice suddenly sounded above her.

Mia looked up at him in surprise. ‘I…I went for a run…’

His eyes swept over her reddened features. ‘So I see.’

She turned back to the sea. The sight of him in nothing but a pair of board shorts and trainers was far too unsettling. ‘I’ve just had a swim and now I think I’ll have a little sun-bake for a while.’

‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘No.’

‘Aren’t you hungry?’

‘No,’ she lied.

‘Have you had something to drink?’

‘No…’

He stretched out the large beach towel he’d brought with him next to where she was sitting. ‘Here, lie down on that and I’ll go and get you some water.’

Mia turned onto her stomach so she could watch him as he walked back along the promenade to a café on Hastings Street. She saw several female heads turning as he went past, his tanned and muscular but lean frame obviously as attractive to others as it was to her. She gave a little sigh and rested her chin on her hands and closed her eyes.

He came back in a few minutes with a bottle of water and some fresh fruit salad and handed them both to her.

She met his eyes briefly. ‘Thank you.’

He sat down on the edge of the towel and looked out to sea. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Fine,’ she said between mouthfuls of juicy mango and tangy pineapple. ‘I like listening to the sound of the ocean. It puts me to sleep every time.’

Bryn wished he could say the same for himself. He’d spent a great deal of the night tossing and turning restlessly, his body still on fire. When he’d taken her bag into her room once she was asleep it had been all he could do not to join her in the bed and pull her into his arms. His desire for her was beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. It gnawed at him relentlessly, making his body ache to possess her. He could feel it now just sitting next to her on the sand, her trim, golden body so close he could smell the hint of vanilla on her skin in spite of the exercise she’d taken.

He turned to look at her and asked, ‘What would you like to do today?’

‘I don’t know…sun-bake and stuff…What did you have in mind?’

‘If I told you what I had in mind you might slap my face.’

Mia stared at the piece of kiwi fruit she’d just speared with her plastic fork, her skin prickling all over as she felt the weight of his studied gaze. ‘Don’t you ever think of anything else besides satisfying your bodily urges?’

He leaned on one elbow, his long, tanned legs stretched out beside hers, his expression teasing. ‘Is that why you’re an obsessive exerciser? To control your own bodily urges?’

She gave him a chilly little glance. ‘I happen to believe in living healthily. The human heart is a muscle like any other. Daily exercise is essential to keep it in good working order.’

‘There are other ways of exercising the heart,’ he pointed out. ‘I could show you if you like.’

‘No, thank you.’

He laughed and, picking up a handful of fine sand, began to trickle it over her up-bent thigh.

‘Stop that!’ She slapped his hand away and began dusting off the grains from between her legs.

‘Come in and rinse it off with me,’ he suggested, springing to his feet and holding out a hand.

Mia scowled at him but her hand slipped into his regardless. He pulled her to her feet and, releasing her hand, issued her an irresistible challenge. ‘I’ll race you to the water.’

‘You’re on,’ she said and took off at full speed for the ocean. She had to skirt around a toddler and his mother at the water’s edge, which cost her valuable seconds, but she made it to the first breaker and would have beaten him convincingly except he grabbed one of her ankles and tugged her backwards.

She came up spluttering and in revenge scooped a handful of water up and tossed it at his face. ‘You cheated!’

He ducked her liquid missile and caught both of her hands in his, pulling her towards him. ‘I warned you once before, sweetheart, I don’t always play by the rules.’

A gentle wave at her back pushed her even closer to him and he steadied her with his hands on her waist, his eyes, even bluer than the water around them, locking on hers. She moistened her mouth as his head came down, her eyes closing on her soft sigh as his lips found hers. It was a deeply sensual kiss, made all the more alluring because they were skin on skin in the warm water. Mia had never felt so aware of her body before. She could feel the tightening of her breasts and the melting of her bones as he deepened the kiss. The waves rocked against them, leaving her in no doubt of Bryn’s thickening erection pressed so tantalisingly against the naked flesh of her lower belly. She writhed against him, wanting more of his burning heat but lower, where a hollow ache pulsed for him to fill.

After a few breathless minutes Bryn lifted his mouth from hers and looked down at her with a mocking glint in his eyes. ‘I can only assume that your rather convincing performance was for the benefit of the crowd on the beach.’

Mia was temporarily lost for words. She hadn’t given the crowd a single thought. All she had thought about was how he made her feel and how much she wanted him.

‘That’s what you’re paying me to do, isn’t it?’ she said at last, her tone sounding terse and embittered as she pulled herself from his hold and stalked back through the waist-deep water to the sand.

Bryn turned to watch her make her way through the foamy wash and frowned. ‘Yes…’he said but the words were lost on the waves as they rushed to follow her to the shore. ‘Yes, it is.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MIA gathered up her things and waited on the promenade for Bryn, who had stopped to help a small child who had tumbled over close to the water’s edge. She watched as he crouched down and gently set the toddler back on his feet, handing him his tiny plastic bucket and spade, his warm smile doing something all mushy and wobbly to Mia’s insides.

The child’s mother rushed up to thank him and after exchanging a few words he picked up his sports shoes off the sand and walked over to where Mia was waiting.

‘Your boy-scout deed done for the day?’ she queried with an arched brow.

He frowned at her tone. ‘I happen to like kids. Is there a law against it?’

‘I thought playboys avoided them like the plague.’

He sent her an inscrutable sideways glance as he bent to tie his trainers. ‘But I’m not a playboy now, am I? I’m a married man.’

‘Only temporarily,’ she reminded him, ‘and only on paper,’

‘That paper is already starting to burn at the edges,’ he said as he straightened to look at her. ‘Could be it’s a pile of ashes by morning.’

Mia didn’t answer but she felt a sensation of something hot and liquid flood her lower body at his arrogantly confident statement. She had never met a more sexually compelling man in her entire life and she knew it would take every single gram of her will-power to resist him.

She swung away and began to walk at a brisk pace but within two strides he was alongside her, his beach towel rolled up under one arm.

‘Do you fancy a walk through the park or have you had enough exercise for the day?’ he asked as they came to the Noosa Heads Surf Life-Saving Club building.

Mia would have loved a cool shower but the thought of going back to the house with him where they would be on their own was a lot more disturbing than a walk through the national park, where at least there would be others about.

‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘I cut my run short. I only ran as far as Winch Cove as I was getting so hot. I came back through the bush.’

‘We can walk to Alexandria Bay for a swim if you like. There are usually less people there, as it’s a bit further along the circuit.’

‘That sounds good.’

‘Wait here while I get us some water to carry,’ he said as they came to a shop.

Mia waited as he purchased some bottled water and they were soon on their way, walking in silence under the shade of the eucalypts that fringed the walkway to the national park.

They were not far from Boiling Pot when Bryn took her arm to stall her. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing above their heads.

She looked up and saw a mother koala perched in the fork of a eucalypt, a tiny baby clutching at her back.

‘Oh, wow!’ she said excitedly. ‘Aren’t they adorable?’

Bryn smiled at her. ‘This is a natural habitat for them. I occasionally see them in my garden but they generally avoid suburbia if there are dogs about.’

‘It’s so wonderful to see them out in the wild instead of behind bars at the zoo,’ she said as they continued walking along the path.

‘Zoos have their place,’ he said. ‘Think about all the breeding programmes that have been set up specifically to protect endangered species.’

‘I know but it seems so sad that animals can’t run free as they are meant to do. My sister Ellie is a bit of an animal-rights campaigner. She’s told me horror stories of what some people do to animals for financial gain. I had no idea people could be so cruel. I wonder if their conscience ever bothers them at night.’

‘It takes all types, I guess,’ he agreed, suppressing an inward frown.

They walked on a bit further until they came to Dolphin Point. Mia joined some other tourists who were peering over the cliff to see if there were any dolphins about, but as far as she could tell there was no sign of any in amongst the rolling waves.

‘Have you seen any there before?’ she asked Bryn as they continued on.

‘Sometimes—that’s why it’s called Dolphin Point. There are several whale-watching tours you can take on the Sunshine Coast, and you often can see dolphins on them as well as humpback whales.’

‘I went on one of those the last time I came here,’ she said with a wry grimace. ‘I was seasick the whole time. I had to be taken to hospital to be rehydrated. Ellie was totally disgusted with me for spoiling the trip.’

‘Well, I guess I’d better strike that off the entertainment list for this week.’

‘Oh, I’m much better now,’ she said. ‘I’ve been out sailing with friends lots of times and haven’t had any trouble.’

‘You sound like you have a very busy social life.’

She sent him a reproachful little glance from beneath her brows. ‘Yes, well, I used to.’

‘Just because we are married doesn’t mean you can’t have friends.’

‘But no male friends, right?’

He stopped walking, snagging her arm before she could go on without him. He turned her around to face him, his fingers sliding down to the slender bones of her wrist. ‘Male friends are fine if they remain platonic, although I still find it hard to believe any man could look at you without thinking how it would feel to make love to you.’

Mia felt her skin lift as his dark eyes ran over her, all her senses going on full alert at the feel of his long fingers around her wrist, where she was sure he could feel her pulses already leaping.

‘Not all men have an insatiable appetite for sex,’ she said. ‘And the ones I associate with would never dream of tainting our friendship with repeated attempts to get me into bed.’

He gave a little grunt of cynicism. ‘That’s only because they’re probably gay or already involved with someone else. Anyone else would have to be dead from the waist down not to notice you and want to have you as soon as they could.’

Mia felt as if the hot summer air was alive with bristling tension as she held his gaze. His desire for her was like a living, breathing entity. She could feel it burning through her skin where his fingers encircled her wrist, and she knew if it hadn’t been for the sound of other hikers coming towards them on the track he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her senseless. And what was more—she wouldn’t have stopped him.

He released her wrist and stepped aside to make room for the tourists, the frustration at being interrupted evident to her in the way his jaw was set, even though he offered the group a polite greeting in response to theirs.

He waited until the group was well ahead before he resumed walking, asking after a few more strides, ‘Were you disappointed none of your family could make it to the wedding?’

Mia quickly averted her gaze to look at Granite Bay, a small, rocky beach below them. ‘No, why should I be? It wasn’t as if it were real. Who knows, our marriage could even be over before they get back? I could probably have got away with not telling them at all.’

He gave her another sideways glance, a small frown settling between his brows. ‘When did you tell them?’

She met his eyes briefly before turning to concentrate on stepping over the tree roots on the sandy pathway. ‘The day before the ceremony.’

‘Hardly enough time for them to get back,’ he observed. ‘Why did you leave it until then?’

‘I hated lying to them. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it off in front of them on the day. A last-minute telephone conversation was much easier to handle. I figured there was no way they could get back in time and see the truth for themselves. I can act in front of strangers, even some friends, but my family is another thing entirely.’

Bryn frowned as she walked ahead, her back stiff as she strode out to put as much distance as she could between them. His fairly limited experience of family life had made him insensitive to what she might have felt lying to her family and friends about their relationship. He’d assumed the money he was offering her would settle any of her misgivings, but it was clear she was having a hard time of it now.

His conscience gave him another sharp nudge. He had sought a quick-fix solution to his own problems without truly considering the impact on her. Yes, he’d achieved his goal of fulfilling his great-aunt’s dream for him, also securing her considerable estate, but what about Mia’s hopes and dreams? He’d crushed them with a few ill-chosen words, got her removed from the company, dropped by her agent and practically blackmailed her into a temporary marriage with him.

A marriage she couldn’t wait to get out of.

He drew in a breath that felt like pain at the thought of their marriage ending soon. He’d become used to having her around to spar with him. He’d also become a little too used to having her soft mouth beneath his. But the terms he’d laid down were temporary. As soon as his great-aunt passed away Mia would be free to move on.

But what if their marriage was no longer temporary? What if their relationship was no longer just an act, but real and vibrant and passionately fulfilling for both of them?

She said she hated him but he knew in spite of it she was attracted to him. What would it take to get her to agree to a more permanent relationship with him?

He lengthened his stride and caught up with her. ‘Do you remember when I said no one thought I’d ever go through with marriage?’

She turned to look at him. ‘Yes…’

‘The truth is, Mia, if you hadn’t come along when you did I probably would never have married.’

Mia wasn’t sure where this was leading. ‘You have something against marriage?’ she asked.

‘Not entirely,’ he said. ‘I recognise that it occasionally works, but close to fifty per cent of marriages end in divorce, often acrimoniously. I wasn’t sure I wanted to add to the stats.’

Her forehead creased in a frown as she pointed out, ‘But you’re going to add to them anyway now that you’ve married me temporarily.’

His dark gaze was trained on hers. ‘If we divorce we don’t have to do it acrimoniously.’

‘If?’ She gave him a startled look. ‘What do you mean, if?’

‘When you think about it there’s at least a fifty per cent chance of things working out between us,’ he said.

‘One has to really admire your optimism but I’m afraid in this case it’s totally inappropriate.’

‘What? You don’t think we could make a go of it? Arranged marriages are conducted all over the world where the couple neither like nor know each other initially and yet many of them go on to live very happy lives together.’

‘Arranged marriages are an insult to women!’ she said, beginning to stomp along the path once more. ‘It’s utterly barbaric to be forced into a marriage with a perfect stranger or someone decades older than you.’

‘Marriages have been arranged for centuries,’ he countered as he worked hard to keep pace. ‘In fact, the notion of a couple falling in love and marrying is a very recent one. Before about two hundred years ago couples married for political reasons or for the sake of securing family property and asset-building or to strengthen community relationships. Of course, affection often occurred in ages past but it wasn’t a given.’

‘I always knew you were living in the Dark Ages. Where exactly did you get your doctorate in chauvinism?’

He smiled at her sarcasm. ‘I’m just quoting history, Mia. Our marriage has just as much chance of being successful as any other; in fact, it may even have more chance.’

‘I can’t imagine how you came to that conclusion,’ she said as she pushed a broken melaleuca branch out of her way. ‘I dislike you intensely and I can’t see that changing unless you undergo some sort of immediate character reconstruction.’

‘As I said previously—you might think differently after a few days alone with me.’

‘If the last twenty-four hours is any indication I’m afraid you’re in for a big disappointment if you’re expecting me to subscribe to your fan club.’

‘Look, Mia, I’m just asking you to try and get to know me as you would any other person. You’re so prejudiced against me you can’t see me for who I am.’

‘Here we go again.’ She rolled her eyes expressively as she turned back to face him, her hands on her hips. ‘The replay of the I’m-nothing-like-my-public-persona speech. Give me a break.’

‘Damn it, Mia,’ his voice rose in frustration, ‘why won’t you just give us a chance?’ His dark eyes held hers. ‘Will you at least consider the possibility of our marriage becoming a little more permanent?’

‘Define what you mean by a little more permanent. Are you talking months or years?’

‘I’m talking about you sleeping with me.’

It was a moment or two before she could get her voice into gear. ‘I see.’

‘I want you, Mia. You know that. I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you.’

The silence of the bush surrounded them, closing in on them until Mia felt as she was being cut off from the rest of civilisation.

She was alone with him, alone with him and her unruly, traitorous desire for him, which was getting harder by the second to control.

‘You only want me because I’m the first woman to have said no to you.’

‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘It’s much more than that.’

‘You’re surely not going to tell me you’ve suddenly discovered you’re in love with me,’ she said with a brittle look. ‘That would be about as low as anyone could go.’

He took a moment to answer, his expression giving little away. ‘I have some feelings for you, yes.’

‘No doubt lust is at the top of the list.’

‘It’s up there, yes, but so too are admiration and respect. That’s more than I’ve felt for anyone else in the past.’

‘Wow, I feel really honoured,’ she said mockingly. ‘I bet you say that to all the girls when you set out to seduce them.’

‘I’m not trying to seduce you for the heck of it, Mia,’ he said. ‘I really want a relationship with you.’

‘A temporary relationship,’ she put in. ‘Where you get to wave the chequered flag when it’s all over—when you get bored or find someone else a little more interesting.’

He didn’t answer immediately and it made Mia wonder if he did in fact care something for her. She unconsciously held her breath as his eyes shifted away from hers to stare out to sea. He turned back to her after a moment and handed her one of the bottles of water he was carrying. ‘I can’t promise you forever, no one can.’

‘What exactly are you offering?’

‘A relationship for as long as it works for us.’

‘So at the first rocky patch we encounter you’ll be off to find your next candidate.’

‘All I’m asking is for you to think about it, Mia. We’re in this marriage for the time being and it makes sense to put in some kind of effort to see if it could work out between us.’

‘I can’t see how two people who hate each other can make a go of marriage, especially considering the way ours came about.’

‘You don’t really hate me. I admit you’ve done a great job of acting like you do but I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. You’re seriously attracted to me.’

Her eyes shifted away from his. ‘You’re imagining it.’

‘Am I?’

‘Of course.’

‘Little liar,’ he said, capturing her chin to force her to meet his eyes. ‘You want me just as much as I want you. I can see it in those big grey eyes of yours.’

Mia could feel her heart begin to thud when he pulled her closer, his arms coming around her to hold her to his hard frame. His bare chest was hot and slick against hers as his mouth came down on hers, searing her with a kiss full of erotic promise. His tongue was hot and hard as it thrust through the shield of her lips, curling around hers and urging it into a sensual dance that was totally irresistible. A deep ache of longing pulsed low in her belly, the feel of his aroused length pressed up against her increasing her desire to a point where she completely forgot they were standing in the middle of a bush track where anyone could see them.

The sound of approaching footsteps finally broke them apart. Mia stood flushed and unsteady on her feet before him, her eyes lowering from the heat and fire still burning in his.

‘We should press on,’ Bryn said, stepping back from her. ‘There are other people heading our way. We can finish this later.’

The promise in his words left her breathless with fevered anticipation as she tried to get her legs to follow where he was leading. All her reasons for resisting him were being obliterated by her need to feel his mouth on hers again. She craved to feel his hands on her body—all of her body—his caressing touch preparing her for the most thrilling intimacy of all. She could almost feel his hard, thick presence between her thighs as she tried to negotiate the uneven path on her increasingly unsteady legs. A pulse was still beating deep inside her, made all the more insistent when she fell into step behind him as the length of his long, muscled legs and firm buttocks kept reminding her of how very male he was and how he affected her in a way no man had ever done before.

They passed a few other hikers and just when she thought she would pass out from a combination of the heat of the sun and the burning desire he had activated, he indicated the path down to Alexandria Bay. ‘Fancy a quick swim to cool off?’

She looked at the sparkling blue water of the bay and sighed with relief. ‘I can think of nothing better.’

They made their way down the path to the beach, where the waves were crashing against the shore. They weren’t the only people on the beach but it took Mia a moment to realise the other sun-seekers weren’t wearing bathers.

‘Uh-oh,’ she said, quickly turning her back.

‘What’s wrong?’ Bryn asked as he heeled himself out of his trainers.

‘Those people…’ She indicated with a quick flap of her hand behind her and whispered in an undertone, ‘They’re naked.’

‘I know.’

‘You know?’

‘Of course,’ he said, stripping himself of his board shorts and tossing them to the sand at his feet. ‘This is an officially recognised naturist beach.’

She forced her gaze upwards with an effort. ‘I’m not taking my clothes off.’

‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to.’ He strode off towards the surf while she was still standing there open-mouthed at the taut line of his back and buttocks.

She watched as he entered the turbulent water, cutting through it effortlessly as he swam out beyond the breakers, his broad, tanned back glistening in the sun.

She sucked in a ragged breath as the sun beat down on her, rivulets of perspiration trickling down between her breasts and thighs. The thought of dispensing with her shorts and top and even her skimpy bikini was suddenly very tempting. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t skinny-dipped before. Of course, skinny-dipping when you were with a group of girlfriends at a twelfth birthday party, at the dead of night in a small backyard pool when there wasn’t a male in sight wasn’t quite in the same league as this, but maybe she needed to show Bryn she wasn’t the uptight little virginal prude he thought she was.

She stripped off her shorts and flung her T-shirt to the sand and with a deep breath reached behind her to untie her bikini top. She watched as it fell in a little heap on the sand and with another deep breath her hands went to her hips and tugged downwards…

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE water was like chilled champagne against her hot, sticky skin, the turbulent waves breaking over her like thousands of tiny, effervescent bubbles. The wildness of it was exhilarating and so too was the thought that nothing separated her from the feel of the ocean’s deep, rhythmic pulse on her body. Her bikini was hardly what anyone would have described as conservative, but bathing without the barrier of fabric was intensely sensual, especially knowing that Bryn was only a few metres away, and the same water that was moving against and over her body was touching him as well.

She caught sight of him diving under a wave before resurfacing to swim out a bit further, his strong, muscled body making light work of the powerful surf.

Mia was a confident and competent swimmer but she could already feel the heavy undertow dragging at her legs and decided against joining him. She body-surfed a few smaller waves before making her way back to her things on the sand, relieved to see the other people had moved further along the beach.

Once she was back in her bikini she sat watching the pounding surf, her thoughts drifting to her earlier conversation with Bryn. His shock announcement about their marriage continuing for an unspecified period of time had thrown her completely. He had made his motives very clear; he wanted her—but for how long? He hadn’t put an exact time frame on it, probably because he couldn’t see their relationship lasting longer than a week or two; a month if she was lucky. He would no doubt slake his lust for her and within weeks she would be left with nothing but the memories and heartbreak.

She frowned as she thought about his past, how losing his parents so young had made him wary of committing himself emotionally, as his great-aunt had indicated the day Mia had visited her.

Would it be possible to remove the armour from around his heart? Was she in fact the special woman Agnes Dwyer already believed her to be?

She suppressed a deep sigh of remorse over the deception she had been complicit in. She had always hated all forms of deceit, it went against everything she’d been taught. And certainly lying to an old lady seemed particularly immoral, but what if she could change that right now? All she had to do was agree to make their marriage a real one. The lies she’d told her parents and sisters would no longer be lies. What had begun as a lie would now be the truth. She loved him and, while he was uncertain about his feelings for her, perhaps in time she could teach him that loving someone wasn’t always painful and unpredictable.

She watched as he came out of the water to join her, his tall naked body making her breath hitch in her throat. How could she have ever thought she would be able to resist him?

‘Did you enjoy your swim?’ he asked, showering her with droplets of sea water as he sat down next to her on the sand.

She kept her gaze averted and toyed with the sand near her toes. ‘Yes, I did.’

He brushed one finger along the heightened colour of her cheek. ‘You’re blushing.’

‘I’m not used to sitting next to naked men.’

He lay back on the sand and closed his eyes against the glare of the sun. ‘You never know, you might get used to it in time.’

Mia sneaked a look at him, her belly doing a little flip-flop all over again. His abdominal muscles were sculptured to perfection; they were like tight rods of steel under the smooth tanned skin, the sprinkling of masculine dark hair that spread from his belly button over his pelvis and down his long strong legs making her skin crawl with the need to feel it rasping against her smoother softness.

He opened one eye and caught her staring at him but before she could turn away he caught her hand and brought it to his chest. She could feel the deep thud of his heart beneath her palm and her own heart started to race when he began to move her hand downwards.

‘What are you doing?’ she gasped and tried to jerk away.

He held her firm, his gaze locking with hers. ‘I want you to feel what you do to me.’

She swallowed as her palm came over his growing hardness, the feel of him swelling beneath her tentative touch making her stomach flutter and her legs go weak. She heard him suck in a sharp breath as she began to explore him and another wave of deep longing rushed through her. His erection was like satin-covered steel, the pulsing heat in her hands making her feel powerful in a way she had never felt before. She looked down at him encased in her slim fingers, the latent power of his body totally under her command. She saw the tiny, pearly bead of moisture starting to pool at the head and her entire body shivered with a thousand tickling fingers of desire.

He let out another deep groan, removed her hand and brought it above her head as he turned her on her back so he could lean over her, his head blocking the sun as his lips found hers.

It was a deeply sensual kiss, unhurried, lazy almost, but no less enthralling. Mia could feel the delicious tension building in her body, the sun’s warm rays on her legs and arms making her feel increasingly uninhibited as she responded to each slow-moving glide of his tongue against hers. She sighed with pleasure when he released her bikini top, his warm hand taking the weight of her breast, his thumb rolling over the already puckering nipple.

He lifted his mouth from hers to kiss his way down her neck to each breast, his lips and tongue inciting her desire for him to an almost unbearable level. He suckled and kissed each breast in turn, his teeth grazing her sensitised flesh, making her wriggle until she was beneath him properly, the pressure of his weight as his legs entrapped hers in a steely embrace sending her senses skyrocketing. His erection probed against the barrier of her bikini bottoms, the sensation of him being so intimately close but blocked by just a tiny scrap of fabric making her want him all the more.

His mouth left her breast and his eyes came back to hers, their dark blue depths smouldering with pent-up need. ‘We can’t do this here, sweetheart.’

Mia blinked up at him. ‘W-we can’t?’

His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘This is a public beach and even though it’s practically deserted I don’t happen to have a condom on me right now.’

‘Oh…’

He tipped up her chin and pressed another hot, lingering kiss to her lips. ‘Let’s go back to the house and begin our honeymoon properly.’ He saw the tiny flicker of doubt come and go in her eyes and added softly, ‘That’s if you want to. The decision is yours, Mia. If you don’t feel ready then that’s fine.’

Mia held his gaze, finally realising now she’d never really had a chance in refusing him. She wanted him so much she wasn’t sure how she was going to make the journey back to his house, her limbs felt so weak with her need of him. She was surprised he couldn’t see her love for him shining from her eyes every time they came in contact with his.

‘I want you to make love to me,’ she said on a husky whisper of sound.

His eyes were unwavering on hers. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

He got to his feet and offered her a hand, pulling her up to stand in front of him. He didn’t say anything, just stood looking down at her up-tilted face for what seemed a very long time.

Mia wondered if he was inwardly gloating about her acquiescence but if he was there was no sign of it on his face. After a moment he appeared to give himself a mental shake and stepped away to pick up his board shorts, dusting the sand off his body before he put them back on and then rolling up the towel they’d been lying on.

She picked up her bikini top and once she was dressed fell into step beside him as they returned to the path that led the way back.

They walked in silence for most of the way. Mia was aware of Bryn’s hand reaching for hers now and again when the width of the path allowed it, but apart from the occasional comment about the view or wildlife he seemed to be preoccupied with his own thoughts.

When the house finally came into view he suggested she have a shower while he made them both some lunch.

She looked at him in uncertainty. ‘But I thought you wanted to…you know…’

‘I do,’ he said and pushed the door open for her. ‘But you’ve had nothing but a few mouthfuls of fruit and water all day. I don’t want you fainting on me.’

She was conscious of his gaze following her up the stairs and turned to look at him when she got to the landing.

‘Mia?’

‘Yes?’

He seemed about to say something then changed his mind. ‘It doesn’t matter. Go and have your shower. We can talk later.’

She gave him a tremulous smile and went into the bathroom.

When she came downstairs half an hour later Bryn had also showered and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. He looked up from the salad and cheese and cold-meat platter he was assembling as she came into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

‘Sure, why not?’

He handed her two glasses of chilled white wine. ‘Take those out to the deck and I’ll bring our lunch out.’

The deck was set amongst the trees and overlooked the pool and lower garden. Some rainbow lorikeets were jostling just a few feet away and Mia began hunting the upper limbs of the trees for any sign of koalas.

‘Have you found any?’ Bryn asked as he set the lunch platter down on the table.

‘Not as yet,’ she said, reaching for her wine. She took a tiny sip and let out a breath of delight. ‘This is such a lovely setting. It feels as if the bush is an extension of the house.’

He smiled and took the seat opposite, lifting his glass to hers. ‘What shall we drink to?’

‘Dutch courage?’ she suggested after a moment.

His expression softened as he held her gaze. ‘Don’t be nervous, Mia. I won’t hurt you. I promise.’

She gave her bottom lip a little nibble and then, releasing it, confessed, ‘I can’t help it.’

He put down his glass and reached for her hand, his fingers strong but gentle as they entwined with hers. ‘Trust me, Mia. I know what I’m doing.’

‘I know this is stupid but I can’t help thinking I’ll disappoint you. You’ve had millions of lovers. What if I don’t…you know…satisfy you?’

‘Not quite millions,’ he said, smiling at her little furrowed brow. ‘How could you ever think that you won’t satisfy me? You’re so damned sexy I can barely keep my hands off you. I know you and I are going to be dynamite together. I can feel it every time you touch me. I was ready to explode on that beach with your soft little fingers crawling all over me.’

Mia felt a warm glow at his words. Never had a man made her feel more like a woman. He only had to look at her with those dark blue eyes and her flesh began to tingle all over. The thought of him possessing her thrilled her until she could barely sit still on the seat.

He took another sip of wine, his gaze thoughtful and steady on hers. ‘I still find it hard to believe you haven’t had a lover before now.’

She pushed at a bit of salad with her fork. ‘When I was seventeen a close friend of mine contracted a sexually transmitted disease. It was so awful for her. To make matters worse the boy who gave it to her blamed her and started spreading rumours. In the end she had to change schools.’ She gave a little sigh and added, ‘I guess I’ve always been a little bit afraid of getting hurt since then.’

He reached for her hand, his long fingers interlinking with hers. ‘I have always practised safe sex. I absolutely insist on it no matter what the circumstances. It’s not fair on either partner to be landed with a disease or a pregnancy that wasn’t planned, not that accidents don’t happen, of course, but at least there are ways to deal with it these days.’

‘If an accident did happen…’ she stared down at the table in front of her rather than meet his eyes ‘…what would you expect me to do about it?’

He thought about it for a moment and in the end didn’t answer her question but asked one of his own. ‘What would you want to do?’

‘I guess you can already tell I’ve had a pretty conservative upbringing,’ she said. ‘There are no doubt circumstances when a termination seems like the only option, but having an adopted sister has made me realise that even if a baby is unwanted by its natural parent or parents there are plenty of other people who do want it and would love it as dearly as their own.’

Bryn sat in silence, thinking about the gentle, loving wisdom behind her convictions.

‘But don’t worry,’ she added with a little upwards glance before looking down again to rearrange the food on her plate, ‘I’m on a low-dose Pill to regulate my cycle. There won’t be any little accidents.’

‘If there were I would not expect you to do anything you weren’t comfortable doing,’ he said. ‘I would support you through whatever decision you felt was appropriate.’

She brought her gaze back up to his, surprised by his sincerity. ‘Thank you.’

He sat watching her playing with her food, his own meal barely touched.

‘You’re not eating,’ he said after a short, throbbing silence.

‘I’m not all that hungry for some reason…’

‘I am,’ he said, his dark eyes glittering with desire. ‘But not for food.’

He got to his feet and came around to where she was sitting, and, taking her hand, in his brought her to her feet. He bent his head and kissed her deeply, the rasp of his skin against the softness of hers making her tingle all over with fevered longing.

By the time they got to his bedroom Mia was breathless with anticipation, every nerve and pulse leaping under her skin in growing excitement. Tension crackled in the air as he closed the door and came towards her, his hands gently removing her sarong from around her chest. She felt the soft-as-air fabric glide down her body to land in a circle at her feet.

His eyes ran over her naked breasts before he cupped their light weight in his hands. She could hardly breathe with him so close, the pulse of his aroused body pressing against her.

He released her briefly to tug his T-shirt over his head, tossing it to one side as he stepped out of his shorts and briefs. She gave a tiny swallow as he came back to her, his fingers untying the strings that held her bikini bottoms in place.

Without a word he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the white expanse of the bed, laying her down before joining her, his weight balanced by his arms.

His mouth found hers, softly at first and then with increasing pressure, taking her on a sensual journey that totally captivated her. His mouth moved from hers to scorch a pathway to her breasts, the hot lave of his tongue turning her insides to liquid heat. He travelled lower, exploring the dip of her belly button before his warm breath feathered over the tiny landing strip of soft, dark blonde, closely cropped curls that shielded her femininity. With the gentlest touch possible he parted her delicate folds before tasting her with his mouth. The sensation of his tongue against her arched her back and made her whimper in intense pleasure, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

‘Relax for me, baby,’ he coached her softly. ‘Let yourself go.’

‘I can’t…’

‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘I want to pleasure you.’

‘But I want you to…to…be inside me.’

He moved back up her body with slow but exquisite caresses, building her need of him to fever pitch. Each stroke of his hands along the flanks of her thighs, each hot, moist kiss to the indentation of her waist and each tender suckle on her breasts made her nearly mad with the need for more. Just when she thought she could stand it no longer he reached between her legs, gently easing her apart to insert one finger, waiting until she was comfortable before deepening his tender stroke, the silky dew of her desire making it easier and easier for her to accept him further.

‘Oh, God…’ she breathed, writhing beneath his touch.

‘You feel so warm and wet,’ he said, his voice low and deep, his breath like a caress on her skin. ‘You’re so ready for me.’

He leaned across her to the bedside drawer and took out a condom. She watched with bated breath as he applied it, coming back to position himself over her.

‘Tell me to stop if it hurts.’

‘I will…’

He moved against her, parting her to take him partially, waiting for her to accommodate him before going further.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes…’

He hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure…’

He moved slowly, holding back as her tight body wrapped itself around him. He felt her flinch and stalled again. ‘Did that hurt?’

‘No…not really.’

‘God, Mia,’ he groaned and began to withdraw. ‘I wish I could do this but I can’t bear to hurt you.’

Mia clutched at him to hold him in place. ‘You’re not hurting me; I like it. I like the feel of you. Please don’t stop.’ She saw his throat move up and down as he looked at her. ‘Please, Bryn, I want this. I want you to make love to me.’

Bryn hesitated but she lifted her hips against him and he was lost as he surged against her, sheathing himself in the tight, moist cocoon of her body. He tried to move slowly but she wouldn’t allow it, her hands digging into his buttocks to increase his pace. He fought to keep control but she was urging him on, her panting little cries of pleasure as he thrust deeper and deeper making his heart contract with totally unfamiliar feelings. He shifted position so she could feel him more intensely, caressing her with his fingers to take her to the summit with him so he could feel the contractions of her orgasm to finally push him over the edge. He could feel the pulse of her body as it built in arousal, her slim limbs wrapping around him, holding on tight for the rapidly approaching storm of sensation that threatened to burst at any moment.

Suddenly she was there, her high, keening cry of ecstasy washing over him as she convulsed against him, triggering his own release with an explosion of pleasure that lifted the hair on his scalp with its breathtaking force.

‘Oh, wow…’ she said on an expelled breath as her heart rate began to lower.

He dragged himself off her chest, where he’d collapsed, to smile down at her radiant face. ‘Oh, wow?’

She returned his smile, two tiny dimples appearing either side of her mouth. ‘Definitely oh, wow.’

‘I didn’t hurt you?’

‘Not much.’

He frowned. ‘I wanted to take things slowly. I didn’t want to cause you any pain.’

‘I’m fine, Bryn,’ she reassured him. ‘It was wonderful. You were wonderful. Thank you for being so gentle with me.’

He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, his eyes meshing with hers. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before. It felt different somehow.’

Hope fluttered inside Mia’s chest at his unexpected confession. ‘How?’ she asked, hunting his face for a sign of what he was feeling.

‘I’ve always experienced sex as a physical thing. I’ve always been able to keep emotions separate.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

He released a sigh and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lifting his head to look down at her, a small frown bringing his brows almost together. ‘I have no idea.’

She frowned as he lifted himself away. He was pulling away from her again. She could feel the barriers come up as if their intimacy had affected him more than he wanted to admit, to her certainly, but even, it seemed, to himself.

‘Bryn?’

He turned back to look at her, his expression now stripped of all emotion. ‘Sorry, Mia, I know this is the part where women like you expect a declaration of love, but I can’t give it to you. I’d like to but I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m sorry.’

Mia felt as if someone had ripped open her chest and stomped heavily on her heart. ‘I’m not looking for that from you,’ she lied. ‘I understand the terms of our relationship.’

He held her gaze for a lengthy moment. ‘You deserve much better than me, Mia. You really do.’

She opened her mouth to respond but he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

She flopped back on the pillows in sinking despair. How would she ever find a way to his heart?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IT WAS early evening before Mia saw him again. When she’d come downstairs he had already cleared the abandoned lunch things away and a brief note propped on the bench informed her he had gone back to the beach for a surf.

He came into the lounge just as she was leaving it, almost colliding with her in the doorway. He steadied her with his hands, looking down at her as if seeing her for the first time.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

His gaze dipped to her mouth for a moment before returning to her grey eyes. His hands fell away from her shoulders and he moved further into the room, a hand making a rough pathway through his already disordered hair.

‘Are you OK?’ Mia asked.

He gave her a twisted smile as he turned to face her. ‘I think I might have had too much sun.’

‘Would you like me to get you some water?’

‘No, I don’t need water. I need my head read, that’s what I need.’

She wasn’t sure what to make of his mood. She stood in front of him uncertainly, beginning to worry her bottom lip with her teeth.

‘Damn it, I wish you would stop doing that!’ he said roughly.

She blinked at him in surprise. ‘Stop doing what?’

‘Everything.’

She frowned in confusion. ‘Everything?’

He let out his breath in a stream. ‘God, I must have been crazy that day. I should have known something like this would happen.’ He sent his fingers through his sand-encrusted hair.

‘What are you talking about?’ she asked. ‘Wh-what’s happened?’

His eyes cut back to hers. ‘Everything you do gets to me. Every look, every smile, and every word you say. It all gets to me.’

She lowered her eyes. ‘I’m sorry…’

He stepped closer and forced her chin up to hold his gaze. ‘I have spent most of the years of my life avoiding the complication of emotional entanglements and in one brief meeting with a feisty little fitness fanatic all my defences get knocked down.’

Mia stared at him speechlessly, her heart beginning to ram against her sternum. What was he saying? That he loved her after all? Hope began to flicker in her chest, the tiny, frantic, flapping wings of it making it hard for her to breathe properly.

‘I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you again after this afternoon,’ he went on. ‘It was wrong to touch you in the first place but I just couldn’t seem to help myself. From the moment I met you I wanted you. I still want you but I can’t give you what you deserve, what you’ve been brought up to expect, what is your right as a lovely young woman with a generous heart. You need someone with the capacity to love. I’m not that person.’

‘How do you know you’re not?’ she asked.

‘Mia, listen to me.’ His hands tightened on her shoulders, the gravity of his expression unnerving her totally. ‘I’ve never told this to anyone before.’ He took a ragged breath and continued, ‘Do you know what the last thing I said to my mother was the night she and my father were killed?’

She shook her head, tears starting to sprout in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling.

‘They were going out to dinner together. My father was already in the car but my mother had turned back to give me one last cuddle. I told her I loved her.’ His voice cracked over the words. ‘I don’t think I had ever said it before. I told her to tell my father I loved him too.’

‘Oh, Bryn…’ She choked back a sob.

‘When the police came to our house where I was being looked after by a babysitter my whole world collapsed. If I hadn’t called my mother back at that moment she and my father would still be alive. But I called her back and those few precious seconds it took to tell her I loved her cost her and my father their lives. I taught myself not to feel from that moment. It’s like a switch was turned off inside me and I can no longer find where it is.’

‘You just need to give yourself time…Your great-aunt’s health is bringing it all back up for you. You’re still grieving…you haven’t dealt with the past and it’s coming back to haunt you.’

‘I don’t want to deal with the past!’ He threw the words at her as he released her almost savagely. ‘It won’t change a thing rehashing it all now.’

‘But it won’t go away just because you choose to ignore it. It will plague you all your life. You’ll end up a lonely old man with nothing to show for your life. No fulfilling relationships, no children to love you.’

‘I would hate any child of mine to go through what I did. It’s just not worth the risk. Losing a parent is the most devastating thing that can happen to a child. Losing both of them in one fell swoop is beyond anything I can describe.’

‘It might not happen. Just because you lost your parents in a tragic accident doesn’t mean history will repeat itself.’

‘Mia, you are the sweetest, most adorable person I’ve ever met,’ he said, taking her by the shoulders again. ‘If there was anyone I would be able to love, it is you. But I can’t pretend to feel what is just not there.’

She let the tears fall unheeded, touched by his honesty in a way no one had ever touched her before. ‘I love you enough for both of us…I thought I hated you at first but somehow it all changed, and I can’t turn it off.’

He gave her one of his twisted smiles. ‘We’re an odd couple, aren’t we? You have too much love to give and I don’t have any.’

‘You do but you can’t recognise it,’ she said. ‘You won’t allow yourself to become vulnerable but that’s what life is all about. You hide your feelings behind a façade of biting cynicism, taking pot-shots at whoever comes across your path. Your public reputation is built on that but I know now it isn’t really who you are as a person. Inside is a deeply sensitive, caring man who is just too afraid to love again in case it gets snatched away.’

‘I can’t give you what you want. I know I can’t.’

‘I haven’t even told you what I want, so how can you say that?’

He let out a sigh and rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘What do you want, Mia?’

She hugged him to her in a desperate effort to get close to him. ‘I want you. Only you. For as long as you’ll have me.’

He eased her away from him to look deep into her tear-washed eyes. ‘You’re prepared to risk being hurt by me?’

‘I’m prepared to be vulnerable because that’s what love is all about.’

‘Even if I can never find that switch inside of me?’

She linked her arms around his neck and brought his mouth down to hers. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find it. You’ve just been looking in all the wrong places.’

Her lips were so soft and yielding he had no choice but to respond even though his common sense told him to let her go before he damaged her permanently. He sank into her warmth, his arms tightening around her, fighting for the control he had always taken for granted in the past. Something about Mia touched him where no one else had ever been. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was but he felt as if she lightened the load he had been carrying for so long.

He pushed her back towards the sofa, his hands going to her sarong, releasing it so he could suckle on her small but perfect breasts. Her little gasps of delight released a trickle of sensation deep inside him; she was so responsive to his touch, as if she had been waiting for him all this time.

He carried her to the bedroom, laying her down only long enough to get a condom. She writhed against him, wanting more and he gave it unreservedly. He dispensed with the rest of her clothes and sank into her with a single thrust that he should have checked but somehow couldn’t. She welcomed him with silky moistness, the delicate fragrance of her need filling his nostrils. He drove a little harder, hoping she wasn’t still tender from earlier but unable to pull back the pace. He could feel the pressure building around him, hers mingling with his in an erotic pulse that grew more frantic by the second. He struggled to hold back but she was with him all the way, arching her back to receive each deep surge of his body, her gasping cries like a haunting tune he had been searching for all his life but never found until this moment. She went soaring a few moments ahead of him, the tight clench of her feminine form leaving him no choice but to follow in a rush of feeling that threatened to overwhelm him. He felt the explosion of his life force within her, the emptying of himself beyond anything he had ever experienced before.

It was a long time before he could find the strength to speak and the only thing he could think of to say was, ‘Oh, wow…’

Mia smiled up at him. ‘Oh, wow?’

He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You are very definitely an “oh, wow” sort of lover.’

Even though you don’t love me, Mia thought sadly.

Bryn brought her close, tucking her head against his chest, his fingers splaying through her hair, wondering if he could ever find the words to tell her what he had done to bring about their relationship. His immediate lust for her had overridden every other consideration; he had not stopped to weigh up the cost if she in the end proved to be someone very special.

And very special she was.

In a way he had never expected.

He had not thought it possible to trust life enough to care for someone unreservedly, but somehow Mia had invaded his emotional firewall, finding a way to his heart that no one had ever done before.

He had told her bluntly and rather clinically he could not offer her a declaration of love but what if what she’d said was true? That he was unable to recognise his true feelings for fear of life hurting him the way it had in the past?

He had definitely felt something from the very first moment he’d met her—her sparkling defiance had got his notice, but so too had her spirit and her big heart, not to mention her passion and zest for life. Every time she looked up at him with her beautiful, elfin face with those big grey eyes he felt that tiny fish-hook tug on him deep inside his chest. Was that love, the sort of love that could last a lifetime?

In spite of her dislike for him she had agreed to marry him for the sake of his great-aunt. She hadn’t done it for the money; she had done it out of the kindness of her heart. She gave of herself so generously, laying herself bare for him even though he had offered her nothing in terms of emotional commitment.

He recalled all the bitter mornings-after he’d endured in the past; women who had wanted much more than he’d been prepared to give, one even stalking him relentlessly, making his life unbearable for a time.

Mia, on the other hand, was a young woman who was prepared to love him unconditionally. She’d agreed to his conditions and with grace and dignity accepted them.

He wished he could be truly honest with her but the thought of her finding out how he had engineered their marriage made him baulk. How on earth could he frame the words in any way that would make them less offensive to her? He had swept her career out of his way with a sleight of hand that was no less than despicable.

He was still thinking about how best to make it up to her when his mobile phone rang. He kept Mia close to him, his hand on the back of her silky head as he reached for it, the voice on the other end informing him of the one thing he had been dreading and yet preparing himself for over the last few months.

‘What’s wrong?’ Mia asked as he put the phone down a few seconds later.

His voice was flat and emotionless as he informed her, ‘My great-aunt slipped into a coma a short time ago. She’s not expected to come out of it.’

Her face fell, sending yet another dagger to his heart. ‘Oh, no…’

‘We’ll have to fly back in the morning,’ he said, moving away before she could reach for him to offer comfort. It didn’t seem right to be accepting her comfort when she had no idea of how he had acted. He felt tainted with it, hating himself, hating his vulnerability where she was concerned. Hating that life yet again was letting him down and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

‘Bryn…I’m so sorry…Is there anything I can do?’

‘No,’ he said, a shutter seeming to come down over his features as he faced her. ‘I’ll re-book the flights on line. You go to bed. You look tired.’

‘But I’m not tired,’ Mia insisted. ‘I want to be with you to help you through this.’

‘I don’t want company right now.’ He turned to look out of the window. ‘Please leave me to deal with this on my own.’

‘I don’t think you should be alone at a time like this,’ she said softly. ‘I want to support you and—’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’ He swung around to glare at her. ‘I said, I want to be alone.’

Mia stood her ground, even though her legs were quaking at the burning glitter in his eyes. ‘You can’t push me away. I want to be with you. I love you. This is what love is about, supporting and helping when things are tough.’

‘Leave me alone, damn you!’ He grabbed her by the arm and led her to the door, almost shoving her through. ‘I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.’

The door slammed in her face and her shoulders slumped in defeat. She heard the sound of a glass smashing against the wall and then nothing but silence. An empty, aching silence that tore at her heart for what he was going through.

Alone.

She went upstairs and, going to his room, quietly packed his bag before going to do her own. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her hands where his rings encircled her finger.

It would soon be over.

He didn’t need her any more.

His great-aunt was close to death so the final curtain would soon be coming down on their act. In spite of what he’d said about continuing their relationship for a period of time she knew their temporary marriage was now coming to an end.

Bryn barely spoke to her on the way back to Sydney the next morning. He sat staring out of the window for the entire flight, even ignoring the air steward’s offer of refreshments.

After they collected their baggage they drove in silence to the palliative-care unit. Mia glanced at him several times but his face was set in the same impenetrable mask, no hint of emotion showing.

Agnes was lying like a thin shadow on the bed, her chest rising and falling so slowly it looked as if she was hardly breathing at all.

The doctor spoke to Bryn in an office further down the hall while Mia sat by the bedside, holding the thin, papery hand and wishing with all her heart she could make things right for both of them.

When Bryn came back she gave up her seat for him so he could be near his great-aunt. He gave her the flicker of a grateful smile and sat down, reaching for the limp hand on the bed.

Mia stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders as he leaned forward in the chair, his voice low and deep as he spoke to his great-aunt. ‘I’m here, Aunt Aggie. Mia and I are here.’

The day passed slowly, the clock on the wall measuring time as if heavy weights were attached to its hands, each minute crawling by, each hour turning over like a month instead of sixty minutes.

There was no change in Agnes’s condition over the next five days. Bryn spent as much time at the hospital as he could, sitting by his great-aunt’s bedside until it was time to broadcast his radio show. While he was on air Mia sat by the bedside, stroking the thin hand of his great-aunt, listening to the radio playing softly in the background, amazed at how normal and unaffected Bryn seemed. The show must go on, she thought as she watched the shallow rise and fall of his dying relative’s chest. No one would ever know what he was dealing with in his private life. His lively banter with the people he interviewed and the upbeat music he played gave no clue to the grief he was privately preparing himself for. He spoke of their honeymoon as if it had been the most wonderful experience of his life and yet she knew it was all an act, for he had no such feelings for her. At least he had been totally honest with her. So many men wouldn’t have been. How many times had previous boyfriends declared their undying affection for her, only to walk away without a backward glance when she refused to sleep with them?

No, at least Bryn had been honest from the word go. He had told her he needed her to act the role of his fiancée and wife for his great-aunt’s benefit as well as his ratings. He hadn’t pretended anything he didn’t feel and, even though it was heartbreakingly disappointing, in a way she was grateful he had been so up-front about it. If only she had more time to let her love for him heal the hurt he’d carried for so long, maybe then he would open up to the possibility of a permanent future together.

‘How is she?’ Bryn asked softly when he came in later that evening.

Mia made room beside the bed for him. ‘The doctor was in a while ago,’ she said, swallowing back the emotion. ‘It’s not looking good, Bryn. He doesn’t think it will be long now.’

He placed his hand against the nape of her neck, his warm palm easing the stiffness that had gathered there from sitting so long. ‘Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? You’ve been here for hours.’

‘I’m fine…I just didn’t want her to be alone…’

‘I’m here now,’ he said. ‘I’ll call Henry to take you home.’

‘No, please, let me stay,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘Please?’

His hand came around from her nape to gently cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking the creamy softness as he looked into her shining with moisture eyes. ‘You really do love me, don’t you?’

She gave him a wobbly smile. ‘Yes…I do.’

There was a long, intense pause as he held her gaze.

‘Mia,’ he said, stopping to clear his throat. ‘There’s something I need to tell you—’

There was a sudden beeping from the monitor attached to Agnes’s chest, signalling her heart was failing.

Two nurses and a doctor came rushing in but there was nothing they could do.

Agnes Gabriella Dwyer died at seven twenty-three that evening with both Bryn and Mia by her bedside. It was a peaceful passing and Mia was glad the old woman had not died alone. She found it impossible not to cry but did so as quietly as she could, knowing it would be hard on Bryn, who was clearly fighting to maintain control. She saw the up and down movement of his throat and the tight clench of his hands when he finally moved away from the bed to discuss arrangements with the staff over his great-aunt’s personal belongings.

It was late by the time they left to go back to his house and Mia could see the lines of exhaustion around his eyes as he opened the car door for her.

‘I can drive if you’re too tired,’ she offered.

He gave her another on-off smile touched with sadness. ‘No, I’m fine. It’s a short drive anyway.’

He waited until they were parked in the garage before he spoke again. He switched off the engine and turned in his seat to face her. ‘Thank you for what you did this week.’

‘I didn’t do anything…’

He captured a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, the gesture so tender she felt more tears springing to her eyes.

‘Yes, you did,’ he said, his voice sounding as if it had been dragged across something rough. ‘You supported me through a tough time. I can’t imagine how I would have coped without you.’

‘I’m so sorry about your great-aunt…’ she said, stroking the hand that had come up to cup her cheek.

‘She died happily and peacefully because of you. I couldn’t have achieved that for her without your help.’

‘I’m glad you asked me to help.’

He looked at her for a long time without speaking. Mia could hear the faint ticking of the dashboard clock and the squeak of leather as he shifted marginally in his seat.

The pad of his thumb moved over her bottom lip, his eyes growing darker as they meshed with hers. ‘I want you, Mia.’

‘I want you too,’ she said softly.

He unfolded himself from his seat and came around to her side, helping her out on legs that felt weak and unsteady. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and walked with her into the house, shutting the door behind him and giving her a look burning with such sensual promise she felt as if she was melting on the spot.

‘Come here,’ he commanded.

She stepped into his arms, her mouth connecting with his in a fiery kiss that spoke of deep mutual longings. He broke the kiss to carry her upstairs, looking down at her with smouldering heat as he placed her on the bed. She watched as he removed his clothes, her pulse leaping at the sight of how very aroused he already was. She began to fumble with her own clothing but wasn’t getting very far until he came down over her and helped.

His hands moved over her breasts, his mouth anointing them with hot, wet kisses and suckles that curled her toes and arched her back. He went lower and lower until she felt the flicker of his tongue against her dewy feminine heat, the sensations rippling through her at this most intimate of all caresses. The pleasure he evoked was mind-blowing and totally unstoppable. It hit her like a huge wave crashing against the shore, lifting her, rolling her over and over before tossing her down once more to float in a sea of euphoria.

He moved back up and, leaning across her, rummaged for a condom, putting it on before slipping between her parted thighs. He entered her in a single deep thrust that sent her back against the pillows with a gasp of delight as he filled her completely. He set a hectic, breathless pace and she got carried along with it, relishing the feel of his pulsing need. She felt him briefly tense before his final plunge, and then his deep groan of satisfaction as he emptied himself, the aftershocks of his release triggering little shivers of pleasure all over her skin.

She held him to her, listening as his breathing gradually came back to normal, his chest rising and falling against hers as she stroked his back with her fingers. How would she live without this when he called an end to their relationship?

So many times over the last few days she’d caught him looking at her when he thought she wasn’t aware of it, frowning slightly, as if he couldn’t make up his mind about her. Even as they’d sat beside his great-aunt’s bed he had seemed on the brink of saying something important. What had he been about to say to her? she wondered. Had he been mentally preparing his announcement that their temporary marriage was coming to a close?

But then, as she considered another possibility, she felt a tickling sensation inside her chest, as if a tiny feather residing there had been lifted by a gentle breeze of hope.

What if he had been trying to tell her he loved her?

She took a small breath, her fingers stilling on his back. ‘Bryn…’

‘Mmm…’

‘You were going to say something just before…before your great aunt passed away.’ She eased him off her so she could look into his eyes. ‘What was it you were going to tell me?’

He held her gaze without speaking for what seemed an age before he got off the bed and reached for his trousers, turning his back as he got dressed.

‘Bryn?’ She sat up, her stomach hollowing as she felt his barriers come up. ‘You said it was something important.’

‘It wasn’t.’ His tone was curt as he turned to face her, his face an expressionless mask. ‘I have some phone calls to make in regards to the funeral arrangements.’

She glanced at the clock and frowned. ‘At this time of night?’

He didn’t answer but left the room, closing the door with a sharp click behind him.

Mia lay back on the pillows with a sigh. Was this how it was going to be between them, her love trying desperately to reach out to him, while he kept pushing it away?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE funeral was a private one and Mia thought how well Bryn coped with it, considering the pain she knew he was feeling. For the days leading up to the memorial service she had been aware of him keeping his distance, reminding her of an injured animal that didn’t want anyone else to see its true vulnerability as it dealt with its wounds in private. The only place he let his guard slip was in bed at night. She treasured those times when he rocked and shuddered in her arms, his body finally relaxing as he spilled himself, his iron-clad control slipping as he took her with him to paradise.

She woke one morning a week after the funeral to find him watching her, his dark blue eyes steady and thoughtful on hers.

‘Hi…’ she said, lifting a fingertip to his lips, tracing them lovingly.

He captured her hand and kissed her fingertip, making her flesh tingle anew at the passion she had felt last night in his arms. He had taken her on a sensual journey that had known no limits. Her body still throbbed tenderly where he had driven so hard, as if he had wanted to demonstrate his desire for her in the most primitive way possible. He hadn’t even bothered with using a condom, his passion so out of control as he had taken her from behind, causing a catastrophic explosion of ecstasy that had left her totally boneless.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asked after a long, pulsing silence.

He gave a rueful grimace. ‘I wonder how many men are being asked exactly that question all over the world right now.’

She tried to smile but something about his expression unnerved her, making her lips twist unevenly instead. ‘I know, but I guess women like to know what’s going on in men’s minds. You always seem to hide it so well.’

A small frown brought his brows even closer. His fingers picked up a strand of her hair and coiled it absently, his dark gaze for once not quite connecting with hers. ‘There are things we need to discuss, Mia, now that my great-aunt has gone.’

Mia felt her chest tighten painfully. This was it, she thought with a sinking heart.

Their temporary marriage was over.

She lowered her gaze, staring fixedly at his chest. ‘I understand…’

He released her and got out of the bed, reaching for a bathrobe and wrapping around himself before turning to address her in a tone that was distant and detached. ‘I have a meeting with my producer and the team this morning so I have to leave soon, but I’d like to have dinner with you tonight so we can talk about where we’re going from here.’

She swallowed the thickness of dread in her throat and forced a stiff smile to her lips. ‘Where would you like to go to dinner? Do you want me to book somewhere in particular?’

‘No, I’ll do it. Just be ready by seven-thirty,’ he said. ‘If I’m going to be late I’ll get Henry to pick you up.’

‘Whatever.’

His unreadable dark eyes met hers briefly. ‘We have to talk, Mia, you know that. Your family will be returning soon and I wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea about us.’

‘I know…’

He left the room and the house soon after but it was a long time before she could bring herself to get out of the bed, where the scent of his desire for her wrapped her in a shroud of something that felt like comfort, which she knew would very probably have to last her for the rest of her life.

It was purely by chance Mia ran into Shelley from the café as she was coming back from having her hair done in the city. She’d been filling in time, trying to distract herself from the evening ahead, which she knew would spell the end of her relationship with Bryn.

‘Mia…’ Shelley gave her an uncomfortable look as they jostled in the doorway of a boutique in the Strand Arcade. ‘I was just thinking about you.’

‘You were?’ Mia frowned at her former workmate’s expression.

‘How are things with your dream husband?’ Shelley asked after a tight little pause. ‘Still madly in love?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she asked guardedly.

Shelley took her by the arm and led her out of the hearing of the other shoppers, waiting until they were in a quiet corner near the stairs to the upper floors. ‘Mia, I hate to be the one to tell you this but someone needs to before you get hurt any further.’ She took a deep breath and said, ‘Your marriage to Bryn Dwyer is a total sham.’

Mia fought to conceal her reaction and asked in a calm, unaffected tone, ‘What makes you say that?’

Shelley glanced right and left to make sure no one was listening and lowered her tone even further. ‘I overheard a conversation in the café this morning. Bryn was there with your agent, Roberta Askinthorpe. They were looking very cosy.’

Mia felt as if someone had thumped her in the chest. ‘Oh really?’

‘I hovered about, pretending to be clearing the table behind, and I heard something that I wish I didn’t have to tell you but I think you should know.’

Mia fought against the wave of nausea that had risen in her throat. ‘Wh-what did you hear?’

‘Bryn Dwyer had you dropped from Peach Pie Productions. Theodore Frankston was against it but Bryn insisted. He also had you removed from your agent’s books because he wanted you to have no choice but to act as his wife in order to secure his great-aunt’s estate. Apparently her will was written in such a way that unless she thoroughly approved of his choice of wife the fortune—and I mean fortune in capital letters—would be given to the man who killed his parents.’

Mia stared at her in shock, the blood draining from her face. ‘But no one knows about his parents…’

‘I sort of guessed that, it was the first I’d heard of it too, but the way Roberta and Bryn were speaking about it made me realise it must be the truth. Apparently Bryn’s great-aunt felt he should forgive the man responsible for the death of his parents. It was her way of ensuring he did something about his life and the way it was heading.

‘I’m sorry I had to tell you this,’ Shelley went on awkwardly. ‘I just thought you should know.’ She let out a little sigh of empathy. ‘Look, I know you love him—there’s hardly a woman in Sydney who doesn’t—but you can’t let him do this to you. He married you for money, Mia. Now his great-aunt is dead he’ll get rid of you. Your marriage will be over. He doesn’t love you. I thought he did, everyone thought he did, but as actors go he surely takes the Oscar. He used you to get what he wanted. He used you despicably and very cruelly.’

‘Thank you for telling me.’ Somehow Mia found her strangled voice.

Shelley gave her an agonised look. ‘I wish I hadn’t been there to hear it with my own ears. God, Mia, what will you do?’

She straightened her shoulders, her grey eyes firing up with determination. ‘I’m going to do what I’m best at. I’m going to act.’

Shelley frowned. ‘Act?’

‘You just watch me, Shelley,’ Mia said. ‘Bryn Dwyer is not going to get away with thinking he can walk all over my career.’

‘What about your heart?’

‘That too.’

Shelley gave her a doubtful look. ‘If you need me at any time, just let me know. He’s a bastard, Mia, a total bastard who has no heart.’

‘I know,’ Mia said through gritted teeth. ‘But I’m not letting him have the satisfaction of trampling over mine. If it takes every bit of acting ability I possess I am going to teach him the lesson he should have learned a long time ago.’

‘What are you going to do?’

She met her friend’s troubled gaze. ‘I’m going to get in first, that’s what I’m going to do.’

‘You mean, pull the plug on your marriage before he gets the chance?’

Mia smiled even though it hurt unbearably. ‘I may not be up to scratch on acting the femme fatale role according to Bryn Dwyer’s opinion, but the one role I can do convincingly is the I-never-loved-you-in-the-first-place one.’

‘But you really do love him, don’t you?’

‘I’m an actor, Shelley,’ Mia reminded her. ‘And I’m telling you if I can’t pull this off then I’m going to give up and go back to college and find some other career.’

‘Such as?’

Mia frowned as she thought about it. ‘I don’t know…maybe working in a café wouldn’t be so bad after all.’

Shelley reached out and gave her a quick hug. ‘Don’t even think about it. You were born to be on stage—you just haven’t found the right one yet.’

Mia had no choice but to tell Gina about the true state of her marriage, for as soon as her former flatmate answered the door Gina could see for herself the emotional despair on her face.

‘I can’t believe it!’ Gina said once Mia had told her everything. ‘I thought he was in love with you.’

‘He’s in love with himself, not me,’ Mia said, wiping at her eyes.

‘But what if Shelley didn’t hear correctly? I mean, a café is hardly a quiet place. There are usually several conversations going on at once and cups and plates rattling in the background,’ Gina said. ‘Surely you owe Bryn a chance to explain his motivations for marrying you?’

‘We’re having dinner this evening,’ Mia informed her. ‘He said this morning before he left that he wanted to discuss our future. That could only mean one thing.’

Gina’s face fell. ‘Oh…’

‘I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of waving the chequered flag in my face. I’m going to ask for a divorce.’

‘Your room is still empty,’ Gina said. ‘You can come back here any time.’

‘Thanks, Gina. I’m going back to pack my bags now. I’ll bring them here as soon as I’m done. I just want to tell Bryn Dwyer what I think of him and get it over with.’

‘Look what happened the last time you said that,’ Gina said wryly. ‘It doesn’t always pay to go looking for revenge. You’re the one who will get hurt.’

Mia scrubbed at her eyes determinedly. ‘I’m not going to let him see how much he hurt me. You just wait and see, Gina. This is going to be the performance of my life.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

MIA had not long finished packing her things at Bryn’s house when she received a phone call from Ellie, who was now safely relaxing with a group of friends on the Greek island of Santorini.

‘I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me,’ Ellie said. ‘It was such a harrowing time. I really thought I was going to lose it there for a while. The money you sent helped release fifteen people. You should be very proud of yourself.’

‘Yes, well, that’s what sisters are for,’ she said with a touch of wryness, ‘to make sacrifices. You’ve done it for me lots of times.’

‘So how’s the gorgeous husband?’

‘He’s…’ Mia hesitated, wondering if she should ruin her sister’s well-earned holiday with the news of her impending divorce. ‘I’m having dinner with him tonight. I can hardly wait.’

‘I’m so happy for you, Mia, you so deserve to be happy. You’re always so good at helping others. It’s time you got to be treated like a princess. Love you, sis. I’ll be home in a couple of weeks and thanks again for not telling the folks about the drama I was in. I knew I could count on you. You’re the best.’

‘I love you too, Ellie. Don’t go saving any whales or forests on your way home. Just come home and be with me, right?’

‘It’s a deal,’ Ellie said.

A short time later another call came through, this time from Mia’s previous agent, informing her of a role she thought Mia might be interested in auditioning for.

‘But I thought you were too busy to represent me,’ Mia said with unmistakable bitterness.

‘Yes, well, it’s more of a permanent role so it doesn’t quite fall into our regular guidelines for representation. I just thought, since you were at a loose end, you might like this. You would be perfect for it.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a job working with sick children in hospital. It sounds like a lot of fun and the money is good. All you have to do is entertain them for a couple of hours each day by reading to them and doing the odd magic trick. I know how good you are with kids so I thought you’d jump at it. There’s an audition tomorrow at four pm at the church hall in Boronia Avenue, not far from here.’

‘OK, I’ll be there, but I would still like to know why you—’

‘Great, I’ll put in a good word for you. I’ll text you all the details. Good luck.’

‘Roberta—’ Mia began but the agent interrupted her again, making up some excuse that she had an important call coming in.

‘Sorry, Mia. Gotta go. Let me know how you get on. Bye.’

Mia stared at the phone in her hand, her brow furrowing slightly.

It rang a few minutes later and she was not at all surprised to hear Bryn’s voice informing her that Henry would be collecting her for their dinner engagement that evening.

‘Sorry about that, Mia,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got some legal work to see to over my great-aunt’s estate. It will save time if Henry brings you straight to the restaurant. I’ve booked it for seven-thirty and I should be there soon after if all goes well.’

‘Why don’t we eat here instead?’ she suggested, wondering if what she had to say would be fit for the ears of other diners.

‘No, I gave Marita a couple of days off, as one of her kids is sick. Don’t worry, I’ll be there as soon as I can. How was your day by the way?’

‘Wonderful,’ she lied. ‘I had my hair done and went shopping; I even bought a dress for tonight.’

‘You sound like you’re looking forward to seeing me,’ he said at her light and cheery tone.

‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘I have so much to tell you. I can hardly wait.’

There was a tiny pause before he asked, ‘What have you got to tell me?’

‘It’s a surprise,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

‘Mia…’

The sound of the doorbell gave her a perfect excuse to end the call. ‘Oops, got to go. It sounds like there’s someone at the door.’

‘It’s a present for you,’ he said. ‘I hope you like it.’

‘How sweet,’ she said, grinding her teeth. ‘I’ll see you later. Bye.’

She opened the door to find a florist delivery-service man with a huge bunch of tall red roses and a slim box wrapped in pink tissue with a white bow around it. ‘Mrs Mia Dwyer?’

‘Yes, that’s me,’ she said, mentally tacking on: but not for much longer.

‘These are for you.’ He handed them over and smiled. ‘Hey, I’ve never met a really famous person before. Can I have your autograph?’

She blinked at him. ‘My autograph?’

‘Yeah, my two kids loved you in that ad you did with the puppy and the toilet rolls. They’ll be tickled pink to hear I’ve met you in person.’

She put the roses down and rummaged for something to sign her name on and, asking for his children’s names, scribbled a greeting and drew a big smiley face beside each one. ‘Here you are.’ She handed it to him with a smile.

‘My wife listens to your husband’s programme,’ he said. ‘She reckons it’s the most romantic thing how you two got together.’

‘Yes…yes, it was.’

‘Well, I’d better be going. Nice meeting you.’

‘And you,’ she said.

She waited until he’d driven away before picking up the roses and the box and carried them inside. She unpinned the card and, taking it from the tiny envelope, opened it to read the message. It said: ‘I hope you like these. See you tonight, Bryn.’

She frowned as she put it to one side and opened the tissue-wrapped box, where inside was an exquisite string of pearls resting on a bed of plush blue velvet.

Anger bubbled up inside her. No doubt this was his parting gift, a stupid bunch of roses and expensive pearls to soften the blow of him calling an end to their marriage.

She went to the kitchen and, taking a pair of scissors out of the utensil drawer, came back to where she’d left the roses and one by one snipped off each perfect, fragrant bud, leaving the tall stalks standing looking forlorn and headless.

She then picked up the string of pearls and snipped her way along it until they rolled like marbles all over the tiled foyer. She gave a satisfied little sigh as the last one rolled underneath the hall stand.

It would probably take him months to retrieve them all.

Mia ferried her bags over to Gina’s and, leaving her car there on the final trip, caught a taxi back to Bryn’s house to dress for the evening. She was ready and waiting when Henry arrived, and, quickly closing the door behind her, followed him out to the car.

‘You look very beautiful this evening, Mrs Dywer,’ he said as he helped her settle inside the car. ‘Mr Dwyer is going to be knocked sideways when he sees you, I’m sure.’

She gave him a sugar-sweet smile. ‘That’s the plan. I can’t have him thinking he married a woman with no taste or style, now, can I?’

‘You are the perfect wife for him, if you don’t mind me saying,’ he said once they were on their way. ‘Mr Dwyer has had a hard time of it but since you came into his life I’ve noticed some real changes. He would never have coped so well with his great-aunt’s death without your help. You’re good for him.’

‘Thank you, Henry,’ she said softly, desperately trying to control the urge to cry.

The restaurant was on the harbour in Rushcutters Bay and although it was crowded the table Bryn had booked for them was tucked away in a quiet corner.

She was sitting at the table with a glass of champagne in front of her, mentally rehearsing her performance, when Bryn arrived. She watched him exchange a few words with the maître d’ before looking in her direction, his dark blue eyes meshing with hers.

She watched as every head turned as he wove his way through the restaurant to where she was sitting, bending his head to place a soft kiss to her forehead before he took the seat opposite. She held her breath as his gaze dipped to her unadorned neck.

‘Did you get my gift?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you. They were…beautiful.’

‘You’re not wearing the pearls.’

‘I had trouble with the clasp,’ she said. ‘I thought I might lose them if I didn’t do it up properly.’

He seemed satisfied with her answer and smiled as the waiter approached with the menu and wine list.

‘How did your meeting go?’ she asked once the waiter had taken Bryn’s request for a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.

‘It was fine,’ he answered. ‘I had some papers to sign, that’s all.’

‘How about your meeting with your producer this morning? Was that productive?’

He waited until the waiter had poured their wine before answering. ‘Yes…it was.’

Mia watched as he toyed with his glass, staring into its blood-red contents as if wondering how they came to be there.

‘I had a phone call from my ex-agent today,’ she said into the silence.

‘Oh?’ He took a sip of wine.

‘Yes; apparently she’s found some work for me. Isn’t that nice?’

His eyes fell away from hers as he leaned back in his chair for the waiter to place some hot bread rolls on the table.

‘And here I was, thinking she thought I was hopeless,’ she went on once the waiter had gone. ‘I lost so much confidence when she and Theodore dropped me but it seems she thinks I have some measure of talent after all.’

‘There’s never been any question of your having talent,’ Bryn said, meeting her eyes. ‘I should never have written the review in the first place. God knows I’ve regretted it ever since.’

‘No, you shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘But then there are a lot of things you shouldn’t have done, aren’t there, Bryn?’

He held her gaze for a tense moment, his throat moving up and down slightly.

‘Mia, the reason we are here now is because I have a confession to make. I should have told you in the first place but I had no idea I would end up feeling this way. I didn’t see it coming. I should have but I didn’t. I guess I didn’t want to.’

Mia waited for him to continue, her fingers tightening around her untouched glass of red wine, her anger building so steadily she hardly took in what he was saying. She just wanted to say her piece and get away before he had the chance to hurt her further.

‘I don’t think it’s fair to continue our relationship on the terms I laid down,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time I told you the truth about how I engineered our marriage.’

It was just the cue she’d been waiting for. ‘You mean about how you insisted Theo drop me from the play?’

He frowned. ‘So you know about that?’

‘Yes, and I also know how you told Roberta to stop finding me work so you could force me to act your little role for you,’ she continued. ‘It had nothing to do with your ratings, did it, Bryn? It had more to do with you wanting to secure a fortune for yourself. It was clever, I admit, and if I were the gullible, innocent fool you seem to think I am I would have fallen for it.’

He stared at her speechlessly as she went on, ‘You see, Bryn, I knew what you were up to. I decided to teach you a lesson. You thought I couldn’t act to save myself but in the end I completely fooled you and everyone else as well with my convincing performance.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘What do you mean?’

She gave him a cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smile. ‘I’m not really in love with you, Bryn. And I wasn’t a virgin either. How was that for a performance? Brilliant, don’t you think? You fell for it hook, line and sinker. God, how I was laughing at you the whole time! You thought I couldn’t act but boy, did I show you.’

His features became rigid and white-tipped with anger, his eyes like dark blue diamonds as they clashed with hers. ‘You bitch. You lying little bitch. And here I was, feeling guilty for using you.’

She gave him a cold look of disdain. ‘You didn’t use me, Bryn. I used you. I got the leg-up to fame I needed. People are stopping me for my autograph now. How cool is that? And all because of you. I guess I should be thanking you for giving my career the boost it needed, but do you know what, I think I’ll make a toast to you instead?’ She got to her feet and raised her glass of red wine. ‘Here’s to the end of our temporary marriage.’ She gave him an imperious smile. ‘Cheers, Bryn. Thanks for the memories—I’m going to be dining out on those for years,’ she said and tipped the contents of her glass into his lap.

As exits went it was one of her best. She wove her way through the tables with a smile of victory plastered to her face, raising her hand to him in a tiny fingertip wave as a taxi pulled into the kerb outside the restaurant.

Her last sight of him was the absolute look of incredulity on his face as he got to his feet, the red wine over his groin looking as if someone had stabbed him.

The taxi driver looked at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘Hey, don’t I know you? I think I saw you in the paper the other day. You’re famous, right?’

Mia gave him a tight little smile. ‘Yes, I am. But guess what? It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.’ And she promptly burst into tears.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘WOW, an audition at last!’ Gina crowed with delight the following afternoon. ‘This is just what you need to take your mind off you-know-who. What’s this one for?’

Mia put the final touches to her pixie costume, marvelling yet again at the pointy silicone ears which looked so real. ‘Roberta organised it for me.’

‘But I thought she wasn’t representing you any more.’

‘Yes, well, maybe she had a twinge of conscience, because she rang and told me she had an audition lined up for me. She told me I was perfect for the role.’

Gina peered at Mia’s ears. ‘A pixie?’

‘Not just any old pixie,’ Mia said. ‘If I get the job I’m going to be officially known at the Pain Pixie.’

‘The Pain Pixie?’ Gina wrinkled her nose. ‘That sounds a bit weird.’

‘No, it’s a fabulous idea,’ Mia said. ‘The Pain Pixie visits sick kids in hospital, reading to them and entertaining them to take their minds off their pain. I’ve even got a pot of pixie dust, see?’ She sprinkled some in the air. ‘And a wand.’ She waved it about for a moment, privately wishing it could bring about the miracle she wanted in her own life.

‘You’re right, that does sound fabulous,’ Gina said. ‘What time is your audition?’

She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m going now. Wish me luck.’

Mia knocked on the door of the church hall half an hour later and was greeted by a woman who asked her to stand on the stage and read from a well-known children’s book.

She did as she was told, reading in a clear, animated voice.

‘Thank you, that’s great,’ the woman said before Mia had even finished the page. ‘You’re perfect for the role. You can start this afternoon. I’ll give you the schedule with all the contact times. You will be paid a wage plus travel expenses.’

Mia stepped down from the stage and took the sheet the woman handed her. ‘Is that all you want me to do?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I can do accents and tell jokes and that sort of stuff.’

‘No, you’re fine. You’ve got the job. You came with very high recommendations.’

As auditions went it was certainly the easiest Mia had ever experienced, she thought as she made her way back to Gina’s.

‘How did it go?’ Gina asked.

‘I got the job,’ she said with a little frown.

‘What’s wrong? You don’t seem all that thrilled. Isn’t it what you were expecting?’

‘I don’t know…’ she said. ‘I’m just getting a funny feeling about this.’

‘What do you mean? Don’t you like the sound of the work?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s a dream job. I get paid to make kids happy. I can’t think of anything I’d like better, but still…’

‘You’re still thinking about him, aren’t you?’ Gina said softly.

‘I’m trying not to…’

‘I heard him on the radio,’ Gina said.

Mia felt herself tensing. ‘Was he his usual cutting self?’

‘Actually, no, he wasn’t.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing much, he just played a whole lot of soppy romantic songs instead of that usual stuff he plays.’

Mia gave a little snort. ‘He’s just trying to make his listeners feel sorry for him. No doubt it will lift his ratings to an all-time high.’

‘You could well be right because his ratings have toppled Maxwell Murdoch’s from the rival channel for the first time in years,’ Gina said. ‘But it’s funny in a way because I read in the paper that Bryn is not renewing his contract at the station.’

Mia’s lip curled cynically. ‘That’s because he’s so filthy rich now he’s got his hands on his great-aunt’s estate.’

‘Not according to his column in this morning’s paper,’ Gina said. ‘He said he’d given the whole proceeds of his great-aunt’s estate to a well-known children’s charity. It was finalised with his lawyers yesterday.’

Mia stared at her flatmate for several heart-stopping seconds. ‘Do you still have the paper?’

‘It’s here somewhere…’ Gina began to search for it, finally unearthing it from beneath the sofa cushions. ‘Here.’ She pressed it out flat for Mia to read.

Mia read the column, her heart beginning to thud unevenly in her chest.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gina asked. ‘You look like you’re about to faint.’

‘No…no, I’m fine…’ She forced a smile to her stiff lips. ‘I’m just nervous about my first session at the hospital.’

Mia turned up at the hospital as arranged and was led to the children’s ward, where she spent an enjoyable hour or two reading and playing with the young patients. She couldn’t believe how rewarding it was to see each child’s face light up when she came in. It was the most rewarding role she had ever played and she didn’t want it to ever end.

If only someone could sprinkle some pixie dust over her and take her own pain away, she thought as she made her way to the next child’s bedside.

‘Are you really a pixie?’ a little boy with wide, dark brown eyes asked.

‘Of course I am,’ Mia insisted. ‘See my pot of magic dust? This is what I sprinkle around to take pain away. It has special magic powers.’

He gave her a sceptical look. ‘Does it really work?’

‘How’s your pain been while I’ve been here?’ she asked.

He smiled at her, showing his missing front teeth. ‘I haven’t even thought about it.’

‘See?’ She gave him a grin. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

She went next to a little girl who’d had extensive chemotherapy for acute myeloid leukaemia. The sight of the frail seven-year-old with no hair struck at Mia’s heart and she sat down by the bed and started talking to her. She found out the little girl’s name was Ellie, the very same as her sister’s.

‘It’s short for Eleanor,’ the little girl informed her. ‘But I still have trouble spelling it so I much prefer Ellie.’

‘I can’t say I blame you,’ Mia said. ‘I have an adopted sister whose name is Eleanora. That’s even harder to spell. We’ve always called her Ellie.’

‘I don’t have any sisters,’ the little Ellie said. ‘I have a brother but he’s only two.’

‘This must be tough for you in here,’ Mia said. ‘I’ve heard your parents live in the country on a farm. It must be hard not having regular visitors.’

‘It’s nice that you’re here,’ the little girl said. ‘Is it true you have magic powers?’

Mia felt like the biggest fraud in history but something about the little girl’s dark blue eyes reminded her of Bryn and she found herself confessing, ‘I have the ability to take pain away with the wave of my magic wand. That’s why I’m called the Pain Pixie.’ She pulled out her wand and waved it in the air. ‘But I have to let you in on a little secret. It only works if the patient really wants to get rid of the pain.’

‘I’m not in pain right now but I feel sad that my parents can’t always be here with me,’ Ellie said. ‘Do you think your magic wand can help with that?’

Mia felt as if her heart was being clamped by an industrial-strength vice. ‘I can be here as often as you need me to be here,’ she said, fighting back tears. ‘I can read to you, watch DVDs with you or sit and talk to you as long as you want.’

‘Really?’ The little girl’s eyes lit up like bright little diamonds.

Mia smiled and, reaching out, squeezed the little girl’s hand ever so gently. ‘That’s what the Pain Pixie’s job is all about. I’ll be here for you whenever you need me and if I’m off with another patient you have only to tell the nurse on duty so I can get back here as soon as possible.’

‘I feel better already,’ little Ellie said. ‘I’m so happy you’ve come to visit me. I don’t miss my mummy so much now.’

Mia bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the little girl’s forehead. ‘You know something, Ellie? I’m a whole lot older than you but I still sometimes miss my mum. You’re a very brave girl.’

‘I’m not really very brave,’ Ellie confessed. ‘I cried heaps last night.’

It was on the tip of Mia’s tongue to confess the same but somehow she stopped herself in time.

A few minutes later a nurse came over to her to inform her of a patient in a private room who particularly needed her attention.

‘I’m afraid this is a very tragic case,’ the nurse said in grave tones. ‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to do much to help the poor darling boy but it’s worth a try.’

‘What happened to him?’ Mia asked in an undertone.

‘Heart trouble,’ the nurse answered, shaking her head sadly.

‘Is it a congenital condition?’ Mia asked, thinking of the heart murmur her father had had since birth.

‘He’s had it since he was a little boy, I believe,’ the nurse said and indicated the door of the private room. ‘But evidently the problem has become more serious of late. Go on in, he’s expecting you.’

Mia gave the door a little knock and opened it to find Bryn sitting on the edge of the single bed. She stared at him for several moments, her mouth opening and closing in shock.

She took a step backwards but he sprang off the bed and captured her before she could get away, closing the door so no one could listen in. ‘No, don’t go, Mia. I want to talk to you.’

‘Let me go, you…you…’ She was so furious she couldn’t think of a bad enough word to flay him with. ‘I should have known you’d be behind this! How could you? I really love this job and now I find, like everything else to do with you, it’s all a stupid act!’

‘I had to see you,’ he said. ‘I need to tell you how much I love you. And this job is genuine. It’s yours as long as you want it.’

She stared at him with wide eyes, her heart beginning to hammer unevenly. ‘You’re…you’re sure?’

‘Yes, Mia, I’m sure. The job’s yours.’

She moistened her mouth, her eyes still focused on his. ‘I—I mean about the…the I-love-you bit…’

He smiled as he drew her closer. ‘I fell in love with you the very first day I met you but I was too stupid to see it. I guess I didn’t want to admit it. I hated feeling so vulnerable. But believe me, Mia. I love you. I can’t imagine life without you. When I went home after our dinner I was so angry at what you’d said it took me a while to realise the clues you’d left behind that made me realise how you really felt.’

‘You mean the roses and the pearls?’

His eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Agnes is probably turning over in her grave at what you did to her precious pearls.’

‘Oh, my God!’ She put her hand up to her throat. ‘They belonged to your great-aunt?’

‘She left them for you in her will. They’re worth a small fortune, or at least they will be when I finally find them all and have them restrung.’

She gave him a shamefaced look. ‘I was so angry. I thought you were giving them to me as a consolation prize to mark the end of our temporary marriage.’

‘Can you ever forgive me for what I did?’ he asked. ‘I was wrong to have you dropped from the company, and as for getting Roberta to stop representing you…well, all I can say is I’m deeply ashamed of myself. I didn’t stop to think of how you would be affected. I just wanted you so badly I was prepared to put aside every other consideration so I could have you. As for my great-aunt’s estate, I never wanted it for myself but I just couldn’t bear the thought of giving it to the man who had killed my parents. My great-aunt was right, though; it is time I learnt to let go of the past and forgive the poor man. He didn’t do it intentionally and has paid for that one error of judgement all of his life.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I was right for that play either. To tell you the truth I haven’t been all that happy with any of the roles I’ve had in the past. All of my life I’ve been searching for something to do that really makes a difference and today I found it.’ She looked up at him with hope shining in her eyes. ‘Do you really mean this job is for real?’

‘Of course it is,’ he said. ‘I’d been thinking about it for ages. I once spent a week in hospital not long after my parents died. I had my tonsils out. I was so lonely and afraid, I have never forgotten it. I swore one day I would try and do something to help kids who were sick.’

She smiled up at him. ‘So you became a principle sponsor for a major children’s charity even though you pretend you’re not capable of love.’

‘You have taught me how to love, Mia,’ he said, ‘and not only that, you taught me how to recognise it. If you hadn’t come along and tossed that coffee in my lap I might have very well ended up alone and lonely for the rest of my life. No one has ever affected me the way you do. I looked into those big grey eyes of yours and I was totally lost. It was a frightening experience for someone like me who has clung to what is predictable and controllable all his life. When you told me you loved me I was so overcome, I felt so guilty for what I had done. I couldn’t imagine you ever forgiving me.’

‘Of course I forgive you—I love you. I think I fell in love with you the first day too. But I had my own reasons for marrying you which had nothing to do with how I felt about you.’

‘You did?’

She gave him a sheepish look. ‘I would never have agreed to take things so far but Ellie was in trouble in South America. She needed money in a hurry and your marriage proposal was the ideal way to solve a problem I just couldn’t solve on my own. It was only as we were officially married that I started to realise that I had got myself in a little deeper than I’d initially intended.’

‘So will you agree to stay married to me for real? No acting this time?’

She gave him an impish smile, two tiny dimples appearing in her cheeks. ‘I wasn’t acting in the first place.’

‘You know something, sweetheart?’ he said as he brought his mouth down to hers. ‘Nor was I.’

The Virgin’s Proposal

By Shirley Jump

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

Standing on a street corner in a banana suit was not the most humiliating thing to happen in Katie’s life, but it came in at a close second.

Dressed from head to toe in yellow felt, she barely remembered what the word dignity meant. She’d checked hers the minute Sarah had talked her into masquerading as a piece of fruit, all to increase sales.

“Hey Chiquita! Can you peel for me?” A carload of teenagers screamed past her. She might as well have been the Soak-the-Bloke clown for all the respect she’d received. Apparently, a five-foot-three, twenty-four-year-old woman in a banana suit was the funniest thing in the tiny town of Mercy, Indiana, today. What kind of suicidal tendencies had made her mention the idea of doing something unique to boost sales to Sarah, soon-to-be-ex-best friend and business partner?

The store. It was all she thought about. Sales had been low when they’d opened a year ago and kept dropping. The rent was due in two weeks, and unfortunately, their bank account didn’t have a big enough balance to cover it. Katie and Sarah had yet to find a way to crack the hold their competition, Flowers and More, a shop in the nearby city of Lawford, had on Mercy. Plenty of weddings, bar mitzvahs, showers and funerals happened around here, but hardly anyone was buying from A Pair of Posies.

If there was some way to get people to notice the store, maybe Katie wouldn’t feel like such a failure—both personally and business-wise. She was desperate to make a go of the store—desperate enough to wear the fruit suit.

She sighed. The four-tone Ford with the teens came swerving back around the corner. “You’d be King Kong’s dream!”

She ignored them, her cheeks hot. Sales or no sales, the costume was humiliating. Thank God the foam head covered most of her face. The last thing she wanted was anyone finding out it was her under the peel.

She straightened the sign advertising their sale on fruit baskets, then noticed a motorcycle, gleaming in chrome and black, roar down the street toward her and slip into one of the front spaces. She bit her lip and steeled herself for another onslaught of pubescent humor. The rider pulled off his helmet and swung a denim-clad leg over the bike.

Oh. My. God. The man was no teenager and no joke. Motorcycle Man had extra-dark Hershey-brown hair that raked across his brows and set off eyes the color of a twilight sky. He was tall, taller than she and her banana head put together, and lean in a way that said he hadn’t spent hours on a couch playing potato. Stonewashed jeans molded his hips; a white T-shirt hugged his chest. Topped with a battered chestnut-brown leather jacket, he looked as if he’d stepped out of a James Dean movie.

And yet, he looked familiar. But try as she might, she couldn’t quite place a name with his face.

He glanced at her as he passed, smiling at her costume. A shiver tingled down her spine. With his slow, easy grin and confident step, he looked like the kind of man who knew exactly what the word pleasure meant and how to give it as well as he got it. That was a skimpy area on Katie’s personal résumé.

“Great marketing idea,” he said before disappearing into the shop.

Katie straightened her tilting foam head and wished men with movie-star looks would only stop in on days when she didn’t look ready for trick-or-treating.

Just once, I wonder what it would be like to be with a man like that.

For the first time in her life, she was tempted, very, very tempted, to swallow her shyness and take a chance. To break out of the shell that had gotten her nowhere in life. Talk to him. Flirt a little. Walk on the wild side.

Well, at least cross the sidewalk. Actually walking on the wild side might be more than she could handle. And, according to the breakup letter from her ex-fiancé, Steve Spencer, it was something she would never do. When she’d proved to be too boring for his tastes, Steve had left her at the altar and run off with Katie’s bridesmaid—a woman who gave him exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. Because of that, Katie had become the most pitied person in town. All her life she’d been the good girl: dependable, obedient. It used to be a plus. But all it had done was make her a grown-up doormat.

Not to mention, still a virgin at twenty-four. She used to be proud she’d stuck to her guns, held out for her wedding night. Now she felt like the world’s biggest idiot.

Make that the world’s biggest banana, she amended.

For a few seconds, she stopped thinking about the shop and the horrible day she’d had so far. Her mind turned to Motorcycle Man and how a glimpse of him had her thinking about tossing her morals right out the window. They hadn’t gotten her very far anyway—just alone and dressed like one of the four food groups.

My hormones have launched a mental coup, she thought. There was no other explanation for the fact she was still reeling from his smile. Imagine what a kiss from him would be like, her conspiratorial mind whispered.

Who was he? He certainly didn’t live here in town, though maybe he used to and that’s why he looked familiar. A man like him, a man who would leave broken hearts in his path as surely as the Presbyterian church clock would chime the hour ten minutes late, couldn’t buy a soda at the Bowl-a-Rama without spurring excited twitters among the female half of Mercy’s population of 4,036.

Kate wiped away the sweat beading along her brow. The late-April sun beat down, roasting her like the turkeys in a bag her mother cooked every Thanksgiving. She was tempted to toss the banana suit and rejoin the human race. She could grab an icy soda out of the fridge and plant herself under the air conditioner until icicles hung from her nose.

Katie ducked her head, moving back into the cool shade of the awning. And collided with something tall and solid. She teetered, then began to topple over, heavy banana head first. Strong arms righted her before she hit the concrete. “Thanks.” She pivoted in suit-restricted geisha-girl steps to see the identity of her rescuer.

Could her day get any more humiliating? Motorcycle Man was standing behind her, a bundle of roses cushioned in one arm and that same easy grin lighting up his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she managed. “Thanks for catching me before I became a banana split.”

He smiled. “It’s not every day I get a chance to rescue a banana in distress.”

Curiosity, helped along by the anonymity of a fruit costume, overrode Katie’s natural tendency to be reserved. Walk on the wild side, Katie. Just a step or two. Besides, he’s a customer—no harm in being friendly.

“It must be the most apeeling part of your day.” The dry humor slipped from her tongue as if she talked this way every day. Geez, put a costume on me and I become Jay Leno. “Or maybe it’s better than slipping on one….”

He laughed and put up a hand. “Truce. I guess you’ve heard your share of jokes this morning.”

“Yours just added to the total. I’m at lucky thirteen now.”

“Sorry.”

She flashed him a smile which she knew he couldn’t see. “Now that you’ve teased and nearly toppled me, the least you can do is tell me who you are.”

He extended his hand. “Matt Webster.”

The name immediately clicked. Handsome and rich renegade son of the Webster family. A few years older than her, so not someone Katie had really known. She did remember the huge wedding-of-the-century his family had held for him ten years or so ago, but then he’d left town and no one had heard much about him since.

She pulled off her glove and shook. His hand was slightly rough and callused, but large, capable and strong. And bare of a wedding ring, she noted. “Katie Dole.”

She saw him try to hold back the laughter, but it burst out all the same. “You’re joking, right?”

“I wish.”

“No relation to the fruit company, I presume?”

She shook her head, the foam head bobbing. “I’m not that lucky.”

“Are you related to Jack Dole?”

She nodded. “He’s my oldest brother. Then there’s Luke, Mark and Nate. There are a lot of bananas in the Dole family tree.”

He laughed. “Well, Miss Dole, it was a delicious pleasure to meet you.”

His hand slipped out of hers and with it went a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot day. She scrambled for a witty reply…nothing. Dressed as a piece of fruit, she felt a tad out of her element as a woman. Short of tucking herself into a massive bowl of ice cream and drizzling chocolate sauce down her torso, she didn’t think her banana costume made her look very appealing to a man like him.

So she stood there like the village idiot as he waved and got back on the motorcycle, tucking the flowers into the compartment behind him before roaring away.

That man was definitely dangerous, always had been, if his reputation was any indication. The kind of guy who was out of her league, sexually, physically…every way. A man who lived on the brink. Katie had never lived anywhere close to the edge. She was too afraid of hurtling over it and into a canyon of heartache.

As if he had some kind of death wish, Matt pushed his Harley to the limit. The town where he’d spent what some would call his formative years rushed by in a blur of impressions: the Langdon Street sign that still bent to the right, eleven years after his convertible had given it a new shape; Amos Wintergreen’s farm, where Matt and his friends had tipped cows until Amos’s Labrador drove them off his land; the county jail, where he’d spent many a night paying for what his father called “bad choices.”

The wind whipped at his jacket, pushing him to turn around and go back to Pennsylvania. He had a business there, a life. He didn’t need to be in Mercy, he told himself.

With a determined twist, Matt revved the engine of the 1974 Sportster and the sleek machine beneath him lunged forward.

The image of the woman in the banana suit popped into his head. The memory erased the growing tension in his neck. He chuckled. She must be mighty brave to put on such a public display in a small town, especially this small town.

His imagination was drifting toward what she’d look like beneath the peel when the bike shuddered and the engine began to cough and stall. Matt squeezed the handlebar brakes and brought the motorcycle to a grinding, definitely-bad-for-the-engine halt.

“Damn!” he swore at the defiant mass of steaming metal. The head gasket had blown and was spewing oil everywhere. Slick, dark liquid sprayed over his boots, across his T-shirt, trickled down the sleeves of his leather jacket. He set the bike on its kickstand, grabbed a rag from the toolbox strapped to the back and rubbed off the worst of it.

He was still two miles away from what used to be home. How ironic. Instead of the triumphant return he’d envisioned, he’d have to limp back to his parents’ house, hauling a several-hundred-pound pile of metal to boot. He swore twice more, cursing the fates resoundingly. But they didn’t listen. They’d given up on him long ago.

He began pushing it along the side of the road. The sun beat down, cooking him inside his leather jacket. He glanced at the cooler strapped to the back. A waste of time. The container had been empty of anything carbonated for the last ten miles. What he wouldn’t do for an ice-cold beer, or two or ten, right about now.

It had been eleven years since he’d dropped to the bottom and picked himself up, but some days—especially this day—the siren call of alcohol was loud and insistent.

For the thousandth time, Matt wondered why he’d thought it would be a good idea to come back.

At the end of the day, Katie headed into the air-conditioned shop, grateful she and Sarah had scraped together enough money to repair the aging cooling system. She peeled off the suit, stripping down to her shorts and tank.

“We had three orders for fruit baskets, so our idea boosted business. Not enough, though.” Sarah seated herself on a stool, popping open a can of soda and handing it to Katie, who promptly guzzled down half. “Was it as much fun as it looked?”

“Oh, so much more fun. I can’t believe you talked me into doing that.” Katie slipped off the yellow felt coverings on her sneakers. “You should try it sometime.”

“I’d be glad to. But the suit won’t fit for a couple months!” She patted her stomach, the mountainous bulge announcing her pregnancy, now in its ninth month.

It had been three years since Jack, Katie’s oldest brother, had married Sarah. Ever since, Katie had been awaiting the day a tiny voice called her Auntie Katie. Her brother Luke’s daughter was eleven and living in California, too far away to spoil. It wasn’t a family of her own, but it was the next best thing. Buying bibs and stuffed animals also kept her from thinking too hard about her own life—not that there’d been much of one to think about. She’d been stuck in glue for the past year, not moving forward with anything other than the store. Work was the only thing that filled the emptiness that crept around her when she flipped the sign to Closed.

It also helped her avoid the one thing she feared. Failure. Katie had yet to be a success at anything. She’d had good grades in high school, but not good enough to get a college scholarship. She’d joined the debate team and publicly frozen at her first competition. She’d dated the captain of the football team, but had been dumped at the altar. And now, the store—her dream—was close to financial ruin. Another imminent failure, if she didn’t take some action.

Katie propped open the door and dragged in the sign. “I’m glad to hear we had a few sales. We needed them.”

“I know. The road construction isn’t helping. The rent—” Sarah stopped when the door jangled.

Katie immediately recognized the woman who entered the store. Olivia Maguire, owner of the only interior design business in the Mercy area. Tall, thin and dressed in silvery-blue, she sailed into the room, straight for the counter. “Is that your design in the window?” she asked Sarah, pointing to an exotic silk display.

“Yes, it is.” Sarah said.

“Good. I’ll take two of those. As fast as you can get them to me.” She paced the store, her movements quick, exact. “And one of these,” she pointed to an elaborate vase filled with antique silk roses. “And three of those.” She gestured to a design Sarah had put out yesterday, a retro planter with bright flowers. “How soon can I have them?”

“We’d be happy to create those for you.” Katie proffered her hand when Sarah remained mute, mouth agape. “I’m Katie Dole, one of the owners. This is Sarah—”

“Yes, I know. I believe we’ve met once before, at a charity function or something.” She waved her hand vaguely. “Besides, it’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone and their business.” Olivia gave Katie’s hand a short, firm shake. “I’m Olivia Maguire. I own Renew Interior Designs. Right now, I have three clients who need arrangements. I drove by, saw that interesting one in the window and decided to stop.” She spun on her heel, taking in the shop. “I like what I see. I normally use the Lawford shop, but I’d like to give yours a try, if you have time in your schedule.”

“Certainly.” Katie shot a glance at Sarah. “We could probably have those arrangements to you in three days.” Sarah turned, grabbed the order pad and started writing.

“Make it two and you have a deal.” Olivia laid some money on the counter for a down payment.

Sarah nodded, her gaze on the cash. “Okay.”

“Wonderful.” Olivia handed Katie a foil-embossed business card. “Call me when they’re ready.” Then she left.

When the door shut, Katie let out a breath. “This is great! It’s the break we’ve been waiting for!”

Sarah took the card, turning it over and over in her hand. “That could be a great account for us. It would get our name in front of people with money to spend, the same people who buy loads of flowers for their houses and churches. People like the Callahans and the Simpsons and the Websters…” Sarah’s jaw dropped. “That’s right! Olivia’s our direct ticket to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? Olivia Maguire used to be married to their son…” She waved her hand, searching for the name. “Matt! That’s it. The one who was always in trouble. Maybe you don’t remember him. He was a few years ahead of us in school and I barely remember what he looked like myself.”

“Funny you should mention him.” Katie took another sip of her pop. “The man who was here earlier—”

“The incredibly gorgeous one?”

Katie laughed. “You noticed?”

“I’m pregnant, not blind,” Sarah replied. “What about him?”

“He said he was Matt Webster.”

“The Matt Webster?” Sarah picked up the card again. “Olivia’s Matt?” She rubbed her belly absently. “Didn’t they break up after they lost their baby? The family kept everything hush-hush. It’s been what, ten years, since then?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t exactly have an in-depth conversation under the awning.” Katie smiled. “All I saw was, well, his eyes,” she admitted.

“Did you ask him out?”

“Sarah, I was wearing a banana suit.”

“So? Doesn’t mean you can’t be spontaneous.” She wagged a finger at Katie. “Try a little spontaneity, you might like it.”

“Spoken by the queen of spontaneity herself. Heck, you even got married on the spur of the moment.”

“Eloping is exciting and romantic,” Sarah said with a flourish of her hand. “I like to live for the moment, rather than let it pass me by.”

Katie considered Sarah’s words as she worked on the roses in the cooler. She changed the water and added floral preservative before placing the flowers back into the containers. The banana suit, while embarrassing, had also emboldened her and given her the chutzpah to exchange witty repartee with a sexy stranger. It had been a new feeling, a liberating one. In her twenty-four years, she hadn’t taken many chances and the ones she had—Steve, the store—hadn’t exactly been successful. Maybe if she changed her approach, the outcome would be different.

For too many years, she’d been Conventional Katie, always predictable, never stepping out of bounds, even when the ball was hurtling toward her head. That kind of reliability had led her to a broken heart and a year of lonely evenings.

“I’ve been thinking,” Katie said. “You know what today is, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” Sarah replied with a sympathetic look. “I didn’t want to mention it, though. Figured it might make it hard for you to be a jolly banana.”

Katie laughed. Sarah had always been able to erase Katie’s blue moods. Lord knew there’d been plenty of those in the last year. “It would have been my first anniversary, if Steve hadn’t left me at the altar.”

“In the end, a very good thing.”

“I didn’t think so at the time, but I do now. If I’d married him and then he’d taken off with someone else, it would have been worse.” Katie plucked a pale peach rose from the bucket and sniffed the delicate fragrance. Sarah’s motto sounded like the perfect antidote for Katie’s stagnant life. Live for the moment, before it passes you by. And leaves you old and alone, she amended. “I’ve been moping long enough. It’s time for a change.”

“Good for you!” Sarah settled back on the stool. “What kind of change are you thinking about?”

“First, I’m going to overindulge in chocolate,” Katie said. “And then, well…” She thought of Matt Webster and how a smile from him had set off fireworks in her belly. “I might just go for something a little more decadent.”

Fate sure had a twisted sense of humor. There wasn’t a single Hershey Bar or Sara Lee double chocolate layer cake in the seven-aisle store that passed for a supermarket in Mercy. Katie supposed it was a mark of small-town charm, but for a girl craving chocolate and calories, it left a lot to be desired. Being mid-week, the shelves and freezer case were already empty of anything remotely indulgent. Muttering in defeat, Katie grabbed a box of fruit-flavored Popsicles and laid it in the row of groceries in her basket, arranged in order of her coupons.

She wandered up and down the aisles, in no hurry to return to her empty apartment. As she rounded a display of spaghetti sauce, she heard a familiar voice. Then another. She stopped in her tracks and peeked beyond the jars.

“Oh, Stevie, get the extra cheese popcorn,” purred a woman draped on Katie’s ex-fiancé’s arm. The feline vixen in a lavender dress was none other than Barbara—ex-bridesmaid and traitor.

In tenth grade, Barbara and Katie had met in a study group that managed to ace Miss Marchand’s biology class. They’d become friends and stayed in touch during college. When Barbara returned from four years in Boston and had trouble finding a job, she’d seemed depressed. So Katie often invited her along to join her and Steve as a threesome, or with a friend of Steve’s, thinking it would be the boost Barbara needed. Too trusting by far, Katie later realized she’d been the conduit to a secret affair instead.

Why hadn’t she put the pieces together when Barbara caught a sudden case of the flu the morning of the wedding? While Katie was standing in front of a hundred people waiting for a groom who never came, Barbara had been off consummating a different union.

On Katie’s honeymoon. With Katie’s groom.

And Steve—he’d probably been drinking their champagne in the crystal glasses her mother had bought, toasting another woman in a negligee. An eager woman. One who wouldn’t make him wait until the vows were said and done. And he’d probably been finding the exact kind of excitement he’d told Katie she lacked.

She’d heard they’d moved to Lansing, Michigan. But clearly, they were back, and sharing their love—based on a mutual admiration for wrestling and Coors beer—with all of Mercy. Ugh.

A year’s worth of anger, which Conventional Katie had kept under a tight, polite lid, boiled up inside her. She’d vowed to go on with her life, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten. They’d betrayed her, even going so far as to keep the shower gifts, and she’d taken it all without a word, while Barbara sipped from Katie’s Waterford and kissed Katie’s groom.

She wondered if she could be arrested for assaulting them with an extra-large box of Orville Redenbacher’s.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Katie wheeled around. Standing directly behind her, with a shopping cart full of the gastrointestinal nightmares that only bachelors seemed to buy, was Matt Webster.

She was now in her own clothes, no banana suit to hide behind. It was a perfect chance to test the waters of her new spontaneity resolution, right in front of Barbara and Steve. Take a chance. Dip a toe in the wild side.

A second peek around the corner and she saw Steve, one hand on Barbara’s waist, strolling down the aisle, debating popcorn choices. They were going to see her in a minute—the lovey-dovey couple encountering the lonely, jilted bride. She imagined the pity on their faces, the knowing smiles that said she was the unfortunate one, the one who hadn’t gone on, a year after the fiasco.

It was high time she gave everyone in town something better to talk about. She was tired of being boring, dependable Katie. The same Katie who had been publicly dumped like an old, ugly mattress.

Taking a deep breath, she dropped the basket to the floor, swung back to face Matt, and ordered, “Kiss me.”

Chapter Two

“What?” Matt choked out. “Here? But—”

“Here and now,” she hissed and pulled his head to hers.

It all happened so quickly, Matt had little time to react. Not that he would have refused her anyway. The odds of a strange woman coming up to him in a grocery store and demanding a kiss were about the same as the Red Sox’s chances of winning the World Series. Slim to none. And the fact that the woman was as beautiful as this one only made the situation more intriguing.

Obliging her demands, but adding a few of his own, his mouth drifted over hers, and he tugged her closer. She wanted a kiss and she’d get one. He might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t one to disappoint, not when it came to kisses. Or other bedroom sports.

He teased his tongue along the seam of her mouth, urging her for more, trying to satisfy the wave of desire that had slammed into him like a freight train when she’d grabbed him.

She arched against him, bringing the softness of her breasts up to his chest. Flames erupted in his midsection, and for a moment, he forgot where they were.

“Katie?”

Matt’s gaze jerked toward the sound of two voices. A tall man a few years younger than Matt had his arm draped over the hips of a blonde. Both their mouths gaped in perfect, shocked Os.

Although she ended the kiss, the woman in Matt’s arms didn’t pull away. “Oh my,” she murmured, so softly he barely heard her, “so that’s what it would be like.”

Now that his head was in an upright position, he took a second to peruse his female body burglar. She was probably only five-foot-three, but what was packed into those sixty-three inches was exactly what he liked. She was slender, with a hint of curves under her loose-fitting tank and denim shorts. Her hair—long and the same honey-brown color as a good beer—fell loosely about her face in soft waves that made him remember exactly what kind of fun could be had in the back seat of his convertible.

She stroked his cheek and held his gaze, giving him the fleeting sensation of a long-time lover. Then, poised and in control, she turned and faced the twosome.

“Steve and Barbara, what a nice surprise.” Her voice was filled with sweetness and sarcasm. Matt noticed her hands clench into tight fists, out of sight of the happy couple, but right over the contours of her very pleasing backside.

When his bike had broken down this afternoon, he’d thought returning to Mercy and staying at his parents’ house was a mistake. He’d vowed to come back, show the town he had bucked their predictions and become a successful businessman, not a felon. So far, he’d had little time to do more than tangle with a woman in a banana suit, change his clothes, grab his old convertible and head to the store for the kind of food his mother refused to keep in her pantry.

And then, this woman, a pint-size ball of fire, had surprised the hell out of him and made his homecoming almost fun.

Matt watched with amusement as the trio exchanged uncomfortable, stumbled greetings. The tension in the air was thick and sticky, but all were masking it behind a polite facade. He presumed Steve, one of those guys with a boyish smile, was the “ex” and Barbara the mistress who had turned his head. The woman’s kiss had probably been some sort of revenge.

Steve dropped his arm from the blonde’s waist. “Katie, I didn’t think that was you. I saw you…kissing and well…” his voice trailed off. He looked shocked.

“I guess you didn’t know me that well after all, Steve.” She hugged herself to Matt. He didn’t complain.

“So, ah, how’ve you been?”

“Oh, fine. Business is booming. I couldn’t be happier.” She grabbed Matt’s arm and plastered it to her side.

Matt couldn’t help but take advantage. It was, after all, part of his baser nature. He stroked her waist with lazy movements that spoke of tangled sheets and spent passions. His hand glided down the soft cotton of her tank, along the fabric of her shorts, tracing her body. If she wanted Stevie Boy to think they were lovers, that was an easy, and enjoyable, part to play.

She wasn’t going for an Oscar. She laced the fingers of her right hand with his, effectively stilling his hand and keeping it from straying anywhere interesting at all.

Spoilsport.

Whoever she was, this woman had lit a fire under him that wasn’t being doused easily. A fire that was going to be visible to the whole world if he kept letting his thoughts run toward taking her to bed. Mentally, he recited the Pledge of Allegiance, cooling his ardor with a dash of patriotism. It worked—a little.

“Have you really been okay?” Steve moved forward.

Barbara grabbed his hand before he strayed too far. “Stevie, we’re late for the party. They ordered the pay-perview fight, you know. We’ll miss the beginning.” She tried to reel him back in, but didn’t succeed.

He waved his hand to shush her, his gaze on Katie. “I’m glad things are going well,” Steve said. “Since we moved to Michigan, I’ve lost touch with…everyone. Anyway, we drove down to Mercy today. We’re only staying for a week, because, well, Barbara and I are getting married. Next Saturday. It’s kind of last minute. We’ve barely told anyone yet so, I…I figured you might not have heard.”

Matt glanced at Katie. Tears shone in her azure eyes. He saw her self-control eroding and cursed the man that could make a woman as beautiful as this one cry. She didn’t deserve this humiliation.

“Congratulations, Stevie,” Matt boomed, falling into the charade of being Katie’s lover with gusto. “Katie and I are damned glad to hear your news.” Matt clapped him hard on the shoulder.

Steve wobbled, then regained his balance. “Thanks.” He rubbed his shoulder.

“When you meet the woman of your dreams, it all feels right, doesn’t it?” He splayed his fingers across Katie’s waist, and pressed a kiss to her hair. The sensual, warm scent of shampoo and sunlight wafted up to greet him. Her hair was velvet, falling in russet waves he pictured fanned out across his pillow. “Feels just right,” he murmured.

Steve ignored Matt. “I wanted you to hear the news from me.”

“I’m happy for you, Steve.” Katie squared her shoulders and perked up in Matt’s arms.

“You are?” He looked confused.

“Steve, that was a year ago. I’ve moved on. And after I met Matt, I forgot all about you.” She flashed Matt a warm smile.

He was flabbergasted, not only by her smile, but that she knew his name. He’d only been in town for four hours. How did she know who he was? Was he that recognizable after an eleven-year absence? And why didn’t he remember her?

Before he could give it another thought, Barbara piped in. “I guess the rumors aren’t true, then.”

“And what rumors are those?”

“That you’re becoming…well, to put it plainly,” she gave a little giggle, “a recluse, pouring everything into your shop.” She shook her head, as if Katie’s life were the saddest thing she’d ever encountered. “But after that, ah, very public display, I guess you have moved on. Why don’t you introduce us to this new man in your life?”

“Matt Webster, my…my fiancé.”

Matt swallowed. Engaged? This game was going too far for his tastes. Pretending to be a lover, now that he could do. And do very well. Pretending to be a future husband was way over the top. He needed to get out of here before he was saddled with an imaginary family and a St. Bernard.

“He is? You are?” Barbara didn’t look as though she believed Katie’s story. Matt saw a flare of jealousy in Barbara’s gaze as it darted between Katie and Matt. “Well, I’m happy for you.”

“Are you?”

“Well, sure.” But the blonde didn’t sound happy at all. Maybe she was the type who stole her friend’s Barbies because they seemed nicer than her own. The grass, he’d found, was always greener when you looked at it with envy-colored eyes. Barbara turned to go, tugging Stevie Boy along with her.

“Oh, Barbara?” Katie called.

The blonde pivoted back. “What?”

“Make sure you have a ride home from the church. In case you’re the only one who shows up.”

Even though she knew it was spiteful, Katie took a small measure of satisfaction in Barbara’s gasp and reddened face, mirrored by the nearby jars of spaghetti sauce. Barbara yanked Steve down the aisle, striding fast and furious toward the exit.

When they were gone, Katie let out a deep breath. What a way to change her image. Maul a stranger and then pretend she was engaged to him. In a town like Mercy, that kind of behavior was going to start a lot of talk. Talk that could get blown out of proportion, and set off a renewed stream of gossip. Had she made a mistake?

She was almost afraid to face Matt. Even though he’d gone along with her charade, he might not find the aftermath amusing.

Apparently a lot of other people did, Katie realized. Every minute of the exchange had been witnessed by a throng of people who had gathered at either end of the aisle. A half dozen shocked faces peeked around the spaghetti and ravioli, drinking in the sight of staid, predictable Katie Dole exchanging much more than pleasantries with a stranger and battling with her former bridesmaid beside the Chef Boyardee.

Alice Marchand, Katie’s eighty-year-old neighbor, marched down the aisle. “Good for you, dear.” She patted Katie’s arm. “That Spencer boy and his floozy deserved every bit of that after what they did to you. Why, in my day, if a man left a woman at the altar, her daddy would get his shotgun and—”

“I’m sure my daddy considered that.” Katie laughed.

“And you, young man, who are you?” Miss Marchand, the toughest biology teacher ever to educate at Mercy High, lowered her spectacles and bent closer.

“Matthew Webster, ma’am.”

She didn’t look surprised. “Georgianne and Edward’s boy?”

Matt nodded. So he was definitely the Matt Webster, Katie thought. Funny, he didn’t look like a wild child. She couldn’t imagine him married to Olivia, either. She seemed too…arctic and polished.

“You have a lot of gumption to come back. But it’s good to see you home, where you belong.” Miss Marchand nodded.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m back for good,” Matt said.

But that statement only started the crowd’s titterings up again. “I think that’s my cue to go, before they decide to lynch me,” he said with a dry, bitter laugh. Then he took Katie’s hand and brought it to his lips. When he kissed it, his gaze never left hers. The air between them crackled with sensuality and promise. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I do hope I see you again, Mystery Woman, and finish what we started. Soon.”

Then he was gone, striding past the gaping townspeople, leaving Katie with a smile on her lips and a burning curiosity to know more about Matthew Webster.

Tools and parts were spread around Matt in an ever-multiplying circle as he dismantled his motorcycle and began the tedious repair job. His midnight-blue Chevy SS convertible, which had patiently waited under a tarp for the past eleven years, had miraculously started this afternoon. Someone had taken it in for service. The telltale sticker on the windshield said the Chevy had been in for an oil change two weeks ago.

Matt figured his mother had taken care of the car, though he couldn’t quite see her ordering up the lube special. Either way, the pampered auto had started easily, saving him from having to ask to borrow his father’s Mercedes. He was back, but he wasn’t up for a confrontation. Not yet. Using the motorcycle as an excuse, he’d taken a quick shower, avoiding his father, and then run into town for the parts he needed.

And run into one hell of an interesting woman, he mused, recalling her impetuousness and her kiss. She’d been hot and sweet at the same time, like the fireballs he’d eaten as a kid. He imagined drawing her closer, taking her into his arms, lowering the straps of her tank top down her shoulders, over the swell of her breasts….

The socket wrench slipped from his fingers and tumbled into his lap. Throbbing pain brought a quick halt to his fantasy.

He took a deep breath, trying to block the searing pain and focus on the motorcycle, not the girl. It wasn’t easy. The fluid lines of the bike, the butter-softness of the leather seat, the sleek metal curves, all had him picturing the stranger named Katie and imagining her on the bike wearing nothing more than a smile.

This time, he managed to catch the wrench before it rendered him impotent.

“Matt, you’re home!” His mother rounded the corner and entered the garage, a basket of freshly clipped yellow tulips in her hands. Georgianne Webster, her ash-blond hair in slight disarray from her trip to the garden, stood in the shadowed entryway clutching the basket like a lifeline, looking unsure.

“Hello, Mom.” He scrambled to his feet and grabbed a rag. He wiped his hands several times, avoiding her gaze. After eleven years of nothing but letters, he felt self-conscious, clumsy.

“I saw you take the Chevy out earlier,” she said.

“It started right up,” he said. “Thank you for taking care of it and getting the oil changed.”

“I didn’t do that, Matt. Your father did.”

“Oh.” He let that thought digest for a minute. He grabbed the bouquet, thrusting the flowers at her. “These are for you. I know roses are your favorites and because it’s April, yours won’t be blooming for two more months…” he shrugged. “Anyway, I thought they’d cheer you up a little, since you’ve been so worried about Father.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

When the familiar scent of her hit his senses, the full impact of how long he’d been gone slammed into him. He swallowed several times to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat before he started acting like a blubbering idiot.

Without thinking, he drew his mother to him. The move popped the tension like a balloon burst by a pin. The basket clattered to the ground and she enfolded him in a fierce hug, not even noticing the flowers crushed between them.

“Oh Matthew, we’ve missed you,” she whispered. Then she leaned back, cupping his face in her soft hands and studying him, as if searching for the Matt she knew. Tears trickled down her cheeks, tiny lines of emotion marring her makeup.

The feeling of home, of belonging, surged through him. That damned lump forced its way back into his throat. “Me too, Mom,” was all he could manage.

“I’m so glad you’re home.” She wiped her eyes and took a half step back. “I guess the flowers got caught up in our reunion.” Her laugh was shaky when she took the bouquet from him and buried her nose in their scent.

“It’s okay, Mom. They’re just roses.”

“No, not just roses. Not when they’re from you.” She added them to the basket, careful not to crush them further. “Remember the time you picked those daisies for me? You were seven, I think. The poor things were drooping like sad little puppies. But I kept them, pressed into the front of my Bible. They’re still there, between Genesis and Exodus.”

He chuckled. “If I remember right, you were pretty mad about those daisies. I’d yanked them out of Mrs. Rollins’s garden and she complained.”

“Eugenia Rollins was a cranky woman who couldn’t appreciate a little boy showing his mother he loved her. I did have to give you a lecture, but your heart was in the right place.”

“I’ll keep that in mind on your birthday.” Matt winked. “I noticed the neighbor’s petunias are blooming.”

“You’re still incorrigible,” she said softly, brushing a hand along his cheek. Her deep-green eyes were misty.

When he was younger, that word had been used to describe him more than once, especially by his father. It had practically become his middle name after he’d kidnapped a cow from Amos’s farm and snuck it into the high school’s gym the night before the Thanksgiving game. And the time he’d been caught driving his father’s car—at fourteen and without a license. Not to mention the long list of smashed mailboxes and broken windows that littered his childhood résumé. But all that was over now.

“I’ve changed, Mom. For the better.” And he had. It had been a long road to get there, but he’d made it, half dragging himself out of the depths of hell and back to the surface.

She searched his gaze, considering, evaluating. “I believe you have. I’m proud of you, Matt. It must have taken a lot of courage and strength, after what you went through.”

Her face softened. In her eyes, he saw sympathy, an echo of his own pain. Images of that last night rocketed through him, fast, furious, hard. With a mental slamming of the door, he sealed that vault of memories. Their reunion was still a fragile thing, vulnerable to the past and he wasn’t ready to face everything. Not yet.

“Will you be here for dinner?” she asked, clearly sensing his need for a change of subject.

“That depends. Are you making meat loaf?”

She laughed again, an easy, light sound. “You could have filet mignon and you’re asking for my meat loaf?”

He shrugged. “I’m a man of simple tastes.”

“All right. But it will have to be turkey meat loaf. It’s healthier for your father.”

Matt groaned. “Turkey is for Thanksgiving, not meat loaf.” He pointed to the bag on the garage floor. “At least I made a pit stop for some good old-fashioned chili before I came home.”

“Keep that away from your father,” she admonished. “You know he can’t resist chili.” She kissed him on the cheek and started to lead the way into the house.

Matt cleared his throat. “How is Father?”

“He’s recuperating pretty well. He’s stubborn, though, and getting him to change hasn’t been easy.”

I know that firsthand. “Does he know I’m back?”

“Yes.” She didn’t say any more. Her silence about his father’s reaction meant the years of separation hadn’t changed much of anything. She paused at the top of the steps, then turned to him. “Why did you come back? It was more than your father’s heart attack, wasn’t it?”

He hesitated, forming the words in his head, finally giving voice to his own explanation. “To reclaim my life. I hit thirty and realized it was past time I grew up. Then Father got sick. It seemed the perfect time to start over. To come back.”

“It was the right choice,” she said. “It’s not going to be easy, you know. Forgiveness doesn’t come easy for some.”

He knew she was talking about his father and Olivia. Hell, half the town saw him as a callous, irresponsible man who didn’t deserve the life of privilege the Webster name had given him. But what they didn’t know was how that name had made him suffer, and how impossible it had been to forgive himself.

“I didn’t expect it would,” Matt said, wondering if his return would be worth the price he’d be paying.

Katie kicked off her sneakers and placed the grocery bag on the counter. Popsicles went into the freezer, TV dinner was unwrapped and tossed into the microwave, cans were placed alphabetically in the cabinet. Within minutes, she was curled up on her sofa, picking at a plastic plateful of bland manicotti.

She reached for the remote control and flipped through the TV Guide. Two movies she had seen before and some woman-in-jeopardy special on channel seven. Television, or the books for the shop—already pored over a million times. Gee, the real height of excitement in the middle of Indiana, she thought.

She’d spent too much time cooped up here, worried about the shop and depressed about her non-wedding. She imagined herself, twenty years down the road, unkempt hair to her knees, wearing smelly, tattered clothes, muttering about what could have been if she hadn’t been stood up at the altar. If she allowed the old Katie to wallow in self-pity for one minute more, she’d surely turn into Miss Havisham. And deep down inside, that’s exactly what she feared would happen.

Maybe if she got out, networked a little, she could take care of both things at once. She might be dateless, but she was not the hermit Barbara had accused her of being.

Katie dashed into her bedroom, transforming her usual self into what she hoped was someone who looked adventurous. She poufed her hair, painted her lips and slipped into a dress that wasn’t exactly revealing, since her closet didn’t contain anything that wasn’t practical, but at least was more feminine than jeans.

Then she took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror, assessing the changes and resisting the urge to tamp down her hair and wipe off the lipstick. A day ago, a year ago, she would have. Katie had always lived her life plain and quiet. No longer. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and headed for the door before she could change her mind.

It was Friday night and the new Katie Dole was going out. Alone.

Matt sat on one of the silk-upholstered claw-foot chairs at the hand-carved mahogany dining-room table, under an elaborate three-tier crystal chandelier, surrounded by the finest china money could buy.

And wished he was lying on a blanket under the stars, with a cooler packed with fried chicken and sitting beside a beautiful honey-headed woman who really knew how to kiss.

“Hello, Matthew.” His father’s voice brought an abrupt halt to Matt’s reverie.

When he saw him, Matt choked back a gasp. The rugged, hearty Edward he had left behind eleven years ago had been replaced by an old man with pale skin and tired eyes, shuffling across the room in a robe and slippers. Matt couldn’t believe the damage a few clogged arteries had wreaked on a once-imposing, seemingly immortal man. For a second, Matt’s resentment disappeared. He considered walking over to his father and ending the years of animosity with an embrace.

He was halfway out of his seat when his father said, “Have you seen Olivia yet?”

The mention of his ex-wife was like a stab to Matt’s gut and his father knew it. Why had Matt hoped the heart attack and the years apart would make a difference? Nothing inside Edward had changed. Not a single thing. His heart was forged out of the same cold steel that was used to create the buildings he sold.

Edward folded his hands together and rested them on the table in front of him, a physical gesture Matt knew meant his father was getting down to business. Matt slowly sipped his water, waiting.

He watched his father rearrange his silverware until it was in a perfect line perpendicular to the table edge, and thought about the two traits he had inherited from Edward—tenacity and drive. Edward Webster had been penniless when he’d left his parents’ home in Toledo at the age of eighteen. It had taken him seven years of selling commercial properties to save enough money to buy a part interest and the position of vice president in the floundering and grateful Corporate Services. Within two years, Edward owned the company and had renamed it Webster Enterprises.

Nearly three decades later, it was the largest, most profitable firm in the state. Edward had built it up with his own two hands. For that, Matt admired and respected him.

But Matt despised the underhanded way his father forced people to do his bidding. Edward Webster used every tool at his disposal—guilt, rage and humiliation—to bring others around to his way of thinking. That was a lesson Matt had learned personally. The night his father had turned on his own flesh and blood had wiped out whatever love and admiration Matt felt and had replaced it with simmering resentment.

“Matthew,” his father said finally, “you should pay Olivia a visit and try to patch things up. She never remarried, you know. She went back to her maiden name, but that doesn’t mean everything is over between you two. People will talk about your return. There are a lot of questions that were never answered. Not for anyone, especially Olivia.”

Matt had a few questions of his own for his ex-wife, but he didn’t mention that to his father. “There’s nothing to say, Father. Olivia and I haven’t had so much as a conversation in a decade. Much like you and I.”

Edward tore a fresh-baked roll in half and applied fat-free margarine in precise, economical movements. He said nothing.

“I have no plans to resurrect anything with Olivia. We won’t be reconciling for the benefit of the country club.”

“I don’t give a damn about the country club,” Edward exploded, slamming the butter knife down. “That girl is hurting. She needs you. I will not have a son of mine ignore his wife, ex or not, when she’s still suffering from a horrible loss.”

Matt popped out of his chair and placed both hands on the table. He leaned forward, his gaze leveled on his father’s face. “You think she’s the only one that suffered? Do you? Do you even consider how I might have felt? No, you think about how your son’s actions might affect your social standing.”

Edward leaned back in his seat. “That’s not true.”

“When I walked out that door eleven years ago, I was in more pain than you will ever know.” Matt swallowed and willed the shudders of agonizing memories of that night to stop, prayed for the rage to replace the pain. “Do you remember what you said to me? ‘Think about how this will look.”’ Matt shoved his chair under the table and headed for the door. “That told me exactly how much you cared about my feelings, Father.”

Matt stormed out and headed for the one place he knew would take the edge off his anger—a bar.

Chapter Three

Katie hopped onto a barstool at the Corner Pocket, Mercy’s sole choice for evening entertainment, and tried to look cool and unaffected by her solitary status. It wasn’t easy. It seemed every eye in the place, including those of the massive moose-head over the restroom door, was watching her.

I can do this. I can sit alone in a bar and not feel like a twenty-five-cent sideshow at the circus. Come see the Lonely, Bitter Old Maid—scariest creature this side of the Mississippi.

“Hey, Jim. How are you?” she said to the bartender, desperate for anyone to talk to.

“Pretty good, Katie. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you here. Welcome back,” said Jim Watkins, the rotund, friendly owner of the Corner Pocket. His open face and perpetual smile were encouraging and just what Katie needed. “Hey, I heard you got engaged. Congratulations.”

For a second, Katie stared at him blankly. “Oh…oh that. Well, I—” What could she say? She decided to ignore it. In time people would talk about something else. “Thanks.”

Katie drummed her fingers on the bar and glanced around the room. It was early yet and there were only a few people she knew here. Thankfully she noticed that Steve and Barbara were nowhere to be seen. They were probably cuddling somewhere, getting popcorn stuck in their teeth and watching Stone Cold Steve Austin wallop Hulk Hogan.

Jim placed a napkin before her. “What’ll it be, Katie?” He laid a hand on the stack of glasses, waiting for her answer.

She was tempted to bolt out the door. Instead, she gripped the edge of the bar. “Umm…I don’t know.” She racked her brain for the name of a sophisticated drink, the kind ordered by women who ventured out alone. But she didn’t know any. She rarely drank and usually nursed a draft Budweiser all night. She doubted a beer-foam mustache would make her look cool.

“Make it a tequila sunrise for the lady,” said a voice from behind her. “And a…a Coke for me.”

She spun around on the stool. Matt Webster. In the flesh and at her elbow. His eyes skimmed over the floral outfit, lingering just enough to let her know he approved. The breezy spring dress had been a good choice. A very good one.

Chalk up a point for the new Katie.

“I thought you might like something sweet but with a little bite to it.” He grinned. “The total opposite of you, of course.”

Put that resolution to work, Katie girl.

“You didn’t find me sweet this afternoon?” She batted her eyelashes and did her best to look innocent.

“Sweet isn’t quite the word that comes to mind when I think of you. And as for having a little bit of a bite,” his voice was low, dark, “well, you didn’t let me get that far.” He was closer now, his breath warm on her face, his mouth inches away. “Fiery, spontaneous and bewitching are better adjectives for you.”

“A tequila sunrise and a Coke for the happy couple,” Jim announced, placing the glasses before them. Katie jerked back, away from Matt, and felt heat rise to her face.

She wrapped her hands around the glass, marveling at the way the drink mirrored its name. And how Matt looked as though he’d stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Granted, his leather jacket, white T-shirt and tight-fitting jeans were from an issue of Harley Rider instead of GQ, but the overall effect was the same. Enticing. Magnificent. One-hundred-percent American male.

She swallowed hard and tried not to think about how good he’d look in a tuxedo. That image was way too powerful. Her hormones were already raging. Picturing him in evening wear would definitely be her undoing.

“What shall we drink to?” He raised his glass. His gaze never left her face.

“To new beginnings.”

He nodded. “Appropriate.” He tapped his glass against hers with a soft clink. She watched him drink. When his lips met the rim, the powerful, gut-coiling memory of kissing him in the supermarket hit her.

“Celebrating your engagement?” Barbara’s voice sliced through the air with sarcastic precision. “Funny, no one else in town knows about this wedding. How long have you been dating?”

Katie froze. Putting on a ten-minute charade in the grocery store had been easy. A temporary game, not a life-changing experience. Flirting with Matt in the dimness of the bar was one thing; stepping away from who she’d been for the last twenty-four years and slipping into an entirely new persona, in front of people she knew, was another.

“Katie and I have known each other for months,” Matt said, saving her from a response. “We’ve just been long-distance lovers. Until now.” He took Katie’s hand, flashed her a wicked smile, and turned to face Barbara and Steve, who was bringing up the rear.

Barbara’s gaze narrowed. “Then why didn’t you get her a ring?”

Without missing a beat, Matt answered, “Because I’m having my great-grandmother’s ring reset for Katie. She deserves something as special as she is.”

Barbara harrumphed. “Katie always was lucky. In high school, it was grades. Now, she’s a store owner and she has you.” Her gaze roamed over Matt, making little secret of her desire. If he noticed, he didn’t react.

This was a new twist. Barbara, who looked like Madonna and had never had trouble getting a man, was jealous of Katie for her grades? Her store? Had that spurred Barbara to steal Steve, the one thing Katie had that was stealable?—

“Anyway, Steve forgot to ask Katie something earlier,” Barbara said. Steve shot Barbara a look of protest, but she nudged him with her elbow. “Go ahead.”

He cleared his throat. “I still feel bad about the way things ended,” he began. “You said there were no hard feelings and so, Barbara, well, I mean Barbara and I, want to invite you to the wedding.”

“My father’s managed to pull together quite a bash on short notice,” Barbara said. “We’re going to have—”

“You stood me up at the altar in front of half the town to run off with my bridesmaid and now you want me to come to your wedding?”

Matt put a hand on her arm and leaned to whisper in her ear. “It might be a good idea to go,” he whispered in her ear.

“Are you insane?” she whispered back.

“It would be a hell of a way to get closure.” He grinned.

This man could read her like a book. He’d pushed the right button, the one that triggered her compulsion to show the town she’d moved on, despite what Steve had done to her. But go to their wedding? Wasn’t that a bit much?

Then she thought about seeing Steve squirm in front of the minister, if he made it that far this time, of seeing Barbara eat her words about Katie being a recluse. And then there was the store—a bit of talk might spur some business. This was an opportunity, not an insult.

She turned to Barbara and Steve. “We’d love to come. Both of us.” The new Katie was brave, but she wasn’t quite up to doing this alone.

Barbara’s mouth dropped open. “Both of you? How wonderful. It will be so nice to have one of the Websters at our wedding,” she said.

“What a coup,” Matt said dryly.

Steve eyed Matt. “You aren’t planning on pulling one of your famous stunts at the reception, are you?”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“I know who you are.” He leaned into Matt’s face, his voice low. “You tore up this town when you lived here, and you got arrested so many times, the sheriff had to hire a deputy just to keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah, well I’m older and wiser now. And a lot bigger.”

Katie saw the storm brewing between the two men. She scooted off the stool, grabbing up a handful of darts from the dish on a nearby table. She put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and tugged him away from Steve. “Come on, play darts with me.”

Matt backed up and accepted the darts she handed him. “I think that’s a good idea.” His gaze never wavered from Steve.

“We were on our way to the dining room to pick up some pizzas for the fight anyway.” Barbara grabbed Steve’s hand and started leading him toward the swinging door that separated the two halves of the Corner Pocket.

“One more thing.” Steve pivoted back to Matt. “Katie’s a good person. Don’t hurt her.” Then he walked away, leaving Katie stunned. Barbara was jealous of her? Steve was being protective? Had the world just turned upside down?

Then Barbara called over her shoulder, “See you next Saturday,” and the world flipped upright again.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Katie grumbled.

When the door swung shut behind the couple, Matt released a gust of air. “A few years ago, I would have knocked a guy like that clear across the bar, just for the hell of it.”

“And why didn’t you today?”

“I’m not who I used to be.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” She smiled. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. Again.”

“It was my pleasure. Both times.”

“I don’t usually kiss strangers at the corner grocery,” she said. “I was trying to…”

“Make him jealous?” Matt supplied.

“No, not jealous. I wanted him to see I’ve gone on with my life.”

“And have you?”

“Of course.” That was mostly a lie. All Katie knew now was she didn’t want to go back to who she was before, no matter how safe and comfortable it felt.

Matt twirled a dart between his fingers. “I don’t want to be mean, but what did you see in him in the first place?”

Katie snorted. “The better question is what did he see in me? I was the class geek, complete with the glasses and the physics books. He was the captain of the football team.”

“Let me guess. You tutored him in geometry?”

She let out a laugh. “Algebra.” Something about the chase, or the bonus of good grades, had kept Steve with her throughout high school. She’d been the one who could have used a tutor—in how not to be fooled by the illusion of a relationship. Steve had dumped her at graduation—for the hot cheerleader who’d given him the time of his life under the bleachers.

“You’re a beautiful woman, you know,” Matt said. “You probably could have had any guy in high school.”

“They weren’t exactly lining up for dates.”

“Well, they were stupid.”

She shook her head. “I was the stupid one. I went away to college and when I came home, Steve was there. He told me I was good for him, that being with me kept him from getting into trouble. I guess he believed that, too. Maybe I had an extra-bad case of homesickness or jet lag or something, because I took Steve back, even knowing he’d cheated on me. I was still half in love with those high-school memories. Mostly, though, I was half idiot. I believed him when he said he wanted to marry me and be faithful. I thought he’d changed.” She scowled. “A bona fide Oprah moment.”

Matt gestured toward the door to the restaurant. “And that’s when Babs there came into the picture?”

Katie dropped her gaze to the darts in her hand. “On my wedding day, no less. He sent me a letter afterwards that summed up all my shortcomings and defended his choice of Barbara.”

Matt cursed under his breath. “I ought to—”

“Don’t. It’s over, in the past.” She fidgeted with the darts. “Anyway, thanks again for helping me out.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” He moved closer, a breath away. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of leather mixed with musky cologne.

“Should I? After what I’ve heard, maybe it would be in my best interests.” Katie’s heart began racing at triple-speed, her pulse hammering through her veins.

It was as if a rocket had launched itself in her midsection. She’d wanted a little spice in her life—a dash of pepper, maybe—not a truckload of red-hot chilies roaring through her at the speed of light. He was too handsome, too desirable and way too dangerous. She would be crazy to get involved with him. He seemed to be a lot more than even the new Katie could handle.

“Don’t you feel the connection between us?”

“A single kiss doesn’t make us soul mates,” she countered. Each breath caught in her throat. The memory of that encounter, and all its deeper implications, still quivered within her.

“If it were an ordinary kiss.” He traced along the edge of her bottom lip and she inhaled, resisting the urge to taste the tip of his finger, to do much, much more. “Which that most certainly wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t.” She wanted him to touch her, kiss her again. Anything to assuage the strange and furious storm inside.

“Who are you?” he asked softly, his deep blue gaze boring into hers. “An angel sent to tame me or a devil to tempt me?”

“Neither,” she murmured. Heat radiated from his body, charging the air between them. Her breasts were taut, the nipples puckered against the confines of her bra. She chanced a glance downward and saw that Matt was in the same state as she. That knowledge, that power, sent a thrill straight through her.

“If we’re going to get this close,” he said, watching where her gaze went, “I think I should at least know your least name.”

“You…you already do.”

“I think I might have remembered that tidbit. A beautiful woman ravages me in the spaghetti aisle and I definitely wouldn’t forget her first or last name.”

“I didn’t ravage you!”

“Honey, if I’d been a side of beef, there wouldn’t have been much more than bones left after you got through with me.”

She laughed and the sound of it broke the simmering tension for a moment. “A bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. But until we get a chance to finish what we started,” he said, tracing a finger along the outline of her jaw and starting that fire roaring all over again, “we’ll never know the truth about your ravaging skills, now will we?”

She couldn’t answer. Heck, she could barely breath when he did that.

“So tell me, Mystery Kissing Bandit, what’s your last name?”

“Do you remember running into a piece of fruit this morning?”

It took him a second to make the connection. “You’re the banana?”

She nodded. “When I’m not going around kissing strange men, I masquerade as fruit for kicks,” she said, amazed at her ability to exchange witty remarks. It had to be the tequila that had emboldened her—because the real Katie would have had her tongue tied in double knots.

“My, my, Katie Dole, you surprise me more every minute I know you.” His gaze ran over her face, lingering on her lips. “I’m not often surprised by women.”

“That’s me, a surprise a minute.” What a complete lie. I couldn’t surprise a cow. She needed to change the subject, to give herself a second to think. She was playing a game where the rules were foreign and where Matt had the upper hand. “We were about to play darts, remember?”

“I’d much rather play something else.”

“Darts is all you’re going to get tonight,” she said. “So work out your frustrations on the bull’s-eye.”

“Let’s raise the stakes. Loser takes the winner to dinner.”

“Deal.” Yesterday, she would have backed down from the challenge, would have run when she encountered a man with such dangerous sex appeal. But now, she was determined to hold her own against him—at least in darts.

It should be an easy bet, she reasoned. A girl didn’t grow up with four brothers and not learn a thing or two about competing in barroom sports.

Katie stood on the line a few feet from the board, holding the gold-and-teal dart between her thumb and forefinger. She sighted the bull’s-eye over the feathers and took aim.

As soon as the dart left her fingers, she knew the launch was wrong. Matt was two feet away, watching her from the sidelines and wreaking havoc with her concentration.

The dart landed in the ignominious outer circle. Zero points. Katie squinted at the board and redoubled her concentration. She threw the other two darts at the board. One landed in the ten-point spot, the other flew wide of the board and hit the wall.

“Might I offer a suggestion?” Matt said.

“I know how to shoot darts. I don’t need any lessons.” She stalked over to the board and ripped her darts out, knowing all the while that their placement said otherwise.

When she was safely behind the painted white line on the floor, he aimed his dart and let it go. It sailed smoothly into the bull’s-eye. With resounding thwaps, the other two followed.

He was good. Better than she was. “All right. Show me what you know and save me the cost of feeding you when I beat you with your own techniques,” she conceded.

“How much time do you have? I have all night.”

The innuendo in his voice made flames rush to her cheeks. “I’ve got five minutes. That should be more than enough time for you to teach me all you know.”

“Good one.” Another smile. He led her over to the line. Then he sidled up behind her, raising her right hand beside his.

The heat from his body, inches away, was incredible. She forced herself to stand steady, to resist the urge to back up and melt against his chest—and all his other desirable parts. The sexual charges detonating throughout her body were new, completely unexpected, and nearly consuming in their power over her mind.

“When you aim, be sure to oversight it a little. That compensates for the flight arc,” he was saying. “Let me show you.” He took her hand and placed a dart between her fingers. Then he rocked her hand back and forth, as if they were shooting the dart. “Keep it steady and remember, it’s all in the wrist.”

“Thanks. I will,” she exhaled on a shaky breath. Concentrate. On the darts.

This time, she focused on the dartboard and blocked Matt from her mind. Thwap, thwap. Two hit the bull’s-eye, the third landed on thirty points.

When it was his turn, she moved into place behind him. Just as he took aim, she purposely brushed her breasts against his back. The feel of him, of the simple intake and exchange of air that made his back slip along her chest, was intoxicating. Wanton need, so foreign to Katie, pounded through her veins.

For the first time in her life, she felt alive. Invigorated. Completely, totally feminine. “I, ah, wanted to get a closer look at your technique.”

Matt’s dart flew wide of the mark and landed with a thunk in the wall.

“You missed. What a shame.”

“Pity, isn’t it?” He glanced over his shoulder at her, his gaze telling her he knew exactly what she was up to and that he was enjoying every minute of it.

And, if she admitted the truth, so was she. She felt bold, brazen, ready to take on any challenge.

“So, are you going to go?” Matt sent another dart sailing into the board.

“Where?” she asked, confused.

“To that wedding.”

Any challenge but that one. “I don’t know.” Katie walked to the bar and took a drink. “I’m not up to watching one of my former friends marry the guy who left me at the altar.”

“But you did say you’d go. With me.” He sent his third dart into the board, hitting the bull’s-eye.

“Not everyone keeps their promises.”

“You seem the type of woman who would,” he said softly, watching her, assessing her, peering into her soul. “And you did promise them we’d both go.”

“I certainly don’t expect you to carry this charade that far.” She crossed to the line and waited for him to remove his darts. He did, then gestured that it was her turn to shoot. “You’ve done enough already.”

“I haven’t done nearly enough.” He moved into place behind her. Her pulse quickened, racing along faster than the rabbit-hungry greyhounds on the big-screen TV across the room.

“If you went to the wedding,” he continued in that teasing, tempting voice that was probably the same one the snake had used on Eve, “with a man who is obviously crazy about you at your side,” his breath was warm against her neck, “it would show Steve you were a prize he never should have given up.”

The air stood still. “Where am I going to get a guy like that?”

He spun her gently around to face him. “Right here.”

“Why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me.”

He paused. “It would be a bargain of sorts. I’ll pretend to be your fiancé and in return, you help me. You took a chance on me in the grocery store. Come on, take another one now.”

She cocked her head. “You’d do that, pretend you love me?”

“With pleasure.”

“Why?”

“Because I need you as much as you need me.” He flicked up the lapels of his leather jacket. “And because nothing can change a good girl’s reputation like a bad boy.”

This was the perfect solution. Matt would pretend to be her fiancé, ending the looks of pity and gossip that had been running around town for the past year. She’d have a chance to rewrite her image, dispelling Steve’s declarations that she was boring and about as sexy as a dishtowel. And maybe, in the end, the store would be the winner. The business side of her said this was a way into the Webster home. A good deal all around. Wasn’t it?

Did she dare to agree?

She studied him, reading a warmth in his eyes that was far from devilish. There was clearly more to this man than most people assumed. “You may dress like a bad boy,” she said, “but inside, I think you’re actually a good man.”

A shade dropped over his face. “You don’t know me very well.”

“I think that’s about to change, Matt Webster.” She took a breath and thrust out a hand. “You have a deal.”

Katie Dole, the straitlaced owner of A Pair of Posies, had just made a pact with the devil of Mercy.

Chapter Four

Twenty minutes later, they’d grabbed a table for two. Matt had a new Coke, but Katie refused a second tequila sunrise and stuck to nursing her first one. She twirled her half-empty glass on the smooth laminate tabletop. “What kind of help are we talking about? Exactly?”

The pose didn’t fool him. She looked worried, even a bit scared. She’d agreed hastily, and Matt could see Katie was having second thoughts. A number of them. So far, he’d delayed telling her anything more about the “deal” they’d made until he’d figured it out for himself. He didn’t know what had pushed him to offer the arrangement, just that he wanted a way to solve her problem…and a way to keep her near him just a little longer.

“Exactly?” he parroted while he scrambled for an answer.

“Please tell me what I’ve gotten myself into.”

And then, finally, an idea came to him. Not the best idea, but one nonetheless. “I need help of the physical kind.”

She raised her hands, warding him off. “I didn’t agree to anything like that.”

“My, my, Katie Dole. You do have a one-track mind.” Although if he’d been pressed, he’d have to admit he’d just been imagining all kinds of interesting scenarios with her, him and his Harley. All without clothes. All in poses that would have made the Kama Sutra’s author blush. He may have changed his wild ways, but he hadn’t become a monk.

Her face flushed a deep red. An attractive color on her, he mused. “I mean…well…you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He affected a blank look.

“I don’t—”

“The help I need doesn’t involve a bed, I promise.” He touched her arm to console her. But the shock of feeling that rippled through his veins had him wishing he’d proposed a very different sort of deal. “Are you busy in the morning?”

She visibly relaxed. “No. The shop doesn’t open until ten. Sarah works until two so I have all morning free.”

He wanted to touch her again, to feel her soft skin beneath his palm, but didn’t. He corralled his thoughts into safer territory. “I’ll pick you up at six. That’s 6:00 a.m. And we’ll see if you’re as good with tools as you are with darts.”

“Tools?”

“I’m not saying another word. Wear old clothes and be ready to work.” She eyed him suspiciously but didn’t say anything more. Matt nodded toward her drink. “Sure you don’t want another one?”

“Oh, no.” She pushed the glass away. The grenadine had already settled to the bottom, turning the sunrise into a sunset. “One more and I’ll be on the bar, singing show tunes.”

He chuckled. “That I’ve got to see sometime.”

“It’s not a pretty sight. I can’t carry a tune to save my life.” She slid the cherry off the plastic sword in her drink and popped it into her mouth, veering Matt’s mind off course for a minute. “Even got kicked out of choir when I was a kid because I kept disrupting the performance with my Alfalfa impersonations.” She waggled the plastic sword at him. “Just don’t ask me to sing ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ and we’ll get along fine.”

He laughed heartily. Being with this woman was good for him. She made him forget about his past, about facing it now that he was back. He was looking forward to tomorrow as eagerly as a child waiting for the last bell of the school year. He hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation in years. Too many years.

“I’ll vouch for her singing,” said a voice over his shoulder. “She’s truly terrible.”

Matt turned and saw the blond woman who’d sold him the flowers that morning. She’d been behind the counter earlier and he hadn’t noticed that she was pregnant. But now he did.

Her belly was round, large with the child she carried, and her face was smiling, happy. When he looked at her, though, he saw another woman’s face, another birth, remembered cradling another baby in his arms.

She rubbed her belly in a circular, protective motion. Just like Olivia used to. Pain ricocheted through him, dispelling his happy, light mood like a winter nor’ easter obliterating the autumn landscape. In his mind, he saw the tiny fingers, miniature toes and trusting face of the baby who had depended on Matt to keep him safe.

And Matt had failed. Failed in the worst possible way to protect his child. Failed to be the father he’d promised he’d be when the nurse had placed his son in his arms. At the one moment when his child needed him most, he’d been drowning himself in tequila.

The baby, whom he’d stopped naming in his mind because that made the pain unbearable, had paid the ultimate price for Matt’s mistake. And every day since, Matt wished it had been him instead.

Katie’s glass was inches away from his hand. Thirst parched his throat, not for the drink, but for the numbing effect of the alcohol. He hesitated, his hand hovering near the solace, the blissful blankness the glass could give him.

He could drink that one and another and another. And then the pain would dull, leaving him at peace for the short while that alcohol controlled his mind.

The glass was so close.

Inches from his grasp.

One sip. Just one.

Katie had called him a good man. Her words had slammed into him and hit right at his heart with more accuracy than any dart she could have thrown. He wasn’t and he knew it, but her simple quiet comment had gotten under his skin. With a Herculean effort, he pushed the glass farther away and guzzled his soda instead.

Then he tucked those memories deep inside his mind and forced himself back to the present. To Katie.

“Took my advice, I see,” the woman was saying, smiling at Katie.

“Only the going out part. He,” Katie pointed a thumb at Matt, “happened to be here.”

“And who is he?” A man carrying a frothy mug of beer and a bubbling glass of ginger ale came up and stood between Sarah and Katie. Well over six feet tall, barrel-chested and with the same deep chestnut hair as Katie, the man put the drinks down and extended his hand. “Jack Dole,” he said. “Brother to Katie and husband to Sarah.”

“So you better watch out,” the two women added simultaneously, bursting into laughter.

“He’s been using that line for years,” Katie explained. “He thinks it makes him sound all menacing and protective.” Katie gave her brother a good-natured jab. “Now that he’s part of the Mercy P.D., he gets paid to act that way.”

Matt recognized Jack from high school. Jack had been quarterback of the football team; Matt had lettered in skipping school. The menacing looks Jack kept shooting his way told Matt he’d been recognized, too.

He didn’t blame Jack one bit. If the roles had been reversed, Matt wouldn’t have allowed a man with a reputation like his to share the air with his sister.

“Come on, let’s grab a bigger table.” Sarah took Matt’s arm and propelled him toward a circular table surrounded by a quartet of chairs. “You might as well join us and see if you pass inspection.”

“Inspection?”

“Jack makes it his personal mission to check out any men who get within ten feet of his baby sister,” Katie answered. “As the oldest, he thinks he’s the watchdog. Especially now that he’s the only one in Mercy. Mark and Luke live in California and own their own software company. Nate’s a Marine, so he could be anywhere.”

Matt remembered a couple of the Dole boys from high school. They’d all been football-player size. “Were they a little short on genes when they got to you?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. I’m not short, anyway. I’m just altitudinally challenged.”

“Very P.C.,” he said, chuckling. He pulled out a chair for her and slid it into place after she sat down. “So you’re the youngest?”

“Yep. And the spoiled one, if you ask my brothers.” Katie slid one leg over the other, giving Matt a quick flash of creamy skin before he took the seat beside her. “Jack was the one who spent hours combing his wiffle cut on the off chance Sarah might be stopping by to study with me. He was totally head over heels for her, but didn’t have a clue how to show it.”

The former football hero of Mercy High, who’d once scored four touchdowns in a single game, turned beet-red.

“A common male deficiency,” Sarah quipped.

Matt rested his arm along the back of Katie’s chair. He resisted the temptation to let his fingers dangle down and drift across the top of Katie’s shoulder. “When I’m interested in someone, she knows it.”

“Does that happen a lot?” Jack leaned forward. “You getting interested in someone?”

“A fair amount,” Matt answered vaguely. Jack already had his hackles up, no sense adding fuel to the fire.

Jack lowered his voice, leaned a bit closer. “I hope my sister isn’t going to be another notch on your belt.”

“Jack!” both women exclaimed.

“That’s not what I’m after.”

“Good. Katie doesn’t need another jerk. She deserves better.”

Better than me, you mean. “You’re right.”

“Glad to hear we’re on the same wavelength.” He drained his beer. “Come on, Katie. Let’s grab another round.”

Katie followed her brother to the bar, her cheeks on fire. Once they were out of earshot of Matt, she said, “I know what you’re going to say, and I want to remind you that I can make my own decisions.” He started to protest, but she put a hand over his mouth. “Stop.” He opened his mouth to speak again. “No, I mean it. Jack, you’re my brother and I love you, but I wish for once you’d realize I’m a grownup.”

“I know that, Katydid,” he said, slipping into the familiar nickname of her youth. “I just don’t want to see you hitching yourself to another guy who’s trouble. I knew Matt in high school. He’s not the kind of guy you bring home to meet Mom. I think—”

“Jack, don’t. You, Nate, Mark and Luke all have a habit of leaping into my life and offering your opinions whether I ask for them or not.” She knew he did it out of love but it was annoying all the same. “Remember Colin Parker, the boy who wanted to take me to the junior prom? Before he even asked me, you four knew everything about him, right down to his shoe size. You scared the poor guy off with all your questions, and you made me think he was some freak of nature because he wore a size-thirteen sneaker.”

Jack laughed. “We’re just looking out for our little sister.”

“Who happens to be twenty-four now,” she reminded him. “Jack, I really don’t need you to give me a report on who Matt Webster is. Let me figure that out on my own.”

“But, Katie—”

“Is my husband interfering in your life again?” Sarah slid onto the stool beside Katie. She planted a kiss on Jack’s cheek. “You have a heart of gold, honey, but you tend to be a tad overprotective.” She smiled and Katie could feel their love flow into the space between them. “Now, why don’t you go over there and get to know the new man in Katie’s life?”

Jack scowled, but took his beer and followed his wife’s request. A moment later, the two men sauntered over to the dartboard.

“I wouldn’t call Matt the new man in my life, Sarah.”

“I think you should start. Everyone else here thinks that.”

Katie glanced around and saw several people casting looks at Matt, then at her, their eyebrows raised in surprise. A few women nodded their approval of Katie’s choice when she met their gaze. Others squinted disapproval. She’d finally gotten a reaction other than pity. People weren’t feeling bad for left-at-the-altar Katie anymore.

“Matt has caught the eye of every woman in this room,” Sarah said, interrupting Katie’s thoughts, “but he still comes back to you. The guy is absolutely captivated.” She leaned forward. “So, are you going to go for it? Date him?”

“I’m not sure,” Katie answered, not mentioning the agreement she and Matt had just made. “He’s got quite the reputation.”

“Yeah, but he’s all grown up now and handsome as the devil.”

That he was, Katie had to admit, watching Matt sling another dart at the board. “And just as tempting.”

“A little temptation never hurt anyone. Besides, didn’t you resolve to live a little?”

“Yes, but he might be more living than I can handle. Jack says—”

“Jack’s a good man, but he doesn’t know beans about the kind of guy who will make you happy,” Sarah said. “I see something in this guy. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know there’s something worth saving there, no matter what his story is.” Sarah laid a hand on her shoulder. “Give him a chance.”

Sarah was right. Katie knew firsthand that rumors could blur the truth until it was unrecognizable. The real Matt, who had suffered the loss of a marriage and a baby, might be completely different from what she’d heard. She nodded. “One chance, then.”

“It’ll be enough,” Sarah said. “He seems like a man who needs one.”

Katie’s gaze slid to Matt. Was he still the man he used to be? The rebel who had been—and still was—the talk of the town?

Or was he a man worth saving, as Sarah had said? And if so, was the new Katie strong enough to go through with their deal, no matter the consequences?

“I can’t. Really, I can’t.” The morning sun had yet to rise and the birds were still cooing in their nests when Matt showed up on Katie’s doorstep at six o’clock sharp.

To his surprise, she had been waiting for him, dressed in a pair of stonewashed jeans and a soft blue T-shirt that glided loosely over her torso. Such simple clothes, but when she wore them, they gave her a look of comfort, as if he could wrap himself around her and ease into peace.

But right now, she was backing all the way up to the top of the stoop and looking anything but relaxed. “Matt, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.” She pointed at his Harley. She chewed on her upper lip. “I don’t think I’m the kind of person who rides a—what do you call it—a…a hog?”

Laughter burst out of him. “Yeah, that’s the bikers’ term for it. I prefer Jane.”

“You named your bike Jane?”

“Yep. Once you ride her, you’ll know exactly how Tarzan felt when he swung through the jungle. There’s nothing like it in the world. Riding a motorcycle is the closest thing to true freedom I’ve ever known.” He patted the black leather seat. “Try it.”

“I don’t know.”

“I thought you were looking for a little adventure to spice up your life.”

“How did you know that?”

“Katie, I may not know you all that well, yet,” he saw her catch her breath at his implication, “but I get the distinct feeling that you aren’t normally the type who dresses up as a banana, kisses strange men in the grocery store and then ventures out to a bar alone for a rousing game of darts.”

“Well, no, not really.”

“Then what are you doing all that for?”

She fidgeted with the porch railing. “I needed a change in my life. I’ve spent twenty-four years being predictable and conventional. Boring.”

“Is that what Steve told you in that letter?”

The look in her eyes told him he’d hit the truth. “Do you have a second career as a psychic?”

“Nope. I’ve just gotten pretty good at reading other people. When you work with a bunch of guys on a roof, you learn to spot the ones who are terrified of falling off and the hungover ones who are more likely to hammer their thumb than the nail. I need men I can trust on my crew. I had to figure out which ones those were before I hired them.”

She smiled. “Are you trying to tell me I wouldn’t be good on a roof?”

“You’d be good anywhere.”

A blush crept into her cheeks and she looked away.

He gestured to the bike and tucked a challenge into his voice. “If you’re not up to riding Jane,” he slid a hand along the seat, “then I can go back and get my car instead.”

Katie lifted her chin, slipped into a sweater and headed down the stairs. “It may be my first day of living dangerously,” she said, “but I’m still wearing a helmet.”

He chuckled. “Let me introduce you. Katie, this is Jane. Jane, this is Katie,” he said, patting the bike seat. “Be nice because it’s Katie’s first time on a Harley.”

Katie slid a hand down the leather seat, imagining Matt astride that seat, picturing herself squeezed into the space behind him. The fear of falling off the bike and tumbling headlong onto the concrete disappeared. What she feared most now was how riding behind him, their bodies pressed together like two pieces of bread, would make her feel.

He unhooked a black helmet from the back and handed it to her. “Here.”

She thanked him and undid the chinstrap, trying not to focus on the seat. And Matt. And her and Matt on that seat.

“Katie Dole, is that you?”

Katie turned, the helmet halfway to her head, and saw Alice Marchand, who lived at the end of the block, heading toward her. A portly brown miniature dachshund attached to a rhinestone-beaded leash waddled alongside her mistress, an air of superiority in her upturned nose and spiked tail. Another neighbor, Colleen Tanner, was bringing up the rear, putting all her weight and sixty-plus years into keeping a tall, lean and hungry-looking Doberman from dragging her away. The Doberman strained at the leash—in the opposite direction of Miss Tanner.

Katie stifled a burst of laughter. The Misses, as they were called in the neighborhood, wouldn’t take kindly to anyone poking fun at their wayward dogs.

“Are you getting on that brain-smasher?” Miss Marchand lowered her glasses and wrinkled her nose in reproach. “You must have a few screws loose to ride that contraption.”

“We’re just going for a slow cruise through town, Mrs. M. Katie will be perfectly safe,” Matt replied. He knelt down to pet the dachshund, scratching behind her velvet ears. The little dog cuddled against his knee, lapping up the attention. Ten seconds later, the dog had settled onto the pavement, content and asleep.

Miss Marchand harrumphed and shook her head at the bike. “I came down here to offer my congratulations. I overheard you in the Sav-a-Lot, saying you two were engaged. I don’t know if you meant it to go public, but the news about you two has spread all over town. Why, I even heard the girls talking about it in Flo’s Cut and Go yesterday afternoon.”

“You did?” Katie gulped. That fast?

“Katie, this is Mercy. If there’s anything the people here are good at, it’s talking about everyone else. They all want to know how you kept Matt a secret all this time and why—”

“I know you,” Miss Tanner interrupted. She’d finally managed to drag her dog over. “You’re that Matt Webster.”

The Doberman escaped her grasp and began nosing Katie.

“We met at the wedding. Your first one.” She shook her head, disapproval etched into her lips. “I told my niece she was making a mistake by marrying you. I knew you’d amount to trouble.”

The Doberman, now unattended, jumped on Katie’s chest and began licking her face. She pushed at the dog, trying to get him down, but he only grew more persistent, as if he’d mistaken her for a steak. Miss Tanner was oblivious to her dog’s actions, her attention riveted on Matt.

“Colleen, you’re being awfully harsh.” Miss Marchand shook her head. “And Katie doesn’t need to hear this.”

“Oh, yes she does. He left Olivia.” Miss Tanner eyed Matt with disdain. “Left her to fend for herself.”

“I left her with a hefty divorce settlement.” Matt reached out, grabbed the big dog’s collar, tugged him away from Katie and into a sitting position. The Doberman turned his head, looking very surprised that someone had actually stopped him from being bad, and stayed put. Thank goodness the dog’s horrendous breath was no longer in Katie’s face.

“Olivia needed you,” Miss Tanner retorted.

“She had me. She didn’t really want me to begin with.”

“I heard all about you and none of it was good.” She turned to Katie. “You’d do well to stay away from this man, particularly as a woman with a business in this town.”

“Colleen! You can’t believe—or repeat—everything you hear, especially in a small town.” Miss Marchand patted Matt’s arm. The Doberman, apparently seeing this as an opportunity, raced over and began slobbering all over Matt’s hand. “Give the man a little breathing room before you condemn him. You too, Sweet Pea,” she said to the dog.

Katie saw Matt’s eyebrows arch and his eyes widen. His mouth dropped open but not a sound came out. Clearly he hadn’t expected Miss Marchand to come to his defense. The older woman leaned closer to Matt. Her deep pink dress flapped around her knees in the spring breeze, like a sheet pinned to a clothesline.

“You always came to my class. I never knew why. I thought perhaps you had an appreciation for flora and fauna.” She shrugged. “Now, be a dear and put to rest a question that’s been nagging this old woman for years. Why did you attend my class and skip all the others?”

“You encouraged me. In the things I really wanted to do.” He said the words casually, as if it wasn’t any big deal, but Katie got the opposite impression. “You helped me enroll in that after-school construction program. You said I shouldn’t be ashamed of making my living with my hands because it was honest work.”

“And did you make a living out of building things?”

“I own the second-largest construction company in Pennsylvania.”

Miss Tanner snorted. “Sure you do.”

Miss Marchand smiled and patted his arm again, narrowly avoiding the eager Doberman’s tongue. “I knew you’d be successful. You just needed a push in the right direction.”

“A shove was more like it,” Matt replied. “I’ve always wanted to thank you, Miss Marchand.”

“You just did, my dear.” She turned and gave a short tug on the dachshund’s leash. She awoke with a start and hopped to her feet. “Come on, Colleen. Let’s finish our morning constitutional and leave these youngsters alone.”

“But—”

“Colleen, you said your piece. Now let’s walk down to Ray’s Donut Shop. You know a donut always helps settle your stomach after you get all riled up.”

“A donut does sound good,” Miss Tanner conceded. She looked around for her dog and finally noticed him trying to gobble Matt’s hand. “Sweet Pea! Come on, baby, let’s go get you a cruller.” The dog’s ears perked up and he bounded over to his mistress, nearly toppling her.

Miss Marchand turned to Katie. “I still think getting on that thing is asking for trouble, dear,” she said. She gave her hand a squeeze. “But I have a feeling Matt will watch out for you.”

“I think you’re right.” Katie had always liked Miss Marchand, but after what had just transpired, she now admired her, too.

Matt stood silently beside Katie, twirling his helmet in his hands. In his gaze, Katie saw traces of wonder. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one surprising the people of Mercy.

Chapter Five

After the Misses were gone, the street was quiet, save for the barking of a neighbor’s poodle and the soft chirps of morning birds. Pretty houses lined Cherry Street, neatly tended lawns enclosed by picket fences. A picture-perfect small town, where unfortunately, memories lasted longer than the stone monument of Lewis and Clark in the park. That reality suddenly hit Katie. By agreeing to this “deal” with Matt—a very public deal—she might have placed herself—and the store—in the middle of a quandary. A Pair of Posies needed Olivia Maguire’s business. Needed it badly. Already, the whole town had probably heard about her “engagement.” How would the ex-wife part of Olivia take that news? There seemed to be a lot of animosity there, if Miss Tanner was any indication.

Had her plan for a little revenge on Steve and Barbara ruined everything?

“Olivia is your ex-wife?”

“Yes.” Matt slipped on his helmet and fastened the straps. He seated himself on the motorcycle easily, comfortably.

“And?” Katie strapped her helmet on, then settled herself into the small space behind him.

“And she’s one of my least favorite subjects. It’s been over between us for a long time.”

Maybe it was over for Olivia, too. Surely, they were all grownups. Katie’s involvement with Matt, if that’s what it was, shouldn’t upset that apple cart too much.

“Does she—” Katie stopped when Matt cut her off.

“I’d rather not talk about her.” He flipped up the kickstand and straightened the bike. His hand hovered over the ignition. “Not right now, not with you pressed up against me. I’d much rather concentrate on how nice that feels.”

She scooted closer, drawn by primitive need. Her body had a will of its own that had nothing whatsoever to do with her good-girl upbringing or worries about the store. Finding out more about Olivia no longer seemed so important, not with the warmth of Matt seeping into every pore.

He flicked the key to the right, twisted the throttle. “Hang on tight.”

That was an order she’d gladly follow. Katie wrapped her arms around Matt’s waist, allowing herself to enjoy how easily she fit into him, how sensual it felt to mold her body to his. Her mother’s voice echoed in the recesses of her brain, reminding her that good girls didn’t fling themselves against men they barely knew. As a concession, Katie sat up a little straighter.

The engine erupted with life, the bike lurched forward. She was thrown against Matt, her chest pressed to the hard planes of his back, her thighs plastered along the length of his. Against the will of her more sensible parts, she melded to him.

And, my, did it feel good.

They roared down the street, moving as one with the bike, hugging the corners, slipping along the black river of road. Air rushed past Katie’s face, fast and furious, as if she were caught in a summer storm.

It was terrifying. It was unnerving. It was also the most exhilarating thing she could ever remember doing, more exciting than the time she’d ridden the roller coaster at Cedar Point and had, for one split second, let go of the bar when the coaster began its wild descent from the peak.

This time, she had Matt to hold on to. Doing so helped her ignore the little voice of doubt inside her that told her she was just pretending, that she hadn’t made any real changes in her life or herself yet. That the really scary stuff was yet to come.

Katie watched the road over his shoulder and inhaled the woodsy male scent of his cologne mingling with the wind as if he were part of the landscape that rushed past them in a blur of emerald and russet. Her hands splayed across his front, and under her fingertips, she could feel the rock-hardness of his chest.

She closed her eyes. Her thoughts veered into territory she’d never explored before. In her mind, she saw her own hands tugging up his T-shirt, roving over the ridges of muscles on his torso, dipping down to meet the waistband of his jeans, then roaming over his—

“You okay back there?”

She gulped in a breath. And promptly swallowed a bug. “Yeah, j-just f-fine,” she stammered, trying not to gag or spit into Matt’s hair. She prayed the insect that had just slid down her throat hadn’t been a bee.

“Am I going too fast?”

It’s my mind that’s breaking the speed limit. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Do you want to stop or slow down?”

No. Yes. “No, I’m okay.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Where is there?”

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

Katie tried to guess where he was taking her rather than think about the bug digesting in her stomach. They’d already passed the Corner Pocket and A Pair of Posies and were headed into the farm territory on the outskirts of town.

He slipped into a quiet, almost brooding silence the rest of the way. She considered broaching the subject of Olivia again but stopped herself. His reluctance to speak of Olivia had been as clear as a No Trespassing sign. He didn’t want to talk about his past and she wouldn’t force him. Not to mention, riding on a noisy motorcycle didn’t exactly make conversation easy.

Matt turned onto a dirt road. He let out a sigh and the tension in his shoulders and back dissolved, as if whatever lay at the end of this road had been the antidote he needed for his mood.

There were no streetlights in this remote area and the early-morning half-darkness gathered in around them like a blanket. The wheels of the bike kicked up a cloud of dust, coating the windshield and blurring her vision. Matt slowed the bike, turned off the road and onto a grassy field.

Jane bumped and bucked over the rough landscape. “Having fun yet?” Matt turned and grinned at her.

“Do you take every woman you…you meet out to the middle of nowhere?”

“No, just you.”

She refused to think about whether he was pretending to like her, whether he was still playing the charade, or how it would feel later when she went home. Instead, she studied his profile, illuminated by the spill of breaking sunlight overhead and forgot about the jostling motorcycle.

Matt was intent on driving, his gaze fixed on the wide grassy tract ahead. He had a lean, chiseled face, full of strength and dependability. His jaw was set, firm.

Her gaze traveled down to his soft blue chambray shirt. The cuffs were rolled up, exposing defined wrists and wide, capable hands. His legs were clad in jeans that were well broken in, fitting him snugly and comfortably. She wondered what it would feel like to be those jeans, to skim over Matt’s bare legs with the ease of familiarity.

“Here we are.”

They were stopped in the middle of a huge field, backed by a cozy copse of trees. A few feet away stood a large barn that hadn’t aged gracefully. Boards hung off it in various places, providing entry for the birds that flitted in and out. What had once been red paint on the exterior had faded to a rusty gray. She looked around for a farmhouse but saw only a half built foundation a hundred yards away, the two-by-fours sticking out of the cement base like a carpenter’s version of Stonehenge.

“What is this place?”

“It used to be the Emery farm. Thirty years ago, there was a fire at the main house and it burned to the ground. Old Man Emery died in that fire, trying to save his house.” Matt helped her off the bike, set it on its kickstand, then led her toward the barn. “The place was abandoned afterward. None of the Emery heirs wanted the farm, so it was on the market for a long time.”

“I wonder why. It’s a nice piece of land.” She imagined the tall stalks of corn that must have grown here years ago, their silky tops bobbing in the breeze. She pictured cows grazing in the pasture to her left, kept in by the split-rail fence that had decayed and separated over the years.

“Some people think it’s haunted since the owner died here.” He creaked open the barn door and led her inside. He took a packet of matches out of his shirt pocket, struck one and bent to light a kerosene lantern sitting on a little table. “I just think it was an awful tragedy.”

Light filled the room, warming the shadows and softening the gloom. Katie had expected the interior to be just as rundown and decrepit as the outside. But it wasn’t. Someone had taken the time to sweep out the cobwebs, repair the floorboards and whisk out any rubble or hay that might have remained over the years.

In the center of the barn stood a small oval table, topped with a white tablecloth. There were two place settings of china, centered by a spray of yellow daisies in a vase. A pair of crystal goblets sat beside an ice bucket chilling a carafe of orange juice.

“When did you do all this?”

He came and stood before her, unhooking her helmet with nimble fingers that brushed the underside of her chin. “Before I picked you up this morning.”

“You went to an awful lot of trouble.”

“This place has always been kind of special to me. I wanted you to see it in the best possible light.” He grinned. “I figured it would take the sting out of the work we’ll be doing later.”

He’d risen before the crack of dawn, hiked down here with silverware and glasses and set the whole thing up—complete with flowers—just for her. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She wandered the room, stepping carefully on the old floorboards. “Why this one? Indiana has lots of old farmhouses.”

“When I was younger, I used to come here when I wanted to get away from the house filled with antiques and crystal and things I couldn’t touch.” He drew her to the table, pulled out her chair and waited for her to sit. “I’d ride my bike out here and spend hours in this barn, pretending I was a farmer and this was my home.”

“Is that what you wanted to be? A farmer?”

He chuckled. “When I was ten, farming looked mighty attractive. When I got older and realized how much work and money went into running a farm, I changed my mind. I’m happy doing construction work instead.” He looked around the room and Katie saw a softening in his features, a vulnerability that slipped in when he wasn’t guarding his emotions. “But I still loved the property. Something about the tragedy of it…” he paused, cleared his throat, went on, “When it went up for auction twelve years ago, I scraped together every penny I had and bought it. With my own money, not my father’s.”

From the way he said it, she knew that paying his own way was important to him. Once again, the Matt Webster of rumor and the real Matt were complete opposites.

Katie had already learned some hard lessons about image and reality. And how damaging that mirage could be to reality. The image of a happily engaged couple, so fragile another woman could easily steal the dream. The image of a successful businesswoman, hanging on to her store by a thread. The image of a woman who had moved on, yet was still desperately lonely because she was too scared to open up her heart and trust again. To fail again.

Katie pivoted in her seat, taking in the full view of the barn. “You own this property?”

“What’s left of it.”

“But why…? I mean, how come…?”

“Why does it look like this?” His hands gripped the back of his chair. “I started working on it when I bought it. Had great plans for the place. A two-story house over there,” he pointed in the direction of the foundation, “a few animals here. Even a man-made pond out back.”

“What happened?”

Matt swallowed hard. Katie’s questions were opening doors he’d shut long ago. Doors that needed to be open, if he was ever going to get past that chapter in his life. What he needed to do, and what he was ready to do, however, were very different things.

“In one night, I lost everything that mattered to me.” The words came out so softly Matt barely heard them himself. “And I no longer gave a damn about the house, or anything.”

“Because you’d lost your baby?”

Katie couldn’t have known how those words would affect him. He felt the familiar searing pain in his heart and had to take a deep breath before he could answer her. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, and he could hear the sympathy in her words. “It must have been awful for you.”

“It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” His voice was hoarse. “I wasn’t very good at dealing with it.” That was an understatement.

“So you left town?”

“It seemed the best thing to do.”

“But now you’re back.” She made a sweeping gesture of the room, as if sensing his need for a change of subject. “You have a great piece of land here. Are you finishing the house?”

He nodded. “Part of the reason I’m back is to finish what I started. This house is the first thing on my list.”

“What’s next?”

“That’s as far as I’ve thought it out,” he said. He wouldn’t think about a wife or children. For now, for him, this was enough. He didn’t have it in him to go through that kind of loss a second time. To have held hope in his arms and then to have it ripped away because of one stupid, foolish mistake.

A bird fluttered through the room, darting across their table before settling into a roost in the rafters. Katie didn’t waver, didn’t flinch. She watched him, her gaze open, trusting.

He knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who would be in and out of his life after a night or two. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d come up with this crazy plan to spend more time with her, here and at the wedding. Well, hell, he did know. He’d been thinking of himself, of the way that kiss had seared his soul, of being close to this woman who seemed to have a bead on the bull’s-eye of his heart.

One thing was certain, he hadn’t been thinking of her. She wasn’t a woman to trifle with, one he could use and throw away. She had a lot more at stake than he. All he’d selfishly wanted was an excuse to spend a few more hours with the woman who’d invaded his every waking thought. He hadn’t been looking for anything more than that. But he could see, from the reflection in her gaze, she’d already begun caring about what happened to him.

The thought alternately flattered and terrified him.

“Katie, this is probably way too soon,” he began, “but I should be up front with you, so we’re clear from the start.” He swallowed. “There’s not going to be anything beyond our deal. I’m not getting involved in a serious relationship and I’m certainly not getting married again. Hell, I’m not even the kind of guy who should be married.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m lousy at commitment.”

“You’re committed to this house,” she said, catching him in the lie. “What makes you think you’re no good for marriage?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

“Do you always evade answering them?”

“Touché.” He smiled, forcing the dark mood that had persistently tried to invade the day from settling inside him. He pushed thoughts of the past away and focused his attention on the very appealing present.

He was alone with a beautiful, intriguing woman. He’d be a fool to spend that time dwelling on what could not be undone. Instead, he’d focus on the things he could undo. Like the buttons on the kitten-soft sweater Katie wore.

Whoa, Romeo. What were you just saying about nothing beyond the deal?

“I forgot our breakfast in the bike’s cooler.” He left the barn before his fingers started doing, or rather undoing, the things his mind was fantasizing about.

Katie settled against her chair and considered what Matt had just told her. She’d heard the rumors about his child’s death and about his marriage, but obviously, those hadn’t begun to tell the truth. People had painted Matt as an unfeeling wealthy cad who had abandoned his wife for the open road.

She knew now, from watching the pain that had washed across his face and strained his voice, those rumors were far from the truth. Matt had been deeply affected.

But he wasn’t ready for anything beyond a few dates and a few nights in bed. He might never be ready. The last thing Katie wanted right now was to get involved with another Steve. At twenty-four, she’d stopped taking relationships halfway. There was no point in spending weeks, months, even years, with someone who wasn’t investing all he had. She was tired of being alone. Of wondering what life might hold if she could just get past the rut she’d buried herself in. Of watching Sarah and Jack build a future together, with a home, children.

Meeting Matt had given her a taste of courage to try the things she’d been missing for the past year—no, all her life. He’d sparked a fire that had never been anything more than day-old embers with Steve. She was exploring things she’d never considered before, that she’d only read about in books and thought had just been the fiction of a writer’s overactive mind.

But along with all those new feelings were the seeds of questions about herself. She’d said she wanted a change, a more adventurous approach to living. Yet every step she took in that direction scared her as much as it excited her. Matt had lived the opposite—taking off for parts unknown when he was young. Thumbing his nose at the town, at everyone who disagreed with him. She envied him for that.

What had she been so afraid of all these years? What had stopped her from living a life full of more than reruns and organized cans in the cabinet?

Somewhere along the path of her life, Katie Dole had decided not to take chances. Until Matt came along.

But right now, he was a risk of epic proportions. She was starting to like him. Too much. The best thing to do was leave, to walk away before her heart became too entangled.

She was halfway out of her chair when Matt re-entered the barn, framed by the rising sun like a portrait of a cowboy hero, and she knew she couldn’t leave. Not yet. If she did, she’d always wonder what if.

Besides, she’d made a deal. All she had to do was help him today and then she could go. But as her heart hammered at his approach, she knew there was far more involved for her than that.

And, he’d brought breakfast—a breakfast that came in bags decorated with golden arches. She laughed. “My, my, you do go all out for a girl, don’t you?”

“Egg and cheese sandwiches, with extra bacon—the breakfast of champions.”

“Mmm, they smell great,” she murmured, selecting one.

“Only the best for you, Katie Dole.”

“I’ve heard that line before,” she said wryly. “And that best left me standing at the altar.”

“He didn’t know what he was leaving behind.”

“He knew what he was leaving with,” she muttered. “Or rather, who.”

“You deserve better than him.”

She held his gaze. What did Matt want? He danced around talk of a relationship like a bee unsure whether the flower was a Venus flytrap or a lily. “Are you saying you would be a better choice than Steve?”

“How about some orange juice?” He grabbed the carafe by the neck and yanked it out of the bucket. A fine spray of water scattered over them and the table.

“There you go again, changing the subject.” Katie began eating her sandwich. “You’re awfully good at that.”

“I’m good at a lot of things.”

A soft sigh that was almost a purr escaped her. “That, I know. Firsthand.”

She was beautiful in the amber light of the lantern, beautiful and tempting and desirable. Soft shadows outlined her face, tracing along her body, and he found himself wishing there was a bed in the barn so he could explore those curves the way they deserved to be explored.

But he’d decided when he went out to the motorcycle for breakfast that he wasn’t going to go there. A girl like Katie ought to have a promise of forever and a man who would keep it. And then, he suspected, the floodgates of passion—of the true Katie, who had probably been kept in check all her life—would open to the man she loved. A fleeting image of her doing just that rippled through his mind.

Pour the juice; don’t spill it on the table. His hand was unsteady and a puddle of orange had formed around the base of the glass. That’s what he got for letting his thoughts run to peeling off her clothes and tasting the sweet, warm skin underneath.

Every time he saw her, or his mind even wandered to thinking about her, red-hot fire rushed through his groin. He needed a dousing with ice water just to concentrate on the simplest tasks and to stop him from whisking her off to bed tonight. And tomorrow night. And the next night.

Until those nights began to pile up into something more, something that would tempt him to hang around for years—forever. For Matt, that was his cue to leave.

He might not be a perfect man, but he was enough of one to know those boundaries were ones he shouldn’t cross. Not with a woman like her. But, damn, he wanted to cross them all anyway.

She leaned her chin on her hand. “Tell me. What exactly does our ‘deal’ entail?”

He grinned. “The curiosity is eating you up, isn’t it?”

“Well…yeah.”

“You know I own a construction company?”

“Yes, I heard you tell Miss Marchand.”

“Well, my guys are busy finishing up a big job back in Pennsylvania. They won’t be here for another week. I’m anxious to get out of my parents’ house and into my own. But it’s a little hard to build a house by yourself.”

“Why not hire a local crew?”

“Because it’s much more fun to ask you to help me.” When he’d come up with the idea in the bar, it had seemed perfect. An excuse, he knew, to see her again. To be a good guy for once and help her show Steve Spencer she was an incredible woman. It was just a deal, he told himself. A favor. For a friend. Yeah, right.

“Matt, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a pint-sized weakling.” She flexed her arm muscle as proof. “I’m not sure I even know how to hold a hammer.”

“Right now, I have some demolition work to do. Nothing big, nothing I need a whole crew for. The real work will start when the rest of the supplies are delivered. The studs I put up eleven years ago are warped and need to be replaced. You don’t have to do much more than hold on while I rip out the old stud and put up a new one. Besides, I could use the company.”

“That’s all you want?”

No, I also want a bed and you in it. Naked. With me. “Yep, that’s it.”

“And in exchange, you’ll go to Steve and Barbara’s wedding with me on Saturday?”

He nodded. “And pretend to be your fiancé so that you can show ‘Stevie’ that you’ve moved on. In a big way.” He grinned.

“But I don’t understand why you’d pretend to be engaged to me. From what you just said, that’s the kind of commitment you won’t get within ten feet of.”

Because it gives me an excuse to keep seeing you, even though I know I shouldn’t. He couldn’t say that, so he told another lie, one as flimsy as the boards holding the barn together, because the truth—his internal war between wanting to get close to her and wanting to roar out of town on Jane—was impossible to voice.

“Because it’ll be fun to turn this town on its ear again. You’re looking to ruin your reputation. I’m looking to repair mine. Being with what my mother would call a ‘nice girl,”’ he grinned a wicked smile, taking pleasure in the flush that ran down her neck, “would certainly change my image.”

“Well, I’m not looking to ruin my reputation, just smudge it a bit.” She laughed. “I’ve been Conventional Katie way too long.”

“That’s a heck of a nickname.” He considered her. “Somehow, it doesn’t seem to fit you.”

“You met me after I changed my life motto.”

“And what is your motto now?”

“To live life to the fullest, before it passes me by,” she said with a nod, as if she’d just reminded herself, too.

“That’s a hell of a good motto, Katie Dole,” he said, and meant it. He had seen the years slip by in lonely nights spent in bars, trying to drown out the memories that only good beer and later, when he was sober, hard work seemed to erase. He was thirty, and a third of his life had already been spent in atonement.

“Let’s put it to work and get started on that house.” He tossed his napkin on the table and got to his feet. He was suddenly anxious to tear down those old walls and get the new lumber into place. For his new life.

Chapter Six

With a hammer in her hand and sawdust in her hair, Katie’s new life was decidedly hard work. The old timbers were heavy, the new ones even more so. As the sun rose and warmed the sky, working on Matt’s house became more and more of a workout. Her arms ached, her back twinged with pain and she could feel the beginning of a sunburn on her nose.

But she didn’t mind. Every minute that passed steamed with a growing attraction between her and Matt, one she was sure she wasn’t imagining. Even though he’d professed not to want a relationship, Katie found herself fantasizing about just that, and about a lot more than the kiss they’d shared in the store.

“Ouch!” She jumped back, away from the two-by-four that had stabbed her, leaving an angry red mark on her finger. For an innocent-looking piece of wood, it had one heck of a mean streak. That’s what she got for being distracted by thoughts of Matt.

“Here, let me see that.” He took her hand in his. All day, there’d been these little touches, some accidental, some on purpose. It was as if working together in the quiet stillness had brought them closer.

Well, the splinters had helped, too.

Tenderly, Matt lifted her finger to the light and examined the tiny shaft of wood protruding from her thumb. “That’s a bad one. But, not as bad as your last one.”

“Or the one before that.”

“Or the one just before that.” He grinned. With a set of tweezers he’d told her he kept in his toolbox, Matt carefully extracted the splinter, just as he had the other three. When he was done, he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the red mark, just as he had done earlier. And Katie’s heart skipped a beat at the tenderness of the gesture, just as it had three times before.

But this time, Matt didn’t let go of her hand and turn back to his work. Electricity hummed between them, simmering like the sun that blazed above them. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“What?”

“Having you work on the house with me. You’re getting injured,” he kissed her palm and the heat seared her skin, “every five seconds.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

“They’re just splinters. I get thorns in my fingers all the time from the roses at the shop. I can handle a splinter.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said. “I think, though, that you deserve a little TLC for all your efforts.” He dipped his head towards hers, his mouth hovering over her lips. Waiting, wanting. Desire curled between them, a rope growing tauter by the second. “Tender.” Matt took a breath. “Loving.” Released it. “Care.”

She wanted him. His lips on hers again, his touch warm against her skin. Taking a tremendous, daring chance, Katie stretched forward just enough for her lips to brush Matt’s.

When she did, he let out a moan that sounded like her name and then kissed her. The moment his mouth met hers, hot fire raced through her, ten times stronger than at the grocery store. She wrapped her arms around his chest and stood on tiptoe to have more of him.

His lips claimed hers with a hunger that matched hers. His hands roamed along her back, dancing a tune all along her spine. She could feel his heart beating, merging with the rhythm of her own. Blood rushed through her veins, tingled against her nerves. She opened her mouth to his, amazed that something so simple as a kiss could feel so stupendously wonderful.

“Katie, Katie, Katie,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’ve been trying all day not to do that.”

“I can’t think of a good reason why we shouldn’t.” And she couldn’t, not now. All those justifications she’d had earlier today seemed miles away. “Can you?”

“Hell, no.” He hauled her against him. Instinct pressed her pelvis to his, wanting, needing, seeking what she’d never had before. She trailed her hands down his back—

“I see you’ve found a way to spend your days.”

A man’s voice sliced through the air with razor sharpness. Katie jerked out of Matt’s arms and turned, silently cursing the intruder’s timing.

A tall man, the kind who commanded attention and deference just in the way he held himself, zeroed in on Katie like a hawk spotting a mouse scurrying across the ground. His dark-gray suit, perfectly tailored and precisely fitted, screamed expensive and top-notch designer. Even coated with a fine layer of dust, Katie suspected his shoes didn’t come from this side of the Atlantic.

“Hello, Father,” said Matt. “What a surprise.”

So this was Edward Webster. He looked every bit as daunting as his reputation.

“Katie, this is my father, Edward,” Matt said, taking her hand in his. “Father, this is Katie Dole, my…”

Girlfriend. Pretend fiancée. Maybe the love of my life. Katie supplied a number of mental tags but Matt obviously wasn’t telepathic.

“…friend,” he finished. “Close friend.”

“I could see that,” Edward replied dryly. “All the way from the road.” He cleared his throat. “I came by to see what you were doing. Your mother said you were rebuilding this house. I wondered why.”

“I need a place to live.”

“Why this house?”

“Because I already happen to own it.”

Edward picked his way slowly around the rooms-to-be, peering at the new wood Matt had erected. He grabbed one of the posts and gave it a firm shake, testing it for stability, Katie supposed. “And you’re going to do this all by yourself?”

“I have Katie to help me.”

Edward’s gaze told her exactly what he thought about her abilities to construct a house. “And?”

“And my crew will be here in a week. They’re finishing up the last two houses in a development I bought last year.”

Edward cocked his head. “You bought? Your crew?”

“My business has done very well, Father.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“You never asked.”

“I hadn’t expected…” Edward’s voice trailed off.

“That I’d do anything more than drink and raise Cain?”

“Well…”

Katie could see the two men were at an impasse, both stiff and unyielding in their posture, and most likely in their minds as well. She hefted one of the newly delivered two-by-fours from the pile in the corner and began dragging it over to an empty spot on the sill plate.

“Katie, what are you doing?”

“You’ll never get your house built standing around talking all day.” She turned to Matt’s father and offered him a friendly smile. “Mr. Webster, would you mind toenailing this in while I hold it?” After two hours working with Matt, she already had the construction jargon down pat. Another hour and she’d be sporting a cowhide tool belt and holding nails with her teeth. “Did you bring a hammer?”

Edward’s eyebrows lifted. “Hammer?”

“If you’re here, you might as well help.” Katie bent down and grabbed her own hammer. “Here, use mine. There’s a pile of nails by your foot. Now, I’ll hold this and if you wouldn’t mind, could you nail two of those long ones in at an angle to the bottom?” Edward gaped at her as she talked in a steady stream of words that left no room for refusal.

He hesitated. She’d shocked the patriarch of the Webster family. Now that’s something the old Katie never would have done. Nor would she have done that kiss earlier.

Just when she thought Edward Webster would either turn into a statue or walk away, he bent down in his designer suit and Italian shoes and drove two nails home, without wasting a stroke or denting the wood. That was a lot better than she’d done all day. Virtually every piece of wood in this place bore a dimpled circle from where Katie had completely missed the nail.

“You shouldn’t be doing that.” Matt hurried over and took the hammer from him. He put a hand under Edward’s elbow and supported him as he got to his feet. “I’m sure your doctor’s orders don’t include building a house.”

Matt turned to Katie. “My father had a heart attack three weeks ago. He’s supposed to stay home and rest.” He eyed Edward.

“Oh, God, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know—”

“It’s been a long time since I did that,” Edward cut in, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Must be twenty years since I picked up a hammer.”

“And if Mom hears about this, it will be twenty years before you do it again.” Matt tucked Katie’s hammer into his tool belt.

“I’d forgotten what it’s like to build something with my own two hands.” Edward gripped the two-by-four and smiled, lost in a reverie. “You know, I built the first house your mother and I lived in.”

Matt’s jaw dropped. “You did?”

Edward’s voice dipped to a lower pitch, the memories drifting from him in tendrils. “It was a tiny thing, just a two-bedroom ranch on a slab. I worked on it every weekend and after work. Took me the better part of a year, even with your grandfather and Uncle Charlie helping.”

“You did?” Matt repeated.

A soft smile Matt hadn’t seen in years lingered on his father’s face, smoothing away decades. The father he knew never reminisced about the past or about building houses. But here Edward was, doing exactly that. His animosity toward his son had also temporarily disappeared, replaced by a man Matt actually felt he could talk to. That had to be the biggest shock of all.

“After that, you were born and I bought Webster Enterprises,” Edward continued. “I never had time to build anything again.” He patted the stud. His gaze sharpened and he gave one last look at the post before dusting off his hands and turning away. “I guess it’s like riding a bike. You never really forget.”

“I didn’t know that about you.” Matt leaned against the framework.

“You never asked.”

“I didn’t think…” Matt began, realizing then that they were repeating their first conversation, but with the roles reversed. “You surprised me, Father.”

“Well,” Edward cleared his throat. “I better get back before your mother starts to worry. I just wanted to see what you were doing.”

Matt joined his father, walking slowly with him away from the house and down the dirt driveway to the gleaming silver Mercedes. As they approached the car and distanced themselves from common ground, the détente between them ebbed away.

Matt opened the door and held it while Edward lowered himself to the leather seat. “You’re probably not supposed to be driving either, right?”

Edward scowled and waved his hand in dismissal of medical science. “The doctors want me tied to that house for weeks. A man can’t live like that. I’m not planning on running the Boston Marathon. I just wanted some fresh air.”

“And to check up on me.”

He planted his hands on either side of the steering wheel and nodded. “Yes.”

“Father, I’m thirty years old. I’m too old to run around town tipping cows and busting mailboxes.”

“That doesn’t stop me from being your father, Matthew.” He slid the key into the ignition and started the car. “I’ll see you at the house.”

“When it’s okay with your doctor…” Matt hesitated before finishing a sentence he’d never started before.

Edward looked up, his hand on the gearshift. “Yes?”

“…and if you want to, you’re welcome to help with the house.”

His father blinked twice, then nodded. “I’d like that, Matthew.” His voice sounded hoarse with emotion. Impossible. Edward Webster had no soft side. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “Damned heart medications have me acting like a loon.” He fingered the keys on the ring. “Forgot the house key again. I hope your mother hasn’t left for her committee meeting yet.”

Matt fished his house key out of his pocket and held it out. Edward’s hand trembled when he took the metal piece, but then he barked a goodbye and put the car in gear.

Katie came up and laid a hand on his shoulder. “That was a nice surprise—your father stopping by.”

Her touch stirred something in him, something both warm and coolly soothing.

“It was nice. He’s not the same man he used to be.”

“Yesterday, you said the same thing about yourself.”

He chuckled. “You’re awfully wise for someone so beautiful.”

She turned a pretty shade of red, like apples with their first blush of color. Katie was too young for him, too innocent, too…too perfect. He’d tried damned hard to resist her, but it wasn’t working. All day, he’d purposely avoided kissing her, working as hard at keeping their “deal” platonic as he had at tearing down the old framing on the house. So far, he’d only been successful with the lumber. If staying away from Katie were a graded assignment, he’d have a big fat F.

“Well,” she said, “you’re running out of time for help. I have to get back to the store in a little while.”

“Then let’s get back to work.” But instead of loping up the hill to the house, Matt lowered his mouth to Katie’s and captured her again.

Riding back to her apartment on Jane was not as much fun as it had been this morning. Once Matt dropped her off, their day would end and she’d have to go to work. For the first time, Katie wanted to play hooky from A Pair of Posies.

She wanted to stay with Matt. Yet, even as she inched forward on the bike, plastering her torso to his back, she was telling herself that she shouldn’t get any closer to this man, physically or otherwise.

He’d already made it clear he was a no-commitment guy. She’d fallen for one of those before and didn’t want to repeat that mistake. Yet every minute with Matt wrapped her tighter in an emotional cocoon that demanded a price she didn’t have the heart to pay.

It was useless to resist—her heart had stopped listening to her mind ever since he’d kissed her.

Much too soon, her apartment came into view. Matt pulled up to the curb and cut the ignition. With a sigh, Katie slid off the bike and removed her helmet. She glanced up at the yellow-and-white Victorian building that housed her apartment. She should be in there, getting ready for work. But suddenly, entering that empty apartment seemed to be the saddest thing she could do.

“Thanks for your help.” Matt took her helmet and clipped it to the back. “It’s nearly two. You have to get to work, and…” his hand grazed her cheek. “And if I stay, I might forget we’re only pretending at this.”

“Are we?”

“Hmm…I’m not so sure.” He grinned. “Let’s try it one more time and see.” He brushed his lips over hers. Again. And again.

The man was a magician. His kisses released feelings she hadn’t even known she had, like doves from under his sleeve. His tongue swept the recesses of her mouth, teasing hers back, urging her to do the same. She pressed her chest to his, nearly clawing at his back to get closer, taste more, have more. More of what, she couldn’t say.

“You’re going to be late,” he murmured. “Very late.”

Before she could think twice, Katie blurted out, “Will you walk me to my door?” And then, because she didn’t want it to seem that she was inviting him into her bed—even she wasn’t sure she wasn’t—she added, “Sweet Pea usually gets his afternoon walk around now and I’m afraid he might mistake me for lunch.”

Matt chuckled. “He did find you appetizing this morning.”

“Must be my eau de steak.”

“Something like that,” Matt murmured, leaning down and starting again, this time with her neck. “Mmm…you are delicious. Done to perfection.”

She heard the squeals of playing children from the house down the street. “I think we should get inside before the neighbors see us.”

“What’s the worst that could happen? Everyone thinks we’re crazy about each other?” He grinned. “Isn’t that the goal? To make people believe we’re engaged?”

“Yes, it is.” But Katie’s heart was heavy. She no longer wanted to pretend, didn’t want his kisses to be part of a “deal.” She wanted Matt for real. And just like Steve, he wasn’t interested in anything permanent. “I’m sure the neighbors get the point.”

“Okay, I’ll be on my best behavior then.”

Katie started up the steps of the house, vacillating about hoping Matt followed. Earlier, she’d decided not to get involved with him. But after spending the day with him, working side by side and trading jokes along with nails, she’d started to feel differently. The quiet conversations they’d had and the tender way he’d treated her had touched her as had no other man she’d known. Who else would take such time and care with a splinter? Who else would have made sure she took a break and had a drink every hour? What other man had ever kissed her as if she were a precious gift, someone he wanted to please, not someone who was there to please him?

She’d never known a man like Matt. Now she was inviting him in, delaying his departure. Feeling hope when he’d said the neighbors might interpret their kiss as them being “crazy about each other.” Was there a possibility that he was thinking about something more? Or was she grasping at imaginary straws?

“Tell me about your store,” Matt said as they entered the building and started up the two flights leading to her apartment.

“Well, Sarah and I always dreamed of having our own shop,” Katie said, venturing onto the safer ground of talking about the store instead of asking the questions burning inside her. “We saved our money, went to college for business and design. We found the perfect location last April. We figured it would take two more years to save enough for all the supplies we’d need to open. But when Steve dumped me, I used my half of the honeymoon money to finance the startup.

“In the end,” she said as they reached the final step and walked down the hall toward her apartment, “breaking up with Steve was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“I agree. It left you free for me,” Matt murmured.

She wheeled around. “And what does that mean? Are we seeing each other? Are we fulfilling a deal?” She swallowed. “Or is there more to it than that for you?”

Matt could see the apprehension in her gaze. She’d asked a question, but wasn’t sure of the answer. Hell, neither was he.

Were they seeing each other, in the classic meaning of the term? They were talking, doing the dance of sexual innuendo and flirting glances that eventually led to the bedroom. It was a dance he knew the steps to by heart, one that didn’t require much more of a commitment than an evening between the sheets.

Katie, however, wasn’t a woman who made temporary commitments. And even if she did agree to a night in his bed, Katie would expect—no, need—more. And as much as he was tempted to try that path again, he couldn’t. The one time he had…the consequences had been devastating. Nearly destroying him.

He wasn’t strong enough to go through that hell again, even for her, a woman who had intrigued him more than anyone he’d ever met in his life. He was fine with today, with fulfilling the deal they’d made, but after that—

She was waiting for his answer.

“We’re together now,” he replied.

“And tomorrow? Where will you be then?”

He skimmed his thumbs over her fingers. Her skin was soft, velvety smooth. He imagined how the rest of her would feel, pictured her sliding along his body and slipping onto him, smoothly, easily, achingly perfectly.

“Still with you, eating breakfast in our pajamas,” he answered, releasing the words throbbing in his mind.

“I can’t, Matt. I’m not…I don’t give my heart easily. Call me old-fashioned.” Her smile was weak. Yet, in her eyes, the spark of desire lingered. Push. Pull. Even he didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

“Oh, Katie. What am I going to do with you?” He pulled her closer, dipping to kiss the hollow of her neck.

She sighed, a wonderful throaty sound that echoed against his lips. “I don’t know.”

“I can’t change your mind?” He left a trail of kisses along her chin and up to the corner of her mouth. He wanted her to say yes, to give in. He wanted in and out of her life without any damage to himself.

“No.” The word was exhaled on a shaky breath.

Say yes. Be with me. He claimed her mouth with his, intending to tease her into agreement. But when their lips met, Katie moaned and leaned into him. “Matt.”

An explosion of desire rocked him. His hands tangled in her hair, lifting the silky chestnut tresses and letting them slip through his fingers like a waterfall. Her breasts crushed against his chest, her pelvis tilting to his. The only thing stopping them from more was their clothing.

He slipped a hand between them and snuck it under the front of her shirt, forgetting they were standing in her hallway and hadn’t even made it into her apartment yet. He cupped her breast through the lace of her bra with his palm, teased the nub of her nipple with his fingers. A perfect fit. Everything about her was perfect, as if she’d been created just for him.

“Matt…Matt,” she repeated, more firmly.

“Mmm?”

She pulled back and grabbed his hand. “I think…” she took a breath. “I think we should stop. This isn’t…it can’t end up the way you want it to.”

Desire still pulsed through his veins and from the flush on Katie’s face, he knew she shared that feeling. But the lady had said no and she’d meant it. And she was right.

He backed away, willing his body to stop responding to her nearness. His arousal, hemmed in by his jeans, was a painful reminder of how long it would take for the effect she was having on him to wear off. “I’m not very good at keeping my promise of being on my best behavior, am I?”

“No, you’re not.” Her smile was forgiving. “It isn’t because I don’t want you…because…I do. More than you know.” She took in a deep breath. “We want different things, Matt. I’m not a halfway kind of girl. For me, being with you halfway won’t be enough. As much as I would like to continue this,” she pressed a finger to his lips and the flame of desire roared to life again, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Katie Dole wanted it all. The passion, the romance and down the road, words that would bind them together for more than a few nights. For a lifetime. Those were words that no longer existed in his vocabulary. They hadn’t been there in a long, long time.

“I don’t think I can give you what you’re asking for.” The words caught in his throat.

“And that’s the problem.” She sighed. “I don’t want a commitment today. I only want the door to be open. Can you understand that?”

“Yes.” A long time ago, he’d wanted to walk that same path. But now…“I’m no longer the kind of guy who gets married, settles down in a suburb and has two-point-five kids and a dog. I tried that, it didn’t work.”

“I’m not saying I want to get married immediately or anything like that. Lord knows I’m still trying to sort out the mess from last year. It’s just that I’m not the kind of woman who can give everything…” She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “…and be left with nothing. After today, it’s not just pretending for me.” Her voice cracked. “Not anymore.”

It wasn’t for him either. But he didn’t say that. Another door he kept shut.

“It was never my intention to mislead you or to let today get out of hand. But it did.” He stroked his hand along her cheek. “We could have a lot of fun together over the next few weeks, Katie. Would that be so awful?”

“If I were a different girl, maybe not.” She clasped his hand. “But I’m not looking for a one-night stand. I’m not the kind of woman who takes sex, or love for that matter, lightly. I’ve already been through that game with a guy who wouldn’t stick around and I can’t do it again.” She let go and turned to slip her key into the lock. “I had a nice time today, Matt. A really nice time. But I don’t think I can do this. I tried to, but…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Katie, wait, don’t go.” He touched her arm. With a sigh of regret, she brushed his hand away and stepped back.

“You and I want different things, Matt. Better to find that out now than three weeks or three years from now. Our deal is off. I wish you well.”

She opened the door and walked into her apartment, shutting the door before he could enter. He heard her slide the deadbolt into place, locking him out and herself in.

Chapter Seven

It was Friday, six days since she’d helped Matt at his house. Every single one had passed without a phone call, without even a sight of him, though she’d heard his name mentioned a thousand times. Speculations and rumors were flying fast and furious, with people stopping by the store to offer congratulations while trying to unearth more gossip about the Devil of Mercy’s alliance with Conventional Katie.

Her plan had worked—Katie was no longer the pitied, jilted bride; she was hovering on the brink of wantonness. She should have been happy.

But she was utterly miserable.

Did she think she could change a man with one conversation? Over a couple of egg sandwiches? To be honest, yes, she’d half hoped Matt would see a relationship wasn’t some kind of communicable disease.

Obviously, that hadn’t been the case. Matthew Webster wanted to slip in and out of her life as quickly and as unpredictably as a summer thunderstorm. And what a storm he would be, she thought, recalling his touch, the taste of his lips.

She put a halt to thoughts of Matt. The last thing she needed was another guy who wanted a fling—and nothing more. Once before, she’d fallen in love with a man who hadn’t been marriage—or any other kind of permanence—material and had ended up hurt. And alone. How ironic that she’d managed to make that mistake twice in a little over a year.

“Katie? Anyone home?”

“Huh?” Katie jerked upright. “I’m sorry, Sarah, I didn’t hear you.”

“I was saying I still can’t believe what a week it’s been! Between people stopping by the store, to ‘casually’ mention that they heard about your pretend ‘engagement,’ to the way business picked up, I feel like we’ve been sitting on a star or something. Olivia Maguire’s orders alone will make up the shortfall on the rent.” Sarah waddled out from behind the counter, carrying a dish garden she had adorned with a sage-colored ribbon. She placed the ceramic container of plants beside several others that Katie was arranging in a display.

“You are the talk of Mercy,” Sarah continued. “That story about you kissing Matt in Sav-a-Lot has grown to epic proportions, with some saying you tackled him to the floor.”

“I did not!”

“I know that, but gossip in this town always gets out of hand.” Sarah trimmed a few dead leaves from a potted plant. “Miss Tanner is the only one who isn’t thrilled. She came in here with that moose of hers and told me what a rotten no-good man you’ve hitched yourself to.” She grinned. “I told her I’ve met Matt and thought he was sweet.”

“Sweet? I don’t think we’re talking about the same man.” Katie laid a sheet of crimson fabric over an old worn table. She stuffed some boxes under the fabric to provide varied height stands for the arrangements. “Well, if nothing else, I’m glad this deal with Matt has increased sales, because right now, I’m engaged to the invisible man.”

“He’ll be back.”

“No, I don’t think so.” The dish garden completed, Katie turned to work on a half finished silk arrangement on the counter. “Matt made it clear he’s not interested in anything real.”

“Try again, Katie.” Sarah laid a hand over hers. “This one looks like a keeper.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Katie jabbed a bunch of faux baby’s breath into the arrangement. She added several fern fronds to the back and sides, turning the container and tucking greenery in here and there.

“You’ll never know unless you go out with him again.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she replied. “The wedding is tomorrow night and since I told him the deal is off, it looks like I’m going stag or not at all.”

“I think you should invite him anyway. Drag him off to the wedding like a cavewoman with a prize mastodon.”

Katie chuckled, then sobered. “Why? I’ll just end up hurt and alone after the rice hits the ground.”

“Katie, Katie, Katie. Have I taught you nothing?” Sarah grabbed Katie’s shoulders. “If you’re with him and he’s pretending to love you, it could be a nice taste of the real thing. He might like it so much, he falls in love…for real.”

“I’ve thought of that.”

“And?”

“It could just as easily be me who does the falling in love, not him.”

“You’re already halfway there, aren’t you?”

Katie focused her attention on the arrangement rather than on the truth in Sarah’s question. She shouldn’t have brought up his name. Every time she talked about Matt, she felt a sharp pang. He’d opened a different side of her self, encouraged her to taste more of what life offered. And at the same time, he’d treated her with a reverence and a tenderness she’d never known before. He was a contradiction in what he said and what he did and she sensed he hoped for more for himself, but didn’t know how to get it.

Ever since that first kiss and the way he’d played along with her charade, she’d hoped he’d be interested in more than a fling. But he hadn’t been and that fact was driving itself home, straight through her heart.

“Even if he did fall in love,” Katie said, “which I doubt he would, he’s told me he’s not looking for anything permanent.”

“What guy is? Katie,” she said in a solemn, confidential voice, “it’s our job as women to teach men what a great thing monogamy really is.”

“Apparently I’m not a very good teacher,” Katie scoffed. “Look at Steve. If anything, I made him more of a womanizer.”

“Steve is a walking advertisement for neutering.”

Katie laughed. Imagining Steve on an SPCA poster, encouraging women to get their straying mates neutered, was the funniest thing she’d thought of all day. “You never did like Steve much, did you?”

“I always thought you could do better, Katie. I know you always hoped he’d change, but I don’t think Steve was ready to grow up. I knew you wouldn’t listen to me. You had to figure that out on your own.” Sarah handed Katie a carnation. “Anyway, let’s get back to Mr. Right—”

The door jangled and Olivia Maguire breezed in. Today, she was dressed in head-to-toe crimson, the perfect contrast for her pale blond hair and ivory features. If Katie didn’t know better, she’d swear Olivia had just come from a fashion shoot at Versace.

“Those arrangements were a hit with my customers,” Olivia said by way of introduction. “I’d like to start working with you on future projects.”

“That would be great,” Sarah said. Katie had to force herself not to clap or dance with joy. The increased business had great potential for helping them out of their financial slump.

“I work with a number of clients in town,” Olivia began. “And I just got the contract to oversee the rest of the renovations at the Lawford Country Club. Seems the first designer didn’t get it right.” She whisked a stray hair back into place in a single, graceful movement. “There’s plenty of work for your shop through my company. Plenty.”

“We’d be happy to work with—”

“Lots of contacts with some of the affluent people in the area,” Olivia interrupted before Sarah could finish. “Exactly what your shop needs, from what I’ve heard.”

“It would be nice, yes,” Katie said. Nice was an understatement.

“Great. Maybe a partnership could be beneficial to both of us.” Olivia extracted a pile of business cards from her purse. “You spread the word about my business, and I’ll do the same for you.”

“I’d be happy to do that.” Katie took the cards and placed them in a visible spot by the cash register. She handed a few of the shop’s cards to Olivia. When she did, she thought she saw a flicker of distrust in Olivia’s eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Thank you.” Olivia tucked them into her purse, then crossed to the display of dish gardens. “I’d like to order two of these, in that stoneware dish you have there. They’d be great on the lobby tables.” She tapped a finger on her chin, back in business mode. “I also have a client who is looking for something to jazz up her kitchen. Can you design one with a miniature herb garden? Kind of country chic?”

“Certainly,” Sarah said. “We have one over here that’s growing really well.” She led Olivia to another display.

Within a few minutes, Olivia had settled on her order. Before she left, she stopped by Katie. “I’m happy we’ll be working together. Your business is the perfect complement to mine.” Her gaze narrowed. “I’m glad to see it’s as important to you as mine is to me.”

What did that mean? Had Olivia heard Katie and Matt were dating? Was she angry? Before Katie could ask, Olivia was gone, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.

“Come on, let’s celebrate. You look like you could use a pick-me-up.” Sarah waved Katie over to the door in the back that led to their combination lunchroom and storage area. “Besides, I have a surprise for you.” With a flourish, Sarah flung open the door. “Ta da! Our latest moneymaker.”

Hanging on the coat rack was a clown suit so loud and garish, it would have embarrassed Ronald McDonald. The wig, a rainbow of fuzzy hair sticking up and out, looked as if it had been struck by lightning. The clown outfit was purple, decorated with orange and green spots and enormous matching pompoms running down the center. Two-foot-long black-and-purple shoes lay beside the suit, completing the ensemble.

“Oh no, not me.” Katie backed away from the glaring costume. “It was bad enough being a banana. I’m not running around town dressed like Bozo.”

“The only people who will see you are under the age of ten. Besides, once you get the makeup on, no one will know it’s you.”

“There’s makeup, too? As in big red lips and U-brows?” Katie shook her head. “How is this going to help us make money? If anything, I’ll scare the customers away.”

“It’s for birthday parties. I got some money from my father for my birthday and well…put it toward the store.” She flushed a little, anticipating Katie’s protests before she finished. “Don’t say it. I want the store to succeed, too. The suit was marked down and was too good a deal to pass up. I ordered a small helium tank so we can start delivering balloons.” She put up a hand when Katie started to sputter a response. “You don’t have to perform, just show up, twist together a couple of balloon animals and wave goodbye to the kiddies. An easy twenty-five bucks. Besides, our competition doesn’t do anything like that. We’d be the only clowns in town.” Sarah grinned and tugged the outfit off the hanger, handing the wig to Katie.

“Here, see if it fits. There was another one at the costume shop but it looked like it might be too big for you.”

Katie looked at the Paul Bunyan-size shoes and the tent of a clown suit. “Oh yeah, this is just my size. What is this? A three…hundred?”

Sarah laughed. She slipped her hands under the wig, stretching it to fit Katie’s skull. “Come on, be a sport.”

“No one I know better see me in this getup,” Katie told her as she stepped into the flowing purple jumper, “or my reputation as a serious businesswoman is shot.”

“That went out the window the day you agreed to stand on a street corner in a banana suit.” Sarah came around to Katie’s back and fastened the snaps. “There. Now all you need is the shoes and you’re a clown.”

“You didn’t have to get all dressed up on my account.” Matt’s deep voice came from just over Katie’s right shoulder.

Katie wanted to die. She wanted to dash over to the corner and curl up into a multicolored ball and stay there until closing time came and she could escape under cover of darkness. She wanted to do anything but turn around and face Matt clad in a clown suit and rainbow wig, after walking away from him last week, her head held high.

At least she hadn’t put on the big floppy shoes.

“Hello, Matt. How nice to see you.” She was a calm, cool and collected clown, but her heart was catapulting in her chest and her brain was shocking it with strong doses of reality. The chances of Matt reconsidering relationships and commitment were slim to none.

But hope washed over her anyway.

Oh, she had missed his smile. His touch. His eyes, and the way they crinkled in the corners when he laughed. The dimple under his chin…everything.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, “you’ve decided to run away and join the circus? Or do you have some secret fetish with fake hair and big shoes that I should know about?”

“Very funny,” Katie said, tugging off the wig. Sarah was laughing so hard, she had to clutch her stomach.

But then just as quickly, the air in the room changed, like a wisp of spring blowing in. Sarah murmured an excuse about tending to some flowers, then slipped out of the room.

“I’ve missed you.” Matt’s voice was hoarse. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “Very much.”

Knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to stop herself, Katie leaned into the feel of his work-rough hand against her cheek. His eyes were as blue as the sky early in the afternoon before the sun fully blossomed.

Olivia’s odd comment and the store’s future were far from mind. All she saw, all she felt, was Matt.

I want him. The realization hit her squarely in the gut. All of him. His mind, his soul.

He’d captured a part of her heart already, this man with a tragic past and a half built house. It wasn’t the intrigue of dating a bad boy, as he’d put it, it was the temptation of uncovering the layers of his soul, of finding out what had shaped and formed him.

Not that she didn’t find his physical shape downright appealing, too. Every time he was around, fireworks launched themselves in her midsection, exploding bombs of desire that no fire extinguisher could douse.

Her reactions to his kiss, to his every touch, told her this man was powerful, captivating and dangerous. She needed to get involved with him about as much as she needed a hole in her head, as her mother would say.

She forced herself to pull away. “Did you stop by for some flowers?”

“No. I stopped by for you.” Matt reached inside the pocket of his leather jacket and withdrew a small, wrapped box. “A peace offering,” he said, handing it to her.

Katie tossed him a you-think-this-will-make-up-for-your-clown-joke look and took the gift. Even in the brightly colored clown suit, Katie was appealing. The tentlike outfit covered up every curve she had, but somehow, that made her more enticing. In his mind, he pictured what she looked like underneath the clown suit and whatever else she might be wearing. Bozo costume or not, those images ratcheted his pulse up a few notches.

He’d been unable to push her from his mind ever since he’d dropped her off at her apartment. He knew she was right to walk away, to stick to her own ethical code rather than get sucked into his slightly murky one by agreeing to a no-strings fling. And he knew he was wrong for being here, for trying to entice her back into his arms again.

But he couldn’t help himself.

In one week, she’d managed to set fire to areas of his body and, he had to admit, his soul, that had been nearly reduced to ashes. There’d been a couple of women over the years that he’d considered staying with after the sun rose. Invariably, though, he’d opted for the quick fix—the type of relationship that didn’t last longer than the need to quench his bodily urges. He wasn’t a glutton for punishment, and getting his heart stomped on once in his life was one time too many.

He suspected, no—he knew—that he could fall for Katie and fall hard. After he’d left her, he’d had to force himself to walk down the hallway and out the door instead of turning around and making promises he knew he couldn’t keep. At that moment, minutes after tasting the sweetness of her lips, he would have said anything to bring her back.

“This isn’t a red rubber nose, is it?” Katie took the ribbon off the box and began to tug off the wrapping paper. “Oh, Matt! Where did you find these?”

He didn’t answer. He was too busy watching her smile spread across her face and light up her eyes. When she looked up at him, there was happiness reflected in the hazel depths. A tingle ran through him. He should make her smile more often. A lot more often.

Katie held up the tiny pair of enamel and gold earrings, letting them dangle from her fingers. They sparkled in the light. “I’ve never seen earrings in the shape of bananas before.” She chuckled.

He didn’t tell her he’d driven all the way into Indianapolis to shop for her, that he’d spent four hours looking at ordinary rings and ordinary necklaces until he’d finally happened upon the banana earrings in a small shop on the north side of the city. The salesclerk had eyed him suspiciously when he bypassed the traditional diamonds and sapphires, opting for the fruit-shaped novelty pair instead.

“They reminded me of you. I couldn’t pass them up.”

She unfastened the gold studs she wore on her lobes, replacing them with his gift. “What do you think?”

He picked one up in his fingers, the back of his hand drifting down her cheek. “Beautiful, absolutely beautiful.”

She flushed and stepped back. His hand dropped away. “Thank you, Matt. They’re lovely.”

“Lovely?”

“Okay, delicious,” she chuckled.

“And so are you. Delicious, that is.” He tilted her head up and lowered his mouth to hers.

It was wrong to kiss her, wrong to keep intruding on her heart and body when he knew he wasn’t going to hang around long enough to sort out the pieces when it was over between them. But he couldn’t resist, couldn’t ignore the urgent, pounding message his body was sending him.

“Matt, we shouldn’t. We—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “Just kiss me.”

She hesitated for one agonizing second, then closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his back. When she did, a strange zing rippled through him. Coupled with the heady rush of desire that hurtled through his body as they kissed, the feeling surprised and amazed him.

If he’d been forced to name that feeling, he’d have to call it joy. That was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

His hands roamed along her back, rippling over the valleys of her spine. Her breasts fit perfectly in the space left by his opened jacket.

She murmured his name against his mouth and he nearly came undone. Their kiss turned wild, each of them gripped by a fever to taste and tempt the other. Mouths and tongues combined in a dance of desire that foreshadowed what could happen if they’d been in a bedroom instead of a cramped storage room.

A bell tinkled from somewhere in the front of the store and Katie broke away from him. “A…a…customer,” she stammered. “It’s not good for business to get caught necking in the back room.”

A draft of cool air filled the space between them. Katie might as well have been ten miles away.

“We could neck quietly,” he said, moving to take her in his arms again. “I promise, I won’t make a peep.” Just let me kiss you again, just let me know that feeling one more time before you send me on my way.

“No.” She firmly pushed him away and turned toward the door. “Thank you for the earrings, Matt. They’re exactly what I needed to complete my banana persona.” Her tone was teasing, but the distance between them didn’t disappear. “It was nice to see you again,” she said. The happiness in her eyes, however, had been replaced by regret.

“Nice enough that you’ll consider going out with me again? I have this wedding I was invited to and I’m not up to going without a date.” He grinned.

She shook her head, and he felt disappointment shoot through him. Why did it matter whether this woman said yes? Why this woman, when there had been others before her who’d come and gone in his life like cars in a drive-through?

He lifted his hands in the air. “I promise, no touching, not even a kiss, if you don’t want me to.”

“Matt, I want to see you again, but—” She looked away, shaking her head. “But it would just delay the inevitable.”

“Hey, we had a deal. You came through on your end of the bargain. Now, I’d like to repay you by escorting you to that wedding. Nothing more.”

“You don’t need to take me to the wedding. You’ve done enough. Business has picked up since the customers started coming in to talk about us.”

“We’ve created a stir, have we?”

“More like a mini tornado.”

“Then going to the wedding together will top the cake, if you’ll pardon the pun. No one will ever call you conventional again.” He traced a finger along her lip. “Although where you got that nickname, I’ll never know. You’re far from predictable.”

Katie let out a breath. “You don’t know me that well.”

“Then let me take you to the wedding and work on getting to know you better.”

“No, Matt.” She lowered her head, paused, raised it again. “I know the ending of this story already. You’re not looking for anything beyond tomorrow. I’ve already been down that road with someone else. I don’t need another Steve.”

Ouch. She knew just where to hit to make her point. And as much as he wanted to correct her, he knew she was right. In the end, he’d leave, too, and be no better than Steve.

“Katie—” He wanted to kiss her again, but didn’t. There she stood, still clad in the clown suit, and all he could think about was taking her to bed and seeing what she looked like under the purple jumpsuit and pompoms.

“Thank you for the earrings.” Her smile was bittersweet. “And thank you for showing me there’s more to life than I ever knew.”

Then she turned and left him there, wishing he could run after her and tell her she was all wrong about him.

But she wasn’t. Katie had hit that nail on the head with precise accuracy.

Chapter Eight

St. Michael’s Church loomed before Katie, sporting a steeple so tall, it practically brushed the underside of the clouds. It was a perfect Saturday—an exquisite setting sun, mild temperature with a hint of a breeze—just right for a wedding. And for a crazy idea that had seemed like a good plan early this morning—before coffee. What good was saying she’d moved on if she never showed it? Now, almost eight hours later, Katie wasn’t so sure. Butterflies raged in her stomach and threatened to upheave her lunch.

It was the same church where she’d spent two of the most humiliating hours of her life. Now she was volunteering for mortification.

She thought of turning around and bolting for her car. But she was already halfway up the stairs, a smile pasted on her face to greet the people she knew. She’d been brought up to be friendly and gracious, no matter the circumstances. Her mother would burst with pride if she could see Katie now, being cordial all over the place.

A number of people nodded greetings at her, their eyes full of surprise. Without missing a beat or tripping over her own two feet, Katie returned their hellos. If nothing else, Katie figured she’d gotten awfully good at pretending in the last year. She sent a wave to Carol Mullins, a friend from high school.

“Katie?” Carol, a tall woman in a Bohemian-style sundress, was almost gangly in her movements across the steps. “I thought that was you!”

“In the flesh.” Katie paused on the top step. Her car had never seemed so far away.

“Congratulations! I’m so happy to hear about you and Matt Webster. I never knew—” Carol blushed. “Anyway, I think it’s awfully big of you to come to Steve’s wedding. I don’t know many women who could do something like that.”

Katie couldn’t stand here and have a conversation about this. All she wanted to do was get in the church, make an appearance and leave. She murmured something and moved away, but Carol followed her, chattering about the weather or the decorations or something—Katie barely heard her.

She took a deep breath, then marched through the double doors and into the vestry. Two tuxedoed groomsmen flanked either side of the aisle leading into the sanctuary. “Bride’s side or groom’s?” one of them asked.

Neither. Faced with walking down that aisle, once again adorned with swooping pink ribbons and a roomful of hope, Katie balked. She couldn’t do it. It had been a crazy idea.

“I need to go to the ladies’ room,” she stammered. Then she darted down the hall and away from all the happy faces and blooming flowers before anyone could stop her. Even in high heels, Katie found she could move pretty fast, given the right impetus.

The church was huge, filled with hallways and anterooms that offered more choices than a game show. It had been a year since she’d been inside St. Michael’s, and, in her panic, she couldn’t remember where anything was. She couldn’t find the right door for the rest room—or a hiding place.

The organist began playing, the music booming through the building, reverberating in the walls. Just as Katie grasped a door handle, someone came bursting through it, nearly colliding with her.

She popped back in surprise. “Steve?”

He halted. Sweat beaded along his forehead and his breath was coming in gasps. “Katie! You came!” Then again, with more surprise, “You really came. I didn’t think you would.”

“You’re here, too. That’s a surprise.”

He looked almost sheepish. “Yeah, I’m here. But I think I’m going to puke.” He swiped a hand across his brow. “I was just looking for the restroom.” He glanced toward the Exit. “I thought about leaving, about not even showing up. But I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s time I grew up.”

Before she could stop herself, Katie blurted out the question that had lain in the back of her mind all this time. “Why couldn’t you do that for me a year ago?”

“I was an idiot.” Steve offered up the grin she’d fallen in love with, the one that asked her to forgive him and to love him, all at the same time. This time, she didn’t. That smile had lost its power over her. “I mean, I always intended to stop running around and settle down with you, I really did. You were…well, you were good for me. It’s just me who wasn’t good for you.”

Katie let those words hang in the air.

“I remember standing in my apartment that day, putting on my tux, and all I kept thinking was: One woman? For my whole life?” He shook his head. “I panicked. Barbara had stopped by to drop off a couple of gifts and…well, I guess you know the rest.”

“Yeah, I do.” She supposed she would have been justified if she yelled at Steve. But what would be the point now?

In Steve’s eyes, she saw true regret and apology. “You’re a good woman, Katie. I never appreciated that.”

“Steve—”

“No, I mean it. I was wrong when I said you were boring and…” his voice trailed off as he searched for the words he’d flung at her in the letter he’d sent from Barbados.

“Predictable,” she supplied. “Conventional. Frigid.”

He cringed. “Yeah, I guess I said all that, too.” He reached out a hand, as if he were going to touch her, then withdrew. “I’m really sorry. You deserved a lot better than what I gave you.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Steve cleared his throat and stepped toward the doors. “I should go. I’m still not sure about the one-woman-forever thing,” he let out a shaky laugh, “but I’m going through with it.”

“Because you love Barbara?”

He shrugged. “Who knows what love is? I sure as hell don’t. My dad marries women and trades them in like used cars. I guess I inherited some of that from the old man. Permanence is not my thing, you know?” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Barbara understands me. She’s got the same kind of family. We’re not banking on forever here. We’re just trying it out.”

The prelude of organ music swelled louder. Steve turned to Katie. “You’ll be okay?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

And then he was gone. She watched him leave, a trim, handsome man who filled the elegant tuxedo well, and realized the spark that had drawn her to him was gone. She was over him, over the whole betrayal. Ready to move on with someone else.

Then, as if he’d been drawn by telepathy, she heard Matt’s voice. “Katie! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Matt had come. Even though she’d told him twice not to, he’d shown up anyway. A rush of joy flooded Katie, but she held herself in check. Just because he was here didn’t necessarily mean anything had changed. But maybe…

This rampage of emotion running through her at the sight of him had begun the night they’d played darts. Her single comment about there being a good man buried underneath his bad-boy exterior had dissolved his swagger and revealed the true Matt. It had touched her, as had his love for a beaten-up old farm, and the pain in his eyes when he talked of his baby.

Were these feelings…love?

No. There was no way she could be falling in love with Matt Webster.

But as he approached, she knew she was lying to herself. The truth came to her in a sudden punch that sucked out her air and compressed her lungs. She’d fallen in love with Matt. Irrevocably.

“Someone said you ran back here. Why?”

“I was…” She could barely talk. She was afraid the truth of how she felt about him would be reflected in the hesitation of her voice, in the shimmer of her eyes. She swallowed and tried again. “I was looking for an escape route.”

“Escape, huh?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her to him. Every touch felt different now, layered with meaning. Katie leaned into him, a bit unsteady on her feet. Inside, she could hear the beginning strains of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.”

“I think I can help you there,” Matt said. He tipped his head toward the window across the hall. “If you want, I can tie all my clothes together as a rope and lower you out the window.” He put a finger to his chin. “I’d probably have to get naked to do that, though. Would you mind?”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t complain.”

His hands went to his belt buckle. “Well? Shall we?”

“I think that would be going above and beyond the call of duty here.” Katie choked back her worries that Matt’s arrival meant nothing more than he was bored on Saturday night. She gave in to the hope that maybe he was beginning to feel the same way she did. Mustering every bit of the new Katie, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It was a sweet offer.”

“No, that was sweet.” He bent to kiss her again, then stopped. “I thought I heard Steve’s voice earlier.”

Did Matt look worried? Jealous? “You did.”

“And has he…did he reconsider marrying Barbara?”

“No, he went through with it.” Katie glanced toward the door that led to the church. “I’m not so sure he’s making the right decision, but for once, he seems committed.”

“Are you okay with that?”

She nodded. “I don’t love him anymore. And if he loves Barbara, he should be with her.”

“A happy ending for everybody, huh?”

Wagner reached the crescendo. “That’s what I’m hoping for. Steve said he backed out of marrying me because he was terrified to commit to one woman for the rest of his life. Know anyone else like that?” She tugged on Matt’s tie.

He feigned innocence. “You couldn’t mean me. I’m not scared of anything, baby,” he said in his best Schwarzenegger voice.

“Nothing?” She smoothed the navy silk back into place.

“Well…maybe black widow spiders and rogue building inspectors.”

She tiptoed her fingers up his chest. “And you’re not scared of me?”

“No, definitely not of you.” He lowered his mouth to hers, hovering there, teasing her. “Are you scared of me?”

“Oh yeah. Terrified.” And she surged forward, bringing her lips to his.

By the time they came up for air, Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” was playing and the new Mr. and Mrs. Stephen Spencer were dodging birdseed on their way to a waiting limo.

Matt and Katie dashed into the reception hall, laughing and holding hands like a couple of teenagers who’d just made out in the back seat of a car. The making out part was true, Matt thought. Tonight, though, he’d discovered how much fun the halls of a church and the front seat of a car could be.

When he’d decided to come to the wedding, despite Katie’s protests, he’d thought he was doing it out of altruism. But the minute he’d seen her in the hall talking to Steve, and felt a powerful surge of something that seemed damned close to jealousy, he knew there was more to his decision than keeping a bargain.

They came up short when they nearly collided with a life-size papier-mâché Elvis. Not the handsome Elvis of “Love Me Tender,” but the older, puffy white-suited King. Done in glue and paper, he looked more like the Pillsbury Dough Boy than the man who broke a million hearts.

The whole room was a tribute to Presley. Records served as place cards, stuffed hound dogs leashed to balloons were centerpieces. No less than eleven velvet Elvises adorned the pristine white walls of the exclusive Lawford Country Club.

“I always knew Barbara was an Elvis fan, but I never knew it went this far,” Katie said.

“Speak of the devil,” Matt whispered.

Barbara dashed over, clasping Katie’s hands in her own. Or at least Matt thought it was Barbara. Her hair was done in a huge cloud on top of her head, her eyes rimmed with black and her lips coated with pale lipstick. If she hadn’t been blond, she could have been Priscilla’s clone. Matt wondered if a reporter from the National Enquirer was skulking behind the potted plants, hoping for an appearance of the King’s ghost. If anything would make Elvis come back from the dead, it would be this party.

“Don’t you just love it?” Barbara gushed. “It’s always been my dream to have a true Elvis wedding, ever since I saw Blue Suede Shoes. I was so glad my mother already owned all these portraits of the King,” she waved at the velvet Elvises with pride. “No trouble finding the decorations for this wedding!”

“It’s…it’s…unique,” Katie said.

“Oh, thank you.” She pressed a hand to her chest and beamed. Apparently, having legally snagged Steve in the setting of her dreams had Barbara feeling magnanimous instead of mean. “Well, you two enjoy yourselves, I’ve got to go see about the food. The chef wasn’t too keen on the idea of serving peanut butter and banana sandwiches as an appetizer.”

Barbara left, her hair like a beacon. Matt put a hand to the small of Katie’s back and propelled her toward the bar. “In all the…ah…confusion back at the church,” he grinned, “I forgot to tell you that you look incredible. The kind of beautiful that could make a weaker man’s heart stop.”

Even that wasn’t enough to describe how wonderful she looked. The dress was a clear departure from what he’d seen Katie in thus far. Ebony and silky, it lifted, tightened and enhanced all the right places, then flared out at the bottom. The best part was the scoop bodice, giving the illusion that Katie’s breasts were ready to spill out with the first strong gust of wind. Unfortunate that the reception was inside, with little chance of a quick breeze.

“Thanks, I borrowed the dress from Sarah. You don’t look so bad yourself.” She ran a hand down the front of his suit jacket. “Presentable enough for a wedding.”

He barely heard what Katie said, but noticed every detail about her. The delicate curve of her jaw, the way her lower lip pouted like a newly-budded apple. The slender fingers that slipped along his jacket with a feather touch, awakening a long-sleeping volcano of feeling. “Well,” he cleared his throat. “I aim to please.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And are you pleased?”

“With the clothes or the man?”

“The man.” He tried to make it sound like he was joking. That her answer didn’t mean anything.

She put a finger to her chin and feigned deep thought. “I guess I’d have to say both.”

He smiled. “Then I’d better be on my best behavior tonight. Wouldn’t want you realizing I’m not such a nice guy after all.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“You don’t know me that well,” he said quietly. And there it was, the truth about the kind of man Matt knew he really was, slipping between them like a curtain. He could play this game of pretending there was hope for more, that he didn’t have the past that he did, but in the end, it all came back to one night and one stupid, foolish choice. He ran a hand through his hair and forced himself back to the present. “So, where’s the clown suit?”

“I thought this dress might be a bit more appropriate.” She spun and the skirt swirled around her legs, a` la Marilyn Monroe. All they needed was a rush of air from a subway grate and he’d get another glimpse of her fabulous legs.

“Too bad. I was really starting to get turned on by those orange pompoms.”

“Someday, if you’re really lucky, I’ll wear the Bozo suit just for you,” she said. There were layers of meaning, hints of tomorrow, in her words. Hope, then regret that those days would probably never come to pass, surged through him. Why had he come? Why had he thought that he could make a new life here in this town? He belonged in Pennsylvania, far from where his past lived.

No, you belong with Katie, his mind whispered. He let that thought simmer for a while.

They passed by the stage where the band, dressed in rhinestones and satin, was belting out “Blue Suede Shoes.” At the mike, crooning and gyrating, was a rotund man wearing an Elvis wig and faux sideburns. “Look,” Katie exclaimed. “That’s Jim! The bartender at the Corner Pocket. He’s Elvis!”

“Don’t tell me the King has spent the last thirty years mixing drinks while everyone thought he was resting in peace.”

She turned and flashed him a look of mock irritation. “If you keep up with these one-liners, I’m going to—”

“Punish me?” He winked. “That could get interesting.”

“Matt Webster, you have the worst mind.” She wagged a finger at him. “You’re supposed to be pretending to be in love with me, not thinking up wild fantasies.”

He grabbed her finger, pulled her to him. “Then come here,” he whispered, “and let’s start pretending right now.” His arm slid around her waist possessively, his chest pressed against hers. The room slipped away, leaving nothing but Katie and him.

When they kissed, Matt forgot where the pretending left off and the reality began. He cupped her face, the soft skin a salve for his rough palms, as if the feel of her could heal the calluses on his hands and in his heart. His mind rocketed down a path of the future, first stopping with Katie in his bed, then Katie at his breakfast table, then seeing her on the porch at the house that he’d always dreamed of building and in her arms, their child, waving a grubby hand—

He yanked himself back. No, he couldn’t have that. He didn’t deserve any of it.

But God help him, he still wanted her. The dream. All of it.

“Matt? Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. What could he say? Instead, he looked for a distraction. The band announced a break and put on a CD of dance music to keep everyone entertained while they were gone. A sensual Latin rhythm began, pulsing through the floorboards and mocking the rock-and-roll theme of the room. Matt grabbed Katie’s hand and dragged her to the center of the dance floor. “Let’s give everyone something to talk about besides the decor.”

“What do you mean? Dance?” She shook her head, already turning back to the sidelines. “I can’t dance.”

“You can with me.” He placed her left arm along his right, so her hand rested on his shoulder. Then he took her opposite hand with his, angling them outward. “We’re going to tango.”

“You’re kidding me. I can’t—”

“Just follow my lead.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, without moving. “Do you feel that? Let my body cue you, not the music.”

Did she feel that? Oh, yes, she certainly did. She felt everything when Matt was near.

Sarah’s words about pretend love turning into real love echoed in her head. It had happened for her; maybe it could happen for Matt. Tonight was her best shot at making that happen. She’d met challenges before, head-on, with determination. Matt, though, was a challenge of a whole different sort. She didn’t have the experience or know-how to wrap men around her finger the way other women did. In most areas of love, she was a novice.

On the dance floor, she was even more of an amateur. But she was still game, as long as Matt didn’t let go. “Okay,” she said.

“Now, lift your head, turn it slightly to the side and stay with me. Closer.” He brought her chest to his, their torsos linked. “And think like a cat.”

“Meow.”

“Perfect.”

He took a step back, pressing a hand to her spine to signal her move. She followed his lead, stepping forward, moving with him. He took another step back and again she followed.

It was almost like walking but deeper, more sensual. They moved to the rhythm, crossing the floor with an easy series of steps and follows. The music pulsed through Katie, giving her a natural tempo to obey. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“My mother insisted on a few lessons at Arthur Murray.” He smiled. “I went because it was a great place to meet girls.”

“Shouldn’t I have a rose between my teeth?”

“No. That would make it hard for us to kiss. And what’s a tango without a kiss or two?” He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his, a tease that caused a fire to erupt in her belly. She pressed against him. And promptly lost her footing.

“Easy there,” he whispered. “Think cat, remember? Long, feline-type steps. Now get ready, we’re about to turn. Don’t worry, I’ll make it easy for you.”

He brought his palm tighter against her back and swooped her up off the floor, spinning her ninety degrees. She’d probably only been two inches off the ground but she felt light-headed. Her skirt was still swirling around her legs when he lowered her to her feet. She stumbled once, trying to get the hang of the steps again.

“Feel the music, Katie,” he whispered to her. “For a tango to be done right, you have to pour yourself into the dance.”

The music pounded a seductive beat that tingled through her, murmuring the promises of a bedroom later on. Katie slipped into the easy skin of what lay underneath the restrictions she’d placed on herself. She closed her eyes, letting instinct take over, embracing his body with her own. Every muscle he flexed, every movement he made, pulsed through him and into her. Close, closer still, she moved toward him, becoming one dancer, one person with Matt.

“Ah, Katie, Katie,” Matt murmured against her neck. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“I…I feel the same way about you,” she whispered and let the joyful words carry themselves straight to her heart, no longer aware they were in a crowded room, no longer caring if the facade had worked.

The music came to an end, and, with one final swirl, Matt spun her around. She arched her back and flung out an arm, the triumphant dancer finishing the finale of her life. Matt dropped to one knee, clasping her free hand in his.

Applause erupted from the sidelines. When Katie opened her eyes, she realized they were the only people on the dance floor. The entire crowd of nearly one hundred people had gathered around and watched as she and Matt danced.

She knew then that the Conventional Katie moniker was gone for good. And best of all, Matt had said he was falling in love with her. Hope for a future with him sprang to life in her chest, blossoming into a wide smile. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy.

Matt got to his feet and grasped her waist, bowing with her to another round of applause. “We put on one hell of a good show, according to the audience,” Matt said.

“Yes, we did.”

“I think they really believed our performance.” He looked down at her. She smiled back, letting the happiness brim over and no longer holding back the truth. But then a shadow passed over his face, dropping onto his features like a shade. Matt took a step back. Cold air invaded the space between them. “That little touch I added about saying I was falling in love worked wonders.”

His words lanced through her. Hot, painful tears stung at her eyes and a crushing weight she could barely swallow sunk to the pit of her stomach. “Yeah, I…I guess it did,” she managed. “You’re a great actor.”

He looked away. “So are you.”

“Thanks.” The word came out flat, stale. For the last few minutes, she’d been letting herself hope that maybe he wasn’t pretending. That he hadn’t said he was in love with her just because it was part of their bargain…but because he really did.

“I’ve accomplished what I wanted,” she said, trying to hold the tears in check long enough to get out of the room. “After a finale like that, I think I should go home.”

“Are you sure? We could always try the foxtrot—”

“No. No, I’ve had enough.” She put on her cordial face again, said goodbye to the people she knew and hurried out the door as fast as she could, away from Matt. She’d thought no one could ever hurt her the way Steve had.

She’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.

Chapter Nine

Matt caught up to her in the country club lobby. “Katie—”

She spun around. “Thank you for putting on a great show. The whole act was very convincing.”

He heard the forced brightness in her tone and knew exactly what had upset her. How could he be so stupid? How could he let his feelings get away from him like that? He’d told her he was falling in love with her and then he’d taken it back.

What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been, and that was the trouble. He’d let himself get swept up in the dance and in Katie, and the words had slipped out. He’d been reacting on emotion, not with his head. “Katie, I—”

Before Matt could finish his sentence, Olivia came striding around the corner. She was holding color swatches in her hands and chatting with a man who looked to be the manager of the country club. When she saw Matt, she froze. “I’ll, ah, catch you later, Stan,” she said to the man beside her. He took one look at Matt, another at Olivia and Katie, and left without a word.

Olivia looked the same as ever, Matt thought, but a little older and harder. She was thin, almost painfully so, and there were lines in her face that hadn’t been there eleven years ago. Maybe the last decade hadn’t been so easy on her, either.

“Matt,” Olivia said. The word came out in a quiet gush of surprise.

“Hello, Olivia.”

“I knew you were in town, but…” She didn’t finish. Instead, she turned to Katie, as if she’d just noticed she was there. Olivia’s features went stony, yet her voice remained cool. “I didn’t expect to see you two together—I mean, I heard about…but…” She recovered and put on a polite face. “Nice to see you, Katie.”

“And you,” Katie said. She took an almost imperceptible step away from Matt. “Olivia has ordered some designs from my shop,” Katie told Matt.

That explained the distance Katie put between them. Never get in the middle of a man and his ex-wife, Matt thought wryly. “What a small world.”

“Indeed,” Olivia said. An uncomfortable silence curled around them until Olivia held up the swatches and waved them vaguely toward the lounge. “I was here to go over a few details for the renovation. Are you here for a something special?”

“A wedding,” Katie said.

“Not your own?” Her laughter seemed forced.

“No, no.” Katie shook her head. “A friend’s.”

“Oh. Well, it was nice to see you again, Katie.” Olivia nodded at Matt. “Are you in town long?”

Seeing Olivia magnified all the guilt and anger brewing in Matt. He tried to cram it back into the recesses of his heart, but he couldn’t. The feelings he’d managed to more or less put away for the past eleven years refused to go quietly. They kept bobbing up, forcing him to acknowledge them. To deal with them.

He was through running away and hiding from the past. He needed to find out the rest of the story. Maybe that would give him the peace he needed to move forward. Or maybe it would send him spiraling off a steeper cliff of self-blame.

“We have some unfinished business, Olivia,” he said. “I’d like to talk—”

Olivia’s face paled ten shades. “I have to go.” She spun on her heel and left.

Olivia wasn’t happy about his return, that was clear. His being with Katie hadn’t been welcome news, either. What had Katie said? Olivia was using Katie’s shop for some floral work. Damn. He hoped that his being with Katie hadn’t hurt her business. He knew she and Sarah were struggling to keep it afloat.

But what could he say to Olivia? It’s all an act? We were just pretending so people would change their ideas of who Katie Dole and Matt Webster really are? Olivia would never believe it.

His return had stirred up a hornet’s nest of a mess. His parents were unhappy with his actions, his ex-wife had more than one resentment left, and his best intentions may have sent Katie’s store further into financial trouble. And to top it all off, he’d just broken Katie’s heart.

Way to go, Matt.

“I need to get home. I, um, have an early day tomorrow,” Katie said.

“I thought the shop was closed on Sundays.”

She flushed. “It is. But I have some things to do.” She started out the door, heading toward the parking lot. Matt hurried after her, but he had a feeling that in her mind, she’d already left him.

“Thanks for the dance,” Katie said when she reached her car. “It was a lot easier than nailing in two-by-fours. So, now we’re even.” She put out her hand. “And thanks for keeping your end of the bargain and putting on a good performance.”

“This is how you want to end our night, with a handshake?”

“Yes. We’re friends, right? Friends shake.”

“I thought we were much more than friends.”

“No, not really.” But the lie shimmered in her eyes.

Damn, he had screwed up royally. How could he begin to mend the ever-widening rift between himself and Katie? He took her hand, but she pulled it away. “Katie—”

She shook her head. “I’m really tired.”

“Katie, please, let’s go get something to eat and then we can talk.” He had no idea what he’d say if she agreed. All he knew was that he couldn’t let her leave thinking he was the world’s biggest jerk. Even if it was true. “Hey, and afterwards,” he offered her what he hoped was a charming, irresistible smile, “we could tango a little more.”

“It was all a charade, Matt.” Her voice was thin and shaky. “You pretended, I pretended. Everyone fell for it. Bravo.” She clapped her hands together.

Then she turned, got into her Toyota and pulled away before Matt could say the words that would make her stay.

“So? How was the wedding?” Sarah said when she breezed in Monday morning.

“It was nice.” Liar.

Katie focused her attention on the partially completed silk flower arrangement on her workbench. It was easier to concentrate on the perfect place for the faux orchid in her hand than to think about Saturday night and about Matt. She’d worked all weekend, letting cleaning and organizing be her excuse for avoiding Matt and her thoughts. A hearty scrub of the bathtub, two passes over the kitchen floor and even a thorough dusting of the ceiling fan hadn’t rid her system of him. Nothing had.

Sunday, her phone had rung twenty times and she’d ignored it every time. Twice, he’d come to the door and begged her to let him in. She’d turned up the volume on her stereo and pretended she couldn’t hear him. The last thing she wanted to hear right now was Matt congratulating her again on a performance well done.

“Come on, give. I know it was more than ‘nice.’ I can tell by your face that something happened. Did Barbara abandon Steve at the altar?”

“No, but Steve looked like he was about ready to pass out. He went through with it, though. He even apologized to me for being such a jerk before.”

“It’s about time.” Sarah leaned against the counter. “That delivery I need to get over to the Robertsons’ house for their new baby can wait a few more minutes. Tell me, what happened with Matt?”

Katie sighed and gave up on the orchid. She’d bent the stalk in half by jabbing it too hard. She flung it onto the worktable and dropped her head to her hands.

“Katie.” Sarah laid a hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”

She’d thought she didn’t have any tears left. But she did. “Matt and I tangoed, he told me he was falling in love with me, then he compliment me on our great performance.” She sniffled.

“Oh, Katie.” Sarah grabbed a handful of tissues out of the box beside them and handed the stack to Katie. “But, he did say ‘falling in love,’ right?”

She nodded, swiping her eyes. “He also said it was an act.”

“Hmmm.” Sarah tapped a finger on her chin. “I don’t think so. I think maybe Matt let something slip out that he didn’t even realize he felt yet.”

“Sarah, the man was pretending to be my fiancé, because we had a deal. Period. He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even want a relationship.” Katie picked up another flower. “It gets worse.”

“Worse?”

“On the way out of the country club, Matt and I ran into Olivia Maguire. She wasn’t too happy to see me with him. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she canceled her order.”

“Looks like you’re right about that one.” Sarah gestured toward the door. Through the glass, Katie could see Olivia getting out of her car. Her heart sank.

“I’ll stay. Maybe we can talk her out of canceling, if that’s what she’s here for.”

“Go deliver that arrangement. I’ll be fine.”

Sarah hesitated. “Are you sure? I hate to leave you—”

“Go.”

“Okay. Good luck.” Sarah gathered Katie in a quick, strong hug, then headed out the back door.

A moment later, Olivia entered the store. “I’ve decided to cancel the dish garden order,” she said.

Dread filled Katie’s lungs.

“Although I’m impressed with your work, certain circumstances have made me rethink our business relationship.”

“I can assure you—”

“I’ve got a lot of work coming up, you know,” Olivia interrupted. “Three houses, the country club, a new restaurant that’s opening in Lawford.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “All of these customers could use flowers. Some on a regular basis. I had intended to use your shop. Before I do, however, I want to make sure business is your top priority. I’d thought it was before, but now…” She didn’t finish.

“What do you mean, ‘top priority?”’

“It’s been my experience that small shops sometimes close unexpectedly when the owner finds something else to occupy her time.”

Katie knew precisely where this conversation was leading. “Like a man?”

“I’m not saying that exactly, but yes, sometimes getting involved with someone or getting married becomes a, shall we say, a distraction. Then the shop isn’t there when I need it most.”

“Does this have anything to do with me dating your ex-husband?”

“Of course not.” But the flush that crept over Olivia’s face contradicted her words. She sounded angry, and yet she looked a bit worried. Anger, Katie could understand. But worry?

“I don’t want to commit to a business relationship with your shop right now. Maybe in a few weeks…”

When Matt was out of her life, was the implication. Katie was about to tell Olivia that it was already over between them, when she was caught by a thought. What did it matter to Olivia if Katie and Matt dated? The other night, she’d seemed to already know, from the growing scuttlebutt around town, that they were an item. And yet, until today, she hadn’t said a word or threatened to hold back business from the shop.

Then Katie remembered Matt’s comment to Olivia about wanting answers. Olivia had paled and run out of the country club. Like someone with something to hide.

Maybe there was a lot more to Olivia’s part in the tragedy about their baby’s death and their divorce, than anyone knew. Was Matt blaming himself for something that wasn’t his fault?

“I realize there might be some bad feelings between you and Matt,” Katie ventured.

Olivia snorted. “Of course there are.”

“It’s been eleven years. It seems to me that’s a long time to be—”

“Devastated? Betrayed?” Olivia took a step closer. “From what I’ve heard, you know a lot about feeling betrayed yourself. Being dumped at the altar is nothing compared to what I went through.” She blinked, a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “So don’t start telling me when it’s time to get over it.”

“I wasn’t, I just…” Katie sighed.

“Let’s drop the subject. It’s not one of my favorites.” With shaking fingers, Olivia whisked an invisible piece of dust off her cranberry suit. “I’m late for an appointment. I’ll be in touch if I need your shop’s services again.” She strode out the door, letting it shut with a slam.

The air in the room seemed to descend like a heavy blanket. The glove had been thrown down by Olivia. She’d made it clear that involvement with Matt put far more than Katie’s heart in jeopardy—it also threatened the store. Katie’s priority, ahead of any relationship, any man, had to be the shop. She and Sarah both depended on it for income.

Katie slumped into a chair. She’d ruined everything. Olivia had no intention of giving any more business to A Pair of Posies. She seemed intent on distancing herself from Matt, and by extension, Katie.

Still, something nagged at Katie about the whole conversation. Certainly, Olivia and Matt had suffered a great loss when their child had died. But why was she still so inflamed by the subject more than a decade later?

Sarah returned, waving a check. “The family was so pleased with the arrangement, they ordered a silk version for the nursery.”

Katie scrambled to her feet and grabbed her car keys off the ring by the register. “That’s great. Listen, I need to take care of something. Will you be all right here alone for a little bit?”

“Sure. But before you go, tell me how it went with Olivia.”

“Not good at all.” Katie pushed on the door handle. “But I’m about to try and fix that.”

“Dammit!” Matt yanked on the tie at his neck, pulling out his misguided attempt at a Windsor knot for the third time. “You’d think I’d never tied a tie before in my life,” he muttered.

He’d bought two of the damned things to wear with his equally new suit for the wedding. It had taken him nearly thirty minutes to get the first one on that night, and his skills hadn’t improved. He doubted Katie would be impressed if he wrapped it around his neck in one enormous ball. His idea was to show up at her store, dressed to the nines—since that had seemed to please her last time—and persuade her to go out on a date with him. A real one this time.

He yanked out the bulging knot again and wondered if it was possible for a tie to have a mean streak.

“Do you want some help with that?” His mother appeared at his side, startling him. She had always moved silently through the house, a feat Matt had yet to accomplish. It must have something to do with his big feet, a physical characteristic definitely not inherited from his mother.

“I’m all thumbs today.” He turned and faced her, giving up on the irritating piece of silk. He felt ten years old again, waiting for his mother to help him get ready for church.

“Your father isn’t so good at ties, either.” She deftly looped the fabric in and around in the classic knot. “I’ve tied his every morning for forty-one years. It’s a ritual with us.”

That was something he hadn’t known. His parents were not people who went through the daily intimacies of zipping back zippers and tying ties. They were companions who shared small talk over croissants and fresh-squeezed orange juice. He’d hardly seen them kiss, and certainly didn’t want to imagine how he had come to be.

Ever since he’d been back, he’d been learning things about his parents, and about himself, that shocked the hell out of him. Now that he was thirty, and presumably older and wiser, he realized he’d been wrong about a few things.

“Are you going to see that Katie you told me about?” She tugged and tightened, straightening the knot. They’d talked about Katie on Sunday, when his mother had asked what had him stalking around the house like a penned lion.

“Yes. And, I hope, convince her I’m not a total jerk.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

He dipped his head and met her gaze. “Yes, I do. She’s…special.”

“Hmm,” was all she said. Then she finished fastening the tie and patted it lightly. “There, all handsome now.” Her hand moved up to stroke his cheek. “You look so much like your father did when I first met him.” Her eyes glistened and there was a catch in her voice. “I think you ended up with the best of both of us, Matthew.”

The best of each of them? That was something he’d never considered and the implications of her remark warmed him. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Thank you, Mom.”

She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and smiled. “You always were my little devil, running off, hell-bent on some idea or another. I never could keep you pinned down for long. Much like your dad.”

“There was so much of the world to see, so many things to do.”

“And after you saw the world and did all those things, you came home.” She hesitated. “To stay?”

He nodded. “There are some things here that I never found anywhere else in the world.” Like Katie.

She nodded, as if she’d read his mind. “Katie seems to be good for you.”

Matt turned to the mirror and fiddled with the tie. She might be good for him. But he knew sure as hell he was no good for her.

As much as he hoped for a different ending, he was enough of a realist to know it wasn’t possible. He could try to delay it by taking her to dinner, by seeing her one last time, but once she realized the truth about that night eleven years ago, she’d reject him as surely as his father had, blame him like Olivia did. Like he blamed himself.

Sweet Pea lay on the porch, snoring. The giant dog was sprawled across the top step and didn’t even bother to pick her head up when Katie stepped over her to reach the front door and ring the doorbell. “You’re quite the guard dog,” she said to the Doberman.

Sweet Pea grunted and went back to her puppy dreams.

“Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t buying,” Miss Tanner shouted before she’d finished opening the door. “Oh, it’s you.”

Katie stood firm on the porch. Miss Tanner had always been a formidable woman, and seemed even more so now, with her hair drawn into a severe bun and a broom in her hand. “I’d like to talk to you about something, Miss Tanner. Do you have a few minutes?”

“I’m in the middle of cleaning…”

Katie pulled out her trump card. “I brought some donuts along.” She held up a bag, opened it and withdrew one of the sweet confections. “And a cruller for Sweet Pea.”

The dog scrambled to her feet, nails clicking on the wood, and lunged for the cruller, snapping half of it off. Katie let out a squeak and dropped the rest of the donut on the porch, where it was promptly gobbled up by Sweet Pea.

“Donuts?” Miss Tanner leaned forward, peering into the bag. “Well, I guess I could use a break. For a few minutes.” She opened the door wide enough for Katie to enter. Sweet Pea stayed on the porch, licking up every last crumb.

The inside of Miss Tanner’s house was nearly as severe as the woman—and her mother before her, from what Katie had heard about the family. Though Miss Tanner had never married, the rumor mill said she’d spent a few years “abroad” before coming back at twenty-one. She’d never left again. There’d been plenty of gossip about why Miss Tanner had become almost a recluse.

The house didn’t offer many clues. The front parlor had uncomfortable-looking furniture precisely arranged, white walls devoid of art or pictures. Then Miss Tanner led Katie into the kitchen. It was like a different house. Katie got the feeling this room was where the true spirit of Colleen Tanner existed.

The room was warm and bright, imbued with blue and yellow. A checked tablecloth, topped by a vase of fresh daisies, sat on the table. There was a stew simmering on the stove, and prints of flowers hung on the pale yellow walls. There was even a dog treat jar, painted to look like an enormous, fat pug.

“Sit down.” Miss Tanner gestured to a kitchen chair. She crossed to the sink, filled a kettle and placed it on the stove. “I’ll make some tea.” She bustled back with a pair of plates and napkins.

When Miss Tanner took a seat, Katie pushed the bag over to her. “They’re all for you.”

“Wonderful!” she crowed, digging in eagerly. “What did you want to ask?” She took a bite of a devil’s food donut.

“About Olivia. And Matt.”

Miss Tanner dropped the donut to her plate. Her entire demeanor shifted away from friendly. “I don’t want to talk about that man. He broke my niece’s heart after they lost the baby.”

“It was an awful tragedy. So unexpected,” Katie said, hoping Miss Tanner would fill in a couple of blanks.

“The women in our family are cursed.” Miss Tanner shoved the donuts away as if the conversation had killed her appetite. “Cursed in the men they marry, cursed with their babies.”

“What do you mean?”

“There isn’t a one of us who hasn’t had that fear, seen that loss. Or had it happen to us.” Miss Tanner’s voice was quiet, her gaze off in the distance somewhere. Katie realized one of the women Miss Tanner meant was herself. No wonder she’d been so protective of Olivia, so angry at Matt. Whatever had happened, had also happened to the woman across the table. “Olivia thought she might escape the curse, but she was wrong.”

“What curse?”

The tea kettle whistled and Miss Tanner shuddered. The softness left her features and she became the bitter woman Katie normally saw. She shoved away from the table and turned to the stove, silencing the kettle. “Nothing I need to be telling you about,” she said. “It’s family business.”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Stay away from that man.” She shook a wrinkled finger at Katie. “Mark my words, he’ll break your heart like he broke Olivia’s. Men aren’t worth the skin they’re grown in.” She got to her feet, clearly done with Katie’s visit. “I have work to do.”

There was nothing more to be said. Katie suspected even a truckload of donuts wouldn’t change Miss Tanner’s mind.

“I need to get back to the store, anyway.” Katie said as she headed down the hall, Miss Tanner close on her heels. Miss Tanner reached past Katie, opened the door and waited.

Katie had failed on her mission. She’d hoped to unearth some deep family secret and all she’d gotten was something about a curse and a few choice words about how useless men were. So far, the new Katie was batting a thousand.

“Thank you, Miss Tanner,” she said.

Miss Tanner harrumphed. “For what?”

“For inviting me into your house. And for telling me a little more about Olivia. I’m sure it wasn’t easy to talk about.”

Miss Tanner looked taken aback. Surprised. Actually bordering on nice. “No, it’s not.” She dipped her gaze, but not before Katie saw her eyes mist. “The same thing happened to my baby, God rest his soul. And my sister’s second child, who would have been Olivia’s younger brother. The girls in our family ain’t meant to have sons.” Miss Tanner cleared her throat and straightened, her gaze scanning the sky. “It looks like rain.”

It didn’t, but Katie agreed anyway. She said goodbye and stepped over Sweet Pea on her way out. The dog lifted her head in a drowsy farewell.

Miss Tanner’s confession about her baby certainly made many of the rumors about her time “away” add up. Had she gotten pregnant and then been abandoned by the baby’s father? That, coupled with the loss of a child, must have been hard. Miss Tanner’s honesty, though, might just set another person free of a lifetime of pain.

There was only one place Matt would be right now, Katie decided. Mustering every bit of her new self, she took a chance and headed for the man who’d just broken her heart.

Chapter Ten

The new suit no longer looked new. Matt had draped the tie over a pile of lumber, tossed the jacket onto a sledgehammer handle. His pants and shoes were coated with sawdust; the shirt plastered to his skin in a wrinkled, sweaty mess.

He probably should have changed before coming out to the house. But when he’d reached Katie’s store, only to find out she wasn’t there, he’d needed a place to vent his frustration. He hadn’t thought about what he was wearing—all he wanted was the familiar feel of a hammer in his hands. It was either work or beer, and he wasn’t about to go down the beer path again.

He dragged a pair of two-by-tens over to the bearing wall he was creating. He parked his wing tip against the two of them, keeping them in place, then bent forward and drove a ten-penny galvanized nail into the wood.

“Nice view.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Was that Katie’s voice? Damn, he sure hoped so. The hammer dropped to the floor with a clatter and Matt spun around. “Hey.”

Way to go, Matt. Nice loss for words.

“Hey yourself.” She gestured toward the wood. “Need some help?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He had the vocabulary of a Cro-Magnon man. “You’re not really dressed for it, though.”

She chuckled. “Neither are you.”

He shrugged. “I forgot to change.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of soda. It was covered with a thin layer of frost. “I brought you something to drink.”

He took the bottle, ran the icy container between his hands. “Thank you. Is this why you stopped by?”

“No. I have something to tell you.”

Hope sparked within him. “What?”

“Olivia came by the shop earlier. She canceled her order.” Katie frowned. “She seemed extremely angry and more than a little worried about seeing me with you. That bothered me, so I went to see Miss Tanner. She told me something interesting about Olivia.”

Matt turned away. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Matt.” Her voice was soft. “You can’t let what happened that night rule the rest of your life.”

He wheeled back. “Yeah, I can. You don’t know me very well. You don’t know how badly I can disappoint people.”

She glanced away, and he remembered she’d already had a taste of that from him, too. He was lower on the evolutionary scale than Cro-Magnon man. Even a caveman wouldn’t lash out at a woman who wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He twisted the cap off the bottle but didn’t drink. “Damn it, Katie. You don’t understand. Nobody does. What happened that night—”

“Might not have been your fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Miss Tanner said something that made me think there might be more to what happened than you know. Did Olivia ever mention a curse?”

“Curse?”

“Well, that’s what Miss Tanner called it. But I think she meant something genetic. She told me her own infant had died, and so had her nephew, Olivia’s baby brother. Then she said something about how the women in her family weren’t meant to have sons.”

“I remember Olivia telling me about her little brother,” Matt said. He set the bottle on a post, still untouched. “But she told me he was stillborn. What happened to the other babies?”

Katie shook her head. “I don’t know. Miss Tanner didn’t tell me anything else.”

He crossed to a pile of lumber and took a seat. Katie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Matt, was there an autopsy?”

“I…I don’t know,” Matt said. “I left town after the hospital told me it was SIDS. I couldn’t bear to be there one more second.”

“You’re blaming yourself for something that probably isn’t even your fault.”

“What Miss Tanner said doesn’t change what I did. Blaming Olivia won’t—” He leapt to his feet. “There are things about me, about my past, that you don’t know.”

“Matt, the past—”

“Will affect the future.” He lowered his head. “Maybe once I tell you, you’ll understand why relationships and me are a bad idea.”

“Okay.” She took a seat on the stack of lumber. He paced for several minutes before finally settling beside her. He steepled his fingers under his chin, hesitating.

Katie waited quietly. Any other woman would have been nagging and cajoling him. Katie wasn’t any woman, though. In the hazel depths of her eyes, he saw the reflection of concern. Of caring. Maybe even the beginnings of love.

Already, he had a feeling he was in too deep. Like a hummingbird anxious about staying too long in one place, the thought of settling down flitted through his mind. Just being near her, in this house where hope used to live, was making him consider things he’d written off long ago—those age-old words every man pranced around like a racehorse just before the gate opened—commitment and marriage.

He’d been in that starting gate once before, with Olivia. The end of his marriage, which had really begun the day he’d slipped the ring on Olivia’s finger, had been an avalanche of hurt. What he’d learned from that experience should be included in every boy’s puberty handbook—how not to be seduced by a woman who lied as easily as she smiled.

He looked out over the property. Why had he started building again? Why had he laid out framing for four bedrooms instead of one? If he intended to live here by himself, in some self-imposed exile from society, then why four bedrooms?

The reason was sitting quietly beside him. Katie had given him the first taste of hope he’d had in a long time. Katie was right. Until he dealt with that night, hope was a wasted emotion.

“Olivia was my date for the senior prom,” he began, letting the taste of long-bottled-up words roll off his tongue like a wine that had grown slightly bitter with age. “I didn’t know many girls. Believe it or not, I got tongue-tied every time I got around a pretty girl and hadn’t dated, even by my senior year.” He flicked a splinter of wood onto the floor. “She worked at the diner where my friends and I hung out. My buddies thought it would be funny to set us up, so they told her I didn’t have a date for the prom. It didn’t take long for her to change that.” He shook his head.

“I used to think she and I had a lot in common. A poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks and a wild rich boy who didn’t value money, just freedom. After we got married, I realized the only thing Olivia cared about was money and status. Me, I’ve never cared much about those things.”

She shook her head. “I can’t remember a time when I haven’t worried about money.”

“I’m not against money in general,” he said with a grin. He reached out, grabbed his soda off the nearby post and took a long gulp. “I’ve just never wanted the lifestyle my parents had. The country club memberships, the agonizing over china patterns. Spending your life chained to a desk. I’ve worked for enough to live on, pay my crew well and save for the future. Money hasn’t been my all-consuming goal, which ironically, seemed to make my business do better. When I worried more about the quality of the job than the cash we were making, customers respected me.”

“And for Olivia it was different?”

“Oh yeah. She thought that by marrying me, she’d be taken care of for the rest of her life. I made sure she was, even after the divorce. Money buys the only security she can count on.” He twirled the bottle in his palms.

“What happened at the prom?”

“It wasn’t what happened at the prom, it was what happened afterward. We had a great time. Olivia was every guy’s dream date—sexy, flirty, laughing. Ready to do just about anything. And I mean anything. After the prom, we were supposed to follow my friends up to the lake for a campout. But we didn’t make it.”

The wind picked up, flattening the grass in a wave across the meadow. A few birds squawked in protest at the gust and flapped away.

“We ended up in a hotel room instead.”

Matt looked at Katie, as if gauging her reaction to the statement. She shouldn’t have a reaction, she told herself. His relationship with Olivia had been eleven years ago, long before Katie had met him. On top of that, she had no claims on him, no right to be bothered by whatever had been or still was between Matt and Olivia.

But the thought of him and Olivia in bed together, did bother her. More than she wanted to admit.

“Olivia wanted me and made no secret of that the whole way to the hotel,” he continued. “I was young, stupid and desperate to lose my virginity. So I went.”

“And the rest is history,” she finished for him, not sure she wanted to hear any more details.

“Basically, yes.” He glanced at the bottle in his hands. “Four weeks later, she called me, said she was pregnant and I was the father. Like I said, I was young and stupid. I believed her.”

“And you did the right thing.”

He nodded. “We got married a week later, to prevent any scandal, you know.” Sarcasm laced his words. “My father was enraged that I could be so ‘irresponsible.”’

“Did you live with your folks after the wedding?”

Matt laughed, a short dry sound that was anything but merry. “No way. I got a job working on a construction crew and rented an apartment downtown. I wasn’t about to take a handout from my parents for a mistake I’d made and then hear about it until the day I died. I did it on my own.”

“And Olivia? How did she take it?”

“She hadn’t expected that I’d choose to struggle by on my own rather than take money from my father. She never stopped complaining, not from the minute I carried her over the threshold. So I worked two jobs, until I could afford this place.”

“To build her dream house.”

He was looking past her, at some nameless spot far across the skeleton of a room. “At the time, I thought it would be our dream house. The one we’d raise our family in.”

Matt’s gaze swept over the framework of the house, lingering on a corner that faced the meadow.

“What happened?”

He took a long, hard gulp of soda. Then another, draining the bottle. “Then the baby died and everything fell apart.” He spoke so softly, she had to strain to hear him.

“And you left town?”

“Basically.” He nodded. Again, she waited, sensing his need to tell the story in his own time. “When I woke up on my thirtieth birthday, I finally realized what I’d given up. I’d run from this place as fast as I could eleven years ago and stayed away because it was…easier. But that day, it hit me that the memories I’d left behind, the life I’d had, meant more to me than I wanted to admit.” He let out a rueful laugh. “I decided it was finally time to grow up and come home.”

“But what about your construction company?”

“That can come with me, too, in a way. I built it up from scratch in Pennsylvania and I can do it again here. The challenge will be fun.”

“Starting all over again takes a lot of courage.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t call myself courageous. Not at all.” He stared at the lush landscape. “I’m just a man who stopped drinking and saw his life a whole lot clearer when he decided to face it head-on instead of running from it.”

“But you gave up an awful lot, to come back to a town that’s always thought the worst of you.” Katie laid a hand on his shoulder. “I think you did the right thing.”

The right thing. He hadn’t done the right thing in so long, he wasn’t even sure he knew what that might be. He knew what the wrong thing was, though—choosing booze over responsibility. He’d lost his child, his wife and his life, all in one fell swoop. Then he’d turned his back on everyone and left, drowning his guilt alone.

He pushed himself to his feet and crossed to where the plywood floor ended. He teetered, balancing on the edge of the foundation. The wind gusted around him, as if trying to knock him down.

“Matt, tell me about the baby.” Katie had joined him on the edge and drawn one of his hands into both her own.

“He was beautiful,” Matt began, feeling each word before letting it escape. “Absolutely perfect. I was so happy when he was born. I handed out cigars to the entire staff on the maternity ward, even the candy stripers. My name was on his bassinet. Damn, that made me proud. I’d point him out to everyone that walked by the nursery: ‘That’s my son, that’s my boy.”’ He gestured in front of himself, the movement a mimic of the memory.

“Olivia wanted to name him after me,” he added, turning toward Katie. “Did you know Matthew means ‘gift of the Lord?’ That’s what he was, a precious gift that I had to give back much too soon.” Then his voice splintered with grief and he had to stop talking.

Despite all that had happened, despite the letter proving it was all a lie, Matt had never stopped thinking of little Matthew as his son. A nest of wasps stung at his heart whenever he said his son’s name. Would the pain ever stop?

Katie took a step closer, her warmth a buffer against the bite of the wind. “He must have made you very happy.”

“I can’t describe how that baby made me feel. It was like walking on clouds and touching the sun every time he smiled.” Matt shook his head, regained the composure that had momentarily slipped out of his grasp. “I know they say it’s just gas at that age, but I thought he knew who I was.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“When we brought him home from the hospital, everything was fine at first. Olivia and I spent hours talking about his toes or his eyes or how much he’d eaten.” Matt rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “But then Olivia started spending every night out. As soon as I’d get home from work, she’d head out the door and leave me with the baby.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Not really. I didn’t mind taking care of my son. I used to go crazy while I was at work, missing him. I’m sure I drove the crew nuts, talking about him as if he were the first baby ever born in the world.”

“For you, he was.”

Matt glanced at her and nodded. “You’re right.”

Dark clouds pushed their way through the sky, casting the land in shadow. In the distance, the sound of a tractor droned an undertow of sound for the soft chirps of birds.

“Why didn’t Olivia stay home?”

“She didn’t know what to do when he cried. She’d get frustrated when she couldn’t comfort him or he wouldn’t sleep on schedule. I think she felt like a bad mother.”

“You two were young. No wonder it was difficult.”

“Olivia wouldn’t talk about it or accept any help. Her parents died when she was young, so my mom would come over and try to help her out. But Olivia wanted to do it on her own. And when she couldn’t, she’d get aggravated and walk out the door.

“My marriage was falling apart, bit by bit, and I couldn’t stop it.” He let out a breath. “When I married Olivia, I was committed to making it work—for the baby’s sake. And so was she, in the beginning. But the more inadequate she seemed to feel as a mother, the more unhappy she’d become. Then she’d leave.”

The wind whipped Katie’s hair around her face. “Where do you think she went?”

“I didn’t know at first. Later, I found out she was with another man. Jacob Cartland, a lawyer from the city. She’d known him before me and never really stopped seeing him. Whenever Olivia disappeared, she headed to his lake cabin. Cartland’s wife didn’t know a thing. She thought he hunted a lot.”

“Why cheat? I thought she cared about you.”

He snorted. “I’m not sure Olivia ever cared about me. Maybe she did. I don’t know. Cartland, though, was rich and extravagant. I found out later he gave her things, made her a lot of empty promises about a future. She told me once she would never be poor again. We fought constantly about money, about the apartment and how it reminded her of the home she’d left, about the brand of dish detergent we bought, for Pete’s sake. I tried to understand, but there was only so much I could do. We were on our own. We were young. Wealth was not an option. In the end, it didn’t matter how much money we had, it was never enough.” He glanced away. “Even our baby wasn’t enough to keep her home.”

“She was probably afraid it would all disappear one day and she’d be out on the street,” Katie said.

“Yeah, I guess. Olivia is a very insecure woman. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but when you get close, you can see a very scared person in there. A long time ago, I used to feel sorry for her,” he said. “Then I found out she’d used the baby to trick me into marriage, and I stopped feeling sorry for Olivia.” He let out a short, angry gust. “I stopped feeling anything for her.”

“How did you find out?”

He sank back onto the wood and closed his eyes. That night came flooding back, a deluge of memories that wouldn’t be held back any longer. They flooded his mind, seeping into the crevices, filling every corner. He wanted to dam up the relentless pictures, but he couldn’t. It was time to let them through, to deal with the past that had haunted his every move, every thought, for too long.

He swallowed, then began. “That night, Olivia went out. Again. I was fed up with her taking off and not telling me where she was going. So I went into her room—we were in separate beds by then—and started looking for some clue to where she was spending her nights. Because it certainly wasn’t with me.”

A light trickle of rain began, tapping softly against the wood. Matt went on, barely aware of the weather.

“I found a letter to her from Cartland. He loved her, wanted to be with her.” Matt let out a chuff of disgust.

He pressed his hands to his temples, forced himself to finish. “In the letter, he talked about how he’d offered her money for an abortion.” He shook his head. “I think about that sometimes, about how it would have been if she’d gone through with it, if we hadn’t met…if I’d never known my son.” He pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the rush of tears threatening his eyes.

Despite what had happened that night, and despite all the years since, Matt was grateful he’d had those few months with his son to carry him through the sleepless nights and anguished days that came after his child was gone.

“The letter…there was more. I should have stopped reading then. I should have shredded the damned thing before—” Matt closed his eyes. The stark, sharp handwriting flashed in his memory, a slide show of destructive words. “Cartland,” he spat out, the word a curse, “the bastard, knew when Olivia got pregnant. Recounted that night in detail, in fact. And then, oh God, it all added up. The baby hadn’t been early,” Matt covered his eyes with his hands, but the image of the letter was a stubborn mule, “he hadn’t even been mine.”

“Oh, Matt.” Katie clapped a hand over her mouth.

“That…that was what damned near killed me.” His throat clogged with the hot sting of unshed tears. “I loved that baby, I loved him more than life,” Matt said, the words now coming in a strangled whisper, “he was my son, no matter whose DNA was in him. He was everything.”

The rain began to fall in earnest now, fat drops plopping onto the wood and grass. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the wind whistling its accompaniment.

“And then he died. He…he was only three months old.” His voice broke, along with his control, and his tears mingled with the rain.

“Matt.” Katie reached for him, drawing him into her arms, pulling his head to her chest. He remained rigid for a second, then relaxed, sinking into the comfort of Katie.

The dam against his grief shattered. Matt didn’t try to hold it back. Not anymore. He needed to mourn the baby he’d lost, the hope, the promise that had all died in the back bedroom of a tiny walk-up apartment.

“I loved him so much,” he whispered hoarsely. “When I found him that night, he was so still, so quiet. On his stomach, not on his back. I hadn’t been able to bear his crying and just laid him down like that because he liked to sleep that way. Any other night, I would have gone in after he was asleep and rolled him back, just in case the blanket got caught under his chin or he…I was always worried. But that night…If I’d just checked on him one more time, maybe—” God, how he’d tortured himself with the what-ifs, the retracing of steps that could not be undone. “I picked him up, held him. But there was nothing. No breath, no sound. I tried CPR. I tried everything. But he, he…wouldn’t wake up. He was so blue, so cold. It was SIDS, the hospital said, like that explained everything. But it didn’t. It didn’t explain a damned thing.”

“Matt,” Katie whispered, cradling him, soothing him.

But the guilt and the anguish were ripping him apart, a shredder in his soul. He jerked away from Katie and got to his feet. “It was my fault, don’t you see? I didn’t watch him that night. I wasn’t there when my son died. I wasn’t there when he needed me…I was—” He tried to finish it, to let the last of the truth come out. But he couldn’t.

If he told Katie that he’d been a raving, bitter drunk, incapable of seeing anything but those horrible, devastating words, if he told her he’d been too focused on his own rage and betrayal to see anything at all, she’d be gone faster than he could take a breath.

“It wasn’t your fault, Matt, it was a tragedy. That’s all.” She went to his side, brought her face to his and laid a soft kiss on his lips. Again and again, she kissed him, offering solace, forgiveness.

Guilt clawed at him, but his own selfish need for Katie overrode it all. Just for tonight, he’d pretend he wasn’t the man he was and let that look remain in Katie’s eyes a little longer. Capture one more moment of perfection before it all went away again.

Talking about his son’s death was like losing him all over again. He couldn’t take losing Katie tonight, too.

“Katie. Oh God, Katie, I need you.” The rain sheeted down on them, plastering her hair against her face, mingling with his tears.

Chapter Eleven

Katie had never intended to fall in love with Matt Webster, but she had. Like Alice down the rabbit hole, there had been little chance of turning around and pretending he’d never happened. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her body and her heart around him. And oh, how Matt Webster needed someone to do that.

When the rain let loose, they dashed into the barn. Matt kicked the door shut, then stood there, shirt bonded to his chest, hair slick against his head. Vulnerability and uncertainty hovered around him.

She didn’t hesitate. She crossed to him, twined her fingers with his. “Matt, you’re a good man. What happened wasn’t—”

“Shh.” He shook his head, his eyes closed as if he couldn’t bear to hear her finish. “Don’t say it. Don’t say anything.”

His hands moved to her waist and tightened around her. Then he kissed her, claiming her mouth with a ferocity she’d never felt before. It was as primitive as the pounding storm outside. She was lost, like a sailboat buffeted by a tempest.

She’d come here to offer him comfort. But there was no comfort in this kiss. Only a powerful, electric connection of wanting. His hands roamed her back, traveled down and over her buttocks, shifting the silky material of her dress. Nerves tingled, screamed with desire at every juncture. The wet fabric was slippery, sensual.

Katie’s breathing ratcheted up, immediately coming hard, fast. She was blinded by the feelings that bombarded her, seeking only to know more. She explored the ridges and planes of his body through the thin, soaked fabric of his shirt, touching his chest, sliding down his back and then up to his shoulders, over the valleys and hard, tight muscles of Matt’s torso.

His erection pressed against her, pulsing his need, inflaming her own. The damp fabric between them might as well have been invisible. Its slippery wetness only magnified their closeness.

He was everything she had denied herself. The deprivation amplified when he took her lower lip with his teeth in teasing nips. She groaned, pressed harder, tugged at his shirt, wanting, needing, not even able to voice the powerful rush that roared through her.

She yanked at his shirt, nearly ripping off the buttons in agonizing need to have more to touch. Between them, his nimble fingers undid the tiny buttons, knuckles brushing against her breasts. Panting, her vision blurred, Katie jerked his shirt off and tossed it to the floor.

“Katie,” Matt growled. He lifted her off the ground and hoisted her onto the table. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pinning him against her. Pulse met pulse, hearts beating the same staccato rhythm.

“Matt.” The word came out in a moan. She pulled back, tried to form coherent thoughts. “I want…” She hesitated, unsure of saying the words she’d never uttered. It was taking a chance of monumental proportions, a step forward into territory she’d never explored.

Matt wasn’t Steve. She wasn’t the girl she’d been a year ago. She loved Matt, loved him with a depth that extended far beyond today.

Right now, she wanted nothing more than to offer herself to him. Out of love. The way it should be, the way she’d dreamed it would be for her one day. Katie reached out and stroked a hand along his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin against her palm. The fear of failure, of rejection, dissipated. “Make love to me.”

“Oh, Katie.” Fire lit his eyes and he crushed her closer. Ravenously, he devoured her mouth, capturing her heart and soul with burning touches.

He reached for the zipper behind her and tugged it down, exposing her upper body to his gaze. She felt the rush of cool air against her skin and her nipples puckered tightly under the soft satin of her bra. There were no thoughts in Katie’s head, only the fire-red flood of desire.

He cupped her breasts through the material, caressing the tips with his fingers. “Matt…Matt,” she repeated his name, unable to put into words the incredible feelings rushing through her.

She wanted to scream at him to hurry, to slow down. To do anything. He smiled and slid a finger down the center of her upper body. “Perfect,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers again.

She moaned and cupped his head, arching against him. He pulled away, his mouth hovering over hers. He was breathing hard and his voice was thick, deep. “Before we go any farther, I need to be the voice of reason. I’ve got about five seconds of lucidity here,” he brushed his mouth against hers, “because you’re making it damned impossible to think.”

“I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t at all.

“I bet you are,” he said, grinning. “Seriously, Katie, are you sure? About making love? Because if we keep this up,” he nibbled along her neck, inhaling her skin, “there’ll be no going back very soon.”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” She tipped her head back, allowing him greater access. “I want…I want my first time to be with you.”

He jerked back. “First time? What do you—” He cut the sentence short when the answer became obvious. “Oh my God, Katie, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, but…” He took two steps away. “I can’t…we shouldn’t…. Why didn’t you say anything?”

She looked away. “I didn’t think you’d want me if you knew I was, well, inexperienced.”

He approached again, cradled her chin, and turned her to look at him. “Want you? Katie, I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.” He drew his thumb along the line of her lower lip and Katie nearly cried with craving him again. “Honey, why would you think that?”

“Steve said I was…frigid.”

He laughed aloud. “You, my darling, are anything but frigid. You’re the hottest, sexiest woman I know.”

“Then why won’t you make love to me?”

“I want to. I think that’s obvious.” He chuckled. “But—” He made a sweeping gesture at the barn. “This isn’t exactly a romantic spot. Nor is it the kind of place or experience you should have. Your first time should be special,” he laughed, “and comfortable.”

“This is special,” she said, trying to draw him back. Everything in her screamed to continue, to toss the brakes he kept trying to apply right out the window.

Matt saw the wanting written all over her face. If he were a lesser man, he could have easily taken advantage of the situation and whisked Katie off to a pile of hay somewhere. A few months ago, hell, a few weeks ago, he had been that man. But meeting her had somehow changed all that for him.

Her eyes were clear, free of guile and deceit. Lord, who knew there were women like her? And what had he done to have her walk into his life at the precise time when he needed to believe again in truth?

“Katie, you deserve much better than this. You should be in a five-star hotel, surrounded by silk, flowers—”

She stepped forward and placed a finger on his lips. “Shh. Stop telling me what I need. I’m a big girl, in case you hadn’t noticed, and what I need right now is you.”

Yearning exploded within him. He hauled her against him, feeling a sudden, fierce need to hold her close. She wrapped her hands around his back. The warmth of her pressed against his chest.

“Katie,” he murmured, “what are you doing to me?”

“No more than you’re doing to me.” Her voice was shaky.

“I can’t think straight when I’m around you.”

“Are you saying I’m driving you crazy?”

“You’re pushing me right over the edge.”

“Gee, you really know how to flatter a girl.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head closer, within nibbling distance of those magnificent breasts. “Let me see how far it is to the edge.”

“I meant…I wanted to say,” he stumbled, his eyes and his mind entirely on the sweet curve of her breasts. The words he wanted to say were dancing in the back of his head, out of reach. The last time he’d felt flustered around a girl he’d been twelve. He’d asked Mary Lou Hennessey from down the street to ride double on his bike. She’d turned him down flat when she’d gotten a look at the thin handlebars that would be her mode of transportation.

This time was different. He was a grown man and Katie was a grown woman. He wasn’t asking her to ride double to the Dairy Queen with him; he just wanted her to know that meeting her had changed something in him. And it was coming out all wrong.

He hauled himself up to meet her gaze. “I meant that you are the most unforgettable woman I have ever met.” He tilted her chin up and kept his eyes on hers, depths of uncooled passion still reflected in their azure depths.

She turned a pretty shade of pink. “I doubt you’ve met many ladies in banana suits.”

“No, I can’t say that I have.” He traced along her jaw with his thumb. “I don’t expect I ever will again.”

There was more in his words than he was willing to say. More meaning, more tenderness, more emotion. He stared at her, letting his gaze caress her peach-soft skin, allowing his eyes to do what he dared not do with his hands.

He had the funny feeling that if he really touched Katie right now, if he made love to her, it would be the kind of experience that would rock his soul.

He had wanted women before. He had felt lust before. But he had never needed a woman as badly as he did Katie. She filled a gap in him, like insulation in a wall, warming him and melting the icy layers around his heart and soul, opening him up again to the world. That feeling—a deep-seated need—scared the hell out of him. It was the same feeling that had overwhelmed him on the dance floor. Then, and now, he couldn’t get past his own fear.

He shook his head, stepped away. A draft filled the space where he’d been. “I’m not the man for you. I wish I were. But I’m not. Later, you’ll see—”

“I love you, Matt.”

He jerked to attention. Had he heard her right? She loved him? Katie was handing him the most incredible gift he could imagine, no strings attached. But she’d done that knowing only half the story about him. It would be cruel to let her hope that he could be anything beyond what he was—a man with a horrible past who wasn’t capable of the kind of future she deserved. Katie Dole was so clearly the kind of woman who wanted a husband, a father to her future children. Not a man so selfish he couldn’t even be trusted to watch his own child.

It would be so easy to lie, to say the words she wanted to hear, and then slip into her arms and take her to his bed. With regret, he shook his head again.

“You love who you think I am, Katie.”

“You’re wrong.”

His smile hurt his cheeks. “I wish I were.” He slid her dress back up her shoulders. The rain had stopped and the tentative chirps of birds came from the trees. “I’m sorry.”

She looked confused, hurt. He wanted so badly to erase those emotions from her face. “Was it something I said? Did? I know I’m not very good at this, and—”

“You are perfect. It’s me who needs a little…renovation. Actually, a lot.” She sat there, hair in disarray, lips swollen and all he wanted to do was find the nearest blanket and flat surface.

He clenched his fists at his side and willed himself to think of anything but sex. Snow, Santa Claus, television remote controls, table linens—no, too close to blankets. He picked up his shirt off the floor and slipped it on. The fabric was cold and wet, the perfect shocker for an overheated mind.

Katie stilled his hands with her own. “Matt, wait. Let me tell you something first.” She hesitated, then went on. “A year ago, I made a huge mistake by being blind to the truth. I’m not going to do that again, only seeing what I want to because I don’t like the reality.” She smiled at him and he found himself wanting her all over again. “You taught me that it’s okay to take a risk, to tango across the floor and stumble once in a while. To tell a man I love him and not expect anything in return.”

“Katie, I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. You deserve more than I can offer.” He sighed. “There are things about me you don’t know.”

“Then tell me. Trust me.”

“I can’t. Not now. Maybe never.” He wanted to lift this heavy weight off his chest and toss it away. To free himself from the guilt that hung over everything he did. But he couldn’t. If there was one thing he couldn’t bear right now, it would be to see scorn and recrimination in Katie’s gaze. To have her hate him for being a selfish, irresponsible drunk.

“I can’t,” he repeated.

She cupped his face. “Deception does nothing but eat away at everything that’s good. You get all wrapped up in the illusion because admitting the truth forces you out of your comfort zone. Trust me, I know this.”

“Katie—”

“No, hear me out. I love you, Matt. A year ago, I couldn’t have said that without being certain you felt the same. Comfort zone.” She reached behind herself and pulled up her zipper, then hopped off the table. “Well, I’m tired of living that way. I’m changing lanes,” she smiled at the pun, “and if you’re not ready to do that yet, it’s all right. I’m okay either way.”

He thought about what she’d said, about moving past the crater he’d been in for eleven years. About not letting a sin of omission, a fear of confessing, keep his life from continuing. “You’re right.” He sighed. “But there are some things you can’t forget. Mistakes other people won’t forgive.”

“Whatever role you think you played in losing your son may not be the whole picture at all.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Did you ever think you might be taking the blame for something that wasn’t entirely your fault?”

He looked past her, at the walls that were as decrepit as his own life. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I don’t. But until you’re ready to face everything, you won’t either.” She let go and moved away. She blinked and he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I have a life to live. I’d love it if you were a part of it. But only if you’re ready to be honest with yourself and with me. I’m through pretending.”

She placed a soft, chaste kiss on his lips and then walked away, leaving Matt alone in the barn with his regrets.

The numbers refused to add up. Katie could turn the adding machine upside down, even throw it against the wall, and still the red would outweigh the black.

It didn’t take a CPA to see that A Pair of Posies was in serious trouble. Katie sighed. One more time, she fed in the bills and receipts. Five minutes later, she stared at the same negative number as before.

“How’s it going?” Sarah placed a plate of brownies beside her. Katie sighed and replaced the adding machine with the plate, immediately launching into the chocolate.

“That bad, huh?”

“Actually, it could be worse. At least we paid the rent. We still have a roof over our heads.” Katie flipped through the stack of bills on the desk in the back room. “We just can’t heat it or light it or…” she flipped some more, “use the telephone.”

Sarah sunk into a chair. “Oh.”

Katie dropped her head to her hands. “We were on the brink to begin with, but when Olivia canceled those orders and the MacGilvrays called off their daughter’s wedding—”

“Justifiably, though,” Sarah said. “When a girl finds out her fiancé is stretching the truth about being an underwear model, she’s got a right to be upset.”

“I doubt she expected to see him ‘modeling’ for two hundred other women as a Chippendale dancer.” Katie laughed. “That must have been one interesting bachelorette party.”

“Think they left him a tip?”

Katie laughed again, then sobered when she saw the negative on the adding machine. “This is my fault. I let the Olivia thing get out of hand. I never should have—”

“Stop. It’s not your fault.” Sarah hugged Katie’s shoulders. “Come on, we’ve been in scrapes worse than this and always—”

“I’ll sell my Toyota. If I have to go anywhere, I’ll just borrow the van. Or walk.”

“You love that car. Besides, the van is on its last legs. We’ll be lucky to get a half dozen more deliveries out of it.”

“I love the store more.” She swept her hand around the room. “This is our dream, Sarah. I’m not about to let it go.”

Sarah gave her arm a little punch. “That’s the Katie I like to see.” She sorted through the bills. “Let’s put our heads together and come up with a way to make this work.”

Forty minutes later, they didn’t have much of a solution. Cutting back what little there was left to trim would help for the next month, but wouldn’t pay the immediate bills. Katie sighed and ate two more brownies. At this rate, she’d be a fat shop-owner failure.

The phone rang. Katie hurried to answer it, saying a quick prayer on the way. “A Pair of Posies.”

“I’m looking for Katie Dole.” The woman’s voice on the other end was cultured, refined. Pleasant.

“This is her. How can I help you?”

“This is Georgianne Webster, Matt’s mother. He speaks very highly of you.”

“He does?”

“My son isn’t so good at expressing how he feels.” Georgianne laughed. “But I know, just from looking at him when he mentions your name that he cares a great deal.”

“Oh.” Katie resisted the urge to pump Matt’s mother for more information.

“He mentioned you owned this shop. I’m hosting a dinner party later this month and would like some new arrangements. I was thinking of lilies and tulips, maybe daffodils. Real springy, happy designs.” Her excited, friendly voice made it sound as if the dinner party wouldn’t be complete without the shop’s arrangements. “I’ve been using the Lawford florist for my weekly orders, but realized yours is closer. Would you be available to come see the house, maybe make some suggestions? I could use a fresh eye.”

“Certainly! My partner, Sarah, is the designer, so I’ll bring her along, if that’s okay.”

“Wonderful. Do you have time today? Or tomorrow?”

“Today is perfect.” Immediately would be better, like before the bank closed, but Katie didn’t say that. “How about four-thirty?” They agreed on the time and hung up. Katie flashed Sarah a thumbs-up.

“We got a job,” she said. “Looks like a big one, too.”

“Great! Who with?”

Katie grimaced. “Matt’s mother. Think it’s a pity job?”

“Who cares? It’s money in the bank.” Sarah took a brownie off the plate. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I have this incredible craving for chocolate.” She took a huge bite and munched for a minute.

“You never finished telling me what happened with him this afternoon. Or with Olivia.” Sarah moved the plate to the other side of the table. “I’m holding these hostage until I get details.”

Katie laughed. She recounted what had transpired, running through the encounter with Olivia, Miss Tanner’s information and finally, her visit to Matt. “I told him when he was ready to move on with his life, I’d be here.”

“Good for you! I don’t think you’ll have long to wait, though. That guy is crazy about you.”

“I hope so.” She plopped her chin into her hand. “It wasn’t easy to walk away from him.”

“You did the right thing.”

“I know.” Katie sighed. “But that doesn’t keep me warm at night.”

Sarah laughed. “We need to get you a cat.”

“No, we need to get the Webster job.” Katie shook off the blue mood that was trying to get a hold of her. There was nothing she could do about Matt, but there was plenty she could do about the store. She grabbed a notepad from the desk. “Let’s run down some ideas for spring arrangements.”

For the next hour, they brainstormed. At four, they climbed into the van and headed to the Webster house. “I can’t believe Jack went to that disaster training class for the police department.” Sarah spread a thick blanket over the worn bench seat and stuffed a pillow behind her back. “He should be here, waiting on me hand and foot.”

“He’ll be back on Friday. You’re not even due until next Monday.”

“I don’t think this—” Sarah let out an oomph and rubbed her stomach where the baby had kicked, “—little football player wants to wait that long.”

Their eighteen-year-old A Pair of Posies van wheezed and shook the entire way to the Webster house, located on the outskirts of town, a few miles past the Emery farm. Katie was looking forward to Georgianne’s order but dreaded the possibility of running into Matt. She’d walked away, resolved to wait for him, but knew she’d melt if he even glanced her way.

When they pulled up in front of the imposing Webster house, Katie had to fight the urge to gape. Not house—mansion—that was the only way to describe it. She’d never seen it up close, had only caught glimpses of it between the trees and seven-foot wrought-iron gate that guarded it from the outside world. There had to be at least thirty rooms in the sprawling white residence, all with large windows fronting the expansive property. It was impeccably landscaped with graceful roses and animal-shaped shrubs that formed a welcoming parade along the drive. Money practically hung from every leaf, every petal.

“Wow,” Sarah said.

“My thoughts exactly.” Katie shut off the van, took a deep breath and flashed a semi-confident smile at Sarah. “We’re up to this job. We’re ready for the big time. Right?”

“You betcha.” But even Sarah looked taken aback by the imposing house.

They got out of the van, made their way up granite steps and rang the bell. A melody softly pealed inside.

The door opened and an elegant woman who could only be Georgianne Webster smiled at Katie and clasped both her hands. “Katie, how nice to meet you.”

Matt’s mother was clad in a soft gray silk pantsuit, her ash-blond hair pulled back from her face with a clip. The youthful style somehow fitted her. She had to be at least fifty years old, but had the flawless face of a younger woman. She greeted Sarah, then invited them inside.

Katie crossed the threshold into a magnificent home that could mean thousands of dollars of business for the store over the next year. The foyer had a marble floor and a Chippendale settee flanked by a bombé chest. Around the corner, she glimpsed two seating arrangements in the living room, where a pair of antique chairs was grouped below the window, looking out over a magnificent view of woods and gardens.

Katie should have been impressed, awed. Instead, she had to force herself not to look for Matt among the impeccable antiques and exquisite artwork.

It would take one hell of a lot of nails and hammering to work Katie’s exit out of his system. Unfortunately, that job required more nails than Matt had on hand.

After she’d left, he’d set to work building a wall, heaving and shoving the wood into place by himself, ignoring the tearing pain in his back and the sweat pouring down his face. As he sawed and hammered, he worked through a gamut of emotions, starting with frustration and ending with idiocy.

How could he have let her walk away? She was right. Delaying the truth was stupid. It was like putting a Band-Aid over a broken bone. It didn’t help, and even worse, barely masked the real problem.

Once this last wall was in place—if he didn’t finish this one, all his work on the other three would fall apart—he was going to run home, change and find her. Tell her the whole truth and let the chips fall where they may.

There. A room. A few two-by-fours, erected in squares, then hammered into place. It didn’t look like much until it was paired with another section, then a third and finally, a fourth, creating a tangible space. His new beginning was starting to feel real, concrete.

Matt took a step back, admiring the work he’d accomplished. A week ago, there’d been nothing here. Now, there was a skeleton. He unstrapped the heavy leather belt and laid it on top of his toolbox. In the cooler, a bottle of water remained from his lunch. He twisted off the top and tipped it into his mouth.

The musical call of alcohol played softly in the back of his mind. It probably always would. The song didn’t sound as loud or insistent as it used to, which he supposed was a very good thing.

Over the bottom edge of the bottle, he saw a flash of blond hair. Matt lowered the water, recapped it, returned it to the cooler, and waited for his ex-wife to reach him. At the rate Olivia was marching across the field, it didn’t take her long, even in heels.

“Well, hello, Olivia, what a surprise,” he said dryly.

“What are you doing here?” She never had bothered with niceties.

“I live here. Or rather, I will, once I finish.”

“Don’t toy with me, Matthew. I want to know why you’re in Mercy, destroying my life.”

“I didn’t come back to get revenge or make you suffer.” He shook his head. “It’s always been about you, hasn’t it? About how Olivia is affected. Did you ever think I might be back for me? For my own life?”

“People are talking, Matthew.”

He shrugged. “Let them.”

“They’re talking about that night. About how you—”

“Like I said, let them talk. I don’t have anything to hide. Not anymore.” He brushed some sawdust from his pants. “Why does it bother you? You’re the innocent party, as far as everyone knows.”

“You’ve…never told? Anyone?”

“No. No one until Katie, and even she doesn’t know everything. That’s one burden I shouldered all by myself.” He let out a sigh. “I can’t do that anymore. It’s time to move on past this ghost of a life I’ve been living.”

Olivia snorted. “With Katie?”

“Maybe. I hope so.” Matt took a seat on the toolbox. “What about you, Olivia? Have you moved on? Or have you done what I did and let the secrets and the lies multiply until you’ve forgotten where the truth is buried?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she squinted against the sun and looked past him, at the acreage beyond the house.

“I’m done with that. I don’t care what people think about me anymore or what the truth will do to their feelings.” He got to his feet and crossed to the wall he’d just built. The posts felt sturdy, solid. Nearly permanent. “Working out here, with nothing but the birds and deer to keep me company, gave me a lot of time to think.

“Two hours ago, I pushed away the first woman I’ve truly cared about, hell, loved,” and with that, a slow smile stole across his face as he realized, yes, he did truly, deeply love Katie, and the joy of it burst in his heart, “because I didn’t want to tell her the truth. I didn’t want to face what kind of man I’d been in the past. I didn’t want to lose her. But by keeping that secret, I lost her anyway.” He snorted. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost sad. “I have more at stake than you. My name. My business.”

“Doesn’t all of it feel empty when you keep a secret? When you have to produce lie after lie to keep everything intact, like a juggler with glass balls?”

Her face tightened. “It will destroy everything.”

“Come on, Olivia. It’s been eleven years since Matthew died.” She flinched when he said their son’s name. “Why not get it all out? Set the truth free.”

She spun to face him. “Because it’s better if it just stays buried. Period. Don’t go digging up graves, Matt.”

“Why?” He leaned in, searching her icy-blue eyes. “Is there something you’re hiding in that grave?”

Olivia’s hand whipped out and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the stillness. A sharp sting radiated across his jaw. Before she could do it again, Matt grabbed her wrist, controlling the primal urge to strike back. “You do have something to hide, don’t you? Well, I’m not paying for your lies anymore.” He flung her hand away, picked up his tools and walked away.

“Matthew.” Her voice cracked on the last syllable.

“What?” He turned around to face her. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but Matt could swear he saw a sheen of tears in Olivia’s eyes.

She let out a breath. Her shoulders seemed to sag. “We almost had something here, didn’t we?”

He swallowed. “Yeah, we did.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Me, too.” His sigh was heavy. “Me, too.”

She nodded once, then strode away, retracing her path to her car with the same speedy pace as before.

Chapter Twelve

As soon as Olivia left, Matt followed his hunches. Too many puzzle pieces had been scattered by Miss Tanner’s conversation with Katie and Olivia’s reluctance to speak about losing the baby. He made a stop at the county coroner’s office—and found exactly what he now expected to find. The words on the report didn’t instantly absolve Matt’s guilt, but they did explain a few of the missing holes in the story.

Matt sped back to his parent’s house, urging the bike to hurry. The storm had left the air smelling fresh, clean. New. To Matt, it seemed an apt setting for a man about to wipe his own slate clean.

He skidded to a halt when he saw the A Pair of Posies van parked in the driveway. Katie.

He leapt off the bike, took one step toward the door, then turned and caught the heavy motorcycle before it crashed to the ground. Kickstand, idiot. He laughed at himself, then flicked the kickstand and set the bike.

He ran up the stairs and burst through the door. No one was in the hallway. What did he expect? She’d be waiting by the door?

His shoes clattered on the floor as Matt checked room after room for Katie. And then, through the windowpane in the dining room, he saw her. Katie, framed by flowers, exiting the greenhouse beside his mother and Sarah. She had a rose in her hand, and sniffed the petals once while she talked. Her face was animated, lively. Happy.

She had her hair swept up, exposing the same curve of neck he’d been nibbling on just hours ago. She’d changed into the dress she’d worn the night he met her in the Corner Pocket. He didn’t know if she had purposely picked that outfit, but just the thought that she might have had him in mind when she pulled it out of the closet pleased him.

The sweet, lilting sound of her laughter carried on the spring air and into the house. How he craved that sound, needed to hear it. At least once a day, for the next, oh, one hundred years.

Matt knew the back door opened into the kitchen, so he headed there. He skidded to a halt on the ceramic tile.

“Have you been working in this rain, Matthew?” His father stood by the refrigerator, the door open. Light and cold air spilled across the floor.

For once, his father didn’t seem to have any hidden meanings in his question. A simple conversation. That was something the two of them rarely had.

“Some. It didn’t rain long.” Matt peered past his father. Katie was just coming up the walk. “I got some walls up, though.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” He shut the door and Matt saw his father was holding a half eaten salami sandwich.

“Mom’s on her way in,” Matt said.

Edward gave a guilty start, then tossed the remains of his snack into the trash. “I was, ah…looking for an…apple.”

The snippet of humanness in his father was another surprise. Imagine that, Edward Webster sneaking unhealthy food behind his wife’s back, then disposing of the evidence. “I won’t tell.” Matt smiled. “As long as you take better care of yourself.”

His father’s lips curved up, slowly, as if he were using his smile for the first time. “I’ll do that. Just don’t bring home any more salami, okay?”

“Deal.” The back door opened and the three women entered. None of them saw Matt right away. They were engrossed in a conversation about flowers, clearly a common link.

“Sarah, the rest room is right at the end of the hall. When you’re through, take a moment to look at the wallpaper in the dining room. I love your design idea and think with the right colors, it would be the perfect—” She stopped, finally noticing the men in her kitchen. “Matthew! You’re all…dirty.”

“I’ve been working off some frustration.” His gaze never left Katie’s. She didn’t say a word, just clutched the rose.

“You really should take a shower, dear. You’re tracking dirt all over—”

“I don’t think I can wait that long to say what I need to say,” he told his mother. But his gaze never left Katie’s.

“I apologize, but I can’t wait at all,” Sarah said with a laugh. She grimaced, then headed toward the door that led to the hall. “I’ve got someone here who insists I find the rest room.”

Katie didn’t notice Sarah leave. She was aware of nothing but Matt. Like radar, her whole body was attuned to him.

When she’d entered the kitchen and seen him, she’d felt a powerful rush of joy. That was love, she knew. Twenty years from now, she knew that rush would come back whenever he pulled in the driveway or entered a room.

If they were still together. After this afternoon, she wasn’t so sure that was a possibility.

“I meant to take a shower before I came to see you,” Matt said. “I wanted to come to you clean at least.” He smiled.

When he did, the room, the other people around them, dropped away. The air was laden with unfinished business between them. Matt was watching her intently, sapphire eyes full of desire, full of something more. She felt heat rise to her face.

He had made it clear he wasn’t ready to move on or to tackle anything more serious. And yet, here he was, standing across from her and watching her every move. Like a man in love. Which, of course, he wasn’t. He was just pretending. Putting on a show for his parents, just as he did at the wedding. Wasn’t he?

“I don’t mind the dirt,” she said. In fact, his disarray was sexy, more masculine than a tuxedo or business suit. She had to resist the urge to reach out and whisk the sawdust from his hair.

“Good. Because I have something to tell you. To tell all of you,” he said, his gaze taking in his parents, too, “and if I wait any longer, I think I’ll go insane. Please, sit down.”

Georgianne took a seat at one end of the kitchen table, Edward the other. Katie sat in the seat across from Matt. From the front of the house, the doorbell rang. Everyone ignored it. Whoever it was could come back later.

Matt folded his hands before him, steepling his fingers against his forehead. She saw a wave of mental resolve harden in his face and he laid his hands flat against the wood. “There’s something about the night the baby died that I didn’t tell you. I figured you’d disown me. Hell, I wouldn’t blame you if you still did.”

“Matt, we’d never—” his mother began.

Matt shook his head. “Don’t. Wait until I’ve said what I need to before you make promises you can’t keep.” He swallowed, then began. “The baby’s death was my fault.”

Georgianne gasped. Edward sat stone-still. The doorbell rang again, and once more, no one moved. Katie realized Matt was laying the blame squarely at his own feet, even after what she’d told him about Miss Tanner. It would be easy to point the finger elsewhere, to stop the rumors by blaming another. But he didn’t.

He seemed to pull on some well of strength within him before continuing. “I was drinking that night. I’d found something that…upset me. I don’t want to get into what it was. Olivia has suffered enough and the ending of our marriage had started long before. I ignored all our problems, thinking it would work out. I was blind, but that night, I saw everything.” He ran a hand through his hair. Motes of sawdust floated to the floor.

“I drank myself into oblivion. I think I passed out, maybe fell asleep. I don’t know. I don’t remember. When my son stopped breathing,” he swallowed, then dragged the words out, one painful one after the other, “I was stone drunk on the kitchen floor, curled up with a bottle and my own sorry self.”

“Matthew,” his mother said, reaching for him.

He shook his head and pushed her hand away. “When I came to, the baby was dead. I was too late. Too damned late.” His eyes were misting, his knuckles white. “I’m an alcoholic. A decade ago, I had my last drink. But back then, when it mattered, I was a stupid, selfish drunk. And because of that, I lost the only thing that ever mattered to me.” His gaze focused on Katie. “When I tried to keep my own guilt hidden, I lost the only woman I ever loved.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Matt,” Olivia said.

Everyone turned. She stood in the doorway, her face a mess. Black smudges ringed her eyes and there were clear blotches where her makeup was entirely gone. “I came here to stop you from telling them what happened.”

She shook her head. “I guess I underestimated you. I thought you’d tell them about Jacob. About what I did.” Her voice broke and the tears began again, a slow trickling break in the steel composure of Olivia. She glanced at Georgianne apologetically. “When no one answered the door, I let myself in. I’d seen Matt’s bike and Katie’s van, and figured he was in here, telling you what a horrible person I am.” She bit her lip. “But you didn’t, did you, Matt?”

He shook his head.

She smiled a little, then her gaze dropped to the floor. “I guess I never really knew what a good guy you were. I saw you as a meal ticket.”

“Olivia,” Matt said, waiting until she looked at him to continue. “You were seventeen and pregnant. Desperate. I understand that now. I don’t blame you. You gave me the greatest gift of my life. Matthew was the best—”

“Please don’t say it. Please don’t talk about him. I can’t—” She ran a hand through her hair, displacing the carefully-done tendrils. “I tried to make it work between us, Matt, I really did. But I just couldn’t do it. The baby—”

“That baby had a name, Olivia,” Matt cut in. “Why didn’t you ever call him by name?”

“Because then I would have loved him too much.” She sank against the wall, looking broken, defeated. “I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t call him by name when I knew…” tears began to stream down her face, “…when I knew he was going to die.”

Silence blanketed the room as Olivia’s words sank in among the stunned people at the table.

“What are you talking about?” Edward demanded.

Olivia turned to look at Matt and for the first time, he saw the reflection of his own grief, his own guilt, in her eyes. Olivia had suffered just as much as he had, but she had covered it all with a mask of haughty indifference. He hadn’t been the only one who hurt, who went to bed with an aching heart every single night for eleven years.

“It was my fault, Matt,” she continued. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I meant to, but then…you were gone.”

“What are you talking about?” Edward asked.

“The baby didn’t die of SIDS, like I told everyone.” Olivia took a deep breath. “He had a heart condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It was genetic. My brother and my Aunt Colleen’s baby had it.” She looked at Matt. “I should have—”

“Olivia, I know. I saw the autopsy report today.”

She blinked. “You did?”

“I’d put the pieces together, with a little help.” He cast a quick glance at Katie. “So I stopped off at the county coroner’s office today and got a copy.” He pulled the sheets out of his back pocket and handed them to her.

She took a cursory glance at it, but it was clear she’d read the words before. “Then why…why didn’t you tell everyone it was really my fault?”

“Olivia, it was still just as much mine. If I’d been sober, maybe I would have heard or seen Matthew stop breathing. I could have gotten him to the hospital in time. Maybe. Maybe not.” He let out a long sigh. “Either way, I think we’ve both suffered enough. Don’t you?”

A tear slipped down her face. “I lied to the doctors, Matt. I didn’t tell them about my family history. I…I thought maybe our baby would be different. I mean, I didn’t have it, so maybe my children wouldn’t either. I was young and I guess I thought if I didn’t say anything about the disease, it couldn’t happen.”

“You could have told me, Olivia.” Matt’s voice broke.

“I know.” The tears were coming earnestly now, washing the rest of the makeup off her face, stripping her bare. “I was wrong. I never expected you to be a real father. I thought you’d marry me and leave me, like everyone else always had. But when you didn’t, I kept hoping that it would all work out somehow.”

“You kept this to yourself? All these years?” Edward asked.

She nodded, her eyes downcast, apparently unable to look at the in-laws and the husband she had deceived. “Don’t you understand? It was my fault, Matt. I gave him that disease.” She lowered her head to her hands and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “I couldn’t stay in that apartment, night after night, and hear him cry. Every time I heard him cry, I was afraid. I thought maybe it meant he was sick. I couldn’t face it. I…I was seventeen. I know that’s not an excuse, but…it was just all so overwhelming and you seemed to handle him so much better. I felt like such a failure, Matt. I couldn’t face that. Or face you. And when he died—” Her voice tore on the last word.

Matt pushed his chair back and did something he should have done a long time ago. He crossed to Olivia, gently tugged her to her feet and pulled her into his arms. She sobbed against his shoulder, repeating over and over again that she was sorry. He stroked her hair, whispering to her that it was okay.

Finally forgiving her.

“Katie!” Sarah’s urgent whisper came from the dining room door. “Katie!”

Katie slipped over to the doorway. “What?”

Sarah motioned for her to come out into the hall. When the door swung shut behind them, Sarah held up one finger and braced her hand against the wall. She was panting hard. “I need to go to the hospital,” she said between breaths.

“Now?!”

“I don’t think Little Jack wants to wait any longer. My water broke in the bathroom and—” Her face contorted with pain. “Now, Katie,” she said through gritted teeth.

“But what about Jack?”

“He’ll never make it in time. I called his cell phone and told him to meet us at the hospital.”

“We should call an ambulance,” Katie said.

Sarah shook her head. “You know Mercy doesn’t have an ambulance and the, the…” she paused to pant, “the Lawford one would take at least…twenty minutes to get here. We could be…at the hospital by then.”

“Okay, okay,” Katie said. “Stay right there. Let me grab my purse and I’ll take you right now.”

Katie turned and dashed back into the room. Olivia had sat down and was drying her eyes with a handkerchief. Georgianne and Edward both looked shell-shocked. Matt was standing by Katie’s chair, a worried expression on his face. “Is Sarah all right?”

Katie shook her head and grabbed her purse off the counter. “No. She needs to get to the hospital. She’s having the baby.”

“Now?”

“Yup.” Katie rooted around in her bag until she found the keys to the van. “I’m sorry, Matt, but I have to go.” She turned to Georgianne. “Thank you, Mrs. Webster, but I really have to leave. I’ll get back to you about the flowers.”

“No rush, dear.” Georgianne laughed. “No rush at all.”

“I’m going with you,” Matt said.

She paused long enough to look at him. “You don’t have to. I’d understand if it might be difficult for you because—”

“I want to go with you,” he said. “I’ll drive. You help Sarah.”

“Okay.” She and Matt started for the doorway.

“Son, before you go…”

Matt pivoted, his hand still holding the swinging door open. “What?”

“There’s something I need to say to you. I was too damned stubborn to say it before.” Edward raised himself up on his arms, slowly got out of his chair and crossed the room to Matt. He hesitated for a second, then opened his arms. “I’m sorry, Matt. For so many things.”

Matt heard the regret and vulnerability in his father’s words and felt his throat constrict. His father’s arms went around him and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

He hadn’t felt the need or desire to hug his father since he was a boy. Not since he’d won his first baseball game at the age of seven. He’d run up to his father, arms outstretched, the joy of victory filling his young-boy heart. All he’d received in return was a stiff, one-armed pat and an admonishment to behave with more decorum in public. That cold response had hurt for a long, long time.

But that was the past. There had been a lot of new beginnings in this room tonight, Matt realized. And he would be a fool to let the wounds of the past keep him from healing the present.

He let go of the door and held on to his father. Matt wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt a tear trickle onto his neck. He gripped his father harder and was rewarded with a firm bear hug in return.

“Katie!!” Sarah’s shriek was urgent. “We have to go now!”

His father released him. “We’ll talk later.” Edward put an aged, wrinkled hand to Matt’s cheek. “Find your happiness wherever you need to, Matt. I guess I’ve finally realized it’s your life to live, not mine.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Matt didn’t have time to let his father’s words sink in. Sarah let out a scream and he was out the door in a flash.

“We’re not going to make it,” Katie called to Matt. She was in the back of the van with Sarah, holding her hand and helping her breathe. Katie’s sole knowledge of childbirth came from watching ER, so she wasn’t even sure she was coaching Sarah correctly.

“This baby wants out and he wants out now,” Sarah cried, panting hard. She squeezed Katie’s hand so tightly, Katie had to bite her lip to keep from joining in on Sarah’s screams.

“Are you sure?” Matt glanced over the seat at them.

“Am I sure?” Sarah gave a half laugh. “Oh yeah. Please—” pant, pant “—get me to the hospital!”

He was driving as fast as he dared in Katie and Sarah’s ramshackle van. It had been the closest vehicle to the door and the only one big enough to let Sarah lie down on the pillow and blanket she’d brought.

Another storm had started up almost the moment they left the driveway. Whipping winds and driving rain were reducing visibility to almost nothing. For the tenth time that night, Matt wished he had insisted on an ambulance instead of thinking he could get Sarah to the hospital faster. They were only ten minutes from the hospital now but every second that passed increased Matt’s worry.

If another baby died because of his recklessness…

“I feel the baby’s head,” Sarah screamed, all in one long word. “He’s coming now!”

Matt veered to the right. The rain was pouring down in sheets. They were never going to get to the hospital in time. Matt spotted a familiar building and gunned the engine. He drove down the bumpy road as fast as he could.

Sarah let out a loud and very unladylike curse. “What kind of road is this? The baby’s going to bounce right out of—” She stopped midsentence and let out another scream.

Matt skidded to a stop and leapt out of the van. He dashed to the wide wooden doors, ignoring the rain pouring down his face, and flung them open. Then he returned to the van, turned it around and quickly backed into the barn.

The Emery farm probably wasn’t the best place to have a baby but it was the closest shelter he knew of. It would have to do.

He hopped out again and pulled open the back doors to the van. Sarah had her legs propped up and was writhing with pain. “This is your version of a hospital?” she gasped. “Is Doctor Dolittle coming to deliver the baby?”

Despite his own fear and worry about Sarah and her child, he laughed. “It looks like the only doctor you’re getting tonight is me,” he told her. “And I don’t talk to animals.”

“What do we do?” Katie’s eyes were wide, frightened.

In one vivid burst of memory, every bit of knowledge from Olivia’s childbirth classes and from the delivery of his own son came hurtling back. “I need a shoelace or something to tie off the cord and some more blankets. I know the tablecloth from our breakfast is still on the table. Get that to wrap the baby in.” He took in deep gulps of air, trying to think quickly. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Sarah does. Jack got it for her in case of an emergency.” Katie raced across the room to grab the cloth.

“Get it and call 9-1-1.” He checked Sarah and realized they had even less time than he’d thought. “Tell them the baby is already crowning.”

She tossed the tablecloth at him and hurried to the front of the van. She was back a moment later, cell phone to her ear.

“Yes, we’ve done that,” she said. Katie turned to Matt. “I’ve got the dispatcher on the line. He’s going to talk us through this.”

“Just get this baby out!” Sarah let out another scream. She gripped her stomach and looked down at the mound where a very determined baby resided. “Why,” she gasped, “oh why, couldn’t you wait till—” pant, pant “—we got to the h-h-hospital where they have d-d-drugs for this?”

“Yes, a shoelace,” Katie said into the phone. She glanced around the room. Matt held out a foot to her, his hands busy helping Sarah hold her knees up.

Katie tugged off his shoe and yanked the lacing out of the holes. She dropped it next to Matt and then clambered over by Sarah’s head.

“Okay, Sarah, the baby is crowning,” Matt said. He wiped his palms on his pants and took a deep breath. “It’s time to push.”

Katie helped her friend to a half sitting position and held her while Sarah screamed and bore down, pushing the baby out. Over and over, Sarah repeated the action, as the baby worked its way into the world.

Matt’s voice, so calm, so confident, helped Sarah stay focused and kept Katie from panicking. The dispatcher was reassuringly giving warnings in her ear about cleaning the baby’s mouth and tying off the cord. She repeated the words to Matt. He accepted each instruction with a short nod.

Throughout it all, he never lost his cool, never showed the least bit of fear. Katie knew that if it hadn’t been for him, she would have been a hysterical wreck and Sarah would have been birthing her own baby.

“The head’s out!” Matt swiped inside the baby’s mouth with his finger, then looked up and smiled at Sarah and Katie. “One more push, Sarah, and we’ll get the shoulders and body out.”

Katie helped Sarah pull her exhausted body up one more time. Sarah gritted her teeth and moaned, putting all her effort into the push.

Matt held his hands under the baby’s head, gently helping the shoulders past the birth canal. With a whoosh, a new life came sliding into the half lit interior of an aged van and a decrepit barn, right out of Sarah and into Matt’s palms.

He looked down at the tiny miracle he was holding and expected to relive the pain of his son’s death. But he didn’t. Instead, he felt indescribable joy, soaring through his heart like an eagle in flight.

He had helped to bring a life into the world. A crying, squirming, beautiful life. He tied off the cord, wrapped the baby in the tablecloth, and handed the child to Sarah.

“It’s a girl,” he whispered.

Sarah burst into tears and laughter at the same time. “A girl? The way you were kicking me, I thought for sure you were a football player.” She softly stroked the baby’s cheek with her finger. “I’m going to name you Mattie.” She looked up at Katie and Matt. “For the two people who helped you come into this world.”

Katie hugged Sarah to her and marveled at the tiny infant. Then she looked at Matt and saw the awe and happiness in his eyes. Somehow, it seemed right that a new life would begin in the very place where Matt had given up on his.

The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. The paramedics loaded Sarah in, then asked Katie if she wanted to ride along. “Stay,” Sarah said. “I’ll be fine. Jack will be there soon. If I know him, he’ll drive a hundred the whole way, lights blazing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Besides, I think Matt needs you more.” Sarah gave a little wave, then the paramedic shut the door.

Matt stood alone in the center of the barn. The rain pelted down on the building, coming harder now. A thunderstorm was rumbling through Mercy, with driving winds and a heavy downpour.

Once the wail of the siren began to fade, there was an uncomfortable moment of silence, punctuated only by the soft drips of water falling through the holes in the roof. And then, Matt reached for her, drawing her into the shelter of his arms, the warmth of his body. Joy soared through her.

“Katie, I’m sorry,” he said, his chin against her head. “I was wrong not to tell you everything earlier.” He pulled back, took in a deep gulp of air. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me, after…”

“…I heard about the night your son died.”

He nodded. “I was irresponsible and wrong, and—”

She put a finger to his lips. “—and very young. It wasn’t your fault, Matt.”

“I know that now. But for so long, Katie, I’ve been afraid to try again, knowing I couldn’t go through that loss again. Even after I stopped drinking, I couldn’t be sure of myself, couldn’t trust myself to make the right choices. Then I helped Sarah have her baby and everything changed.” He tipped up her chin and met her gaze. “Everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“When the truth came out tonight and then later, when I helped deliver Sarah’s baby, I realized I had finally forgiven myself. I’m ready to go forward with my life, to move on.”

She had to ask, had to be sure. “With Olivia?”

“No, silly. With you.” He captured her face with his hands and lowered his mouth until it was inches away from hers. “It took me a while to realize just how much I needed you. And wanted you.”

“I don’t think wanting was ever the problem.” She grinned.

“I guess I always made myself pretty clear in that area.” His expression turned serious. “What I didn’t realize until tonight, until it was almost too late and I was afraid I’d lost you…” he let his voice trail off.

His breath was warm on her face, his lips so close that she knew all it would take was a slight sway in his direction to bring her mouth to his. But she stayed where she was, captivated, eager for him to finish the sentence.

He hesitated, searched her gaze. “I didn’t lose you, did I?”

She shook her head. “No, Matt, not even close.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make sure there’s no possibility of losing you in the future, then. Because I don’t know what I’d do without you, Katie. I love you.”

A rush of happiness ran through her, tingling all the way down. He loved her. For real. He loves me, she thought again. And again.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, reveling in the words, pulling him closer.

And when she kissed him, with love and trust and a promise of forever in her eyes, Matt felt the crevices of pain in his heart begin to heal. He wrapped his arms around her, intertwining himself with her until he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

He was finally home.

Epilogue

“Katie!” Matt called for his wife. The house he and his crew, with some help from his father, had finished building a year ago on the old foundation was spacious, with enough room for them and an enormous, goofy dog—the first one he’d ever had.

Katie had hung up her banana suit for good after she and Sarah had relocated A Pair of Posies to the remodeled barn, switching their business focus to floral design. His mother, thrilled with her new daughter-in-law’s talent, had made sure they were the most in-demand florists in Southeastern Indiana. Olivia’s business was also doing well and she sent as many clients to Katie and Sarah as they did to her. Funny how all their dreams had come true once they’d grown up and stopped living in the past.

There was a playpen in the shop for Mattie, who was now a little over a year and inquisitive as a cat. Beside the playpen, a pair of baby swings sat empty and waiting. It wouldn’t be long now until the sound of crying and cooing filled both the house and the barn, Matt thought.

The house, designed by both of them, was large but not so big that he and Katie needed an intercom system to communicate. He liked being close to his wife, especially now, when he could barely let her out of his sight.

“Katie! Come here, you have to see this!” He pushed on the swinging door that led from the family room into the kitchen. Katie had her back to him. She was facing the countertop, probably still engrossed in the loaf of bread she was making. “Your brother Mark is on the Lawford Ten-Spot News.” He strode over to where she was. “You’ll never believe it—”

She turned around slowly. Her hands were covered in bread dough and her apron was coated with a fine sheen of flour. She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again. Her face contorted in pain. “Matt…” She gasped. She braced her hands against the counter and then tried again. “Matt, I hope you have a good memory.”

“What are you talking about? Katie, what’s wrong?” He tentatively touched her. That was when he noticed the puddle around her feet. “Did that faucet spring another leak?” He moved to get past her and open the cabinet doors beneath the sink.

She laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time, Matt.”

He poked his head up from the cabinet. “Time for what?” But even as the words left his mouth, it dawned on him. “But, it’s too early. It couldn’t be. Could it?”

She only nodded in response.

“We have to go then, we have to get you to the hospital.”

She smiled at him and shook her head. “I don’t think…” she panted, holding one finger up to tell him to wait a moment, “…you should…drive. We’ll never make it.”

He laughed. “We’re already halfway to the hospital this time,” he said, putting an arm around her and helping her walk through the kitchen and out to the garage.

“Call 9-1-1, Matt, just in case. You’re about,” she paused to pant, “to meet…” but she couldn’t finish the sentence.

An hour later, in a cheery room on the third floor of the Lawford hospital, Matt cradled his son, and his daughter, in his arms. He counted their fingers, counted their toes, then looked at his wife and counted his blessings.

His Virgin Secretary

By Cathy Williams

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

BRUNO was coming, flying back from New York, and Katy knew that there was just no way that she was going to be able to do her usual and disappear the minute he arrived.

Bruno Giannella, put quite simply, terrified her. She had first met him eighteen months ago, when she had been subjected to an interview that had paid lip service to his opening words—that he just wanted to discover a bit about her, considering the role she would have in his godfather’s life. Thereafter had followed the most gruelling hour and a half she had ever endured, which had left her in no doubt that the only way she could possibly get along with the man was to have as little to do with him as possible.

Since then, she had managed to turn evasion into an art form. His visits to his godfather were fleeting, infrequent and pre-planned. Bruno Giannella was not, she had long concluded, comfortable with spontaneity. Impulse did not feature highly in a life that seemed to have been programmed right down to the last minute. It was something for which she was eternally grateful because it gave her ample opportunity to coincide her departures from the house with exquisite timing, either just missing him or else seeing him while virtually on the hop.

Now, however, there was to be no such easy avoidance.

Joseph, his godfather, had been rushed to hospital with a suspected heart attack the afternoon before. It had all been a tremendous shock and as soon as things had quietened down somewhat she had telephoned his godson to tell him what had happened. It spoke volumes that she had had to call nearly a dozen numbers before she had eventually been put through to him in his New York office and when she finally had made contact, she’d been subjected to a thinly veiled implication that she had somehow taken her time getting in touch with him. No sooner had she stammered her way into her explanation about the difficulties she had had discovering his precise whereabouts, than he’d been briskly informing her that he would be on his way back to England immediately and that he would expect her to be at the house when he arrived the following day. The click of the telephone being hung up on her when she’d been virtually in mid-sentence had been an apt reminder of why she so actively disliked the man.

Not that there was any point brooding on the inevitable, she thought now, eyes fixed on the drive with all the nervous desperation of someone awaiting the hangman’s noose. She had taken up position on the faded rust-coloured chair an hour before, when walking around the house had ceased to work as an effective courage-boosting exercise, and had not moved from her vigilant vantage point since. She reasoned that, if she had time to adjust to the sight of him before he swooped through the front door, then she might have a chance of steeling herself for his unpleasant impact.

In all events, the ploy didn’t work because the minute the taxi swept up the drive every semblance of calm evaporated like a puff of smoke and her stomach went into immediate spasm.

In her limited dealings with Bruno Giannella, the one thing that Katy had always found supremely unfair was that power, wealth and intelligence could be harnessed together with such good looks. He deserved to be physically unfortunate. Or at least average. Instead, he had the sort of sensational dark looks that made women’s heads snap round in stunned appreciation. Dark, glossy hair, the same colour as his eyes, a wide, sensual mouth and a bone structure that seemed to have been carved with a loving hand and an eye to perfection.

To Katy’s mind, though, his scarily beautiful face was stamped with permanent coldness, his eyes were remote and detached and his mouth was cruelly forbidding.

When, shortly after she had begun working with Joseph, he had told her with a certain amount of grudging pride that his godson was quite something to be reckoned with when it came to the opposite sex, Katy had kept silent and wondered whether she was the only one who was immune to his so called legendary charm.

She watched Bruno furtively as he paid the taxi driver, picked up his overnight bag and his designer briefcase and then turned to look frowningly at the house. From a distance, Katy could almost kid herself that the man was made of flesh and blood. He moved, he spoke, he made mountains of money and was apparently a respected employer. And, of course, he adored his godfather. That much emotion she had caught in his eyes on the couple of occasions when she had been around him at the house. He couldn’t be all bad.

Then the insistent jabbing on the doorbell shattered the illusion and Katy scuttled towards the front door to let him in. The minute she clapped eyes on him, she knew how she would feel. Gauche, awkward, unbearably plain and dowdy.

In fact, as she pulled open the door her eyes inadvertently slid away from the potently masculine figure towering in front of her and she cleared her throat nervously.

‘Come in, Bruno. It’s…good to see you.’ She stood back so that he could brush past her, barely bothering to glance in her direction. ‘How was your trip over? Okay?’ Katy shut the front door and leaned against it for a bit of support.

Bruno strode into the hallway, took a little time out to absorb the atmosphere of the house—appropriately it was ‘The Old School’, considering his godfather had been a professor—before swinging round to confront the figure huddling against the front door.

If there was one thing that irritated the hell out of Bruno, it was to see someone cowering in front of him—and Katy West was cowering. Her brown curly hair was effectively hiding her downturned face and her hands were pressed behind her as if prepared at any given minute, to yank open the front door and hurtle down the path.

‘We have to talk,’ he said flatly, with the insouciance of someone accustomed to giving orders, speaking his mind and being obeyed, ‘and I do not intend to stand here to conduct the conversation, so why don’t you unglue yourself from the door and perhaps get us both a cup of tea?’

Joseph sang her praises to high heaven and, for the life of him, Bruno couldn’t understand why. The girl hardly ever muttered a word. If she had a sparkling, intelligent personality then she always took great care to keep it well hidden whenever he was around. He almost clicked his tongue in irritation as she slid past him towards the kitchen.

‘So,’ he said as soon as they were in the kitchen, ‘tell me what happened. And leave nothing out.’ He sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs and watched as she stuck some water on to boil and fetched two mugs from the dresser.

It felt peculiar to be here, without his godfather around. Bruno didn’t like it. For all his high-flying lifestyle, his apartments in Paris, London and New York, this house represented the one constant in his life and his godfather was an integral part of it. The thought that he might be more seriously ill than he imagined, that he might die, filled him with the chill of dread.

Which did not predispose him to be any kinder to the slip of a girl busying herself with the tea.

‘When exactly did…did this thing happen?’

‘I told you on the phone. Yesterday.’ Katy had no need to look at him to feel his eyes boring into her.

‘And could you look at me when I am talking to you? It’s impossible having a conversation to someone who insists on speaking into her mug of tea!’

Katy duly looked at him and immediately felt unsteady. ‘He had just had his tea…’

‘What?’

‘I said, Joseph had just finished—’

‘No, no, no,’ Bruno waved her aside impatiently. ‘I mean what did he have for his tea? Anything that could be seen to have brought on this…attack? Are they quite sure that it was a heart attack? And not something else? Like food poisoning?’

‘Of course they’re sure! They’re doctors, for heaven’s sake!’

‘Which is not to say that they’re gods. Everyone’s fallible.’ He sipped some of his tea and then restlessly began loosening his tie, dragging it down a bit so that he could undo the top two buttons of his shirt.

Katy watched him with the morbid fascination of someone watching something dangerous and unpredictable. Like a cobra snake.

‘It wasn’t food poisoning,’ she said, remembering what he had said about her talking into the mug of tea and making a determined effort not to encourage further criticism. ‘He literally had some bread that Maggie and I had baked earlier and a pot of tea. He was fine eating it, but then he said that he felt a bit odd, that he needed to go and lie down.’ Katy could feel her eyes beginning to fill up at the memory of him, as the odd feeling had manifested itself as something rather more sinister. The way he had staggered and clutched his chest, barely able to get his words out.

‘For God’s sake, don’t cry! It’s enough dealing with what’s happened without you blubbing!’

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s just that I was so scared when…when it all happened. It was so unexpected…I know Joseph is nearly seventy, but really that isn’t very old, is it? Not these days.’ She had given up on the tea, which she hadn’t really wanted anyway, and was twisting her hands nervously on her lap. At least he wouldn’t be able to see that and lay into her for being emotional. ‘And there’d been no sign of anything…just the day before we had gone on a walk in the gardens. To the greenhouse. He’s terribly proud of his orchids. He inspects them every day. Talks to them sometimes.’

‘I know,’ Bruno said gruffly. Joseph wrote to him regularly once a week, always to his London address where his letters would be efficiently forwarded to whichever part of the world Bruno happened to be occupying at that moment. He had tried his utmost to bring him up to date with computer technology, had pointed out the numerous advantages of email, but, while his godfather had nodded indulgently and exclaimed in apparent awe at what computers were capable of doing, he still persisted in the old-fashioned way of communication. Bruno would stake his life that the spanking, up-to-the-minute computer he had bought for his godfather was still sitting in his den, unused and gathering dust.

Bruno knew all about Joseph’s orchids and the various afflictions they had suffered over time. He knew all about what was happening in the village. He knew all about Katy West and how invaluable she had been over the past eighteen months in his employment.

‘There must have been signs…’ he insisted, shoving the mug to one side and further rattling Katy by leaning forward with his arms on the table.

‘Nothing. I would have told you if there had been anything, anything that could have been seen as a warning…’

‘Would you?’ Anxiety about his godfather lent his voice a cynical harshness. Bruno Giannella was not accustomed to the uneasy panic that was sloshing through his system at the moment. The circumstances of his life had taught him from an early age that control was one of the most important steps to success. To control one’s life, he privately maintained, was to hold it in the palm of one’s hand.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ he said, standing up and prowling through the homely kitchen like a tiger suddenly released from its leash, ‘I haven’t exactly been flooded with information from you on how my godfather has been doing, have I? In fact…’ he paused and cocked his head to one side consideringly ‘…I have never received so much as a single piece of communication from you on the subject of Joseph! Despite the fact that I made it patently clear when you were employed that keeping me informed of my godfather’s well being was part and parcel of the deal!’

‘That’s not fair!’ A sudden spurt of disbelieving anger made her cheeks redden at his accusation. ‘I work for Joseph, and I don’t…I don’t think it’s right to expect me to run behind his back to you with tales.’

She expected him to continue haranguing her, but instead Bruno grunted and resumed his unsettling prowl around the kitchen. Much more of this and Katy thought that she might well be joining Joseph in the hospital with an attack of overstretched nerves.

‘And what is the hospital like?’ Bruno demanded suddenly so that she was startled out of her temporary reverie on her malfunctioning nervous system.

‘It’s very good, Bruno. I went up there this morning and they wouldn’t let me see him yet, but I’ve been told that his condition is stable.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose. How far from here is it?’

‘About forty minutes’ drive. Depends on the traffic getting into the town centre. I was told that it should be okay to go and see him later.’

‘We’ll leave here at four thirty in that case.’

Katy nodded and wondered whether this might be the right time to broach the question that had been plaguing her from the very minute he had informed her in that arrogant way of his that he would be flying over. Namely how long he intended staying.

He was already heading for the door by the time she gathered her senses together and half ran after him, only slowing down when she came to the hall.

‘So…’ she said brightly, keeping her distance as he reached down for the overnight bag. Not a very big bag, she was reassured to see.

‘Yes?’ Dark brows winged up as Bruno registered her hovering presence.

‘You’re…you’re in the usual room. You know. Top of the stairs, turn left, end of the corridor! I’ve…I’ve put out a towel for you…’ She stepped forward hesitantly. ‘The thing is…’

‘Spit it out, Katy.’

‘Well, the thing is…I mean Maggie and I were wondering…well, just how long you intend to stay. I mean,’ she rushed on as mild curiosity deepened into a frown of growing disapproval, ‘it would really be helpful to her in terms of, well…you know, getting food in and such like.’ She could feel her face getting more and more flushed as he heard out her stammering speech in utter silence.

‘You needn’t go to any trouble for me,’ Bruno informed her, turning away and heading up the stairs while Katy watched him with the dawning realisation that he had failed to answer the one question that she desperately wanted answered.

With a spurt of uncustomary courage, she sprinted up the stairs in his wake and arrived slightly out of breath at his bedroom door just in time to see him dump the bag on the bed and dispose of his tie, which he tossed on top of the bag.

‘Well?’ With a sigh of impatience, he turned to her and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Katy kept her eyes fixed very firmly on his face and pointedly away from the slither of bronzed torso that his casual action was revealing.

‘It’s just that…’ she cleared her throat and looked down at the tips of her brown loafers ‘…if you intend staying on…you know, it would be helpful if you could let me know what you expect of me…’ In the deadly silence that greeted this faltering question, she became horrifyingly aware of connotations that she hadn’t intended and a wave of mortification swept over her. ‘I mean in terms of cooking for you,’ she hurried on. ‘Joseph and I were accustomed to having breakfast and lunch together. I—’

‘Why do you do that?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ She stole a look at him and was dismayed to see that he had now removed his shirt entirely so that avoiding a full view of his muscular chest was out of the question.

‘Why do you insist on acting like the hired help? Slouching as though your dearest wish is for the ground to open up and swallow you?’

‘I am the hired help,’ Katy said, folding her arms and forcing herself not to be intimidated by his suffocating presence.

‘In the strictest form of the word,’ he returned swiftly, ‘but you’re also Joseph’s companion and apparently a very valuable part of his life. Despite my initial…shall we say, misgivings…it seems that you’ve exceeded my expectations.’ He sounded faintly surprised at that. ‘As such you do not exactly fall into the category of servant, so stop behaving like one. There is no need to concern yourself with fixing any meals for me while I am here,’ he continued in the same clipped voice that made her want to salute smartly to attention. ‘I am quite capable of doing my own thing.’

‘Joseph would be appalled if he thought that…that you were having to take time off work because of him,’ Katy said truthfully. What she didn’t add was that his godfather was in awe of this gifted and charismatic man whom he had raised from adolescence.

‘He would be equally appalled if he thought that I couldn’t spare him the time when he needed me. Now is there anything else?’

For someone who had to be very perceptive—or how else could he have ever achieved the dizzy heights of power that he had?—it amazed Katy that he could on the one hand criticise her for behaving like a servant, while on the other, treating her exactly like one.

‘No,’ she mumbled, blushing furiously as she noticed his hand move to the leather belt of his trousers. He wasn’t going to remove it, was he? How far would he go in his stripping-off before he became embarrassed by her presence?

Katy’s knowledge of men was seriously limited. In twenty-three-years, she had had two boyfriends, both thoroughly nice young men for whom she had felt great affection. It was a mark of her basic friendship with them that she still kept in touch with both.

She couldn’t imagine either of them casually undressing in front of a woman they didn’t know from Adam.

‘Right.’ Bruno’s voice was dismissive. ‘In that case, I’ll see you downstairs at four-thirty precisely.’ He turned away from the shrinking figure and was only aware that she had gone when he heard the door close quietly with a click behind her.

In between her irritating, agonised mumblings, the girl had raised a very good point and one that Bruno himself had considered on the trip over.

His work. There was no way that he could think about paying his godfather a cursory visit. Joseph was the one human being in the entire world who meant something to him. It pained him to realise how little he had actually seen him over the past year. He could only count a handful of times, fleeting visits when he could manage to escape from the tyranny of his working life. If he vanished now and his godfather, God forbid, died, Bruno knew that he would never forgive himself.

He could use his London apartment and work from the offices in the City, he supposed, but even that would entail an involved commute.

He chewed over the problem while he had a bath. Despite being on the go for the better part of a day, the thought of catching up on some sleep before they left did not inspire him. Sleep, on the whole, always seemed like something that had to be done, but was essentially a waste of time. The only attraction he had ever seen in a bed usually involved the woman lying on it and it had to be said that, however fulfilling the sex was, it was never enough to keep him wallowing under a duvet cover so that he could indulge in post-coital chit-chat.

By the time he had changed and run through some emails, he had already worked out a solution to his problem. It wasn’t ideal, he reflected as he took in the hovering figure waiting for him in the hall when he emerged from his room an hour and a half later, but it would have to do.

‘Jimbo’s got the Range Rover out of the garage.’ Katy rushed into speech as Bruno shrugged on his jacket. It was May. Sunny but with a chill in the air that promised goose-pimples to anyone hardy enough to walk around in short sleeves. Katy thought, with a certain amount of sourness, that Bruno had typically got his dress code exactly right. Tan trousers, checked shirt and a suede jacket that managed to look well worn and authentically beaten as well as incredibly fashionable and hideously expensive. How did he do that? Look rugged and sophisticated at the same time?

She felt the familiar rush of self-consciousness as she took in her own dress code, which was a grey stretch skirt reaching to her calves, a baggy beige jumper and her thoroughly un-chic grey cord jacket. He always made her feel so horribly awkward. All year round, she felt very comfortable in these clothes. They were functional, hard-wearing and successfully managed to conceal a figure she felt self-conscious about and was constantly reminded about whenever she was in his presence.

‘Jimbo?’ Bruno paused to frown and Katy nodded.

‘Jim Parks, the man who looks after the garden and does odd jobs around the house. You’ve met him.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ If he had, then he didn’t remember.

‘Anyway, the car’s waiting outside. If you like, I’ll drive.’ To her dismay, he nodded.

Katy was a good driver and she was accustomed to driving Joseph’s car. She regularly went into the town once a week on her afternoon off to shop and she drove Joseph wherever he wanted, which admittedly wasn’t to anywhere far flung, but she had become used to the old gears. Several times she had even used the car to drive down to Cornwall to spend the weekend with her parents.

None of that made her any the less nervous as she switched on the engine and started down the drive with Bruno’s intense black eyes watching her every move. It was like taking her driving test all over again, except worse. At least her driving test examiner had been a kindly man in his fifties who had put her at her ease, not an arrogant half-Italian who wouldn’t hesitate to launch into a scathing attack on her competence if she happened to change gears a little too roughly.

She could barely concentrate on his reasonably polite line of conversation as he asked her about traffic in the town centre and about how she amused herself on her days off. She was just too aware of him looking at her to relax.

She was releasing a long sigh of relief at the sight of the hospital in the distance when he threw her his bombshell.

‘I have been thinking about what you said to me about taking time off work and I agree that Joseph would be unhappy if he thought I was forcing myself to stay here, twiddling my thumbs, because I felt sorry for him.’

Katy glanced surreptitiously at him, then quickly back at the congested road that harboured a plethora of small roundabouts and traffic lights before veering right towards the hospital entrance. The fact that he had actually thought about anything she had said was surprising enough without the additional bonus of knowing that he had agreed with her on something.

‘Yes, he really would.’ She breathed a little sigh of relief at what she knew was coming. His imminent departure. But first he wanted her to go through the motions of soothing away his guilt. ‘He’s terribly proud, you know. He would hate to think that you felt sorry enough for him to let your…well, your work life slide.’ She frowned and tried to imagine what it must be like to live a life where everything and everyone came a poor second to work. ‘You have an apartment in London, don’t you?’

‘Of course I have,’ Bruno said irritably. ‘Look at the state of this car park. We’ll be here for hours trying to find a space. You should have told me that the parking facilities were inadequate. I would have arranged for a taxi to bring us here.’

‘We’ll find somewhere to park,’ Katy mumbled, scanning the clutter of cars for a vacant spot to back up her optimistic statement. ‘We just have to be patient.’

Bruno clicked his tongue in instant dismissal of such a notion and frowned darkly out of his window. ‘A much overrated virtue, patience. Wait too long for something and it’s guaranteed to disappear before you can get your hands on it. If I patiently waited for deals to come my way, I would be struggling to put a crust on the table.’

‘But we’re not talking about deals, Bruno. We’re talking about finding a parking space in a car park.’ Her eyes brightened as she spotted someone reversing slowly out of a slot in the lane parallel to hers and she cautiously inched the car forward so that she could ease it into the vacated spot. ‘There,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘didn’t I tell you we’d get something?’

‘I was telling you about my…dilemma…concerning work,’ Bruno answered, sweeping over her small victory so that Katy instantly felt deflated.

‘Oh, yes. Perhaps we could discuss it after we’ve been to see your godfather?’ She could already feel her spirits lifting at the thought of seeing Joseph. That he had come to mean so much to her in the space of a mere eighteen months was of no great surprise to Katy. As an only child, she had always had a gift when it came to relating to people older than herself and Joseph was somehow special. His blend of shyness, intelligence and gentleness had charmed her from the very first minute she had met him and she had never had any cause to revise her opinions. She was as much at home with him when they were having heated discussions on some subject or other that might have captured his interest in the news, as when they were sitting in companionable silence at the end of the evening before he retired to bed.

She hoped that he would be able to see them now and perhaps even chat a little and she would much rather relish her anticipation in peaceful silence than be forced to respond to the man striding alongside her.

‘We’ll discuss it now, I think,’ Bruno informed her crushingly. He pushed open the glass door and then stood aside to let her pass. ‘I want to focus on Joseph when I see him, knowing that I have sorted out this work situation to my satisfaction. In fact—’ he glanced around ‘—there must be some kind of coffee shop or caféor something here. I should have said what I need to say in fifteen minutes and then we can go and see Joseph.’

Katy fought down an urge to salute. She also knew better than to express an alternative viewpoint so she suggested the café that was further along on the ground floor. The coffee was fairly awful but they would be able to sit and, anyway, it made sense for her to do what she had to do, nod when he told her that he would be going down to London so that he could carry on working and agree that it was really the only viable solution. At least that way she, too, would feel a weight lifted with the matter sorted.

‘What will you have?’ Bruno asked, not looking at her as he assumed his place in the short queue, his hand squarely placed on top of one of the brown trays.

Somehow direct questions from Bruno always managed to encourage a stammer that Katy possessed with no one else. Of course, when she thought about it, she could understand why. Even when he was being perfectly normal, if such a thing existed in connection with his personality, there was still a latent aggression to him that brought out the worst in her.

‘Hello?’ she heard him saying now, finally turning to look at her so that for an instant their eyes tangled and a slow, hot burn started inside her. ‘Is there anyone there? Or have you decided to vanish into the clouds completely?’

‘Sorry,’ Katy said, blinking and looking away. ‘I’ll have a coffee.’

‘Anything to eat?’

‘No. Thank you. Thanks.’

Frowning black eyes did a once-over sweep of her, finally coming to rest on her flushed face. ‘How much do you eat? Does Joseph make sure that you get fed properly? He can be a little absent-minded when it comes to life’s small essentials. Like food.’ He was at the coffee machine now, pressing buttons for two cups of coffee, while Katy looked on in bewilderment at the turn in his conversation.

‘Of course I eat.’ She eyed the restful solitude of one of the tables wistfully.

‘You look like a bag of bones under that outfit of yours.’

In one fell swoop, he managed to make her cringingly aware of her body and its shortcomings. Ever since she was fourteen and had watched on the sidelines as her friends had developed hips and breasts and all the things that the boys seemed to gravitate towards, Katy had nursed the unspoken feeling that her slightness, her small breasts, her boyish shape, were to be concealed at all costs. Baggy, all-enveloping clothes had become her preferred mode of dress, even though her parents had repeatedly told her that she was beautiful. She had always known better than to believe them. Her parents adored her. They would have found her beautiful if she had had three heads and a tail.

Now she knew that she should greet his uninvited observation with something icily scathing, something that would firmly put him in his place, but nothing came to mind and in the brief silence he continued with bracing disregard for her feelings.

‘You need to build yourself up.’

‘Build myself up into what? A wrestler?’ Katy said with a spurt of vigour and this time he looked at her with something approaching interest, his dark eyebrows raised in apparent fascination at her sudden forceful tone of voice.

‘I really don’t know, now that you mention it, considering you keep your body so cleverly concealed under clothing that any granny would be proud to wear,’ Bruno answered smoothly, but her sarcasm had captured his attention and suddenly the plans he had made regarding work didn’t seem quite so depressingly functional after all.

‘Now, we’ll have our coffee and I’ll tell you exactly what I’ve decided on the work front. Why don’t you go and grab a table—a clean one would be good—and I’ll join you when I’ve paid for this lot?’

He absent-mindedly watched as Katy scuttled across the café to one of the tables at the back, but his thoughts were already moving ahead. He couldn’t see that she would object in any way to what he had in mind and, quite frankly, she had no choice in the matter anyway.

However, his problems did not begin and end with work. Isobel Hutton Smith, the woman with whom he was currently attached, might have been a model of understanding when it came to his frequent trips abroad, but he doubted whether she would be quite so compliant when it came to him holed up in the countryside a good hour and a half away from her, yet in the same country.

She had been dropping hints about him settling in one place for good, spicing up her conversation with all-too-transparent musings about the nature of relationships and the speed with which time rushed past.

Bruno knew that he should have been firmer in squashing some of her more blatant chat about commitment and biological clocks, but somehow he had never seemed to get around to it and he’d allowed the situation to slide. Maybe, he thought now, Joseph’s illness was fate telling him that the time to settle down had arrived, and as he distractedly paid the girl at the till for the two coffees and the tired-looking Chelsea bun he had bought for himself he wondered whether Isobel might not make just the sort of wife he was looking for. Glamorous, well connected and undemanding when it came to his work.

He glanced across to where Katy now appeared to be brushing a few wayward crumbs from the surface of the table with her hand and decided that he would deal with one thing at a time.

Work first, girlfriend later and both in second position to the all-consuming need to make sure that his godfather was going to be all right.

CHAPTER TWO

‘RIGHT.’ Bruno sat down, brilliant black eyes sweeping over the grubby table with such unconcealed distaste that Katy was forced to remind him that a hospital canteen wasn’t going to be along the lines of a five-star restaurant.

‘I did try to clear most of the crumbs,’ she finished apologetically, which earned her a frown.

‘Why are you apologising for the state of this place?’ Bruno demanded impatiently. ‘Nobody, least of all me, expects a hospital café to be run along the lines of a five-star restaurant, but this table looks as though its ambition is to collect several months of grime before someone gets round to wiping a damp cloth over it.’

Katy wondered how his employees coped with his obviously impossibly high standards. Did he pour that undiluted, freezing scorn over anyone who happened to make the smallest slip-up? She shuddered and gulped down a mouthful of coffee.

How his godfather’s gentleness and sensitivity had never managed to rub off on him baffled Katy. He was as different from Joseph as chalk from cheese, but then she knew that his family background had not been normal. His father had died when he was three and his mother ten years later, during which time he had had the pleasure of being sent to a boarding-school, when he was just a child and not old enough to cross a road by himself let alone cope with being sent away from the only home he had known. He had also had the dubious pleasure of being at the mercy of two stepfathers, neither of whom, from what she had gathered, had been very interested in the precociously intelligent but rebellious child.

By the time he had reached Joseph, at the age of thirteen, his personality had probably already been formed. He’d been an orphan, wealthy thanks to his mother’s legacy, formidably clever and, according to his godfather, well on the way to believing that the world was at his command.

Reading between the lines, Katy could picture a devilishly good-looking teenager, cleverer than most of his teachers, fiercely self-confident, yet wary of human relationships.

She often tried to bolster her self-confidence in his presence by thinking of him as rather lonely underneath the glittering success and financial power.

Yet again, the ploy failed as she surreptitiously glanced at his darkly striking features as he bit down into the flaccid bun.

‘You were going to tell me what…what you’ve decided to do? About work?’ Katy prompted.

‘Well, I won’t be returning to New York, at least not until Joseph is back on his feet. The obvious solution would be for me to concentrate on my London office and stay in my apartment in Chelsea, but that in itself would involve a hectic commute if I wanted to get up here to see him, so I’ve decided that the only solution will be for me to set up an office at the house and work from there indefinitely.’

‘House? What house?’ Katy wondered whether she had missed some vital connecting link somewhere in what he had said.

‘What house do you think?’ Bruno’s tone was exaggeratedly patient, the tone of someone who had to slow down the natural pace of his mind to accommodate the sluggishness of someone else’s. Hers. He fixed his fabulous dark eyes on her startled face and watched as comprehension gathered pace.

‘You’re going to work from Joseph’s house?’ Katy squeaked. Her stomach seemed to be doing a frantic tap-dance inside her. Thank God she was sitting down or else she might have keeled over at the horrifying prospect now unfolding before her eyes.

‘Correct. Now drink up, we can’t spend all day here discussing this.’

Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked at him. Yes, of course she had anticipated that he would be around for a couple of days, a week at the most, and she had already decided that if that was the case, then she could quite easily avoid him. It was a big house. With a bit of forward planning she need never run into him, and on the few occasions when avoidance was out of the question she would just take a deep breath and cope with the temporary discomfort.

But an indefinite stay?

‘Furthermore—’ Bruno flicked his wrist so that he could glance at his watch ‘—you’ll be working for me. It’s not ideal. I would have preferred someone with a bit more experience in dealing with the business world, but you’re available and you’ll have to do. I can’t very well ask my own secretary to uproot herself and move up here to accommodate me. Not when she has a husband and two children to consider.’ The implication being that, were it not for those emotional anchors, he would have had no hesitation at all in uprooting her.

‘There’s really no need to look so stricken, Katy. I don’t bite.’ He stood up and she realised that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. Not that it had even been a conversation. He had informed her of what he intended to do and her duty was to keep quiet and oblige.

And as she tripped along behind him, watching blankly as he charmed the nurses on duty and headed down the corridor for Joseph’s room, all she could think of was the nightmare prospect of what he had just proposed.

She would have to have it out with him, she thought feverishly. In an ideal world, she would not have had to communicate with him at all, but she would just have to bite the bullet and confront him with the impossibility of his suggestion. Not that it had been couched as such.

She found that her pleasure at seeing Joseph was considerably dimmed by the metaphorical cleaver she now felt to be hanging over her neck.

It hardly helped that after a few minutes during which she held Joseph’s hand while Bruno toyed with something approaching a bedside manner, the subject of her new role was foisted onto her clearly still weak employer.

‘I really don’t think that this is the time…’ Katy initiated a hesitant protest and Bruno quelled her with a glance.

‘I am simply reassuring my godfather that he can count on my being around for the foreseeable future.’

‘You mustn’t interrupt your work schedule,’ Joseph predictably objected, then, to her dismay, he continued wanly, ‘though, of course, it would be very nice for me to know that you’ll be at the house, looking after it, so to speak, and looking after my dear Katy as well…’

Katy tried not to splutter at this.

‘I do not need looking after, Joseph,’ she managed to say with a lot of commendable self-control and keeping her eyes very pointedly averted from Bruno’s intense, unsettling gaze. ‘I’m nearly twenty-four! I think it’s fair to say that I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, and of making sure that the house doesn’t fall down around my ears! Besides,’ she said encouragingly, giving his hand a little squeeze, ‘you’ll be home sooner than you think.’

‘Is that what the doctor says?’

‘Well, no, not exactly, but then we haven’t actually spoken to any doctors as yet—’

‘Typically there’s never a doctor around when you need one,’ Bruno interrupted, scowling darkly. ‘Apparently he won’t be surfacing for another hour and I’ve given the nurse strict instructions that he’s to see me before he begins his rounds.’

Joseph met Katy’s eyes in a moment of mutual understanding. She wondered whether it had even occurred to Bruno that a busy doctor might not appreciate being summoned by a relative of one of his patients, and then decided that it probably hadn’t. Bruno simply assumed that his wishes would be obeyed, supposedly for no other reason than the fact that he had been the one to issue them.

It would be a salutary lesson to him if he found himself at the bottom of the pecking order when Joseph’s consultant arrived. Katy found herself drifting off into a pleasant day-dream in which Bruno was forced to wait at the end of a long queue shuffling along a corridor while, at the head of the line, a consultant as domineering as Bruno took his time while Bruno frantically tried to commandeer his attention from the back. She made the puppet figure in her head jump up and down in frustrated indignation and discovered she was smiling when Bruno’s voice brought her plunging back to reality.

‘Are you with us?’ he asked, short-circuiting all politeness as usual, and Katy sat up a little straighter.

‘I was just thinking…’

‘Well, we’d better be heading off. Joseph needs his rest…’ They both looked at the old man, whose eyes had drooped.

‘He looks so frail,’ Katy whispered in sudden anguish. She turned impulsively to Bruno only to collide with cold black eyes.

‘What would you expect?’ He stood up and strode over to the door where he waited restlessly for her. ‘He has had a heart attack,’ he continued harshly. ‘Did you imagine you would find him performing cartwheels?’

‘No, but—’

‘And I don’t think it’s very helpful,’ Bruno continued, preceding her to the door and then allowing her to brush past him into the corridor, ‘for you to let him see that there’s any doubt that he’ll have a full recovery and be back to his usual self.’

‘I didn’t!’ Katy protested in a dismayed whisper. ‘I mean, he couldn’t hear what I said and…and he wasn’t looking at me. In fact, he had nodded off! Of course, I wouldn’t want him to imagine that…that well…’

‘Where is this doctor?’ Bruno was scanning the corridor, as out of place as a fish in a tree. Katy could see the scurrying nurses glancing at him with interest as he frowningly surveyed the scene.

‘I don’t think it’s been an hour yet,’ Katy said dubiously. ‘Maybe we should just sit and wait.’

Bruno looked at her as though the concept of sitting and waiting for anything or anyone was a foreign concept that he could not compute.

‘Standing here isn’t going to make the consultant appear any quicker,’ she pointed out tentatively. ‘And we’re getting in the way.’

Before he had time to come back at her with one of his biting responses, Katy walked off towards one of the nurses at the desk and politely asked whether they could be notified of the consultant’s arrival when he appeared so that they could have a quick word.

‘His godson is very worried,’ she murmured in a low voice, while Bruno breathed down her neck in a very off-putting manner.

‘His godson is understandably anxious to have a few answers,’ Bruno interjected with a show of perfect politeness, and Katy wondered how he managed to sound so threatening when he was delivering, for him, quite an inoffensive remark. She had no need to look at him. She could imagine the unsmiling expression on his face all too clearly. The nurse must have picked up the same signals as well because the bland, bordering on bossy expression he’d worn had been replaced by a nervous nodding of the head.

‘If I kept people sitting and waiting all day long,’ was the first thing he muttered as soon as they had sat on the functional chairs further along the corridor, ‘I would no longer be in business.’

Katy discreetly held her tongue as there was no point in antagonising him when she still had to raise the sensitive subject still making her ill.

‘And just let me do the talking when this consultant makes his appearance,’ he grated. ‘Tiptoeing around the man isn’t going to get the answers that I need!’

Katy sneaked a sidelong glance at him and knew, with blinding certainty, that Bruno was worried, desperately worried, and the only way he could deal with it was to become even more aggressive and forceful than he normally was. Her heart went out to him and on impulse she placed her small hand on his wrist, only to find him stare at it with such concentrated distaste that she immediately removed it.

‘Oh, spare me the compassion, Katy.’

‘Do you ever let that guard down, Bruno?’ she heard herself asking and immediately realised that she had overstepped the boundary. Personal questions like that were not encouraged by a man like him. Even Joseph shied away from indulging his curiosity about his godson’s life, only letting slip now and again to her questions that clearly nagged away at him.

‘Sorry,’ she apologised immediately. ‘None of my business. We’re both worried.’

She waited for him to fill the brief pause, which he didn’t, and Katy released a little sigh. She thought that he had relegated her remark to oblivion and was surprised when he said in a low, musing voice, ‘Joseph has never been ill. Not with anything serious anyway. It’s odd but you never imagine that the people you care about are ever vulnerable; you foolishly imagine that they’re going to somehow live for ever.’

Katy discovered that she was sitting on the edge of her chair and holding her breath. She felt a flood of sympathy at his unexpected admission but knew better than to express it. His moment of weakness would pass and then he would look back and resent her for having witnessed it in the first place.

‘I wondered,’ she volunteered hesitantly, ‘if we could discuss this work thing, Bruno…’

Bruno inclined his body slightly so that he was looking at her, eyes narrowed. It took all the will-power at her disposal not to look away and thereby earn his irritation. Hadn’t he already snapped at her that he found it impossible to conduct a conversation with someone who couldn’t meet his eyes? How was he supposed to know that one glance in her direction was sufficient to reduce her to a state of panic?

‘What’s there to talk about?’ he asked in a reasonable voice.

‘I…I really haven’t got the right qualifications to work for you,’ Katy stuttered. ‘I mean, I’ve never worked as a professional secretary or anything…’

He frowned. ‘You’re helping Joseph with his memoirs, aren’t you?’

‘Well, yes, but…’

‘And correct me if I’m wrong, but that must involve at least some of the usual things, such as an ability to type.’

‘Well, yes, I know how to type, but—’

‘I thought you’d taken a course—’

‘A very short course,’ Katy swiftly pointed out. ‘I mean, I was a nanny for four years and when the Harrisons found that they would be moving abroad they helped me out by sending me on a three-month sort of crash course so that I could help Joseph out with odd bits of typing.’ She licked her lips nervously and discovered that, far from wanting to look away, she was mesmerised by her close-up view of his lean, strong face and the way the weak sunlight filtering through the windows highlighted the blackness of his hair.

‘Why did they do that?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Oh, they liked me. I still keep in touch with them, you know.’

‘And as a token of their affection, they decided to send you on a secretarial course? You’re losing me here, Katy.’

‘Well, I mentioned that I wanted to break away from nannying. Not,’ she stressed, ‘that I didn’t enjoy every minute of it. I did! I was looking after two lovely children and really I couldn’t have wished for a better start to life in London. The Harrisons were the perfect employers. I mean, so is Joseph, to be honest. I’ve been very lucky…’

‘Katy—’ he shook his head in fascinated bemusement ‘—where is this going? I didn’t ask for a potted history of your working life. I simply wanted to know why you were objecting to working for me.’

‘Right. Yes, well, what I was saying was that working on Joseph’s memoirs isn’t like being a real secretary.’ In a minute he would say that she was losing him again. She could see it in his expression. He wanted her to get to the point and not be sidetracked by a long ramble. ‘I do a little bit of typing, but not a huge amount. Mostly I take some dictation, very, very slowly, and then when Joseph goes off to have his nap I type it up. Very, very slowly.’ She felt obliged to get the picture straight. ‘He doesn’t work at breakneck speed, Bruno.’

Bruno smiled with genuine amusement at that and she found that she was even more mesmerised by that smile.

‘I won’t be able to keep up with you,’ Katy said bluntly. ‘And I don’t expect that you have a lot of patience for mistakes. I make a lot of mistakes. I spend ages correcting them.’ In case he wasn’t getting the very pointed message, she decided to leave him in no doubt of her unsuitability. ‘In fact it usually takes me as long to correct my mistakes as it does to type the thing up in the first place. I’m not clever with computers and Joseph doesn’t mind one bit because he’s absolutely hopeless with them as well.’

‘You should have a bit more confidence in yourself,’ Bruno informed her bracingly. ‘And familiarity with computers is just a question of practice.’

‘I have lots of confidence in myself,’ Katy denied as she saw the lifebelt of her professed incompetence slipping out of her grasp. ‘Just not when it comes to technology. You could hire a temp from one of the agencies in town. There are loads of them floating around! Someone with that business experience you mentioned earlier!’

‘But then, what would you do all day long?’ Bruno looked at her narrowly. ‘You are being paid, after all, and with Joseph in hospital there would be nothing for you to do, would there? Instead of jumping to the conclusion that you would never be able to work for me, you should think of it as a challenge to fill in the long hours in an empty house.’

A challenge? Shouldn’t a challenge be something that someone looked forward to? Who ever looked at something they were horrified at doing and saw it as a challenge? Did this man inhabit the same planet as the rest of the human race?

Before she could contemplate what he had said and return with something adequate, however, the consultant arrived and the next half an hour was spent with her listening while Bruno took over the reins of the conversation. He asked questions she would never have thought of with a bluntness that she was personally mortified by but which the consultant seemed to appreciate, judging from the hearty, informative depths of his replies.

The upshot was that there was absolutely no reason why Joseph shouldn’t make a full recovery. He should even be encouraged to do a bit of light exercise, and he would be back at the house within a couple of weeks or so. As a mark of how much Bruno had impressed him, he even scribbled his home number on a piece of paper and told them both that they could reach him any time if they had any more questions or were worried about anything.

‘Exercise,’ Bruno murmured, half to himself as they headed out of the hospital towards the car. ‘Joseph’s only form of exercise is light walks in the garden, am I right?’

‘He’s no spring chicken, Bruno,’ Katy said, and then, unable to resist a little dig, she added straight-faced, ‘What would you expect him to do? Cartwheels round the flower beds?’

She was startled and irrationally pleased by the sudden burst of laughter that greeted this piece of tart sarcasm and it was only when they were in the car proceeding carefully out of the city and back towards the house that Katy remembered the unfinished conversation about work. Or, rather, unfinished from her point of view. Bruno had obviously decided that the subject matter was closed and was now thoughtfully ruminating on the challenges posed by the consultant in connection with the light exercise from which his godfather might benefit.

Katy took a deep breath and then burst out, ‘But how can you run—is it an empire that you run?—from a house? I mean, don’t you need to be there, on standby, just in case…’ her voice trailed off as she tried to envisage the dynamics of big business ‘…just in case something happens?’

‘Something like what?’ Bruno asked curiously.

‘I don’t know exactly…’ Katy said vaguely, frowning. ‘Some catastrophe or something.’

‘You mean like the building falling down?’

Katy read the amusement in his voice as a subversive attack on her obvious ignorance of corporate finance and the money-making business in which she had never had much interest.

‘I mean,’ she stressed bravely, ‘don’t you need to actually be in an office in your building so that if people have problems they can have…well, access to you? Face to face?’

‘Oh, no,’ Bruno drawled smoothly. ‘Technology these days is actually quite sophisticated…’

‘It’s not my fault I’ve never been computer literate,’ Katy muttered in defence. ‘Of course, we did have IT lessons at school but I was never really interested. I’ve always thought that computers were so impersonal.’ She peered thoughtfully out of the window straight ahead as she edged the car through the city traffic at a snail’s pace, and considered her school life. Oh, she had been very happy there, but not in her most optimistic moments would she ever have described herself as one of those thrusting high achievers who seemed destined for the top careers. She had tried very hard to master the world of computer technology but she had never risen above pedestrian and it had never bothered her.

She couldn’t see how she was going to get out of working for Bruno, especially when he had covered the underhand route of reminding her that she was being paid and would, presumably, be on call to him if his godfather wasn’t physically around. But when she pictured herself speeding around with whirlwind efficiency, answering phones and rushing at his breakneck pace, her mind seemed to shut down and a sickish feeling began to rise up in the pit of her stomach. Maybe if she didn’t feel so awkward and foolish in his company, she might have managed to pull off a passable show of competence, but the reality was that she would stumble over everything and end up enraging him.

Couldn’t he see that? Why would he want to open himself up to endless irritation because she just wouldn’t be able to keep up? Her mind flew off into a mortifying scenario in which her every mistake would be ridiculed until he had no option but to get someone in to replace her.

‘Impersonal they may be, but they’re also invaluable.’

‘Huh?’

She sensed him take a deep indrawn breath of pure impatience.

‘Computers,’ Bruno reminded her heavily. ‘We were talking about computers. Or rather you were. You were telling me that you were never interested in them at school?’

‘Oh, yes. Sorry.’

‘You have an unfortunate habit of apologising for everything,’ Bruno remarked in the same heavy voice that made Katy think of teachers on the edge of losing their patience in the face of some particularly dim pupil. ‘You’ll have to lose that when you start working for me. It’s annoying.’

‘But what about when I make mistakes?’ Katy asked worriedly.

‘There you go. Assuming a worst-case scenario before we’ve even begun. What am I doing? Branching out on a completely irrelevant tangent!’

‘But don’t you find that happens?’ Katy couldn’t help saying. Now that she thought about it, she was always doing that! Joseph would start briskly enough with his dictating and then before you knew it a thousand questions rushed to her head and inevitably they ended up wildly off course. But how else did you ever find out about people if you just stuck to asking relevant questions?

‘Computers? They allow me to work from pretty much anywhere. I can have my secretary email me my correspondence and I can access all the files I need at the press of a button. How do you imagine I continue running my London branch when I’m over in New York? And vice versa?’

‘I can’t,’ Katy told him truthfully. They had finally managed to clear the bulk of the traffic and she relaxed as the roads became a little less congested. ‘In fact, I can’t imagine what you do at all. It must be very stressful.’

‘I thrive under pressure.’

‘Oh,’ Katy murmured dubiously.

‘At any rate, what I’m saying is that Joseph’s office will do just fine in the short term. I’ll probably spend a day or so in London—’ he paused ‘—just in case I need to ward off any of those mysterious catastrophes you mentioned, but the rest of the week I’ll spend here. I already have my laptop with me, as a matter of fact, so it should be no problem transferring files to Joseph’s PC, and whatever clothes I have here will do for the time being.’

With her last limp objection thoroughly demolished, Katy slumped behind the driving wheel and dejectedly contemplated life ahead for the next fortnight. He had already started his list of personality traits she would have to change so that he could put up with her, and she was in no doubt that the list would grow until something resembling his specifications had been achieved.

She surfaced to hear him talking and realised that he was once more on the topic of light exercise and, at the mention of swimming, she glanced briefly in his direction. Just the sight of his frowning, averted profile sent a disturbing little shiver of awareness rippling through her. One more thing to contend with, she acknowledged dismally. He couldn’t help the way he looked but that bronzed, dangerously beautiful face still managed to elicit a thoroughly uncharacteristically feminine response in her, even though she disliked him. She hoped against hope that a bout of close encounters would eliminate the unwanted reaction.

‘Joseph doesn’t like swimming,’ she told him now. ‘He once told me that if humans were made to flap about in water, they would have been born with gills. He doesn’t find it a very soothing form of exercise.’

‘I’m not suggesting that he swim across the Channel,’ Bruno said. ‘But swimming is gentle exercise and you heard what the doctor said.’

‘Yes, but…that pool is in a state of total disrepair.’

‘Because it’s never used.’

‘I’m surprised you don’t use it when you come up to visit Joseph,’ Katy reflected, thinking that, with his superbly fit build, he would have wanted to fling himself into any kind of exercise available whenever he had the odd moment of leisure. Thinking, too, how good he would look in swimming trunks. Bronzed body, not a spare ounce of flesh…She dragged her mind away from the rapidly growing image with a little twinge of guilt.

‘It’s too uncomfortable in there. It’s also in dire need of renovation. It was pretty decrepit when Joseph moved in all those years ago and it’s just got worse.’ He paused. ‘It would certainly benefit from a face-lift. I mean, thinking about it, it has all the essential requirements. It’s indoors, even if you do have to exit the house to get to it, and with a bit of work it would be okay. I could get some form of heating installed, have a couple of changing rooms put in, bring someone in to repair the cracks everywhere…’

‘It needs more than a face-lift,’ Katy pointed out. ‘Bruno, there are weeds growing out of the cracks at the bottom! In fact, the last time Joseph looked at it he suggested that with just the addition of a bit of soil we could convert the whole thing into a greenhouse!’

‘Did he really say that?’

Katy nodded, glanced at him and in the diminishing light saw him grin with genuine amusement. For a second or two, her heart seemed to literally stop beating, then she refocused on the road in sudden, tumultuous confusion. Of course he wasn’t responding to her, she told herself sternly. She evoked that icy, black-eyed impatience, but still…it was like seeing a sudden, dazzling ray of sun breaking through a bank of thunderclouds.

Then he was back to his usual self, the one she was accustomed to. Back to the man giving orders without bothering to tack on a please at the end or even display the slightest sign of appreciation.

‘Well, we’ll have to do something about changing his opinion, and that can be your first job in the morning. I’ll head down to London for the day to get whatever I need from the office, so you’ll have the day completely free to contact all the people you need to get that concrete hole up and running.’

‘Up and running? How long do you imagine it’s going to take to do that?’

‘Throw enough money at them and it’ll take just as long as I want it to take,’ Bruno assured her. ‘But it’s to be finished before Joseph returns home. The last thing he needs is a series of workmen disturbing his peaceful recovery.’

‘I’m not sure…’

‘Number one lesson in the world of business is to always be sure,’ Bruno informed her. ‘Number two is to get them working to your tune. If you refuse to put up with delays and cancellations, you’ll pretty much find that people will work to the timetable you’ve instructed them to work to!’

Katy almost repeated her heartfelt emotion that she really wasn’t sure at all, but bit back the words at the last minute. Instead she said doubtfully, ‘I’ve never really had anyone work to my tune before…’

‘So now you are to be provided with yet another challenge! And on the subject of the pool, I also think we ought to get some furniture for around it.’

‘What sort of furniture?’

‘Chairs. Comfortable ones. Chairs that Joseph can relax on when he’s had a little bit of his gentle exercise. I’ll leave the choice up to you. And don’t breathe a word of this to him. It’ll be a surprise.’

‘Do you think his heart can stand it?’

‘Are you being serious?’

‘No,’ Katy admitted. ‘But once he’s seen it, it might be an idea if we let him grow gradually into the concept of actually getting into it.’

They were finally approaching the house, which stood a way back from the road up a long, winding drive lined with trees. In a couple of months, the budding leaves would be thick and green and would almost obscure the red-brick house sprawling at the end of the drive. For the moment, though, there was just the merest hint of summer floating in the evening air, and as always Katy’s heart revived at the sight of the old house shimmering into view. It also revived on the blessed thought that she had managed to drive into the city centre and out again, with Bruno as her passenger, without making a fool of herself. The least he could have done was to have thanked her for taking him, but naturally that would have been asking too much. He had launched into a succinct and off-putting summary of her forthcoming duties, next to which cajoling a workforce to accomplish the near impossible in his absence seemed like a bed of roses.

He strode into the house, switching on lights and briefing her on his expectations. He would be working from the house the day after tomorrow, he announced, and she should be ready to kick off no later than eight-thirty. He himself would be up and running by seven but, naturally, he would not expect her to conform so rigidly to his timetable. Breakfast he would see to himself and she could do her own thing for lunch, although he would expect her to eat on the run if there was a particularly heavy workload. He assumed that Maggie would see to their dinner requirements. Her working day would be expected to end by five-thirty.

Katy almost laughed out loud when he concluded his speech and politely asked her whether she had any questions, because he didn’t look as though he was ready to sit down and actually respond to any. In fact, he was standing restlessly by the balustrade, like an engine throbbing on all cylinders and waiting to be revved into action.

Katy shook her head numbly and he gave her a curt nod.

‘Good. In that case, I shall be in the office setting things up. Don’t bother to wait for me for dinner. I’ll grab something somewhere along the line, but I have a lot to think about and one or two overseas phone calls to make.’

Katy nodded again, deprived of speech, and felt tremendous sympathy for his poor secretary.

Thank goodness Joseph would be back soon and life could get back to normal.

CHAPTER THREE

BRUNO watched Katy through the sprawling bay window in the sitting room, from which he could see her standing in the brick outbuilding that had been converted into an indoor swimming pool by the original owners of the house. The doors were flung open and she had her back to him, hands propped against her waist as she supervised what he assumed were the industrious workmen he had instructed her to employ. The sleeves of her shapeless jumper were pushed up to the elbows and beneath the long skirt peeped a pair of sturdy green wellingtons.

It was after five and he’d just returned from the hospital having seen his godfather, who was making a good recovery.

‘Food’s terrible,’ Joseph complained. ‘Bland.’ Then he looked a little sheepishly at Bruno. ‘This work thing. You aren’t going to impose your ridiculous work schedule on Katy, are you?’

‘Ridiculous?’

‘Well, you know what a workaholic you are…’

There was the faintest hint of disapproval in his voice that made Bruno squirm. ‘Running a successful business can’t be done if I spend all my time playing golf and going on holidays, Joseph.’ He had never played a round of golf in his life, and holidays…well, holidays were things that were snatched in between his frantically busy life. He had always liked it that way. In fact, the last time he had been persuaded to have a week off had been six months previously when he and Isobel, at her instigation, had gone to the Seychelles. After two days, he had been itching to get back into the thick of things. Did that make him a workaholic? He supposed so.

Joseph made an unconvincing sound under his breath and then added, narrowing his eyes, ‘And you won’t bully her, will you?’

He had made her sound like a scared rabbit, Bruno now thought, watching her as she gesticulated to someone he couldn’t see. Her curly brown hair had been pulled back into a ponytail. From where he was standing, dressed in her shapeless, dowdy clothes, she looked more like a sparrow than a rabbit.

With a forceful stride, he walked out of the sitting room, through the kitchen and towards the outbuilding where he was surprised to hear her speaking confidently, laughing even, with the workmen, although when he coughed politely from behind her and she spun around the usual expression of wariness settled over her face like a mask.

‘You’re back.’

‘And you sound thrilled,’ Bruno drawled, taking up position next to her so that he could see what was going on. ‘As thrilled as someone who’s lost ten pounds and found five pence. You’d better fill me in on what’s going on.’ He walked restively away from her and, after a few seconds of indecisive hovering, Katy followed him and began pointing out the various areas in which progress had been made. She had not exactly obeyed his instructions about laying down laws and making demands. In fact, she had been shyly hesitant when she had visited the sprawling outdoor furniture shop in the outskirts of the city, frowning at the list of negatives that had been presented to her when she had explained the state of utter deterioration of the pool in question, tentatively explaining that money would be no object if only they could finish the job in time for when Joseph returned home.

In fact, she had found herself spending rather too much time talking about her employer, the suddenness of his heart attack and the necessity for the pool to be up and running so that he could begin his routine of gentle exercises in it. When her eyes had filled up, the kindly middle-aged man had produced a box of tissues from under the counter, and then everything had seemed to be all right.

Bruno would have had a fit if he had been a fly on the wall at the time. Katy breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief that he had been safely away in London.

The five workmen, who ranged in ages from twenty something to fifty something, had stopped what they had been doing and were deferentially pointing out the technicalities of their mission. As they spoke Bruno conducted a silent survey of the area, occasionally nodding at something that was said, asking the minimum of questions but with all evidence of being an expert on the subject and therefore incapable of being taken for a ride.

Katy could only admire it. From a distance, all that formidable self-assurance was impressive. It was only when you got close that you saw how scary it could be.

He made his careful rounds of the pool area, ending up back at the door, and she reluctantly joined him there while he instructed the men to carry on, tacking on that he assumed they would be working flat out in view of the time constraints on the job.

‘Well,’ he said as they walked back into the kitchen, ‘all that seems very satisfactory.’ He divested himself of his jacket, tossing it casually onto one of the chairs by the pine table, and turned to look at her. Her hair was a bird’s nest with stray tendrils flying every which way and, having disposed of her wellingtons by the kitchen door, she had replaced these with some comfortable loafers. Thank heavens this secretarial stint would be taking place within the comfortable confines of the house because there was no way he would ever have approved a member of his own office staff turning up for work in the sort of shapeless mess that she was now wearing. In fact, that she always wore.

‘Thank you. I…I wasn’t sure that the job could be done in the time limits…but…’

‘Didn’t I tell you that it pays to be forceful?’ Bruno nodded with satisfaction.

‘You did,’ Katy agreed, thinking of her considerably less than forceful approach to Mr Hawkins, the owner of the building company. ‘Would you like some coffee? Tea?’ It was after six. Maybe he would want something stronger. ‘Or something else?’ she said helpfully. ‘I think there’s some alcohol stashed away on one of the shelves in the larder, and there’s some wine in the fridge. I think.’

‘A cup of coffee would be fine.’

‘Maggie’s made a pie,’ Katy volunteered, while she busied herself with the coffee. ‘Chicken. I could heat it up for you if you like. And there’s vegetables as well. She did offer to stay and dish out the supper but I told her that it was all right for her to leave. Is that okay?’ She glanced at the man, now sitting in one of the chairs, which he had turned at an angle so that he could follow her movements as she spoke to him.

‘I don’t normally eat at six-thirty,’ Bruno informed her with heavy sarcasm. ‘In fact, I’m usually still at work at this time.’

‘Oh. Right. Of course you are.’ Katy laughed nervously. ‘Joseph and I usually eat early. And before that, I used to have my supper with the children.’ She slid his mug over to him and retreated to a chair at the other side of the table. ‘My body clock doesn’t run on a very sophisticated timetable, I suppose.’

Bruno felt torn between getting down to the business at hand, namely Joseph and what sort of routine she thought he might have when he returned from hospital, and taking her up on her throwaway remark about her eating schedules. With her fresh face and unruly hair and gauche mannerisms, she certainly looked more like a teenager than an adult, but, heck, the girl was nearly twenty-four! How many women of twenty-four would be content to be cooped up in a house caretaking an elderly gentleman, however charming the elderly gentleman was?

‘And it’s never bothered you,’ he was slightly irritated to hear himself saying.

‘What?’ Katy raised her head from where she had been observing the swirling surface of her coffee and looked at him, startled.

‘This.’ Bruno waved one hand vaguely to encompass the house. ‘Being here with Joseph. Having dinner at six-thirty. The quiet life.’ He elegantly sipped from his cup as he lounged back in the chair, his long legs extended in front of him.

Katy blushed, hearing implicit criticism in his voice and not quite knowing what to do with it.

‘Why should it?’ she eventually said. She met his penetrating black eyes and shivered slightly. ‘I’m not much of a party person, although,’ she added hastily, ‘I do go out, naturally. On my day off, I meet a couple of friends I’ve made in the town. Teachers. I met them at a talk in the library a few months ago.’

Bruno’s ears pricked up and he idly speculated on the possibility of the little sparrow looking at him having a raunchy double life. ‘Men friends?’

Katy’s face went a deeper shade of red. ‘I don’t really think that’s any of your business,’ she mumbled, mortifyingly aware that his taut, dark features had now relaxed into an expression of amusement.

‘You’re right. It’s not,’ he said, without the slightest trace of apology in his voice. ‘I went to visit Joseph before I came here.’ He changed the subject even though he continued watching her, reluctantly fascinated by the utter transparency of her face. That she had led a sheltered life would have been obvious to any fool at a glance. The whole world of feminine wiles appeared to have passed her by completely. He thought of Isobel with her cool, sophisticated, glamorous beauty and wondered what the two women would have made of one another.

‘He’s doing well, isn’t he?’ Katy said eagerly, her face animated as she thought back to her own visit earlier that afternoon. ‘The doctors and nurses are thrilled with his progress.’

‘He seems marginally less thrilled with the food,’ Bruno drawled.

‘He’s a devil.’ Katy laughed, a sweet, soft laugh that reached every bit of her face. ‘I hope he wasn’t trying to launch an attack on your susceptibilities because he knows very well that rich food is a no-no. I’ve already made that perfectly clear.’

Bruno chuckled and shot her a wicked grin. ‘I think that’s precisely what he was trying to do. Bland, healthy food and a swimming pool. I can see Joseph embracing this new-found life philosophy with all the gusto at his disposal.’ Their eyes met in a moment of mutual amusement and then Katy blinked and looked away in sudden, inexplicable confusion.

He really was, she thought shakily, a stunningly beautiful man with just that edge of danger that would send a thrill through any normal woman’s veins. She endeavoured to think of him as vividly tempting fruit that concealed some deadly poison. It wasn’t really that difficult. Not then, as the moment of shared amusement was lost, and not the following day when, at eight-thirty promptly, she made her way down to Joseph’s office to find him already installed, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, in front of his laptop computer.

He spared her a fleeting glance and, when she continued to hover by the door, impatiently told her to come inside and to shut the door behind her.

He was the archetypal employer of her worst imaginings. Having given her ten minutes to settle down in front of Joseph’s computer and be brought up to date with what would be expected, he then proceeded to launch into a high-powered delivery of instructions.

Report number one was a lengthy and complex letter involving a multimillion-pound deal, which involved words that Katy had never heard before in her entire life, never mind typed.

When she finally exhaled a sigh of pure despair, Bruno shot around to where she was sitting hunched in front of the computer and proceeded to lean over her, stretching across so that he could guide the arrow down the letter, which was depressingly awash with mistakes.

‘I thought you said you could type,’ he said heavily, moving to sit on the edge of the desk and frown down at her.

‘I warned you that this was a bad idea,’ Katy muttered, her face burning. ‘I’m really trying but you just dictate too fast. How am I supposed to keep up with you?’

‘This is full of spelling mistakes.’

‘I know!’ Katy acknowledged miserably, all her dislike rising back up to the surface and making her squirm. ‘I’ve never heard of half these words! It’s all legal speak! Your secretary is probably a whiz when it comes to typing this jargon because she’s accustomed to it, but I’m not! Joseph doesn’t dictate business documents, he dictates normal stuff.’ She could hear a distinct wobble in her voice and had an uncharacteristic urge to fling his laptop at his head.

‘You’ll have to correct it. And if it’s any help you can use one of those legal dictionaries on the shelf.’ He pushed himself off the desk, giving her time to gather her senses and fetch the dictionary from the shelf, knowing that she was under frowning scrutiny.

But at least for the next half an hour he wasn’t breathing down her neck like a tyrant faced with an unsatisfactory serf. He relaxed back in the leather chair, which nicely accommodated Joseph and which he seemed to dwarf with his immensely powerful body, and began a series of phone calls, which Katy half listened to as she began correcting the hateful document.

If she had been a temp, she had no doubt that by the end of the day she would have had to endure a ‘Your Services are No Longer Required’ speech from him.

By the time she had finished the wretched thing, she realised that he was still on the phone and was unreasonably surprised to realise that this phone call was not the same as the others. He had swivelled the chair away from her and was speaking in a low, husky voice. A low, husky and very intimate voice.

She stared hard at the back of his head and was still staring when he swung the chair around to replace the receiver.

‘Finished?’ he asked silkily and Katy nodded and looked away.

‘If you’d like some privacy to make personal calls, I really don’t mind leaving…’ she burst out and then blushed at the unwitting gaffe.

‘What makes you think that I was making a personal call?’ Bruno asked. He tilted his head back and surveyed her broodingly.

‘It’s none of my business,’ Katy mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away.

Bruno didn’t say anything. He just appeared to give her answer some consideration, then he shrugged as though coming to a decision.

‘It might be.’ He stood up and strolled over to the window where he proceeded to perch against the window ledge, all the better to observe her. ‘And you were right. I was making a personal call. Nothing for which I need particular privacy, I assure you.’

‘Oh. Right.’ That in itself was confusing. If she had been making a personal call, to a man, and she assumed his had been to a woman, then she would have wanted as much privacy as she could get. Who liked their little words of endearment being overheard by all and sundry? But then Bruno was not a normal man. Maybe he just didn’t do words of endearment.

‘Does Joseph ever talk about my—how shall I phrase this?—my private life?’

‘Not really, no,’ Katy said evasively. The sunlight streamed from behind him so that he was starkly silhouetted. He had shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and his feet were crossed at the ankles so that his body looked whipcord lean and his shoulders broad and muscular.

‘What does “not really” mean? Does it mean yes or no?’

‘He’s mentioned once or twice that you…that you’re very popular with the ladies.’

The phrasing of that seemed to afford him a great deal of mirth and he raised his eyebrows expressively at her. ‘By which I take it he thinks I sleep around?’

‘That’s not what he says!’

‘No, but it’s what he thinks. And it’s also something of which he disapproves. No good denying it. But…’ Bruno strung the word out until Katy was almost prompted to ask him to hurry up and finish his sentence ‘…he might be in for a rather pleasant surprise when he comes back. I’ve never brought any of the women I’ve gone out with back to this house before to meet Joseph.’

‘I know,’ Katy said involuntarily and then checked herself.

‘Even though I know that what Joseph has wanted for a long time now is for me to get serious enough about a woman to invite her back here.’ Bruno thought of the countless times his godfather had asked gently probing questions about his love life, tiptoeing around flatly stating that he wanted his godson to settle down, but giving off all the right vibes for the message to be conveyed nevertheless.

‘And I think,’ Bruno mused thoughtfully, ‘that perhaps the time has arrived when I can bring a woman here to meet him.’

‘Any in particular?’ Katy couldn’t help asking with a trace of irony because there was something so deeply unromantic about the way he had arrived at voicing his intentions. If he was in love with a woman, wanted her to meet his godfather, shouldn’t he be yelling it out from the rooftops instead of deliberating on it as if it was just something else in his life that made sense at a particular point in time?

Bruno looked at her sharply, without amusement, and Katy tried to feel duly chastened.

‘I’ve been seeing someone for a few months now and it seems to me that the time may well have come for me to settle down.’

‘Because Joseph has had a heart attack and you want to make him happy now that he’s recovering?’

‘Because I’m not getting any younger and time waits for no man.’ For someone who prided himself on his verbal dexterity, it was a little annoying to hear the clichés coming from his mouth. ‘Anyway, Isobel will make the perfect wife.’ He frowned and looked consideringly at Katy. ‘He’ll be thrilled.’

‘I’m sure he will,’ Katy agreed. She surprised herself by the depth of her curiosity. ‘What is she like?’

‘Tall. Blonde. An ex-model as a matter of fact. Her father owns one of the largest computer businesses in the country and he’s expanding fast. Why are you wearing that expression?’ Bruno asked irritably.

‘She sounds…an ideal match,’ Katy pronounced, for want of anything better to say. ‘When will you invite her to meet Joseph?’

‘As soon as he gets out of hospital. Of course, I won’t mention my intentions straight away. I’ll give him time to get to know her first. Too many surprises might have him hurtling back to the hospital for sanctuary. So, now that that’s settled, shall we proceed?’

Just like that. One minute talking about something that should be the biggest event in his life and the next minute, in precisely the same detached voice, moving back onto work, as though the two were interchangeable.

And for some reason Katy found it even harder to concentrate for the rest of the day. She found her mind coming back time and again to the tall blonde model who seemed to have sprung up from nowhere and was about to step into the role of Bruno’s wife and Joseph’s daughter-in-law. Would she be quiet? Outgoing? Confident, Katy decided. Because Bruno would never be interested in a ditherer. Confident and chic and well groomed. Joseph would be pleased.

It was tempting to let something slip during the hospital visits that followed, but thankfully there was sufficient fertile ground for conversation without mentioning Bruno’s private life at all.

At one point, she would have liked to have confided about her repeated disasters on the computer and her constant defeats when confronted with Bruno’s rapid-fire delivery of letters, but after one week, to her amazement, she discovered that she was settling into his mode of command, for want of a better word.

She no longer jumped a mile whenever he came across to inspect what she had written and she was rapidly learning to diagnose his mood swings. Even his terseness contained various levels, barely noticeable to the untrained eye but glaringly obvious to the poor unfortunate who happened to be in his company for hours on end.

Except, a little voice whispered in her head as she prepared to take her leave from the hospital precisely eight days after she had started working for Bruno, she no longer considered herself an unfortunate, did she?

In fact, she was guiltily aware that the dinners they shared together had become something of a high point in her life. Then, Bruno would discuss deals with her, bouncing ideas off her as though she was a real person and not someone he had been compelled to use as secretarial help for want of anyone better to hand. When he asked her questions about her family, she no longer wanted to shrink inside herself because of her cursed self-consciousness.

Only the other day he had given her an odd look after she had finished a rambling monologue on some of her more depressing moments of teenage life and had said with a certain bemusement in his voice, ‘You don’t hold back on confiding once you start, do you?’ which she had very nearly translated as a compliment until she’d realised that his face was expressing something close to curiosity in the face of something he thought might have stepped off another planet.

But at least she no longer cowered. And she actually looked him in the face when he spoke to her now instead of glancing away. He had cured her of that once and for all four days ago when he had very lightly placed one finger under her chin, tilting her head up until their eyes met, and told her that she had to lose the annoying habit of directing her conversation at inanimate bits of furniture.

And the pool was coming along in leaps and bounds, something from which she derived a lot of pleasure considering the renovations had been left totally under her jurisdiction, the results only being commented on at the end of the day when Bruno came out to have a look.

Katy found that she was humming along to something on the radio when she pulled up in front of the house to find a low-slung sports car parked at an angle in the courtyard. Against the ageing red brick of the house, it was a red, anachronistic beacon and Katy pulled the Range Rover to a stop with a hundred questions popping in her head.

They were all answered the minute she opened the front door and heard two voices coming at her from the sitting room. One she recognised and the other she had no trouble in pinpointing because it belonged to a woman and the car in the drive had smacked of glamour and money. Isobel, the mystery woman and soon-to-be wife of Bruno. Two and two, in Katy’s opinion, invariably added up to four. What didn’t add up was the sickening jolt she felt in the pit of her stomach as she slowly made her way towards the voices.

The door to the sitting room was flung open and she had a few seconds in which to observe the scene. Bruno was lounging against the window, a glass in one hand and smiling down at the woman who was sitting on the sofa with her back to Katy. Even from a distance of several metres apart, their bodies seemed to be leaning in to one another and Bruno was the first to pull back the minute he became aware of the figure hesitantly observing them from the door.

‘You’re back. Been to the hospital?’

Katy took a few steps into the room. ‘Joseph wanted me to take him some library books. He’s been complaining of boredom.’

‘Katy, this is Isobel.’

‘I…I noticed your sports car parked outside…’ Katy smiled hesitantly and walked forward so that she now had a much better look at the leggy blonde on the sofa. Her pale, silky mini had ridden up her thighs, exposing what looked like impossibly long legs even in a reclining position. Her hair was an interesting blend of various shades of blonde and swung in an impressive chin-length bob around her face.

‘My little run-around.’ Her voice was cool and bored. ‘Fab for parking in London and really quite nippy for covering long distances. So you’re the secretary Bruno has working for him.’ Blue eyes did a rapid inventory and were obviously satisfied at what they saw. ‘He’s told me all about you.’

‘Oh, has he?’ Katy thought of her fraught stabs at efficiency, which were frequently ambushed by her sheer lack of experience, and decided that whatever Bruno had had to say on the subject of his secretary, not much of it would have been flattering.

‘Oh, apparently his godfather absolutely adores you, darling. Now why don’t you come and sit next to me and we can have a nice girlie chat? Bruno, darling, why don’t you fetch Kate—?’

‘Katy.’

‘Of course. Why don’t you fetch Katy something to drink? We’ve brought some booze up with us. Bruno said that the drinks cabinet was rather depleted. I don’t know how you cope without a glass or two of wine in the evenings! Clever little thing.’

Katy tentatively sat on the sofa next to the blonde. She felt as though she had suddenly been hurled into some kind of bizarre movie in which she was forced to communicate with an alien being who had mastered a form of English with which she was not familiar, and the sensation persisted for the remainder of what proved to be a very uncomfortable evening.

At least for her. Isobel was very relaxed and jarringly possessive with Bruno. Lots of casual touching on the arm, on the thigh, lots of little secret glances at him and lots of anecdotes that were intended to reveal what a beautifully suited couple they were. Bruno, uncharacteristically taciturn, seemed to view the proceedings with a mixture of assessment and amusement, which Katy found unnerving.

Maggie had cooked a splendid meal for the three of them and while Katy scurried around, setting the formal dining table because the kitchen table seemed a little too cordial for someone with such a perfect cut-glass accent, her mind did unsettling somersaults. She wondered what the two of them were doing in the sitting room. Then she laughed at herself for even bothering to think about that. Then she analysed what they had spoken about and arrived at the dismal conclusion that, next to Isobel, she had appeared even more gauche and unsophisticated than she usually was. A little brown moth alongside a sparkling butterfly. Her comfy garb seemed screamingly spinsterish in comparison with Isobel’s rampantly provocative dress.

By the end of the evening, she gloomily began to understand why Bruno had showed such surprise at her chosen lifestyle. Compared to Isobel, he must have thought of her as something that had stepped out from under a stone.

The only thing that surprised her was that he insisted on Isobel driving back to London. A little blessing as far as Katy was concerned because she couldn’t imagine drifting down in the morning and having to endure further feelings of inadequacy by the towering beauty.

Work, he explained, and then softened what was obviously a blow to her by reminding her what a distraction she could be.

Katy wondered, for the first time in her life, what it would feel like to be described by a man as a distraction. There was something so frivolous and sexy about the noun, especially when Bruno said it, with that brooding glint in his eyes.

She was dashing the last of the cutlery into the dishwasher when he strode into the kitchen and she looked up, dishevelled, to find him staring down at her.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ He frowned. ‘Maggie would have cleared things up in the morning.’ He walked into the kitchen, sat down and relaxed into the chair.

‘Oh, it’s no problem,’ Katy said, switching on the machine and standing up. ‘It’s silly to leave all that stuff dirty overnight. Just makes it more difficult to clean in the morning.’ And it would never have occurred to her that Isobel might lift a finger to help because fingers that well manicured did not do dishes.

She could feel her face reddening as she imagined what he must be seeing when he looked at her now.

‘You’re not paid to wash up,’ he said irritably. ‘You’re not a housekeeper.’

‘If the job’s there to be done, then I’ll do it.’ Considering he had just finished spending an evening with the woman he wanted to marry, he seemed to be in a very bad mood. ‘Do you still…need me around? I’m quite tired…’

‘It’s not yet nine! How on earth can you possibly be tired? Isn’t that taking the quiet life a bit too far?’

‘There’s no need to lose your temper with me,’ Katy told him as a little stream of anger began to swell and grow bigger inside her. ‘If you’re upset because Isobel went back to London, then that’s not my fault! She could have stayed here overnight. It’s not as though Joseph is around to be offended. In fact, I’m sure that Joseph wouldn’t have been offended anyway.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not upset because Isobel is on her way back to London. Why on earth should I be? In case you’d forgotten, I was the one who suggested she leave! Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. No point having her up here, getting bored and expecting to be entertained.’

Katy’s appalled reaction to this must have shown on her face because Bruno gave her a dark frown and his mouth tightened.

‘You appear to be struggling with something. What is it? Get if off your chest instead of just standing there and gaping.’

‘Well…that’s not a very nice thing to say, is it? About the woman you love and intend to marry?’ Katy wondered whether her lack of experience had made her impossibly romantic and out of step with what was going on in the real world. ‘I mean, shouldn’t you want to spend time with your fiancée? I’m sure you could afford to take a day off…’

‘She’s not my fiancée.’

‘But I thought you said…’

‘I said that it was maybe time I settled down and got married. I’m thirty-four years old and playing the field becomes sad after a certain age. Isobel would make an ideal wife for me, which isn’t to say that I’ve spoken to her about it.’

‘Oh.’

Right at this moment, the expressiveness of her face was getting on his nerves because he could read exactly what she was thinking and he didn’t like it. What was so wrong about being objective about the institution of marriage? He had endured his mother’s headlong rush into wedlock with his two stepfathers, both of which had ended in tears. It made perfect sense to him that a lifelong union should be controlled, should be grounded in reality, should make sense on paper at least, and Isobel made sense on paper, that was for sure. She fulfilled all the necessary criteria and he had opened his mouth to coolly explain the logic when Katy said with an irksome trace of pity in her voice, ‘But what about love? Romance? Magic?’

‘We’re not talking about someone I haven’t seen, for God’s sake! I won’t be lifting the veil to discover that I’ve tied the knot with Medusa! Perhaps you’re adopting this viewpoint because you didn’t like her…’

Katy was uncomfortably aware that his remark had caught her by surprise and she flushed. ‘That’s not true!’ The silence that greeted this stretched on until she stammered, ‘She seemed very…very…’

‘Yes? I can’t wait to hear what comes next…’

‘Very elegant,’ Katy stressed positively. ‘Very sophisticated. And, of course, she’s very beautiful and very, very polished.’ Katy realised that she had managed to make her sound like a piece of expensive display china.

‘Elegant, sophisticated, beautiful, polished.’ Bruno enumerated the virtues on his fingers. ‘Yet somehow not quite the right qualities for a wife?’

‘I never said that and, anyway, what I think doesn’t count.’

Bruno stood up and glanced at his watch. The conversation was over because her opinion didn’t count. She could read that clearly in the dismissive expression on his face.

‘I have an important conference call at nine tomorrow. I’ll want you to transcribe a lot of letters for me and you’ll have to speed up a bit if we’re to clear the lot by five. In fact, we might have to return to work after we’ve been to see Joseph. You hadn’t anything planned, had you?’

‘No.’ Katy wished she had. Isobel might be a mannequin but she would bet her life that the blonde didn’t sit at home reading books and watching television six nights out of seven. This quiet life was beginning to spring a lot of leaks. She couldn’t wait for Joseph to be back home and for Bruno to be gone and for life to get back to what it had been.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘NOT bad.’ Bruno pushed himself away from the desk and shot her a look that Katy could only interpret as one of mild surprise. ‘Not a single spelling error. Didn’t I tell you that you could do it?’

‘It’s nearly quarter to eight.’ Katy tried not to yawn. Or move, for that matter. Her body felt as though it had been welded to the chair. Any sudden movement might result in severe physical pain. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to correct my spelling mistakes.’

‘That’s the wrong attitude. You’re improving. And don’t run yourself down—you’re a quick learner!’

Katy bit back the retort rising to her lips. They had worked until after seven-thirty for the past four days, breaking only to go and visit Joseph. Her relaxed days when she and Joseph would take their walks and amble through his memoirs now seemed like a distant memory. This cosy den, once a blissful retreat with its shelves of books and comfortable chairs, was now a high-tech office where any loitering on a comfy chair was out of the question and even breaking off to go to the bathroom was seen as an unwelcome intrusion into Bruno’s ferociously high-powered routine.

‘Are we finished for the evening?’ She looked wistfully beyond Bruno through the window, which offered a tantalising glimpse of late spring sunshine pouring down on green trees and casting shadows across the lawns.

Bruno greeted this remark with a slight frown. ‘You’re not tired, are you?’ he demanded, looking at her narrowly so that the possibility of actually complaining went into immediate retreat. ‘As I explained to you, this is a particularly important deal here and we’re a little behind because of my going to London yesterday morning. Maybe next time I travel down to London, you should come with me,’ he mused to himself. ‘Sit in on the meeting and take notes first hand so that I don’t have to transcribe them for you myself afterwards.’

‘No! No, no, no.’ Katy looked at him with alarm. ‘I’m not your secretary…’

‘You’re in here working with me, you’re downloading information, taking dictation, fielding calls and typing up my documents…excuse me if I got a little carried away thinking that those did in fact constitute secretarial duties…’

‘Acting secretary,’ Katy stressed, testing one foot, which seemed to be okay, no serious cramping, and then the other, ‘temporarily helping you out. Because of extraordinary circumstances. I couldn’t possibly go to London with you and sit in on any meetings and I’m not going to!’

Bruno was highly amused to see that her normally shy countenance had tightened into determined stubbornness. Amused, but not as surprised as he might have been a fortnight ago, because working with her had shown him one thing very clearly. The painfully cowering girl who had always managed to irritate the hell out of him in the past was not quite as painfully cowering as he had expected. In fact, lurking beneath that transparent face was a streak of mulish stubbornness that was impossible to dislodge once in place. Like now. He held his hands up in mock surrender and shot her a crooked smile.

‘Whoa! It was just a thought…’

‘A rotten thought.’ Her head filled with the nightmarish vision of sitting in on meetings with Bruno. High-powered meetings between high-powered people while she frantically tried to amass her improved but still below-par skills in an effort to take notes. She shuddered in horror at the thought. Bruno might have been accommodating to some extent in the little vacuum of Joseph’s office where he was stuck with her, but she doubted he would show the slightest sympathy when in his own territory. She might have learned to cope with his presence without becoming a nervous wreck in the process but she wasn’t stupid. He was still a fairly terrifying individual. She had listened in on sufficient telephone conversations to know that. When he spoke in that clipped, icily dismissive manner to someone at the other end of the line, it was all she could do not to offer up an immediate prayer of thanks that she wasn’t the person being addressed.

‘That’s what you said two weeks ago at the prospect of working with me. It’s also what you thought when I gave you the go-ahead to sort out the swimming pool area.’ His dark eyes rested thoughtfully on her but there was a slight smile on his lips, the smile of someone who had proven a point. ‘Anyway—’ Bruno stood up, raked his fingers through his hair and moved towards the bay window where he perched on the sill and looked at her ‘—enough of this. It’s late. I think we can call it a day for the time being.’

‘I can finish those last few letters, if you like,’ Katy said, guiltily aware that he could carry on for hours and was now being forced to halt in mid-stream because she was tired and hungry and her eyes were aching from staring at a computer screen.

‘No. I’m nothing if not a fair employer!’

Katy shot him a sceptical look that prompted one of exaggerated mock hurt right back from him.

‘Think about it, we did break off for a couple of hours to go and visit Joseph, so you really haven’t worked overtime at all. And besides, haven’t I spared you the boredom of wandering around this house with nothing to do?’

‘I do have stuff to do, actually.’

‘What?’

The stubborn expression was back on her face and her eyes slid downwards. She gave a little shrug. This, Bruno had discovered, was one of her more annoying habits. Whenever he asked her a question, usually of a personal nature, to which she did not want to reply, she gave one of those little shrugs and then looked away with a distant expression on her face that encouraged a niggle of curiosity that really got on his nerves.

Now, he ignored that and announced, ‘Are you hungry? You must be. Your stomach’s been making “Feed Me” noises for the past half an hour.’

Katy raised her eyes to his in mortification and automatically pressed her hand to her growling stomach. ‘That…that’s a very ungentlemanly thing of you to say!’

‘It’s the truth. Run along and get dressed. I’m going to take you out to dinner.’

’I beg your pardon?’

‘You heard me. Dinner. Out. Me. You. Now hurry up. You probably want to have a bath and get into your finery.’

‘We can’t go out! Maggie’s cooked something.’

‘It’ll keep. Joseph’s back day after tomorrow and we need to have a little chat about what happens when he returns.’

‘A little chat?’ Katy had half risen from her chair and her eyes were as wide as saucers as she looked at the darkly handsome man staring back at her with thinly veiled impatience.

Yes, she had got used to working with him. In a manner of speaking. Yes, she had become accustomed to their daily drive into the town centre to visit Joseph. She could just about manage both without her nervous system going into knots. In the office, here, she kept her head down, obeyed instructions and discussed work-related matters, as she did over the dinners they occasionally shared in the kitchen. And on the drive to the hospital, they always talked about Joseph because their minds were already geared at the thought of seeing him. But dinner out? In a restaurant? She dredged her mind to think of a possible way out.

‘That’s right. Now, I’m going to finish off here and I’ll see you back downstairs at…let’s say…eight-fifteen? Long enough for you to get ready?’ He strolled over to the desk and began leafing through some of the documents on his desk while Katy backed towards the door, finally clearing her throat to commandeer his attention.

‘Yes?’ Black eyes focused reluctantly on her face. ‘Something else?’

‘No. Oh, no. I just thought that it would be just as handy for us to eat here and discuss…well, whatever it is you want to discuss…’

Bruno frowned and gave her his full attention. ‘Are you telling me that you don’t want to accept my dinner invitation?’ he asked flatly.

‘Of course not! I just don’t want you to feel…to feel that…you have to…’

‘Why would I feel that?’

‘Sort of a duty gesture, so to speak, because I’ve worked for you here…?’

‘You’re beginning to try my patience, Katy. I hadn’t really thought about it along those lines, but, as gestures go, what’s wrong with this one? The arrangement has worked much better than I anticipated and, believe it or not, it is in my nature to reward good work.’

‘Right! That’s just…fine. Just wanted to make sure.’ She flashed him a brilliant smile. ‘Eight-fifteen?’

‘If you press any harder against that door, you might just go through it.’

The gleam of his amused smile followed her while she had her bath and got dressed. She looked helplessly at her reflection in the mirror, towel wrapped tightly around her body, and then even more helplessly at the array of clothes hanging in her wardrobe. Whenever she thought of that little patronising smile in the face of her gaucheness, she had a pressing urge to startle him out of it by doing something wildly out of character. She might very well have dressed in something daring, if she possessed any such item, but a quick scan of the clothes hanging in her closet was enough to tell her that that particular shock tactic was not going to be possible.

And anyway, she reflected, once she was safely established in her flowing, calf-length dress and neat blue cardigan, which would be all she would need because it was still very mild outside despite the hour, skimpy, eye-catching clothes might seem great in her head, but in reality she would never be able to carry off the look.

The few times she had dressed in little numbers she had felt horribly uncomfortable, and her last boyfriend had kindly advised her to stay away from the vampish clothes. She had an angelic face, he had told her, and there was no point spoiling the look by trying to dress like someone from a red-light district. Katy had been pleased with the angelic look bit, though she personally couldn’t see that, but vaguely annoyed at the implication that sexy was never going to be within her reach. Since when were angels interesting? The image of Isobel rose up in her head and she nearly stumbled as she made her way down the stairs.

Of course, Bruno was nowhere in evidence, and she finally unearthed him in the swimming-pool room where he was making a last-minute inspection. He barely glanced at her when she coughed to let him know that she was ready, and when he did turn to face her, inspection completed, there were no flattering phrases at the ready, not even those of the false variety.

But he had changed and for a split second Katy almost felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. He was wearing black. Black jeans, black long-sleeved jumper that hung over the waistband of his trousers, black jacket casually slung over one shoulder. He looked like a dangerously well-bred highwayman and as he walked towards her she could almost feel her heart begin to crash against her ribcage.

What was wrong with her? Appalled at her own frightening regression into adolescence, she leapt into nervous chatter and the swimming pool was the easiest topic at hand. It took her through the next twenty minutes while she got herself together, although, in the car, she didn’t dare let her eyes slip to the man driving.

‘So what would you like to eat?’ he asked, when that particular topic had been exhausted.

‘Anything. I’m not fussy.’

‘Makes a change to find a woman who is not fussy when it comes to food.’ Bruno smiled and continued concentrating on the road. ‘I have had a look at Joseph’s Where to Eat guide and there is a good Italian a few blocks down from the hospital. That do?’

‘Yummy. I love Italian food.’

‘Of course, you may have been there already,’ Bruno said casually and Katy glanced at him.

‘What makes you think that?’ She couldn’t actually remember having any conversations with him along the lines of restaurants she had been to.

‘Well, you mentioned that you went out for meals occasionally and there aren’t exactly a riot of eating places in the town…’

‘Oh, I’ve just really been to the pizza places. It’s the quickest thing to grab if we go to the cinema. Goodness, is that the restaurant? I never even knew there was such a place around here.’ They had pulled up in front of an ivy-clad house fronted by a very small courtyard, which was already almost full. Aside from the discreet sign outside announcing its purpose, it looked for all the world like someone’s very tasteful private residence. Katy immediately felt self-conscious about what she was wearing and glanced down worriedly at the floral dress.

‘The dress code is casual,’ he said gently and Katy flushed. ‘I’m not exactly dressed to kill, am I?’

‘I know, but you still manage to look magnificent,’ she blurted out and then wished desperately, in the growing silence, that the bottom of the car would open and swallow her up. ‘I mean striking,’ she amended hastily, finishing, ever more lamely, with, ‘It’s your colouring. I guess you could wear anything and look…well…’

‘Magnificent?’ He gave a low laugh that sent her blood rushing wildly through her and their eyes met, tangled and then he was opening his door and stepping out, leaving her to wallow in the embarrassment of having said precisely what she was thinking without bothering to consider the after-effects. Which appeared to be him laughing at her. Highly amused. Yet again. She miserably contemplated the status of mascot as opposed to seductress, which really was the crushing difference between her and his fiancée to be, wasn’t it?

The restaurant was small and intimate and full. They were invited to wait for a table in the small snug off the dining area where coffee was taken and, once seated, Katy was subjected to one of those contemplative stares that Bruno seemed to specialise in.

‘What?’ she asked, going red. ‘What is it? Why are you staring at me like that? It’s rude.’

‘Rude for a man to stare at a woman? Interesting take on things. Why is it rude?’

‘Because…’ Katy floundered.

‘Surely you must have been stared at before? By your boyfriends? Caught up in the throes of lust?’

She sought refuge in the menu in front of her and breathed a sigh of relief when the unnerving line of conversation was dropped and he began chatting about the renovations to the pool. Not that there was much left to chat about on the subject, but she was grateful for the reprieve.

Actually, the pool was finished, all bar one or two superficial touches. Bruno had been absolutely right on that. He had given her a free hand to fling money at the project, with speed being the urgent criterion, and the workforce had risen admirably to the task. When they left the house, it was to a changed complex. Roughened, non-slip black and white tiles surrounding the actual pool had been installed in record time and the pool, which had by no means been as decrepit as first imagined, had been spruced up to the highest standard and now gleamed invitingly turquoise, ready for Joseph’s first light exercise foray. She had managed to find three comfortable wicker chairs, which she had put around a low, circular table, and in the morning she might ask for time off to buy a few plants, which would thrill Joseph, maybe even convince him to linger awhile.

‘I think we should reveal it to him as a wonderful surprise, no hints whatsoever that we think he might not exactly warm to the concept of actually using the damn thing as much as we want him to. And, of course, you’ll have to go in with him. He cannot possibly be expected to swim lengths alone. You have a swimsuit, don’t you?’

‘Of course I haven’t got a swimsuit, Bruno! At least, not here. Why should I?’

‘Then you’ll have to go out and buy one, the sooner the better.’

Katy lapsed into silence and contemplated the prospect of frolicking in a pool. She had never been a keen swimmer, something she put down to having to parade as a self-conscious fourteen-year-old in swimsuits that had always seemed to make her look even skinnier than usual. She could remember one term of obligatory swimming lessons when her lack of curves had made her cringe with embarrassment at joining in a mixed class, where the boys would ogle the girls and the girls would coyly parade their figures. At least Joseph wouldn’t notice her lack of shapeliness.

She surfaced from her reverie to realise that Bruno had moved on and was now talking about something else entirely. Isobel.

‘Sorry?’ she said, cutting him off in mid-sentence. ‘Could you repeat all that? I wasn’t listening.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘I was daydreaming, actually,’ she confided sheepishly. ‘I’ve always had a bit of a problem with that. It used to drive the teachers crazy. They’d be talking about something, some Maths equation, and I would really start off paying attention but then I’d find my mind wandering and…’

Bruno held up one hand and gave her a long-suffering look. ‘No need to go into all the details. You weren’t listening. Enough said. And when, if you don’t mind me asking, did your concentration begin to lapse? Funny, I’ve never had that effect on women before.’

‘What effect?’

‘Sending them asleep.’

‘I wasn’t asleep!’ Katy protested. ‘I told you, I was—’

‘Okay, okay. I get the general picture. Well, to recap…’ He put a lot of heavy emphasis on the word, leaving her in little doubt that repeating himself to a woman who hadn’t been paying attention to him was not something he relished, ‘I was talking about Isobel. Joseph is back on Saturday and I think it might be an idea if he gets to meet her on the Sunday. I can ask her up for the day, give them an opportunity to get to know one another. Why,’ he sighed, ‘are you frowning?’

‘Was I? Oh, goodness! No. I mean, yes. Terrific idea.’ Katy tried to picture Joseph’s reaction to the statuesque, intimidating blonde and found that she couldn’t. She also, disturbingly, found that she didn’t much care for the thought of Isobel making another appearance, which was silly.

‘Oh, yes. I can see “Terrific Idea” stamped all over your face. Spit it out, Katy. What’s the problem here? You may not have liked Isobel, but I assure you that my godfather will be over the moon at the prospect of his godson finally settling down.’

‘I’m sure…it’s just that, well…Joseph is a bit of an old romantic at heart. Funny considering he never married.’

‘Probably because he never married.’

Katy wondered how anyone who was so sceptical on the concept of marriage could actually be contemplating it himself, then she recalled the scrupulous list of plus points he had ticked off for her benefit in favour of the ex-model heiress and realised that marriage, for him, was probably quite different from anyone else’s concept of it. Certainly very different from his godfather’s who, in his strolls down memory lane, had displayed a touching faith in the power of love.

‘The thing is…’ she felt the need to expound in an anxious voice, ‘you’ll have to behave a little differently with Isobel when she comes, or else Joseph might just think that you’re throwing yourself into something purely for his benefit. He’s pretty sharp, actually.’

‘I don’t get it. What are you saying? No, I can sense a very long-winded explanation in the making, so let’s leave it until we’ve ordered, shall we?’

Katy watched him as he consulted his menu with an expression that spoke volumes. Before, when he used to visit Joseph and she would engage in her evasion tactics, she had never noticed how darkly expressive his face could be. He had been a one-dimensional cut-out impressive solely for his looks, which had inspired a certain amount of awe, and his icy arrogance, which had filled her with quaking terror.

Now, having been in his company for a period of time, she could see that his arrogance contained a wealth of nuances. He could be unexpectedly thoughtful, patient in a driven sort of way and disconcertingly humorous. He still wasn’t a comfortable man to be around but…

She caught herself drifting off and snapped back to reality, ordering the heartiest thing on the menu and aware that he was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

‘I told you I eat a lot,’ Katy informed him testily, not having to look at him to know what he was thinking.

‘What mystifies me is where you put it. You have the slimmest arms I’ve ever seen on a woman.’ For a second, he caught himself wondering what the rest of her looked like without those shapeless clothes covering her up and almost laughed at his curiosity. ‘Now, you were telling me…? About why you think I need to behave differently around Isobel if Joseph isn’t to think that I’m spinning him fairy tales about wanting to marry her…?’

‘You don’t act like a man in love,’ Katy told him bluntly.

‘Oh, good grief, not this again!’

She drew in her breath and willed herself to carry on. ‘You act the same when you’re around her as…well…as though…’

‘What would you have me do?’ Bruno cut in sharply, leaning forward towards her so that she really had to steel herself not to automatically pull back. A few weeks ago she would have cringed at the power of his impact, which rushed over her in waves. Now, she continued to hold his gaze stubbornly. ‘Make love to her in the dining room?’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course not.’ Katy flushed, feeling her breathing quicken. ‘But Joseph will look at you, the way you are with her, and he’ll wonder why you’re marrying a woman you don’t seem to be madly in love with, then he’ll put two and two together and get, well, four…or five or whatever…’

‘What do you suggest?’ Bruno asked with lively interest.

Katy shrugged, but this time he wasn’t having it. He topped up her glass with more wine. ‘And a shrug won’t do by way of an answer. Tell me how you think a man who is madly in love with a woman ought to act.’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered vaguely.

‘Because you’ve never had a man madly in love with you?’

He wasn’t going to trap her in this particular line of conversation, from which she would emerge a definite loser. ‘You didn’t seem to hang on her every word when she came over…’

‘You mean like the way I’m hanging on your every word now?’

‘Very funny,’ Katy muttered. ‘You just weren’t all that…well, solicitous.’

‘But I’m not madly in love with her.’

‘Oh, Lord. You mustn’t tell Joseph that. It’ll break his heart.’ Her own heart gave a warm little flutter. So he was prepared to marry a woman he wasn’t in love with. What a cad! Nevertheless, it still gave her a peculiar, satisfied feeling to think that the striking Isobel hadn’t managed to capture his heart. Huh. Not that it mattered one way or the other.

‘And we wouldn’t want that, would we?’ Bruno said consideringly. ‘Maybe…’ He poured her some more wine, liking the way her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. She really had the most incredible eyes. ‘Maybe you should give me some lessons on how I ought to behave around Isobel. Show me where I went wrong…I mean, what should a man who is madly in love be doing right now, were he to be sitting opposite the object of his desire?’ Just for the hell of it, he thought, just to see how she’ll react…He reached out and covered her hand with his and then turned her hand over so that he could stroke her palm very softly with his thumb.

For a few seconds, Katy was so startled that she literally froze, then hard on the heels of the freeze came a rush of heat that was so intense it made her head swim and her pulses race and sent funny, pleasurable little sensations racing to her breasts and between her legs. Made her feel weak and squirmy and…

She snatched her hand away, horribly confused.

‘Wrong way?’ He felt a cold emptiness where her hand had lain in his. He sat back and gave her his most quizzical look. ‘Not expressive enough? Should I have caressed the cheek instead?’ Shall we try that manoeuvre? he wanted to ask her. Then he mentally slapped his wrist and wondered, fleetingly, what the hell had just gone on there. A bit of nothing that had felt like a lot of something, though he couldn’t for the life of him say what. Do him good to have Isobel around. Maybe he would invite her up for longer than just the one day. He obviously had a load of pent-up sexual energy that needed release.

‘Stop it!’ Katy’s voice was uncustomarily sharp. ‘It’s not a game, Bruno.’

‘No, it’s not,’ he said gruffly, a dark flush mounting his cheeks. ‘I apologise if I breached your impeachable moral codes just then, but there’s no need to hurl yourself into a state of panic at a bit of light-hearted, albeit misdirected, teasing.’

‘I’m not in a state of panic!’ she cried, then she lowered her voice, suddenly aware that they weren’t on their own even though she felt as if they were, as if the rest of the diners simply didn’t exist. ‘But—’ she didn’t want to say this but she was going to ‘—I’m a person. I have feelings, you know. You might think it’s a huge joke to pretend to treat me as some kind of practice ground for how you should behave with your fiancée, but I don’t think it’s funny at all.’

Bruno had never been spoken to like that in his life before. He couldn’t think of a single woman he had ever known who wouldn’t have joined in his bit of fun, enjoyed it even. A number would have liked him to have taken the pretence further, for heaven’s sake! But Katy’s face was a picture of embarrassment and he was well and truly poleaxed. He looked away but not for long. He felt as if he was in sudden thrall to the woman sitting opposite him, looking at him with a kind of glaring defiance.

‘Okay. You’re right. I…I’m sorry.’

It was such an obvious struggle for him to genuinely apologise for his behaviour that Katy relaxed and gave him a shy half-smile. Her body felt as if it was getting back to a state of normality too. Which was good because what she had felt when he had touched her, a meaningless touch for him, a bit of a joke, had left her shaken and scared. Scared because she had never felt such an intense sensation before. As if every nerve ending in her body had been electrified.

She was quietly relieved when their food appeared, giving them something mundane to focus on. They talked about Joseph as well, and, staying well away from any topic that could be seen as remotely controversial, Bruno talked a bit about himself, about his childhood and his boarding-school experiences, only confiding when they were drinking their coffee that she was the first woman he had bored with stories of his youth.

‘They weren’t boring at all,’ Katy said, surprised that he could even think that. In some confusion, she thought that nothing about him was boring. ‘How can you ever really know someone unless you know about their past? It’s our history that makes us the people we are now, don’t you think? Gosh, that’s a little deep, isn’t it?’ She laughed awkwardly and sipped some of her coffee, which was as good as the rest of the meal had been. She had finished every morsel of her food, to his amazement, and had laughed at the expression on his face when she had finally closed her knife and fork.

‘Now my past!’ She rested her elbows on the table and cradled the cream cup between her hands, looking at him over the rim, making little notes in her head about his beautiful face, its dark contours, the length of his lashes, the way his eyes could look lazy yet alert at the same time. ‘I guarantee you’d fall asleep into your coffee if I were to tell you about it.’

‘Happiness is never boring,’ Bruno told her. ‘You had a happy childhood, two loving parents. That’s why you are the way you are…’ He gave her a strange look and then glanced down into his coffee, only breaking off to signal for the bill.

‘Which is what…?’ Three glasses of wine, not even three because there was still some left in her glass, and she felt utterly relaxed. ‘No, don’t tell me. I don’t think I want to know.’

‘Why not?’ An amused smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

‘Because it’s bound to be critical. I know,’ she carried on without rancour, ‘that you don’t think you are, but you’re a very critical person. You can’t help yourself.’

‘And you are…’ he paused and looked at her from under his lashes ‘…frighteningly honest.’

‘Was that what you were going to tell me?’ Katy released a sigh of relief.

‘Honest and sincere and bewilderingly uncynical.’

‘What have I got to be cynical about?’ Katy asked, bemused by his interpretation of her personality. As though he had never met anyone who possessed those qualities before when, in fact, she would have said that they all added up to a very average and unremarkable person. But then, in his world, perhaps honesty was a rarity. He was an incredibly rich and powerful man and she knew that men like that were courted, fawned upon and surrounded mostly by people who would trip over themselves to agree with every word he said. And his adversaries probably moved around him like sharks, waiting for the moment when they could home in and make their kill.

‘You’re right. What have you got to be cynical about?’ he agreed, standing up and escorting her to the door, where they were profusely thanked by the manager of the restaurant and urged to come back soon.

‘Poor Bruno, I feel so sorry for you!’ Katy burst out impulsively and then swiftly regretted the impulse when she saw his features tighten. When would she ever learn not to shoot her mouth off with this man? She was all right for a while, then suddenly she would say something stupid. Like now. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, edging away a bit as they walked to where he had parked the car. ‘Idiotic thing to say.’

‘Why do you feel sorry for me?’ Out of the light, she could no longer see his expression. He sounded curious enough—politely curious, but who could tell with Bruno? Since he asked though…

‘I’d hate to be surrounded by hard-nosed cynics,’ she confided, pausing as he opened the car door for her and then slipping into the passenger seat. ‘How do you ever know whether someone really likes you or not?’ she carried on as he pulled out of the courtyard at a leisurely speed. ‘You must always have to watch what you say and think about what you do…’ At this juncture, she remembered Isobel, the woman he was not madly in love with but presumably deeply fond of with whom he could at least open up and be himself. Good to think about Isobel, a salutary reminder that this was not a date between a man and a woman getting to know one another. This was a ‘thank you for services rendered’ meal out.

‘So isn’t it brilliant that you have Isobel there? Someone you can be yourself with!’ she finished bracingly.

Bruno gave a grunt, which Katy interpreted as agreement even though she might have expected something a little more forthcoming on the subject, and then lapsed into such concentrated silence that eventually she felt compelled to carry on.

‘I feel I ought to apologise…’ she began.

‘Again? What for this time?’

Katy, thinking about her over-exaggerated reaction to his bit of teasing earlier on in the evening, was absently aware that his tone sounded a bit clipped, but she didn’t dwell on that. She was too busy dwelling on her gaucheness when he had touched her, jumping back as though she’d been burnt and then giving a speech about not being the sort of girl who played games like that. How unbearably puerile must he think her to be? Not to mention prudish and moralistic? Just the thought of Isobel had brought the unwelcome memory rushing back at her.

‘About the silly way I reacted when you were teasing me earlier on. Remember? When you held my hand and asked me to show you how a man who’s madly in love with a woman should behave? Well, I guess I overreacted a bit. A lot, actually. And it was presumptuous of me to tell you how you should behave anyway!’

‘So,’ Bruno murmured softly, sending her a glance, ‘are you telling me that you’re willing to give me some lessons after all?’ Naturally he knew the answer, but the thought of such a thing happening made his loins stir in immediate response, and before he could kill the thought his imagination broke free and was filling his head with all sorts of incredible images.

‘Of course I’m not!’ Joking again, Katy thought. But this time she wasn’t going to act morally outraged. Just laugh it off as he expected.

Shame, Bruno caught himself thinking. Then he thought of Isobel. He’d get in touch with her in the morning. Invite her up for the Sunday but tell her that she might as well bring an overnight bag. A warm, willing woman in his arms was just what he needed right now.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘IT’S…it’s splendid.’

Joseph had been collected from the hospital in high spirits. The nurses had all found him irresistible and he had been tickled pink to find himself surrounded as he was installed in his wheelchair with Bruno and Katy right behind him. He had presented Matron with a lavish floral arrangement and several boxes of handmade Belgium chocolates and in turn they had handed over a gigantic card signed by every member of staff who had helped look after him, including his consultant.

His buoyant spirits, however, seemed to have taken something of a dive as he dubiously regarded the swimming-pool complex.

‘Come and sit in one of the chairs,’ Katy said, gently tugging him over to the two-seater wicker chair with its plump, squashy cushions before he could turn tail and head back into the house. ‘Right now, my dear? Shouldn’t I be inside, resting?’

‘We thought we’d have lunch here,’ Bruno said conversationally. ‘Maggie’s made something light.’

‘How light? I suppose,’ Joseph said gloomily, allowing himself to be led towards the little cluster of chairs and eased into one, ‘you’ve been given a wretched diet sheet. A man of my advancing years shouldn’t be confined to bland, unsalted, non-spicy foods for the rest of his days. What’s the advantage of growing older if you find yourself having to eat macaroni and grilled fish for the rest of your life? Eh?’

‘Now isn’t that comfortable?’ Katy said brightly, sitting next to him and still managing to see Bruno as he lowered himself into the other chair, even though she wasn’t really looking in his direction.

‘Not bad,’ Joseph admitted. ‘All that water’s a little off-putting, though. I expect you’ll be wanting me to get into it at some point? I’m not a very strong swimmer, you know. Never have been. I could very easily drown.’

‘It’s heated,’ Katy elaborated, reluctantly eyeing Bruno, who had sprawled into the chair and had lazily extended his legs, letting his head rest back so that his eyes were half closed.

‘And Katy will be very disappointed if you refuse to sample the water,’ he drawled. ‘She’s been a little beaver trying to get this complex up and running before you got back. Haven’t you?’ His black eyes slid across to her.

‘Have you, my dear?’ Joseph’s voice brightened. ‘You shouldn’t have!’

‘I enjoyed it. And you will have a little dip, won’t you, Joseph? The consultant says some light exercise would be very good for you. I mean, I’m not suggesting that you dash to your room for your bathing costume this very instant, but maybe tomorrow…?’

‘Tomorrow? How on earth could I possibly go for a swim tomorrow when I’m going to be meeting my godson’s…’ he leant towards Katy and threw a sly look at Bruno who was now staring at them with a little frown ‘…well, not quite sure what to call her but it must be serious considering she’s the first woman he’s ever dared bring to the house…’

Bruno was wearing a trapped look on his face. They had both casually mentioned Isobel and her imminent arrival the next day on the way back from the hospital. Bruno had been unforthcoming virtually to the point of reticence, but that hadn’t stopped Joseph from launching into a detailed interrogation, which had taken up the better part of the drive back to the house. The more detailed the questions, the more monosyllabic Bruno had become to the point where, once Joseph had been settled in the kitchen for a little chat with Maggie, who had been restlessly waiting for her employer to return, Katy had felt compelled to remind him that he was introducing his godfather to his prospective daughter-in-law.

‘I’m aware of that,’ Bruno informed her irritably. ‘Not,’ he reminded her, ‘that Joseph is supposed to know that the relationship is that serious.’

‘Why do you have to make it all so complicated? Why don’t you just tell him that you’re going to be marrying Isobel instead of dodging his questions, which is only going to make him wonder what’s going on between the two of you?’

‘Leave my private life to me, Katy,’ was all he said and there was enough ice in his voice to make her realise that further questioning from her was not going to be tolerated.

Now Joseph was asking whether he would be required to dress up for Isobel or whether she was the sort of girl who would take him as he was.

Katy found it hard not to giggle at Joseph’s transparent digging and at the way Bruno greeted the question by dropping his dark sunglasses over his eyes. She would never have imagined that this big, powerful dynamo could do something as normal as squirm but he was as close to squirming as he could get. She could almost see his shoulders sag with relief when Maggie came in to ask them whether they were ready for a bit of lunch. He vaulted out of the chair with alacrity, leaving her to chat with Joseph while he made a show of helping bring in the lunch and then, over lunch, sidestepped all chat of Isobel with the mastery of a practised escapologist.

‘I’ll need you back down in the office to do some work for me,’ he told her, once lunch had been cleared away and Joseph had been taken up to his room for the rest he now claimed he no longer wanted.

‘But it’s Saturday,’ Katy protested, frowning. ‘And I know I’m not back into my normal routine with Joseph yet, but—’

‘But as far as you’re concerned, you’re now relieved of all secretarial duties with me, am I right? Even though several things still need finishing.’

‘No, of course not,’ Katy said, blushing. ‘It’s just that I assumed…’

‘Meet me in the office in half an hour and you needn’t worry that I’ll keep you there for the next eight hours. I just want those emails we were working on yesterday to be sent and I’ll need you to write a letter after I’ve had my conference call.’

At which he spun around and abruptly headed off towards the office, leaving her to wonder why he was in such a ferocious mood when Joseph was now back home, as hale and hearty as could be expected, and his girlfriend was arriving the following morning.

‘Doesn’t seem too exuberant on the subject of this Isobel creature,’ Joseph told Katy as soon as they were in his suite and she was fishing out his book for him to read. ‘Not sure I like the sounds of her, anyway.’

‘You can’t say that, Joseph. You haven’t met her as yet.’ Katy decided that she’d better err on the part of reticence just in case her own lukewarm opinions began filtering through. She turned his favourite chair towards the window so that he could have a view of the sun drenched lawns outside.

‘Why is he so uncommunicative about her? Must be keen to be bringing her here, so you’d have thought I would have been the one to have been putting a stop to his chatter!’

‘You know Bruno. He doesn’t “chatter”. Katy wasn’t looking at him when she said this. She was tugging open the sash window so that some of the light spring breeze could waft into the bedroom. She didn’t see the expression flit over his face. When he next spoke, his voice was mild, almost absent-minded.

‘Very contained, yes,’ Joseph said, sinking into the chair with a sigh of pleasure and reaching out for his book. ‘Genuine, though, that’s the thing. Glad you two got along. Now, are you going to read to me, my dear?’

‘I can’t. Well, I could but Bruno wants me to finish off some work we started yesterday…’

‘In which case, you run along and don’t let him overwork you.’

‘Oh, I’ve learnt how to put my foot down.’ She laughed softly and shuffled a little table next to him so that he had somewhere to rest his spectacles and his glass of water.

Bruno was waiting for her with his back to the door when she entered the office ten minutes later.

She went straight to the computer, sat down and waited for him to fire out his usual list of instructions. He didn’t. In fact, he didn’t turn around to face her, and eventually she said, clearing her throat, ‘Are we going to get down to this work, Bruno? If we hurry, I can probably manage to take Joseph for a late stroll in the garden before dinner. I know he’s dying to see how all his plants are doing. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him that they’ve been looked after.’

‘In a minute.’ He turned to face her, blocking some of the light pouring through the window, and stuck his hands into his pockets. ‘Just need to have a chat about work, actually.’

‘Oh, right. Have I done something wrong?’ Katy frowned and tried to remember what particular typing disaster she might have managed to produce. She thought she had succeeded in a basic level of competence, but for all she knew he might have taken exception to something she had inadvertently rephrased. Hopefully, she hadn’t done something really catastrophic like delete files. She avoided that particular button like the plague but…

‘No need to look so chewed up,’ Bruno said, pushing himself away from the window ledge and sinking into his chair, which he turned so that he could face her squarely. ‘You’re proving to be quite an efficient little secretary.’

‘What, then?’

‘I’d thought, originally, that once Joseph was back I would return to London but I’m beginning to think that I couldn’t possibly leave just at the moment.’

Katy hadn’t actually contemplated him leaving and was disconcerted to find that the prospect of that was not exactly the shining ray of sunshine on the horizon that she would have expected it to have been.

‘Why not?’

‘I shall have to wait until I’m personally satisfied that everything is fine here.’ He reached out for his pen and began idly tapping it on the surface of the desk. ‘Which, I’m afraid, means that you’re going to have to continue working for me for a bit longer.’

‘But I really should be devoting my time and attention to Joseph…’

‘I’m sure he’ll understand and, besides, things are going to take a little while before they return completely to normal, aren’t they? He won’t be running around the minute his feet hit the ground here. If anything, we’ll have to work out an arrangement whereby you can spend some time here in the office…’

‘Well, isn’t that going to be a bit unsatisfactory?’ Katy frowned, bemused. ‘How are you going to get through what you have to get through if you don’t have someone working for you full-time?’

‘Leave me to sort that out.’

‘So will there be some sort of…timetable?’

‘Think out of the box, Katy.’ He stood up and began prowling the room restlessly. ‘There won’t be a timetable.’ He paused to stare down at her. ‘You’ll just have to be prepared to go with the flow.’

‘Go with the flow?’

‘Correct.’

‘Are you sure that’s going to work?’ She was finding it hard to imagine how he could alter his pace from ferociously work propelled into a loose ‘going with the flow’ lack of schedule. ‘If you intend to be here for a bit longer and Joseph is back, mightn’t it be better for you to get someone full-time? What about Isobel? Maybe she could take over. Does she, well…would she fit the bill?’

That suggestion was ridiculous enough to make Bruno perch on the edge of his desk, all the better to display his utter incredulity at the thought.

‘Isobel has never done a proper day’s work in her life. In fact, work for Isobel can be summed up by the efforts she is sometimes required to take when the family chauffeur is otherwise engaged and she has to take a taxi to Knightsbridge instead to do her shopping. Work, for Isobel, is deciding what colour her nails should be painted.’

‘Why are you thinking about marrying her if you disapprove so much of her lifestyle?’

‘Did I imply that I disapproved of her lifestyle?’ He was beginning to wonder what had possessed him to think that Isobel might be the ideal mate for him. But she was coming up and Joseph was already getting in a tizzy about the possibility of someone serious in his life. He could tell. All those questions, all that not very subtle tiptoeing around the suggestion that this might be The One.

He reminded himself that she was very eligible and very beautiful and would be a very agreeable woman to have on his arm in public.

Unfortunately, meeting Katy’s cornflower-blue eyes, he was still aware that he was somehow being accused by her of something. Which was really getting on his nerves.

‘She’s not that unusual,’ he was reluctantly compelled to expound.

‘Maybe not.’

‘I only hope that Joseph takes to her.’ He gave Katy a brief, uncertain glance and flushed. ‘Did he mention anything…?’

‘No.’ Katy dropped her eyes and looked hard at the keyboard of the computer. She didn’t think that Joseph was going to rush headlong into full-fledged adoration of the lady in question, but not in a thousand years would she have voiced that opinion. Bruno obviously considered her the ideal mate. He might just find that he and Isobel were the only two amongst them who shared that opinion, she thought, and then caught herself for thinking such a petty thing. It was just a shame that she was coming so soon, barely giving Joseph time to gather himself.

The following morning, she revised that opinion when she was greeted by an extremely lively Joseph, whom she helped to change into his best Sunday garb of a tweed jacket and a pair of brown trousers.

‘You look good enough to have tea with the Queen,’ Katy joked as they had breakfast in the kitchen. There was no sign of Bruno and she felt a little stab of sourness at the thought of him decking himself out to greet his guest. He hadn’t gone out of his way the last time he had brought Isobel over, but then this was different. This time she was meeting family.

As the morning ticked past she felt more and more like a spare wheel and the effect was complete when, at ten-thirty, Bruno appeared to join them in the garden. In the clear light of early summer, he looked breathtakingly beautiful in a cream polo shirt and some beige trousers. His hair gleamed in the sunlight and she found herself staring at the classic, hard profile as though it were the first time she was seeing him.

She shouldn’t really be here. She didn’t belong. This was a family affair and she shrank into the background, keeping silent as Bruno and his godfather chatted, listening out for the sound of a car purring up the drive and wondering how she might be able to slink away when no one was looking.

By the time the car finally did pull up, Katy had lapsed into a complex reverie involving her imminent escape, barely aware of Bruno’s frowning glances in her direction or of Joseph’s watchful eyes flitting between the two of them.

‘I hope you intend to be a little chattier when we go in,’ Bruno muttered into her ear and Katy blinked and looked at him.

‘Why?’ For once she had no desire to be anything but blunt and he narrowed his brilliant dark eyes on her.

‘Because it would make for a more comfortable atmosphere? Because Joseph might feel a little more relaxed if he didn’t know you were there in the background, fulminating?’

‘I don’t fulminate,’ Katy muttered back under her breath. ‘In fact, I don’t even know what that means.’

‘Why are you sulking?’

‘I wasn’t sulking. I was just thinking that I’d be better off somewhere else. Then the three of you could get to know one another without me being around.’

‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s a very irritating trait. I thought you’d got past that.’

He left her with that thought to go and open the front door and then for a few minutes she actually succeeded in forgetting how redundant she felt as Isobel swept in, leather holdall in one hand, the other reaching up to curve around Bruno’s face so that she could draw him down and plant a lingering kiss on his mouth. She was one of those women who carried about them a flurry of activity. There was nothing restful about her. Out of the corner of her eye, Katy noticed that Joseph was looking a little dazed by the six-foot blonde as she commandeered the attention and lavished her conversation on him, drawing him towards her with the proprietorial air of someone who had launched herself into a mission with one hundred and ten per cent enthusiasm. Katy wondered whether in fact Bruno had already proposed. She certainly seemed to be playing the part of intended bride with everything at her disposal.

The performance, however, did not extend to her, Katy noticed. She was resolutely relegated to the background and was quite happy to take up her position there and observe from the sidelines.

Isobel made her nervous and she didn’t quite understand why. Maybe it was because she was so over-the-top in everything. Her clothes were dashing and bold; her voice reached every corner of whatever room they happened to be in; she never appeared to be short of conversation. It was quite awe-inspiring, really. Whether Joseph was responding to all this lavish attention was very hard to tell. He was, as always, perfectly polite in his usual understated, gentlemanly way, listening with his head slightly cocked to one side and showing just the right level of interest.

It was only when lunch had been served that Katy noticed a certain tiredness around his eyes and she gently suggested that it might be time for him to go upstairs and get a little rest.

‘My goodness!’ Isobel exclaimed, turning away from a red-faced Maggie who had found herself the object of effusive compliments on the sumptuousness of her salmon. ‘Darling, I barely remembered that you were there! Such a silent little thing, isn’t she?’

‘Serene.’ Joseph paused with his hand on the door and looked at Isobel. ‘Calming. I have always considered those very alluring traits in a woman.’ It was as close to a criticism of their guest as it was possible for Joseph to direct and it embarrassed the life out of Katy who, having retreated into observant silence, was now subjected to Isobel’s resentful stare and Bruno’s narrowed, inscrutable eyes.

Isobel recovered quickly. ‘Oh, absolutely!’ she gushed, edging very close to Bruno and nestling against him. ‘Awful shame that a quiet woman is virtually an invisible woman in London, isn’t it, darling?’ She gazed up at Bruno, staking her claim. ‘And that wouldn’t do at all in the sort of life that we lead.’ Her smile made it quite clear that she was establishing her territory and pointedly placing herself in the category of ideal wife material for the man standing by her side. Over her head, Bruno met Katy’s eyes and she looked away quickly. But her heart was pounding and she was flushed at the implied put-down.

‘It’s very hectic in London, Joseph,’ Katy said now, moving to his side. ‘You need to be aggressive.’ Her smile felt forced. ‘And now to bed for a short nap. Shall I read to you?’ She turned towards Bruno and Isobel and noticed that he had detached himself from her side and was pouring himself a glass of wine, leaving his fiancée stranded in the middle of the room. ‘Joseph has solemnly promised me that a bit later he might just put one toe into that swimming pool…’

‘And you’re going…where…?’ Bruno asked her.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I take it you’re about to disappear? When Joseph is settled why don’t you come down and join myself and Isobel in the pool?’ Bruno was leaning against the walnut sideboard and staring at her over the rim of his glass, even when he tilted his head back so that he could swallow some of the wine. His eyes didn’t leave her face. Across the width of the room, Katy felt the force of his personality rush towards her like a gust of wind and she even took a slight step backwards in confusion.

‘I…thank you, but I think I’ll just…’

‘You did buy a swimsuit, didn’t you?’

The stranded Isobel clearly didn’t care for the tenor of the conversation, because she glided towards Bruno, who didn’t appear to notice her at all.

‘Yes, of course I did!’ Katy flushed and looked away. Did he have to treat her like a minor? It was bad enough when they were on their own, but in the presence of his girlfriend it was unforgivable. The problem was that she lacked the necessary turn of phrase to tell him so. She was not adept at being clever with words so she bit back her mortification.

‘Don’t bully the poor little thing,’ Isobel chided. ‘And never you mind,’ she addressed Katy with eyes that were as cold as chips of ice, ‘if you didn’t buy a swimsuit. It’s not the end of the world. I’ve brought a couple up myself and I would lend you one but…’ her eyes slid over Katy’s slight frame, enveloped in a loose-fitting dress ‘…it probably wouldn’t fit. We’re entirely different body shapes.’

Katy was gloomily aware that there was nothing she could possibly say to refute that obvious statement. Isobel was a tall, full-breasted beauty who turned heads and could command attention. She, on the other hand, was a timid little thing with a flat chest and would not have been able to turn heads if she danced naked on a table in a crowded room. Before Joseph, full of all the right intentions, could come to her defence with some glaringly fictitious compliment, she hurriedly exited the room with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances.

‘Odious woman,’ Joseph said as soon as they were out of earshot.

‘But beautiful,’ Katy replied wistfully. ‘Not that I’m implying that she’s odious. It’s just that when you’re as beautiful as that, well…it must be very easy to be dismissive of other people.’ Other plain, dowdy people, she thought on a sigh, like me. She wondered what it must be like to be blessed with such staggering beauty and then decided that she was rather relieved not to know, if staggering beauty came with a vicious tongue. ‘I have to stop running myself down,’ she said, more to herself than to Joseph. ‘According to Bruno, I do that far too much.’

‘Don’t know what he sees in her,’ Joseph huffed, taking the stairs slowly. ‘Problem with beautiful people is that they’re always wrapped up in themselves.’

‘Bruno’s beautiful,’ Katy pointed out.

‘You think so, do you?’

‘I mean,’ she stressed, ‘from a purely objective point of view. They’re both beautiful. They make a very attractive couple.’

‘How serious is this? Has he told you? Mentioned anything…?’

‘If you’re concerned, you ought to ask him yourself,’ Katy suggested evasively.

‘Might just do that. Now no need to spend time reading to me. Fancy a little kip anyway. Got to build my strength up if I’m to go anywhere near that pool later this evening.’

‘You can sit on the side, Joseph. No one’s asking you to plunge in and start swimming lengths.’

‘You’ll come in with me, won’t you? I mean, you did buy that swimsuit, didn’t you?’ He directed a sly little smile at her, which made her laugh.

‘Yes, I did!’

‘Well, we’ll wait until much later. When the viper’s out of the pool.’

‘That’s very unkind, Joseph,’ but she was finding it hard not to giggle at the description, which was remarkably accurate. She wondered, for a few seconds, whether proximity to water mightn’t turn the glamorous Isobel into a reptile of some sort, and then chastised herself for her lack of generosity.

He did have a point, though. Isobel didn’t strike her as an avid swimmer. She would probably enjoy lounging around the pool in a revealing swimsuit, and when that palled she would be more than happy to go indoors and have some pre-dinner drinks. And Bruno, naturally, would follow her. In that window of vacancy, she and Joseph would be able to have a relaxing half an hour there.

She waited a decent length of time, plenty long enough for Bruno and Isobel to have changed and headed to the pool, then Katy retreated to the snug with her book. Under normal circumstances, she would have spent the next two hours lost to the world. This was a particularly riveting biography. After half an hour, she realised, with surprise, that she had managed to read a page and a half and then she further realised, with a little stab of guilt, that she had spent most of the time thinking about Bruno and Isobel, wondering what they were doing. Swimming? Cavorting in the water? Doing other things? Surely not! Katy snapped shut the book and leaned back on the chair with her eyes closed and her imagination wide open and horribly alert.

When she heard the sound of voices and footsteps approaching, she shot out of the chair, clutching her book, as if she had been caught red-handed with her thoughts spread around her on the carpet. Before she had time to compose herself, there they were, the couple from the centre pages of a magazine. Straight from the pool. Bruno had slung on a shirt which, unbuttoned, exposed a slither of bronzed, muscled torso and Isobel was virtually unclothed. Just a wisp of a bright pink bikini top that left very little to the imagination and a light wrap-around thing that was the last word in casual elegance. Below the short hemline, her long legs seemed to go on and on for ever.

‘I was just reading!’ Katy blurted out. ‘How was the pool? Did you have a nice swim?’

‘You should have come in with us.’ Bruno strolled lazily into the room and proceeded to drop into one of the chairs. ‘Seemed a shame that the pool was christened without you when you were the one responsible for getting it finished.’ He dangled his sunglasses idly from one hand and glanced across to Isobel. ‘Why don’t you go and change? It’s…nearly five. You can join me for drinks in the sitting room around seven-ish. I need to do a bit of work.’

Isobel pouted. ‘On a Sunday, Bruno?’

‘The great money-making machinery never goes to sleep, Isobel. It certainly doesn’t take weekends off.’ He sighed and gave her his full attention. ‘I’ll try and keep it to a minimum.’ Then that smile that could melt ice. ‘In fact, why don’t you go upstairs and wait for me? Hmm? I’ll come up as quickly as I can…’

Not quite knowing where to look, Katy hovered in embarrassed silence, staring at the ground with her fingers curled around the book, waiting for him to leave. He didn’t and eventually she risked a glance upwards to find him looking at her.

‘You’re doing it again,’ Bruno said curtly. ‘And before you ask doing what, you’re looking like a rabbit caught in some headlights. Sit down, why don’t you?’

‘I thought you were going off to do some work.’

‘I have an email to send. Shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes.’

Katy sat down, horrendously aware of his presence, and opened the book in front of her. She was confronted by a jumble of print that didn’t make much sense but she continued peering at the page anyway.

‘You’re going to read?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I don’t expect you to sit there reading when I’m in the room,’ Bruno informed her with such sweeping arrogance that she almost gasped aloud.

‘Shall I go upstairs?’

‘He doesn’t like her.’

Cutting through the preliminaries and getting right down to the gist of the matter. Katy closed the book and met Bruno’s glittering black eyes steadily.

‘He doesn’t like her and, furthermore, it was a ludicrous idea to bring her up here. What did he tell you and don’t even bother trying to prevaricate, Katy.’

Caught on the end of a hook, Katy cleared her throat and tentatively said, ‘I think he thinks that she’s a little…overpowering…’

‘You didn’t lead him to think that marriage was on the cards, did you?’

‘Of course not!’ she protested stoutly. ‘You told me not to say anything and I didn’t.’ Why? she was desperate to ask. Are you having second thoughts? Then, like a bolt of lightning that came from nowhere, she realised that that was what she was hoping. Hoping that his perfect arrangement would come to nothing because, Lord above, she had only gone and done the unthinkable, had only started seeing him as a man, and a deeply attractive one at that, instead of as a temporary employer with a heart as cold as ice.

Everything now seemed to slot together magically, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The way she felt on edge, nervous, excited whenever she was in his company, as if he had turned a switch on inside her and brought her to life. The way she followed him with her eyes, was aware of him even when she wasn’t actually looking at him, in fact was aware of him even when he wasn’t in her line of vision! All those uncharitable thoughts about Isobel had their roots in good, old-fashioned jealousy.

Did she really think that he was going to dump such an ideally suitable mate as Isobel just because Joseph hadn’t immediately warmed to her? He thought things through with his head and not his heart and, just in case he was thinking about asking her to try and engage in some kind of promotional campaign on Isobel’s behalf to his godfather, Katy stood up with a determined expression.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m leaving you to get on with your work and, besides, it’s…’ she made a pointed show of looking at her watch ‘…time for Joseph to start getting ready for his little jaunt in the pool.’ She could feel Bruno’s fulminating silence as he continued to look at her. ‘I think he’s more tempted by the water than he lets on,’ she rattled on, desperate now to get out of the room so that she could start processing her thoughts. ‘He’s made a huge show of saying how much he loathes swimming but…’ she giggled nervously ‘…I think it’s a case of all bark and no bite, don’t you? Or have I used the wrong cliché?’ For a few seconds she remained where she was, hovering, like a candidate at an interview, then she made her legs move in the direction of the door, almost expecting him to summon her back and dreading it because if he started dredging her thoughts, then goodness only knew what might come out.

He didn’t, though, and Katy half ran up the stairs, only stopping en route to her room to inform Joseph that they could head down to the pool.

‘Coast clear?’ he whispered in a wickedly conspiratorial tone, which she ignored. ‘I may be old but I’d rather not show myself up…’

I know the feeling, Katy thought fifteen minutes later as she shut the door to the swimming-pool area behind her. Luckily the house had been silent when they had come down the stairs. She discarded the towelling robe she had thrown over her swimsuit, a modest black one-piece with some cunning lacing down the front that she had tied firmly at the top.

It was not what Bruno saw when he quietly entered the room half an hour later. His godfather, apparently through with his stint in the pool, was sitting on one of the chairs looking extremely rested with his eyes shut and his book on his lap, and there she was, emerging from the water, not looking in his direction at all. Her head was lowered as she squeezed her hair with her hands. One foot rested on the side of the pool, the other was still on the step in the water.

He didn’t know why he had come. Isobel was presumably waiting for him in the room that had been allocated to her, but her attractions had not been enough to get him up those stairs to see her.

He found that he was holding his breath, looking at Katy, at the body she had always kept well hidden. Long, slender legs, a slightness that bordered on gamine, breasts that pushed provocatively against the wet black Lycra with the lace that was coming undone. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from her and he wasn’t sure how long he would have just continued standing there and watching if she hadn’t then looked up and registered his presence.

CHAPTER SIX

A SLOW, curling heat spread through Katy’s body as their eyes locked. Bruno was looking at her, really looking at her and this time his expression wasn’t shuttered. He dragged his eyes away from her face and then slowly appraised her frozen body with shocking intimacy, starting with her shoulders and moving right down to the tips of her toes, then back upwards, lingering on the slightness of her waist and the small roundness of her breasts. He moved forward and that snapped her out of her trance. She immediately folded her arms protectively across her breasts, trying to cover the body she had always considered too boyish to be attractive.

Her heart was beating like a hammer inside her and she almost yelped in alarm as he walked towards her and said roughly, ‘Don’t.’

‘D-don’t what…?’ Katy stammered. Now that she had absorbed the initial shock of looking up and just seeing him there, intense mortification was beginning to set in. She was very modestly covered up in her one-piece swimsuit, but she felt as if she were standing in front of him in full nudity. Even worse was how her body was reacting. Her breasts were tingling and she felt as if she were melting between her legs.

Instead of answering, he carefully pulled her arms away from their fiercely folded position and dragged them down to her sides.

‘Don’t try and cover up your body like that,’ he murmured huskily.

Katy blushed in wild confusion and glanced over her shoulder desperately.

‘He’s dozed off,’ Bruno said, following her glance and reading what was in her head. ‘That small spot of exercise must have exhausted him.’ His brilliant eyes refocused on her.

‘Yes, well…he’s done awfully well, actually…’

‘Why do you wear the clothes that you wear? Great things that cover you up?’ As if he couldn’t help himself, his gaze lowered to roam over the soft swell of her cleavage and the tantalising glimpse of skin visible underneath the loosely undone lacing. ‘I’d never have guessed that you had a body like this…’

‘Like what?’ Katy whispered, then she realised, belatedly, that this was not the kind of conversation that should be taking place between them, even though there was something wonderfully thrilling about it. Bruno might be noticing her, sort of in the way that he might notice something that he had taken for granted only to find that he had inadvertently missed something, something like a table with a concealed drawer underneath, but he would be noticing her dispassionately. She repeated the word in her head, using it to get a grip on herself. If only the feel of his long fingers weren’t scorching her skin and sending her nervous system into crazy overdrive!

‘Slender. Smooth, like satin. But with curves in all the right places.’

‘No. No, no, no.’ Katy shook her head to block out the velvety sexiness of his voice. ‘Look, I’m beginning to feel cold. I need to get my towel. And Joseph…he really should get up now or he’ll be in a very bad mood when he finally does…’

‘You’re cold,’ Bruno murmured. ‘Is that why your nipples are so erect?’

Even knowing him as she now did, knowing that he was the archetypal dominant male who spoke his mind with a forthrightness that often bordered on arrogance, Katy was still unprepared for the directness of his question. Her mouth fell open in absolute, dumbfounded shock—not that he looked in the least bit repentant.

‘You shouldn’t be talking to me like this,’ she squeaked shakily. ‘You…you have a fiancée…’

‘Which is something that’s been under consideration, in point of fact. You still haven’t answered my question. Is your body responding to the cold or to me?’ For a man who had always prided himself on his formidable self-control, Bruno now felt himself to be in the grip of something dangerously unsettling. Without giving a passing thought to the consequences, he brushed his finger lightly over one nipple, and when he felt the bud tighten fractionally in response he almost groaned aloud. Not very cool, he thought unsteadily. Not much like the man he normally was, the one who always led the dance when it came to women and turning them on. He heard her indrawn gasp with a rush of satisfaction. Her appalled face might be frantically telling one story, but her body was busy telling another. And the story her body was telling was mind-blowingly erotic, if only she knew. Which she didn’t. That he could tell by the panicked incredulity on her face.

‘Under consideration?’ Katy decided to ignore the second question totally. She also decided to stop craning her neck upwards to look at him because his gleaming, dark-as-night eyes were only dragging her down further and further. She concentrated on his chest instead, which was almost as bad.

He gave an elegant half-shrug. ‘I have decided that there’s no point rushing into marriage after all. And perhaps Isobel isn’t quite the perfect life mate I had imagined.’

‘But I thought…’ Katy began, keen to explore this new development and even keener to get off the subject of her wayward body. ‘I thought that she had all the essential qualities that made her the ideal wife?’

Bruno released her, giving her time to think, stupidly, that she now missed that sizzling electric current that seemed to flow straight from the palms of his hands through her wrists and into her body.

‘Not quite all,’ Bruno drawled with a veiled expression. He stuck his hands into his pockets, slid his eyes over her shoulder to where Joseph was still blissfully dozing, and then back to her bemused face.

‘Oh, right.’ Bewildered, Katy tried to imagine what exactly Isobel lacked and then proceeded to deduce that if Isobel lacked anything, then Bruno was looking for the impossible, because with love removed from the equation, then she certainly had all the necessary requirements on paper. She could only assume that Joseph’s reaction had been telling enough for his godson to have second thoughts. Because there was no doubt that if Bruno had any love to distribute, then it was securely distributed onto one person, namely his godfather.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me what the missing link is?’

‘Okay,’ Katy obliged, ‘what’s the missing link?’

‘This.’

In the space of a split second, she knew what he was going to do and it was as if the slow burn of excitement inside her had licked its steady flame against dry tinder, sending everything into a vortex of supercharged heat. Katy thought that she might even have given a slight moan although she couldn’t be sure because time seemed to have stopped and, with it, her awareness of everything around her. There were just the two of them in this intense zone and as his dark head descended her lips parted without any deliberate thought on her part. Her body had moved into a state of hungry compliance and every sense in her was lost as she felt the warm touch of his mouth against hers, covering it, then turning a gentle kiss into something hard and demanding and unstoppable. He moved one hand to cup the nape of her neck and the other curved around her waist, pulling her into him until there was no mistaking the hard throbbing of his arousal pressed against her. With a whimper of complete and utter surrender, Katy reached up and coiled her fingers into his hair.

As his prying tongue delved into her mouth, Katy forgot everything. She forgot where she was; she forgot Joseph resting in a chair only yards away from them; she forgot that Bruno was a man no sane woman should get involved with unless they had a deep-down suicide wish.

The door being pushed open only dimly penetrated her consciousness and it was only when, eyes blissfully closed, she felt Bruno pull away sharply from her that she came to her senses and blankly looked where he was now looking. Namely at Isobel whose face was a picture of stony, thunderous fury.

Before she could open her mouth, Bruno was striding towards her. At which point the reality, which Katy had happily relegated to the back of her mind, reared up in all its grim detail and she looked desperately around to see that Joseph still had his eyes shut.

How he could continue dozing through what had happened was beyond her. True, they hadn’t been shouting or making any noise, but she wondered that some of the electrifying thickness of the atmosphere hadn’t wafted across to him and woken him up.

Uncertain, she remained where she was, watching as Bruno led Isobel out of the room in a vice-like grip, then very quickly she snatched up her robe and covered herself with it.

Leaving Joseph on his own was not an option. If he woke up to find her gone, he might panic, become disorientated. She imagined him stumbling into the pool in confusion and gently shook him.

‘Time for us to head in, Joseph.’ Did her voice sound normal? She hazarded a smile and then wondered whether it looked convincing. Her mind was whirling at what had just happened. Bruno had kissed her and she had felt as though she had suddenly been catapulted into orbit. There had been no question of resisting. She had just succumbed. One hundred per cent.

‘Are you all right, my dear? You look a little…fazed.’ He was finding it hard not to grin or at least toss her some little cliché about young people blithely assuming that the old were good for nothing except maybe dozing in a chair by a pool while they couldn’t keep their hands off one another. It had been something of a surprise when he had blinked open his eyes and watched the scenario being played out in front of him and he had been on the verge of leaping up, if his bones would enable him to do anything as energetic as leaping, so that he could interrupt, but he hadn’t. He might be an old man but he knew mutual attraction when he saw it. Thinking about it, he had seen glimpses of it ever since he had gone into hospital and they had come visiting and he knew better than to try and intervene with his pontificating. And besides, what was there to pontificate about? Bruno and Katy were his two favourite people in his life, and he could think of nothing better than seeing them together. Bruno was not suited to Isobel. He only imagined he was.

‘Fazed?’ Katy produced a jolly laugh from somewhere. ‘What about?’

Joseph took refuge in a mumble and allowed himself to be helped back to the house, observing how he was guided as far as possible from the sitting room, where hopefully his godson was coming to his senses and dispatching the viper without delay.

‘Where is Bruno and…and…oh, dear, I seem to have forgotten the lady’s name…old age, you know…’

Katy looked at him with raised eyebrows. She was already feeling calmer with Joseph at her side. Something about his tranquillity was rubbing itself off on her.

‘Her name’s Isobel, Joseph, as you well know. And they’re somewhere around…’ She waved one hand vaguely to encompass the part of the house where they weren’t.

‘Perhaps we should go and see them. Only polite.’

‘Oh, no,’ Katy said hurriedly. ‘They…they’re probably busy. We’ll see them a bit later.’ She imagined Joseph bumbling into one great, big, swirling shouting match and shuddered. Isobel’s face had not promised a calm reaction to what she had seen. Her lover and the home help, as Katy well knew she considered her, in a clinch. She would never, ever, have thought that she would have the starring role in a situation like that and she was horribly, guiltily, aware that it had been her fault. She had allowed Bruno to kiss her and she had flung herself into the kiss with fervent excitement, instead of shoving him away.

Her guilt grew with every step she took and, when she had finally established Joseph in the conservatory with a cup of tea and the newspaper, she was convinced that leaving Bruno to deal exclusively with Isobel’s wrath was all wrong. It might take all the courage at her disposal, but she felt morally compelled to at least set Isobel straight on one score. That their embrace had meant nothing, that it had been something that had happened out of the blue and would never be repeated. What she chose to do with the information was her business.

‘Where are you off to now?’ Joseph demanded as she headed in the direction of the door. ‘You’re behaving like a cat on a hot tin roof!’

‘Oh. To, you know, change. Have a bath. I’m still in my swimsuit.’ Joseph had used the changing room by the pool and was already in his trousers and neat collared shirt, as fresh as a daisy. ‘And I thought I might just, you know, see whether Bruno and Isobel wanted something to drink. Some tea, perhaps.’

‘Tea? Most normal people are having something a little stronger at this time of the evening.’

‘Well, something a little stronger then. Wine.’

He gave an elaborate sigh, nodded, and Katy scooted out of the room and across the hall, walking steadily in the direction of the sitting room and resisting the urge to turn tail and dash up the stairs. She should really have a bath and change before she confronted them but she knew that if she headed up to her bedroom, chances were high that she would chicken out of doing what she felt she had to do.

She heard their voices before she hit the door but at least they weren’t shouting. Actually, she couldn’t picture Bruno ever shouting but neither was Isobel. And there were no ominous sounds of things being hurled the width of the room. Maybe they had kissed and made up.

If that was the case, then problem solved, Katy told herself firmly. She wouldn’t have to explain anything and she could return to being the hired help who had happened, for five minutes, to have a body that had sparked Bruno’s curiosity. She took a very deep breath, then she knocked on the door and pushed it open at the same time.

Two pairs of eyes swivelled in her direction. Bruno looked incredibly calm. He was standing nonchalantly by the window with a drink in one hand. She had no idea what was going through his head because his expression was shuttered and unrevealing. On the other hand, she had every idea what was going through Isobel’s head and it struck Katy that, despite the lack of shouting, the other woman was very, very angry. Her eyes were like chips of ice and her mouth was an indrawn line of suppressed rage.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Isobel spat out, taking two steps towards the door. Katy clung to the door handle until her knuckles were white.

‘I wanted to explain…’

‘There’s no need,’ Bruno drawled without moving or raising his voice. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

Katy felt as though he had slapped her on the face, but she stood her ground although some of her resolve, admittedly, was wavering. A little voice was having a laugh at her expense, asking how she could have imagined herself to be anything but a bit player in the unfolding drama. That kiss had meant nothing to Bruno. It certainly would not have affected his feelings or lack of them towards Isobel.

‘Nothing to do with her?’ Isobel’s head whipped around and she narrowed her eyes at the casually lounging figure by the window. ‘You invite me up here to meet your godfather, you lead me to think that we might actually be going somewhere with this relationship, and then I find you slobbering over the staff?’

Bruno looked icily at her. ‘It’s over, Isobel. Frankly, I can’t see what else there is to say on the subject.’

It was such a witheringly blunt put-down that Katy felt a momentary pang of compassion for Isobel. She might not be Mother Teresa in disguise but she would still be suffering the humiliation of catching her man in the arms of another woman. She tentatively stepped into the room, towelling robe tightly wrapped around her, and cleared her throat.

‘I just want to say, Isobel, that what you witnessed, well, meant nothing…’

‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’ She had turned completely away from Bruno and, frankly, Katy didn’t blame her. His expression was cold and forbidding and very scary.

‘It’s the truth!’

‘You’ve been closeted in this place for weeks, so-called working, and you expect me to believe that on the one day I happen to come up, you just find yourselves in each other’s arms, snogging one another like two teenagers?’ She ended this on a choked sob, which she obviously found infuriating because she raised one clenched fist and pressed it against her mouth.

‘Well, yes!’

‘I can’t believe it.’ Furious eyes fastened onto Bruno. ‘I can’t believe you could be such a bastard. I can’t believe you could string me along for months and then waltz into the arms of someone else, the home help, for God’s sake, without a backward glance.’

‘Leave Katy out of this,’ was all he said, in a very low voice.

‘How can I? You obviously couldn’t!’ She grabbed her little bag from the chair and pulled herself up to her immense height. ‘Well, don’t think for a minute that you’re going to get away with this! I’m not just anybody, Bruno Giannella. You might have got away with walking all over women in the past, but this time you picked the wrong one!’

Katy pressed herself against the wall and listened to this vicious speech with horror. Whatever Bruno said, she was responsible for this, with her girlish infatuation and lack of self-control. Okay, maybe he had come to the conclusion that he had made a mistake, but if they hadn’t been caught in flagrante, the tenor of this breakup would have been completely different. Isobel wouldn’t have been standing there making threats and meaning them, from the sounds of it.

‘Really.’ He sounded mildly interested. ‘And what do you intend to do?’

Isobel was reduced to enraged silence.

‘Hire a hit man to kill me and save the rest of the female population from my hideous exploits? Sneak into my apartment and chop the sleeves off all my shirts?’ He lowered his fabulous eyes for the briefest of seconds. ‘Report my dastardly behaviour to the press?’

Katy gasped and tried to imagine all of those possibilities. She snapped out of her reverie to hear Isobel swooshing towards her and watched as she strode towards the door with a tight smile on her face.

‘We’ll see,’ she said in a voice that could curdle milk. ‘But—’ she paused to look at him, only inches away from Katy ‘—you’d be stupid to underestimate a scorned woman. As for you—’ she glanced down at Katy ‘—good luck. He might be a stallion in bed but don’t bank on anything more than a spot of good sex.’

Katy found that she was shaking as Isobel swept out of the room. With just the two of them now in the room, she was acutely conscious of her dress but she couldn’t possibly dash upstairs to her bedroom with the risk of bumping into Isobel on the way out. She stared mutely at Bruno and then finally whispered, ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Are you? Interesting. What for?’

‘For…’

‘Like I said, you didn’t have anything to do with us breaking up so there’s no need to beat yourself up with a guilty conscience.’ He pushed himself away from the window and sat down on one of the chairs. ‘Where’s Joseph?’

‘In the conservatory. You were very unkind to her, Bruno.’

Bruno looked at her in disbelief. ‘Me? Unkind? What on earth are you talking about? And why don’t you sit down? Before you fall down?’

Katy sat and worriedly leant forward. ‘And what if she does try and do something…well…get even, so to speak…?’

‘What are we talking about here? The threats or my unkindness?’

‘Well, both, actually. I just think that you were so dismissive of her.’ Katy frowned earnestly at him and chewed her lip. ‘You just stood there and let her rant and rave without even trying to calm her down…it must have been awful for her to…well, you know…’

‘If you’d come in a bit earlier, you would have heard my efforts to calm her down. Isobel wasn’t open to being calmed down. Nor was she open to my explanation for the breakup. She didn’t want to hear that it might have been her fault in any way. She wanted a scapegoat. The fact is I came to my senses and realised that what she and I had just wasn’t quite good enough to last a lifetime, however good it all sounded in theory.’

‘So you were wrong.’

‘But big enough to admit it.’ He gave her a slow, crooked smile that sent that terrible, treacherous shiver through her all over again.

‘Right.’ She stood up and avoided his eyes. ‘I’d better go and change and start thinking about dinner. I guess Isobel’s going back to London…’

‘And I doubt she’ll be popping in to say goodbye.’

‘How can you be so cool?’ Katy asked with genuine bewilderment. Her two serious relationships had been mutually ended, but she had still agonised over the details—but then she kept forgetting that Bruno wasn’t like a normal human being.

‘I did us both a favour.’ He shrugged and looked away from her. ‘What Isobel needs is a very-well connected, very subservient man with plenty of family money and an over-developed desire to please. In the long run, I would have driven her crazy. It worked for a while because, when I think about it, we never spent any long periods of time together and we certainly never did the mundane things that most normal couples do. I was never around for long enough because of work demands.’

He almost made it sound as though Isobel had been unreasonable to have reacted the way she did. ‘And you don’t feel a bit jittery about her threats?’

‘She doesn’t possess a key to the apartment,’ Bruno said, stretching his long legs out in front of him, ‘so she won’t be able to sneak in and shred my suits and I doubt even Isobel would be vengeful enough to pay someone to bump me off.’ He appeared to find the thought of that amusing.

‘And what about reporting you to the press…?’ Before she could stop feeling somehow to blame, Katy knew that she had to clear up these loose threads because she didn’t want Bruno to be hurt because of her. Even though she knew that he was probably incapable of being hurt by anyone. Still…

‘Well, I am a public figure, I guess…’ He rested his head against the back of the chair and half closed his eyes. ‘But a very private man. But you needn’t worry. Isobel was speaking in the heat of the moment. By the time she gets to London, she’ll have calmed down and by next week she’ll be counting her blessings and announcing to the world that she’s well rid of me…’

Joseph certainly didn’t hide the fact that he considered his godson well rid of the bountiful blonde. With Katy, he was more open about his misgivings about any relationship they might have been nurturing, although over dinner, with Bruno, he was more circumspect in his musings, only saying that she hadn’t seemed to be the right type for his godson. When pressed by Bruno for a definition of what he considered his right type, Joseph was uncharacteristically reticent.

Katy made very sure not to involve herself in this conversation. She couldn’t begin to contribute anyway since she didn’t know the first thing about men like Bruno. Not a mention had been made about that kiss they had shared by the pool. After Isobel had stormed out of the room, she had half expected him to say something about what had taken place between them, but not a word and his silence on the subject had been telling enough for her to steer well clear of it. She propped her chin in her hands and as male voices faded into vague background noise she allowed herself to go over in her head that wonderful sensation of when his mouth had met hers. Her head told her that she was pathetic even thinking about it, but her heart was all for an action replay. When she realised that Bruno and Joseph had lapsed into silence, she flushed and stood up to clear the dishes.

‘Leave them,’ Bruno commanded. ‘Let’s retire to the sitting room and have a drink. I think I need one.’

Katy eyed the nearly finished bottle of wine, which he had single-handedly demolished.

‘A decent drink,’ he amended, reading her mind.

‘You two go ahead,’ Katy said. ‘Course, Joseph, you’ll be sticking to fruit juice…’

‘Possibly,’ Joseph grumbled. ‘Though I’m sure it’s not very good for my digestive system. Too much fruit juice isn’t, you know.’

Katy impulsively walked towards him and fondly kissed the top of his head. ‘I never knew you had a degree in medicine.’

Joseph grasped her hand and gave it a little squeeze. ‘Adorable, isn’t she?’ he said smugly. ‘I’ll stick to the fruit juice provided you don’t scuttle upstairs without saying goodnight!’

Katy was just happy to scuttle off to the kitchen and away from Bruno, and managed to take an extraordinarily long time tidying the table and washing up the dishes and then putting everything away even though she could just as easily have loaded the dishwasher.

By the time she was ready to head for the sitting room, she had convinced herself of two very important things. The first was that Bruno was not physically attracted to her, merely curious, and the second was that all she felt for him was good old-fashioned lust and the reason she had been so flustered in the first place was because lust had never been something she had experienced in her life before. It had leapt out at her from nowhere. There was no reason to feel all hot and bothered because her body was behaving in an odd way. Lust was something she could control!

There was a new spring in her step when she finally made it to the sitting room almost two hours later only to find that Bruno was there on his own and of Joseph there was no sign.

‘He was tired. I took him to bed.’ He hadn’t bothered to switch on the overhead light and as a consequence the room was bathed in shadows thrown off by the two table lamps.

‘You should have called me.’

‘I think I’m capable of getting my own godfather sorted out, Katy. Besides, you were being a martyr by spring-cleaning the house.’

‘I was not being a martyr!’ He had said he wanted a drink and he had had a few from the looks of it. He sounded completely sober, but there was a half-empty bottle of whisky on the small circular table next to him and his long body was stretched out on the sofa in an attitude of total relaxation.

He was missing Isobel, she decided, more than he would ever admit, had had too much to drink and was now in a mood to start taking digs at her. He looked as though he had been ceaselessly raking his fingers through his hair and the tousled look lent him a boyish, vulnerable air. She wanted to smooth it down and say something that would wipe that brooding expression off his face.

She also wanted to escape from the suffocating turmoil that was springing up inside her. Consequently, she neither moved forward nor did she walk out. She remained where she was in a state of suspended agitation while he continued to look at her through half-closed lids.

‘Okay, then,’ he agreed, ‘not a martyr. Maybe just avoiding me. Mmm. Yes. Avoiding me. I think I’d go for that explanation.’ He fumbled on the table for his glass and drained what was left in it while staring at her over the rim. ‘But why would you be avoiding me? An enigma, wouldn’t you agree? Unless, of course…’ he let the words drip slowly from his lips, then he flashed her a wicked, heart-stopping smile ‘…it’s because I touched you…is that the reason, Katy?’

Katy wanted to swoon. Now she knew exactly how those Victorian maidens felt. Rapidly beating heart, wobbly legs, faint perspiration.

‘Come here and sit by me and we’ll talk about it.’

‘I haven’t given it a second’s thought,’ she lied, ‘and you ought to stop drinking.’

‘I won’t touch another mouthful if you come and sit here by me.’ He raised his arms and folded them behind his head and proceeded to watch her.

Katy took a few tentative steps towards him. The closer she got, the stronger was the pull she felt to keep going, until she was standing just in front of him.

Bruno shifted slightly to the right, to make room for her, and then patted the vacated spot on the sofa.

‘Sit down. Here. Nice warm spot.’

Katy perched.

‘I’m really sorry about Isobel,’ she began, her soft heart melting at what she felt must be some hidden pain that had driven him to the bottle.

‘Why? You didn’t like her.’

‘I wouldn’t say that I didn’t like her. She was just very, very different from me. A little scary, actually. Especially being so tall.’ Katy had felt like a pygmy next to her.

‘Okay. She was scary then. So why do you feel sorry about her? Forgot that she tried to threaten me? Anyway, as I’ve told you, I had a narrow escape. You should be feeling relieved at the thought of that.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose…’ Katy looked at him, marvelling abstractedly at the length of his eyelashes, of all things. ‘Although, it’s always sad when a relationship ends, isn’t it? Course, you probably don’t feel the same way about that as most normal people,’ she confided thoughtfully, ‘since you must have been through thousands of relationships that ended.’

‘Thanks a lot for that,’ Bruno said moodily. ‘One of the things I find most enchanting with you is your ability to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. A man who has had thousands of passing relationships can certainly count himself as very successful, can’t he, at the pinnacle of the totem pole?’

‘Sorry.’

‘Yes? Are you?’ Brooding black eyes scanned her face with deliberate, slow consideration and Katy nodded helplessly. He wasn’t slurring his words but he had thrown her with his burst of honesty. She nodded again, this time with a bit more conviction and watched him smile lazily back at her. ‘How sorry?’

‘Sorry about what happened and sorry about speaking, well, out of turn…’ There was something oddly exciting about the way he was staring at her. Maybe that glitter in his eyes was the drink. Katy hadn’t had much experience when it came to communicating with people under the influence of alcohol. Her parents cracked open the occasional bottle of wine when guests were over, and there was always sherry at Christmas, but she had led a quiet, sheltered life that did not include whisky-drinking.

‘Forgiven.’ He laughed softly under his breath and then reached out one hand so that he could stroke her wrist.

Katy felt the delicate touch of his finger with a rush of powerful sexual awareness and guiltily realised that she had been waiting for him to touch her. No, longing for it. That lust thing again. She parted her lips on a soft, helpless sigh and her body relaxed, as if invisible strings that had been holding it up had gone slack.

‘I should go,’ she heard herself stammer and then he was sitting up towards her. The sofa depressed and she felt herself sliding towards him, a collision of body against body.

‘Go?’ Bruno nuzzled softly into her ear. ‘That’s not what I have in mind…Oh, no, what I have in mind is taking up where we left off…’

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘TAKING up where we left off?’ Katy’s heart was racing as she contemplated the possibilities of what Bruno was saying to her.

‘No good you slipping back into these voluminous dresses,’ he chided mockingly. ‘Too late to try and hide that body of yours.’ As if to emphasise the point he was making, his hand curved into her waist, then along her back, travelling upwards until it found the nape of her neck, then he pulled her towards him.

Katy half fell onto him and felt the hardness of his torso. He had been right about the voluminous dress. She had worn it as protection, something to deter any glances that might be inclined to linger.

‘I wasn’t…Bruno, no…hang on…’

‘Stop talking. Kiss me. “Kiss me, Kate”.’ He grinned at his witticism and she felt the corners of her mouth tug into a smile.

Watching her, Bruno marvelled at how he had managed to miss the soft perfection of her lips all these months that he had been visiting his godfather and seeing her in passing. Her mouth was soft and full and delicately pink. He drew her closer and stifled a groan of pleasure as he prised them open, very gently, and felt her melt beneath him. Her tongue was hesitant, at first, but not for long. She returned his kiss with sweet surrender and her slight body curved into his. A perfect fit.

She only pulled back to say, with a frown, ‘I’m taking advantage of you.’

That almost made him laugh out loud but he remained perfectly grave. ‘I’m a big boy, Katy. I think it’s fair to say that I wouldn’t let you take advantage of me if I didn’t want it. Desperately.’

Desperately? Katy wondered if she had misheard him.

‘You’ve had too much to drink…you’re not in control…’

‘I’m in perfect control. In fact,’ he added expansively, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in as much control in my life before.’ He traced the contours of her mouth with his tongue and felt her shiver against him. ‘I haven’t been drinking here on my own all night,’ Bruno confessed. ‘One glass of whisky. The bottle was pretty much finished by the time I got to it.’ He kissed her jawline, then tilted her head back so that he could do the same to the slender column of her neck. ‘I haven’t been drowning lots of hidden pain in drink,’ he murmured. ‘Do you still feel sorry for me?’

‘No, I don’t!’ Katy responded sternly.

‘Good. I’d hate the thought of a woman making love with me because she felt sorry for me…’

His words sent a flood of hot, pulsing excitement racing through her.

‘Make love…?’

‘But not here.’ He traced her cheekbones with his fingers, then trailed them along her collar-bone, dipping under the break of her dress, which was so modestly high that they were barred entry to her soft cleavage. On one level, he certainly hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he was in control. Right now he was only just managing to hang onto that control by the skin of his teeth.

‘Not here?’ Katy whispered faintly.

‘Comfortable as this sofa is, I still prefer the thought of making love in my king-sized bed. Call me old fashioned.’

‘Oh, goodness!’

‘Is that an appropriate reaction, I wonder?’ He added quirky to her growing list of character traits.

‘But Joseph’s upstairs!’

‘And, fortunately, tucked up in his own bedroom. Shall I carry you up the stairs?’

‘Don’t be silly!’ Katy stood up and watched as Bruno followed suit. He looked a little dishevelled, with his shirt untucked from the waistband of his trousers and his feet bare. He had obviously kicked off his loafers somewhere along the line. Dishevelled but still incredibly beautiful.

Going up the stairs, he held her hand. The house was silent. There was no sound coming from Joseph’s room and there was no light peeping out from under the door. They walked quietly along the darkened corridor and entered the bedroom with which Katy was quite familiar. She had cleaned it once after he had gone, when Maggie had been off work, and she frequently popped in to make sure the dust wasn’t gathering and it was aired.

The big difference was that at no point had she ever been in it at the same time as he had.

Even vacant, his bedroom had still had the power to destabilise her. She had not once gone into it without her head filling up with images of him. Here, now, with him standing right by her side and softly shutting the door behind them, Katy almost yelped with the enormity of what she was doing. Her face felt as hot as fire and her hands were trembling. She stuck them behind her back and clasped them tightly together.

The overhead light in the bedroom was operated on a dimmer switch. Bruno had turned it down to the lowest so that the room was bathed in a mellow glow.

He began unbuttoning his shirt, watching her, and Katy stared in fascination. Warmth pooled inside her, making her breathing sluggish.

‘Look,’ she began in a voice she barely recognised, ‘there’s something I have to tell you…’ Why had she ever underestimated the power of animal attraction? Being in Bruno’s company had finally taken its toll. Under the continual impact of his sexual aura, her own natural defences had crumbled. Why else would she be standing here, with her feet rooted to the ground like blocks of lead and her disobedient body urging her to things that her mind, when it was working, would have recoiled at in horror?

Bruno’s body stilled. ‘What’s that?’

Katy looked at him in mute silence for a few seconds. ‘I expect you think that…well…I know that the kinds of circles you move in…’

‘Oh, no, you’re not about to embark on one of those never-ending, circular explanations of yours, are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ Bruno said, trying to restrain himself, ‘that you need to stop beating about the bush and get to the point of what you’re going to say.’ A surge of massive frustration swept over him like a tidal wave of freezing cold water. He knew what was coming. Confronted with the reality of what was looming up in front of them, naked body against naked body, she was going to make her excuses and leave. He wondered what he would do and realised, with disgust, that he had to yank himself back from the temptation to beg. He had never begged for any woman in his life and he had never felt the inclination to. He wasn’t about to start now either. His lips narrowed into a grim line and he folded his arms across his impressive, muscular chest.

‘What I’m saying…’ At this point, Katy just wanted the floor to open up and swallow her and her embarrassment up. She licked her lips nervously and tried to focus on his face even though his magnificent body was like a magnet to her eyes. ‘What I’m saying is that I’m not like those other women…’

‘What other women?’ He took a couple of steps towards her and Katy held her ground.

‘The other women you’ve slept with in the past!’ she burst out in one breath. ‘Women like Isobel! Sophisticated, experienced women! I’m not like them, Bruno. I know you’re going to find this ridiculous but I’m a virgin!’

Bruno looked at her and nothing came out. Katy, her defences reassembling themselves with gathering speed, couldn’t help but think that this was the first time and probably the last time that she would ever see Bruno Giannella literally struck dumb.

Well, who could blame him? What woman of her age had never slept with a man before? Hadn’t even been tempted to, come to it, until now. She had never felt this weird, wonderful, burning desire for anyone that she felt for this big man standing in front of her in stunned silence.

‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ she said, just to break the unbearable silence. Of course, she knew why he hadn’t said anything. Because Bruno, man of the world that he was, master of whatever woman he wanted, a stallion in bed, no less, according to his ex-girlfriend, would not be overjoyed at the prospect of taking a virgin to bed. He probably wanted someone who knew how to make love.

‘I’m not sure,’ Bruno said in a very unsteady voice, ‘that crazy is the word I would use to describe it.’ He took a couple more steps towards her so that he was now standing inches away. Katy inhaled deeply and breathed in his unique, sexy, masculine scent.

‘What would you say, then?’ she muttered in self-derision. ‘Sad? Pathetic? Unbelievable? You don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t change things, Bruno. I know it does.’

‘Explain.’

‘Well, a man like you…’

She looked down and he tilted her chin up very gently so that he could meet her eyes. He really didn’t suppose that he should tell her what her revelation had done to him. That right now he felt like a man who’d suddenly discovered the winning lottery ticket stuck at the back of a drawer. That he wanted to crow with sheer masculine glee.

‘You suppose too much,’ he said softly instead. ‘You needn’t be afraid. I intend to be very, very gentle with you…’

‘Could we turn the lights off?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Her dress was a maidenly affair, with small pearl buttons all the way down the front and, typically, each button was done up, right up to the little cream collar that had deterred his wandering fingers earlier on in the evening. He started with the top button and his eyes didn’t leave her face as he proceeded his way down until he had reached the waist.

Then he kissed her until he felt her nerves dissipating. Her hands reached up to curl around his neck. If she needed any proof that he was turned on then all she had to do was feel him through his trousers. He pulled her close and heard her little gasp as his arousal pressed against her, hard and throbbing and urgent.

He slid the dress free of her, where it pooled around her feet, and then held her hands in his, drawing them down to her sides and feasting his hungry eyes on her body. The same body that had been driving him crazy since she had revealed herself in that severe swimsuit. It hit him that in fact he had been looking at her even before then, had been watching her movements as she’d pottered around that office where they had been working, blithely unaware of his slumberous gaze on her.

Her underwear was simple, erotically simple. Plain white cotton bra, plain white cotton briefs that dipped beneath her belly button. Bruno reached up and tugged down the straps of the bra, then slid his hands behind her back to unclasp it. He half expected her to look down but she didn’t.

The desire to cringe as her body was exposed never came. Instead, Katy felt wickedly provocative as her small breasts were finally released from their constraints, jutting out, the large nipples tightly peaked in anticipation. His eyes raked over her and, as if he couldn’t stop himself, he reached out and touched one nipple with a look of wonder on his face.

‘You have,’ he said in a slightly shaky voice, ‘fabulous breasts. Fabulous nipples.’ He rubbed one with his thumb, then raised his other hand so that he was caressing them both, feeling their weight in his hands, teasing the buds with his thumbs.

Katy closed her eyes and tilted her head back, enjoying the fierce pleasure of having him touch her. When his mouth circled one of her sensitised nipples, she moaned and squirmed and sighed as he lifted her off her feet and deposited her on the bed.

Watching him remove the rest of his clothes made her ache even more between her legs and she had to fight the awful urge to touch herself. Her breathing quickened as he shrugged off his trousers and boxer shorts and revealed his impressive erection.

Then he moved onto the bed with her, his body over hers as he worked his way from her lips down.

He told her that there wasn’t an inch of her that he didn’t want to touch, although his words only half penetrated the haze of her own heated yearning. They were a low, husky rumble that sent her pulses leaping. He made her feel languorous and sexy and unashamed of her body and Katy, drinking at this fountain of desire for the first time in her life, lapped it up.

She caressed his head as he claimed her breasts, teasing them, sucking them, then moving lower so that he could trail wet kisses across her flat stomach. When he pulled down her briefs, she waited for him to enter her, knowing that she was no longer scared, but he didn’t. Instead, shockingly, he began to explore the very core of her with his tongue, sliding it along her moist crease and then pushing apart her thighs so that he could feast on her honeyed moistness.

Katy’s body jerked in immediate response and she arched back, writhing against his searching mouth.

When she half opened her eyes and saw the top of his dark head moving against her down there, his hands placed flatly on each of her inner thighs, she was so overcome by craving that she felt she might just pass out. She could feel her excitement building as he continued to lick her most intimate place.

Just when she thought that she wouldn’t be able to hold out any longer against the need to reach her own fulfilment, Bruno moved away briefly so that he could take protective measures. It was the merest passage of seconds, then he covered her body with his, guiding himself into her but very slowly and very gently.

‘Shh,’ he murmured, as if she had said something, then he covered her mouth with his and began to build a steady rhythm to his thrusts.

Katy’s body opened up like a flower to receive him and she began to move against him, picking up his rhythm until they were moving as one.

His body shuddered as he came into her and she responded with her own soaring climax that had her whirling away, flying out of space and out of time. When she finally landed and she opened her eyes, it was to find Bruno looking down at her with such tenderness that her heart constricted.

‘Was it okay for you?’ Katy ventured, with her usual honesty, and Bruno grinned and brushed some hair back from her face.

‘The earth moved.’ Literally. He couldn’t explain it but she had managed to transport him in a way that had never happened before.

‘Are you being sarcastic?’

He rolled off her and then stuck his arm under her head, pulling her close against him so that she was nestled into his neck.

It felt so comfortable that Katy promptly curved to her side and stretched her arm across his chest.

‘I could fall asleep,’ she confessed. In truth, she felt as if she were drifting along on ripples of contentment and peace.

‘Try and restrain yourself,’ Bruno said drily.

‘I know. I have to get back to my own room. If Joseph knew what had taken place here, he’d die a thousand deaths.’

‘What has happened here, Katy?’ Bruno asked in husky undertone.

‘You know as well as I do. We made love.’ She was bewildered that he would ask her a question with such an obvious answer, then her brain clicked into gear and she realised that what he was really talking about was what their love-making had meant. Good Lord, was he scared? Scared that she had given her virginity to him and might now be nurturing thoughts of relationships and commitment?

‘I mean,’ she expanded hastily, pulling back her arm only to find him replacing it, ‘we just gave in to…well, that lust thing…’

‘That lust thing.’

‘Right,’ Katy said eagerly. ‘When you touch me, I just melt. I can’t seem to help myself. You don’t have to worry that I’m going to do anything stupid, Bruno, like start having ideas about relationships or any such thing, because I won’t.’

He didn’t say anything for such a long time that she eventually propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him. ‘I think I ought to get back to my bedroom now.’

‘We need to talk this one through a little more.’

‘Why?’ Did he think that he had to issue a few explicit warnings about not getting involved with him?

‘Why me?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Why me?’ He crossed his arms behind his head and proceeded to subject her to one of those cross-examination stares that always made her feel hot and bothered. ‘How is it that you never got around to sleeping with a man before?’

Katy could see where this was leading and it was exactly as she had feared. He would be thinking that he was special to her and he was trying to prise that confession out so that he could set the situation straight. She wished that she could get angry with the implication and storm out of the room, thereby terminating her discomfiture, but, like a fool, she felt so unbearably good lying next to him that she just didn’t want to leave. Well, not until she had ironed things out, she told herself.

‘I don’t know,’ she said truthfully. ‘I’ve really only had two serious relationships and neither of them got that far.’

Bruno gave a harsh, derisive laugh under his breath. ‘Well, those must have been sizzling relationships if you never got around to that lust thing.’

Katy reckoned she could detect sarcasm as good as the next person and she promptly sat up, faced him and glared.

‘They were very nice relationships!’ she retorted defensively.

‘So nice that you never managed to make it to the bed.’ He shot her a smug smile and in return got a frosty look. ‘It’s very hard to concentrate on being serious when your breasts are on display,’ Bruno informed her, and when she automatically raised her arms to shield them he pulled them down. ‘No, no. Too late for modesty, my darling.’ He touched the tip of one nipple with his finger and watched it tighten in immediate response.

‘Not fair,’ Katy protested.

‘Tell me what went wrong with those losers.’

‘They weren’t losers. Neil was a student and it just fizzled out because we ended up only seeing each other when he was back from university.’

‘You should have been panting to be in each other’s arms.’

‘We talked.’

Talked and talked and talked, Katy remembered. All about his new, exciting life at university, about the discos he went to, the thrilling people he mixed with. She had stopped being his girlfriend and had mutated into his confidante, sadly still stuck in their home town and lacking in the fun, fun, fun quality that every single university student appeared to possess. Katy hadn’t minded and what had that said about things?

‘Anyway, it just kind of faded away, then I met Paul…’

‘And you did lots of talking…’ For some reason this was music to his ears. He bounced one breast in his hand and then propped himself up so that he could suckle on a nipple that was just begging for a little attention.

‘Are you listening?’

Bruno glanced up at her. ‘Don’t mind me.’ Then he returned to the highly satisfying pleasure of sucking her other nipple. What was it about this woman that turned him on like an adolescent? Her body was as smooth as satin and perfectly formed. He felt himself hardening in anticipation of touching every inch of her all over again.

‘I met Paul when I came to London…Bruno, I can’t concentrate…’

‘Good. You don’t have to concentrate, my darling, on anyone aside from me.’

This time their love-making was slow and sensuous and Katy wanted it never to end. He guided her to him and then onto him, enjoying the delight she took in taking control. Her waist was so small that he could virtually span it with both his hands and aligned to her slightness was a suppleness and agility that he couldn’t get enough of. She moved as gracefully as a dancer. Finally, spent, she lay on top of him and he stroked her hair, her neck, her back.

‘I really must get back to my room,’ Katy murmured sleepily. ‘You should have warned me that making love consumed so much energy.’

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, my darling,’ Bruno promised. ‘And you can’t go yet. You were in the process of telling me about loser number two before you distracted me.’

‘Before I distracted you?’ She rolled over to his side and made a determined effort not to wish for the impossible, not to long to be able to stay where she was, to fall asleep next to him and wake up alongside him in the morning, and…and…

With dismay, Katy found that her imagination was gathering momentum and that the things she longed to share with this man were going far beyond the one-night stand he needed and entering into the dangerous relationship territory that she had firmly denied wanting.

‘Paul wasn’t content with the hours I could give him.’ She shrugged, winding up the explanation. ‘I was an au pair at the time and I only had a certain amount of hours off during the week. Look, I’m not saying that this was a mistake or anything…’

‘You seem to have headed off on another tangent.’

‘But I want you to know that this…what we did…’ She slipped her legs off the bed in one neat, unstoppable movement and stood up. If she had to gather her senses, then putting distance between them was step number one. Getting dressed would help as well. She didn’t look at him as she began flinging on her clothes, although she knew that he was looking at her.

‘We both gave in…’

‘To the lust thing. I know. You’ve said that already. And look at me when I’m talking to you!’

Katy looked at him. She could do that now that she was safely ensconced in her clothes.

‘I’m not going to hop into bed with you again, Bruno. Believe it or not, I’m not the kind of girl who does that…’

‘So I gathered.’

‘I know you think that because I’m attracted to you, I’m probably easy game…’

‘Don’t ever insinuate that I chase women just for the fun of it, Katy.’ Hadn’t he, though? In the past? Never getting involved, just enjoying the temporary pleasure and then moving on?

‘Of course you do,’ she answered and she could tell from his sudden dark flush that she had struck home. ‘And there’s no point trying to deny it. Bruno, your little escapades always made it to the gossip columns in the newspapers! You don’t want commitment. You want never-ending fun and that’s fine, but it’s not for me.’ His eyes were narrowing ominously as her speech progressed, but Katy knew that she had to speak her mind because if she left it all unsaid he would assume that he could pursue her while it suited him. She was attracted to him and, face it, she thought with brutal honesty, she was convenient. Here they were, both sharing the same house and, without Isobel on the scene to release his sexual energy, what easier than to turn to the little naïve country girl who had declared her weakness for him?

‘And what is for you?’ Bruno could feel her pulling away from him at a rate of knots and he didn’t like it. He swept out of the bed, pausing on the way to snatch up his boxer shorts, which he stuck on, and then made sure to stand with his back to the door so that he was effectively barring her exit.

‘You’re in front of the door and I want to leave,’ Katy protested with alarm.

‘It’s ridiculous to start running scared now,’ he said by way of response. ‘We’ve made love and why kid ourselves that it’s never going to happen again? We want one another and I don’t see anything wrong in that. What’s wrong in that?’

‘You’re trying to tie me up in knots.’

‘I’m trying to get you to see sense.’ Bruno wanted to shake her. Anything to make her see what was as plain as the nose on her face. They were consenting adults whose bodies made music together. He could discern that mulish stubbornness creeping over her and he knew with gut-wrenching certainty that she was digging her heels in.

‘You’re trying to get me to see your sense!’

‘This argument would be all right if we hadn’t just spent the past three hours in each other’s arms!’

‘I don’t want to be your plaything while you’re up here, Bruno. A little distraction on the side just for as long as you’re stuck here. Something to be tossed aside when it’s time to return to London and you spot bigger, brighter, shinier toys waiting to be played with!’

‘Whoever mentioned anything about tossing anyone aside?’

‘You don’t have to!’ Katy cried with heartfelt emotion. ‘Your history speaks for itself!’ She sighed and looked down at her feet and willed herself not to cry. It took a lot of effort, but eventually she looked up and said in a calm, controlled voice, ‘You can’t stand there blocking that door for ever. It’s time for me to get back to my room and there’s nothing more to be said.’

‘You’re living in the wrong era,’ Bruno said brusquely. ‘Love, marriage…waiting for Mr Right to come along…doesn’t happen, Katy.’

She shrugged and he wanted to bellow at her that he hated it when she ducked out of confrontation with one of those evasive shrugs of hers.

‘I don’t mind what lifestyle you choose, Bruno. You can work your way through the entire female population for all I care, but I’m not going to start giving myself away just for the fun of it!’ Had she just told him that she didn’t care? If he was even a little bit tuned in to women then he would see that for the nonsense that it was. She cared. Oh, how she cared.

Bruno slowly stepped aside, leant against the wall and folded his arms, like a dark Lucifer waiting to lure her back under his spell.

When Katy was right next to him, he said under his breath, ‘We live and die by the choices that we make, Katy. Remember that. You may feel very virtuous and saint-like denying yourself a taste of fun in your zeal to find the right man to slip a ring on your finger, but be careful you don’t end up wasting your life in one long, futile search.’

Katy’s head filled with images of herself getting older, looking for Mr Might-be-just-round-the-corner and wishing that she’d been wise enough to take the offer Bruno had extended. He had a golden tongue and he had managed to paint her destiny in a frightening light. She swallowed down the temptation to give into the promise of sexual fulfilment that he had offered to her.

‘Will you want me to work for you tomorrow?’ she whispered miserably instead.

Bruno scowled and restlessly raked his fingers through his hair.

‘Maybe in the afternoon,’ he muttered grimly. ‘I’ll be out in the morning.’

Out? Katy thought. Out where?

‘If you let me know what time—’

‘I don’t know what time!’ Bruno exploded. He strode over to the easy chair by the window and deposited himself in it although his posture was far from comfortable. Every fibre of his body was giving off signals of frustrated, impotent rage. Katy found it hard to believe that those narrowed black eyes had softened with teasing tenderness on her only a short while earlier.

Where had it gone? she thought wretchedly. She left the room with a miserable feeling of having won the battle but lost the war. And it was made worse the following day because Bruno was nowhere to be seen.

‘Business in London,’ Joseph told her, when, at four in the afternoon, she casually mentioned his absence. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, no reason!’ They were enjoying a walk in the garden. The weather was beautiful with the smell of early summer sifting through the trees and mingling with the smell of freshly mowed grass. Katy tried to enjoy the perfume and found instead that she was glaring down at the beds of flowers and thinking tortured thoughts of what precisely Bruno was doing in London.

‘He was supposed to come back up at lunch time, but he phoned me earlier to say that he’d been delayed. Meetings, I expect.’

‘I expect so. He’s been here quite a while. He’s probably getting back into the swing of things in London.’ Fixing up hot dates with hot babes, she thought sourly, now that this damp squib had given him a resounding red light.

‘Probably,’ Joseph agreed. ‘Guess you’ll miss him being around when he finally does leave?’

‘Oh, no! You and I can get back to normal, then. Carry on with the memoirs. We haven’t visited the library in ages. Maybe we can go at the end of the week.’ She was dreading getting back to the normality she had previously relished. Bruno had swept into her life like a tornado and shattered her peace and she didn’t think she could ever get it back again.

If it had just been a question of lust, then, yes, this painful ache inside her would gradually ease and life would go back to what it had been before. Or something very similar anyway. But it wasn’t just about lust, not for her. It was all about love and need and every other ludicrous word that she could never dare breathe to him. She had made the fatal error of falling in love with him and it served her right. Instead of recognising what she felt from early on and taking the necessary precautions, just as he had taken the necessary precautions when they had made love, she had hurled herself off the cliff with a great shout of joy and now she was left staring at a blank abyss for her sins.

‘And we’ll have to pick up the memoirs,’ she said brightly to Joseph as they strolled towards the greenhouse. ‘My typing skills are pretty good now. We can cover lots more! Well, I can type up what we cover a lot faster anyway!’ She listened to herself babbling away frantically as they inspected the tomatoes and the grape vines and finally the orchids. By the time they made it back to the house she had covered every topic under the sun and Joseph had managed to slip in only the occasional word edgeways.

She found herself going back to the original topic they had briefly discussed earlier and, partly for Joseph’s benefit but mostly for her own, she gravely reminded him that Bruno’s extended day in London was the prelude to him leaving for good.

‘He’s probably missed the cut and thrust of big city life,’ she expanded, imagining him cutting and thrusting with a series of dashing six-foot Isobel clones. ‘This country life probably stifles him. No feverish excitement in the office, no phones ringing all the time, no important people calling in for…for financial advice or whatever…’ No clubs, she amended in her head, no sizzling night life, no expensive restaurants full of famous, beautiful people who would naturally be on first name terms with him…

‘He seems to rather like it up here,’ Joseph said mildly, to which Katy heard herself give an uncharacteristically crazed laugh. ‘The countryside has charms of its own,’ he continued. ‘There’s no exchange for tranquillity and the inner peace that comes from being surrounded by Nature.’

Which was why she was so deeply fond of Joseph, Katy thought to herself. How could she possibly disillusion him with her own version of the truth? Which was that there was no conceivable reason for his godson to remain here when his purpose was fast coming to an end. Joseph was getting stronger by the day. Tranquillity and inner peace were words Bruno would never consider in his vocabulary.

She endured the remainder of the day, little knowing how life could change in a matter of a few short hours…

CHAPTER EIGHT

JOSEPH’S friend Dave Harrington was picking Joseph up at eight-thirty in the morning. He had a full morning planned, which included taking Joseph to the hospital for a routine check-up, followed by a few rounds of bridge at the rather swanky club on the outskirts of the town that offered tremendously good rates for old-age pensioners. Or, as Joseph called them, duffers with a bit of money and a lot of spare time who could be shoved into a couple of rooms that wouldn’t have been in use otherwise during the day. Then a spot of lunch, with all the old cronies there.

‘You can sleep in, my dear,’ were Joseph’s last words before he retired for bed the evening before. ‘You deserve it, all the hard work you’ve been putting in with Bruno as taskmaster.’

Katy had protested dutifully but had been happy enough to give in without too much persuasion. She felt exhausted and it had nothing to do with hard work. All the activity taking place in her brain was tiring her. She was in love with Bruno and she had no idea what to do about it. Should she leave? Quit her job? If she stayed, she would inevitably continue to bump into him whenever he came to visit his godfather. She would never have the time and space for her feelings to wither away. One accidental meeting with him and everything, every longing, would flare right back into vigorous life and she would be left nursing scars only for them to re-open the minute he returned the next time.

But then, when she thought about leaving, she imagined a wretched existence, a lifetime of missing him and wanting him, and then that option didn’t seem too good either.

Or perhaps she should simply cave in and have an affair with him, enjoy what he was offering and put off the inevitable heartache for as long as possible. But wouldn’t that be worse? He would tire of her, ditch her and then, on top of everything else, she would have to contend with feeling like a failure.

It had been after midnight before she had finally fallen into a restless sort of sleep, punctuated with vivid, unsatisfactory dreams.

It took her a few minutes to realise that the knocking on her bedroom door was not a continuation of yet another unsettling dream with no particular ending.

It was Joseph and he looked far too bright-eyed for her liking, although that too took a few seconds to appreciate as she stared at him bleary-eyed, hair hanging in a tousled mane around her face.

‘What time is it?’ Katy asked, blinking.

‘Eight!’

‘Is there a problem with Dave?’ Her brain began functioning a little more efficiently and she noticed that Joseph was fully dressed. ‘Do you need me to give you a ride in? I’ll just get changed. Sorry. I’m normally up so early. Give me a few minutes.’

‘You little devil!’

‘Wha..?’

‘Course I knew it. Sensed it. Might be old but I’m not yet a fool!’ He was beaming in a manner that sent a few shivers of alarm running down her spine.

What on earth was he talking about?

‘Mind if I come in, Katy? Won’t be long. Dave’ll be here any minute if he doesn’t oversleep. You know these old people.’ He chuckled and edged his way into her room so that he could plop himself comfortably in her reading chair by the fireplace. ‘All that chat about Bruno leaving, getting me prepared. You should have come clean with me! No…I guess you were worried about how I would receive the news, but, my dear, there was no need! I can’t tell you how delighted I am! Now, I thought you were looking a little flushed yesterday. Not your usual self. Very observant I can be, at times, you have to admit it!’

Katy had not the faintest idea what he was talking about. She slipped on her dressing gown, and perched herself on the edge of her bed.

‘You’re delighted,’ she said, testing the water. ‘I’m delighted that you’re delighted.’ But what at? she wondered, thinking fast and coming up blank.

‘Of course, I shall miss you terribly. Hmm. Might have to leave this old place…can’t imagine getting a replacement for you, my dear. Wouldn’t be the same.’

‘Replacement?’ Now she was beginning to feel as if she had been tossed onto a roller coaster, destination unknown. ‘I wasn’t thinking of leaving, Joseph.’ Well, she had been, true, but how on earth could Joseph have read her mind to that extent? Had she unwittingly said something yesterday? Out loud? She frowned, thinking back, wondering if she had let anything slip about what she was feeling.

‘Naturally, not yet.’ He beamed and looked at his watch. ‘Lord, look at the time! I’m going to have to go, my dear, but I just wanted you to know that you’ve made an old man very happy indeed!’

‘By planning to leave?’ Katy asked, deeply hurt.

Joseph, on his feet, took both her hands in his and gave them a comforting squeeze. ‘You’re emotional, I know. It’s an emotional time. But it’s right. I have a gut feeling! You and Bruno are perfectly suited! And I’m so deeply overjoyed that you’ve decided to get married!’

He almost bounced out of the room, leaving Katy staring at the door in dumbfounded shock.

Marrying Bruno? Where on earth could he have got that idea from? Was this some weird complication following his heart attack? Hallucinations?

She was fully awake now and dressed quickly, barely stopping to give her hair a brush. Ten minutes later, she was pelting down the stairs, straight into the kitchen where Bruno was sitting at the kitchen table with an assortment of newspapers in front of him, a cup of coffee and a glass of juice.

Katy skidded to a halt and every confused thought drained out of her as she absorbed him sitting there. He had pushed himself away from the table so that he could extend his long legs out in front of him. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows and he had his fingers loosely linked together on his lap. He was so ferociously sexy that she heard her own audible gasp.

‘Coffee?’ He pointed to the glass filter jug behind her on the kitchen counter. ‘I’ve just made some.’

‘When did you get back?’ She wondered whether Bruno had been privy to any of his godfather’s surreal ramblings. If he hadn’t, then she would just have to wait by the front door until Joseph returned, kidnap him and tell him, very gently of course, that he had got the wrong end of the stick from somewhere.

She felt a little calmer because Bruno certainly didn’t seem to be flustered, which he would have been had he listened in to what Joseph had told her ten minutes earlier.

‘Very early this morning, as a matter of fact.’

‘And I guess you haven’t…seen your godfather? Before he left, I mean. He’s gone out with Dave Harrington.’ She turned her back and made a performance of pouring herself a mug of coffee, while she held her breath and waited for his reply.

‘Oh, yes, I saw him all right.’

The silence stretched on and on until Katy finally turned around to find Bruno looking at her. ‘I think you ought to have a look at these newspapers,’ he said conversationally, and, without taking his eyes away from her face, he swivelled one of the tabloids so that it was pointing in her direction.

Katy walked very tentatively towards the table. There were more newspapers there than she had thought at first. An unnatural amount, in fact.

She looked at the page of the top one, read the caption and then placed her cup down on the table.

‘Oh, no. Oh, no.’ Her face drained of colour as she read the short piece. In a breezy, gossipy tone, it announced the engagement of one Katy West and one Bruno Giannella, who was glowingly described as easily the most eligible bachelor in London. With sickening, boot-licking flattery, the article sympathised with all those single females who were now to be deprived of a man lucky enough to be strikingly handsome, mouthwateringly wealthy and too clever by half.

‘That’s my name,’ Katy squeaked, sitting down heavily and then rifling through the selection of newspapers to find similar announcements in most of them. The Financial Times appeared to be the only one not to carry an article on the subject and who, she wondered frantically, ever read the Financial Times anyway?

‘And Joseph…?’

‘I felt I had to show him so that he could be spared finding it out through one of his friends. You know most of them probably only read the obituaries and the gossip.’

‘Bruno, this can’t be happening!’

‘The evidence is in front of you.’

‘How can you be so calm?’ Katy shrieked with rising hysteria.

‘I’ve had a bit more time to get used to it than you.’ He swung round to face her and pulled his chair up towards the table. ‘Isobel phoned me last night to inform me that I might be interested in having a look at the newspapers in the morning. By then, of course, it was too late for me to do anything about it. I came up here first thing.’

‘My parents…’ Katy went a shade more ashen. ‘I…I have to call…tell them that it’s all been a terrible mistake…’ She looked across to the telephone and quailed at the thought of what would be involved. Her parents would demand an explanation of how such a rumour could occur in the first place. They would ask piercing questions, which she would be unable to answer. They would insist on driving up to make sure she was all right.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked feverishly. ‘You said that she wouldn’t…’

‘Seems she has an even more malicious streak than I imagined.’

‘You have to sort this out!’ Katy told him in a panicked voice. ‘This is all your fault!’

‘I wouldn’t quite say all mine.’

‘And the least you could do is look a little more concerned!’ She couldn’t sit down. She had to move around. She stood up, felt her legs want to give way and promptly sat back down. ‘You have to make an announcement,’ she continued, drawing in a big, shaky breath. ‘Get in touch with your chums at…at the newspapers. You must have dozens of friends at the newspapers! Tell them they made a mistake. Explain about Isobel…’ He was being very calm, she thought. And thank goodness for that, because two frantic people would have been even worse. She had a momentary pang of sympathy for him. He must be feeling just as frantic as she was, but, being a man of formidable self-control, he simply wasn’t showing it. Right now, he probably loathed her for having unwittingly brought this appalling mess on his head.

‘I’m sorry, Bruno,’ Katy whispered. Tears were welling up and she blindly took the handkerchief that was shoved into her hand. ‘I shouldn’t have blamed you. If it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have happened…’ She rubbed her eyes fiercely with the hankie and then looked at him, still amazed that he could remain so controlled. But then Bruno was a highly disciplined man. He wouldn’t burst into tears at something like this. He would probably have already thought it all through and come to a solution.

‘I guess you’ve already thought of something…?’ she asked hopefully.

‘It’s a bit too complicated for an easy solution,’ he said, crushing any little glimmer of hope she had been nurturing.

‘Too complicated? Surely you just have to tell them the truth…?’

‘First of all, there’s Joseph.’ His brilliant black eyes locked hers and Katy felt herself getting giddy, then she remembered where getting giddy because of those fabulous eyes had got her, and she stared down at the crumpled hankie in her hand. ‘He’s over the moon about this development. It’s put a real spring in his step. We’ve got to consider that he’s just recovering from what could have been something a whole lot more serious. If we break it to him that these articles are all a lie, well…’

‘You mean…he might have another heart attack?’

‘Who knows? Probably not, but do we take the risk? Then there’s your parents. If they haven’t already read about it, then they will have by the end of the day. I don’t know what they’re like, but the picture I’ve got from you is of two very devoted, very caring people who would be deeply wounded to think that their only daughter had been…’

Katy, hanging onto every word leaving his lips, had no difficulty in picturing just how her poor, devoted parents would react. She swallowed back a stifled sob.

‘And then there’s my professional standing…’

‘Your professional standing?’ she parroted.

‘I have a reputation in the City and, believe it or not, reputations are based on a whole lot more than just an ability to make money. Were I to be seen as a philanderer who leads a woman on, proposes marriage and then tries to wriggle out of the commitment, then what sort of man would I be seen as?’

‘But you are a philanderer. Surely they know that already?’

Bruno’s jaw clenched and he swallowed hard. ‘I have enjoyed a bachelor life,’ he muttered through gritted teeth. ‘Which is quite different from having a fling with an innocent young girl, proposing marriage to her and then walking away.’

‘They don’t know that I’m young and innocent,’ she whispered.

‘They will, though. It won’t be long before they head up here, cameras at the ready, to take pictures of the happy couple. My social life has always been followed.’

Katy didn’t quite know which of these appalling options she should focus on. Joseph, her parents, Bruno’s crumbling career and tarnished reputation or the press banging on the door to take pictures.

‘It’s awful,’ she said in a small voice. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘I can only think of one thing,’ he said in a low, thoughtful voice. He reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. ‘We’re just going to have to pretend that the engagement is for real, that we’re a happy couple…as far as the newspapers go, this is a flash in the pan. These stories have a very early sell-by date before they move on to something else.’

‘And what about Joseph? My parents?’

‘Trickier. We can’t just carry it off for a few days and then stun them with the news that it was all a terrible mistake.’

‘I suppose not,’ Katy said, dazed.

‘You should call your parents. If I’m to meet them, as I undoubtedly will, I don’t want them arriving with low opinions of me. Bad enough, in their eyes, that I would have omitted to call them first and ask for your hand in marriage.’

‘You’re being very good about all this, Bruno. I realise you probably want to string me up from the nearest pole…’ She became aware of the pressure of his hand on hers and hurriedly eased hers out. ‘I’ll call my parents.’ It was a statement, not a question, and she knew she was rigid as a block of wood as she stumbled an explanation to her mother over the phone. Fifteen minutes later, she looked at Bruno with a forlorn expression.

‘She thinks it’s very romantic,’ Katy said on a sigh. ‘She said that she and Dad were engaged only a fortnight after they first met.’ She sighed again. ‘They’re coming tomorrow. I couldn’t stop them. They’re dying to meet you.’

‘Understandable.’

‘They can stay in the local hotel. It’s only half an hour’s drive away.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it and nor would Joseph. There’s plenty of room here.’

‘But…’ How could she explain that having her parents here would be just too much? Taking the pretence too far? A quick meeting on neutral territory, and she was thinking of tea at the hotel, and there would be no time for them to form any real bonds. A couple of hours of polite chit-chat and then, when she announced that the engagement was over, that she and Bruno really didn’t get along after all, they would accept it more easily.

She launched into a garbled explanation of her thinking and then waited until he shook his head slowly.

‘It would seem inhospitable. Joseph, I know, would be mortified. He’s nothing if not the soul of hospitality. He would enjoy nothing more than relaxing in the comfort of his own home with your parents, probably showing them his prized first editions and, of course, his orchids.’

Which was exactly what Katy feared. She opened her mouth to explain just that, but he interrupted her before she could begin,

‘And besides, we shouldn’t forget that he’s still recovering from a fairly major health scare. He might seem to be forging ahead in the progress stakes, but anything could set him back and that includes an attack of nerves at having to meet your parents somewhere in town. I just think that he would be a lot happier if the meeting were to take place here.’

‘You must be furious with me,’ she said miserably.

‘Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.’

‘Have you spoken to Isobel?’

‘What would be the point? The thing is done now. We just have to work on sorting it out the best we can.’

‘And how long do you think…?’

‘Do I think what?’

‘Well, how long do we have to go through with this charade?’ His mouth tightened and Katy realised just how awful it would be for him. ‘And what about your work?’ Her frown eased and she nodded a little to herself. ‘Oh, I understand what you’re probably going to do. You’re going to head back to London and then maybe commute on the weekends, and that way,’ she said slowly, ‘we can always say that things didn’t work out because of your work commitments…’ That scenario had a number of benefits, the most important being that if Bruno wasn’t around, it would give her time to get her wayward heart in order.

‘That’s an option, indeed,’ Bruno murmured noncommittally. He sat back and observed her flushed face.

Katy, conjuring up a scenario wherein she wasn’t faced with the agony of being near him all the time, was nodding to herself. ‘Yes, that’s it. Maybe you could even go somewhere. Travel to another country where you would suddenly find yourself involved in a deal that took much, much longer than you’d expected. Days. Weeks! Of course, I would grow depressed and start wondering how we would be able to function as a married couple if you were going to be away for months on end. It would be only natural for our relationship to fizzle out, by which time Joseph and my parents would be braced for that to happen…’

‘In the meantime,’ he said with a depressing sense of purpose, dragging her full tilt right back into the reality she had been busily trying to avoid, ‘we have to do something about a ring.’

‘A ring?’

‘An engagement ring. Joseph will expect you to be wearing one when he gets back from his little jaunt. If we leave now…’ he looked at his watch and appeared to be making a few mental calculations ‘…we can be in town in half an hour.’

She had only sufficient time to grab her light jacket, ignoring the rumblings in her stomach, which had cottoned on to the fact that she had missed breakfast. She would have to grab something somewhere along the line. Or else eat as soon as they returned home.

An hour and a half later and after two jewellers who appeared to have nothing good enough for Bruno, she trailed behind him into the third jeweller’s. As far as she was concerned, any ring would do. It was all a phoney engagement anyway, she told Bruno several times, so what did it matter what the ring looked like?

When a tray of impressive diamond rings was brought out for her to inspect, she cleared her throat and said in an ultra polite voice, ‘Aren’t these a bit expensive? For what we have in mind?’

‘Nothing but the best for you,’ Bruno murmured. He reached out and gently massaged the back of her neck with such intimacy that she felt her face going bright red.

Half an hour later, Katy was the recipient of a slender gold ring topped with two small diamonds. She had fallen in love with it. Choose something unappealing, she had sternly told herself as she had gazed down at the black velvet display board, and had immediately found her hand reaching out for the most charming engagement ring she had ever seen.

Now she couldn’t help sneaking glances at her finger and wondering what it would be like if this charade were reality, if Bruno really did love her.

‘What’s the loud sigh for?’ he asked and Katy started.

‘Did I sigh?’

She looked up at him, met his eyes and was busily thinking of something when he continued, ‘I haven’t got around to thanking you.’ He pushed open the door to a coffee shop and Katy realised that somehow they had been walking in the direction of the town centre. She must have been miles away.

‘You’ve done me a favour,’ he drawled, ordering himself a black coffee and a café latte for her. She had a preference for the milky coffee. She could remember telling him that ages ago, though she was surprised that he had remembered. But then he had been cooped up with her for long enough. There had been none of the usual distractions that would have allowed such unnecessary information to filter out of his brain.

Bruno sat back and waited until his cup was deposited in front of him. ‘There was no need for you to agree to this engagement. The pressure was entirely on me to account for myself.’

‘Well, I still blame myself for getting you into the mess in the first place,’ Katy mumbled. ‘And I couldn’t just walk away from it that easily. I mean, there was Joseph to consider and also my parents. They would have understood, but there would still have been some lingering doubts about what gave rise to such a revelation in the first place. No smoke without a fire sort of thing. Anyway, it’s just for a little while, isn’t it?’

‘But, unfortunately, it might be slightly more hectic than we both initially imagined…at least to start with.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that it was a bit unrealistic to expect things to remain in the closed circle of immediate friends and family. It’s easy to think that it’s possible to escape reality because Joseph lives in the countryside. Open fields lend the illusion of escape. Unfortunately, despite being a very private man, I happen to have a highly public profile. I’ve already received countless emails from business associates congratulating me and invitations for the both of us to make a public appearance at various gatherings.’

Katy visibly paled.

‘Tomorrow night we’ve been jointly invited to a client do at the Royal Albert Hall.’

‘But…that’s ridiculous,’ she squeaked.

‘Be prepared for cameras.’

Katy gulped down several mouthfuls of latte and had a sickening feeling of being drawn into a web that was growing monstrously big and out of control.

‘You’ll have to find some excuse,’ she said a little desperately.

‘Such as?’

‘I don’t know! Use your imagination! I know we’re in this mess now, but…’

‘I’ll limit the social engagements. In the meantime, I think it might be an idea if you expanded your wardrobe to cope with immediate eventualities.’ He drained his coffee, sat back and folded his arms.

Katy could have hit him. He was so arrogant, so absolutely certain that he could control events. As far as he was concerned, they had agreed on a course of action and he would move with ruthless efficiency to implement it. No matter that she had feelings, no matter that she would be trailing along in his wake, waiting for him, no doubt, to decide when they could reasonably call the whole thing off after a decent interval. She would dress the part, play the part, and when the time was right she would have to walk away from the part as though it had never existed. He would never have imagined that this could cause her a problem. Why should it? It wouldn’t cause him one. He would have walked away from her without a backward glance, but fate had thrown them together against his will and he would set about tackling the problem like he tackled everything else. Thoroughly.

‘And what if I don’t want my wardrobe expanded?’

Bruno shrugged. ‘Up to you. The Royal Albert Hall is usually a fairly formal venue, though. If you don’t think you would feel uncomfortable wearing what you wear here, those smocky type garments, to an event like that, then that’s entirely up to you.’

‘You are so rude and I hate the way you think you can manipulate people,’ she whispered shakily under her breath.

‘Is that how you see it?’

‘I don’t see why we can’t just play this pretend game for a little while then let things fade away. No coming to London with you. No public appearances.’

‘Just those reporters lurking in the bushes waiting for a candid shot. Trampling over the flowers. Driving Joseph into the house rather than face prying eyes peering at him through binoculars. There is nothing more juicy for a reporter, especially those of a paparazzi nature, than the whiff of the clandestine. They will see your refusal to be seen on my arm as an indication of something to hide. On the other hand, give them a few decent pictures and they’ll soon disappear.’

‘We shouldn’t have started all this,’ Katy said unsteadily.

‘You mean we shouldn’t have kissed one another by the pool that day? Or was the mistake in getting caught by a vengeful ex?’

‘We should have just told the truth when we could have instead of…of…’

‘No point going down the should have road. It always proves to be a very futile exercise.’ Bruno stood up, dropped more than sufficient money to cover their coffees on the table and waited until Katy had reluctantly got to her feet.

How had she ever got so deep into this? It had seemed so easy at the time to evade the truth, with Joseph disappearing almost as soon as he had dropped his bombshell, and then Bruno using that silver tongue of his to make her follow his lead.

She barely noticed as they walked towards the town centre, nor did she pay the slightest bit of attention to the shop until they were standing inside it, at which point Katy blinked and hazarded a weak smile in Bruno’s direction.

He had struck up a conversation with the proprietor. Katy was pretty sure that the woman would not have paid her the least attention had she come in on her own, but Bruno was the sort of man who exuded money. The tall, haughty brunette’s nose seemed to visibly twitch as she conversed with him, pointing out new collections and sparing Katy one brief, speculative glance that spoke volumes.

When Bruno insinuated that a buying spree was imminent, Katy took a deep breath and said very firmly, ‘One outfit. One social occasion, one outfit.’

To her surprise, he smiled and moved over to where she was standing resolutely by the door. ‘And here I was, thinking that women loved having things bought for them,’ he murmured.

‘Don’t stand so close to me,’ Katy hissed.

‘We’re engaged. Remember? Engaged people have a tendency to stand close to one another. It’s almost expected. Anyway, you’ll have to get used to it. Your parents and Joseph might be a bit alarmed if we spend the evening on opposite sides of the room.’

‘Well I don’t see Joseph or my parents around at the moment, do you? Just one very snobbish sales assistant who doesn’t know us from Adam.’

‘No point doing a job unless you do it properly,’ was his response.

So now she was reduced to the status of a job that needed to be done. She shouldn’t be surprised considering Isobel had been little more than a suitable possible arrangement at the time, but it still made her feel sick inside to know just how disposable she was. And she really wished he would move away. Her body had a memory and a will of its own and his proximity was making her burn with something that was definitely not dislike.

He must have read her mind because he sauntered off and sat down on the chair located at the side of the room, for a bird’s-eye view of assessing various outfits.

‘Right,’ he drawled, the object of what Katy could only call slavering attention from the sales assistant, ‘a few casual pieces, no ridiculous styles, and one dressy outfit suitable for mixing with royalty.’

Katy scooted over to the chair and fixed him with a glare. ‘I realise that I’m nothing more than a job number,’ she muttered, ‘but isn’t this taking things a bit too far? Have you any idea how much these clothes cost? And I won’t be able to use them and return them for a refund. You’ll be throwing an awful lot of money down the drain when the job is finished and you have the clothes back.’

Bruno’s mouth thinned and he looked at her coldly. ‘I find that remark particularly tasteless,’ he said, but, instead of being squashed by the iciness of his voice and the patent anger burning in his black eyes, Katy felt a little swoop of delight that she had managed to somehow get behind the indifference and prod him into a reaction. It hadn’t seemed fair that she should be so churned up by this horrible complication, so gutted by her own emotions, while he remained so composed, controlled and infuriatingly unmoved.

‘But it’s the truth,’ she insisted with wide-eyed, bemused innocence. More satisfaction as his face darkened. ‘Once the job’s finished, all of this will just be money wasted.’

‘You can keep the damn clothes,’ Bruno muttered harshly, ‘and the ring for that matter. Forget about the money.’

‘I certainly would never dream of keeping either, especially the ring.’ She twisted it self-consciously on her slender finger. ‘An engagement ring should mean something and this ring doesn’t mean anything at all. When I wear an engagement ring for keeps, it’ll be because it’s cementing a worthwhile relationship and not…not something like this.’

Bruno’s jaw hardened and he stared stonily at her. ‘I think the sales assistant is getting a little restless,’ he remarked with pointed patience. ‘And this conversation is going nowhere. If you decide you don’t want to keep the clothes, then they’ll be given to charity.’ He looked away from her, folded his legs and gave the sales assistant an imperceptible nod.

The brunette’s cue to move into immediate action.

Of course, she wouldn’t keep the clothes. They weren’t her style at all. And of course, despite their one night of passion, she had made no emotional impact on him, quite a different story for her with her gullible heart and foolish longings. But…

If this was play-acting, then why not obey the decree he had laid down and enter into the spirit of it? She stilled the little voice whispering in her ear that maybe, just maybe, she could show him that she wasn’t the smock dress country bumpkin he labelled her, that she could look sexy if she wanted.

Having never done it before, Katy was bemused to find that the process was more enjoyable and a lot easier than she had imagined. She tried on outfits, she twirled, she marvelled at how the cut of the clothes made her figure look like a figure instead of the off-putting boyish build she had always thought she possessed.

Bruno, gallingly, made no flattering noises, and while Katy tried to ignore the aching disappointment in her heart, she couldn’t help feeling hurt that he limited his remarks to the essential, and when the trying-on was over simply got to his feet, instructed the sales assistant to deliver the lot to the house by mid afternoon and paid the bill.

The hurt developed a wall of icy protectiveness over it and as they left the shop she turned to him brightly.

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘What about?’ Bruno asked, not looking at her and showing marginal interest.

‘About the clothes. You can have back the ring but maybe I’ll keep the clothes…’ She slid him a sidelong glance, hating herself for just wanting him so much to compliment her on how she had looked. ‘After all,’ she tacked on casually, ‘once this is over and done with, they might come in very handy when it comes to meeting guys. You were right all along. I can’t bury myself up here any longer. Course, I’ll still work with Joseph but…well…there’s a whole world waiting out there, isn’t there…?’

CHAPTER NINE

KATY lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. There wasn’t much to see. It was after midnight, she hadn’t bothered to switch the lights on and only the moonshine filtering through the curtains picked out the contours of the room.

She couldn’t quite decide what tonight had been: raging success or abysmal failure.

Her parents had arrived at teatime and had been, unsurprisingly, a little taken aback at the size of the house and the gardens. Katy had been overjoyed to see them. She phoned regularly, but only managed to make it to her home town at irregular intervals and seeing them in her own surroundings had been wonderful. She had shown them around the house, strolled through the gardens, chatted when she’d had to about Bruno in a vague and hopefully contented voice, by which time they had relaxed and then Joseph had appeared, apologetic about not having been there to greet them,

‘But an old man with a tired heart apparently needs to rest fifty per cent of the day,’ he confided with an impish glint in his eyes, at which point all ice melted.

There was a little window during which no searchingly intrusive questions were asked and Bruno, tangled up in a three-hour conference call to America, had not yet appeared.

They took tea outside; her mother chatted animatedly about Joseph’s orchids. Naturally, it couldn’t have lasted. By the time Bruno surfaced, her mother had cornered her and the catalogue of questions had begun. Interested, concerned, a little too shrewd. Then her father had cornered her, ostensibly to apologise for her mother being a little too much of an inquisitor but really so that he could reassure himself that his little girl was not making the biggest mistake of her life.

Who was this Bruno character? Why the speed? Had they had time to get to know one another? What sort of man was he? Was he a family type of man? When were they planning on getting married?

Then, when Joseph tactfully excused himself so that he could chat to Maggie about dinner preparations, she was subjected to a dual attack.

By the time Bruno emerged from the office, Katy was feeling drained and hunted.

She had hoped to waylay him so that she could make her case for treading carefully and avoiding too many detailed answers that might come back to haunt them when the unravelling of their so-called relationship began. She had also, subconsciously, wanted him to sympathise with her in the face of all the parental questions she had had to fend, but in all events he was in a foul mood.

No one else was able to glimpse that. He had enough surface charm to bowl anyone over and her parents were no exception. He played the part of the perfect gentleman. He was amusing, asked countless questions about them, made fluent conversation on topics her father was interested in and he was aggravatingly solicitous in his dealings with her.

Intimate looks, a hand circling her waist, a swift kiss on the nape of her neck. She felt every touch and her body responded with savage enthusiasm, all the worse because of his foul mood, which she had spotted. How could he pretend so successfully when he was simmering over something? Probably the conference call?

The whole show had made her see just how much she had bitten off. She fell into an unsatisfactory sleep two hours later and woke up to bright sunlight bathing the room because she had forgotten to close the curtains.

Resolve was what was called for, she told herself, getting dressed in one of her new, startling outfits, which was a figure-hugging beige top and the same style loose, calf-length skirt she was accustomed to wearing, but this time one that sat on her hips, revealing a slither of firm stomach and her belly button.

Resolve and a bit of damage limitation. She couldn’t let her parents go away in the false hope that a marriage date would be set by the time she next got in touch.

Ready for anything, Katy arrived downstairs to find that she had timed her entrance perfectly. All the assembled cast were there. Maggie had prepared a buffet-style breakfast in the dining room and, after a few pleasantries, she sat down and prepared to launch phase one of her plan.

‘I’m surprised you’re not off to work, darling.’ She glanced over to where Bruno was sitting opposite her and Joseph, sandwiched between her parents.

Having failed to dredge up the slightest compliment when she had been in the designer shop, parading herself in various outfits, he had, she noticed sourly, managed to tell her that she looked exquisite when she had appeared in the dining room, and had sounded as though he had meant every word. Her parents and Joseph had shared a look of mutual pleasure. She, on the other hand, had seen it for what it was. More play-acting. As were the searing glances he had thrown her way and the kiss he had planted on her lips. It all went a long way to making her feel more determined to curtail any rising expectations.

‘Day off,’ Bruno drawled now, looking up at her and managing to lock the rest of the room out so that she felt annoyingly red-faced.

‘Mmm.’ Katy sighed and gave everyone a slight smile. ‘Unusual. Bruno is such a hard worker. Aren’t you?’

‘Works like the devil,’ Joseph obligingly chipped in. ‘Always has. Can’t tell you how many countries he visits in a year.’

‘Hundreds, I imagine!’ Katy took up the thread before Bruno could jump in with amusing anecdotes about the places he had visited. She could already see interest hovering on her father’s lips.

‘Not quite.’ Bruno closed his knife and fork and looked at her with brooding speculation.

‘Where have you been?’ her mother joined in. ‘Anywhere exciting?’ Whereupon Bruno turned to her and wittily described some of the places he had visited, the customs he had come across, the weird food he had had to sample. All the time Katy could feel his dark interest levelled on her and, sure enough, the minute the gathering broke up, with her parents excusing themselves so that they could pack for their homeward journey, he managed to corner her.

‘What was that all about?’

‘What was what all about?’

‘You know what I’m talking about, Katy. The sudden fascination with the many hundreds of countries I travel to in a year.’

Katy shrugged. ‘I just thought we should start building up the scene for our eventual incompatibility. At the rate you’re going, everyone’s going to start asking us for wedding dates next and then what? Better to sow a few seeds of doubt.’ His face was looking grimmer by the minute but Katy was not going to be deterred.

‘Mum and Dad will probably have a cup of tea before I drop them to the station and I think you ought to imply how inconvenient you’ve found it being here for weeks on end, in one place. Maybe you could say that your work suffered because you need to be travelling around, touching base, with all those companies or whatever that you own.’

‘Progress a lie with another, in other words.’

‘But a helpful lie!’ Their conversation was taking place in the sitting room. Katy could hear the distant clatter of Maggie clearing away the breakfast dishes. In a minute, her parents would come in and so would Joseph. She felt an overwhelming desperation to get something sorted out before they entered. ‘I know my mum,’ Katy said urgently, perching against the bay window sill, which meant that she had to crane her neck upwards to look at Bruno. ‘I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve managed to convince her that you’re the perfect son-in-law-to-be. No, I take that back. I know how you did it. You’re such an expert liar and you just don’t have any moral standards, do you?’

Bruno leaned down towards her and rested the palms of his hands on either side of her, caging her in.

‘We went into this together. It’s no good trying to lay the blame at my door now.’

‘Okay, so I made a mistake. I can begin to rectify that now, though, by not encouraging Mum and Dad to start thinking that this is actually going somewhere. All I need is a bit of co-operation from you!’

‘Why the sudden sense of urgency here, Katy?’ Bruno enquired coldly. ‘There’s been no mention of any wedding date.’

‘That’s not the point. Anyway, it’s just not been mentioned at the moment. They’ve come here to check you out and, now that you’ve passed muster, it won’t be long before I start getting little suggestions about wedding invitations and churches and bridal dresses.’ Katy shuddered at the possibility that this charade could carry on for that length of time, the thought that she would have to continue seeing Bruno, being in his presence, going out with him, having him touch her whenever the situation demanded a show of some affection, knowing that the touch meant nothing to him but meant everything to her. Every second in his presence gave her love time to grow and dragged her further into the net she could feel tangling around her.

She could feel his warm breath fanning her face, could feel the nearness of him like some dreadful fever against which her immune system was defenceless. Every nerve ending in her body was alive with the treacherous excitement induced by his powerful masculine presence.

‘My parents are old-fashioned kind of people,’ she carried on desperately. ‘They won’t see the point of a so-called engagement unless a date is set for the big event! And Joseph probably won’t either. I know he’s been brilliant getting back on his feet, but he still feels vulnerable. He might think that time is no longer on his side and his godson should tie the knot sooner rather than later. Have you considered that?’ She shot him an attacking glance from under her lashes and watched his face suffuse with dark colour.

‘I’m in the process of considering a lot of things, as a matter of fact.’

There was an iciness in his voice that sent a little shiver racing down her spine.

‘Would any of those things be what I was just talking about?’ Katy asked nervously. The closer she had got with Bruno, the less nervous she had begun to feel around him, but right now the forbidding cast to his features had her heart pumping like a wild, trapped bird inside her.

‘I would say that I’m making a connection here between what you said yesterday and what you’re telling me now…’

‘What? What did I say yesterday?’ Katy frowned and tried to think back but, since she had no idea what he was on about, it was impossible to isolate any strands of conversation that might have given her some clues as to where he was heading.

‘The clothes. The clothes that you’ve now decided to keep because you’ve suddenly realised that they might just come in handy. Oh, yes. The shy, stammering girl of the printed floral smock has taken stock and seen that a wardrobe of classy clothes can go a long way to trapping a man. Didn’t you say so yourself? And why wait before you put it to the test? Mmm? I can see why this pretend engagement is getting on your nerves all of a sudden…’

‘You can have your clothes back!’

‘What’s it like taking the leap from innocent young girl to woman on the prowl, Katy?’ He looked at her flushed face and the thought of her going out into that deadbeat town, shimmying her slender hips and giving men that unknowingly sexy look of provocative innocence, exploded in his head like a fistful of fireworks. He felt the unexpected rage of a jealousy he had never experienced before and didn’t know what to do with.

‘You gave a very convincing performance of a timid young thing scared at the prospect of losing her virginity. Now I think about it, were you really that scared? Who knows? Maybe you had plans…is that it, Katy? Did you have plans to use me? After all, you have to admit that I’m a supremely good catch…’

‘Plans to use you? What was I planning to use you for?’

Bruno overrode her question savagely. ‘You’re twenty-three. Maybe, just maybe you decided that it was high time you lost your virginity and who better than a single man with money? Lots of it? With Isobel out of the way, you’d have no need for any conscience…’ Staring down into her startled, bewildered eyes, he knew that he was being utterly implausible. He was attacking, losing control and his loss of control was driving him crazy. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of her laughing with some other man, sending him those shy little looks that she had sent to him, taking her clothes off, getting into bed…

He pushed himself away from her and fought to regain his self composure.

‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’ Katy restlessly twisted her fingers together and finally walked over to where he had subsided onto one of the sofas. ‘I’m not after anything from you,’ she said miserably. ‘I don’t understand how you can make a series of connections like you have and come up with all the wrong answers. We just happen to have found ourselves in an odd situation. I mean, if it weren’t for Isobel and her need to get revenge we wouldn’t even be here!’ He would have been on his way to some other woman’s bed, she thought to herself, because she wouldn’t conduct a casual fling with him, and she might have been recovering from the body-blow he had delivered to her instead of being catapulted on a roller-coaster ride for a variety of reasons that were growing less convincing by the second.

‘No, we damn well wouldn’t,’ Bruno said grimly. ‘But we are and we can hardly wriggle out of it from day one.’

‘I object to you telling me that I’m some kind of opportunist.’ Katy felt the need to clear the air. ‘I didn’t plan to lose…well, to make love to you…it just happened, and I don’t care how much money you have or not. That’s appalling. I would never enter into a relationship because of money. That’s a really unfair accusation.’ She could feel tears struggling to well up and fought them back. Bursting into tears would infuriate Bruno. After all, he hadn’t asked for this mess to land on his head either and, whatever she thought now about the situation they had found themselves in, and the rights and wrongs of it, the plain truth was that they had entered into it for the right reasons.

‘Okay. I apologise,’ Bruno said, flushing darkly.

His apology only made her want to cry more. Katy gulped, feeling emotional, and with a frustrated sigh Bruno leaned towards her and pulled her into him. His hands tangled in her hair and, like a blind man, he sought her mouth with his, parting her lips with hungry ferocity and plundering the soft moistness.

He could feel the softness of her small breasts squashing against his chest and with a moan he pushed his hands underneath her shirt and pulled down the nothing of her stretchy cotton bra so that her breasts popped out of their restraints.

‘What…are…you…doing?’ Katy whispered shakily. His big hands covered her breasts and she shuddered with exquisite, agonised pleasure in response as his thumbs rubbed her nipples until she wanted to scream out with longing.

‘What are we doing, you mean…’

‘You shouldn’t be touching me like this…it’s not part of the deal…’

‘Then why are you responding?’ He pushed up the shirt so that he could look at what he was doing and breathed thickly as he saw the evidence of her arousal. Nipples big and dark, the buds tightly begging him to continue doing what he was doing. ‘I want to suck them,’ he groaned softly. ‘Do you want that?’

‘I want…’ She knew what she wanted. Or at least, she thought she did. She wanted him to put distance between them, she wanted to step back from feelings that had taken control of her and were holding her common sense to ransom. Katy gazed deep into his bright black eyes and the protests died in her throat. Instead of pulling back and putting her case forward for not touching her again, she arched up slightly so that one breast dipped tantalisingly against his mouth.

The touch of his wet tongue against her sensitised nipple was almost unbearably exciting. He delicately licked the bud, then, when he could stand it no longer, Bruno pulled her down so that he could ravage her breast with his mouth, suckling at it and blindingly aroused by her responses.

They both heard the sound of approaching footsteps and voices and Katy shot off him and frantically got herself in order just as her parents walked into the sitting room. Packed and ready to go, they said. Joseph had offered to have Jimbo drop them off at the station, and that, her mum continued, taking in her daughter’s flushed face with knowing eyes, seemed like a good idea, especially as Katy and Bruno would be going out later.

It seemed like a very good idea to Katy as well. Normally, she would have enjoyed the trip to the station and the cup of tea while they waited for the train, but this time she had a pretty shrewd idea of what being cooped up with her parents might involve.

So there had been no mention of a wedding date. Yet. But her mother had given her a very perceptive look when she had walked into the sitting room, only just missing catching them in flagrante.

She and Bruno and Joseph saw them off, standing on the drive. Bruno, true to form, had his hand circling her waist, although as soon as the Range Rover had disappeared from sight and Joseph was inside the house Katy edged her way out of the embrace.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, although she was keenly aware of him next to her, not saying a word, hands stuck into his pockets. It was the perfect early-summer morning, quite still and very quiet, which had always been one of the most appealing things about the location of Joseph’s house. No sounds of traffic or trains or overhead planes to intrude on the littler noises of the breeze through the trees and the birds singing.

It seemed hypocritical to launch into a speech about sticking to the deal and only doing what was necessary for just as long as it was necessary, when only a short while earlier she had been lying in his arms offering herself to him like the proverbial sacrificial lamb.

‘What time do we need to leave this afternoon?’ she asked in a detached voice, keeping her distance and still not looking at him. Instead she inspected the gravelley stones at her feet, kicking them slightly with the toe of her shoe.

‘The car comes at five-thirty. Just spit it out.’

Katy raised her eyes to his and blushed.

‘This evening will be a complete fiasco if you go into one of your thoughtful, silent moods so I suggest you just tell me what’s on your mind and get it out into the open.’

‘You know what I’m thinking.’ By ‘complete fiasco’ she wondered if he meant that she would simply irritate the hell out of him if she wasn’t prepared to conduct an Oscar-winning performance of a woman in love for the benefit of the public at large.

‘You’re beating yourself up because we touched one another. Am I right?’

Katy nodded and folded her arms.

‘Well, I won’t waste my time trying to talk you out of your over-developed guilt complex,’ Bruno drawled, looking at her with an inscrutable expression, ‘so let’s just put the blame solidly on my shoulders. If my memory serves me right, I yanked you down on top of me and started kissing you. It won’t happen again.’

‘It won’t?’ For some reason, his ready assurance was woefully disappointing, but Katy managed to rally round with something she hoped resembled intense relief.

‘It won’t.’

‘You mean because you don’t fancy me any more.’

Bruno gave her a crooked smile but maintained a respectful distance. ‘I never said that, did I? I just won’t lay a finger on you if the aftermath is anguish on your part. Of course, that’s not to say that I won’t ravish you if you decide to make the first move.’

Disappointment gave way to foolish rapture, then she reminded herself of the million and one downsides to the offer he was extending.

‘Well, I won’t,’ Katy said shortly. ‘It would be stupid and short-sighted.’ She thought of sleeping with him, again and again and again, without getting tied up in emotional knots and thinking about the future they would never have together. She thought about being carefree enough to just enjoy the moment. She wondered how it would be if she broke her own rules.

Before she could let herself speculate out loud on any of this, she began moving back into the house, aware of him right there behind her.

‘Shall I meet you in the hall, then? At five-thirty?’ she suggested.

‘Feel better after our little chat?’

Katy shrugged. ‘I’ll feel better when tonight’s over. When,’ she asked suddenly, ‘are you going to go back to London, Bruno? I can’t imagine you can stay trapped up here indefinitely, even if there’s a fake engagement to keep in motion for a while.’

Bruno’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I’ll work something out. I’ve got to go out to the town right now, so I won’t be around for lunch.’

‘Where are you going?’ Katy blurted out, without thinking first, and then reddened.

‘I have a clandestine meeting with a hot blonde,’ he said lazily, his stunning eyes intent on her face.

Katy’s mouth parted in shocked confusion. It took her a few seconds to realise that he was teasing her and then she glared at him.

‘Very funny.’

‘Jealous?’

‘Certainly not! You’re free to do exactly what you like.’

‘Even though we’re engaged?’ Bruno shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Don’t you think I have any principles at all?’

‘We’re not engaged and I’m sure you haven’t got any principles at all.’

His eyes hardened fractionally. ‘This could really lead to an involved conversation, which I don’t have the time for right now. The hot blonde is, in fact, a fifty-something lawyer in town who’s handling something for me up here.’

‘Okay.’ Katy had the uneasy feeling that she had been foolish, accusing him of having no principles. She wanted to apologise, but didn’t quite know how and, besides, she could see that he was itching to be off. He had already glanced at his watch twice.

When they touched each other he became a different person. She could almost believe that he felt something for her, could almost kid herself that a man couldn’t possibly be so passionate about a woman he felt nothing for. But at times like this, standing five feet away from her with other things on his mind, it was as though that other side of him was all just an illusion.

This was why she knew that she could never cave in and enter into the loveless but sexually fulfilling relationship he seemed to want. Because brief, passionate bouts of togetherness in a bed could never compensate for the confused isolation she felt when he withdrew from her.

Tonight, she thought later as she got dressed for an event she had no desire to attend…tonight she would talk to him seriously about what they had to do to deal with this awkward situation. She just couldn’t cope with it. She couldn’t cope with knowing that he physically wanted her and would be willing to indulge in some casual sex for a while; she couldn’t cope with resisting him even though she knew that that was what she had to do; she couldn’t cope with being around him and pretending, without knowing when the pretence would end.

He would have to come up with some practical solutions, she decided, taking her time with her make-up for fear of ending up looking like an overdone B-list actress on a bad day. Or else she would pull the plug. There would be disappointment on Joseph’s part and on her parents’, but disappointment would fade over time.

By five-fifteen she was ready and she stood up to inspect herself in the mirror.

What stared back at her was nothing short of a complete transformation.

Her modest height had been boosted by a good three inches, thanks to some very delicate cream open toed sandals. Her slimness no longer looked unwomanly, but elegant, with her cream calf-length dress clinging fashionably to her waist and bust and revealing slender shoulders and the hint of a cleavage, which had been cleverly enhanced by her bra. She had swept up her hair, something she rarely did because it was just so much trouble trying to restrain it with clips, and tendrils curled around her face. Her eyes looked enormous.

Joseph, with a wicked glint in his eyes, further boosted her ego with lavish compliments and veiled remarks about hoping they made it to London because Bruno might just find her too tempting to last the journey.

‘Unlikely,’ Katy remarked, ‘with a chauffeur in the front. What would he do with him? Stick him in the boot?’ She worriedly wondered how Joseph would react when he found out that they were no longer an engaged couple.

She was still sunk in her reverie when she emerged onto the landing at five-thirty and the first she saw of Bruno were his shoes. Handmade, black patent leather. Her eyes travelled slowly upwards, taking in his formal DJ, all black aside from the pristine white shirt, punctuated by a black bow-tie.

‘Wow,’ she gasped and he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

‘Ditto.’

He looked fabulous. He always looked fabulous. Now, however, in his supremely formal wear, he made her mouth run dry.

‘Yes, you shall go to the ball,’ he drawled, extending his elbow so that she linked her arm through it.

‘And what when midnight strikes?’ Katy asked lightly, thinking of the cold wall of reality waiting for them just around the corner. In fact, probably around midnight, when the ball was over and she sat down with Bruno to tell him what she knew she had to.

‘Make sure you leave your sandal behind so that I can follow the trail.’

Nothing had prepared her for the fuss of their arrival at the Royal Albert Hall. The drive down to London had been passed in relative harmony. They had been the perfect example of two people making sure not to tread on any delicate subjects. She, because she was saving up her uncomfortable speech for later, and he, she assumed, because anything too taxing in the back of a car would irritate him and possibly ruin what he anticipated being a public canvas of their united togetherness.

She had managed to convince herself that it might just be feasible to slink into the hall, unnoticed by too many people.

She hadn’t banked on the photographers waiting as cars pitched up, disgorging their passengers. She stepped out of the chauffeured car to the glare of cameras flashing and the press of journalists jostling for the best shot from behind a cordon.

Instinctively she reached out and slipped her hand into Bruno’s, calming down when he responded with a warm squeeze that was just the right gesture to make her feel a bit more at ease, and she was more than willing to let her hand remain there even after they had walked the plank and finally entered the impressive building.

Bruno Giannella was, she began acknowledging faintly, a bigger deal than she had ever anticipated. He was recognised by countless people, hailed out and spoken to with deference. He was a presence that many, she was fast realising, were inclined to court. And since she came as part of the bargain, they were obsequiously polite to her as well. Katy doubted any of them would have even turned to glance at her under any other circumstances. No wonder he was so keen on maintaining appearances, on not being seen as a cad in any way, shape or form.

‘I never realised that you were so…important…’ she whispered, when they were finally seated.

Bruno, his arm on the rest between them, leaned into her. ‘Would you have behaved differently?’ he asked with some interest, turning to look at her.

‘Of course I would have! I would have tried even harder to avoid you whenever you came to visit Joseph!’ Her breath caught in her throat at the smile of pure amusement that lit up his face.

‘I wonder why I believe every word of that…’ he murmured, looking away as the lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play.

Everything about the night was magical and impressive. The crowd thronged with recognisable, celebrity faces. The performance was glorious. It all added up to a spectacle that Katy knew she would do well to commit to memory, as it would never again be repeated.

She almost felt like a traitor, she sighed to Bruno when the evening had finally come to an end and everyone was trooping out to claim their expensive, chauffeur-driven cars.

‘Why do I think that this is about to lead to some nonsense remark about not being good enough to be here?’

‘Well…’ Katy glanced around her at the beautiful people in their immaculate designer clothing ‘…because it happens to be true, I suppose.’

‘You’re far better than most of the people here,’ he said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘What you’re looking at are expensive trappings.’ He shrugged and cast a scornful glance around him. ‘In the end, they count for nothing.’

‘I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better,’ Katy told him, loving him so much that it hurt, ‘but thanks anyway.’ She smiled up at him, barely feeling the coolness of the night air on her arms and hardly aware of the remaining photographers still lurking around for possible last-minute shots.

She certainly wasn’t aware of a tall blonde woman moving towards them, with a tall fair-haired man glued to her side.

In fact Katy only noticed Isobel’s presence when the familiar cut-glass voice broke through the blissful moment to offer congratulations to the happy couple.

Katy blinked to find Isobel staring at her with hard, satisfied eyes but, before she had time to open her mouth, Bruno was responding with unhurried, lethal coolness, accepting the congratulations for all the world as though they were sincerely meant, smiling as he informed the blonde that breaking up with her had been the best thing he had ever done.

A look of pure rage crossed Isobel’s face and she shrugged off the restraining hand her companion had placed on her. ‘Oh, really. I know you well enough to know that this so-called engagement has been forced on you.’ She laughed. ‘Couldn’t be seen to be a conscience-free womaniser with some little halfwit from the back of nowhere, could you? A man in your position?’

Katy felt the simmering violence surging through Bruno, although when he spoke his voice was perfectly controlled.

‘You couldn’t be more wrong, my dear. This engagement is entirely for real…’

‘So you wouldn’t mind setting a date?’

‘Not in the slightest.’ He signalled to one of the lurking photographers with a nod and then, while Katy watched with open-mouthed amazement, said with absolute assurance and in a voice that was meant to be heard by anyone interested enough to listen and within earshot, ‘Just to let you boys know that you’ll be cordially invited to cover my wedding to…’ he raised Katy’s hand to his lips and brushed his mouth against it ‘…this exquisite creature within the next month. We’ll be finalising details before the end of the week.’ Several more photographers had shot across for the announcement. The last glimpse Katy had of them was as they took rapid pictures of her before Bruno bent down and covered her mouth with his in a searingly passionate kiss.

CHAPTER TEN

SHOCK carried Katy through the next five minutes. She had little fleeting snapshots in her head of reporters lapping up the surprise announcement and firing questions at them, which Bruno fielded with his usual grace, of Isobel fading away into the background, of Bruno’s darkly handsome face staring down at her before leading her to the car that had been waiting for them.

She only realised she was trembling when the car door was slammed and the car pulled away from the kerb, then she turned slowly to Bruno, who was watching her intently, his eyes guarded.

‘I think I just had a bad dream,’ was all she could find to say.

‘No dream.’ The car was equipped with a sliding screen that protected the confidentiality of conversations being carried out in the back seat. ‘Just keep driving, Harry, until I tell you to stop.’

‘Where to, sir?’

‘Wherever the hell you want. Brighton and back for all I care.’ He slid shut the glass partition and then drew a discreet navy curtain so that they were now ensured total privacy.

‘Please tell me that what I think happened didn’t happen at all,’ Katy pleaded, kicking off the super-high sandals and tucking one foot under her as she swivelled in the seat to face him.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Do you realise what you’ve gone and done?’ He looked so damn calm that she could have hit him. ‘How could you? How could you?’

Bruno looked at her and seemed to be contemplating something. Right now, though, Katy wasn’t too curious as to what that something might be. She just knew that the man sitting next to her, within touching distance, had committed them both to a course of action from which escape was going to be nigh on impossible.

‘Don’t get hysterical,’ he ordered calmly, at which point Katy’s hysteria went up a few more notches.

‘Don’t get hysterical? How am I supposed to get, Bruno? Oh, good heavens.’ She buried her head in the palm of her hand and closed her eyes tightly shut for a few seconds. ‘How are we ever going to get out of this one? It was bad enough with the engagement but at least that was something we could call off. But marriage? No, we’re not married yet. We won’t have to actually get out of a marriage. We’ll just have to sort of hope that people somehow forget what you said. Yes, that’s it. In a month’s time, no one will remember anything about a wedding date being set.’ She cast her mind back to the attention he had had focused on him, the sheer number of people he seemed to know, the interest the reporters had taken in him even though there had been dozens of other famous people arriving for the do. She felt her heart sink. Tomorrow the tabloids would gleefully announce his ridiculous remark about them getting married within the month and her parents and Joseph would be the first on the phone to shriek their congratulations. Her parents would be alarmed that she hadn’t spoken with them first about the date, but that would be forgotten in the face of the joy at seeing their little baby tie the knot.

Katy groaned at the seeming inevitability of it all.

‘How could you let that woman goad you into saying what you said, Bruno? How could you?’

‘It would be inconceivable that anyone could goad me into doing anything,’ Bruno said quietly, his face flushing, but Katy was miles away with a metaphorical net getting tighter and tighter around her.

‘Only this morning we were planning how we could start letting Joseph and my parents down gently and now…’ The enormity of what that ‘now’ consisted of was so mind-boggling that for a few seconds she was lost for words. Her eyes glazed over and she stared past Bruno into an imaginary not-too-distant future in which a heartbroken Joseph and two disillusioned parents played starring roles.

‘I suppose you’re waiting for an apology,’ Bruno remarked in a clipped voice and Katy’s attention snapped back into focus. She looked at him with incredulity.

‘Apology? Why would I want an apology? I’d much rather have an explanation! We’ve just jumped straight out of a frying-pan into a fire, Bruno!’

‘Have we?’

‘You know we have!’ She watched as he turned away from her so that he could fold his hands behind his head, his stunning dark eyes firmly fixed on the curtained-off partition in front of him.

‘Why?’ he asked in a barely audible voice and Katy strained towards him, wondering whether she had heard correctly.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, bewildered. If she hadn’t known better, she would have suspected that Bruno had had too much to drink and was rambling.

The silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken undertones that she couldn’t quite manage to decipher.

‘We’re engaged. Well, why shouldn’t we get married?’

The suggestion was so absolutely shocking that she sucked in a mouthful of air like someone gasping for oxygen.

‘I mean,’ Bruno carried on, still not looking at her, ‘you can’t say that we don’t get along and we’re physically attracted to one another. Sex is a very important aspect of a successful marriage, you know. Good sex and an ability to get along. And, face it, Joseph and your parents would be very happy with the situation.’

It took a few moments before the penny dropped and she realised where he was going. Without emotional involvement, Bruno might well see marrying her as an acceptable conclusion to the farce they had stupidly instigated. After all, hadn’t he himself told her at one point that he thought it might be a good time to settle down? Isobel had been considered for the position but she hadn’t worked out. Now, here they were, in the perfect situation to move seamlessly from a phoney engagement into a loveless but highly convenient marriage, and one which he knew would fulfil the highly essential criterion of pleasing his godfather. As he said, he was attracted to her and he liked her well enough. Any concept of love wouldn’t have featured in his equation because as far as he was concerned love simply didn’t exist.

A tide of hot colour surged into her cheeks and she felt the brutal spark of anger stir inside her.

‘You used to tell me that I irritated you when I didn’t look at you when addressed,’ she snapped, pushed into a display of behaviour she would never have thought herself capable of, ‘so I’d be really grateful if you could look at me now!’

He obliged and the shift in his body weight brought them a few inches more dangerously close together.

‘Has it occurred to you at all that I might not share your…your wonderfully romantic notions about what constitutes a perfect marriage?’ Katy clenched her hands into two fists. ‘Believe it or not, I don’t want to walk down the aisle to say I do to a man who kind of likes me and at the moment is physically attracted to me! Though, the physical attraction side of things might come to an end at any given moment in time! I don’t want to get married because you happen to think it’s convenient and various relatives might quite like it if we did! How can you be so arrogant and conceited to imagine that I’d fall in with your plans! I’m not Isobel, you know!’

‘I know,’ Bruno said softly, which was enough to momentarily throw her off balance, though not for long once she started thinking about it again. ‘You’re nothing like Isobel,’ he continued in the same disconcerting voice. ‘And you’re nothing like any of the women I’ve ever dated in my life before. You’re unique. I never really knew how unique until I started spending time in your company and I got accustomed to the way you thought and spoke and smiled.’

‘You can’t butter me up into going along with your idiotic plans,’ Katy whispered, but his words were having a decidedly pleasurable effect on her nervous system.

‘I’m not trying to butter you up. I’m just telling you the truth.’ He reached out to brush the back of his hand across her flushed cheek and she had to control the urge to leap straight at him and bury herself against him. ‘I’ve spent all of my adult life dating women who knew the right words and the right clothes for any occasion. When Joseph became ill and I had to go up to the country to stay, I thought that being around someone as nervous as you always seemed to be would drive me round the bend. I was wrong. I kind of started feeling as though I’d been swept off on some magical mystery tour and I liked the feeling.’

Katy tried not to like the feeling his silvered words were doing to her too much.

‘I found myself wondering what you looked like…’

‘What I looked like?’

‘Underneath your camouflage clothes,’ he observed succinctly and she blushed at the candour.

‘Part of the reason I imported Isobel was to ward off the wicked thoughts I was beginning to have about you. In a way, it was the best thing I ever did because just seeing her next to you convinced me that she was all wrong for me.’

Katy drew in a deep, shaky breath. ‘Which isn’t to say that I’m right for you,’ she said. ‘Okay, you like me. I’m not the complete awkward idiot you thought I was going to be.’ She frowned and was distracted by the glaring truth that she was, in fact, really pretty awkward compared to this string of women he’d apparently dated in the past. At least she wasn’t an idiot, which was a consolation. ‘But, for me, marriage is more than liking someone. It’s about loving them. Don’t you see that? What you’re describing might work at creating a marriage that doesn’t hit the rocks, but, on the other hand, it would be a marriage without…that spark. It would be flat.’ Though not for her, she thought, never for her, because she would be bringing to it all the love at her disposal and wouldn’t that make it even harder to tolerate?

Bruno, for once, looked away and gave his head a little shake as if he was trying to clear it or else making his mind up about something.

‘Isn’t that some kind of start, though?’ he asked roughly. ‘I mean…you could learn to feel…to love me, couldn’t you?’

The hesitation in his voice filled her with sudden, wild confusion. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘I am trying to tell you that…I don’t see this marriage as one of convenience. It wouldn’t be. At least, not for me.’

‘I don’t know what you’re trying to say.’

‘Aren’t you women supposed to be intuitive?’ Bruno asked in a voice that bordered on the plaintive. He shot her a frustrated look from under his ridiculously long lashes that made her want to smile.

‘And isn’t Bruno Giannella supposed to be fearless?’ Katy asked.

‘Supposedly,’ he said with a reluctant smile. ‘Except I’m a little scared right now because I love you and I want to marry you and I want to persuade you that even if you don’t love me, you will. You can. You just need to give it time.’

A chorus of angels began singing in her head. Bruno loved her. Her mouth parted into a smile and then she was grinning like a fool.

‘You just said that you loved me,’ Katy breathed.

‘I do. Love you. Adore you. Call it what you will.’

‘But when?’ She was hanging onto his every word and keen to prolong the confession that had sent her soaring up into the stratosphere.

‘It crept up on me,’ Bruno admitted. ‘One minute I was wondering whether you would ever be able to perform the simplest of chores on the computer, the next minute I was watching out for you and making sure that I spent as much time as possible in your company.’

This was music to her ears. Katy sighed rapturously. ‘All this time,’ she murmured, ‘loving you and thinking that you would never be able to feel the same way about me…’

Bruno stilled and then smiled. ‘You would have walked away from our relationship when you loved me?’ He caressed her face and pulled her tenderly towards him so that he could touch her gently parted lips with his own.

‘It never occurred to me that you could actually love someone like me,’ Katy broke apart to say unsteadily. Lord, now she wanted to cry.

‘My handkerchief’s ready and waiting,’ Bruno told her, reading her expression and smiling at her with such love that the tears dried up.

‘I just think what would have happened if Isobel hadn’t done what she’d done, if she hadn’t gone running to the press with some made-up story about us, if we hadn’t been thrown into that engagement.’ It was a sobering thought.

‘Yes—fate works in mysterious ways.’ Bruno leaned back against the door and pulled her against him, quite an awkward manoeuvre taking into account her calf-length dress.

‘I should be angry with Isobel,’ Katy said, raising her face to his. She was half lying with her back pressed to his torso, and she moaned softly as his hand swept beneath the length of dress, skimming up her legs and finally resting possessively between her legs. ‘But I’m not, because I love you so much, Bruno.’ He rubbed the place where his hand was and she felt herself moisten at the feel of his fingers against her underwear.

‘My darling.’

‘Perhaps we should…head back to the hotel?’ She knew that he had booked somewhere in London. It was incredible to think that she had not given it a passing thought because she had reckoned that by the time the night was over, they would be too.

‘Hmm. I’m not sure I can wait that long.’ He slid his hand beneath the thin cotton of her briefs and Katy closed her eyes and wriggled as he explored her. ‘You needn’t worry about Harry,’ Bruno whispered. ‘Can’t hear a thing. You can be as vocal as you like…’

Katy surrendered to the velvety voice, shocked by the strength of her need to make love to him right here and right now. The blacked-out windows offered perfect privacy—not that there was any need for them. It was pitch-black outside. They were no longer in the city, though where they were heading she had no idea. Maybe Harry had taken his employer at his word and was whisking them off to Brighton.

Thank goodness it was a big car. His jacket and trousers joined her dress in the footwell, and when they were finally naked the touch of their bodies against one another was like a blaze of pure heat.

This time, there were no uncertainties gnawing at the back of her mind as they made urgent, if confined, love. He sat and she sat on him, loving the view it gave her of his mouth reaching to suckle her nipple as she leaned towards him and controlled her movements until he was as desperate as she was for fulfilment.

They came together, their bodies slick with excitement, and she sank against him, curling into him with a little sigh of contentment.

‘You never answered,’ Bruno teased huskily. ‘Will you marry me and make me the happiest man on the face of the earth?’

‘How could any girl refuse a proposal like that?’ Katy murmured.

‘You’ll make a perfect wife,’ Bruno murmured into her ear, ‘and a perfect mother…’

At which point it suddenly struck Katy that there had been no protection used. She sat up and looked down at him with an anxious expression.

‘Bruno! I could be pregnant!’

‘Let’s hope so, my love.’ He smiled wolfishly at her. ‘And if you’re not, well…“tomorrow is another day”.’

One Hot Texan

By Jane Sullivan

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Contents

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

Epilogue

1

THE CLOSER Cole McCallum came to the city limits of Coldwater, Texas, the more he wanted to swing his classic Porsche around in a tire-squealing one-eighty and head back to Dallas where he belonged. He thought he’d seen the last of this godforsaken place, only to have fate step up and slap him in the face one more time.

His first introduction to Coldwater had been eleven years ago, when he’d been forced to leave Dallas and come here for his senior year of high school. His father had been thrown in jail for writing one too many hot checks, and his mother hadn’t been around since he was seven years old, so a family court judge had ordered his custody turned over to a grandmother he barely knew. He arrived with a chip on his shoulder the size of a concrete block. Throw in a pair of skintight jeans, a black leather jacket and a go-to-hell attitude, and the uptight citizens of Coldwater had naturally assumed he was the root of all evil. He didn’t let them down.

Out of pure mischief, he committed a few minor infractions around school during his first few weeks, then dated a few of the more kiss-and-tell girls. Gossip took care of the rest. For the next year he got blamed for everything from graffiti on the water tower to Angela Putnam’s period being late. And he didn’t care enough to try to set anyone straight. Only his grandmother had known better, but even her reputation hadn’t been able to salvage his. With the exception of the girls who swooned at his bad-boy image, the townspeople would have voted him most likely to turn up on a post-office wall. And that’s why, at eighteen, he’d burned rubber on his way out of town, catching the best view of Coldwater he’d ever had—the one in his rearview mirror.

And now he was going back.

He followed the gentle curve of the two-lane blacktop, passing tin barns and mobile homes alternating with fields of cotton and corn and an occasional paint-starved farmhouse with a pickup truck out front. This corner of nowhere was home to people who didn’t know there was a world beyond it. But he knew. He knew how a kid from nothing could leave a place like this and make something of himself. At the same time he burned with anger at how everything that same kid had fought so hard to gain could be ripped out from under him in the blink of an eye.

Cole still remembered how it felt to stand on that cold Dallas street in the middle of the night, soot clinging to his skin and heat from the massive blaze fanning his face, watching his half-finished real-estate renovation project—the one that could have made him a millionaire—light up the Dallas skyline like the fires of hell.

And watching his dreams go up in smoke with it.

He came around a bend and headed into the main part of town. He passed Blackwell’s Pharmacy, A New You Dress Shop and Cut & Curl, where a handmade sign advertised twenty percent off acrylic nails on Tuesdays. When he reached Taffy’s Restaurant, he pulled into a parking space next to a slick new pickup. It belonged to Ben Murphy, though he wouldn’t have known that if not for the ancient hound dog hanging his head over the tailgate.

At least the old man had shown up.

Cole stepped out of his car, went to the back of Murphy’s truck and scratched the old dog behind the ears.

“Hey, Duke. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

The dog licked his hand, and Cole smiled ruefully. Duke was far happier to see him than Murphy was going to be.

He gave the dog one last pat on the head, then turned toward the sidewalk. In the beauty-shop window next door, he saw a skinny brunette with a headful of rollers staring at him. She tapped a big-haired blonde on the shoulder and mouthed, Cole McCallum. The woman spun around, and when she caught sight of him her eyebrows flew halfway up to her hairline.

By the time he reached the door to the restaurant, the beauty-shop window was filled with half a dozen women in various states of beautification, from sopping wet hair to kinky hair to hair sprouting crinkles of silver stuff that looked like aluminum foil.

He couldn’t resist. He turned toward the window and gave the ladies a great big smile.

A dozen eyes widened in unison. In the next second the women turned to each other, their mouths moving at the speed of light, probably repeating legends about him for the gospel truth whether they were actually true or not. Around here, any stranger made people stop and stare. But Cole McCallum, who was once rumored to have made it with the entire cheerleading squad in one night, warranted an all-points bulletin. And no doubt the things they’d read about him lately in the Dallas Morning News had only fueled the gossip.

He went into the restaurant and spotted Ben Murphy sitting in a booth by the far window. The chattering din of the restaurant fell silent as patrons peered over their newspapers or stopped mid-bite to watch him walk across the room. The only sound he heard was a hushed, rapid-fire argument behind the counter, where a trio of waitresses gave him sidelong glances as they tried to determine which took precedence when it came to waiting on a particular table—seniority or station assignments.

Cole slid into the booth across from Murphy and was greeted with a deadpan stare. The old man’s jaw was set in stone, his blue eyes unreadable. All seventy-two of his years were etched into his face, solidified by the harsh Texas sun. He held a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, and Cole couldn’t remember a time he’d seen him without one. Murphy was the closest thing to a grandfather he had by virtue of the fact that he’d married Cole’s grandmother. That was where their relationship began—and ended.

A waitress appeared at the table, and it took Cole a moment to realize it was Mary Lou Culbertson, stuffed into a baby-blue waitress uniform that had probably been a really good fit ten years and twenty pounds ago. She cocked one hand against her hip and slid her other hand along the top of the booth behind him.

“Hey, Cole. Long time no see.”

“Mary Lou.”

“I read about you in the papers. You had a pretty tough time of it, didn’t you?”

“It’s over.”

“Whatcha doin’ back in town?”

“Taking care of a little business.” He flashed her a smile. “How about a cup of coffee?”

“Sure.” She purred the word, as if he’d just asked her to get naked in the back seat of his car. As she sashayed toward the coffeepot, Murphy raised an eyebrow.

“Still charming the ladies, I see.”

Cole didn’t reply. Instead he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out several legal-size sheets of paper. He opened them up and tossed them on the table.

Murphy eyed the papers. “I wondered if you’d be back. Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”

“According to Edna’s will, as long as I’m married within six months of her death, then stay on the ranch with my wife for six months, the deed goes to me. The way I figure it, I have until Sunday to move in.”

“You thumbed your nose at this six months ago. Said hell would freeze over before you got married and came back to live at the ranch.”

Yeah, and six months ago he’d had money in the bank with big payoffs on the horizon. Now he had exactly nothing. He shrugged offhandedly. “People change.”

“Some do. Some don’t.” Murphy chewed his toothpick. “And some become hotshot real estate investors who solve their problems with a book of matches.”

Murphy’s words slammed into Cole, making anger surge inside him. He struggled to keep his voice in check. “Guess you didn’t read the paper two days ago. My partner was convicted. I wasn’t.”

Murphy shrugged. “So you had a better lawyer.”

A hundred nasty retorts welled up inside Cole’s mind, and it was all he could do to contain them. Nothing ever changed in this town. Nothing.

When he left Coldwater at age eighteen, he’d started renovating tiny, dilapidated houses, making a little money here and there and then rolling it over into bigger and bigger investments. Over the years, he amassed a large portfolio of rental property and a huge stash of cash.

Then, in a move that raised more than a few eyebrows, he and a partner bought Seven-Seventeen Broadway Avenue, a huge turn-of-the-century apartment building on the outskirts of downtown Dallas. The condition of the building left a lot to be desired, and the area was practically an abandoned ghetto, but the building had a period charm unlike any Cole had ever seen. Because of nearby renovation projects along with the growing desire of young urban pioneers for downtown addresses, he decided to take the risk and create luxury condominiums, hoping the yuppies would bite and other investors would follow suit.

Then came the fire.

Cole thought it was the worst thing that could possibly happen, until the blaze was ruled arson and he and his partner became prime suspects. Investigators speculated that they’d gotten concerned that their huge investment in such a questionable area wasn’t going to pay off after all, so they’d torched it for the insurance money.

Cole had spent his last dime on the best attorneys he could buy, trying to convince a jury that he’d had nothing to do with the crime, all the while assuming his partner hadn’t, either. Then it turned out the guy had a mountain of gambling debts Cole hadn’t even known about, which had driven him to set the fire to try to collect the insurance money.

The fury Cole felt the moment he realized his partner’s betrayal was superseded only by the gut-wrenching defeat he felt when he looked at that fire-ravaged lot. Because the fire had been deliberately set, the insurance company hadn’t paid a dime, and Cole was left with nothing but a huge stack of attorney bills and a reputation that was in the toilet. Never mind that he’d been exonerated. The press had been quick to proclaim his alleged guilt on page one, then bury his innocence on page sixteen, and all the doors he’d worked so hard to open in the last ten years had suddenly slammed in his face.

Then he remembered his grandmother’s will. He had one last shot to pull himself out financially and get back on top again, and he intended to take that shot—even if he had to spend another six months in Coldwater to do it.

“So where’s the little woman?” Murphy asked. “Don’t recall hearing anything about you getting married.”

“She’ll be here Sunday.”

Cole held his breath, afraid Murphy was going to ask him more questions about his wife. Instead, he moved his toothpick to the other side of his mouth and gave Cole a warning stare.

“Part of the deal is that you work on the ranch.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“And hated every minute of it.”

Cole couldn’t argue with that. Still, he’d worked hard on the ranch the year he lived there, and Murphy knew it. Cole would have shot himself before giving the old man the satisfaction of telling Edna he wasn’t pulling his weight.

Mary Lou put a cup of coffee down in front of Cole with a provocative smile. As she walked away, Cole shoved the cup aside.

“Edna’s will allows me a monthly salary and the use of the foreman’s house for the six months.”

“That’s what it says.”

“Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same track.”

“We are, unless you’re forgetting who decides whether you’ve stuck to the terms of the will. If you so much as forget to show up for work one day, I can call the whole thing off. What makes you think I’ll cut you any slack?”

Good question. Cole knew Murphy didn’t much like him showing up at the eleventh hour, because it meant another six months before the fate of the ranch would be decided. If Cole didn’t inherit, Murphy would. Fortunately, Cole knew the ranch meant nothing to Murphy without Edna. And since Murphy had been financially well-off long before he and Edna got married, the money the ranch would bring at sale meant very little to him, anyway. But carrying out the stipulations of Edna’s will meant everything to Murphy, whether he agreed with them or not.

“Because you’re a fair man,” Cole said. “Edna always said so.”

Murphy’s mouth twisted with irritation, and Cole knew he’d hit him where it hurt.

“Edna let her heart rule her head,” Murphy said. “She knew her son was worthless, but his son—she had hope for him. Said all her grandson needed was a good woman, an honest job and something to work for, and he’d turn into a man she could be proud of. Instead you’ve spent the last year scraping to stay out of jail just like your old man.”

Cole forced his expression to remain impassive, but he hardly felt that way inside. He remembered that day eleven years ago when a Dallas judge finally tossed his father in jail. At seventeen, Cole would have preferred to have been on his own, but the court hadn’t seen it that way. His grandmother had agreed to take him in, and after a few rocky months, Cole made a surprising discovery—that at least one person in the world actually thought he might amount to something.

He knew she’d taken him in out of family responsibility, and in the beginning things had been pretty shaky. He remembered the day he arrived, so full of attitude that, looking back, he was surprised she hadn’t kicked him right out the door. Instead, she’d fed him a hot meal, given him a clean bed to sleep in, then told him that no matter what his father had done, he wasn’t his father and there was no need to follow in those footsteps.

In the coming months, no matter how many times he mouthed off, no matter how many times he screwed up, even though he could tell she was disappointed, still every day was a new day. Finally the days got better. She’d given him love and affection for the first time in his life, and when she died she left him everything—with a few strings attached. As her only living blood relative, the fact that she’d willed it all to him hadn’t been a complete surprise. The terms of the will had.

“Now as for me,” Murphy said, “I think Edna was dreaming. I think you’re heading down the same road as your old man. Sure, you do things a little bigger and flashier, but the end result is the same. This is just a little detour along the way, like a trucker stopping to gas up. When you’ve got what you want, you’ll be on the road again.”

He stood up and tossed a five on the table, then lowered his voice. “One more thing. I made sure that nobody but you, me and the attorney who drew up the will knows anything about the provisions Edna outlined. If word gets out that she’s trying to turn her no-good grandson into a hardworking family man, she’s going to look like a fool, and I’ll be damned if that’s going to happen. If I think for one minute that you’re telling people things they don’t need to know, I’ll pull the plug on this deal so fast it’ll make your head spin. Now, do we understand each other?”

Cole nodded.

“See you Sunday. Looking forward to meeting the wife.”

Cole watched him go, then sat back in the booth with a heavy sigh. Murphy was right about one thing. A year from now, when he sold the ranch and banked the money, his grandmother was going to look down from heaven and be sorely disappointed. But for all her good intentions, she hadn’t understood that she could make him play the part of a hardworking husband, but she was never going to turn him into one.

This time last year, the mayor of Dallas himself had applauded Cole’s efforts to revitalize a run-down area of town. Dallas Monthly had listed him as one of the twenty hottest bachelors in Dallas, which had given him so much instant celebrity that he couldn’t even stop at 7-Eleven for a Big Gulp without a woman shoving her phone number into his pocket. And he’d been on the verge of making more money than he ever dreamed he would see in a lifetime. With the profit from the sale of the ranch, eventually he’d be able to get all of that back and then some. Why, then, would he want to waste his life away, saddled with a wife and kids, on a ranch in the middle of nowhere?

He stood up to leave, smiling broadly at the waitresses behind the counter. He added a quick wink, then listened to them chatter like a bunch of chipmunks as he walked out the door. He decided he would head over to the Lone Wolf Saloon on Highway 81. The place would fill up in an hour or so, providing him with the biggest assortment of women he was likely to find under one roof on short notice. He’d get a booth in the corner, order up a long neck, then sit back and do some serious shopping.

He had until tomorrow at midnight to find himself a wife.

VIRGINIA WHITE turned her 1993 Celica off the two-lane highway into a gas station, swung around the pumps and parked near the bathrooms on the west side. She grabbed the big shopping sack from the passenger seat beside her, hopped out of her car and got the bathroom key from the attendant.

She unlocked the bathroom door, hoping to find it clean, at least, only to see a stopped-up toilet, a wall of graffiti and half a dozen dead crickets on the floor. For a moment she wished she’d gone home to change clothes, but it was twenty-one miles from the outlet mall back to Coldwater. If she’d done that she would have lost her nerve altogether and ended up staying home.

She locked the door and nudged the crickets behind the toilet with the toe of her canvas shoe. She shimmied out of the dumpy flowered dress her mother had bought her at a garage sale last summer and stuffed it into the trash can. She removed her white cotton bra and disposed of it, too, then pulled out of the sack the one part of her purchase that she’d barely had the nerve to buy—a black lace push-up bra with a front clasp, dainty satin straps and enough padding to stuff a mattress.

Cheap women wear bras like that, her mother had always said. Cheap little hussies who are looking for trouble.

Virginia put it on, then turned to the mirror and froze.

Cleavage. For the first time in her life, she actually had cleavage.

She stared at the cheap little hussy in the mirror and held her breath, her heart beating double time, waiting, waiting…

Finally she slumped with relief. Okay. God hadn’t struck her dead. That was a good sign. Maybe her mother didn’t have half the pull with the Almighty that she’d always led Virginia to believe, even though she’d been up there with Him now for over three months, consulting with Him in person.

Virginia pulled a pair of jeans from the sack and wiggled into them, thinking maybe they looked pretty good for her first pair. At $12.99 they hadn’t eaten her whole paycheck, and they had a little strip of elastic in the back so, even though they were sort of tight, she’d still be able to breathe.

Next she pulled out a brown short-sleeved cotton shirt with little horseshoes on it. Very Western. She put it on, leaving the top two buttons undone. On second thought, she unbuttoned a third one, then spread the edges of the shirt apart to reveal a hint of her newly enhanced bustline. She froze again, holding her breath, waiting for the inevitable. But it never came.

Maybe God was fresh out of thunderbolts.

She pulled a pair of plain brown cowboy boots from the sack and tugged them on, knowing they couldn’t possibly be leather for $17.99, but figuring they looked the part, anyway. Turning to the mirror, she ran a brush through her hair, wishing for the umpteenth time in her life that she’d been blessed with wavy blond tresses instead of the limp brown mop she’d gotten stuck with. Then she pulled a tube of lipstick from the sack. It wasn’t the cherry red she’d planned on getting, but it wasn’t baby pink, either. She spent a good five minutes nose-to-nose with her reflection in the mirror, dabbing at her lips, telling herself it was just like kindergarten and all she had to do was color inside the lines.

She smacked her lips together, then backed off from the mirror for an arm’s-length exam. Okay. Not bad. Truth be told, though, she didn’t much care what she looked like.

As long as she didn’t look like Virginia White.

A few minutes later she was back on the blacktop, moving down the road. She rolled down the windows and jacked up the radio, singing along with Shania Twain. The crisp breeze lifted her hair off the back of her neck. The sun had just set, filling the countryside with the muted shades of twilight. It would be dark by the time she reached her destination.

Happy birthday, Virginia, she told herself. It’s time to go live it up.

Tonight she was giving herself a long overdue gift. She was going someplace where there were hundreds of people she didn’t know. People to whom her name meant nothing. People who wouldn’t automatically dismiss her because she was the daughter of the town recluse, or because she didn’t dress right, or because she was just a painfully shy nobody who’d never learned how to be anything else.

While she’d been working at the library after school to help support her and her mother, other girls were chatting on the phone, painting each other’s nails and talking about boys. While she was paying bills and balancing the checkbook, other girls were making out in the back seats of cars. While she was living with her mother, taking care of her various ailments and catering to her whims, other women were getting married, making love and having children.

Sooner or later she would save enough money for college, and then she’d start a whole new life. But bank tellers didn’t make much, particularly when they worked at the First State Bank of Coldwater, Texas, where raises came around about as often as Halley’s Comet. So it could take a while, maybe even a couple of years, and she couldn’t wait that long to start grabbing some of the fun and excitement the rest of the world took for granted.

She kept singing along with Shania, letting her foot get heavy on the gas pedal until she teetered on the edge of the forty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. Then, just as she was starting to feel pretty cool, she topped a hill and her destination came into sight, and she felt self-conscious all over again.

The Lone Wolf Saloon was nothing more than a gigantic, flat-sided metal building with its name on the side in red-and-blue neon. But looks were deceiving. From what Virginia had heard, it was sitting smack-dab in the middle of the fast lane of life, offering a wild, rowdy evening of decadence to every fun-loving person within a thirty-mile radius.

The gravel parking lot was nearly full. Virginia found a space between a pair of spit-polished, fresh-off-the-lot pickup trucks. She turned off the engine and sat in silence for a moment, hearing her mother’s voice reverberating inside her head.

Places like that ought to be outlawed. They’re sinful, that’s what they are. Sinful.

She took a few deep, calming breaths, telling herself that if going out and having a good time was a sin, hell would be so full by now that there wouldn’t be any room for her, anyway.

She grabbed her purse, eased out of her car and locked it behind her. She toddled across the gravel parking lot as best she could in her new footwear and made it to the front door. She squared her shoulders, bracing herself against the unknown, but still she was unprepared for the sensory overload that assaulted her the moment she opened the door.

The music, played by a country-western band gyrating with wild enthusiasm on a rainbow-lit stage, hit her eardrums at approximately a hundred decibels above the supersonic range. Every chord, every drumbeat, every twang of the lead singer’s voice hummed through her body like an electrical circuit gone haywire. A beer. That’s what she needed.

She headed toward the bar, passing table after table crowded with people and littered with beer bottles and ashtrays. The entire place seemed to be in motion, from the slow rhythm of interaction between men and women, to the sway of denim and leather on the dance floor, to the slither of waitresses from one table to the next. Every molecule of air was drenched in cigarette smoke, giving the room a surreal, otherworldly feel. Virginia had a thought about secondhand smoke, then chastised herself. She’d spent twenty-four years breathing the right air, so one evening of sucking in a few carcinogens was hardly going to matter.

She found an empty bar stool and climbed onto it. The bartender, a brawny beast with biceps the size of telephone poles, approached her. He wore a single gold earring that glinted under the neon lights surrounding the bar.

She cleared her throat. “A beer, please?”

“Any particular kind?”

Virginia froze. “In a bottle?”

The bartender gave her a sarcastic little smile and walked away, leaving her feeling dumb as a rock. To her relief, though, he returned a moment later and slapped a bottle on the bar in front of her. “Three bucks.”

She gave the bartender three one-dollar bills, then picked up the beer. It felt ice-cold. She sniffed it tentatively, then put the bottle to her lips and took a sip. She swallowed, and her eyes started to water. It was like drinking a rancid, extra-fizzy soda, but she managed to get it down without it coming back up. Buoyed by that small victory, she took another sip, this time a bigger one, and felt it burn all the way down her throat.

Okay. That wasn’t so bad. And because she was still among the living, she decided maybe God was taking the weekend off.

She took mini-sips of the beer and turned around on the bar stool to watch the crowd. Nobody seemed to notice her, which was pretty much par for the course. She was one of those people who didn’t speak up, who blended into the woodwork, who got lost in a crowd of two. It had been that way all her life, and she didn’t expect things would change overnight.

As long as they changed eventually.

The couples on the dance floor moved with intricate little steps and whirls, their feet always falling in just the right places. Then a dozen or so people lined up to do a little group dance, where everybody seemed to know just where to step to avoid kicking the person in front of them.

And everywhere, people were laughing.

Pretty soon Virginia started to loosen up, and by the time she’d drained the bottle, she felt warm and a little woozy. She ordered another one, thinking if one made her feel good, two would be even better.

Then the band played a soft, soulful number. Couples inched closer to each other, body-to-body, moving together as one. Virginia felt as if the world had suddenly paired up two by two and she was the odd woman out.

She rested her elbow on the bar, her cheek against her palm, watching all the lucky women who knew what it felt like to ease next to a man, tuck their heads against a broad shoulder and move to the music, letting the rest of the world slip away. A wave of longing swept through her that was so powerful she thought she’d faint from the feeling.

Not once in her life had a man so much as touched her. She’d never been on a date, never been kissed, never chatted with a girlfriend about boys. She’d never had a man look into her eyes with desire or tell her she was beautiful. She wasn’t, of course. They didn’t come any plainer than Virginia White, so she had to face facts. She was going to need a little extra something that didn’t involve a traffic-stopping body or a Miss America smile.

Maybe it was all in the way a woman moved. That was apparently what a platinum blonde on the dance floor right now thought as she undulated against her partner. Making love standing up. That’s what it looked like. Not that Virginia knew the details of such a thing, but even a cloistered nun could see what that woman had in mind.

Virginia couldn’t say she blamed her.

If she’d been dancing with a man as sexy as that woman’s partner, it might make her hormones shift into overdrive, too. He was tall, well over six feet, moving to the music as if he’d been born to do it. Virginia inhaled the sight of him, her gaze traveling from his rock-solid shoulders, to his narrow waist, to his hips and thighs swaying rhythmically inside a pair of snug, well-worn jeans. Thick, dark hair brushed the back of his shirt collar, and she watched as the blonde eased her hands upward and threaded her fingers through it. Virginia wondered what that would feel like. She wondered what all of it would feel like—dancing, touching, even kissing. She blushed at the very thought of it, but that didn’t stop her mind from wandering into previously uncharted territory. Then he turned, and she had a sudden, stunning view of an incredibly handsome face.

She blinked. It couldn’t be.

Cole McCallum.

She felt a hot rush at the realization of just who it was she was looking at. It had been a lot of years since she’d seen him, but he wasn’t the kind of guy you easily forgot. She’d been a freshman when he was a senior, but still she’d fantasized about him, even though good girls weren’t supposed to have the hots for bad boys. Not that it would have mattered which way her hots were directed. A guy like Cole McCallum would never have been interested in a shy, dumpy little wallflower who would have gone into cardiac arrest if he’d so much as glanced in her direction.

Maybe it was a good thing he’d never looked her way. If there was one thing she’d learned by keeping her mouth shut and her ears open, it was that Cole’s good looks and lady-killing smile were nothing more than bait for any unsuspecting girl who happened to wander into his web.

The band wrapped up the song and Cole left the dance floor, the blonde clinging to him like moss on a tree. Age had only improved him, turning a cocky, hell-raising, sexy-looking teenager into a smooth, confident, sexy-looking man. She couldn’t say for sure if the hell-raising part still applied, but she doubted that inclination had left him entirely.

Virginia caught the bartender’s eye and ordered another beer, and before long the room began to spin in a most pleasant manner. She closed her eyes and listened hard, but the alcohol had chased away her mother’s voice. She drained the beer and set the empty bottle on the bar with a definitive clunk. Warmth coursed through her all the way to her toes, and she sighed with contentment.

For the first time in her life she felt free.

Nobody was standing over her shoulder passing judgment. Nobody was telling her what to think. Nobody was soliciting thunderbolts from the heavens as a punishment for the slightest transgression. She was in charge of her own destiny and answered to no one.

She watched Cole dance with another woman, following his tall, gorgeous body like a moth follows light. Beer number three hit home, and she started to think that maybe there wasn’t that much difference between her and those other women he seemed so interested in. It was possible, wasn’t it, that she might even have some qualities they didn’t?

A boldness she’d never felt before unfurled inside her like a tight rosebud opening to the sun. As the minutes ticked by, she started to feel less like a wallflower and more like a woman who could rule the world. She rose from her bar stool, wobbling a little, but never losing sight of the opportunity that was staring her right in the face.

Maybe a bad boy like Cole McCallum was exactly what this good girl needed.

2

COLE TOOK a sip from his long neck, settled back in his chair and surveyed the situation. It didn’t look good.

The Lone Wolf was filled to capacity, teeming with Friday nightlife. He’d been here several times before, years ago. Even though he’d been underage through most of that time, he’d never had any trouble getting in the door. Even at seventeen he’d looked twenty-one, standing six-foot-two with an attitude even taller, tempered by a killer smile he’d learned early to use to his advantage. And he’d be willing to put it to good use right now, if only he could find that one special woman who wouldn’t mind being married for six months and then disappearing.

In the glove compartment of his car was the necessary prenuptial agreement that would allow him to sidestep Texas community property laws, along with the phone numbers of a couple of the airlines so he could snag some last-minute tickets to Vegas tomorrow night. But the woman…now that was going to be a bigger problem than he anticipated.

Not that he didn’t already have a few candidates. Within ten minutes of his arrival, three ladies had made themselves at home at his table. The first had been Tonya Jenkins, a bleach blonde who’d graduated from Coldwater High the same year he had and now lived in Tyler. She wore a denim miniskirt and fringed leather vest that closed over her ample breasts with a single tie—without the benefit of a shirt beneath it. Everything about her was excessive, from the height of her oversprayed hair to the makeup she’d applied with a steamroller, to the way she kept running her bloodred fingernails up and down his arm. He remembered now it was because of Tonya that he’d developed such an aversion to pushy women.

She grabbed his hand. “C’mon, Cole. Let’s dance.”

She had that look of hot anticipation on her face that told him if he so much as raised an eyebrow, she’d have her skirt up and her panties down in a heartbeat.

He maintained an easygoing smile. “Think I’ll sit this one out.”

“But you danced with Shelly and Tiffany.” She pressed that cherry-red bottom lip of hers into a full pout, and he could tell his mission tonight was going to be a much bigger challenge than he’d anticipated.

He’d tried to look up some of the women he knew in Dallas to see if any of them might be interested in a temporary marriage, but without exception they’d moved on to other eligible bachelors months ago when they discovered he had an arson accusation hanging over his head. So he jumped into his car and headed here, figuring a local girl might make a better candidate anyway. Someone from around here would be more likely to submit to life on a ranch for six months, while the women he knew in Dallas would last about a week before they burst into tears and rushed back to the city for a trip to Neiman Marcus and lunch at the Palm.

The downside of marrying a girl from the Coldwater area was that it pretty much insured that Murphy would find out the marriage wasn’t the real thing. But according to the provisions of the will, as long as Cole got married by midnight tomorrow night and he and his bride spent six months on the ranch as man and wife, Murphy couldn’t pull the plug on the deal just because they weren’t committed to a lifetime relationship. At the end of that time period, Cole would sell the ranch, give his new ex-wife twenty-five thousand dollars for her trouble, then take the rest of the proceeds and get on with the life he was meant to live.

He surveyed the women at his table. Shelly was a definite possibility. She was decent looking, with platinum blond hair and a pair of breasts that were beyond belief. A few quick questions had netted him the answers he needed to move forward. No, she wasn’t married; no, she wasn’t thinking of leaving town anytime soon; and yes, she was a spontaneous person. Unfortunately she seemed about as bright as a two-watt bulb.

Tiffany, on the other hand, had at least a few gears turning upstairs. She had dark, silky hair, a pair of mile-long legs and seemed to be open to new adventures, but at the same time she was quick to say she’d just come off a nasty divorce. Marriage to a man with an ulterior motive might not sit too well with her.

The more he looked at them, though, the more he sensed a harshness about them that turned him off—a shadowed, wary look in their eyes that said they’d been around the block a time or two and could easily shift into ball buster mode if need be. Could he spend six months in the same house with a woman like that?

And then there was Tonya.

He checked his watch. Time was running short, and his options were few. He had to make a decision pretty quickly, because if one turned him down, he’d need time to talk another one into it. But which one first? Would they think it was strange if he asked them to draw straws?

“Excuse me?”

He looked up from his beer to see a woman standing in front of his table. Just barely a woman. He couldn’t say for sure she was even of legal age to be there. She wore a shirt with little horseshoes all over it, and her jeans were a deep indigo blue with a loose, crinkly fit. If she added a straw hat and a bandanna, she’d look just like Dale Evans.

Her brown eyes shifted back and forth as she systematically disintegrated a balled-up cocktail napkin, and he got the feeling that if he so much as said boo she’d go running for the hills. He pictured her going out with guys who wore sweater-vests and had her home by ten o’clock—the kind of date she could bring home to Mom for Sunday dinner. But here she was at a raunchy country-western bar on a Friday night looking as out of place as a sparrow in a flock of peacocks.

Then she fixed her gaze on his, and he felt a twinge of apprehension. She took a deep, shaky breath, looking as if she were about to faint.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked.

Oh, boy. He did not need this.

Before he could say anything, though, Tonya snickered a little, then leaned forward, her forearms on the table. “A little out of your league, aren’t you, honey?”

For a minute Cole thought the woman might go running for the hills after all. Instead she stood her ground, but her slightly panicked expression said it was a hard-won battle.

Tonya smelled blood. “Don’t you have a church social to go to? Or how about a bingo game? I hear it’s twenty-dollar jackpot night down at the VFW Hall.”

To her credit, the woman didn’t respond. She weaved a little, and Cole wondered if maybe she hadn’t had one beer too many. Then she lifted her chin, and in a shaky voice she asked him again if he’d like to dance.

The other women exchanged glances, laughing behind their hands. God, he hated this. There was nothing worse than an arrogant shrew like Tonya picking on somebody who didn’t have the guts to give it right back to her. The woman’s eyes were getting a little shiny. If he didn’t do something, in just a few seconds Tonya was really going to have something to laugh about.

He sighed inwardly and gave the woman a big smile. “Sure, sweetheart. I’d love to dance.”

In unison, three female jaws hit the ground. He rose from the booth and took the woman’s hand, then parted the crowd and led her to the dance floor.

“Look out, Cole,” Tonya called. “She’s obviously a loose woman. Liable to ruin your reputation.”

The other women laughed, but Cole ignored them. He heard more snide remarks, which he likewise ignored. One quick dance, and then he could return to the business at hand.

The band was playing a mournful somebody-done-me-wrong song just perfect for slow dancing. When they reached the dance floor he pulled her around to face him. She froze, her eyes wide.

“You want to dance, don’t you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then what’s the matter?”

She mumbled something he couldn’t make out.

He leaned closer to her. “What?”

“I—I said I don’t know how to dance.”

Great. Now he was a dance instructor.

He thought about excusing himself and heading to the bar for another beer, but then the catcalls would only get louder and she’d probably end up crying, and he figured nobody ought to have to go through that. She stared at him, her liquid brown eyes making her look like a baby doe who’d wandered into a cougar’s den.

“There’s nothing to it,” he told her, stepping closer. “Just put your arms around my neck.”

When she didn’t move, he took her hands and draped them over his shoulders. She circled them around his collar, her touch featherlight. He slipped his arms around her waist, and she inched closer to him. He started to move a little, letting her get the feel of it, but she was as stiff as a fence post. It was like dancing with a two-by-four.

“Loosen up, sweetheart.” He flattened his palm against the small of her back and moved it in slow circles. He worked his hand up and down her back, rubbing the tension away, at the same time easing her closer.

“Good. That’s good. Now all you have to do is follow me. Just listen to the music and move along with it.”

Slowly she started to get the hang of it. As inept as she was, he had to admit it was a welcome relief from Shelly and Tiffany. To them, dancing was nothing more than vertical foreplay. They moved their silicone-amplified figures all over him as if they expected him to drop to the floor and have sex with them on the spot.

Not this one. She was soft and round and warm as toast, and he had the feeling that if he squeezed her too hard she just might break. She had hair the color of a paper sack, but it was the color God gave her and full of shine, and when he brushed his fingers over it, it felt as soft as dandelion fuzz.

“Am I doing it right?” she asked, staring at his chest.

“You’re doing just fine.”

“I don’t want to step on your feet.”

There wasn’t much of her, so he probably wouldn’t know it even if she did. “You won’t step on my feet. In fact, I can’t even tell this is your first time dancing.”

To his surprise, she inched closer and rested her cheek against his shoulder. Her head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck. As they moved to the music, he dipped his head a little and caught the scent of peach shampoo instead of being assaulted by a wave of cheap perfume. She sighed gently, and the last of her tension seemed to drain right out of her, leaving her warm and pliant in his arms. He ran his hands along her spine, down to the stretchy waistband of those oddball jeans of hers, then up to her neck, and she shifted beneath his hands and melted into him. It had been a long time since he’d danced with a woman who wasn’t auditioning for a roll in the hay, and it felt…nice.

Nice enough to be married to her for six months?

The thought came into his head in a flash, and just as quickly he sent it packing. She’d be horrified at the very thought of a temporary marriage. Women like this one met their soul mates in the church choir, dated for five years, then planned a wedding complete with doves, rice bags and a silver punch bowl. They did not sign a prenup, get married at the Elvis Memorial Wedding Chapel in Vegas, then spend their six-month anniversary getting a divorce.

After a couple of minutes the song wound down. She looked at him, blinking as if she’d just awakened from a very pleasant dream. He had the fleeting thought that he might be wearing the same expression.

He started to move away from her, thinking maybe he ought to suggest that this wasn’t the place for a woman like her, when suddenly she took a double handful of his shirt and pulled him against her. She closed her eyes. “Kiss me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Kiss me.” A note of desperation crept into her voice. “Please?”

Cole stared at her, dumbfounded. But after the initial shock wore off, he realized that the thought of fulfilling that request wasn’t entirely without appeal, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. His taste in women ran toward the experienced type, women who gave a lot but didn’t take too much and knew how to say goodbye before breakfast.

So why wasn’t he pushing her away?

A pink flush rose on her cheeks, and her chest heaved gently as she looked at him with pleading eyes. She wanted this badly. He was no stranger to women’s desires, but something told him there was more involved here than a little elemental lust.

“Look, sweetheart, maybe you’d better—”

“Would you do it for a hundred dollars?”

“What?”

“I—I hear you’re worth it.”

He almost laughed, but she sounded so serious that he caught it before it came out. “So you know who I am?”

She nodded.

Cole sighed. More proof that his legend lived on.

He took her by the shoulders and looked at her as platonically as he knew how. “Now, look. I’m not arguing the value of my services, and I don’t remember a time in my life when I turned down easy money—”

“So you’ll do it?”

“No!”

She sighed, then circled her gaze around the room. “That’s okay, I guess. There’s bound to be somebody else here—”

Cole clamped his hand onto her forearm and hauled her off the dance floor, pulling her toward the opposite side of the room. When he reached a secluded spot next to the bar, he backed her up against the wall beneath a neon beer advertisement.

“Now, listen up! It’s not a good idea to go flashing a bunch of cash in a bar full of drunk cowboys, offering to pay them to do something that’s liable to turn into something else!”

“Something else?”

Good God. How had this woman survived life so far? He stared at her pointedly.

She looked away. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that, maybe whether you want it or not. You don’t want to tangle with some of these guys, especially the closer it gets to closing time.”

Closing time. It was a little after eight now. He’d better get a move on if he expected to make a decision on a fiancée, or it was going to be a really short engagement.

“Maybe it would be best if you headed on home,” he said. “The later it gets around here, the rowdier it gets. It’s not a good place for a nice girl—”

“Don’t say that!”

Cole stepped back, startled. Those soft brown eyes were suddenly shooting fire.

“I’m not a nice girl! I mean, I am, but I don’t want to be!” She glanced at the bartender, a six-foot-three, two-hundred-pound slab of beef who was simultaneously drawing a beer and eyeing a brunette whose tank top was working overtime trying to contain her generous upper body. “That bartender is a possibility, I guess. Maybe I’ll ask him—”

“No!”

Cole pulled her around, wondering if her problem was confined to naïveté or whether there was an unhealthy dose of insanity thrown in. “I don’t get it. Why in the world would you pay a man to kiss you?”

She shrugged a little and looked at her feet, which she didn’t seem to be too steady on at the moment. “Because I want to know what it feels like.”

For a minute Cole wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Then all at once the truth hit him like a brick to the side of the head. “You’ve never been kissed before?”

She continued her examination of those weird-looking boots of hers, her cheeks the color of ripe strawberries, and he had his answer.

Good Lord. How had this happened? How did any woman get through puberty and adolescence and into adulthood without so much as a kiss? Sure, she was plain, but he’d seen far less attractive women who’d managed to hook a man. How had things gone so wrong when it was so easy to make them right?

Then he pictured her sidling up next to that bruiser of a bartender and making him the same offer. Either the man would laugh his head off and humiliate her or take advantage of the situation in ways Cole didn’t even want to think about.

“I heard something once about six cheerleaders,” the woman said, her blush deepening. “I figured one little kiss wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Damn, was that story carved in granite somewhere? If so, it was time he found a stick of dynamite and did away with it permanently.

“Two things,” Cole told her. “First of all, don’t believe everything you hear. And secondly, a kiss is a big deal. Especially if you’ve never done it before.”

Those liquid brown eyes came up to meet his. They weren’t exactly beautiful—nothing about her was—but something about the way she stared at him made his throat feel tight and muddled up his thinking. Her lips parted slightly, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip, leaving it damp and glistening. There was nothing deliberately seductive about it, and maybe that’s why it was so…seductive.

Pay attention, Tonya. You’re about to get an eyeful.

“Kissing is like dancing,” he told her softly, moving his hands up to cradle her face. “You just do what comes naturally.”

She stared at him with that look of terror again, swallowing as if there were a golf ball lodged in her throat. He thought of getting it over with quickly to put her out of her misery, but then again, if she was after a hundred-dollar kiss, he figured that’s what he ought to give her.

He brushed his lips against hers. Her cheeks were tense, her jaw fixed, her mouth a firm, unyielding line.

“Relax,” he said. “This is supposed to be fun.”

He met her lips again, but this time he persisted, fixing his mouth firmly over hers until she had no choice but to give in. He stroked his thumbs along her cheekbones, feeling skin as soft as powder.

Then he wrapped his arm around the back of her neck and cradled her head in the crook of his elbow. He tilted her backward slightly, and at the same time he brought his other hand down to circle her rib cage just beneath her breast.

She gasped a little at his touch, parting her lips at the same time, and he took the opportunity to delve deeper. He teased the tip of his tongue against her lips in gentle exploration, then slipped it into her mouth and twined it softly with hers. He could feel her surprise, as if she’d never imagined kissing could involve something like that. But a moment later she slid one hand around his neck and the other over his shoulder, pulling him closer, asking for more, as if she’d just tasted an unknown delicacy and couldn’t get enough of it. Her eager response sent a jolt of awareness through him, and all at once he realized that if she’d never been kissed, then that meant she also hadn’t—

No. He’d never made love to a virgin, and he wasn’t about to start now. Too damn much responsibility there. But kissing one? Now that was another thing entirely. A thing he hadn’t realized could be quite so…enjoyable.

He moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her tightly against him, her breasts crushed to his chest, heat coursing from her body to his. He thought he heard a catcall or two in the background, but he ignored the crowd and the raucous music and the flashing lights around them, making sure that from now on she’d know exactly what a hundred-dollar kiss felt like.

Then her knees buckled a little, and out of fear that she might actually pass out, he finally pulled away, his arm still wrapped around her back holding her snugly against him. Slowly she opened her eyes, wearing a glassy-eyed, thoroughly kissed expression that sent a shock wave right to his groin.

“I lied,” she said. “I don’t have a hundred dollars.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to take the kiss back.”

He pressed his lips to hers again in an impulsive reprise of the already thorough kiss he’d just given her. A quick start of surprise on her part immediately gave way to surrender. By now she had one kiss under her belt, moving her ahead in the amateur ranks, and this time she met him with far less fear and far more enthusiasm.

Finally he pulled away. She closed her eyes and let out a rapturous little sigh, her arms still draped around his neck. She was an amateur, yes, but he hadn’t expected her to have so much potential. Warm, willing and totally untouched—what would it be like to find a woman like that lying naked in his bed?

If he married her, he could find out.

No. That was crazy. Just kissing her had probably put him in danger of her daddy coming after him with a shotgun, and the last thing he needed right now was a major complication like that.

“Look, sweetheart. I think it’s time for you to—”

All at once her eyes sprang open, her expression becoming tense, her eyes growing wider by the moment.

“What’s the matter?” Cole asked.

She backed away from him, one hand on her stomach, the other clutching his arm. Her eyes glazed over, and her face turned as pale as an eggshell. He’d seen that look before.

“How many drinks did you have?”

“Uh…two. No. Three.”

“Is that three more than you’ve ever had before?”

“Uh-huh.” She wobbled a little, hunched over, and in her next breath everything that had gone down tonight came right back up.

VIRGINIA DECIDED there was nothing quite so inelegant as sitting on the bathroom floor of a sleazy country-western bar, hugging a toilet and staring at a wall full of graffiti describing sex acts she didn’t even think were anatomically possible. She’d barely gotten the little paper sanitary thing down on the toilet seat before she’d thrown up all over again.

She folded her arms on the edge of the toilet and rested her forehead against them, wishing the bumblebees in her stomach would head back to the hive. God had evidently gotten more creative than in the Old Testament days. What did He need with a thunderbolt? All He had to do was get her to toss down three beers and throw up at Cole McCallum’s feet. She may not be dead, but she certainly wished she was.

She couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to ask Cole to dance, much less what came after. Of course, she had to admit that right now the majority of her courage lay in an unmentionable heap on the barroom floor. That explained her actions. But why had Cole taken her up on it?

The only reason was that he was exactly what she’d always heard—a wild, sexually insatiable animal who didn’t care where he got his kicks. Logically, that made sense. Somehow, though, the kisses hadn’t felt that way at all. They had felt warm and wonderful and exciting, and she’d wanted them to go on forever.

But maybe that was part of the game he played. He was gorgeous and charming and highly talented in the kissing department, and that’s what made him so dangerous. He’d grown into a man with ten years more experience in compromising women, and in that time he’d obviously sharpened his tools to a fine edge.

Men are after only one thing, she heard her mother saying in that chastising voice that had reappeared in her head about the time she headed for the bathroom. And once they get it, they’ll be gone.

She had to admit that her mother was somewhat of an expert on that subject. Virginia had never known her father. Her mother had—for one night. And her whole life Virginia had been a daily reminder to her mother of the mistake she’d made in trusting a man, and she never missed the opportunity to warn her daughter not to follow in her footsteps.

Virginia flicked a cigarette butt off her thigh and got up, thinking maybe it was finally safe to move farther than arm’s length away from the toilet. She left the stall, wobbled to the mirror and stifled a scream. Her hair hung in limp strings, her lipstick had melted away, and every fleck of color had fled from her face. She looked like a bag lady with anemia.

Then she had a terrible thought. What if Cole was still out there? The last thing she wanted to do was humiliate herself all over again by tripping over her own feet or teetering back and forth like an acrobat on a high wire.

The only way she could hold on to her last few shreds of self-respect was to walk out to that bar, preferably in a straight line, find her purse if it hadn’t been stolen, then go home and forget this night had ever been. And if she saw Cole, she’d simply say good-night calmly and offhandedly as if none of this—from his earth-shattering kisses to her involuntary recycling of three bottles of beer—had been any big deal at all.

3

“YOU SHOULDN’T have let your girlfriend drink that much.”

Cole glared at the bartender. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever. I just want her out of here. Puking customers are bad for business. Where does she live?”

“I never met her before tonight. I have no idea where she lives.”

The bartender slapped a purse onto the bar in front of Cole. “Find out.”

Cole spit out a disgusted breath and unzipped Virginia’s purse. He hauled out a notepad, a checkbook, a pink plastic thing containing feminine hygiene products and one of those little blue-and-white packets of tissues. Finally he located her wallet and pulled out her driver’s license.

Virginia White. Seven-fourteen Oakdale. Coldwater, Texas.

Damn. Coldwater was a good twenty miles from here. The chances of her making it home without ending up in a ditch or wrapped around a tree were approximately zero.

“What are you doing with my purse?”

Cole looked up to see Virginia staggering toward him. She was even paler than before, her eyes heavy-lidded, and she seemed to be having a hard time focusing.

“You live in Coldwater?” he asked her.

“Yeah.”

“That’s twenty miles from here. You can’t drive home.”

“Of course I can drive home.”

She grabbed for her purse, but Cole pulled it out of her reach. He fished out her car keys and stuffed them into his pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Any woman who can’t hold three beers ought to have her license revoked.” He reached into his other pocket, extracted some change and slapped it into her palm. “There’s a phone by the front door. Go call someone to come get you.”

She stared at him blankly.

“A friend? Relative?”

She shrugged.

“You mean there’s no one you can call?”

“It’s no concern of yours. Now, may I have my keys?”

She was right. It was no concern of his. She wasn’t his problem. So why didn’t he just order another beer, forget he’d ever met her and move on to more important matters?

She held out her hand, her mouth a firm line of determination, but he could tell from her bloodshot eyes and the way she swayed like a willow in a light breeze that she’d be lucky to make it to the front door. A tiny shred of decency he would have sworn he didn’t have nagged at him like an itch in the middle of his back he couldn’t quite reach.

Cole rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then let out a disgusted breath. He crammed her belongings into her purse and thrust it at her. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

“What?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“That won’t be necessary. I said I’m quite able to drive.”

“Yeah. Right into a telephone pole.”

“No. I’m an excellent driver.” Her testiness almost offset the drunken slur in her voice. “I made a hundred percent on my driver’s test when I turned sixteen.”

“You think a cop’s gonna care about that when he stops you?”

“I have a perfect driving record. I’ve never had an accident. I’ve never even had a parking ticket.”

Cole wanted to beat his head against the bar. “You’re full of alcohol!”

“Not completely.”

She was right about that. “You’re still drunk, though. Believe me.”

“Yes. Well. Comparatively speaking, that would simply make me a mediocre driver. The road is full of mediocre drivers. Do they take every one of them to jail?”

He’d already determined she was both naive and insane. Now he could add illogical to the list.

She held out her hand. “My keys?”

“Fine.” Cole pulled her keys from his pocket and slapped them into her hand.

“Thank you very much,” she said, with a queenly nose-in-the-air thing that really irritated him. She swung her purse over her shoulder in a wild arc, the momentum practically knocking her over. She righted herself, took a deep breath and started for the door.

“Have a nice drive,” Cole called. “Of course, the minute you’re out the door I’m calling the cops and giving them your license number. And after you walk that little white line, you’ll spend the night in the drunk tank.”

She turned around, her eyes wide. “Drunk tank?”

“Yeah. Right after they strip-search you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Strip-search?”

“Don’t worry. If they get too carried away, you can always sue. You have a good lawyer, don’t you?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and slumped with resignation. “What about my car? If you take me home, it’ll still be here in the morning.”

“That’s your problem.” Cole put a firm hand against her shoulder and turned her toward the door. “I’ll get you home in one piece. Past that, you’re on your own.”

Shelly’s, Tiffany’s and Tonya’s eyes flew open with disbelief as he passed by their table, his arm wrapped around Virginia’s shoulders, dragging her along. He took her to his car, unlocked the passenger door, then shook a finger at her. “Don’t you dare throw up in my car.”

“I won’t.”

Her words said she wouldn’t, but her sickly expression said it was a distinct possibility. That would be the last straw, of course. If she messed up his car, he wouldn’t think twice about tossing her out on the side of the road and letting the buzzards have at her.

He opened the door. She collapsed on the seat, but that’s as far as she got. He picked her legs up, stuffed them into the car and slammed the door.

He slid behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition. He was saving her from driving drunk. That was a good deed. Good deeds were supposed to make a person feel wonderful.

Yeah. Right.

He checked his watch. He had only a few hours left. He didn’t need someone throwing a wrench in the works, and he had a feeling Virginia White had a whole toolbox in her hip pocket. He intended to dump her at home, turn around and head back to the bar.

Twenty minutes later he pulled up to 714 Oakdale, a tiny white clapboard house on a tree-shaded street. It was one of those houses that had been born ugly, with a flat elevation, an aluminum storm door and casement windows. Still, it was well-kept, with a neat St. Augustine lawn, a bed of pink petunias and a wreath beside the front door. At least somebody was trying.

Virginia had fallen asleep about two minutes after getting into his car, and she still slept, breathing gently, her hands clutching her purse, her lips parted. A stray strand of hair lay across her cheek. She looked peaceful. Innocent. Helpless. The kind of woman he vowed he’d never go near again.

No lights shone in any of the windows. She lived alone, he guessed, or she’d have called someone to come pick her up. He slipped her keys out of her hand and unlocked the front door. He came around the car and pulled her out. He tried walking her toward the porch without much success, then gave up and picked her up. He climbed the porch steps with her in his arms, nudged the storm door open with his foot and flipped on the living-room light with his shoulder. He carried her into the first bedroom he came to, those goofy boots of hers banging against the door frame. He dumped her on the bed, then yanked her boots off.

A quilt lay folded at the end of the bed, and he pulled it over her. She turned on her side, squirmed around for a minute, then hugged the pillow and played dead. And dead was just how she was going to feel in the morning.

Cole went into the living room. The house was stuck in a time warp. Green shag carpet, heavy gold drapes, brown plaid furniture. But even though it was probably the dreariest decor he’d ever seen, the inside of the house was as clean and well-kept as the outside had been.

He decided he’d lock up behind him and stick her keys in the mailbox. He found a magnetic notepad stuck to the refrigerator and wrote her a message to that effect. He put it on the kitchen table and started to walk away when he noticed several envelopes and their contents scattered on the table. He saw utility bills, pay stubs, several credit card bills and a letter. He picked up the letter. It was from her landlord. She was a month behind.

He retrieved her purse from her bedroom, pulled out her checkbook and flipped it open to see a balance of sixty-two dollars and seventeen cents.

He went to the kitchen and looked through the rest of the mail. A bill from a funeral home. A whopper. Fishing through a few more papers on the table, he found a program from the funeral of Margaret White, age sixty-two, who’d gone to meet her maker about three months ago. And judging from what he’d seen so far, she didn’t have a father, either.

Growing nosier by the minute, he dug deeper and found a college catalog from the University of Texas at Austin. Several banking and finance courses were circled, but looking at her checkbook, she hadn’t paid a dime for tuition for next semester. The course bulletin was a dream book, nothing more.

As he put the pieces of her life together, he started having second thoughts about her suitability as a wife. With her abysmal financial condition, would she really be so horrified at the prospect of a temporary marriage if he made it worth her while?

She might be the kind of woman who met her soul mate in the church choir, but after Cole divorced her in six months she’d still have the opportunity to find Mr. Right wherever she wanted to look. Daddy didn’t appear to be around, so he wouldn’t have to worry about turning a corner and finding himself looking down the barrel of a shotgun. She was a little on the plain side, which distressed him a bit, but kissing her hadn’t been half bad. Maybe a woman who wasn’t obsessed with her looks would be a pleasant change. For his own sanity he needed a halfway intelligent woman, and her college aspirations said she probably fit that description. And as far as college tuition was concerned, she’d probably jump at the twenty-five thousand dollars he was willing to give her for taking six months out of her life to become Mrs. Cole McCallum. And best of all, she was naive and innocent, which meant he’d be able to control the situation and call the shots. It just might work.

Cole smiled. It looked as if the good deed he’d done tonight had paid off, after all.

VIRGINIA BLINKED her eyes open and was met with early-morning sunlight filtering through her bedroom curtains. She lay motionless, a little disoriented. A few seconds later her senses woke up, and she let out a low, agonized groan.

A bass drum was playing inside her head, boom-boom-booming in sync with the rhythm of her heart. She tried to move, but every muscle ached, and when she swallowed her mouth was dry as parchment.

Then she felt something. A gentle tap on her shoulder. A pause. A harder tap.

A man’s voice.

“Virginia. Time to get up.”

Her eyes sprang open. She flipped over like a hotcake on a griddle and found herself staring directly into the eyes of Cole McCallum.

With a strangled scream, she pushed herself to a sitting position and backed against the headboard. She almost screamed again as she realized he was wearing nothing but a towel draped around his hips. His dark hair was damp and slicked back, and droplets of water clung to his shoulders.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Virginia sputtered.

“Thought I’d catch a quick shower. But don’t worry. I left you plenty of hot water.”

She couldn’t think. She couldn’t even breathe. But her eyes were in fine working order, roaming over Cole’s body like those of a hungry diner checking out a smorgasbord. Her gaze traveled from his strong, sculpted shoulders, to his broad chest tapering down to a narrow waist, to a sharply defined set of abdominal muscles that made her think of a statue she’d once seen in an art-history book. She stared in awe at every inch of tanned skin, every ripple of muscle, every sexy bit of him that showed beyond the towel. For a split second her mind wandered to what lay beneath the towel and she wondered if it was perfection, too, then chastised herself for even thinking it.

Cole gave her a lazy smile. “I haven’t had my body examined this closely since my last doctor’s visit.”

Virginia jerked her gaze away, feeling a hot blush rising on her cheeks. She’d just been surprised, that’s all. That’s why she’d stared. The man was clearly some kind of exhibitionist. Why else would he enjoy parading around nearly naked in front of a total stranger?

“I—I’d appreciate it if you’d put some clothes on.”

He backed away a step or two, then turned and walked casually to a chair in the corner where his clothes lay.

“Better turn your back, sweetheart. I’ve been known to send a woman or two into shock.”

Virginia turned away and focused on the ceramic butterfly music box on her nightstand, trying to keep her thoughts north of Cole’s waist and south of his knees. Behind her she heard the faint thud of a damp bath towel hitting the hardwood floor. She told her heart to settle down, but it clearly intended to ignore her brain and beat her chest to death. She imagined him pulling his long, lean legs into those tight, faded jeans he’d worn last night, easing them up over his thighs and…and other things. Finally she heard a zipper, and she took a breath for the first time since she’d averted her eyes.

“All clear,” he said a moment later, and she turned to see him shrugging into his shirt.

She peered at him tentatively. “Have you been here all night?”

That smile again. “I guess you don’t remember, do you?”

Slowly the memories came together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle scattered about. Moving to music. Cole’s arms wrapped around her. Her head on his shoulder. A long, incredible kiss…then another. And then…

And then the getting sick part. No wonder she felt so awful.

Then she remembered him saying something about key possession and drunk tanks and strip searches that was all a little fuzzy but retrievable, but as she played out the rest of the evening in her mind, panic set in. The last thing she remembered was being in Cole’s car, driving home. Past that, she drew a blank. She glanced to the bed beside her and saw rumpled sheets and blankets.

She wasn’t the only one who’d occupied it.

As she put two and two together and it started to look an awful lot like four, her heart shifted into overdrive. “Where did you sleep?”

He glanced at the bed beside her, then smiled. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

She ducked her head, feeling that long-lost color returning to her cheeks. Could she actually have become a fallen woman and remembered nothing on the way down?

“Cole?” she said, barely able to croak out the words. “Did you…last night…?”

He buttoned one cuff, then started on the other. “Did I what?”

“You know…” She gestured toward the mussed blankets.

“Ah. You want to know if we made love.” He shrugged. “Would it be a problem if we had?”

Oh, God. Virginia’s hand flew to her mouth, and she squeezed her eyes closed. Every warning her mother had ever issued her came back in a huge rush of condemnation, and she thought she was going to be sick all over again.

A little music, a little fun and a lousy beer or two. That’s all she’d wanted. Then, like some kind of naive fool, she’d allowed herself to fall into the hands of a man who practically made it a profession to rip the reputation out from under any girl he came in contact with. Embarrassment welled up inside her, then took a sharp turn toward anger.

“You—you had no right to do this!”

“No right to do what? As I recall, you were the one flashing cash around last night, looking for a good time.”

“A kiss! That’s all!”

“Now, didn’t I tell you that sometimes you get a whole lot more than you bargained for?” He lifted an eyebrow and dropped his voice. “I’m one of those guys you don’t mess with around closing time.”

“But I wasn’t of…of sound mind,” she argued. “I’d had far too much to drink—”

“Whose fault was that?”

“And then…and then you dragged me home—”

“Saving you from driving drunk, if you’ll remember.”

“And then you did…did this,” she went on, waving her hand wildly over the scrambled sheets and blankets. “And I didn’t even know it!” She buried her head in her hands. She’d done it now. What had probably been heaven last night had bought her a one-way ticket for the other direction.

When she glanced up, his teasing smile had faded. “Is that what you really think, Virginia? That you passed out and I took advantage of you?”

“You were standing in my bedroom half-naked! What else am I to think?”

“Use some common sense, will you? You’re wearing the same clothes you were wearing last night. I’ve undressed a lot of women in my life, but I can’t say I’ve ever put any of their clothes back on.”

She looked at herself and for the first time she realized that her blue jeans, horseshoe blouse and push-up bra were still intact. A little wrinkled here and there, but intact. Only her boots were missing.

“And where I come from,” he went on, “we always undress when we take showers.”

“You could have dressed in the bathroom!”

He gave her a cocky grin. “But that wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.”

She glared at him, starting to get a little fed up with his attitude. He thought this was funny. She didn’t see anything funny about it.

“Don’t worry. Your virtue was safe last night. See, I’ve got this weird sexual preference. I prefer my women conscious.”

She had to admit he was probably telling her the truth. If he’d made love to her, chances are she’d have remembered. Thinking about the way he kissed, she was pretty sure he could drag a woman out of a coma if he set his mind to it.

She closed her eyes, and for a brief moment she was back at that bar last night, standing under that neon beer sign with the music pulsing through her, and Cole was kissing her. She had no idea a simple kiss could feel like that, except that there was nothing simple about it. Sensations had bombarded her from all directions, turning her insides to mush and making her feel all dizzy and disoriented. She remembered the way Cole had smelled, that warm, musky, man smell she’d never experienced before because she’d never gotten close enough to a member of the opposite sex. She remembered that boneless, melting feeling that had taken over her body as he crushed her breathlessly against him, and the way he tasted when he slipped his tongue into her mouth and she found out firsthand what all the fuss was about French-kissing. Just thinking about it made her cheeks burn, and she turned away from him, knowing she was blushing. Just once in her life she wished she could keep her circulatory system from betraying every embarrassing thought she had, particularly where Cole was concerned.

She’d asked for a kiss, and he’d delivered. Boy, had he delivered. Thankfully, it appeared that was all he’d delivered. She sighed with relief, feeling as if her one-way trip to hell had just been canceled. When she finally got around to doing that, she swore it would be with a man she loved and a man who loved her, too, even if it took forever to find him. A man she was married to, for heaven’s sake. She’d never make the same mistake her mother had. Never.

She inched her gaze around. “But if we didn’t…I mean, if all we did is sleep, then what are you doing here?”

Cole sat on the chair and pulled his boots on, then stood. He sauntered to the bed where Virginia sat. He towered over her, and she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Virginia closed her eyes. “Oh, God.”

“Take it easy, sweetheart. Not that kind of proposition.” He sat on the bed next to her. She instinctively shrank away from him, and he slumped with frustration. “Are you always this uptight?”

“Yes! When I find a naked man in my bedroom who won’t go away, yes! I get a little uptight!”

“Is that what you really want? For me to go away?”

“Yes!”

“Sorry. That’s not an option.” He checked his watch. “Look, Virginia, I’m a little short on time here, so I’m going to get right to the point. Listen up and try to follow, because I don’t want to have to explain it twice. My grandmother died six months ago. She had a ranch about fifteen miles south of Coldwater that she willed to me, but she attached a few conditions. Part of the deal is that I have to be married and live on the ranch for six months before I get the deed, because she had this crazy idea that I needed to get married and settle down. Are you following me?”

Virginia’s brain still felt fuzzy. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Living on the ranch for six months is no problem. It’s the other thing. The marriage thing.”

She stared at him blankly.

“If I’m going to inherit that property, I need a wife, and I need one now.”

He took a deep breath, then rubbed his hand across his mouth as if he’d give anything to hold back the words that were getting ready to come out.

“What I’m trying to say is…will you marry me?”

4

THE MOMENT Cole said the word marry, whatever fuzziness Virginia still felt from her encounter with three bottles of beer last night was knocked right out of her. She sat up suddenly, staring at him with utter disbelief.

“What did you say?”

“It’ll be a business arrangement. That’s all. None of this till death do us part stuff. We stay on the ranch six months, I get the deed, then we get a divorce. That’s it.”

It was as if Cole were speaking a foreign language. The words themselves came through clearly, but she was having a really hard time comprehending them.

“And there’s something in this deal for you, too,” Cole went on. “Good thing, considering how broke you are.”

Virginia’s brain went on red alert. How did he know that? “Broke?” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m not broke.”

“Your bank balance is approximately sixty-seven dollars. You’ve got bills up to your eyeballs and a landlord breathing down your neck. And I don’t see you getting out anytime soon on that lousy salary they pay you at the bank.”

“How do you know—?”

He gave her a knowing look, and all at once she thought about the stuff on her kitchen table, the bills, her check stubs. And then there was her purse. He’d already helped himself to that at the bar. Apparently he didn’t think twice about rummaging through it again, and the thought of it infuriated her.

“You went through my things? While I was in here passed out, you looked through my whole house?”

“Not the whole house. I’m still not sure whether you wear briefs or bikinis.”

Virginia gasped even as her face reddened with embarrassment. “Get out!”

Cole didn’t budge.

“Get out of my house! Now!”

He regarded her for a long time, his dark eyes grim and calculating. Finally he held up his palms in resignation.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

He got up from the bed and headed for the door. “But it might be a long time before someone else offers you a way you can pay off all your bills and have enough money left over for college.” He gave her a shrewd little smile. “See you around, Virginia.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.

Bills paid? College tuition?

She scrambled out of bed, yanked the bedroom door open and raced to the living room. “Cole. Wait.”

He stopped and turned around. Very slowly.

“Tell me the part about the college tuition again.”

Ten minutes later, she thought she’d absorbed it all. They would live on the ranch as man and wife for six months. After Cole took title to the ranch, they would get a divorce, and he would pay her twenty-five thousand dollars for her trouble. And during that time, since they’d be living on the ranch, she could bank most of her salary and pay off her bills, then at the end of six months she could be on the road to Austin. It was June right now. By December it would all be over with.

Simple as that.

Virginia slumped on the sofa, feeling overwhelmed. There was nothing simple about it.

“There are a dozen women in this town who would marry you. Why me?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m a little short on time, and you kind of fell into my lap.”

That stung a little, but then again, he was asking for a business arrangement, not a real relationship. If Cole McCallum was looking for love, he’d be looking in another place. That made her heart sink a little, until she thought about the money she’d have after six months if she saved all her salary, then tossed twenty-five thousand dollars on top of it. Plenty of money to move to Austin, to go to college, to start a new life.

“What will happen to the ranch if you don’t inherit it?” she asked.

“It’ll go to Ben Murphy, my grandmother’s second husband. But he’s got more money than Midas. He doesn’t need the ranch. He doesn’t even want it. But he’ll sure keep me from inheriting it if I don’t meet the terms of the will.”

“Why doesn’t he want you to have it?”

“Let’s just say that we’ve never seen eye to eye about anything.”

“Why didn’t your grandmother just will it to you without all the conditions?”

“It’s like I said. She thinks I ought to get married and settle down. This is her way of trying to make that happen.”

“But you don’t want to settle down.”

“Nope.”

“So what will you do with the ranch once you have it?”

“Sell it.”

“Sell it? Even though your grandmother wanted you to—”

“My motives are my own business, and I don’t want you questioning them. All you have to do is decide whether or not you want that twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Of course she wanted it. Right about now, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do to get money for college so she could leave Coldwater behind for good.

“Of course, I’ll want you to sign a prenuptial agreement,” Cole said, “which basically states that you get nothing but the twenty-five thousand dollars when we divorce. I’ve already had a lawyer draw up divorce papers, which we’ll both sign, and when the six months is up, I’ll execute them and we’ll go our separate ways.”

Virginia felt her head spinning as she tried to absorb it all. Ultimately, though, the part she understood the best was the part about the twenty-five thousand dollars.

She looked around the house, at the four walls she’d stared at since she was old enough to remember. Life with her mother had been one sermon after another, which she put on hold only long enough to complain about her various aches and pains. Virginia could still hear her mother calling to her from her bedroom, tugging on that invisible cord of neediness she’d wound around her daughter to keep her drowning in guilt. She’d forced responsibility on her that no person her age should ever have had to deal with, and it wasn’t until her mother’s sudden heart attack and subsequent death that Virginia had truly understood the prison she’d been in—a prison she was now desperate to break out of.

But could she actually go through with it? Could she marry a man she didn’t even know? And above all, could she spend six months in the same house as Cole McCallum?

“So do we have a deal?” Cole said.

“No! I mean, I have to think about it. I can’t just jump right into something like this.”

“Sorry. There’s no time for you to think about it. It’s now or never.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Really. This is crazy. I just don’t think—”

“Come on, Ginny. Lighten up, will you? This arrangement will be good for both of us.”

Virginia’s heart skipped. “What did you say?”

“I said the arrangement will be—”

“No. What did you call me?”

“Ginny?”

She stared at him.

“That is your nickname, isn’t it? Short for Virginia?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Not once in her life had anyone called her anything but Virginia. Her mother certainly never had, or her teachers, or even the people she worked with. She was Virginia—uptight, boring Virginia who didn’t even warrant a casual nickname. Hearing Ginny come out of Cole’s mouth right now gave her a feeling she’d never had before, as if there was another flesh-and-blood person hiding inside her, dying to get out. One named Ginny who said yes far more than she said no, who took chances, who looked adventure and excitement right in the face and never blinked.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“You will?”

“Yes. I will.”

She stiffened for a moment, not completely sure those words had come out of her mouth. Had she actually said she’d marry Cole McCallum? Suddenly she felt a little woozy, as if she were going to keel right over.

She took a deep, calming breath. It was going to be okay. She could do this. After all, she had a little time to get used to the idea, to reconcile herself to the fact that while she’d be married to Cole, it was really just a business deal, and business deals were nothing to get in a tizzy about. It would take a few days at least to get a blood test and a marriage license, and by that time—

“Ginny,” Cole said. “One more thing. About the wedding.”

“Yes?”

“I have to be a married man by tonight.”

Ginny gaped at him. “Tonight?”

“Pack your bags, sweetheart. We’re going to Vegas.”

THE LAS VEGAS strip after dark was a sight Ginny had never expected to see—a whirlpool of multicolored lights so bright that it looked as if the sun hadn’t bothered to set. Everything seemed fluid and full of motion, cars gliding down the street and people moving along the sidewalk in a never-ending swirl of activity, so bright and glitzy that it made the Lone Wolf Saloon look like a church parish hall.

Cole had rented a car at the airport and now, only a few hours after leaving Dallas, they were driving down Las Vegas Boulevard. They’d already stopped to get a marriage license at the Clark County Courthouse, which to Ginny’s utter surprise was open until midnight.

In the trunk of the car was her overnight bag, a twenty-year-old brown-vinyl creation that had belonged to her mother. It held her nightgown, her toothbrush and all her other toiletries, as well as a change of clothes for tomorrow. According to Cole, there were no return flights to Dallas tonight, so they’d have to stay here, then fly back first thing in the morning.

Flying. What an experience that had been.

Feeling that plane swooshing a hundred miles an hour down the runway had left her positively breathless, and it wasn’t until they’d been in the air for several minutes that Cole had managed to pry her fingernails out of his arm. She didn’t feel much more comfortable right now, having that same kind of swoopy sensation in her stomach, only for a totally different reason.

Cole continued on Las Vegas Boulevard, where one chapel after another, with names like L’Amour Chapel, Chapel of the Flowers and Viva Las Vegas, lined the street. She looked longingly at those that actually looked like chapels, white clapboard structures with flowers and nice shrubs out front and a minimum of neon lights.

Unfortunately, Cole drove right past those and pulled into the parking lot of one of the most garish buildings Ginny had ever seen. It took her a moment to accept the fact that it was their destination and another moment to convince herself not to fling open the car door and run screaming into the night.

The building was painted a deep rosy pink, with red shuttered windows and an arch of golden neon bulbs outlining the front door. A pair of six-foot-tall wooden cutout cupids guarded the entrance with their little bows and arrows poised for attack. Even with the car windows closed, she could hear an outdoor speaker blaring, “I Love You Truly.” And the sign out front, illuminated with three gigantic floodlights, read Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love.

Ginny couldn’t believe her eyes. She stared dumbly, words escaping her completely.

Cole glanced at her, then killed the car engine. “It was the only one with a Saturday night appointment left.”

“Oh,” Ginny said. Just oh. What else could she say?

“This is strictly business, Ginny,” he said. “Remember that.”

Thank God it was only business. If this were the place where she was going to have a wedding for real, she’d have her face in her hands right now, sobbing uncontrollably. She hoped it would be better on the inside.

No such luck.

The reception area was draped in huge swaths of cheap red-and-pink fabric, with benches upholstered in something that looked like red velveteen. And cupids were everywhere. There were pictures of cupids on the walls. Cupid figurines on the reception counter. Cupids flying in formation on the border paper at the ceiling. It looked like a huge, gaudy Valentine’s Day card somebody would send as a practical joke.

Cole motioned for her to sit down on a bench while he went to the reception desk to confirm their reservation, then returned to sit next to her. She squeezed over to give him room, which put her almost thigh-to-thigh with the guy sitting next to her, though she doubted he realized it. His attention seemed to be focused on the flamboyant redhead in his lap. Her arms were looped around his neck, and they were smooching and giggling, totally oblivious to the other people in the room.

Across from them sat a petite little blonde and a painfully thin guy with long, dark hair. Neither of them looked a day over twenty. She looked pregnant. He looked panic-stricken. Another couple sat next to them wearing shorts and T-shirts, looking as if they were waiting in line for a ride at Disney World.

Then Ginny wondered, What do I look like to them?

She’d worn her navy blue dress with the lace collar, because somehow she felt that no matter what the reason she was getting married, she really ought to look her best. Cole, on the other hand, wore a pair of jeans, a denim shirt and boots. If they hadn’t been sitting right next to each other, not a soul would have taken them for a couple.

Approximately every ten minutes, a couple would leave the chapel, and a short, stout woman whose name tag read Myrna would come out to the reception area and call another name. The couple sitting next to Ginny tied the knot, then stumbled out the door. So did the pregnant couple. Then the Disney World people went in, and Ginny felt a tremor of panic.

It’s not a real wedding, she kept telling herself. It’s just pretend.

Several minutes passed. Then the chapel door opened, the Disney World people left, and Myrna called Cole’s name.

Ginny rose and walked with Cole into the chapel, where she saw that the cupid theme wasn’t confined to the reception area. A man stood at the back of the room in a shiny brown suit and narrow tie, his wispy gray hair falling in skinny strings over his ears. Another man stood to one side, armed with an assortment of cameras. Myrna consulted her clipboard.

“Okay, let’s see what we’re doing here,” she said, running her fingertip down the page. Then a startled look came over her face. “There seems to be a mistake.”

“Mistake?” Cole said.

“Yes. It says here you’re not purchasing a video. Not even any photos. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

Her gaze slid farther down the page, her expression growing progressively more distressed. “Champagne flutes—no. Picture postcards—no. His-and-hers commemorative T-shirts—no.” Her gaze panned to Cole, her brow furrowed accusingly. “Do you mean to tell me you’re not even going to buy a fresh-flower bouquet for your fiancée?”

“Is there a problem with that?” Cole said.

Myrna turned her gaze to Ginny. Ginny shrugged helplessly.

The woman pursed her lips with displeasure, eyeing Cole as if he were the most vile creature who’d ever slithered into Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love. She set her clipboard down, then grabbed a tattered bouquet of silk flowers off a chair and handed it to Ginny with a sympathetic smile. “Here, sweetie. You take this. It’s on the house.” Then she turned and shot Cole a look so nasty Ginny was surprised he didn’t turn to stone.

Then Myrna leaned in close to Ginny, dropping her voice. “You sure about this?”

No. She wasn’t the least bit sure about it, but she’d come too far to turn back now.

“It’s okay,” she told Myrna. “Really. We’re just on a tight budget, that’s all. My fiancé is very…thrifty.”

“Thrifty’s one thing,” Myrna whispered. “Being a tightwad’s another.”

“Can we get on with it?” Cole said.

Myrna put her fists on her hips and glared at him. “You in some kinda hurry or what?”

“Lady, if we weren’t in a hurry, would we be in Vegas?”

Myrna sniffed with disgust, then turned to Ginny. “You haven’t said ‘I do’ yet. There’s still plenty of time to say you don’t.”

“Hey!” Cole said. “Are you in the business of marrying people, or breaking them up?”

The man in the ugly brown suit let out a long-suffering sigh. “Myrna, honey, this is the third one you’ve gotten in the middle of tonight. If we’re gonna make the bills this month, you might want to think about letting this one go.”

“But, Henry—”

“If they’re meant for each other, fine. If they’re not, another lawyer makes a killing. Either way, it’s none of our business. Now, start the music.”

Myrna tossed Cole one last sneer, then turned to her husband with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Fine,” she muttered. “Guess I can’t save ’em all. Make it permanent, Henry.”

Permanent. If only the woman knew.

Myrna fired up the music, and Henry started the ceremony. Through it all, Ginny felt Myrna’s eyes on her, the all-knowing eyes of a woman who could spot a love match at fifty paces and knew for a fact that this wasn’t one of them. Ginny tried to ignore her, concentrating instead on Henry’s words, but soon his voice became nothing more than a droning buzz.

Then he got to the part about the ring, and when Ginny realized Cole didn’t have one, she furtively yanked the ring off the fourth finger of her right hand, a gold one with three diamond chips she’d gotten as a bonus gift for opening a new account at the bank. She slipped it into Cole’s hand. He looked totally fed up with the whole thing.

So did Myrna.

He put the ring on her left hand and mumbled the appropriate words. Henry asked for their “I do’s.” They complied, and he pronounced them man and wife.

Ginny realized she’d been holding her breath and she let it out in one long, silent exhalation. Okay, that hadn’t been so bad. She’d expected to feel different somehow, but she didn’t. She supposed it was because she wasn’t really married, not in the true sense of the word. It was just a business deal. Nothing soul-searching or earth-shattering. Nothing at all to get excited about. Nothing—

“You may kiss the bride,” Henry said.

Her heart nearly stopped. How could she have forgotten about this part?

She turned to Cole, wondering what he had in mind. If the look on his face meant anything, kissing wasn’t it. But Myrna was giving him that chastising look again, tap-tap-tapping her toe, so he finally gave up and placed a dry, perfunctory kiss on her lips.

Myrna’s stout little body heaved with disgust. She looked at Henry and shook her head sadly.

Henry peeked over the top of his bifocals. “Boy, unless you’re planning on sleeping alone tonight, you’d best get to kissin’ like you mean it.”

Cole glared at the proprietors of Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love for a good five seconds, then finally spat out a breath of resignation.

“Aw, what the hell.”

He took hold of Ginny’s arm, pulled her against him, then swept her backward and dropped his mouth down on hers. Every bit of the passion that had been absent from their wedding ceremony exploded in a kiss so hot that she was afraid Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love was going to spontaneously combust.

She heard a gasp of shock from Myrna and a sound that just might have been Henry’s jaw hitting the floor. But all she could do was lie back in Cole’s arms, helpless as a rag doll, clutching his shoulders blindly as his mouth consumed hers. If the kiss he’d given her last night was a hundred dollars’ worth, she was going to have to win the lottery to pay for this one. Of course, he was doing it only as a backlash against Myrna’s extreme displeasure with him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it just the same.

After kissing her for what seemed like forever, Cole slowly brought her back to her feet. Once they had a few quick signatures on the marriage license, he swept her out the door. Ginny glanced over her shoulder to see Myrna’s face fixed in a mask of total disbelief, and she thought she heard Myrna say something to Henry about how flowers were one thing, but a man who could kiss like that was something else entirely, and maybe Ginny knew what she was doing after all.

COLE THOUGHT the brain-dead night clerk at the Paradise Hotel was never going to get them the key to their room. Ginny had excused herself to go to the ladies’ room while he registered, leaving him standing there tapping his fingertips on the desk, obsessed with one thought only. Getting on with the honeymoon. And it had started the moment he’d kissed her.

Up to that point, he’d been thinking of nothing but getting the ceremony over with, especially when it appeared as if Ma and Pa Kettle were going to drag it on forever. Consequently, he hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about what came after their “I do’s.” But the minute he’d laid his lips on Ginny’s again, he remembered how soft and sweet she’d felt last night, melting in his arms, getting her first taste of kissing and loving it.

Tonight he could give her a taste of something else.

Finally the clerk gave him the key. He intercepted Ginny coming from the ladies’ room and headed for an open elevator. As they ascended, he was consumed with the thought of seeing what was underneath that pristine little dress she was wearing. Not that he expected any big surprises. She would be wearing white cotton panties with a matching bra that had one of those little pink roses at the cleavage, and he couldn’t imagine anything less provocative. But he could remove both those things in short order, right after he took her hair down from that prissy little barrette and peeled her dress right off her.

He was crazy even to think it, of course. She’d gone nuts at the very idea that they might have had sex last night. What would she say about doing it tonight?

Then again, they were married now. Women like Ginny undoubtedly put great stock in such things, requiring pieces of paper with official signatures before they did something as fun and meaningless as have sex. Well, they were married. He had that piece of paper to prove it. So what was to stop them?

Absolutely nothing.

A moment later they stepped off the elevator and headed down the hall to room 2413. He unlocked the door and swung it open, motioning for her to enter.

“Oh!” she said as she walked in, turning around, her face filled with wonder. “Look at this room!”

Actually, the decor was fairly modest, with a navy-and-gold floral bedspread, navy drapes tied back with gold sashes and dark walnut furniture. Only one weak lamp illuminated the room, which helped mask the fact that the place could use a good coat of paint. Still, Ginny seemed thrilled with it. Given the house where she lived, he figured anything the least bit upscale would look good to her.

With her overnight bag and her purse still draped over her shoulder, she hurried to the window. She opened the drapes and looked down twenty-four stories to the street below.

“Oh! Look at all the lights! I can’t believe how beautiful it is!”

Cole clicked the door shut.

Ginny spun around. She stared at him, first with surprise, then with confusion. Then her gaze circled the room, finally coming to rest on the king-size bed. She looked at Cole, and even at the distance between them, he saw her swallow hard, staring at him like a scared rabbit.

He smiled to himself. In a matter of a few minutes, he would have all that doubt kissed right out of her, and before she knew it, she would be naked in his bed. And he would make sure she didn’t regret it. He didn’t remember a time in his life when a woman had left his bed unhappy, and he didn’t intend to have her be the first. Tomorrow morning when they woke up, she would be right there for him again. And when they got home to Coldwater, she would be there for him every single day, and it surprised him just how appealing the thought of that was. He never would have imagined it, but there was definitely something to be said for being a married man.

With a casual sweep of his arm he tossed his suitcase onto the floor, then started toward her.

5

GINNY STOOD with her back to the window, staring at Cole in the dim light of the hotel room. Something about the look on his face sent shivers of apprehension shooting up her spine, and her heart leaped into a quick, erratic rhythm.

“Wh-what’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing’s the matter,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth and hot as sin. “Absolutely nothing.”

He moved across the room, closing the space between them in measured increments, his eyes fixed on hers in an unwavering stare.

“Wh-where’s your room?” she asked him.

“My room?” He laughed softly. “You’re standing in it.”

“Oh. Then…where’s my room?”

“You’re standing in it.”

“Cole?”

“Yes?”

“There’s only one bed in this room.”

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t you get two rooms?”

“Waste of money. We’re married.”

“But—”

“We slept together last night.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

He stopped in front of her. She took a step backward and bumped into the window, staring at him. He put his hand on the window near her right ear and leaned in closer still.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“I…don’t know.”

He teased his fingertip along her neck just above the collar of her dress. “Don’t you?”

For a full five seconds, Ginny stopped breathing. She felt as if she’d gotten struck by lightning and it had zapped all her muscle strength. He didn’t mean…he couldn’t mean…

“You…you said this was a business arrangement.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of mixing business with pleasure?”

He leaned in to kiss her. She recoiled sharply to one side, placing her palms against his chest. “Wait a minute. You never said anything about wanting to do…this.”

“You never said anything about not wanting to do…this.”

“But we’re not really married.”

“I have a license that says we are.”

“But I never thought—”

He took her purse off her shoulder and tossed it aside.

“We never talked about—”

He grabbed her overnight bag and tossed it next to her purse.

“I was sure you understood—”

He reached around her neck with both hands, and her heart nearly stopped. He unclasped the barrette holding her hair at the nape of her neck, tossed it onto the dresser, then spread her hair on her shoulders. He picked up a handful, letting it spill through his fingers and fall in ripples against her lace collar. He inched closer, so close she felt his body heat, and an unfamiliar physical awareness swept over her that was scary and mysterious and exciting all at the same time.

“You have beautiful hair,” he whispered.

Ginny felt a jolt of pure exhilaration. It was the first time in her life that somebody had used the word beautiful in reference to any part of her. His words thrilled her, but at the same time they were totally unreal. She wasn’t beautiful. Not in any way. So why was he telling her that?

Because he wanted…Oh, God.

Ginny’s knees buckled a little, and she consciously had to lock them to keep herself upright. Cole took her face in his hands and stared at her. His touch electrified her. Terrified her. Made her want to pull him closer at the same time she was desperate to push him away because the sensory overload was almost unbearable.

“You’ll enjoy it,” he whispered against her lips. “I promise you. I’ll make it so good for you you’ll want to do it again and again…” He brushed his lips against hers. “And again.”

Then he kissed her, a kiss so deliciously deep and breathtaking that she practically fainted from the feeling. It was slower, more languid than the other kisses he’d given her, as if he had all night to explore her mouth with his. But while Cole was doing his best to warm up any part of her body he touched, something deep inside her remained cold.

He didn’t want her. He wanted any woman whom he’d been able to convince to marry him. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been somebody else. She had no meaning to him at all.

If only he’d been content to kiss her forever, she’d have given him carte blanche. But he clearly wanted more. More of something she had no idea how to give him. More of something she had no business giving him.

Still kissing her deeply, he slid his hands to her hips. He pulled her against him, and her heart skipped a beat when she realized what it was he’d pulled her against. He wound his left hand around the small of her back, then skimmed his right hand along her ribs. She felt mounting anticipation as his hand eased closer to her breast, and when he finally circled it with his hand and squeezed it softly, she let out a breathy gasp and tried to pull away.

“Cole. Don’t. Please don’t.”

Still he held on to her, waiting patiently until she stilled against him. Then he laid his palm along her neck, his thumb grazing her cheek. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you’ve never done this before. You’re probably just a little scared.”

No, actually, she was a lot scared, but that was beside the point. She’d dreamed about sex since she was old enough to know there were people doing it and she wasn’t. But it wasn’t actually sex she’d dreamed about. She’d dreamed about making love. With a man who loved her. When Cole touched her, it excited her in ways she never knew she could be excited. When she looked into his eyes, though, she saw a void, something missing, something essential that went deep to the heart of a woman when a man looked at her, something that for all her inexperience she knew should be there. It wasn’t.

“I asked you to stop,” she said.

“Relax,” he whispered, touching his lips to her neck, her cheek. “It’ll be—”

“I said no!”

He pulled away with a startled expression. Almost immediately, his surprise gave way to something that looked a lot like anger, and all at once she realized she didn’t know a thing about the man she’d just traveled a thousand miles with. The man she’d married. The man who just might insist she fulfill her wifely duties even though she’d never even been touched by a man until last night, and the thought of that scared her to death.

“Please don’t force me to do this,” she whispered.

Cole physically recoiled, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Force you? Is that what you think? That I would force you?”

“I—I don’t really know you, Cole. So I don’t know what you’d do.”

His jaw tightened with anger. “I’ve never forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to do, and I sure as hell don’t intend to start now. If you don’t want to have sex, fine. But trust me when I tell you, sweetheart—it’s your loss!”

He turned and stormed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a solid thunk.

Ginny looked around helplessly. The room was suddenly so quiet, echoing the lost, lonely feeling welling inside her. She was in a Las Vegas hotel room a thousand miles from home, married to a man she barely knew, a man who right now wasn’t happy with her in the least.

She sat on the bed, and all at once her mother started talking again, in that uncanny beyond-the-grave way she had that made it seem as if she were still alive, standing over her, berating her within an inch of her life.

Are you out of your mind? You’re in Sin City with a man who’s only using you to get what he wants. What kind of a fool are you, anyway?

Ginny squeezed her eyes closed, wondering how she could have gotten herself into this mess. It appeared that everything her mother had ever told her about men was absolutely true. Cole thought just because they were legally married, he was free to take advantage of her any way he wanted to.

She sat up straighter, feeling a new sense of resolve. She decided right then that he wasn’t entitled to anything just because he had her name on a marriage license. He could only take advantage of her if she let him.

And she wasn’t going to let him.

COLE TURNED the shower on full blast and ducked under it, letting the water beat down on him, hoping it might help ease his frustration. It didn’t.

It’s your loss.

Yeah, right. Her loss? She couldn’t have cared less. He was the one still feeling as if he were about to explode.

That had been an incredibly stupid thing to say, but he’d been so astonished that she’d turned him down he’d barely known what to say. After all, hadn’t she begged him to kiss her at the Lone Wolf last night?

He ran the bar of soap over his body, scrubbing with an intensity that just about peeled his skin off. Technically they were married. Weren’t there laws about this kind of thing? Didn’t a woman have to have sex with her husband?

He sighed. No. Of course she didn’t. This was twenty-first-century America. But damned if he didn’t feel like calling his congressman to see how fast he could resurrect a few of those archaic laws and get them back on the books.

By the time he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, he was starting to feel a little guilty. She was so innocent, and he’d come on way too strong, pushing her to do something she wasn’t the least bit ready for.

He slicked his hands through his hair, then grabbed a towel and dried off, telling himself to calm down. Yes, she was his wife, but it might take a little while for her to be comfortable with that. The last thing he wanted was a woman in his bed who didn’t want to be there.

Calm and cool. That’s what he needed to be.

He came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, and headed for his suitcase. Ginny was sitting on the bed, still wearing that immaculate little dress, looking as if she were parked front row center in church listening to a particularly scathing sermon. She didn’t turn around.

“Cole?” she said, staring at the dresser.

He pulled a pair of sweatpants out of his suitcase. “Yeah?”

“I don’t want you ever to do that again.”

“Do what?”

“K-kiss me.” She picked up her skirt and twisted it nervously between her fingers. “And other things. Our contract says nothing about me being required to…submit to that.”

All Cole’s resolve to remain calm and cool flew right out the window. Submit to that? As if he were asking her to take a beating?

“Promise me, Cole. For the next six months, promise me you won’t—”

“No. I’m not promising any such thing!”

“You have to. Right now. If you don’t, I’ll…” She squeezed her skirt so hard that her knuckles whitened.

“You’ll what?”

She raised her chin, and even five paces away he could see it quivering. “I’ll have our marriage annulled.”

Annulled? Annulled?

He thought he’d foreseen all the potential problems of marrying this woman, but not once in his most pessimistic moment had he expected to face an obstacle like this.

“Actually, Ginny, you can’t do that. Our contract states that you’re not allowed to divorce me for six months.”

“Yes, but it says nothing about annulment.”

Cole had no idea if such a challenge would hold up in court or not, but he sure as hell didn’t need that kind of complication when so much was riding on the outcome.

“Are you sure about this, Ginny? You don’t want sex?”

She bowed her head and stared at her lap. “That’s right.”

“Not now, or not ever?”

“Not ever.” She paused. “Well, eventually, I suppose. With the man I marry.”

“We are married.”

“Yes, we are. Contractually speaking. But—”

“Would you forget about the damned contract for a minute? Sex with your husband is not a sin!”

“I never said it was. When I have a real husband, things will be different.”

Cole wanted to scream. He’d never thought for one second that he’d be on the verge of begging his wife to have sex with him. It was downright humiliating.

“Fine,” he said. “I won’t touch you. Any particular distance I have to stay away from you?”

“No. Just don’t…do what you did tonight.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

For the first time she turned to face him, then immediately averted her eyes. “Cole, please put some clothes on!”

“I don’t think I’m obligated to do that, Ginny. Contractually speaking.”

“If you don’t—”

“What? You’ll get an annulment? Are there any other rules you’d care to make?”

“I don’t think simple modesty is too much to ask.”

Any other woman would be tearing his clothes off him right about now, and the fact that Ginny wanted him to put his clothes on, and on their wedding night, no less, was just about more than he could tolerate.

“Fine,” he said. While her back was still turned, he pulled the towel loose from around his hips, hurled it to the floor, then yanked on his sweatpants. He grabbed the bedspread and whipped it aside.

“It’s late,” he told her. “I’m sleeping in this bed. If you want to join me, fine. If you don’t, that’s fine, too, but you’ll have to make other arrangements yourself.”

Ginny sighed. “Well, I suppose we’ve already occupied the same bed once. One more time couldn’t hurt. And it’s a large bed. As long as you stay on your side—”

“Should I draw a line down the middle?”

Ginny stared at him a moment, as if she were considering taking him up on that. “No. I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

While Cole lay in bed, still fuming, she took her overnight bag into the bathroom. He heard tooth brushing, toilet flushing, water running. She emerged minutes later wearing a nightgown—a long pink creation that contained so damned much fabric he could barely see the top of her head or the tips of her toes. In his opinion, any woman Ginny’s age ought to be draped in something short, black and slinky. Period. But when he tried to imagine her in sexy lingerie, the sight of all that fabric squelched any fantasy he tried to work up.

She slid beneath the covers on the other side of the bed, hugging the edge and taking up only a tiny ball of space, staying as far away from him as was physically possible. That really irritated him. He’d offered her a night of pleasure she would never forget, and here she was treating him as if she couldn’t stand the thought of him touching her. She turned out the light, and after a few moments, her rhythmic breathing told him she’d fallen asleep.

He tucked his arm behind his head, suddenly wide awake. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty. He found the more he tried to sleep, the more he thought about the warm, untried little body curled up next to him inside those yards and yards of flannel.

Damn, this was crazy. It was Ginny White on the other side of that bed, a plain, inexperienced little thing whom he wouldn’t have looked twice at before last night, and now all he could think about was touching her.

He knew now that he’d come on too strong tonight, thinking he’d sweep her right off her feet, underestimating her fear of the unknown.

He wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

6

COLE BARELY SPOKE to Ginny the whole way home on the plane and during the drive to Coldwater. Every minute seemed to stretch on endlessly, and soon her stomach had tied itself into knots of dread at what lay ahead. Ever since last night, when she’d insisted on the no-touching rule, Cole had extended it to include no talking, too.

Just because she’d insisted he not touch her, didn’t mean she wasn’t preoccupied with the thought of it approximately fifty-nine minutes out of every hour. In the close confines of the plane, occasionally their arms had brushed against each other. That was all it took for Ginny’s thoughts to be dragged to last night, when she’d felt so hot and flushed from his kisses that she could barely speak to tell him never to do it again. No wonder her mother had warned her about men. Every time Cole kissed her it turned her brain to mush.

Before going to the ranch, she suggested he take her by her house to get her car and pick up some clothes to last her for a couple of days. She would decide later what to do with her house and the rest of her belongings. But Cole had been adamant about putting in an appearance at the ranch first and declaring it their official residence. According to his grandmother’s will, this was the last day for them to move in, and he told Ginny he had no intention of Murphy catching him on a technicality.

As they drove through the front gates of the ranch, Ginny stared in awe at the huge turn-of-the-century prairie-style residence with its massive wraparound front porch, forest-green shutters and meticulous landscaping. It sat on a rise in the distance, postcard-picturesque against a canvas of blue sky mingling with the orange light of the evening sun. Her fears concerning living with Cole were instantly put to rest. In a house so large, their paths might not even have to cross.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “It’s beautiful, all right. Unfortunately, Murphy still lives there.” He pointed down the road. “That’s where we’ll be living.”

Ginny looked in the direction he pointed, and panic set in all over again.

It was a house. Barely. The plain little structure couldn’t have been more than seven hundred square feet, whitewash dull with a light gray roof. A couple of window-unit air conditioners protruded from its sides. It was the kind of place that a few shrubs or flowers might have been able to brighten up, if only someone had bothered to plant any.

“It’s the foreman’s house. Nobody’s used it in years. My grandmother specified in her will that I’d have to use it while I’m here.”

“Oh,” Ginny said, disappointment welling inside her. “It’s very…cozy.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

Ginny looked past the house to the ranch land beyond it, which, unlike the house, was nothing but wide open space. Lush hills rolled majestically as far as she could see, with trees leafed in full summer splendor. Farther down the road stood a large barn with adjoining corrals that were filled with horses.

Ginny felt a rush of excitement. She’d wanted a horse since she was old enough to say the word, but of course, her mother had given her a lecture on the nebulous horrors that would befall a young girl who dared to sit astride such a wild, powerful beast. Ginny had come away thinking that maybe riding a horse was a sin, but she hadn’t been completely certain.

“Do you think I can learn to ride a horse?” she asked Cole.

He looked toward the corrals, then shrugged. “If you want to. And if I know Murphy, he’ll be happy to put you to work.”

Ginny felt a rush of exhilaration at the prospect of even touching a horse, much less riding one. Then Cole pulled up in front of the foreman’s house and they went inside, and the little bit of elation she’d felt was immediately forgotten.

What had looked small on the outside looked positively microscopic on the inside, with sparse, utilitarian furnishings, wood floors and bare walls. It was neat and tidy, but musty-smelling from being closed up. She took the ten-second tour and realized there was a much bigger problem than she’d anticipated.

It had only one bedroom.

Did Cole actually expect her to share a bed with him for the next six months? For a moment she felt faint. She wasn’t good at telling him no. If she had to do it every night, sooner or later something was going to happen between them that she was sure she was going to regret.

She met him in the living room, and all at once he seemed more big and imposing and sexy than he ever had before.

“Cole?”

“Yes?”

“You knew this was a one-bedroom house,” she said.

“Yes. I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have mattered if I had?”

“Yes! This house is tiny! With both of us living here—”

He held up his palm. “All right, Ginny. All right. I’ll sleep on the sofa. You can have the bedroom. Does that make you feel better?”

She felt somewhat relieved, but still there was only one bathroom, one bedroom closet, one dresser…

Nothing was going to be easy about this deal they’d made. Absolutely nothing. But then again, she could accommodate a lot of inconvenience for twenty-five thousand dollars, couldn’t she?

She sighed with resignation. “I suppose it’ll be okay, as long as you respect my privacy.”

“You might as well kiss the privacy thing goodbye right now. You’re going to have to lighten up a little if we’re going to make this work.”

“No. The only way to make this work is to plan ahead. First of all, I realize it’s not fair for you to have to sleep on the sofa the whole time. We can take turns. And we can set up a schedule for the bathroom, and as far as cooking—”

All at once she heard a car engine out front. “Who’s that?”

Cole glanced out the window. “Looks like Murphy saw us drive in.”

They stepped onto the front porch, and Ginny watched as an older man got out of a shiny red pickup truck and walked slowly to the porch steps. He stopped, staring up at them, a hat shading his craggy face. A toothpick protruded from the corner of his mouth, a mouth that seemed to be set in a permanent frown.

“I see you made it,” he said to Cole, then checked his watch. “With a whole six hours to spare.”

Cole returned the man’s deadpan stare. “Murphy, this is my wife, Ginny. Ginny, Ben Murphy. My grandmother’s husband.”

Ginny stepped forward a little, wondering if maybe she should shake his hand or something. Then she got closer and saw just how frigid his expression was. He clearly wasn’t interested in social niceties, so she kept her hands to herself.

“So tell me,” Murphy said, directing his question at Cole. “Just how long have you and the missus been married?”

Cole folded his arms across his chest. “Seventeen hours.”

“I expected as much.”

“My grandmother’s will is very clear—”

“Your grandmother’s will,” Murphy said sharply, “is a product of wishful thinking. Nothing more.”

Cole had told Ginny they’d never seen eye to eye. That had apparently been the understatement of the century.

Murphy turned to Ginny, and she seriously wished she could crawl under the porch to avoid his penetrating gaze.

“I know you, don’t I?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think—”

“You’re a teller at the bank.”

Suddenly Ginny felt transparent as a newly washed window. “Yes.”

“You seem like a nice girl. Not exactly the kind I expected him to show up with.”

“We’re married,” Cole said. “That’s all that matters.”

“I assume you’ve got a license to back that up.”

“Yes, I do. Care to see it?”

“No need. I figured you’d have all the paperwork in order.”

“I assume you’re as good as your word,” Cole said. “If I fulfill the letter of the law where the will is concerned, I’ll get the deed.”

“Yeah. But if you think I’m going to make this easy for you, you’ve got another think coming.”

Cole just stared at him.

“And remember what I told you before. The provisions of the will are just between you and me.” He paused, eyeing Ginny. “And now, I suppose, your wife.”

He said the word with such flagrant distaste that even in the warmth of the early-June evening, Ginny shivered. Then he turned to Cole.

“I won’t have your manipulation of this situation make Edna look like a fool,” Murphy went on. “You’re going to tell people you’ve come back to the ranch to go into partnership with me. When the end of the six months comes—assuming you fulfill the requirements of Edna’s will—we’ll simply say I’m retiring and you’re taking it over permanently. It’s nobody’s business to know anything more than that.”

Cole’s only reaction was a slight tightening of his jaw, but it was pretty clear he wasn’t taking Murphy’s attitude kindly. Likewise, Ginny could tell Murphy probably had a pretty good idea about what Cole intended to do with the ranch once he had the title.

“We’ve got a busy day tomorrow,” Murphy said. “Be at the barn at eight in the morning.”

He got into his truck and started the engine, then put it into reverse, swung it around a hundred and eighty degrees and headed up the road toward the ranch house on the hill. Cole’s expression was stony and emotionless.

All at once Ginny felt ashamed for what they were doing. It was legal. But was it right? And why hadn’t she really stopped to ponder that before now?

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done this,” she murmured.

“Don’t pay any attention to him, Ginny. It’s me he’s mad at, not you.”

“No, actually it appears that he doesn’t think much of either of us.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Cole stared straight ahead, watching as Murphy’s truck headed up the gravel road toward the main house.

“What happened between you two?” Ginny asked. “Why doesn’t he like you?”

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that my grandmother wanted me to have the ranch, and as long as I technically fulfill the provisions of her will, there’s nothing he can say about it.”

“But I don’t think she really intended—”

“Stop it, Ginny. We have a deal. We’re in this together for six months, so you’d better start getting used to it.”

She opened her mouth to object, only to realize he was right. Maybe she should have asked a lot more questions before agreeing to this deal, but the decision was made. Now she was going to have to live with it.

“Here’s our story,” Cole said. “We saw each other on Friday night at the Lone Wolf and remembered each other from high school. After spending the next twenty-four hours together, we decided to head to Vegas to get married.”

“Do you really think anyone will believe that?”

“People do impulsive things all the time. That’s why Las Vegas has a hundred wedding chapels. Besides…it’s the only story we’ve got.”

He was right. There was no other story to tell, and Murphy was pretty adamant that the provisions of Cole’s grandmother’s will not become public knowledge. But until this moment, she hadn’t really given any thought to how hard it was going to be to look people in the eye and tell them she was a married woman, and just whom it was she was married to.

“It’s just that it’s kind of unbelievable,” Ginny said. “Us getting married so quickly.”

“It doesn’t really matter whether they believe it or not. They have no way of knowing that we’re not man and wife in every sense of the word, and that’s all it’ll take to satisfy Murphy.”

Without another word, he went through the screen door into the house, letting it slap shut behind him.

Ginny wondered if things could get any more tense between her and Cole, and it turned out the answer was yes. He took her to her house, where she picked up her car and grabbed a few things to wear to work in the coming week. She decided she’d get the rest of her personal belongings later, then have an estate sale in the next few weeks to get rid of her mother’s stuff, which she wasn’t going to keep. The whole time they were loading things, Cole spoke to her only when it was necessary, and the rest of the time he simply acted as if she wasn’t even there.

On the way from her house to the ranch, she stopped and picked up a few groceries to hold them over for a couple of days until they got settled. At the ranch, Cole helped her carry everything into the house, and she spent some time unpacking her things. She asked him which drawers he wanted and which part of the closet, but all he did was mumble something unintelligible that she took to mean, Who cares?

She glared at him behind his back, then took the top drawers and the part of the closet nearest the door since it was easier to get to. If he refused to make even the most basic decisions about the space they were going to occupy together for the next six months, then he would get stuck with second best. He didn’t have much with him right now, anyway. He told her he’d moved all his belongings to storage in Dallas before he came to Coldwater, and all he had with him was what was in the suitcase he’d taken to Vegas, which he didn’t even bother to unpack.

By the time they ate a couple of frozen spaghetti dinners, it was nearly eight o’clock. Ginny had a choice. She could spend more time with Cole at his most unfriendly or she could go to bed early. Under those circumstances, going to bed sounded wonderful.

Since he’d offered to sleep on the sofa, she brought him an extra pillow, sheets and a blanket she’d found in the closet. He mumbled something that might have been thanks, then flipped on the television and proceeded to ignore her.

She went into the bedroom. When she finally lay down to sleep, she found herself thinking about the mixed feelings she’d had when they got to the city limits of Coldwater this afternoon. Somehow it didn’t feel like home anymore. The events of the past few days had muddled her mind so much that she wasn’t quite sure where she belonged, and the disorientation she felt in this unfamiliar house only added to that feeling. She was in that flux state between throwing away her old life and starting a new one, only it was going to be six months’ worth of flux, living with a man she barely knew in a house so small she swore she could hear him breathe. In essence, she was trading six months of her life for twenty-five thousand dollars.

Was it worth it?

Yes. It was. She’d do anything to get out of this town. Anything to go to college, start a new life and forget this place ever existed.

Anything.

THE NEXT MORNING Ginny awoke when her alarm went off at eight o’clock. She got out of bed and shuffled into the hall, then peeked into the living room. The sheets and the blanket were folded up on the end of the sofa with the pillow on top of them. Cole was gone. Evidently he’d gone down to the barn early, as Murphy had ordered.

Later, as she drove to work, her nerves were on edge. She wished she had another day to absorb everything that had happened this weekend. She’d thought about calling in sick, but she’d never been a very good liar. Sooner or later she’d have to face the world as a married woman.

When she got to the bank, Rhonda Davenport was already there, working at the window next to Ginny as she always did. At thirty years old, Rhonda carried around about twenty extra pounds she was always trying to get rid of, but that didn’t stop her from wearing too-tight pants and shirts that were a bit provocative for a woman her age. Still, Rhonda had a big heart and a ready smile for everybody. She always asked Ginny why somebody nice like her didn’t have a boyfriend, which meant she was one of those people who had the ability to ignore the obvious even when it was staring her right in her face, particularly when it made somebody else feel good. Ginny thought that was a pretty nice quality to have.

On the other hand, most of the employees talked to her only within the context of her job and otherwise acted as if she didn’t exist. In a way, she didn’t blame them. During the six years she’d worked there, she hadn’t been the most outgoing person in the world, so when it came to chatting at lunch or swapping stories or talking about what was on TV the night before, people naturally gravitated in other directions.

“Hey, Virginia!” Rhonda said, bustling around, preparing her window for the day. “I had a crummy weekend. Wanna hear about it?”

Before Ginny could say yes, no or maybe, Rhonda launched into a tirade about how her hardheaded husband, Earl, had spent four hours trying to fix the bathroom plumbing before finally flooding half the house and having to call a plumber, anyway. She talked about Earl sometimes as if he were the devil himself, but Ginny knew better. There were no two people on earth more perfect for each other than Earl and Rhonda Davenport.

“So,” Rhonda said, when she finally caught a breath. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

Ginny knew it was merely a passing inquiry, like “How’s it going?” or “What’s new?” But sooner or later she was going to have to tell the people she worked with what had happened in the past two days, and she figured now was as good a time as any.

“Yes,” she told Rhonda, who was poised to smack a roll of quarters open on her cash drawer. “My weekend was very nice. I got married.”

Rhonda froze, the roll of quarters hovering in midair. She slowly set it on the counter and faced Ginny. “Come again?”

“I—I said I got married over the weekend.”

Rhonda blinked dumbly, her brow furrowed with confusion. “You said married, right? As in…married?”

“Yes.”

A grin made its way across Rhonda’s mouth, and before long her whole face exploded with delight. “Well, here I was telling you all this time you oughta get yourself a boyfriend. Didn’t know you’d go whole hog and head down the aisle!”

She gave Ginny a bear hug, then patted her on the cheek. “So tell me. Who’s the lucky—”

“Head down the aisle?”

Ginny turned to see Susan Barker, the branch manager’s assistant, and a warning bell went off in her head. Susan spent most of her time with her nose in the air, thinking she was just a little bit better than everyone else in the vicinity and most certainly better than Ginny. As usual, her blond Barbie-doll bouffant was glued in place with half a can of hairspray. Her skirt was about a foot too short to be conservative, even if she traded the hot-pink color for gray or navy.

“Virginia got married over the weekend!” Rhonda said, gushing. “Isn’t that just the most exciting thing in the world?”

“Married?” Susan’s mascara-laden eyes fluttered with disbelief. “I didn’t even know she was engaged.”

Then her gaze dropped to Ginny’s left hand. Ginny immediately swept her other hand over it. “I—I haven’t got a ring yet. We, uh, we only met on Friday night.” She tried to laugh offhandedly, but it came out sounding weak and nervous. “It was just one of those whirlwind romances. We flew to Las Vegas, and—”

“Las Vegas? You? You flew to Las Vegas?”

“Yes. It was very exciting.”

That was the truth. The flying part had been exciting. The getting married part—that had been excruciating.

“And romantic,” Ginny added.

Okay, so that was a stretch. But wouldn’t it seem a little fishy if her wedding hadn’t been?

“Hey, Ruby!” Susan called. “Get out here! You’re not going to believe this!”

Ruby Wallace stuck her head out of her office. She was the branch manager, a no-nonsense woman who, unlike Susan, wore colors that ranged from brown to taupe to beige to tan, with an occasional sepia thrown in. And she hadn’t cracked a smile since…well, ever.

“What?” Ruby asked.

“Virginia got married over the weekend.”

Ruby edged out of her office, a single dark eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Married, huh? Well. Be sure to think about whether you want to change your withholding or your insurance beneficiaries. And I’d highly recommend you take a look at your current 401-K contribution. How long have you known this man?”

“Uh, not long.”

“Then steer away from joint checking. And keep whatever savings accounts you have to yourself.”

“Gosh, Ruby,” Rhonda said. “You’re such a romantic.”

“Can’t be too careful,” Ruby said. Ruby had been through two divorces and was working on her third. Ginny figured she probably knew what she was talking about.

In the next few seconds, the small group by Ginny’s window grew larger. Bob, the security guard, and even Martha, the cleaning lady, had stopped to listen. Excitement was hard to come by around here, and everybody wanted a piece of the action. Ginny didn’t like being the action they wanted a piece of.

“Well,” she said, turning her gaze to her cash drawer. “Time to get to work. It’s almost nine o’clock.”

“Wait a minute,” Susan said. “You didn’t tell us his name.”

“His name?”

“Yes, Virginia. You know. The man you married?”

Ginny’s heart was beating ninety to nothing. She scanned the expectant faces in front of her, every one of them gawking at her as if she were their favorite soap opera star and a thrilling turning point was only seconds away. She smiled, going for that lighthearted newlywed look, knowing all the while she was failing miserably.

“His name,” she said, “is Cole McCallum.”

7

FOR THE COUNT of three, it was as if every molecule in the bank lobby ceased to move. Mouths hung open all over the place, and nobody seemed inclined to shut them anytime soon.

“Cole McCallum?” Susan repeated very slowly, as if she hadn’t quite caught the meaning of the words. “I heard he was back in town, but…Cole McCallum?”

“Yes,” Ginny said, trying to sound laid-back. “That’s right. We met on Friday night at…at the Lone Wolf Saloon—”

“You went to the Lone Wolf?”

“Yes. I’d never been there before, but you know, it’s a very fun place, and I had a few beers, and then—”

“Beers?” Susan said. “You?”

“Of course,” she said quickly. “Right out of the bottle.”

Susan looked at Ruby with an expression of total incredulity.

“You see,” Ginny explained, “Cole remembered me from high school, and we danced, and then…”

“And then you flew to Vegas,” Susan said. “You and Cole.”

“No. I mean, yes, we flew to Vegas, but not until the next afternoon. We got there Saturday evening and were married that night. It was a very nice little wedding chapel, and—”

Wait. No sense lying when she’d told the truth up to now. Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love had been a nuptial nightmare.

“Well, it wasn’t that nice, really,” she amended. “But it was short notice.”

Dead silence. She desperately wanted somebody to say something.

Or did she?

“That’s, uh, wonderful, Virginia,” Susan said finally, giving the rest of the people in the vicinity a funny little smile. “Isn’t it, everybody?”

Everybody nodded in conjunction with a soft chorus of assent. Then more silence. And more staring. And more of Ginny wishing she were anywhere else.

“Well, good for you!” Rhonda said finally, her cheerful voice booming through the silence. “Like I’ve been telling you for years now—it’s time you found yourself a man.”

“And a man like Cole McCallum, no less,” Susan said, with a sweet little smile that didn’t seem to match the expression on the rest of her face.

“Yeah,” Ruby said, her gaze flicking furtively toward Susan. “Imagine that.”

The silence hung on a little longer, and Ginny thought she just might be sick. Then Ruby checked her watch.

“Okay, troops,” she said with a clap of her hands. “It’s nearly nine o’clock. Time to get to work.”

Everybody scattered, as they always did when Ruby issued an order. Ginny usually found her management style to be a bit abrupt. Now she welcomed it.

Ruby opened the doors of the bank, and a few customers straggled in, allowing Ginny the luxury of working to keep her mind off what had just happened. Maybe with luck everybody would let her pronouncement fade away.

When a couple of hours passed and nobody had said anything to her about her recent marriage, Ginny started to relax. About eleven o’clock she put her Next Window sign up and went to the bathroom. She did her business and came down the hall, only to hear voices near the teller windows.

“She said very clearly that she got married,” Susan said. “Married. What was there to misinterpret?”

Ginny stopped in the hall, her back to the wall. She wasn’t one to eavesdrop when people were gossiping, but then again, the gossip had never been about her.

“Nothing, I guess,” she heard Ruby say. “But surely she didn’t really mean it.”

“Didn’t mean what?” Susan countered. “She said that she and Cole McCallum flew to Vegas to get married. How many different ways can you interpret that?”

“Does she have a ring?” Ruby asked.

“Not yet,” Rhonda said. “She said there wasn’t time. That’s understandable. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

Susan laughed. “A spur of the moment figment of her imagination, you mean.”

Ginny felt a jolt of humiliation. Figment of her imagination?

“I mean, if she was going to make something up, she should have at least made it believable,” Susan added. “Cole McCallum. Really.”

“I guess she’s just living in her own little dream world,” Ruby said.

“She’s deluded, I’d say,” Susan replied. “With that weirdo mother of hers as an influence all these years, it’s no wonder.”

“Now y’all stop!” Rhonda said. “Who’s to say she’s not telling the truth?”

“Oh, come on, Rhonda!” Susan said. “Virginia White married to Cole McCallum? Do you really believe that hell actually froze over?”

Ginny turned and went to the bathroom, slid inside a stall and locked it behind her, suddenly feeling hot and flushed, her throat really tight as if maybe she was going to cry.

They didn’t believe her. Not one word of it.

She’d expected them to question why Cole would marry her, but she’d never expected that they flat-out wouldn’t believe the wedding had actually taken place. In one painful swoop, she realized just how she must have looked to these people all these years and how crazy she must sound to them. They thought she was nothing more than a poor, reclusive little person who had given in to her delusional fantasies and had started to believe one of them.

With the exception of Rhonda, she’d never counted any of these women as friends, but at least she thought they’d always respected her. To suddenly see herself as other people saw her was just about more than she could stand.

Of course, she could prove that she and Cole really were married, but what would be the point? It was obviously so unbelievable to them that they would still look at her strangely, knowing all the while that there had to be a piece of the puzzle she wasn’t laying on the table. And what was she supposed to do then? Lie? Tell them that she and Cole were madly in love?

No. Of course not. She couldn’t tell them that. And Cole certainly wouldn’t be telling them that, either. In fact, knowing Cole, he probably wouldn’t say anything at all. He’d simply shrug it off and tell her that she shouldn’t give a damn what these people thought, and that would be that.

After a few minutes, it became pretty obvious to Ginny that she couldn’t stay in the bathroom for a whole six months. She walked to her teller window. When Ruby and Susan saw her coming, they quickly cleared out. Rhonda gave her a friendly but bittersweet smile that said she knew she was a little misguided but she loved her anyway, which made Ginny feel like crying all over again.

Her hands were shaking as she took the next customer’s deposit, and she clenched her teeth and willed them to stop. She raised her chin a little and smiled at the customer, forcing herself to think not of what her life was like now, but what her life was going to be like six months from now.

Six months. It sounded like an eternity.

COLE HADN’T liked working on the ranch ten years ago, and he didn’t like it any better now, particularly with Murphy breathing down his neck.

The moment he’d stepped into the barn, the smell of horses had instantly transported him back to his senior year of high school, when Murphy had insisted he pull his own weight around the ranch. Even though he’d hated every second of it, Cole had stoically done whatever Murphy told him to do, because anything less would have verified what the man already thought—that Cole was a worthless kid following in his father’s footsteps, a kid his grandmother ought to be writing off instead of taking in.

With that kind of history, Cole hadn’t been the least bit surprised to find that his first assignment today involved cleaning out horse stalls.

So Cole grabbed a shovel and went after it, silently cussing Murphy with every move he made. After a couple of hours of hard labor, he was granted a reprieve when Murphy handed him the keys to his truck and told him to go to the feed store in town for some supplies.

Cole welcomed the opportunity to get away from the ranch for an hour, especially since he knew what Murphy had waiting for him when he got back. The old man had decided that today was the day they’d ride fence, which meant hours on horseback. Cole dreaded it, but he certainly wasn’t going to act as if it were any big deal. No matter how hard Murphy pushed him, he had no intention of ever letting the man see him sweat.

Twenty minutes later, Cole drove into town and headed down Main Street. He stopped and picked up the supplies Murphy wanted. Since it was nearing lunchtime, he walked across the street from the feed store to Taffy’s to pick up a burger to go. He entered the restaurant, immediately assaulted by the small-town-diner smells of black coffee, ham and eggs and chicken-fried steak.

Mary Lou Culbertson sashayed over to wait on him at the counter. She wore a strangely satisfied expression that made Cole wonder what was going on.

“Hey, Cole. Funny you should show up right now. Have you heard the news?”

“News?”

The other waitresses giggled and moved in closer, ignoring their customers. Cole furtively shifted his eyes to each of them, wondering what was up. Then Mary Lou leaned her forearms on the counter, her eyebrows wiggling as if she currently possessed the juiciest piece of gossip this town had ever seen.

“Do you remember a girl named Virginia White who went to Coldwater High?” she said. “Kind of a dowdy little thing? Brown hair? Nondescript? Her mother was really weird?”

Cole eyed Mary Lou carefully. Where was she going with this? “Yeah. I remember her.”

“Well, you are simply not going to believe this. She’s running around this morning telling people—now get this—that you two are married.”

Cole stared at Mary Lou, forcing his face to remain impassive. Why was she talking to him as if he hadn’t heard about his own wedding?

Mary Lou laughed. “Isn’t that the craziest thing you ever heard? I mean, that mother of hers was loony, but I never thought Virginia was insane, too. Can you imagine her making something like that up?”

Making it up? Is that what everybody thought? That Ginny had made up the fact that they were married?

“Where’d you hear about this?” he asked carefully.

“Susan over at the bank told me when she came in here on break about an hour ago. Virginia works there, you know. She’s still just like she was in high school—kinda in her own little world. Anyway, it seems she’s telling everybody you two went to Vegas over the weekend and got married. She probably saw you back in town and her fantasies got away from her. Have you ever heard anything so pitiful in your whole entire life?”

Cole felt a smoldering anger building inside him that was on the verge of bursting into flames. Pitiful? Is that what they thought Ginny was?

“Hmm. Virginia White, you say?”

“Yeah.”

Cole stood up. “I’m afraid you’ve got her name wrong, Mary Lou.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Virginia…McCallum.”

Everybody, including Mary Lou, stared at him blankly, as if his words just wouldn’t compute. Cole started for the door, any thoughts of ordering lunch flying right out of his mind.

“Cole!” Mary Lou shouted. “Wait! Are you telling me it’s true?”

He never looked back. He swung the door open and headed out of the restaurant, then stopped on the sidewalk and glanced down the street to the First State Bank of Coldwater, a presumptuous storefront with white pillars flanking its brass-plated front door.

He’d had enough. He’d had enough of the nasty, rotten people in this town making sport of anyone who happened to provide them an opportunity. He’d lived through it as a teenager, when he’d been the subject of enough gossip to fill ten daytime talk shows. Evidently nothing had changed.

It was time he did something about it.

He strode across the street to the bank and swept the door open. Scanning the area, he caught sight of Ginny behind a teller window. He’d made enough of an entrance that everyone in the bank turned around to stare, probably hoping that a little excitement might actually come their way.

He had no intention of disappointing them.

He made his way across the lobby. Ginny looked up as he approached her, her eyes widening with surprise.

With the long, definitive strides of a man with firm intent, he circled the counter, strode right up to her, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

IF LIGHTNING had struck Ginny, she couldn’t have been more shocked. And she wasn’t the only one. The moment Cole’s lips fell against hers, she heard a gasp or two, and she would have gasped herself if his lips hadn’t been pressed to hers in the most wonderful way, kissing her as only Cole could, reminding her of just what she’d given up when she’d instituted that darned no-touching rule. By the time he finally pulled away, she felt deliciously dizzy, but still she wasn’t completely sure what was happening.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she whispered.

“What?” he said, in a voice that insured that everybody in the vicinity heard him loud and clear. “A man can’t drop by to say hello to his new wife?”

Ginny couldn’t believe it. He’d just told everyone within earshot that they were indeed married, and his kiss had told them it was a marriage in every sense of the word.

“I was just over at Taffy’s,” he said, staring at her adoringly. “It seems the whole town has heard our good news.”

There was a funny little inflection in his voice when he said the words good news, an inflection meant to be interpreted by her alone. That’s when she knew that he must have heard everything, including what these people thought about her, and he’d come here to put an end to the gossip.

The most unexpected feeling of warmth swept through her. It wasn’t just a sexual thing, even though he’d kissed her with all the intensity of a man who couldn’t bear to be separated from his new wife. It was something more. She felt a bond with him she’d never felt with another person, as if they shared a secret the rest of the world would never know.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Susan standing to one side with a look of pure astonishment on her face.

That’s right, Susan. You heard him say it. Me and Cole. Tonight. Just the two of us. And you know what newlyweds like us do when we’re alone together. Why don’t you sit back down at your desk and mull that one over for a while?

Just then, Ruby cleared her throat and assumed her best branch-manager voice. “You’re not supposed to be back there,” she told Cole. “Employees only.”

“Hmm,” Cole said to Ginny. “It appears that a man kissing his wife behind this counter is a breach of regulation.”

Ruby cleared her throat again. Loudly.

“Can’t wait for tonight,” Cole said.

“Yes,” Ginny said, assuming a dreamy, love-struck voice that wrapped effortlessly around her words. “Tonight.”

Cole backed away from her slowly, then circled the counter and headed for the door. Everyone stood frozen in place, looking utterly flabbergasted. With one last smile in Ginny’s direction, he swept out the door and closed it behind him, leaving the bank lobby in total silence.

In unison, every set of eyes turned toward Ginny. She smiled sweetly, then returned to her work as if what had just happened was no big deal at all. But beneath her calm, cool exterior, an undercurrent of excitement swept through her, a feeling of vindication that made her heart soar.

Rhonda edged next to her, a look of total disbelief on her face. “Lordy! I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many stars in one man’s eyes in my entire life!”

Ginny felt like hugging herself and grinning uncontrollably, but she managed to hold on to her casual attitude. “Yes,” she said offhandedly. “Cole is very affectionate.”

“Affectionate? That’s putting it mildly. If he kisses you like that in public, I can only imagine what he does in—” Rhonda stopped herself with a flustered smile. “Sorry, sweetie, that is none of my business.” Her gaze shifted furtively to Susan’s desk, and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m just so glad he dropped by!”

Susan was shuffling through a pile of papers, trying really hard to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. And the more she shuffled, the more obvious it was that she was on the verge of shredding, instead.

For the remainder of the day, Ginny heard the buzz of gossip all over the bank—speculation, she knew, on just where along the way Cole McCallum had lost his mind. She didn’t care. She was the one who was going home to him tonight. She smiled to herself. Let them picture that.

Then guilt set in. She was being vindictive, on top of the fact that she was living a lie. Liars, according to her mother, were essentially thunderbolt magnets, and Ginny had to resist the urge to wonder when the next one might go whizzing past her ear. Then she thought about that big smile Cole had given her when he walked into the bank, and how it had made everybody’s jaw drop to the floor, and she felt wonderful all over again.

She didn’t understand anything about Cole. Nothing. One day he was negotiating a business deal with her. The next day he was angry because she wouldn’t have sex with him, even though their marriage was supposed to be strictly business. Then the next day he seemed to have forgotten all about that and was acting like her loving husband to save her from malicious gossip. She just didn’t understand him. Maybe it was because she didn’t understand men, period.

Or maybe it was because there was a lot more to Cole McCallum than met the eye.

8

COLE HAD forgotten just how excruciating it could be to ride a horse when he hadn’t been on one in years. By two o’clock his muscles were aching, and by four o’clock they were screaming in agony. He must have gotten up and down off that horse at least a hundred times during the day, using muscles he hadn’t used in years, bending over, pulling wire tight, hammering in tacks to repair broken fence. He and Murphy surveyed nearly the entire perimeter of the ranch, and it was almost six o’clock before the two of them and Cliff Danbury, one of the ranch hands, finally arrived back at the barn. Cole couldn’t remember the last time he’d been as exhausted or hurt as bad as he did right now.

He dismounted and led the sorrel gelding into the barn. As he took the horse’s saddle off, he turned to see Cliff hauling his own saddle to the tack room. Cliff had worked on the ranch less than a month. He was a congenial kid in his early twenties, and Cole gathered that he was the type to stay around one place just long enough to save up a little cash before he was on the road again.

“Long day, huh?” Cliff stretched his arms over his head stiffly, then lowered them with a weary sigh. “Me and a couple of the other boys are heading over to the Lone Wolf for a couple of beers tonight. Wanna come along?”

The Lone Wolf. Cole never wanted to see the inside of that place again. In fact, all he could think about right now was getting a hot shower and falling into bed.

“No, thanks,” Cole said. “I think I’ll head to the house.”

Cliff shook his head sadly. “That’s what marriage’ll do to you. One day you’re living it up, and the next day you’ve got a ring through your nose and some woman leading you around. It’s downright pitiful.”

Cole had to agree, but he didn’t figure this was the time to express those feelings when he was supposed to be a happily married man.

“I don’t know, Cliff. You’re going to spend half your paycheck tonight, buying drinks for women, trying to get one of them to go home with you, when I’ve already got one at home waiting for me.” He smiled. “Which one of us is the pitiful one?”

Cliff shook his head. “You can talk it up all you want to, but I’m not buying. Who needs all that responsibility? Not to mention having sex with the same woman every night for the rest of my life.” He shuddered. “No offense to your lovely wife, but I just couldn’t do it.”

Cole had to second that motion. The very thought of limiting himself to just one woman for the rest of his life was inconceivable to him, too. Of course, no women for the next six months didn’t sound so hot, either.

After taking care of his horse, Cole walked the gravel road toward the foreman’s house, dreaming of a hot shower and a soft bed. He saw Ginny’s car out front. The moment he stepped onto the porch, he smelled something cooking.

When he opened the door, he saw Ginny at the stove, wearing a red flowered apron that hung almost to her knees. She’d pulled her hair away from her face, but a couple of strands had come loose to tumble down her cheeks. She turned when she heard the door open and smiled at him briefly. She turned away just as quickly, though, and her reluctance to meet his eyes told him she probably wasn’t going to mention what had happened at the bank today. That was good. At least she wouldn’t be coming down on him for breaking her no-touching rule. After all, he’d had to call a halt to the gossip, and hadn’t that been the most effective way to do it?

“You’re making dinner,” he said. “I sure hope that’s for both of us.”

“Yes. It is.”

Cole couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any kind of meal that didn’t come in a microwavable cardboard tray or a plastic box, and his mouth watered at the very thought of it.

“Good,” he said. “Because I can’t cook to save my life. Not that I expect you to all the time, but—”

“I don’t mind. I like to cook. And since you’re paying for everything for the next six months, it’s only fair.”

She stirred something briskly in one of the pans on the stove, a concentrated look on her face. She was such a tiny little thing that a good strong wind could have blown her away, but she bustled around like a bee around a hive. It appeared that a kitchen was one of the places she actually felt comfortable. He had a quick flashback to what he’d told Cliff about how great it was to have a woman to come home to, and for a split second it felt like the truth.

Expelling a weary breath, he hobbled to the kitchen table.

“Cole? Are you all right?”

He sank into a chair. “I’m fine.”

She took a few tentative steps toward him. “You don’t look fine. What happened?”

He pulled his boots off, grimacing at the effort. “Murphy picked today to ride most of the perimeter of the ranch checking the fence. Nothing like riding a horse for six hours when I haven’t been on one in over ten years.”

“Why today?”

“I think he wanted to remind me how much fun I had working on the ranch when I was a teenager.”

“He did it on purpose?”

“Oh, you bet he did.”

“Even when he saw you were hurting?”

“Especially when he saw I was hurting.” He rose. “I need to get a shower.”

“Okay. Dinner will be ready by the time you get out.”

He walked stiffly into the bathroom, stripped off his dirty clothes and took a shower. A few minutes later, as he was drying off, he could hear Ginny rattling around in the kitchen as she finished dinner. Dinner she was cooking for both of them. Such a small thing, really, but he couldn’t remember the last time anybody did anything for him.

Except maybe his grandmother.

He remembered coming home from school and she’d be there, always with a big smile and a plate of cookies or brownies. And then she’d talk to him. It had seemed so strange at first, having somebody ask him how his day had gone and then telling him all about hers. He’d rarely said much, but she’d filled in the blanks, talking when he wouldn’t. Even though he’d never actually told her, those had been some of the best times of his life. It had been his first taste of how much one person could care about another person just because they shared the same blood.

Or maybe just because that person needed it badly.

God, how he missed her. He hadn’t been back to see her nearly enough in the years before her death, but he’d carried her memory with him always, because it had been his one and only encounter with the notion of family. He’d always thought there was time—time to tell her that she’d meant everything to him at a point when he had nothing in his life but a mother he didn’t even know and a worthless father who couldn’t stay out of prison. But he’d never quite found the words. And then she’d died. A sudden stroke, and she was gone before he could even make the trip from Dallas to Coldwater.

And then he really was alone.

He got dressed and went to the kitchen. He still hurt like hell from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, but the hot shower had taken the edge off the pain.

He pulled out a chair at the table. Ginny spun around. “You look better.”

“I feel better. Need some help?”

“No. Of course not. You can barely walk. Sit down.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. It felt so good to collapse in a chair and relax.

“I’ll switch with you this week and I’ll sleep on the sofa,” she said. “At least until you’re feeling better.”

“You don’t know what you’re offering. It’s not the most comfortable sofa in the world.”

“I don’t mind.”

She pulled a casserole out of the oven and placed it on the stove top next to a bowl of green beans and a plate of hot rolls. She filled two plates and brought them to the table. After one bite, Cole knew that if this was the kind of cooking he had to look forward to for the next six months, at least his stomach was going to be happy.

“Tell me about your job at the bank,” he said as they ate.

She shrugged. “It’s just a job.”

“You’re a teller, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What do you want to study in college? Something to do with finance?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, staring at her food. “I’ll be filling out the application soon. My grades were good in high school. I don’t think I’ll have any problem being accepted.”

“That’s good.”

She focused on her chicken casserole, teasing her fork through it. “Yes. Probably finance. I imagine there are a lot of job possibilities with that major.”

“Why don’t you look at me when you talk?”

She jerked her head up. “What?”

“You don’t look people in the eye very often. Are you afraid to?”

“Afraid?”

“Have something to hide?”

“No!”

“Am I that ugly?”

Her eyes flew open wide. “Of course not!”

“There. That’s better.”

She looked at her plate again. He caught her chin with his fingertips and eased her head up. “I don’t know why you act like a scared rabbit most of the time, but I wish you’d stop it. I don’t want to spend the next six months talking to the top of your head.”

He didn’t know why, but he let his hand linger in just that position, with his fingertips beneath her chin, looking into her eyes. For the first time he noticed that there were flecks of gold spattered against the dark brown of her irises.

Beautiful.

That was the word that came to mind, though he knew it couldn’t possibly be true. Ginny was as plain as any woman he’d ever known. So why was it when he looked into her eyes right now, he suddenly saw so much more?

Finally he let his fingertips fall from her face. To his surprise she didn’t turn away. Her gaze softened, and a warm light entered her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “For what you did today.”

Suddenly he was the one who had the urge to look away. “It was just a little kiss, Ginny. No big deal.”

“You know it was more than that. You didn’t have to…to go to those lengths. I just want you to know I appreciate it.”

She continued to stare at him, and it made him feel very uneasy. “Actually,” he told her, “I’m surprised you’re not mad at me for breaking the rule.”

“The rule?”

“No touching.”

She turned away instantly, and he responded by leaning closer to her. “Of course, if you’d like me to break the rule a few more times, I’m sure I can arrange it.”

She spun around. “What?”

“And while you’re at it,” he added, “feel free to make a few more rules, and we’ll break those, too.”

She looked at him with disbelief. “Cole, just because you kissed me at the bank, it doesn’t mean—”

“Are you sure, Ginny?” he said, running his fingertips along her arm. “I think you were enjoying yourself when I kissed you. Wouldn’t you like to enjoy yourself a little more?”

Slowly she narrowed her eyes into a sharp, angry glare, then yanked her arm away from him and stood up. She grabbed their empty dinner plates, took them to the sink and dropped them with a clatter. She twisted the faucet, splashing water on the plates, then turned it off just as abruptly. Cole stared at her with astonishment.

“Come on, Ginny! What are you getting so mad about?”

She dried her hands on a dish towel, then flung it to the counter and headed toward the hall. She stopped at the doorway and spun around.

“It was a nice thing you did today, Cole. Maybe the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me. So why do you have to be such a jerk when all I was trying to do was say thank-you?”

Jerk?

He rose from his chair and circled the table. “Hey! All I did was suggest that it might be nice to pick up where we left off today. Would that really be so awful?”

“But we’ve been through all this before!”

He stopped in front of her. “You can protest all you want to. But the truth is that you want it as much as I do. And if you don’t give in sooner or later, it’s going to be a very long six months for both of us.”

“I have no intention of giving in to anything!”

Cole threw up his hands in frustration. “God, Ginny, do you have to be so uptight? Sex is good. Sex is fun. Sex is—”

“No!”

She turned to head down the hall, but he caught her arm and turned her around. “Hold on, now,” he said gently, knowing he was on the verge of making yet another tactical error. “Just listen to me for a minute, will you?”

He lowered his voice, softening it around the edges, which was a tough thing to do considering his current frustration level. But he reminded himself of just how ineffective a strong come-on had been in Vegas, and he had no desire to repeat that experience. He had to remember how young and innocent she really was.

“Now, sweetheart,” he began, “I know you may not understand this because you’ve never had a relationship before, but men…well, men are a little different from women. They have certain…needs.”

She swallowed hard but met his gaze evenly. “If that’s true, then I suppose you’ll be wanting to go somewhere else to fulfill those needs.”

Cole blinked. “What?”

“I can’t stop you, Cole. But if you decide to be with another woman, please do me a favor and be discreet.”

He stood there, stunned. He’d assumed it was just a fragile wall that separated them, one he could knock down with a flick of his fingers. Instead it was an impenetrable fortress he wasn’t even going to be able to blast his way through. This was not just a matter of getting her to loosen up a little. She truly didn’t want him. She was legally and morally free to have him, and still she didn’t want him. And she was making it quite clear that she never would.

The blow to his pride was greater than he ever would have imagined. This little waif of a woman who should have been so easy to seduce was turning him away. For the next six months, he was going to be sharing a house with a woman he couldn’t lay a finger on.

Then he told himself it didn’t matter, that he should be keeping his eyes on the prize. In six months, when he sold this ranch and got back on top again, women would be standing in line to jump into his bed. Beautiful women. Stunning women.

Willing women.

Then again, six months was a long time. He was a man who was used to making things happen quickly, so it sounded like forever. Could he really wait that long?

Did he have to wait that long?

“You know what, sweetheart?” he said. “That’s not such a bad idea. Thanks for the suggestion. And of course I’ll be discreet,” he added, with a touch of sarcasm. “I’ve got a twelve-hundred-acre ranch riding on it.”

He strode into the kitchen, yanked on his boots, grabbed his car keys and stormed out of the house.

WHAT A HELL of a way to spend an evening.

Cole had stalked out of the house with every intention of grabbing the first woman he came into contact with and satisfying that need he’d talked so big about, but by the time he reached the city limits of Coldwater, his foot wasn’t quite so heavy on the gas pedal, and his enthusiasm was starting to wane at the prospect of woman hunting. He drove through town, then turned onto the state highway and kept moving down the road, and before he knew it, he’d reached the city limits of Tyler.

Damn. What was he going to do now?

He could go home.

No. Then he’d be admitting to Ginny that he’d rather be home having her turn a cold shoulder to him than be out on the town living it up.

He spotted a movie theater and pulled into the parking lot. He went into the lobby, where he bought a ticket to the next movie playing. A couple of fairly attractive women were giving him suggestive looks, and with Tyler being a reasonably large town, he could have slipped away for a few hours with one of them and nobody would have been the wiser.

Nobody but him.

What was the matter with him, anyway? He wasn’t married to Ginny. Not really. So why was he acting like a man who was thinking of cheating on his wife?

Because she looked at you like that. Like you were betraying her.

He sat through the movie—some dumb action-adventure thing with lots of cussing and gunfire and explosions—but he found the more he tried to concentrate on it, the more he thought about Ginny. He thought about what had happened at the bank today. And he thought about her thanking him for it. And by the time the movie was over and the credits were rolling, he was thinking, She’s right. You really are a jerk.

When he’d gone over to that bank this morning, he’d told himself that his intent was to settle an old score with the people of Coldwater, to make them eat some of their hateful gossip for a switch, but that was only part of it. Mostly he’d gone over there because he didn’t want to leave Ginny out in the cold to bear the brunt of it all by herself. Yet when she thanked him for it, what had he done?

He’d acted like a jerk.

It was after ten o’clock by the time he pulled onto the ranch and drove down the road to the foreman’s house. It was dark, which, thankfully, meant Ginny was asleep, so he wouldn’t have to face her tonight. He got out of his car and came through the kitchen door. As he shut it behind him, he heard a voice in the darkness.

“Cole?”

He flinched at the sudden sound, then flipped on the kitchen light and glanced into the living room.

“Ginny? Why aren’t you in bed?”

She rose up on one elbow. “I told you I’d sleep on the sofa.”

If he hadn’t already felt like the jerk she’d said he was, he certainly did now. He’d stormed out of here like some kind of an idiot, threatening to go find a woman who would put out because Ginny wouldn’t, and here she was sleeping on that bag of bricks because she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

She sat up, her hair sleep-mussed, and he saw she was wearing one of those all-encompassing nightgowns she seemed so fond of. He came into the living room, but as he drew closer, she leaned away, pulling the blanket over her breasts.

Cole sighed with frustration. Never in his life had a woman reacted to him like this. Never. Then again, would she be so shy around him if only he’d kept his promise and kept his distance?

He sat down on the end of the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. “Do you know where I was tonight?”

“No,” she said quickly. “And I don’t want to know.”

“I went to a movie. I left here, drove to Tyler, saw a movie and came home.”

The silence was so complete he could hear the kitchen clock ticking. Glancing sideways, he saw that her eyes had grown wide and disbelieving, her face peeking over that blanket she’d pulled almost up to her chin.

“Was it…a good movie?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Wonderful.”

“Why didn’t you…?”

“Why didn’t I do what I said I was going to do? Hell, Ginny, I don’t know.” He stared at his hands, tapping his fingertips together, then turned to look at her. “Why did you suggest it in the first place?”

She shrugged. “You said you had…needs.”

He squeezed his eyes closed. “Do you think we can forget I ever said that?”

“Forget it?”

“Yeah. And maybe even forget about the rest of tonight, too. The part after dinner, anyway.”

She stared at him with a confused expression. He didn’t blame her.

“I suppose we could.”

He nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

They sat in silence for a long time. Cole tried to think of something else to say that might make this situation feel a little less awkward, but nothing came to him. Finally he stood up.

“I’m going to bed.”

She nodded.

He started toward the bedroom. Then he stopped and turned back, thinking it was time he righted another wrong.

“Just for the record,” he said, “I think it’s downright ridiculous for either of us to have to sleep on that nightmare of a sofa when we can share a halfway comfortable bed.”

“Cole—”

He held up his palm. “It’s not what you think. I swear I won’t touch you, Ginny. I know now that you’re serious about that, and I’ll keep my promise.”

Her eyes widened with that look of wariness he was coming to know so well—the one he really wished he could make disappear.

“See, I’m kind of hoping that when I go into that bedroom right now, you’ll come with me, but if you don’t believe I’ll keep my word, it’s okay. You can stay out here.”

Ginny huddled under the blanket, wanting desperately to trust him. She couldn’t believe he’d gone to a movie. Cole McCallum, who collected women like other people collected coins or stamps, went to a movie.

The question was, why? When she’d practically given him an engraved invitation to go find another woman, he’d chosen not to.

Still, no matter how sincere he sounded, she couldn’t make herself get up from the sofa. Seconds ticked by. Finally he sighed with resignation.

“Good night, Ginny.”

She watched Cole disappear into the hall, his boots clunking against the hardwood floor. Once he was gone, the silence seemed to scream at her, echoing the frustration she felt.

Just when she thought maybe she had Cole figured out, he did something that shook everything up all over again. He seemed so impossibly complicated she didn’t think she’d ever understand him. One thing she did know, though, was that when he’d asked her to join him in bed and she’d refused, he’d actually looked disappointed. Not disappointed that she wasn’t going to be sharing his bed in a husband-wife sense, but disappointed that he’d offered her something in friendship and she’d turned it down.

Ginny pushed the blanket away and stood up. She walked to the bedroom door. It was ajar. Peering inside, she saw Cole was already in bed.

She pushed the door open and walked into the room. By the light of the moon streaming through the window, she saw he had the blankets pulled up only to his waist, leaving his chest bare. Just the sight of it made her mouth go dry, and she wondered what he had on, or didn’t have on, beneath those blankets.

Just as she was thinking maybe this was a bad idea, he shifted and pulled the sheets aside for her to lie down next to him. Crazy warning thoughts rushed through her mind. What if this really is just a ploy to get me into his bed? What if he really does want sex?

What if I decide I want it, too?

It was that third one that really got to her, because when it came right down to it, Cole wasn’t the only one she wondered if she could trust. She’d thought more about sex in the past three days than she ever had in her life, and she didn’t know if she was up to telling him no one more time.

She took a deep breath and lay down, resting her head on the pillow, and he pulled the covers gently over her. As he pulled his arm away, it brushed against her breast, and a raw, hot sensation streaked through her body. For a moment, she thought she’d made a terrible mistake. Then Cole shifted over and lay beside her. He let out a long, relaxing breath, and then he was still.

A minute passed, maybe two. Then she heard his voice in the darkness.

“Say it again.”

She turned just enough that she could see the silhouette of his face in the moonlight. “What?”

“What you said to me at dinner tonight. About what happened at the bank.”

It took a moment for her to understand. “I appreciate what you did for me today,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good night, Ginny.”

She smiled to herself. “Good night, Cole.”

After a few minutes the soft cadence of his breathing told her he’d fallen asleep. But Ginny was nowhere near sleep. Instead she lay wide awake, so aware of the man sleeping beside her that she swore she could feel every beat of his heart.

She slid her hand over her own heart. It was hammering in her chest like crazy. Is this how she was going to feel every night she went to bed with Cole? As if her heart were going to beat right out of her chest?

If so, the months ahead were going to feel like years.

9

“HEY, GINNY!” Rhonda said. “How’s that new husband of yours doing?”

Ginny stuffed a stack of twenties into her cash drawer with a silent sigh. Rhonda asked her that just about every day, and Ginny always answered with some bright little affirmative that made Rhonda smile real big and say something like, “Glad the honeymoon is still going strong,” or “It must be nice to sit out under the stars with your husband on that great big ranch,” or just, “I’m so glad you’re happy, sweetie—it’s about time.” But after several weeks, as much as she loved Rhonda, her comments were starting to wear on Ginny’s nerves.

“He’s doing okay,” Ginny said. “Staying busy on the ranch.”

“Keeping you busy, too, I’ll bet.” Rhonda winked, and Ginny smiled in return, when in reality she wanted to scream.

It wasn’t as if Cole was hard to live with. By the time July passed and August came, they’d settled into a comfortable routine. He appreciated her cooking and said so all the time. He respected her privacy as much as one person could, given the size of the space they were occupying, no matter what he’d said about how impossible it was going to be. And it was nice to sit around in the evening with him watching television, because it turned out both of them loved historical documentaries and sitcoms and hated reality TV and obnoxious talk shows.

Since they’d moved in, Cole had fixed the bathroom plumbing and patched the leaking roof to keep the place livable, while Ginny had planted pink petunias along the front porch and hung a wreath on the door to try to make it at least a little more homey.

And whenever they left the ranch to go into town, Cole was very attentive to her, playing the part of a newlywed husband and doing so convincingly. Even when they got the strangest stares from the townspeople, Cole pretended he didn’t see a thing, and not long after, she found herself doing the same. And soon, to her surprise, people stopped staring. Ginny was sure they were still talking behind their backs, but they did stop staring.

The days were okay. It was the nights that were driving her crazy.

Every night when Cole shut off the lamp and lay on his pillow beside her, Ginny’s heart did a little flip-flop. Even though he’d kept his promise and things had stayed platonic between them, she found herself thinking constantly about the way he’d kissed her and what it might be like if he did it again. And just as quickly as the thought would cross her mind, she’d try to chase it away, because after all this time, she still couldn’t get her mother’s loud, condemning voice out of her mind.

Every shift of Cole’s body on the mattress would spur one fantasy or another, and a little twinge of guilt would race through her. Then she’d get angry at herself for feeling guilty. Then she’d get angry at her mother for making her feel that way. And then she’d chastise herself for her anger, and the guilt would set in all over again.

“Cole?” she said one night after the lights were out.

He stirred, then turned to look at her. “Yes?”

“Do you think it’s possible to love somebody and hate them all at the same time?”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to yank them back. What would Cole—what would anybody—think of such a question? But then she heard his voice, calm and even, without a hint of a judgmental tone.

“I don’t know. Who did you have in mind?”

She paused a long time, then whispered, “My mother.”

There was a silence. He probably thought she was crazy. Maybe she was crazy.

Cole shifted to face her. “I’m not really all that tired. Why don’t you tell me about her?”

Ginny had never said a derogatory word to anyone about her mother—ever—so right now she felt as if she were on the verge of committing a mortal sin.

“She was my mother, and I loved her, but…” She exhaled, closing her eyes, not really sure how to put it into words.

“Tell me what she was like,” Cole said.

“Intense,” Ginny said, staring at the ceiling, “and very dictatorial. She quoted the Bible a lot, even though we never went to church. She thought most everything was a sin.”

She glanced at Cole. He simply stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

“When I was growing up, she found fault with any friend I ever had. The few times I got up the nerve to invite other kids over, she treated them so rudely that they never came back. Pretty soon I quit trying. She wouldn’t let me dress like the other girls, or wear makeup, or even cut my hair.”

“So the other kids made fun of you?”

“Most of the time it didn’t even go that far. At least then they would have been acknowledging me. When they looked at me, it was as if they didn’t see me at all. I was just a nobody. That was fine with my mother, because she thought the whole rest of the world was sinful, and it was probably best if I didn’t associate with them anyway.”

“You were lonely, then.”

Ginny’s stomach twisted at the memory. She thought about all those endless days of being ignored and of all the time she’d spent alone in her bedroom with the same dreams as every other little girl, only she’d had absolutely no way of realizing them.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Where was your father?”

“I never knew him. My mother did—for one night. And then he disappeared. I think she resented me as much as she resented him because I reminded her every day of the mistake she’d made in trusting him.”

“But later you still lived with your mother, even though you were an adult?”

“She was sick. She needed me.”

“What was the matter with her?”

Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know. This and that.”

“So nothing in particular and everything in general.”

That was it exactly. Ginny had never known for sure what was wrong with her mother because her mother never went to a doctor, but still she was in bed most of the time and wanted her daughter to wait on her hand and foot.

“How did she die?” Cole asked.

“A sudden heart attack.”

“So nothing really related to her aches and pains.”

“I don’t think so. Not really.”

“So how did you feel when she was gone?”

Ginny’s throat tightened. She couldn’t say it. Those few words that were jammed inside her mind just wouldn’t come out, because she knew if she spoke them, something terrible was sure to befall her.

“You felt relieved,” Cole said.

She stared at him in disbelief. The very words she couldn’t say herself had just come out of his mouth.

“No,” she said quickly. “Not relieved. Not exactly. I—”

“Ginny,” he said gently. “You were twenty-four years old, and suddenly you had a life of your own. It’s not your fault that it took your mother’s death to finally let you experience that. And I don’t think you really hated her. You just didn’t know how to deal with her, and that’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

Ginny stared into the darkness. “But she talks to me inside my head, Cole. She’s still telling me every move I make is a sin, and it’s so hard to ignore it. I hear it all the time, day in and day out, until I want to scream.”

“So why don’t you just tell her to shut up?”

Ginny whipped around to stare at Cole. “What?”

“Tell her to shut up. God, Ginny, she’s yelling at you from beyond the grave. It’s not like she’s going to be able to back up whatever she yells at you about.”

Ginny blinked with total disbelief.

“You’re a rational adult. You know now that your mother had a lot of problems. She had problems. You didn’t. And if you keep listening to her, you’ll never have a life of your own.”

She stared at him, overcome with the oddest feeling. It was as if the hazy, hard-to-understand things about her mother were suddenly coming into sharp focus.

She had a lot of problems.

That was an understatement.

Keep listening to her, and you’ll never have a life.

And Ginny wanted a life. Desperately.

“So the next time you pick up that phone inside your head and it’s her,” Cole said, “just hang up.”

Ginny was astonished. Just hang up?

“It’s as simple as that?” she asked.

“No. Not really. But it’s a start.”

He’d stated the truth so simply that for the first time her guilt seemed to fade into the background and her mother’s voice was almost impossible to hear.

“For the record, Ginny, you’re not alone with the love-hate thing. I felt the same way about my father.”

As soon as he said the words, he rolled over, his back to her, and was silent. Ginny wanted to ask a hundred questions about that, but he was clearly telling her that now wasn’t the time.

Long after she knew Cole was asleep, she still lay awake. She couldn’t deny the attraction she felt to him, and it was growing by the day. It had been much easier to keep him at arm’s length in the beginning, but the more she got to know him, the more she was drawn to him. She was starting to see that his reputation didn’t begin to indicate the kind of person he really was any more than hers did. And he understood about her mother. Really understood.

And she had the feeling there was a lot about him that needed understanding, too.

ONE SEPTEMBER EVENING a few weeks later, Ginny sat on the back porch sipping a cup of herbal tea. An unexpectedly cool breeze tossed her hair, and she wondered how long it would be before the shorter days would make the trees start to turn. Soon the ranch would come alive with blazing autumn colors, and she couldn’t wait to see that.

She hadn’t seen Cole yet this evening. He’d told her that he was meeting a man in town to discuss some business and he might not be home for dinner. He didn’t bother to share with her the nature of his business, and she didn’t ask. Still, she’d heard him talking on the phone a couple of times in the past few days, and just the bits and pieces she’d overheard told her it had something to do with a commercial real-estate project.

He was planning ahead already.

She started thinking about how much money the ranch would bring when Cole eventually sold it. Since he was willing to give her twenty-five thousand dollars, it had to be worth far, far more than that. It was twelve hundred acres, and with that beautiful ranch house and a spectacular stable, it had to be worth quite a lot of money. And according to Cole, his grandmother had raised some of the finest quarter horses in the country, and they were obviously valuable, too.

Ginny looked down the road to the barn in the distance, settling her gaze on the horses milling around in the corrals behind it. She’d resisted the urge to go see them up close because even though she was drawn to horses, she was a little scared of them, too. Cole had told her it might be okay to ride one sometime, but since he was always so tired when he came in at night she didn’t want to ask him to go down there. And she certainly couldn’t ride one by herself.

Maybe she could just go down there and look at them.

After arguing with herself for a few more minutes, she finally went into the house. She put on her jeans, thinking she ought to dress for the occasion, then walked down the gravel road to the barn. Peeking inside, she saw a double row of horse stalls with a hay-filled loft over them, and her nose was assaulted by the scent of hay and grain and the strong but not unpleasant smell of horses.

She walked to the first stall and saw a big, shiny red horse with black legs and a black mane and tail. There was a white stripe down its face, and its right hind leg was white about halfway up to its knee.

She slid her hand over the stall door and made a little clucking noise with her tongue. The horse’s ears perked up, then it walked over slowly and stretched its neck out to sniff Ginny’s hand. The feel of the horse’s warm breath and the whiskers brushing against her palm sent tingles racing up her arm.

Then Ginny heard footsteps. She whipped around to see Murphy approaching, and immediately she yanked her hand out of the stall. She’d had very little contact with him since she’d come here, but given the way he glared at Cole anytime he saw him, he clearly wasn’t going to think much of having her around, either.

“I was just petting her,” Ginny said quickly. “But if you don’t want me to—”

“Petting’s fine,” Murphy said, stopping beside her. “As long as you’re out here and she’s in there.”

“Is she…dangerous?”

His lip quirked. “Nah. Not this one. But she’s just awful big, and you’re awful little. All she’d have to do is step on your toes and you’d be pretty sorry.”

“She’s so beautiful,” Ginny said.

“She was a champion in her day. She’s getting on in years now.”

Ginny brushed a fly off the mare’s neck. “I’ve always loved horses.”

“You ever ride before?” Murphy asked.

“No, but I’d like to.” She stole a glance at him. “Is it hard?”

“Depends on the horse.”

Ginny nodded. “Would this one be hard to ride?”

“Nah. A five-year-old could ride her.”

She patted the horse’s nose. “What’s her name?”

“Well, she’s got a big old long registered name, but we just call her Sunday.”

“Was she born on a Sunday?”

“Yep. One minute after midnight. Edna looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s Sunday,’ and it kind of stuck.”

Ginny smiled. “So you were there?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen most of them born on this ranch for the past twenty years.” Murphy scratched the mare’s neck. “Why don’t we saddle her up so you can ride?”

Ginny felt a surge of excitement. “Really? Could I?”

Murphy went into a room in the barn and brought out a saddle and bridle. After saddling the horse, he led her to the arena adjoining the barn and showed Ginny how to mount. After three tries, she finally managed to pull herself up. She swung her leg over the mare’s back and plopped down in the saddle. Murphy adjusted the stirrups, then handed her the reins. He showed her how to hold them and how to do something called neck reining.

Pretty soon she was walking Sunday around the rail of the arena, her stomach fluttering with exhilaration. Murphy called out commands, telling her to keep her heels down in the stirrups and to take up some of the slack in the reins. Doing everything all at once wasn’t easy, but Sunday didn’t seem to mind when she pulled the reins funny or sat crooked. It was all pretty confusing at first, but after a few minutes she felt comfortable enough to take Murphy’s advice and bump her heels against the horse and nudge her into a trot. She found that to be a whole lot more uncomfortable than walking, but as long as she held on to the saddle horn she didn’t feel as if she was going to fall. Murphy said that pretty soon she’d learn to move with the horse instead of against her.

After she finished her first riding lesson and Murphy unsaddled the horse, he gave Ginny a brush and showed her how to use it, telling her to be careful not to brush too hard on the mare’s flanks or legs. Then he handed her a comb and pointed to the mare’s tail.

“Stand to one side,” he told her. “Even though Sunday won’t kick, some other horse might, so you’d better get used to doing it right.”

“Like this?” she said.

“Yeah.” Murphy took the brush and rubbed it over the mare’s back. “How much did Cole offer you to play his wife for six months?”

Ginny turned, startled, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Uh, nothing. I—I just…”

Her voice trailed off. She wanted to lie, tried to lie, but Murphy’s sharp, blue-eyed gaze was boring right into her.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she murmured.

Murphy gave a low whistle.

“See, I—I want to go to college. I’ve wanted to go for such a long time, but it would have taken me forever to save the money, and—”

“Well. That explains a lot. Like why a nice girl like you would give herself to a man she barely knows.”

“I’m not giving myself to him. Not—not like you think.”

She felt a rush of embarrassment again and returned to her tail combing, wishing Murphy hadn’t brought up any of this.

“The minute he gets title to this ranch, you know he’s going to sell it,” Murphy said.

Ginny was silent.

“And that’s the last you’ll ever see of him.”

“I don’t care. I have my own plans.”

“Time’s gonna pass, though, and you may have a tendency to start thinking otherwise.” Murphy’s mouth was set in a taut line of disapproval. “He’ll hurt you if you let him, Ginny. And he won’t think twice about it.”

“I don’t think he’s like that,” she said. “Not really.”

“His grandmother thought that, too. She was blind when it came to Cole, thinking he was different from his father. Do you know he only came back here four times? Four times in ten years, after everything Edna did for him. She invited him back for every holiday, even though I told her he wouldn’t come. But still she hoped he would.”

“Maybe there was a reason—”

“No. No reason. Just lack of gratitude. He had his grandmother snowed, and it looks like he’s got you snowed, too.”

“No. He’s not like that. He’s—”

She stopped short, unable to find the words to express to Murphy that she saw something in Cole maybe nobody had ever seen before. Nobody, maybe, except his grandmother. But even if she found the words, she knew Murphy wouldn’t believe them.

“I—I think I’d better go,” she said. She set the comb on the edge of the stall door and started to leave the barn. She’d just about gotten out the door when Murphy called to her.

“Sunday’s yours for the time you’re here, if you want her.”

Ginny whirled around with a small, involuntary gasp, her hand flying to her chest. “Really?”

“I’ll tell the boys not to turn her out to pasture. But that means you need to ride her every day or she won’t get the exercise she needs. You can come back tomorrow night for another lesson if you want to.”

“Oh! I will!”

Ginny felt a surge of excitement. This was going to be like having her very own horse.

Then Murphy’s face grew serious again. “Where Cole’s concerned,” he said, “I just want you to keep your eyes open.”

She knew there was another part to that warning he wasn’t saying.

And your heart closed.

10

“IT’S A two-hundred-unit building, built in the twenties, all brick, minimal structural problems. It’s next to a residential area that’s on the upswing, and the numbers look good.”

Cole sat in the back booth at Taffy’s, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to Dave Fletcher try to sell him on some run-down rattrap on the outskirts of Morrison Heights, a suburb of Dallas filled with early-twentieth-century homes and apartments. Morrison Heights was nice in the areas where renovation had been done and a hellhole where it hadn’t.

“What’s the current occupancy?”

“Seventy percent.”

“Which means the other thirty percent is rotting away.”

“Yep,” Fletcher said. “Which is why we can get it for fifty percent of market value. Maybe less.”

He went on to spell out a few more of the numbers—owner financing, possible tax advantages, government money that might be available to assist with some of the rehab. Cole had to admit that the longer the guy talked, the better it sounded.

Then Fletcher pulled a stack of photos out of his pocket. Cole flipped through them. The complex had all brick buildings and nice architecture. Yes, the wood trim was rotting, but the basic structure was there. He started to envision exterior paint, awnings, brass fixtures, landscaping. He looked at some interior photos and saw arched doorways, crown moldings and solid-oak floors. The place was a renovator’s dream, as long as he had plenty of money to play with. But it was a deal only if the rents could be at least tripled on completion of the project.

“It’s not close enough to downtown,” Cole said. “It may be hard to get tenants at the rents we’d have to set.”

Fletcher leaned forward, folding his arms on the table in front of him. “Well, my friend, that’s where the risk comes in, doesn’t it? But then, you’ve never been one to let a little thing like that get in your way. I’m betting you can make it enough of a draw that the location won’t be as big an issue.”

Fletcher was a player, and a good one at that. But Cole wondered whether he might be stepping out on a limb with this one.

“So when will you be coming into that chunk of cash you told me about?” Fletcher asked.

It was the first week of September. He’d take title to the ranch in about three months. But how long would it take to sell it after that?

“Hard to say. Several months at least.”

“If I bump the purchase price just a little, I think the owner will go for a one-year option. I’ll put up the option money. That’s a drop in the bucket. All you need to do is come through with your half of the purchase price at closing.”

Fletcher wasn’t talking about much money compared to what Cole would have upon the sale of the ranch, and it was just the kind of project that made his blood rush.

“You sure you want to mess with me, Fletcher? Some people think I set fires.”

“You’ve always shot straight with me. That’s all I give a damn about. Besides, you’re the only guy I know who’s got the vision and the guts to tackle this project.”

Cole leaned back in his chair. “I’m not too hot on the idea of taking on a partner right about now. Any partner. No offense.”

Fletcher smiled. “None taken. But I know you better than that. I don’t care what’s happened in the past. If you smell money in a deal, you’ll be all over it. And I think you’ve got a whiff now, don’t you?”

Cole stared at him, his brain moving like lightning, putting the photos and the numbers together, and the more he thought about it, the better it seemed. He felt that rush of adrenaline, the one that always swept through him whenever a deal came together.

“Just give me a little nod here, McCallum. That’s all I’m asking for right now.”

Cole tapped his coffee cup with his fingertip. No risk right now, with possibly a big payoff in the future. He couldn’t lose.

“Get the option,” he said.

Fletcher smiled. “I knew I came to the right place.” He stood up and tossed a ten on the table. “I’ll be in touch.”

DRIVING BACK to the ranch, Cole stepped on the gas a little heavier than usual, feeling his Porsche corner smoothly along the curves of the state highway. His heart beat faster than usual, his mind truly at work for the first time since he’d come to Coldwater.

Fletcher had been right. He smelled money in this one, and he had nothing to lose when somebody else was putting up the option money. Soon he would have the capital to put into the project and be flying high again, rising to that place where his life was his own and nobody could touch him.

He came into the kitchen to find Ginny sitting at the table, thumbing through a magazine.

She looked up with a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He sat down at the table and pulled off his boots.

“Did you get dinner?” she asked. “I have leftovers—”

“No. It’s okay. I ate at Taffy’s.”

He looked across the table at the magazine she was reading. “Western Horseman?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Murphy gave it to me.”

“Murphy? Why?”

“He thought I’d like it. He’s teaching me how to ride.”

Cole stared at her with surprise. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I rode a horse named Sunday. Murphy taught me about saddling her, and then I rode some, and then he showed me how to brush her.”

“Murphy did all that?”

“Yes. He was actually very nice.”

Cole couldn’t believe it. Were they talking about the same grouchy old man?

“Riding is so much fun,” Ginny said, her face glowing. “Maybe you can come down some evening and—”

“I do plenty of riding during the day, Ginny. I don’t need an evening of it, too.”

He spoke a little more harshly than he intended to, but something about Murphy being so nice to Ginny really put him on his guard. What did the old man hope to accomplish by doing that? Turn her against him?

“Just remember that Murphy is liable to say some pretty nasty things about me.”

Ginny smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t necessarily believe everything that Murphy says about you.”

“Good.”

“And I don’t necessarily believe everything that you say about Murphy, either.”

She looked at her magazine with a self-satisfied smile, and all at once Cole realized it had been a long time since she’d cowered around him like she used to. When she spoke to him now she looked him right in the eye and didn’t flinch. And the sight of her sweet little face wearing that smug expression made him wonder if that was good or bad.

She’s not what you thought she was, he realized in a flash of insight. She’s one hell of a lot more.

He watched her for several seconds as she focused on the magazine, her chin resting in her hand, her golden-brown hair falling in thick strands along her cheeks.

She looked up and saw him staring. “What?”

For the hundredth time, he thought, She’s not beautiful. So why was it sometimes he just couldn’t take his eyes off her?

“Uh…nothing.”

He rose and headed to the living room, where he flipped on the television. Ginny joined him a few minutes later.

“What are you watching?” she asked.

“It’s September. And this is Monday night.”

“So?”

“Football. The Cowboys’ season opener is tonight.”

“Oh,” she said with a disinterested sigh. “Football.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a football game.”

“I’ve never seen a football game.”

He recoiled, giving her a look of utter disbelief. “That’s downright un-American.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Tell you what, sweetheart,” he said, patting the sofa cushion. “Why don’t you sit right here and I’ll teach you all about it.”

“I don’t want to learn all about it.”

“Then you’ll really be in the dark every Sunday afternoon and every Monday night, not to mention Saturdays with college ball.”

“You’re going to be watching all those times?”

“Yes, and that’s absolutely nonnegotiable.”

“Sorry. Everything’s negotiable.” She thought for a moment. “Let’s see…for every football game we watch, you have to give me two cooking shows.”

Cole screwed up his face with disgust. “Two for one? How fair is that?”

“Plenty fair when football games are hours long. Even I know that.”

“Can I sleep through the cooking shows?”

“As long as you keep your hands off the remote.”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “You ever think about investing in real estate? It’s all in the negotiating, you know.”

“I’m keeping my options open.” Ginny sat on the sofa. “Speaking of real estate, how was your meeting tonight?”

Cole stared at her. “You knew what my meeting was about?”

“Your voice carries when you’re on the phone.”

So she knew what he was up to, and she was smart enough to know what it meant. But it didn’t matter. They had a deal, and she’d known from the beginning that he intended eventually to sell the ranch and pocket the money for investment purposes.

So why did he feel so guilty?

He shrugged off that feeling, even as he sensed that she wanted to know more. She didn’t ask, though. Good thing, because he didn’t want to tell her. What he did with the money this ranch would bring him at sale was nobody’s business but his.

GINNY HAD NO IDEA that watching a football game could be such an excruciating experience.

It had nothing to do with the game itself. As games went, football was pretty interesting. But not half as interesting as Cole.

At the start of the game, he’d taken her hand and pulled her right down next to him, her thigh only inches from his. Normally when they watched TV they occupied separate ends of the sofa, but here they were, sitting as close as…well, as close as if they were married.

Move over, she’d told herself about a thousand times since the game started, but then Cole would lean into her and point at something on the screen, and the heat from his body would send warm shivers flowing through her. He’d casually tap her arm or her leg every once in a while to get her attention, and although he did it in the most platonic way possible, every time he touched her she practically jumped right out of her skin. Even the low, husky quality of his voice as he patiently explained first downs and field goals and penalties made her a little light-headed, until she was sure she’d never remember a single word of what he was telling her.

He was keeping his promise. He was acting as if they were just two friends watching a football game together. Nothing more. But the longer she sat only inches away from Cole, the more she realized that keeping him segregated to the friends side of her brain was a very difficult thing to do.

As halftime approached, she closed her eyes for a moment and imagined what it would be like if they were really married and were watching the game together. Would they carry on their own halftime activities and forget all about the rest of the game?

A montage of the kisses Cole had given her, at the Lone Wolf, in Vegas, in the bank, flashed in her mind, hot, sensual kisses that had put all her senses on red alert. Pretty soon she was imagining his lips on other parts of her body, as well. A hot blush rose on her cheeks, and it was all she could do not to leap up to splash icy water on her face.

Casual conversation. That’s what she needed. Bland, sexless words coming out of her mouth to stop the spicy, sexy thoughts running through her mind.

“The Cowboys play in Dallas, right?” she asked. “Did you ever go to football games when you lived there?”

“Yeah. A couple of times. I even thought about getting season tickets once.”

“I bet they’re expensive.”

“Yeah, but I could have afforded it. Back then, anyway.”

“Before the fire.”

The words slipped out before she really thought about them, and the look on his face said it was a subject he would just as soon not discuss.

“In case you’re wondering,” he said, “I wasn’t guilty. I didn’t do what they said I did.”

“I know you didn’t. The jury found you innocent.”

“There are some people who still think otherwise. It’s damned hard to change people’s minds. Especially around here.”

“Murphy’s in particular?”

Cole made a scoffing noise. “He’s nothing but a narrow-minded old man.”

Ginny wasn’t quite sure about that. While Murphy was big and gruff and every bit as opinionated as Cole, it was easy to see that he really did have a good heart. So what was the problem between them?

“You never did tell me what brought you to this town when you were a teenager,” she said.

“I came to stay with my grandmother.”

“I know that. But why?”

“Just drop it, okay?”

“Hmm. You don’t want to talk about it. That must mean the rumor I heard was true.”

“What rumor?”

“That you killed someone during a gang war in Dallas and were hiding out at your grandmother’s ranch until the heat was off.”

“What?”

Ginny smiled. “That’s what I heard, anyway.”

“Good God,” Cole said. “I can just imagine the stories they told about me when I was up on those arson charges.”

Ginny picked up the remote and muted the sound. She turned to face him, eyeing him expectantly. Finally he sighed with resignation.

“When I was sixteen,” he said, “my father got thrown in jail for writing one too many hot checks. My mother ran off years before that, so my grandmother took me in. I barely knew her, but she was the only family I had.”

So that was it. No wonder Cole had a chip on his shoulder when he rode into town all those years ago. He’d come here with an attitude that said he didn’t give a damn what anyone thought because he knew no one cared about him, either. She felt a rush of sympathy as one more piece of his puzzle fell into place.

“And then I met Murphy,” Cole went on. “He hated me on sight. He naturally assumed that because of my father, I was bad news, too.”

“Were you?”

“No. I mean, I guess I didn’t exactly make things easy for them in the beginning, but I’m not my father, Ginny. I wasn’t then, and I’m not now.”

“So things were difficult between you and your grandmother?”

“No,” he said sharply. “My grandmother was a wonderful person. It was Murphy. He was the problem. Men like him see things one way. Their way. He didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt back then and he has no intention of doing it now, either. When the fire happened and I was investigated for arson, he took that to mean that he’d been right about me all along.”

“But you were found innocent.”

“He just figures I had a good lawyer.”

“That’s not fair. Murphy should give you a chance.”

“Yes, he should.”

“Maybe you should give him a chance, too.”

Cole shrugged indifferently. “Actually, Ginny, none of this matters. I’ll be out of here in a few months, and then we’ll never have to see each other again.”

He slipped the remote from her hand and turned up the volume, signaling that at least from his point of view, this particular conversation had come to a close.

The coldness she heard in his voice broke her heart. If his grandmother had been his only blood relative, that meant Murphy was the closest thing to family he had right now. That was such a precious thing to lose, and Cole didn’t even realize it.

“GINNY, I’m telling you the job could be yours if only you’d apply for it.”

Rhonda sat at the table in the tiny kitchen at the bank, flipping through the morning paper and chastising Ginny at the same time.

“Rhonda!” Ginny whispered. “It’s a trainee position. Ruby is hardly going to give it to me. Not with Susan around.”

“Susan has nothing on you.”

“Oh, please.”

“I’m not kidding. You’re smarter than Susan. You’re more efficient than Susan. You’re nicer than Susan.”

“And Susan will be getting the job.”

Rhonda huffed with disgust. “Do you really want Susan lording that over you from now on? Or would you rather be lording it over her?”

“I don’t want to lord anything over anybody. And why aren’t you applying for the job?”

“Me? With a panty-hose job? No way. I’m staying right there behind the counter where I can go naked from the waist down if I want to. You, on the other hand, wear panty hose whether you have to or not. Now go after it.”

Ginny wanted the job. That wasn’t the question. She’d never wanted anything so badly in her life. But she didn’t stand a chance, so why try? And since she’d be going to college soon anyway, what did it really matter in the long run?

“Darn,” Rhonda said, stabbing her finger at the sports page. “I can’t believe the Cowboys lost by only two points.”

“It was that turnover in the fourth quarter,” Ginny said. “They lost great field position.”

Rhonda looked at her with astonishment. “I didn’t know you were a football fan.”

“I’m not. Or at least I wasn’t. But Cole loves it. We watch football all the time. And you know, it’s actually fairly interesting, once you know who all the players are.”

“You know, Earl and I have been talking about getting tickets to a Cowboys home game. Why don’t you two come along?”

Ginny stared at her. “All the way to Dallas?”

“Yeah. A road trip would be lots of fun.”

A football game? In person?

“Maybe,” she said. “Just tell me when you’re planning to go, and I’ll talk to Cole.”

“Why don’t we go this Sunday? The team’s in town.”

Ginny felt a tingle of excitement. Cole had said he’d once considered getting season tickets, so surely he’d want to go, wouldn’t he?

11

COLE HADN’T BEEN too sure about making the two and a half hour trip into Dallas to see a Cowboys game. But Ginny’s face had lit up when she’d asked him about it, so he didn’t figure he could say no, particularly when he was the one who’d gotten her interested in the game in the first place.

Right now Ginny sat in the passenger seat of his Porsche, with Rhonda and Earl tucked into the tiny back seat. He’d warned them about the size of it, but Rhonda said his car would still be more fun than their Buick. Rhonda was a big-haired Texas girl with a twang that could have curdled milk. Her husband, Earl, was a corresponding Texas boy with a crew cut and a can of Skoal in his hip pocket, who talked loud and laughed hard, the kind of guy you felt as if you’d known forever even though you’d just met him.

As they headed down the state highway toward I-20, Ginny turned to Earl and Rhonda. “Is it a tight squeeze back there?”

“Oh, heck no,” Rhonda said. “I’ve had sex in back seats smaller than this.”

Earl turned to Rhonda with a perplexed expression. “You have?”

“Sure, honey. Now, don’t go searching those memory banks of yours, because it wasn’t with you.”

“Oh.” Earl shrugged. “Which is not to say we couldn’t try it sometime.”

Rhonda gave him a sly smile. “Think Cole might have something to say about that?”

“Our car, Rhonda.”

“The Buick? What’s the fun in that? It’s twice the size of our bed.”

“But at least the springs don’t squeak.”

Rhonda mulled that over for a moment. “True.” She grinned. “Okay, honey, it’s a date.”

Ginny blushed a little, but still she laughed. And even though Cole would have sworn his two passengers would drive him nuts within half an hour, sooner or later their banter had him laughing right along with everyone else.

Rhonda scooted up and tapped Cole on the shoulder. “Did Virginia tell you about the job she’s going to apply for?”

Ginny gave her a warning stare. “Rhonda—”

“It’s a loan officer trainee position. Virginia’s perfect for the job, but if she doesn’t apply for it, it’s going to go to Susan Barker. But Virginia’s smarter than Susan, she’s nicer to the customers, but she won’t tell Ruby she wants it.”

“Rhonda—”

“Cole. Tell her to do it. Tomorrow’s the last day to apply. She wants the job. She just won’t say so.”

“Is that true, Ginny?”

“I’m really not qualified—”

“It’s a trainee job!” Rhonda said. “There are no qualifications, except to be smart and to learn fast. And if Susan Barker gets it, I swear I’m burning that bank down.”

“Hmm,” Cole said. “Ginny and I will have to have a talk about that.”

Ginny gave Rhonda a look of admonishment. “Thanks, Rhonda.”

Rhonda sat back in her seat with a smug grin. “You’re welcome.” Then her eyebrows flew up. “Wait a minute. Did I hear Cole call you Ginny?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, I like that a whole lot better than Virginia.” She smiled. “Ginny it is.”

WHEN THEY ENTERED Texas Stadium, Ginny simply could not believe her eyes.

“I’ve never seen so many people in one place before,” she told Cole. “Everybody in the city of Dallas must be here!”

“Not quite, sweetheart. But it looks like a good portion of them, doesn’t it?”

They found their seats, which were pretty good ones on the thirty-yard line. It was cool without being cold, and the light sweater Ginny wore was just enough to keep her cozily warm. The whole stadium seemed to be in motion, with people milling around, cheering at pregame activity and running up and down the stairs for hot dogs and sodas and a variety of other junk food guaranteed to stop up your arteries. It was one thing to watch a game on television. It was another thing entirely to see it in person, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

Ginny leaned over and whispered to Cole. “Thanks for coming.”

“You really didn’t have to twist my arm to come to a football game.”

“Thanks just the same.”

She smiled at him and he smiled back, and she knew for a fact that this was going to be one of the best afternoons of her life.

They cheered themselves hoarse through the first half, at which point the Cowboys were up by only a field goal. As the teams headed for their respective locker rooms, Earl and Rhonda offered to get sodas for everybody. After they disappeared down the steps, Cole turned to Ginny.

“The job Rhonda was talking about,” he said. “Apply for it.”

“Cole—”

“Stop hiding your head in the sand around that place. You’re better than you think you are. Don’t you dare let somebody else have a job that ought to be yours.”

“You know our situation. I wouldn’t be keeping the job long.”

“That’s not the point. You’ve spent your whole life being afraid of things. It’s time you stopped that. If you’re the best candidate for that job, tell your supervisor so, and don’t take no for an answer.”

Ginny stared at Cole with surprise. He had a way of spelling things out in simple, direct terms until they didn’t seem so scary, after all. All at once she had the same feeling she’d had the night they’d talked about her mother—the feeling that her life didn’t have to stay the same as it had always been. She could grow. She could do better. She could have more, if only she made the decision to go after it.

“Okay,” she told him, feeling a surge of self-confidence. “Maybe I will.”

“Of course you will,” Cole said, as if the issue had already been decided. “Now, tell me what you think is wrong with the Cowboys’ offense today.”

“I don’t know. Maybe the three-hundred-pound guys on the other team’s defensive line are kind of getting in their way.”

Cole laughed. “Yeah, that just might have something to do with it.”

“Why, Cole McCallum! Long time no see!”

Cole looked up to see a woman standing beside him, with long, dark hair, excessive makeup and generous breasts tucked inside a too-tight T-shirt. He had the feeling he ought to know who she was, but her name escaped him.

“Janet Lupinsky,” she said, smiling seductively. “Surely you remember me, don’t you?”

He thought he did. Maybe. Vaguely. “Sure, Janet,” he said, giving her a generic smile in return. “How are you?”

“Better now,” she said, purring and plunking herself into the empty seat beside him. “Why, I had no idea we’d be running into each other. Can you believe the luck?”

Yeah, Cole thought. Lucky me.

“Hey, I heard about the arson thing,” she said with an expression of mock sympathy. “Too bad. Hear you got off, though.” She sidled closer to him. “How would you like to get off again?”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“After the game,” she replied, “we can find ourselves a nice little hotel room and let whatever comes…come. It’d be kind of like old times.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that.”

“Why, sure you can, sugar. In fact,” she said, easing closer still, “you can do it better than just about any man I know.”

“Sorry, Janet. I’m a married man.”

She drew back with a look of total shock. “Cole McCallum? Married?” She laughed. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Never been more serious.”

“Well,” she said, turning her seductive smile on, “don’t let a little thing like that stop you. After all, what your wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“It will if she’s sitting right next to him,” Ginny said.

The woman froze, then slowly turned her gaze in Ginny’s direction, her face filled with flagrant disbelief.

“You? You’re his wife?”

She held out her hand and gave Janet a great big smile. “Ginny McCallum. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The woman shook her hand dumbly. She stared back and forth between them for a full five seconds, blinking as if she couldn’t possibly comprehend what her eyes were telling her.

“Can I give you a little advice, Janet?” Ginny said.

“Uh, what?”

Ginny rested her palm on Cole’s thigh, leaned across him and motioned the woman closer. “If a man says he’s married and there’s a woman sitting right next to him…well, next time you might want to make that mental leap and kind of put the two things together. Okay, Janet?”

Cole couldn’t believe it. Had those words actually come out of Ginny’s mouth?

She continued to smile sweetly, while Janet looked a little bit nauseated. Finally she mumbled something that sounded like an apology and slunk away.

“I’m sorry about that, Ginny,” Cole said. “She’s just some bimbo I knew once.”

“Forget it. It’s no big deal.”

“She’s got a lot of nerve to sit there and say all those things right in front of you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I mean it. Don’t listen to anything a woman like that says. She’s nothing but a—”

“Cole, will you hush? The wave’s coming!”

For at least the tenth time that day, people leaped out of their seats and threw their arms in the air, doing their part to send an undulating wave of bodies in motion all the way around the stadium. Ginny leaped up right along with them. He stared at her with disbelief. Was this the same woman who ran from her own shadow only a few months ago?

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” he said, as she sat down.

“Of course I did. There’s nothing like a really good wave to get your blood rushing.”

“You know what I mean.”

Ginny twisted her mouth with disgust. “She deserved it. I don’t like women who go after married men.”

He smiled. “Especially when you’re married to the man she’s going after?”

Her face fell. “Don’t tease me, Cole.”

“I’m not teasing you, sweetheart. Believe me. I like a woman who stands up for herself.” Cole slipped his arm along the top of her chair behind her back and leaned in closer to her. “I like it a lot.”

He couldn’t help it. Watching Ginny put that woman in her place did something to him that he just couldn’t describe. And as he looked at her now, something seemed to come alive between them, something new and different that had never been there before.

He dropped his hand to her shoulder and pulled her gently toward him. She yielded to the pressure, moving closer. He brought his other hand up, touching her cheek with his fingertips. She didn’t look away, she didn’t blush, she didn’t remind him of any rule she’d made that he was in the process of breaking. Instead she put her hand against his shoulder, then slid it slowly to his neck, where her fingertips met his bare skin.

“You’re really something special, Ginny. Don’t you ever settle for less than you deserve, do you hear me?”

He lowered his mouth toward hers. The crowd roared suddenly at something going on down on the field, but Cole scarcely heard it. It was as if all the sights and sounds around him had blurred into nothingness, and all he knew on this earth was Ginny’s thumb moving softly against his neck and his lips hovering only an inch away from hers.

“Newlyweds. Look at ’em, Rhonda. It’s downright nauseating!”

Ginny pulled away suddenly, and Cole looked around to see Rhonda give Earl an elbow to the ribs for his rowdy comment. Then Rhonda turned to Ginny. “He’ll be looking to get nauseating himself before the day’s out, believe me.”

Earl rolled his eyes and plopped down beside Rhonda, then doled out the sodas. After a moment, Cole reached over and took Ginny’s hand in his. He held it through most of the rest of the game, with a little squeeze here and there to remind her of their unfinished business. She never pulled away, and every once in a while she’d look over, their eyes would meet, and he’d know that they were thinking the same thing.

Rhonda prattled on at Ginny, something about the Coldwater Booster Club she was a member of. They did things such as running the concession stand at games and having bake sales to raise money for the sports teams at the high school. Since Ginny liked football, Rhonda asked her if maybe she’d like to come along sometime and help out. It was fun, she said, since mostly it was the moms of the athletes and the female alumni of Coldwater High who participated, and they did as much yakking as they did working. Ginny smiled and said that she would love to join them, but Cole could tell her mind really was somewhere else.

By the time the game was over and they left the stadium, Cole was so consumed with getting home that he couldn’t have stated the final score if his life depended on it. He had no idea how far this would go. He only knew that for the first time in his life he didn’t want sex just for the sake of sex. The woman he wanted to make love to wasn’t some nebulous beauty queen with a gorgeous but generic body whose name he wouldn’t even remember in the morning.

She was beside him right now. And her name was Ginny.

AS COLE and Ginny drove through the darkened gates of the ranch, her heart raced with anticipation. Ever since they’d dropped Rhonda and Earl off at their house, neither she nor Cole had said a word, and the silence was deafening.

For all her protesting in the past, she wanted desperately to feel his lips against hers again, his arms embracing her and see that look in his eyes that said he wanted her. The sensation was so powerful she almost couldn’t contain it. Almost every night after he’d gone to sleep, she stared at him, imagining what it would be like to reach across the short distance that separated them and touch his cheek, stroke his shoulder until he woke up, then tell him how foolish she’d been, and that of course she wanted him to make love to her.

But that was fantasy. Tonight was reality.

Until a few months ago, the monotony of her life had dulled her senses to the point where she’d rarely felt anything. Then she’d met Cole, and he’d yanked her emotions from one end of the spectrum to the other. He made her think about things in ways she’d never thought about them before, made her feel things she’d never felt before, whether anger or fear…or sexual attraction. But no matter how much she wanted him, she knew in her heart that making love with Cole would be just about the most dangerous thing she could possibly do.

They came into the kitchen, and Ginny quickly turned on the overhead light, which cast a bright, comforting glow around the room. She set her purse on the counter.

Cole came up beside her. She could practically feel the heat radiating from his body, and the tiny trace of comfort she’d felt evaporated.

“It’s late,” she said. “I’m tired. I—I guess I’ll go get ready for bed.”

Bed. Oh, Lord—that was the last place she needed to be with Cole.

She slipped away from him, grabbed a pair of pajamas from the dresser in the bedroom, then headed for the bathroom, where she flipped on the light and closed the door behind her.

How was she ever going to go into that bedroom and sleep with him tonight? She sensed that the moment she lay down beside him he would pull her into his arms, and she wanted it so much. But she also knew the possible consequences, and she wasn’t anywhere near ready to face those.

She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, then stared at herself in the mirror, wondering what to do next. She couldn’t stay in here forever. Sooner or later she was going to have to face him. She would have to look into those deep, dark eyes of his and tell him no when she wanted so desperately to say yes.

She took a deep breath, then opened the door.

Cole was waiting for her.

12

COLE WALKED slowly into the bathroom. With every step he took forward, Ginny took one step backward, until she bumped into the counter. She turned her back to him, her heart beating crazily.

Then he turned out the bathroom light, leaving only the hazy light from the hall to illuminate the tiny room.

Oh, God.

He moved up behind her and closed his hands over her upper arms, caressing her from her shoulders to her elbows. He eased the length of his body against hers, then dipped his head until his breath spilled over her ear.

“I got cheated out of a kiss today.”

Ginny felt a surge of panic. It was one thing for Cole to kiss her in front of sixty thousand people, where he could do nothing but kiss her. It was another thing entirely to do it when they were alone in the dark.

“Cole—”

“No,” he said softly, standing behind her, his breath warm against her ear. “Don’t say anything. Just listen to me.”

She met his dark-eyed gaze in the mirror. The dim light from the hall, along with the moonlight streaking in through the window, offered just enough illumination that she could make out his face, but it wasn’t nearly enough to take away her apprehension.

“In the beginning I pressured you because I wanted to have sex,” Cole said. “That’s all I was after. I’m not proud of that, but it’s the truth. But lately…” He tightened his hands against her shoulders. “If I was just looking for sex, I’d have found it somewhere else by now. It’s not just sex with any woman I want, Ginny. I want to make love. With you.”

She knew he was telling the truth. Something had changed between them. She’d felt it today at the game just as she felt it now. But still, she felt so tense she trembled.

“Ginny?” he whispered. “Why are you so afraid of this?”

“I’m not afraid. I just don’t want—”

“No. Don’t say you don’t want it. That’s a lie.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. “Cole—”

“I can see it in your eyes every day. I can feel it when we’re in bed together at night. And today—Oh, Ginny. Please don’t lie to me anymore. It’s too easy to see the truth.”

He was right. To say she didn’t want it was a lie, but she was afraid.

She was afraid that she would be so inept she would disappoint him. She was afraid she would be embarrassed by her lack of a really nice lingerie wardrobe. She was afraid of what her body would look like to him naked. Most of all, she was afraid that a few moments of pleasure would lead to a lifetime of responsibility. Responsibility she would have to face by herself. He’d already made it quite clear that he would be gone at the end of six months. He was already making plans for it, wasn’t he?

“I don’t want to push you into anything,” he said. “I swear I won’t do that. We’ve argued about it, we’ve yelled about it and we’ve ignored it. But we’ve never just talked about it.”

She met his gaze in the mirror. His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, not seductively, but tenderly, and the sight of it went straight to her heart.

“It does scare me,” she admitted. “For a lot of reasons. But mostly because I’m afraid of…”

“Of what?”

“Pregnancy,” she whispered.

He recoiled slightly. “Is that all?”

“Is that all?”

“I have protection, Ginny. It’s not a problem.”

“It’s not a hundred percent effective.”

“Nothing in this life is a hundred percent.”

Ginny sighed. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Cole. Even when I said I didn’t.” She let out a small, humorless laugh. “I’m not even exactly sure what it involves, and I know it must be wonderful, but when I think of the possible consequences…” She sighed again. “I just can’t take that chance.”

He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped and met her eyes in the mirror. She could sense him trying to find the words to counter her argument, but he didn’t voice any of them. Instead, he leaned in and dropped a gentle kiss against her neck.

“Then we won’t do anything that involves taking a chance.”

She felt momentary relief, right up to the second he slid his hands across her shoulders and closed his fingers around the top button of her pajamas.

“What are you doing?”

He flicked the button open. Stunned, she reached up, intending to stop him, but he took her wrists and pushed her hands gently down again.

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t move.”

“I told you I can’t do this.”

“As long as it’s just my hands,” he said, easing them up to her buttons, “and my lips,” he whispered, teasing them along her cheek, “there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Cole—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I heard what you said. Every word.”

She let out a shaky sigh.

“Just touching, Ginny. That’s all. And I swear I’ll stop anytime you say.”

She should have stopped him, but how could she, when all she’d been able to think about all day was what it would feel like if he touched her again? And how could she say no when, against all odds, she’d come to trust him so much?

He moved his hands to open the next button, then the next. She was mesmerized by the reflection of his big, strong hands in the mirror, deftly flicking the buttons open. When he reached the last one, he traced his fingertip all the way up the opening, along her abdomen, in the hollow between her breasts and finally to her collarbone. Then slowly he pulled the sides of the shirt apart, exposing her breasts. Ginny felt a surge of panic.

She’d never been naked in front of a man before. Never. The vulnerability she felt was so overpowering it was all she could do not to yank her pajama top shut. “Cole—”

“Shh,” he whispered against her ear, cradling her breasts with his palms, his thumbs lightly stroking them.

She closed her eyes. “Please. This is so embarrassing.”

“No,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “Believe me, sweetheart. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He closed his hands over her breasts, squeezing softly, then swept his thumbs across her nipples. She shifted against him, the feeling so intense she wanted to beg him to stop, but at the same time it felt so good that she never wanted him to stop.

“Open your eyes,” he said.

She eased her eyes open and stared into the mirror. In the midst of all her self-consciousness, she felt a tiny thrill deep inside. Cole was staring at her, seemingly transfixed, looking at her in a way no man had ever looked at her before.

With desire.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“No.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Beautiful.”

He flattened one palm just below her breasts, then skimmed it down over her abdomen. She sighed softly and rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes falling closed again. When his hand reached the barrier of her pajama bottoms, he slid it beneath the elastic waistband. She tensed, shocked at the sudden invasion, and before she knew it, he’d slipped his hand beneath her panties and tangled his fingers in the curls at the apex of her thighs.

She gasped.

He shifted his hand lower still, touching a place so sensitive it shocked her. She gasped again and took hold of his wrist to still his hand.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let me touch you.”

“I can’t, Cole. I can’t. It feels—”

“Just a minute more. Then you can tell me all about how it feels.”

He began to stroke her there, slowly, rhythmically, and at the same time he caressed her breasts with his other hand. He whispered nothing words against her ear, sounds that were soothing and comforting and endlessly erotic all at the same time, interspersed with warm kisses on her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. In all her ignorance, she’d never imagined a man touching her like this, and it took her breath away.

But it wasn’t just the heavenly feeling of his hands on her. Something was happening deep inside her—a powerful sensation that was building slowly, giving her a sense of edginess and impatience. She leaned against Cole as the hot, hazy feelings swept through her. She breathed faster, more erratically, and before long the feeling had grown almost unbearable.

What was he doing to her?

As much as she’d wanted him to stop before, that was how desperately she wanted him to continue now. She found herself moving along with his strokes because it was impossible not to, all the while feeling as if she was reaching for something just beyond her grasp, so crazed with some indescribable need that she was on the verge of begging him to do anything to take the tension away.

“Tell me now, sweetheart,” he murmured. “How does it feel?”

“It feels…oh, Cole—”

For a second, maybe two, she had a sense that the world had come to a standstill. Then something inside her shattered, and a blinding white heat raced through her that was so intense her knees buckled. Cole’s arms encircled her, holding her close, and she clamped her hand onto his arm and held on tightly as waves of indescribable pleasure rushed through her. The intense, insistent pulsing between her legs fanned out to become a heavy, throbbing rhythm throughout the rest of her body, encompassing every nerve ending, sending her heart into such an incredible overload that she felt as if she was on the verge of passing out.

Slowly, slowly the feeling subsided. Her muscles, so tense before, became suddenly weak and helpless. She exhaled softly, then fell limp against him.

And Cole felt as if he was going to explode.

He tucked his chin into the crook of her neck. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, ragged breath, trying to ignore the fact that she was pressed so tightly against his groin that even the tiniest shift of her body sent currents of electricity racing through him.

He wanted her desperately, so desperately he almost forgot that she trusted him to touch her without demanding more, even though he wanted all of her. Now.

And he couldn’t have her. Why in the hell had he even started this if he couldn’t finish it?

Because he’d wanted to hear her cry out. Wanted to feel her dissolve in his arms. Wanted to be the first to touch her and make her feel those things when a man had never touched her before.

He turned her around to face him. She looked at him, those languid brown eyes still glazed with pleasure, and it took every bit of self-control he had to pull the sides of her shirt together and button it, to watch with regret as her beautiful breasts disappeared from his view.

He swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He laid her on the bed, her head on the pillow, then sat beside her.

She slid her hand into his. “That was…” Her voice trailed off, her chest still heaving gently. “I don’t know what to say.”

He brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek, and suddenly he imagined her, somewhere down the line, in the arms of another man—a man who would take that part of her innocence she could only give once. Would he treat her gently? Or would he take what he wanted with no concern for her at all?

When Cole realized what the answer to those questions might be, he wanted desperately to show her how wonderful the whole gamut of lovemaking could be so she would never settle for anything less.

If only she would let him.

“Just promise me something, Ginny.”

“What?”

“Whenever you decide you want a man to make love to you for the first time…I want it to be me.”

She smiled softly. “Didn’t we kind of just do that?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “But there’s more.”

“I know.” She stroked his thigh, staring boldly at his erection still straining against his jeans, and he just about lost it right there. Then she shifted her gaze to meet his.

“I want it to be you, too.”

Dead silence. Cole didn’t move, didn’t breathe. “When?”

“I just have to be more sure—”

“Sure?”

“About birth control.”

Cole took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. So…what do you want to do?”

“I’ll see a doctor.”

“The pill?”

“I’ve read about it in magazines. It’s the most effective thing. But we’ll have to wait at least a month.”

Cole had never heard such an incredible case of good news, bad news in his entire life. Good God, could he wait a month?

“Okay,” he said, staring at her.

She lay there like an angel, her hair fanned out on the pillow and her cheeks flushed pink, and he wanted her so badly he could taste it.

Leave. Right now.

He started to move away. She took hold of his wrist.

“Cole?” she murmured. “Where are you going?”

“The sofa.”

“No,” she said sleepily. “Stay.”

She didn’t know what she was asking. If he stayed, he’d take her, so hard, so hot and so fast that she wouldn’t even realize what had happened until it was all over.

He was never going to last a month. He was going to see her every day, want her every day, and every kiss he gave her, every touch, every whisper of a caress would lead to—

“For the next month,” he said, “no touching.”

“Didn’t we just abolish that rule?”

“Yeah, and it just about killed me.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, Ginny. But I’ve got to have all or nothing.”

She looked at him with astonishment. “So…nothing?”

“That’s right. And I’m going to sleep on the sofa.”

“That’s silly.”

“For the next month.”

“That’s even sillier.”

“Sorry, that’s the way it’s got to be. Good night, Ginny.”

He kissed her forehead, pulled the blankets carefully over her, then stood up. He grabbed a blanket and pillow from the closet.

“I’ll miss you,” she murmured sleepily as he walked out the door, and he had to resist the urge to go running back in.

He went to the sofa, tossed down the blanket and pillow, then tossed himself down on top of them and tried vainly to get comfortable. He couldn’t.

I’ll miss you, too, Ginny. More than you can possibly imagine.

THE MOMENT Ginny got to work the next morning, she told Ruby she wanted to talk to her about the loan officer trainee position, and Ruby immediately summoned her to her office. Ginny sat down in the chair in front of her boss’s desk, her palms sweaty, her throat so dry she didn’t know if she was even going to be able to speak, not to mention the fact that she couldn’t get last night’s experience with Cole out of her mind. The odds of her being coherent enough to make a good impression were pretty slim, but she had no choice. This was the last day to apply for the job, and Ruby was a stickler for schedules.

“So,” Ruby said, as she took her seat behind her desk. “You’re interested in the loan officer trainee position.”

“Yes,” Ginny said, clearing her throat. “Yes, I am.”

“This is going to be a very simple interview, Virginia.”

Thank goodness, Ginny thought, knowing she couldn’t possibly think straight enough to do a complicated one.

Ruby leaned back, her elbows on the armrests of her chair and her fingers steepled in front of her.

“Tell me why you think you should have this job.”

Oh, boy, Ginny thought. One of those awful open-ended questions that’s so easy to goof up.

She sat up straighter, took a deep, silent breath and tried her best to come off confident and professional.

“I’ve worked at this bank for six years,” Ginny began. “My performance evaluations have always been exemplary. I enjoy working as a teller, but I’ve learned all I can in that position, and I’m ready to move on. I have a good basic understanding of banking, but I know there’s so much more that I can learn if I’m allowed to move up. I have an excellent rapport with many of the customers, and I know I could translate that into more business for the bank if I became a loan officer.”

Ruby stared at her, those dark brows of hers drawn together, and Ginny felt a flood of apprehension.

“Anything else?” Ruby said.

Ginny heard Cole’s words playing over and over in her head. You’re something special, Ginny. Don’t you settle for less than what you deserve, do you hear me?

“Yes, Ruby. There’s no question in my mind that I’m the best candidate for the job. And knowing me as you do, there should be no question in yours, either.”

Ruby lifted her eyebrows, little creases forming in her forehead. “Those are pretty powerful words, Virginia.”

Ginny felt the challenge in Ruby’s words, but she couldn’t back down now. “Yes, they are. And I mean every one of them.”

Ginny’s heart was beating so rapidly that she started to wonder just exactly what a heart attack felt like. Ruby continued to stare at her with that intense, assessing expression. Finally she leaned forward and folded her hands on her desk.

“To tell you the truth, Virginia, you were the first person I thought of when this position was created, but I was only going to consider candidates who expressed interest. When you didn’t seem inclined to apply for it, I assumed you didn’t want it.”

Ginny felt a stab of disappointment. She’d waited too long. She’d waited too long, and now—

“But since you do appear to want it,” Ruby said, “the job is yours.”

Ginny blinked with astonishment. “What did you say?”

“I said the job is yours. Go see Alice about the change in job title. You’ll start as soon as we can hire another teller. Now, don’t think you’re getting a salary increase. This is a trainee position. But I expect you’ll move quickly through that, and when you have the position officially, we’ll talk about a raise.”

“Uh…yeah. Okay.”

Ginny continued to stare at Ruby, still certain she couldn’t possibly have heard her right.

“Virginia,” Ruby said slowly, carefully. “The interview is over. You got the job. Now go.”

Ginny rose, thanking Ruby at the same time, then walked to her teller window in a daze.

“So tell me,” Rhonda whispered. “What happened?”

Ginny looked at her, still dumbfounded. “I got the job.”

Rhonda whooped. “Oh, sweetie, I knew you could do it!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Susan giving them both the evil eye. She must have surmised what happened, because she circled her desk and flounced her way into Ruby’s office, slamming the door behind her. Ginny heard a lot of muffled shouts, and when Susan finally emerged again, she went to her desk, grabbed her purse and stormed out of the bank.

“My, my,” Rhonda said innocently. “She seems a little miffed. Ginny, does she seem a little miffed to you?”

Ginny was going to have to leave the vengeful remarks to Rhonda, because right now there was only one thing she could think about.

I got the job. And I can’t wait to tell Cole.

COLE CAME HOME that night all hot and sweaty from working on the ranch, so he was shocked when he opened the kitchen door and Ginny launched herself into his arms.

He hugged her automatically, but given how he looked and smelled right about now, he was sure she was going to regret it.

“Cole, I got it! I got the job!”

He took her by the shoulders. “The trainee job? You got it?”

“Yes! Ruby said I was the first person she thought of, but since I didn’t apply, she thought I didn’t want it. Then, when I told her I did, she gave it to me. On the spot!”

Cole pulled her into his arms in a gigantic bear hug. “I knew you would get it!”

“I didn’t,” she said. “Not until you told me I could.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then laid her palm against the spot where she’d kissed him.

“Thank you, Cole.”

He smiled. “I want you to give me all the details over dinner.”

“I will. Take a quick shower, and it’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Cole headed for the bathroom, listening to Ginny hum while she cooked, and he had the oddest feeling inside, a strange sense of accomplishment, even though she was the one who’d gotten the job.

But you helped her do it.

For all the years he’d invested in real estate, each contract bigger than the last, he couldn’t remember a deal he’d made that had satisfied him more than Ginny’s news had tonight.

He was halfway down the hall when Ginny called to him again.

“Cole? One more thing.”

He stepped to the kitchen doorway. “Yeah?”

“I went to the doctor today.”

“Oh?”

“He gave me a prescription and told me the third Friday in October would be all right.”

She gave him a tiny smile, then turned to her cooking, as if she’d just mentioned the date of a dental appointment or an oil change.

The third Friday in October.

That hot shower he was anticipating had, by necessity, just become a cold one.

13

THE NEXT MONTH was the longest of Cole’s life.

Every move Ginny made drove him crazy. She couldn’t even bend over to take a pan out of the oven without him thinking about her being naked. Wearing the apron, maybe. Only the apron.

Some evenings she’d go with Rhonda to meet with the women of the Coldwater Booster Club, and she always came home in a good mood, chattering about whatever project they were working on at the time. He knew Ginny had had very little social life before now, and getting out with other women made her positively glow with excitement, which made him want her that much more. It got so ridiculous that after a while she could get him excited just by brushing her teeth.

Then she talked him into going riding with her, and damned if that didn’t shake him up, too.

She must have really studied the ads in Western Horseman, because somewhere along the way she’d bought a couple of pairs of blue jeans that fit. Really fit. And every time he watched her walk away, his mind wandered places he really wished it wouldn’t go, especially since the rest of his body wasn’t invited.

But other than Cole’s almost debilitating preoccupation with the prospect of making love to Ginny, the month passed uneventfully. The ranch was alive with fall colors, and on the weekends he and Ginny rode in the midst of them, sometimes for hours. Cole found enjoyment in riding a horse for the first time, though he was coming to realize that just about anything he did with Ginny he enjoyed.

He was glad, though, that he’d instituted the no-touching rule, because it seemed as if most of the time when they were at the barn, Murphy’s eyes were on them, and he didn’t appear to like what he saw. Even though it was none of the old man’s business what was going on between them, Cole knew he was passing judgment—always passing judgment—and Cole had already had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

When that Friday finally came, Cole was dismayed when Murphy asked him, in the middle of the afternoon, to ride out to one of the far pastures in search of a yearling who hadn’t come in with the rest of the herd. Cole eventually found her deep in the fifty wooded acres at the back of the property, with no clue as to why she’d wandered off. After a cat-and-mouse game that lasted a good thirty minutes with Cole cussing the filly the whole time, he finally got a halter on her to lead her home.

He checked his watch. Five o’clock.

It would take him a while to ride back in, and by the time he finished up around the barn, it was going to be after six. Ginny would be home already. Waiting for him.

Once he got home, he’d need a shower first, but maybe he could persuade Ginny that she needed one, too. At the same time. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle at the prospect of seeing her naked and wet, and he decided that would definitely have to be on the agenda for tonight.

When the time finally came for Cole to head home, anticipation had every single nerve in his body humming. As he approached the house, though, he noticed Ginny’s car wasn’t out front. He went inside and was met with total quiet. He called for her. Nothing.

Where was she?

Then he saw the note on the kitchen table, and when he realized what it said, he thought he was going to explode.

She’d gone to Rhonda’s house to bake cookies for a Coldwater Booster Club bake sale. And she wouldn’t be home for hours.

Cole crumpled the note, every muscle in his body tied into a tight knot of frustration. He couldn’t believe it. They’d planned on making love for the first time tonight, and she was baking cookies?

No. No way. She was coming home, and she was coming home now.

He tossed the note aside and reached for the telephone.

GINNY HAD just put another pan of cookies into Rhonda’s oven when the phone rang. Rhonda picked it up and her eyes widened.

“Just a minute, Cole. I’ll get her.”

The moment Rhonda said Cole’s name, Loretta and Darlene, who were sitting at the kitchen table, immediately stopped their conversation and whipped their heads around.

Rhonda held out the phone to Ginny. “Look out,” she whispered. “He sounds a little unhappy.”

Ginny took the phone. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” Cole snapped.

Ginny smiled. “I guess you got the note I left.”

“Yeah. I saw the note. Forget the cookies. Come home.”

“I’m sorry, Cole. I have to do this. We realized we’re going to need more cookies than we thought, so it’s kind of an emergency. I’ll be home when we’re finished.”

“No. Come home now.”

The urgency in his voice thrilled her. She hadn’t done this on purpose, but it was certainly turning into something interesting just the same.

“Ginny?” he said sharply. “Did you hear me? Come home right now.”

“Well, now,” she said, stepping away from the other women and lowering her voice. “We’re getting a little bossy, aren’t we?”

She heard him take a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly, his tone perceptibly shifting. “No, sweetheart. No. Now, you know I don’t mean to be bossy. But we had plans tonight, didn’t we?”

“Of course. They’re just delayed a little. That’s all.”

“How long will you be?”

“I don’t know. Three hours. Maybe four.”

“Four hours?”

“It takes a while to bake forty dozen cookies.”

“Forty dozen?”

“Just relax, Cole,” she said, hugging the phone to her ear, excitement tingling all the way down to her toes. “Have a little dinner. Watch a little TV. I’ll be home before you know it.”

She hung up the phone over the sound of him protesting one more time, smiling to herself, wishing in a way that she could rush right home and leap into his arms, but she really did have to help bake these cookies. Besides, there was something about him wanting her home so badly that sent warmth spreading through her like kindling catching fire.

She sat at the kitchen table with Rhonda and the other women.

“Everything okay?” Rhonda asked. “He sounded a little hot under the collar.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine before the night is out. Believe me.”

The women exchanged glances, then looked at Ginny.

“He’s just a little frustrated that I’m not home right now,” Ginny added. “This was going to be, well…a special night for us.”

In unison, the women raised their eyebrows.

“Just the two of us,” Ginny went on, wearing a tiny smile. “You know.”

“That’s it!” Loretta said, waving her hand wildly. “I can’t stand it anymore!” She looked at Ginny, an earnest expression on her face. “You’ve got to tell us, Ginny. You’re a really cute girl and all, so don’t get me wrong, but I never would have thought that Cole McCallum would settle down with anyone, and here he is setting up housekeeping with you on that ranch like some kind of family man.” She inched closer, dropping her voice. “So what’s your secret?”

Darlene and Rhonda leaned in, too, and silence fell over the kitchen. Ginny couldn’t believe it. Loretta and Darlene had been two years ahead of her in high school, both popular girls who’d had plenty of dates. She was the last person they’d have asked for advice about boys, yet here they were now, waiting for her to enlighten them on man-woman relationships.

“Well,” she said, treading the line between truth and fiction very lightly, “I suppose the secret is to give a man exactly what he needs.”

Eyes widened like searchlights all around the table. But Ginny hadn’t lied. Cole had needed a wife for six months, and she’d provided him one.

“So tell us, then.” Loretta prodded her. “Exactly what does a man like Cole McCallum need?”

“Loretta!” Rhonda said. “That’s none of your business!”

“Shoot, Rhonda! It’s just girl talk! I’ve been trying to get Billy to pop the question for two years now. Ginny got Cole to marry her in two days. I was hoping maybe she could give me a few pointers!”

“It’s still none of your business, so keep your questions to yourself,” Rhonda scolded. She paused a moment, then turned and eyed Ginny carefully. “Unless Ginny wants to tell us, of course.”

From the hopeful look on her friend’s face, Ginny knew her sudden marriage had been driving Rhonda just as crazy as everyone else. She’d just had the good grace not to pressure her into talking about it.

Ginny smiled. “Who can tell what brings two people together? It was just…one of those things.”

Loretta sat back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest with disgust. “Yeah, right. Don’t tell me you don’t know something the rest of us don’t, Ginny, because I’m not believing it.”

“Cole’s just got the good sense to recognize a really fine woman when he meets one,” Rhonda said. “Case closed. Now, get another couple batches of cookies ready to go in or we’ll be here all night.”

Everyone went back to plunking cookie dough onto the cookie sheets, and after a while the oven timer went off, signaling that another batch was done. Ginny hopped up to take it out of the oven when she heard a loud rap, then three more loud, very insistent ones, on the front door.

The women fell silent, looking at each other quizzically.

“Who on earth could that be?” Rhonda said, walking warily to the door as the rest of them followed her out of the kitchen. She looked out the peephole, then spun around.

“Ginny!” she whispered. “It’s Cole!”

Ginny’s heart skittered crazily. Cole knocked again, even harder.

“He looks kind of mad,” Rhonda whispered. “Sure you want me to let him in?”

Ginny smiled. “He’s only going to get angrier if you don’t,” she whispered.

Rhonda opened the door, and Cole strode across the threshold. “Where’s Ginny?”

His gaze swept around the room. When it finally landed on Ginny, she felt warmth puddling in her stomach—and lower. She couldn’t resist. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a sweet little smile, and for a moment she truly thought he was going to stalk across the room like some kind of chest-beating Neanderthal, sling her over his shoulder and drag her kicking and screaming to his cave.

He walked over to her slowly, his expression growing more intense with every step he took. He stopped in front of her, and for a moment it appeared as if the Neanderthal thing was a real possibility.

Ginny gave him an innocent smile. “The cookies are for a very good cause,” she whispered.

“I’ll get you for this later,” he whispered.

“Is that a promise?”

“Oh, you can bet on it, sweetheart.”

Ginny loved the sound of his voice—deep and provocative and very, very impatient.

He inched closer to her. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t intend to come home until those cookies are baked?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, then. I guess there’s only one thing I can do.”

He turned to face the other women, sweeping his gaze over them with the intensity of a Marine sergeant reviewing his troops before going into battle.

“Okay, ladies. I hear we’ve got forty dozen cookies to bake. Let’s get with it.”

The women might have fainted dead away, except that Cole got them moving to the point where falling down on the job wasn’t an option. Within minutes, he’d instructed Rhonda to pull out every bowl she had in the kitchen, lined the women up along the counter and started calling out ingredients and amounts. They measured and stirred with speed and precision, and all the while Cole urged them on, picking up the biggest bowl himself and stirring when things weren’t moving quite fast enough for him.

“Now, see how much more efficient that is?” he said with a big smile, brushing flour off his hands.

The women nodded, looking a little shell-shocked.

“You have double ovens,” he said to Rhonda. “Why aren’t you using the other one?”

“It doesn’t work. But since it’s just Earl and me, we don’t need it, so I never bothered to get it fixed.”

Cole yanked open the door and peered deep inside. “Well, look at that. It’s just your pilot light. I’ll have that fixed in a jiffy.”

He appropriated some matches from Rhonda and lit the pilot light, and pretty soon they had two ovens full of cookies going at the same time.

“So what’s up with Cole?” Rhonda whispered to Ginny. “He’s not exactly the cookie-baking type.”

“He just wants to help out. That’s all.”

“Oh, yeah. Like Earl wants to crochet doilies and paint my toenails. So what’s up?”

Ginny smiled at her.

“I’ll get it out of you sooner or later,” Rhonda warned. “You see if I don’t.”

Once Rhonda’s back was turned, Ginny caught Cole’s eye, then slyly stuck her finger into the dough, bringing a fingerful out of the bowl and licking it off very slowly. She’d seen a woman do something like that in a movie once, and it drove her boyfriend wild. Sure enough, Cole followed every furtive flick of her tongue, then spun around and asked Darlene why in the world she was putting only twelve cookies on one of the sheets when fifteen would clearly fit.

Later, Ginny stepped down the hall to the bathroom. When she came out, a hand clamped onto her arm. Cole pulled her against him in the darkened hall, his hands sliding down to her hips and up again, then moving to cradle her face. Then he kissed her for the first time in a month, and suddenly cookie baking didn’t seem quite as much of a priority.

“What happened to our no-touching rule?” she asked, thinking how wonderful it felt to be in his arms again.

“I’m just giving you a little taste of what you could be experiencing right now if only you’d had your priorities straight tonight.”

“Well, the night’s not over yet, is it?”

“I sure hope you slept well last night, sweetheart, because you’re not getting a single wink tonight.”

While he still had her snugged against him, whispering a litany of truly provocative things, three faces peered around the door frame. When Ginny spied them over Cole’s shoulder, the women ducked into the kitchen, giggling like high-school girls.

“I can’t believe you’re behaving like this!” Ginny whispered.

“Yeah, and if we don’t get those cookies baked fast, you’re really going to see some outrageous behavior. Understand?”

Ginny took him seriously—so seriously, in fact, that when Cole finally let her go into the kitchen, she discovered that the pans would hold twenty cookies apiece.

While Cole was busy mixing up yet another batch of cookies, Darlene whispered to Ginny.

“All those good looks, and he bakes, too?”

“He just wanted to help out,” Ginny said.

“Unbelievable,” Loretta said. “I mean, really unbelievable. I remember what he was like in high school, you know.” She shook her head. “Ginny, I know what some of the people in this town have been saying about him. That he’s a criminal who got away with it, a bad apple and all that. But you know, I’ve just decided I don’t believe a word of it.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. Any man who’s as crazy about his wife as Cole is about you can’t be bad. Trust me. I’ve seen plenty of bad ones to know. And if I hear any more of that kind of talk, I intend to set the record straight.”

Darlene nodded. “Me, too.”

It wasn’t until this moment that Ginny realized the depth of the grudge the people of this town had been carrying. They’d assumed that Cole was guilty even though a jury had found him innocent, just because of what he’d been like as a teenager.

“Thanks,” Ginny said. “I appreciate that.”

“Hey,” Loretta said. “A bunch of us are going over to the Victorian home show in Marshall in a couple of weeks. Want to come along?”

Ginny smiled, feeling a surge of pure happiness. “I’d love to.”

It took another two hours, but finally the baking was done. Cole washed his hands for the last time and gave Ginny a look that said it was time to go now.

She felt a tingle of excitement. She knew Cole wasn’t in love with her, but still he desired her in a way she’d never expected any man would.

For tonight, that would have to be enough.

The moment they said their goodbyes and walked out of Rhonda’s house, Cole took Ginny by the arm.

“I want you to get into your car,” he commanded, “and stay right on my tail. No slowing down and absolutely no stopping anywhere. Do you understand?”

“Well, I was needing some laundry soap—”

“Forget the damned laundry! You follow me home right now!”

She really shouldn’t be teasing him, but she couldn’t help it. “Cole? Now, you’re not getting all bossy again, are you?”

He spun around, pointing a finger at her. “You bet your life I am! Forty dozen cookies say I have a right to be bossy! Is that clear?”

Ginny smiled furtively. “Yes. Perfectly clear.”

“Good.” He yanked open her car door and she got inside. He shut it behind her and got into his car. She loved the tone of his voice, even if it was bossy. Especially because it was bossy.

She smiled about it all the way home. But when they passed through the gates of the ranch, suddenly it struck her exactly what they were getting ready to do, and all at once she was having a hard time breathing.

They pulled up in front of the house. Cole leaped out of his car, opened her door, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. He led her by the hand up the porch steps. The moment they stepped inside the house, he turned and pulled her against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, desperate to feel his impatience finally unleashed into action. But instead of kissing her, he froze, staring at her.

“Cole? What’s the matter?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“Cole?”

“Ginny, this is…this is your first time.”

“Yes. I know.”

“You’ll remember it for the rest of your life, whether it’s good or bad—”

“Cole? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just that—”

“Do you want to do this or not?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“But what?”

He slipped away from her and paced toward the sofa. “I feel like somehow I’ve pushed you into this.”

“I’m the one who went on the pill. Remember?”

“Yes, I know, but still I pushed you, and—” He let out a breath of frustration. “Look. Ginny. If you don’t want to do this, you can tell me so, and I won’t say another word about it. I promise.”

She couldn’t believe it. Was this Cole McCallum talking? Where was the cockiness, the self-assurance, the arrogant overconfidence she’d come to know so well?

Gone, at least for now. One more layer of him was peeled away, exposing the man beneath, a man who cared about her, who wanted things right for her before they could ever be right for him. And it made her want him that much more.

She walked toward him. “Cole, I want this. I want you. Don’t you know that?”

“You say that now, but are you sure? It’ll change things, Ginny. You’ll feel differently afterward, and I’m not sure you’re ready for that.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just kiss me.”

After a moment of hesitation, he lowered his mouth to hers in a soft, gentle kiss. It was very nice, but Ginny wanted more. Much more.

She grabbed his shirt, pulled him down to her and kissed him. She put every ounce of feeling into it she could, using everything he’d ever taught her by example, telling him with every ounce of energy she had that she wanted him right here and right now. It was a kiss so hot and wild and intense that Cole couldn’t do anything but go along for the ride.

Finally she pulled away, still gripping his shirt. She wanted to see a hot flash of desire in his eyes. She wanted to see a man on the verge of sexual explosion. She wanted to see all his hesitancy disappear so she could finally experience what she’d dreamed about most of her adult life.

Instead, he smiled. “Ginny? Are you trying to tell me something?”

She yanked on his shirt. “Yes, damn it!”

His eyes flew open wide. “Yes…damn it?”

“What am I going to have to do to convince you? Rip your clothes off? Rip my clothes off? What?”

Cole blinked with surprise. Then a smile spread slowly across his face. “Can I have both?”

Ginny dropped her forehead against his chest. “What am I going to do with you?” she moaned.

“I’ll show you, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Right now.”

She looked at him, and there was nothing tentative about his gaze. He took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. He swept the covers away, then pulled her down to sit beside him. He reached for the hem of her sweater, but she pushed his hands away.

“No. It’s my turn.”

She unfastened two of his shirt buttons. He tugged his shirttail from his jeans, then reached for her again.

A streak of boldness suddenly overtook her. She nudged his hands away, then put her hands against his shoulders and eased him down onto his back. She sensed his surprise, and she was just as surprised herself, but still she unfastened button number three, and after taking a deep, shaky breath, she spread his shirt open and kissed his chest. She wasn’t at all sure it was the right thing to do, but then his eyes dropped closed and he sighed softly, giving no indication that he wanted her to stop. So she did it again with the next button, and the next, her heart beating more wildly the further down she went. He drew the sheet up in his hands, making tight fists, and she had the sudden empowering sensation that her kisses were exciting him. She unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, finishing with a kiss on his taut abdomen just above his belt buckle.

He exhaled softly. “That’s really nice, sweetheart. How about the cuffs?”

Ginny unbuttoned his cuffs. He sat up and shrugged out of the shirt, and the minute he was free of it, he grasped the hem of her sweater and pulled it off over her head. The cool air of the room hit her bare skin, but his hands were on her immediately, warming her everywhere he touched, and as soon as he unclasped her bra, his hands were there, too, stroking her with a delicious, featherlight touch.

He coaxed her to lie down, then stretched out beside her, lowering his mouth to hers in a hot, hungry kiss. She would have thought there couldn’t possibly be anything more to kissing than he’d already shown her, but to her delight, he hadn’t even scratched the surface yet.

After dozens of slow, deep, drugging kisses, he found the button on her jeans and undid it, then slid her zipper down. He pulled her jeans off, and she was shocked when he took her panties right along with them. Lying suddenly naked on the bed, she reached for the sheet to cover herself only to have him pull it out of her hand.

“No, you don’t,” he said. “I want to see all of you tonight.”

So she lay there, staring at him, and she might have felt really self-conscious if she hadn’t been so tuned in to Cole taking his jeans off. She watched as he peeled away his clothes and for the first time in her life she saw a totally naked man. In the flesh. In the most gorgeous, awe-inspiring, breathtaking flesh she’d ever seen.

Cole stretched out beside her again, his hands always moving, traveling down her body to stroke her hips, her thighs. Then she felt his hot breath against the side of her breast. He pressed a kiss there, then rose and flicked his tongue over her nipple.

Electricity shot through her. She writhed against him, but he trapped her with his hands and his body, teasing his tongue around her nipple, then doing the same to the other one. Her shock was matched only by the intense pleasure she felt, a deep pull of arousal that seemed to gather inside her, aching to be released.

“Cole?” she said, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Yes?”

“I want to touch you. Is that all right?”

“Is that all right?” He chuckled softly, finding it hard to imagine a scenario under which the answer to that question would be no. “Yes, sweetheart. That’s all right. Just where would you like to touch me?”

She turned her head and met his eyes, giving him a heavy-lidded look that told him the location as clearly as if she’d shouted it.

She placed her hand tentatively against his hip. He guided it downward until she’d wrapped it around his shaft. She squeezed gently, exhaling as she did, and Cole clenched his teeth.

Big mistake.

Her soft, delicate fingers exploring him, stroking the length of him, the breadth of him, were making him crazy.

“It’s big,” she whispered.

“That’s music to a man’s ears,” he said, a little breathlessly. “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?”

“Never.” Her voice was so soft, so awe-filled, so serious in response to his gentle teasing, that he thanked God he was the one here with her tonight instead of some other guy who might not know just how special she was.

She got a worried look on her face. “Are you sure it’ll—”

“What?”

She didn’t say anything for a long time.

“Fit.”

Cole smiled. He eased her onto her back. He smoothed a hand over her thigh, then moved it into the cleft between her legs. She gasped a little, but he touched his lips to hers in a calming kiss and moved his fingers deeper at the same time, delving into her wetness.

“Do you feel that, Ginny?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, sounding embarrassed. “I felt that before, in the bathroom that night. Is that, you know…”

“Normal?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just how things are supposed to be. It’s telling me you want me. And it’s why fitting won’t be a problem.”

Then she touched him again, more boldly this time, squeezing him with those soft, soft fingers, and he knew it was time. Now.

He rose onto his knees, then moved between her legs. A look of apprehension came over her face.

“Don’t be afraid, Ginny. I’m going to take it easy.”

“I’m not afraid.”

But he knew better. He could feel how nervous she was. He lowered himself to her, pressing against her without entering her, kissing her at the same time, waiting until he felt some of her tension drain away. Then he rose again and pulled her knees up. He came forward a bit and stopped, poised at her opening.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his breathing almost obscuring his words, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I might, but if I do, it’ll only be for a moment.”

Then he slid into her. She gasped sharply.

“Ginny? Should I stop?”

“No!” she said, clutching his shoulders. “Don’t stop! Please! I want to feel it!”

He continued moving inside her, slowly at first, trying so hard to be gentle. To his surprise, after a moment he felt her hips move, and soon she’d caught his rhythm. Her eyes drifted closed, and her breathing accelerated. He thrust a little harder, a little faster, trying to hold back at the same time he wanted to fill her completely. A fire burned deep inside him, pulsing in sync with his thrusts and the rocking of her hips.

“Ah, Ginny…”

His voice was nothing but a raspy whisper. He couldn’t say what he wanted to, anyway. He had no words for it. The closeness he felt to her was overpowering, the feeling of being inside her, thrusting, possessing, needing her so much—how could he possibly explain that to her?

She moaned softly. “Cole, I feel…like before—”

“Ginny, you’re so tight, I don’t know if I can—”

“Please, Cole,” she breathed. “More. Now.”

He thrust faster, deeper, still fighting the inevitable, and a moment later he heard her sharp intake of breath. She froze, her body clamping hard around him. A flash of indescribable pleasure overtook him, and in the same moment he realized that she was there with him, clutching him, crying out, rocking hard against him, and he held her tightly as they rode the waves of pleasure together.

After the last tremors had finally subsided, he slid out of her, fell to one side and pulled her into his arms. She burrowed against him, her breathing still harsh and irregular, but as he caressed her in long, calming strokes, slowly it returned to normal. He thought maybe he ought to say something, but she lay so peacefully against him that he couldn’t bear to speak.

The very idea that he’d ever thought her plain or unattractive was inconceivable to him now. Her hair shimmered in the dim light, and her eyes, with their flecks of gold, sparkled like rare jewels. She had the sweetest, softest little body he’d ever touched, round in all the right places, seemingly made just for him.

They drifted off to sleep, their legs tangled, their naked bodies twined together. A vague thought floated through his mind that he’d never made love to a woman without having had the urge to bolt the minute it was over. But now a feeling of complete contentment overcame him, and if he had his way, he knew he would lie here with Ginny forever.

THE NEXT MORNING Ginny woke to bright sunlight filtering through the curtains. She was lying on her back with Cole’s arm draped carelessly across her just beneath her breasts.

You’ll feel differently afterward, and I’m not sure you’re ready for that.

She quietly pushed back the covers, leaving him sleeping, then went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. For a full five minutes, she leaned against the shower wall, water streaming down her body as she fought the wonderful, terrible feeling that Cole was right.

She was in love with him.

No, she couldn’t be. After all, she didn’t even know what that felt like. Lust she knew. She’d felt enough of that in the past couple of months that she’d recognize it anywhere, anytime. But love? What did that feel like?

As if she wanted to stay in his arms forever. As if she wanted to lie in bed with him every night of her life. As if she didn’t see him again this minute, she just might perish on the spot.

After a moment, she turned off the shower, then pulled back the curtain. Cole was waiting for her.

Naked.

He smiled. “Good morning.”

Before she could step out of the shower, he stepped in. He turned on the water again, swept her into his arms, his hands and his lips everywhere at once. And before long, all her apprehension melted away.

You’re a silly little fool. You’d fall in love with any man who made love to you for the first time.

She tried to make herself believe that. Tried so hard, because then it would have been easier to convince herself that when the end of their time together came, she shouldn’t give Cole another thought.

But she knew it was more than that. In the past few months, she’d seen past the face he showed to the world and had looked right into his heart, whether he’d planned on revealing it to her or not.

And that was the man she’d fallen in love with.

14

NOVEMBER on the ranch brought the final disappearance of fall colors, with brilliant orange and yellow giving way to bare tree branches and pale-brown grassland. They were preparing for winter, bringing horses in from outer pastures, stocking up on hay. Fortunately, late fall also meant cooler temperatures, which Cole welcomed.

He came home one evening to find Ginny sitting at the kitchen table, writing on a pad of paper while something bubbled on the stove. He’d had a hard day hauling hay, and all he could think about right now was getting a shower, having dinner and dragging Ginny to bed.

She turned around with a bright smile. “How would you like to go camping?”

Cole stopped dead in his tracks. Camping? He couldn’t think of anything he’d like to do less.

“We could go this weekend. Stay Friday and Saturday nights. We could camp and fish and have cookouts and watch the sunset and all that other outdoor stuff. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Actually, no. It sounded like hell on earth. “Come on, Ginny. I spend all day every day outdoors. Indoors the rest of the time suits me just fine.”

“But I’ve never been camping before. I really want to go. I’ve made a list right here of everything we’ll need.”

“Where’d you get such an idea?”

“I saw the camping gear down at the barn, and Murphy said it’d be okay if we used it.”

Murphy. He should have known. Was that man destined to be a thorn in his side for the rest of his life? Ginny was looking at him with that sweet little expression of hope, the one that said he would feel like a heel if he said no.

“So?” Ginny said. “Do you want to go?”

“Do you have any idea how cold the nights are this time of year?”

“We’ll make a fire. And sleep in a tent. Murphy says the sleeping bags will keep us warm even in subzero temperatures.”

“Friday and Saturday night?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She eased next to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Does the tent have soundproof walls?”

Ginny drew back. “Do they have those on tents?”

“Do you think we’ll need them?”

“We’ll be way out in the middle of nowhere.” She grinned. “Maybe.”

“Then I’ll go.”

ON FRIDAY it was nearly dark by the time they arrived at the lake. They found a secluded clearing, set up the tent and built a fire. They roasted some hot dogs, then sat on a blanket by the fire to eat.

“This is so good,” Ginny said, starting on her second hot dog. “I never knew something could taste so wonderful cooked over a fire. Oh! And I brought the stuff for s’mores. I’ve never had those before, but I can’t imagine not liking them. With graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate they can’t help but be good, right?”

She was having such a wonderful time that pretty soon Cole caught her enthusiasm and decided a little trek into the wilderness hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all.

After they ate, Cole threw another log on the fire, and Ginny snuggled close to him. She’d changed so much over these past few weeks, going from naive virgin to eager lover, and he couldn’t get enough of her. At the same time he knew that it was going to come to an end in a few weeks and they’d be going their separate ways. He had a life to pursue, and so did she. But was there any reason they couldn’t enjoy their time together until then?

“Time for bed,” Cole said.

“Bed? It’s only eight-thirty!”

“Is there something you’d rather do?”

Ginny smiled. “Can’t think of a thing.”

They picked up things around the campsite, then went into the tent. Cole pulled the tent flap down and zipped it, then turned to Ginny.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Time to get naked.”

“Are you kidding? It’s fifty degrees in here!”

“Ah, but you should have thought of that when you invited me on a camping trip. Did you think I’d actually let you stay bundled up like Nanook of the North?” He grinned. “Off with it.”

Ginny looked a little shy, but to her credit, she rose to the challenge. Off came her coat. Then her boots. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head, then dropped her jeans to the floor of the tent.

“Cole,” she said. “You’re staring at me.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I’m freezing!”

He dropped his gaze a bit. “I can tell.”

Ginny glared at him. “You’re downright lecherous.”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

She quickly removed her bra and panties, then dived into the double sleeping bag, yanking it over her. As Cole started taking off his clothes, she gave him a lecherous grin of her own.

Moments later he was bundled up inside the sleeping bag with her. To his surprise, she pushed him onto his back and kissed him, a long, lingering kiss with her breasts pressed firmly to his chest. He’d gotten a little worked up watching her subzero striptease, and the feel of her warm, naked body next to his was turning up the heat even more. She continued to kiss him, her hand roaming across his chest, his abdomen. Then she slipped her hand lower and caressed him in the most intimate way possible, squeezing gently, rubbing slowly up and down, sending him halfway to heaven in a matter of seconds.

He couldn’t believe this was the same woman who hadn’t experienced so much as a kiss only a few short months ago. He also couldn’t believe he was on the verge of losing it and she’d barely even touched him.

“Whoa,” he said, pulling his lips away from hers and taking her hand in his.

“What?”

“I’m getting a little too excited here, sweetheart.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

He laughed. “No, it’s not a bad thing—”

“Then hush.”

Cole was in awe of what this woman could do to him with a single word, a single touch. She’d become a willing pupil who didn’t think twice about teaching the teacher a thing or two, and he loved every minute of it. She began touching him again, and all she wanted him to do was lie back and let it happen. But he had no intention of letting things go at that.

He rose and eased her onto her back. She reached for him, urging him to move on top of her, but instead he pressed her thighs apart and moved between them, rubbing his hands upward in slow circles toward the apex of her thighs. He eased his fingers into her cleft, and she closed her eyes and sighed softly. She felt so hot and wet that he could have entered her and she would have been ready for him, but he had other things in mind. He moved his hand upward, found the place she was the most sensitive and lingered there, touching her, rubbing her…kissing her.

Her eyes sprang open. “Cole—”

She squirmed against him. He held her hips steady. “Relax, sweetheart,” he whispered, dropping a gentle kiss just below her navel. “It’s okay. Really. It’s perfectly normal, I promise you.”

“I know,” she said breathlessly, every muscle in her body suddenly tense. “I—I was at the library the other day, and there was this book….”

He touched her with his tongue, swirling it enticingly.

“I—I learned a few things about stuff like this, but—”

He stroked her with his tongue.

“I never thought you’d actually—”

He closed his mouth over her and sucked gently. Her whole body stiffened.

“Good heavens!”

Her voice was filled with wonder, and Cole couldn’t help smiling. She seemed to be ready to bolt and dying for him to continue all at the same time, putting her in a state of such heightened awareness he could almost hear her body hum. The fact that she’d been doing a little self-study pleased him to no end. And he wanted to please her to no end.

He continued to tease his tongue over her, caressing her thighs at the same time. Her hands fluttered against his shoulders as if she were unsure where to put them, but then slowly he felt her fingers tighten. Her accelerated breathing became harsh and needy. Instead of shifting uneasily back and forth, she began to move subtly with his rhythm, arching her hips to meet him. She moaned softly, rolling her head in a semicircle, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Cole…”

He increased the pressure, clasping her thighs in his hands, loving the hot, silky sound of her voice as she spoke his name.

“Cole, no…not yet…”

He continued.

“No…please…”

He had no intention of stopping.

“Cole!”

Before he knew what was happening, she’d squirmed away from him, sat up suddenly and pushed him onto his back. She put her leg over his thighs to sit astride him. And it shocked the hell out of him.

She stared at him, her hands against his shoulders. “I want you inside me,” she said, her breath coming so hard she was barely able to speak. “We have to do it together.”

He must have still looked shocked, because she gave him a smile and said, “It’s okay, Cole. It’s perfectly normal. I promise you.”

He laughed, thrilled that his repressed little virgin was no longer repressed in the least. “This book you read was in the Coldwater Public Library?”

“Yes. Can you believe it?”

“Just for the record, I’ll take you to the library anytime you want to go.”

She shifted slightly, then lowered herself slowly, slowly onto him. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her down until he was deep inside her. She began to move, sliding up and down on his shaft, easing into a slow, seductive rhythm that took his breath away.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Just like that.”

He took her breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently, then stroked his thumbs across her nipples. They felt like hard little pebbles. That told him it was probably cold in the tent, but what Ginny was doing to him was making him feel hot all the way to the bone. She ran her hands down his arms to his shoulders and back up again, still moving, always moving, giving him pleasure at the same time she was seeking her own.

“Cole…”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard an undercurrent of pure excitement. Her eyes were squeezed closed, her cheeks flushed pink, her windblown hair framing her head like a tangled halo. He clamped his hands onto her hips and urged her harder, faster, losing himself in the mindless pleasure of their bodies moving as if they’d been born to make love together. Until now, it hadn’t much mattered whom he was with because it had been about pure sexual release and nothing else. So why with Ginny did it feel like so much more?

Her breathing became deep and raspy, her movements urgent, and soon he could tell her climax was only moments away. Heat pooled in his groin, stoked by the sound of her voice, the feel of her body moving on top of his. Then all at once she cried out his name, driving down on him again, her body convulsing, and that’s all it took to push him over the edge with her.

He pulled her down and tightened his arms around her, her breasts crushed against his chest, groaning at the sudden, indescribable sensation that had exploded inside him. She shuddered in his arms, moaning softly, which only added fuel to his fire and made his climax seem to go on forever.

She lay on top of him for a long time afterward, his arms encircling her. They were still joined together, her cheek against his shoulder. Finally she fell to one side, and he pulled her into his arms.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” she said. “I mean, I saw it in the book, but—”

“How many pages were in that book?”

“I don’t know. Maybe two hundred.”

“Did you read it all?”

“Not yet. I was too chicken to check it out.”

“How far did you get?”

“Page one hundred and forty.”

“Are you planning on finishing it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Will you be demonstrating what’s in those last sixty pages?”

Ginny smiled. “Only if you want me to.”

“Oh, I want you to, sweetheart. Believe me.”

She snuggled next to him, and he pulled the sleeping bag around them, wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth. Her eyes slowly drifted closed. He stared at her in awe, still unable to believe just how beautiful she was and how blind he must have been not to see that. It was beauty unlike any he’d ever expected to find in a woman—naïveté and innocence wrapped in joy and enthusiasm and pure goodness, and suddenly sex didn’t seem like just sex anymore, but a connection he’d never felt with anyone else.

It’s because you’ve been around her longer than you’ve ever been around a woman before. Of course you’d start to feel something. It’s called friendship. You’re friends. That’s all. Friends who have lots of hot sex, but friends just the same. And soon even that will be over.

They had fewer than two weeks together left. He felt a rush of regret, then chased the feeling away, focusing instead on the moment at hand, because when it came right down to it, that was the only thing that was real. He’d known from the start, just as Ginny had, that this would be coming to an end.

Because nothing, no matter how good it was, could possibly last forever.

15

THE NEXT DAY, Ginny was still reeling from her night of lovemaking with Cole, blushing when she thought about the things they’d done, and for just a moment when she woke, she almost couldn’t look at him. She was afraid that in the light of day he would think she was some kind of sex-crazed hussy to allow such things, to do such things. But then he smiled at her, a broad, dazzling smile that told her not only had he liked what they’d done together last night, he would be willing to do it again anytime she said the word.

After a leisurely breakfast, he taught her the basics of fishing, a sport she decided she could do without. Well, holding the pole was okay, and watching the little red-and-white bobber thing, and turning the little knob to pull a fish to shore, but baiting the hook and taking the fish off the hook were tasks she left to Cole. In the end it was all pretty pointless anyway, since she felt sorry for every fish they caught and insisted he throw them all back. Nevertheless she got to sit with Cole beside that lake and talk to him when the fish weren’t biting, which was most of the time. Suddenly fishing didn’t seem so bad, after all.

They relaxed all afternoon, taking a walk along a two-mile nature trail they found. They spent a surprising amount of time at the lakeshore, skipping rocks off the water. Ginny thoroughly enjoyed herself, refusing to think about the fact that their time together would be over before she knew it.

Cole seemed to grow quieter as the day wore on, and when evening came and dinner was over, there were long moments when he did nothing but pull her close to him and stare into the fire. And when they finally slipped into their tent together, he drew her into his arms without a word and made love to her with a sweet intensity that took her breath away.

Afterward they lay together, tucked inside the sleeping bag, Ginny’s head resting on Cole’s shoulder.

“So,” Ginny said softly. “I guess you’ll be selling the ranch pretty soon.”

Cole sighed. That was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. “Yeah. I guess I will.”

“And that means the horses, too?”

“Yeah, the horses, too.”

“Can I buy Sunday from you?”

“What?”

“I was thinking maybe I could find a stable in Austin and keep her there. I know I’ll miss riding, and she’s such a sweet horse—”

“Ginny, if you want her, she’s yours. Saddle, bridle, whatever you want. You can have one of the horse trailers, too. How would that be?”

“That’d be wonderful. Thank you.”

She acted as if it was a big favor he was doing her, but to him it seemed like such a small thing after all they’d been through together. There was the twenty-five thousand, but that was money. An impersonal pile of cash. He’d already been thinking about what it was going to be like to hand her that check, and it made him feel very uneasy.

“So what are you planning to do when you get back to Dallas?” she asked. “Invest in that apartment complex?”

“Probably. Among other things.”

“I guess you’re pretty good at making money.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You know, you’ve been telling me lately that I need to start looking at myself differently so I can be something more.” She rose on her elbows and stared at him. “How about you, Cole? When are you going to start looking at yourself differently so you can have more out of life?”

“I’ve already had it all, Ginny. I lost it, but it wasn’t my fault. And the minute I get some seed money back in my hands, I’m going to—”

“Money? Do you think that’s what I’m talking about? Don’t define yourself that way, Cole. There’s more to life than that.”

“Maybe, but money makes life a whole lot easier. Believe me. If you have enough of it, nobody can touch you.”

“Maybe it’s time you let somebody touch you.”

He had the sudden uncanny sense that Ginny could see right inside him, and he didn’t like the feeling. He gave her a cocky smile.

“Sure, sweetheart. Touch me all you want to.”

Ginny sat up suddenly. “Stop it, Cole.”

“What’s the matter? I was only joking.”

“Well, cut it out.”

He sat up beside her. “I don’t get it. What’s wrong?”

“Anytime I mention something you don’t want to talk about, you find a way to squirm out of it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Don’t believe me? Then tell me about your grandmother. Why did you visit her only four times in ten years?”

Cole blinked with surprise. “Who told you that?”

“Murphy.”

“That figures,” he said, lying down again.

“Answer the question.”

He started to tell her once again that it was none of her business, but suddenly his heart was beating rapidly, and he had a dry, harsh feeling in his throat. He swallowed hard, but the feeling remained.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

“Did you love her?”

“Yes, of course I did.”

“Then why didn’t you come back to see her more often?”

She was going to think he was stonewalling again, but the truth was he honestly didn’t know.

“Cole, there must be some reason—”

“I told you. I don’t know.”

“Murphy says it was nothing but ingratitude.”

“You need to stop talking to Murphy.”

“I think you were afraid to go see her.”

“Afraid? Hardly. Murphy didn’t intimidate me any more then than he does now.”

“Murphy had nothing to do with it.”

Cole suddenly felt hot, even though the temperature in the tent couldn’t possibly have been more than fifty-five degrees. “What do you think, then?” he asked with a hollow laugh. “That I was afraid of my grandmother?”

“Yes. In a way I think you were.”

“That’s crazy.”

Ginny slipped her hand over his. “After your father and your mother were gone, I think you were afraid that nobody could possibly love you. You didn’t believe that somebody would ever be there for you tomorrow just like they were there for you today. So no matter how much your grandmother showed you she loved you, you were always waiting for the other shoe to fall.”

Cole stared at the ceiling of the tent, his heart racing. All at once he felt now as he’d felt then, that all-encompassing pain and disbelief that had swept over him when he’d been told that his father—the only parent he had left—had been thrown in jail, leaving him with nobody. And then his grandmother had stepped in, showering him with more love and affection than he’d ever known. But every bit of experience he’d had told him anything that wonderful couldn’t possibly be real, and if by some chance it was, it couldn’t possibly last.

“So you were afraid to come back,” Ginny said. “Afraid if you came to see her again, that other shoe would fall. You’d find out she had abandoned you, just as everybody else in your life had.”

“My grandmother never would have done that.”

“Logically you knew that, but logic isn’t always what drives us, is it? And actually, in a way she did abandon you. She died. Whether it was her fault or not, one day she just wasn’t there for you anymore.”

Cole was suddenly caught in a whirlwind of memories. His grandmother in her kitchen, feeding him, talking to him, pretending whatever reprimand he’d gotten at school that day was water under the bridge. And then that awful day years later when Murphy had called to tell him she’d had a stroke. He remembered driving ninety miles an hour on I-20, trying to get to the hospital, only to find her dead by the time he got there. And there was Murphy, staring at him accusingly, as though somehow it had been his fault.

After the funeral came the will. He hadn’t understood a bit of that, why his grandmother had done what she’d done, and his confusion had made him so defensive that when he finally left town, he and Murphy had been only one angry remark away from an all-out brawl.

He remembered everything that had happened. What he’d hidden away was how he’d felt about it, that gut-wrenching sensation of being alone in the world again. Somehow he’d shut all that out, but here it was again, and it just about tore him apart.

“I was seven years old when my mother left,” he told Ginny, feeling as if he were in a daze, as if somebody’s else’s words were coming out of his mouth. “I got home from school one day and nobody was there. I sat there crying for two hours until my father got home. He searched their bedroom, realized she was gone, then came into the kitchen and told me to stop crying, that we were better off without her. Then he pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the cabinet, got drunk and passed out. I never saw my mother again.”

He glanced at Ginny and saw tears in her eyes. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want sympathy. He just wanted…

Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted. He pulled Ginny into his arms. He had the most irrational feeling that as long as he held her, the pain might go away. She rested her palm against his chest under the blankets, moving her thumb back and forth in calm, soothing strokes.

“My grandmother,” he whispered. “I never told her I loved her.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ginny said. “I have a feeling she always knew.”

Cole rose on one elbow and stared at Ginny, holding on to a tiny shred of hope that maybe she was right. He slipped his hand behind her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair, then drew her close for a long, lingering kiss.

He felt his body stir, and he couldn’t believe that so soon after making love he was ready to do it again. As he took Ginny into his arms, he had loose, fragmented thoughts of how warm she felt against him, how soft and enticing she was and how he’d come to depend on her so much. And somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he saw a dim light, a faint beacon calling him to a place he’d never been before.

Tell her. Tell her you love her.

The words swirled around inside his head, floating like an apparition but never quite taking hold. He’d felt bits and pieces of them for a long time, always shoving them to the back of his mind, but still they were there—in every stolen glance, in every moment of silent togetherness, in every satisfied sigh in the dark.

He’d told himself for a long time that his relationship with Ginny was just sex, that in the end it was no more permanent than it had been with any other woman he’d held in his arms. But later as they lay together, totally exhausted and on the very edge of sleep, the words came to him again.

Tell her you love her.

No. It was just an illusion. A dream. He was dreaming about a forever kind of love like a man dying of thirst dreams of water. He wants it so desperately that when he sees a mirage in the distance, he crawls toward it, filled with hope, only to have those hopes shatter when he finally reaches it and realizes it was never real in the first place. And Cole knew he’d rather die of thirst than risk touching that mirage only to pull his hand back to find nothing but sand slipping through his fingers.

THE NEXT MORNING they headed back to the ranch. Cole was quiet all the way home, as he had been all morning, and Ginny knew he was thinking about last night. She’d made him face some things he hadn’t wanted to, and she wasn’t completely sure he was happy about it.

Maybe she’d pushed him too hard, but it was so easy to see how much he was hurting and how badly he needed to talk about it. If she had known he was going to give her the cold shoulder, though, she wasn’t sure she would have said anything, no matter how much he needed to talk. Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted nothing to get in the way of them enjoying every minute of the time they had left together.

In the tent last night, she’d asked him about Sunday because she really did want the horse, but deep down she’d also wanted to make absolutely sure his plans to sell the ranch still stood. They did. He’d made it clear from the beginning they’d be splitting up in six months. She’d even signed a contract that said so. So why was she despondent now?

Because you love him.

She had to get that out of her mind. She might be in love with him, but he’d made it clear she was nothing more than a stopover for him. He would be moving on again. She felt a little choked up at the thought of that, then chastised herself. What had she expected, anyway? That he would fall madly in love with her and want to be with her forever?

After they arrived home and he still seemed withdrawn, Ginny wondered if she should say something to him—ask him what was wrong, apologize for coming on so strong last night—something. But in the end she said nothing, and by the time they sat down that afternoon to watch football, he seemed to have come back to life a little bit, and she decided he needed a little time to let it all soak in.

He got up during halftime, leaving Ginny sitting on the sofa, and a minute later she heard him call to her from the bedroom. She went to the doorway to find him sitting on the bed, his back to her.

“Yes?”

“Come over here.”

She walked to the bed.

“Sit down.”

His voice was cold. Commanding. She sat down beside him, and for the first time she realized he was holding something.

Her pill case.

For a moment, Ginny couldn’t breathe. It had been here all weekend. She’d forgotten to take it with her.

“According to this,” Cole said, “you’ve missed two days. Is that right?”

“I—I guess I have,” she murmured. She swallowed hard. “What if—”

“No,” Cole said. “Don’t even think it.”

“It’s…possible.”

Cole let out a harsh breath, then tossed the pills on the nightstand. “I can’t believe you forgot!”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Sorry? You’re sorry? Is that all you can say?”

Ginny flinched, tears coming to her eyes.

“A week and a half away,” he muttered. “A week and a half…”

A week and a half. He was talking about the rest of their time together as if he was on the verge of being released from prison, only to be looking at the possibility of getting stuck with a life sentence.

He stood up and strode to the dresser, then turned back, a strange glint in his eyes. “Are you sure you just forgot?”

Ginny blinked. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

When it finally dawned on her what he meant, she was so startled that for a moment she couldn’t speak.

“I would never—” She took a deep, angry breath. “You know I would never do that to you!”

“Do I? Twenty-five thousand dollars is one thing, Ginny. Half of this ranch is another thing entirely.”

Ginny was so flabbergasted she barely knew what to say. “You think I’m trying to trap you into staying married?”

He looked at her coldly. “You wouldn’t be the first one to try it.”

How could he say these things to her? How? After everything they’d meant to each other?

Or maybe she’d just imagined that. His face was so cold and dark she felt as if she were looking at a stranger.

“I—I can’t believe you’re saying these things.”

“And I can’t believe I bought all that talk about your being so afraid of getting pregnant. If you’d been so afraid, Ginny, you wouldn’t have forgotten.”

“But I did forget! They were here in the bedroom because I took them every evening when I went to bed so I wouldn’t forget, but when I was getting ready to go camping, all my other stuff was in the bathroom, and…and I just forgot!”

“And you’re telling me that for two days you didn’t even think about it?”

She hadn’t. Not once. She’d been having such a wonderful time, in an atmosphere so different from home, that she just hadn’t remembered until the moment she looked down and saw him holding the pills.

“Maybe you didn’t read the fine print in our prenuptial agreement. Under no circumstances are you entitled to one dime from the proceeds of the sale of this ranch.”

She was horrified. “Is that what you think? That I want your money?”

“Sure you do. Twenty-five thousand dollars at the very least.”

“You can keep your twenty-five thousand dollars!”

“Oh, I can? Well, if you don’t want that, then what do you want?”

He glared at her, challenging her, daring her to spell out her real motives. He had absolutely no idea what she was thinking, what she’d been thinking for weeks now, what she’d been dying to tell him but just hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.

“You, Cole. That’s what I want.”

The truth. She whispered it so softly that the words were barely audible. She hadn’t completely crystallized it in her mind until this very moment, until the prospect of tomorrow without him became so painfully real.

“It’s all I’ve wanted for the longest time. Just you.”

His face remained impassive. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not buying that. The average woman has her eyes on my wallet from day one and never lets it out of her sight.”

“That’s because the average woman isn’t in love with you.”

The air between them became deathly still. For the count of three, neither of them spoke, and just for a moment, his expression betrayed him. She saw a light in his eyes, an opening, a way to reach inside him. But just as quickly his expression hardened again, his face shrouded in cynicism.

“So you’re in love with me,” he said with a small, humorless laugh. “I guess you haven’t been paying attention, have you? We’ve been stuck together in this one-horse town for so long that you’ve forgotten who I really am. I’m the guy who talked you into marriage for his own financial gain. I’m the guy most people think just might be guilty of arson. I’m the guy who thinks nothing of having a different woman in his bed every night. Now, maybe I’ve put all that aside for a while, but in the long run, it’s who I am, and if you’re smart, you’ll never forget that.”

Ginny tried hard not to cry, but tears welled in her eyes. She felt dizzy, as if she couldn’t get enough air to breathe, as if the bedroom were rocking back and forth. This wasn’t the Cole she knew. Why was he acting like this? Why? They’d been so close, and now…

That was it.

All at once she remembered everything he’d said last night in the tent, and the answer came to her in a rush of understanding.

For weeks now, as he’d grown closer and closer to her, sharing things with her he’d never shared with anyone else, making love with her, knowing she cared about him…

He’d been waiting for the other shoe to fall.

He’d trusted her. For one of the few times in his life, he’d given a piece of his heart away, and right now he was absolutely certain she’d taken advantage of that. Even if she hadn’t this time, it was inevitable, so he figured he might as well end it now. And in the event she actually was so misguided to think she might be in love with him, he’d reminded her of what a rotten person he was so there was no way she could ever have that misconception again.

“But don’t worry,” Cole added. “If you’re pregnant, I’ll take legal responsibility. You’ll have all the financial support you need.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “So we’re back to money again?”

“It’s what makes the world go around.”

“Tell me, Cole. If your father had given you money, would that have been enough?”

Cole’s eyes grew cold and bitter. He turned and headed for the bedroom door.

“Cole?”

He turned back.

“If you were looking for an excuse to drive me away, this one was as good as any, wasn’t it?”

“It’s over, Ginny. In a week and a half, we’ll be divorced. You’ll go your way, and I’ll go mine. And that’ll be that.”

16

TWO HOURS LATER, Ginny sat at Rhonda’s kitchen table, tissues close at hand. Two suitcases sat next to the refrigerator. They contained everything she’d been able to stuff inside them on short notice.

After Cole had left the house, she’d felt so lost and alone she called Rhonda, who had offered to let her stay with her as long as she needed to. Ginny was thankful for that, because she knew she couldn’t look at the accusation in Cole’s eyes anymore. As misguided as he was, still he believed she’d betrayed him, and nothing would ever change his mind.

She’d told Rhonda everything, from the night at the Lone Wolf to her encounter with Cole in the bedroom today and everything in between.

“Please don’t say anything about this to anyone else,” she begged Rhonda once the story was told. “Murphy doesn’t want anyone to know about the will, and—and I don’t want anyone to know about it, either.”

“You know you can trust me, Ginny. I won’t say anything to anyone. I swear I won’t.”

Ginny put her hand to her abdomen. Rhonda had called a clinic to find out how far along she had to be before a pregnancy test would be accurate, and they told her to come in in a week to ten days. The odds were probably against it, but what if it really were true? She already knew how Cole felt about it. He’d give her money for support. Nothing more. But he’d never promised himself. Not in any way. Not from the first time she’d made this deal with him until this very minute. And if she’d ever thought otherwise, she’d been sadly mistaken.

“Cole will take responsibility, won’t he?” Rhonda asked.

“Oh, yeah. No problem. He said he’d give me all the money I need.”

Ginny buried her face in her hands and the tears came again. Rhonda patted her arm. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

There was one part of her story she’d left out, though it appeared Rhonda had already guessed the essence of it anyway—the part where she’d told Cole she loved him.

Why had she done that? Why? Now, for the rest of her life, she would look back on the moment and feel humiliated, always seeing that look in his eyes that said she was some kind of deluded little fool.

She wanted so desperately to make him believe she hadn’t betrayed him, but she knew how hopeless that would be. He’d grown up in a situation where everyone he’d ever loved turned their backs on him. By the time he found his grandmother, he was so emotionally fragile he couldn’t even tell her he loved her. And now ten more years had hardened him into a man nobody could touch.

Not even Ginny.

WHEN COLE returned to the house three hours later, Ginny was gone.

He came into the kitchen. Total silence, except for the wall clock ticking. He saw a note on the table.

I’ll be at Rhonda’s. Ginny.

He supposed she’d done that so he wouldn’t worry about her.

He tossed the note on the table and sank into a kitchen chair. He’d been so angry when he left the house he’d wanted desperately to hit something. Instead he’d taken his anger out on the accelerator of his car, and right now he considered himself lucky he hadn’t wrapped his car around a tree.

But, no, he’d managed to get home in one piece. As if anyone gave a damn.

He sat in the kitchen for several minutes, the only sound that infernal clock ticking. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he got up, pulled it off the wall, yanked the battery out of it and tossed both the battery and the clock in the trash can. Then he returned to the table and wished he’d left it ticking.

The silence was worse.

She told me she loved me.

Love. The most meaningless word in the English language. Of course she would tell him that—she wanted his money. Any woman would when the payoff was that big. And what was a little pregnancy, too, compared to that kind of loot?

It had been a mirage, after all. A bone-dry handful of sand.

He didn’t feel angry anymore. He just felt numb. He knew this kitchen had once been filled with warmth and laughter, but for the life of him, he couldn’t feel it now. He tried to remember what it had been like to kiss Ginny, to hear her voice, to feel her body beneath his, to hear her crying out with pleasure, but it was as if his entire nervous system had shut down, leaving him feeling…nothing.

It was just as well, because the woman he’d felt something for had tried to use him, maybe even worse than he’d used her. He laughed a little at that, a harsh, hollow laugh that sounded empty to his ears.

Somehow he would get through this next week and a half. Then he would put the ranch on the market, hit I-20 and head to Dallas. With luck he would never have to set foot in Coldwater, Texas, again.

IT TOOK Murphy two days to realize something was up.

Cole showed up at the barn one morning and was met with the old man’s stony stare.

“Where’s Ginny?”

Cole heaved a bale of hay into the breezeway of the barn, wishing Murphy would go away and leave him alone. That’s all he wanted. Just to be left alone.

“She’s at work, I imagine.”

“No. I mean she hasn’t been around the barn in a few days, and come to think of it, I haven’t seen her car, either.”

Cole clipped the bale open with a pair of wire cutters and tossed some in a hayrack in one of the stalls. “She’s staying with a friend for a little while.”

Murphy took a threatening step forward. “What did you do to her?”

Cole spun around. “What did I do to her? What do you mean, what did I do to her? She’s staying with a friend. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

He turned away and took a deep, silent breath, knowing he’d spoken too loudly and too angrily. But the old man shouldn’t be sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

“There’s obviously more to it than that,” Murphy said.

“Even if there is, it’s none of your business.”

“Yeah, I think it is my business. I know how you’ve been using Ginny, and why. She’s so young, and naive—”

“She knew the score going in.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure you made a rock-solid argument with her. You bought yourself a wife for twenty-five thousand dollars. I don’t know all the details, but I’m betting the deal was pretty cold. You even got her to sign a contract, didn’t you?”

Cole looked away.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’ve never lied to Ginny. Never.”

“Not in so many words, you haven’t. But I’ve seen the two of you together down at the barn lately. I can tell—”

“Stop it, Murphy.”

“—that there’s something between you. And the fact that you’re acting as if there isn’t—”

“There’s nothing between Ginny and me! I don’t want anything to do with her!”

“Good God!” Murphy shouted. “Some men wait their whole lives for a woman to look at them the way she looks at you! Are you blind?”

Cole recoiled, Murphy’s words striking him like a hammer blow. All the sudden images of Ginny’s face floated through his mind, that sweet, sweet face that looked at him as no other woman ever had before. With kindness. With compassion.

With love, if there was such a thing.

“I can’t settle down,” Cole said, suddenly a little shaky. “I don’t even want to try. I’ve got business in Dallas—”

“Oh, yeah. It’s always the next deal, isn’t it? That’s the most important thing to you.” Murphy spat into the dust. “You’re just like your father. And sooner or later—”

Cole took a double fistful of Murphy’s shirt and shoved him against a stall door. “Don’t you ever say that to me again. I’m nothing like my father!”

Murphy glared at him. “He always had a temper, too. Couldn’t control it any better than you can.”

Cole slowly released his hold on Murphy’s shirt and backed away, trembling with anger.

Murphy stared at Cole long and hard. “The only reason I’ve played along with this charade so far is because Edna wanted me to, no matter what, as long as you technically fulfilled the terms of the will. But Ginny’s gone now. That means you’re not living together anymore. By all rights I can shut this deal down anytime I want to. Now, you could take me to court, but once it comes out how you manipulated the situation—”

“Then why don’t you do it? Just do it! Pull the plug on this whole deal. Keep the ranch yourself, sell it, burn it. I just don’t give a damn. But don’t you dare bring up Ginny’s name to me again!”

Murphy met his angry gaze head-on. “I don’t know exactly what you did to that girl, but I’m glad she had the smarts to leave. She deserves somebody a whole lot better than you. And I hope to hell she finds him.”

Murphy turned and stalked out of the barn, leaving Cole standing there breathing hay dust and hating him more with every breath he took.

Because the old man was right.

LATE THAT NIGHT, Cole sat at the kitchen table, opening the envelope that contained his and Ginny’s marriage license. He looked at the stamp on it from the Clark County Courthouse, and the signatures of the proprietors of Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love. Then there was Ginny’s signature—tiny, feminine and reserved. A signature that mirrored her personality exactly.

He tossed it aside and picked up their contract. Pages and pages of legalese he’d paid an attorney to draw up that even he didn’t completely understand. It had been intended as intimidation as much as anything else. He’d wanted to insure that whatever woman he married wouldn’t step out of line and that he had complete control of the situation.

Suddenly he had no control of the situation at all.

Pregnancy. Ginny might be pregnant. Which meant he would be a father.

That scared him. Scared him more than anything in his life ever had. Just the word conjured up images he’d spent his whole life trying to forget.

How in the hell could she have forgotten those pills?

If she’d been as afraid of getting pregnant as she said she was, she couldn’t have. Which meant she’d forgotten on purpose.

But had she really?

Stop it. She’s the one who betrayed you, not the other way around. No way could she have just forgotten.

But no matter how many times he repeated that to himself, no matter how many times he tried to make himself believe it, he couldn’t. A slow, nagging feeling ate away at him until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

Ginny had never meant to forget those pills.

Suddenly he felt nauseated, as if he truly was going to be sick, and he had the oddest burning sensation behind his eyes.

Tears.

What was the matter with him? He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperate to rub them away.

The phone rang.

He yanked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, McCallum. Have I got some news for you.”

Cole took a deep, silent breath. Dave Fletcher. Not now. He didn’t want to talk to this guy right now.

“You’re not going to believe this. The neighborhood that apartment complex is sitting in has just been declared a historical preservation area. I’d say the value just shot up by twenty percent, and we’re holding an option to buy at fifty percent of the old market value. So what do you think about that, partner?”

Cole sat there, Fletcher’s words passing right through him as if he hadn’t even heard them. There had been a time when words like that would have set him on fire. Now they were nothing but white noise.

“McCallum? Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“We’re going to make a killing on this deal. A killing.”

Cole’s mind felt dark and blurry. He played back the terrible words he’d spoken to Ginny like some kind of surreal nightmare.

How could he have accused her of such a thing? She was the one person on this earth who loved him, the one person who understood him as nobody else did. They were the same, he and Ginny. They’d lived with the same kind of pain coming from the same kind of place—the feeling of being alone in the world with nobody to give a damn if you lived or died. Of trying to meet the expectations of the rest of the world and not quite measuring up. Ginny had cowered because of it, while he’d stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs that he just didn’t give a damn. Either way, though, the result was the same, and when he looked at her, he saw himself reflected back, and in her eyes was an understanding he’d never expected to see in another human being.

How could he have known that she was the one person on this earth who could unlock his heart and crawl right inside it?

It’s all I’ve wanted for the longest time, Cole. Just you.

He cradled the phone against his shoulder and rubbed his temples with his fingertips, staring at the divorce papers. Right now, she was his wife. In a few days, when he filed the forms, all that would be over with.

Fletcher was rattling on about painting contractors and landscape architects, but Cole let his words go in one ear and out the other. All he could think about was how much he loved Ginny, a love that seemed to grow with every breath he took. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

For the past six months he’d been so consumed with making that next buck he’d ignored the one thing that would make him happy for the rest of his life, money or not. But how would he ever convince her nothing in this world mattered to him more than she did?

He glanced at the divorce papers. He froze for a moment, then picked them up, staring at the dates. All at once he knew what he had to do. It might take him a few days, but surely he could get it done in time, and then—

“McCallum! Hey! Are you there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“So how’s it looking?”

“How’s what looking?”

“Your cash flow! Man, aren’t you listening? We’ve got a one-year option, so you have some time. But give me a projected date on the windfall you’re expecting.”

“Sorry, Fletcher. I’ve decided against this one.”

“What?”

“I’m backing out.”

“Are you nuts? This one is going to be a gold mine!”

“With those kinds of numbers on the project, you won’t have any trouble finding another partner.”

“Yeah, but you’re the guy I want.”

“Sorry. You’ll have to do without me on this one.”

He heard Fletcher sigh with disgust. “McCallum, I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”

Cole folded the divorce papers and put them into the envelope. “Actually, for the first time in my life, I think I do.”

17

SEVERAL DAYS later, Ginny sat with Rhonda at her kitchen table, fingering the piece of paper she held. On it was the phone number of the clinic where she’d had her pregnancy test done earlier that day.

It was after four o’clock. They would have the results. In only a few minutes, she would know if she was pregnant. If she wasn’t, she would never see Cole again. If she was, she would see his checks for years to come. Either prospect was enough to make tears come to her eyes.

“It’s now or never, sweetie,” Rhonda said.

Ginny picked up the telephone.

Suddenly she heard a knock on Rhonda’s front door. Rhonda got up to open it. Ginny heard a commotion in the living room, then turned in time to see Cole stride into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Rhonda said, following close on his heels. “Don’t you mess with her! You do, and I’ll be all over you! Do you hear me?”

Ginny stared at him, and her heart nearly stopped. He was even more gorgeous than she remembered, tall and imposing in a leather jacket, jeans and boots.

“I’m not going to mess with her, Rhonda,” Cole said evenly.

“Then why are you here? Tell me this minute, ’cause I can dial the sheriff quicker than you can spit.”

“Rhonda?” Cole said. “Do you mind leaving us alone for a minute?”

Rhonda glared at him, then shot Ginny a quick look to see if that was okay. Ginny nodded.

“If you need anything, sweetie, you just holler, okay?”

Ginny nodded again, and Rhonda slunk out of the room, giving Cole the evil eye the whole way out. Once she was gone, the room was so quiet Ginny swore she could hear her own heartbeat.

Cole pulled out a chair. “I need to talk to you.”

“You’ve said plenty already.”

He closed his eyes. “I know. But please, just listen to me one more time.”

She picked up the phone number of the clinic. “Actually, Cole, I was just getting ready to call the clinic. The results of my pregnancy test are in.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm her unsteady nerves. “I suppose you need to know, too, and now is as good a time as any.”

Cole pulled the piece of paper out of her hand, crumpled it up and tossed it aside.

“What are you doing? You can’t hide from this, Cole. We have to know the results!”

“First things first.”

He pulled a legal-size document from his coat pocket. “This is your copy of our divorce papers, signed and executed.”

He slid the papers in front of her. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes.

No. Stop it. Don’t you dare cry.

He’d already done it. He’d already filed the papers. And he was forcing her to wait to find out if she was pregnant until he was quite certain she knew for a fact that they were divorced and she had no hold on him anymore.

She picked up the papers, her hands shaking. Tears blurred her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to clear them. Finally the words came into focus.

She looked at the document, then looked again. The date. There was something wrong with the date.

“I don’t understand,” she said, staring at the papers dumbly. “You’re a day too early. You were supposed to wait until tomorrow to execute this.”

“I know.”

“The will was very clear.”

“I know that, too.”

“If Murphy sees this—”

“Murphy has seen it. I gave him a copy of it myself.”

“What did he say?”

“He said I didn’t fulfill the provisions of the will.”

Ginny stared at him, unable to believe that after all they’d been through so he could get his hands on the deed to the ranch, he’d messed things up so badly at the last minute. And he was acting as if none of it mattered to him in the least.

“Don’t you know what you’ve done?” she said.

“Yeah, Ginny. I know.”

He inched closer to her, placing his hand over hers. It was shaking. He started to speak, stopped, bowed his head for a moment and took in a deep, silent breath. When he raised his head again, his eyes were glistening.

“I sure hope you meant it when you said that all you want is me, because as of right now, that’s all I have left to give you.”

Ginny stared at him, stunned. Little by little, she started to understand, but it was several moments before the full impact of what Cole had done finally hit home. He’d thrown away the ranch in the final hour, stripping himself of everything he thought he ever wanted. And he was coming to her with the only thing he had left to give her.

Himself.

“I said some terrible things to you that day at the ranch,” he said. “Words I’d give anything to take back. I know you didn’t forget those pills on purpose. I was horrible to you, and you’ve got every right to tell me to go to hell. But I’m begging you, Ginny.” He grasped her hand tightly, then brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

His dark eyes shone with tears, and he clenched his jaw to keep them from falling.

“You told me that day that you loved me,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. “Did you mean it?”

In his eyes she saw every bit of hurt he’d ever suffered, every moment in his life when he’d loved someone and that love hadn’t been returned. And the fact that he’d open his heart enough to ask her that question right now…

But still she was wary. “A lot has happened between us, Cole. I don’t know if I can forget that. I don’t know—”

“No. Don’t say it. Don’t say this won’t work. Damn it, Ginny, I’ll do anything—anything…”

He squeezed his eyes closed, taking a long, shaky breath. “I know that up to now I’ve acted like we’re just friends. That sex between us is just sex. It’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time now. When I make love to you, that’s just what it is. Love.”

Ginny put her hand over her mouth, tears filling her eyes. For a moment her throat felt so tight she couldn’t speak.

“I love you, Ginny. I’ve never said that to another human being, not since I was a kid, and I’m not sure I did even then. But I love you. And even if you tell me to go away now, I’ll never stop loving you. Never.”

He fixed his gaze on hers, a strong, unwavering gaze that told her every word he’d spoken was the truth. But he hadn’t just told her. He’d shown her. He’d thrown away the one thing he thought he wanted above all else just to show her he loved her more, to prove to her she was the only thing that would make his life complete.

“I’ll never stop loving you, either,” she whispered.

He blinked. “Does that mean—”

She slid into his arms, tears cascading down her face. She wound her arms around his neck in a desperate hug. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, whispering against her ear.

“Oh, God. I thought I’d lost you. I thought—” He kissed her temple, her forehead, her lips. “Forgive me, Ginny. I swear I’ll never hurt you again.”

He hugged her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. She wanted to stay in his arms forever.

“But this means we have a problem.”

“Problem?”

“We’re divorced.” He swept her hair from her cheeks and took her face in his hands. “Ginny, will you marry me?”

She remembered the day he’d first said those words to her, how hard they’d been for him to say even when the marriage was going to be nothing but a sham. But now the words flowed from his mouth as if he’d been destined to say them, full of emotion, full of energy.

Full of love.

“Yes,” she said, smiling through her tears. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

He kissed her, a long, lingering kiss that made her practically melt into the chair. Then she looked at the crumpled phone message.

“Cole, the clinic. We have to know.”

“No. Not until after the wedding.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want there ever to be any question in your mind why I married you. I’m not doing it because of a pregnancy. I’m not doing it because I feel responsible for you or any baby you might be carrying. I’m doing it because I love you.”

She kissed him, then traced her fingertip along his cheek. “I love you, too.”

“So do I get to be the matron of honor?”

They whipped around to see Rhonda standing at the kitchen door.

“Rhonda!” Ginny said. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“Only a little. I’m sorry, Ginny. I just had to make sure what this guy was up to. But, you know, as it turns out, he finally got things right.”

“Rhonda?” Cole said. “You think Earl might like to be my best man?”

“Nope. He’d hate it, particularly if you make him wear a tux.”

“But he’ll do it anyway, won’t he?”

“Oh, you bet he will, even if I have to get out the shotgun.”

Ginny grinned. “So I suppose you’re going to be taking me back to Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love.”

“Not on your life, sweetheart. Murphy offered us the ranch house. How does that sound?”

Ginny blinked. “What?”

“When I gave him our divorce papers, I told him I was going to do everything I could to get you to marry me again. He expressed extreme doubt that you’d have me, but he said in the event that I got very, very lucky, he’d be willing to host the wedding.”

Host the wedding? Murphy?

“He and I will probably never see eye to eye on everything, Ginny, but it’s going to be okay now.”

Ginny just about started crying again. This day got better and better.

“What’s the fastest you can get a wedding together?” Cole asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” Ginny said, flustered. “If it’s a real wedding, we have to have a minister and a cake, and I have to find something to wear—Oh! And invitations! Of course, I’d like to invite a few people—”

“One week,” Rhonda said.

“One week it is,” Cole said.

One week. That was fast. Way too fast. But then again, the quicker they were married, the quicker Cole would be hers forever.

And in the end, that was all she’d ever wanted.

Later, at home, Ginny pulled from her pocket the crumpled piece of paper that held the phone number of the clinic. Cole had said it didn’t matter, but still she was worried.

“Cole? What if I really am pregnant? Are you really all right with it? However it turns out?”

Cole took her hand. “If it happens that we get that little wedding present, I’ll be the happiest man alive. And if it turns out that we don’t…” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll still be the happiest man alive.”

“Then let’s find out.”

Cole smiled and nodded, and Ginny picked up the telephone.

Epilogue

ONE WEEK LATER, Ginny and Cole stood on the veranda of the ranch house, staring at the rolling hills, beautiful even in the starkness of near-winter. The usual cold of early December had forced them to plan an indoor wedding, but to their surprise, the afternoon sun shone so brightly on the veranda that the temperature shot up to an unseasonably warm level for Texas, and they moved the ceremony outdoors.

Cole couldn’t believe how beautiful Ginny looked. Her dress was simple but elegant, tucked at the waist and falling in soft folds to her ankles, with a neckline that dipped just low enough to be a little bit daring. Sweet and sexy at the same time.

Just like Ginny.

He’d worn a tuxedo for the occasion because he’d wanted to do this right, even though he longed for jeans and boots. He wasn’t doing nearly as much longing as Earl was, though. Fortunately, Rhonda kept him in line with an occasional swat on the arm when he fiddled too much with his tie. Loretta and Darlene came, too, as well as Ruby and most of the people from the bank.

Pastor McDonald from the First Baptist Church of Coldwater performed the ceremony, which was a whole lot more traditional than the one they’d had at Cupid’s Little Chapel of Love. They swore him to silence about the real nature of their marriage, because for all anyone except Rhonda, Earl and Murphy knew, they were merely renewing their wedding vows with a more formal ceremony among friends after six blissful months of marriage.

After a short ceremony, complete with a new ring for Ginny, they both said their I do’s and Cole kissed the bride. He needed no persuasion this time except to stop kissing her, which he finally did after extensive throat-clearing from Pastor McDonald.

Afterward, while Ginny was chatting with their guests, Cole stepped to the railing of the veranda and looked out over the acres of pastureland. For all his protest about hating this place, he knew now how much he was going to miss it.

Murphy came up beside him. “You’re a lucky man. But then, surely I don’t have to tell you that.”

“No, Murphy. You don’t.”

“I think maybe I was wrong about a few things.”

“I think maybe you weren’t.”

Murphy looked at him with surprise.

“I never meant to hurt my grandmother. I know I didn’t come back when I should have, and—”

“It’s over. Forget about it.”

“I loved her, Murphy.”

Murphy got a faraway look in his eyes. “So did I, Cole.”

As Cole looked at Murphy, it was as if a shroud slowly fell away and he saw him clearly for the very first time. Memories came flooding back of Murphy and his grandmother, of them laughing, embracing and even kissing when they didn’t know he was watching. He remembered sitting at the kitchen table in the mornings and seeing Murphy come down the back stairs. His grandmother’s face would light up with love, and Murphy would give her a smile in return that said he loved her, too.

Until recently he’d thought of Murphy as nothing but an angry old man. So why did all these other memories come back only now? Where had they been buried all these years?

In a rush of understanding, he knew it wasn’t that Murphy had hated him. It was that he’d loved Edna, so much so he’d go to war with anyone who tried to hurt her. Her death had only intensified that loyalty. He’d been forced both to carry out her wishes and protect her memory, doing everything he could to insure the woman he loved would never be hurt by Cole or anyone else, whether she was in this world or the next.

Now, finally, because of Ginny, Cole understood that kind of love.

Murphy nodded toward Ginny. “What made you finally wise up?”

Cole turned to look at his wife, catching her eye. She smiled, a warm, wonderful smile that was meant only for him.

“It’s the way she looks at me,” he said.

Murphy turned and looked at him, his blue eyes sharp as ever.

“See, Murphy, some men wait their whole lives for a woman to look at them like that. I figured I’d better not let her get away.”

Murphy nodded. “Smart man.”

“It reminds me of the way my grandmother looked at you.”

Murphy’s eyes got a little misty. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.”

“Maybe we’re both smart men.”

“Maybe we are.”

In that moment, Cole felt the ten years he’d spent so full of anger and resentment slip away like a bad dream at daybreak.

“Why don’t you ask your wife to come over here for a minute?”

Cole wondered what was up. He did as Murphy asked and called to Ginny. She left the guests and came over, sliding into his arms as naturally as if she’d spent a lifetime doing it.

Murphy reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out an envelope and handed it to Cole. Cole opened it, and when he saw what it contained, he was filled with disbelief.

The title to the ranch. In both his name and Ginny’s.

Ginny blinked with surprise. “For us?”

Murphy nodded.

She turned to Cole with a questioning look. He knew what she was wondering, and he didn’t blame her. She was waiting for him to get that look in his eyes again that said he saw dollar signs.

“Ginny?” he said.

“Yes?”

“Do you want—”

“Do I want what?”

Silence.

“The ranch,” Cole said. “I was wondering—”

“What?”

“Ginny? Would you like to stay here?”

She looked at him with astonishment. “Here? On the ranch?”

“Yes.”

“You mean we can keep it? We can actually live here?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Oh, yes!” She threw her arms around him, practically squeezing the breath out of him. “Yes!”

“Now, I know you wanted to go to college—”

“But I have my new job. I’m learning so much that I don’t want to stop now. Maybe I’ll go to college later, but for now—” she kissed Cole “—this is where I want to stay.”

Then she turned to Murphy. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered something in his ear. Murphy smiled a little and whispered something back.

Cole watched Murphy walk away. “So what did you say to him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Sure it is,” he said with a smile. “We’re married now. For real. Everything’s my business.”

Ginny’s eyes filled with tears. “I said, ‘I told you so.’”

Cole realized just how much Ginny had believed in him all this time, even when he’d done nothing to deserve it, and for a moment he was sick with the feeling of how close he’d come to losing her. He’d never make that kind of mistake again.

“And what did Murphy say to you?”

“He said you’re just the kind of man your grandmother always believed you could be.”

Cole’s throat felt so tight he couldn’t speak. At the same time, though, a peaceful feeling settled over him, a feeling that he’d finally come home where he belonged.

Ginny turned and looked out over the ranch. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cole said. “I can’t think of a better place to raise our baby.”

He pulled Ginny close, enveloping her in his arms. They’d tell everyone else soon enough. But for right now, it was a secret only they shared.

Cole encouraged their guests to stay the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, basking in the feeling of being surrounded by friends and, in the case of Murphy, family. As much as he wanted to be alone with his wife, for once he was in no hurry.

After all, he and Ginny would be together for the rest of their lives.

The Innocent Virgin

By Carole Mortimer

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

ABBY stepped into the hot scented bathwater, sat down, and let her shoulders sink beneath the luxurious bubbles, ebony hair secured loosely on top of her head, a glass of champagne in one hand, her mobile phone in the other.

She took a large sip from the former before gently dropping the latter into the water beside her, smiling at the satisfying ‘glug’ it gave before sinking to the bottom without trace. The four-inch layer of bubbles simply closed back over the temporary dent the mobile had made in their formation.

The landline was unplugged, the speaker system from her doorbell in the street downstairs switched off. Nothing and no one was going to disturb this hour of decadence.

She took another sip of the champagne and gazed from the free-standing claw-footed bath at her surroundings. Twelve scented candles were her only illumination and a dreamy smile touched her lips as she looked at her frankly opulent surroundings. The floors and walls were of peach-coloured marble, the glass-sided shower unit that stood at one end of the large room had all its fittings gold-plated; the towels on the racks were a sumptuous peach of the exact shade as the walls and floor. Monty was sitting on the laundry basket, all her bottles of perfume were neatly lined up on the glass shelf beneath the tinted mirror, the bucket of ice containing the bottle of champagne was right beside her, and—

Monty was sitting on the laundry basket!

Her gaze swivelled sharply back to look at him. No, it wasn’t the champagne she had already imbibed; Monty really was sitting on top of the laundry basket, unmoving, those green cat-like eyes unblinking.

Well, of course his eyes were cat-like—he was a cat, after all. A huge white, long-haired Persian, to be exact.

Not that Monty was aware of this himself. Somewhere in his youth someone had forgotten to mention this little fact to him, and now he chose to ignore any reference to his species.

Abby wasn’t to blame for this oversight; Monty had already been a year old when she’d chosen him over the other cats at the animal rescue centre. At least, she had thought she had chosen him; within a very few days of arriving home with him it had become more than obvious that Monty had done the choosing. Someone soft and malleable, he must have decided. Someone still young enough to be moulded into the indulgent, pandering human he needed to make his life completely comfortable. Enter Abby.

‘Well, of course that’s going to change now, Monty, old chap.’ She waved her champagne glass with bravado. ‘No more boiled chicken and salmon for you, I’m afraid,’ she warned him ruefully. ‘From now on you’ll be lucky if I can afford to buy you that tinned food you consider so much beneath your notice!’

Cats, she was sure, weren’t supposed to be able to look at you with scepticism and disdain, and yet that was exactly what Monty was doing at this moment. He had several easily readable expressions, from ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ to the smug ‘Aren’t I lucky to own an accommodating human like Abby?’. At the moment it was definitely the former.

‘It isn’t my fault,’ Abby assured him with another wave of her champagne glass—which definitely needed replenishing, she decided, and did exactly that. ‘It’s that man’s fault.’ She took a huge swallow of her champagne. ‘I mean, whoever thought he would do such a thing?’

She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry!

But of course she did, her tears accompanied by huge, heaving sobs.

How could he have done that to her? And on public television, live, in front of millions of viewers.

Oh, God…!

Every time she even thought of that she felt her humiliation all over again.

‘Weeks and weeks—several weeks, anyway,’ she amended tearfully. ‘Well, okay, seven.’ She sniffed inelegantly. ‘All that time I’ve been gently trying to persuade that man to come on my show. Yes, I know you liked him, Monty.’ Her voice rose with indignation on her bland-faced pet’s behalf. ‘So did I,’ she admitted heavily. ‘But if you only knew—if you had only heard—I had no idea, Monty.’ She shuddered. ‘Absolutely none!’ If she had she would never have got out of bed this morning!

In fact, it was worse than that. If she had guessed in any way just how deep her annihilation was going to be this evening she would have taken a one-way trip to Bolivia earlier today and spared herself all the pain.

She had always liked the sound of that name. Bolivia. It sounded so romantic, so mysterious, so different. But, knowing her luck, it was probably nothing like that at all. She had always liked the sound of the so-called Bermuda Triangle too, but no doubt that was just another myth…

She had probably had too much champagne.

‘Okay, okay, so my thoughts are wandering,’ she acknowledged, as Monty seemed to look at her with derision. ‘But if you only knew, Monty.’ She began to cry again, the tears hot on her cheeks. ‘If you had only heard what that man said to me! You would have been shocked, Monty. Shocked!’

Abby had actually passed being shocked where this evening was concerned. She had reached surreal now, able to envisage that whole humiliating experience as if in slow motion—like a reel of film going round and round in the projector.

‘Oh, God, Monty!’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t ever leave this apartment again! I’ll have to barricade the door, put bars on the windows. I daren’t ever go out in public again!’ She took another slurp of her champagne, the salt of her tears mixing with the bubbly wine. ‘Once our supplies run out, we’ll both simply starve to death!’ she added shakily.

Four months ago it had all looked so promising. As the weather girl for a breakfast television show—an interesting career move, considering she couldn’t tell a cold front from an isobar!—she had been asked to stand in for the female half of the presentation team while the other woman went on maternity leave for several months. She had made a impact, and a well-known producer had approached her with an offer to do six half-hour chat shows, to be shown live the following spring.

The next three months had been a dream come true for Abby—choosing the guests for each week, researching, negotiating the appearance of those guests—and everything had gone well until it had come to the guest she had chosen for her final show.

Max Harding.

Her intention had been to finish the series on a high note. Once the presenter of his own current affairs programme, Max Harding had returned to reporting foreign news and hadn’t appeared in a British studio in two years. Not since he had walked away from his own programme, and the lucrative contract that went with it, after one of his political guests had tried to commit suicide on the live Sunday evening show.

Max Harding’s personal elusiveness since that time, his flat refusal even to discuss the subject, would make him a prime finale, Abby had thought, for her own series of shows.

But she should have known, Abby berated herself now. Should have guessed what his intentions were when he had finally—surprisingly—agreed to be her guest.

‘He meant to hurt and humiliate me, Monty.’ Her voice hardened angrily at the memory. ‘All the time you liked him so much—that I—that we—How could he do that to me, Monty? How could he?’ Her ready tears began to fall again. ‘But I showed him, Monty. In fact, I showed everyone watching as well,’ she remembered with a pained groan. ‘Millions and millions of people sat in their homes and watched as I hit him. Yes, you did hear me correctly; I hit Max Harding—on live television!’

Abby closed her eyes as the memory overwhelmed her. She wasn’t a violent person—had never hit anyone in her life before, never wanted to hit anyone before. But she had certainly hit Max Harding this evening.

‘Actually, it was worse than that, Monty.’ She choked, not at all concerned with the fact that a lot of people might think it strange that she was having this conversation with her cat. Temporary insanity was certainly a plea she could make for her actions tonight, but at the moment it was the least of her problems. ‘It wasn’t just a gentle slap on the cheek.’ She groaned. ‘He annoyed me so much, hurt me so much, that I swung my arm back and belted him with all the force that I could. It was perfect, Monty. Right on his arrogant chin.’ She smiled through her tears with remembered pleasure. ‘You should have seen the stunned look on his face. Then his chair toppled backwards, taking him with it, and he was knocked unconscious as he hit the floor!’

And Monty should have seen her own face as her anger had left her and she’d realised exactly what she had done…

The studio had grown so hushed you could literally have heard a pin drop. The small studio audience deathly quiet, no one even seeming to breathe; the camera crew no longer looking into their cameras but staring straight at her in open-mouthed disbelief.

Her director in the control room had been the first to recover, screaming in her earpiece, ‘Abby—what the hell are you doing? Say something,’ he yelled, when she could only stand there in mute silence, staring down at the slumped form of Max Harding. ‘Abby, do something!’ Gary had instructed harshly as she still didn’t move. ‘This is live television, remember?’

She had remembered then, turning to look at the surrounding cameras, realising they were still transmitting.

In her panic there had been only one thing she could do—no other choice left open to her. With a startled cry, she’d stepped over Max Harding’s prostrate body before running out of the studio as if pursued.

No one had spoken to her as she’d run. No one had even attempted to stop her.

And why would they? She had totally blown it—had broken the cardinal rule of not losing your cool on public television, of always remaining calm and in control, no matter what the provocation. No matter what the provocation!

Her career was in ruins. She would never appear on television ever again.

Which was why she was now locked in her apartment, with the telephone disconnected, the intercom to the doorbell downstairs switched off, and her mobile lying waterlogged in the bottom of the bath.

‘Okay, that last gesture may have been a little drastic,’ Abby allowed, as Monty looked at her with disapproval. ‘Especially as I’m now effectively unemployed—unemployable!—and will never be able to afford to buy a new one. But do you know the worst of it, Monty? The absolute worst of it?’ Her voice shook with emotion now, tears once again falling hotly down her cheeks. ‘I know you liked him, but I actually thought I was in love with him!’ she burst out shakily. ‘I was in love with Max Harding!’ She whipped herself with the lash again. ‘Now I wish I had never even set eyes on him!’

Until seven weeks ago she hadn’t even met him.

Seven weeks ago she had been riding on the crest of a wave, euphoric at her success in landing her own half-hour show, full of enthusiasm as she researched and then met her guests, overjoyed at her apparent overnight success at only twenty-seven.

But seven weeks ago Max Harding had still been just a name to her—a reputation, several dozen photographs. She hadn’t met the flesh-and-blood man then.

Hadn’t fallen in love with him…

CHAPTER TWO

‘YES?’

Abby could only stare at the man standing in the open doorway of the apartment; she hadn’t seen this much naked male flesh since she’d sat on a beach in Majorca last year.

And very male flesh it was too. But the towel wrapped around the man’s slim waist and the dampness of his dark hair told her exactly why it had taken four knocks on the apartment door for him to answer—he had obviously been taking a shower when she arrived.

Alone? Or with someone? Whatever; this man’s semi-nakedness took her breath—and her voice—away.

Not that she wasn’t familiar with Max Harding’s looks. She had seen him dozens of times on the news over the last couple of years, reporting from one war-torn country or another, and had also watched hours of footage of the political forum programme he’d hosted until two years ago.

But in the first case he was usually wearing some sort of combat gear and a flak jacket, shouting his report over the whine of bullets as they whistled past his ears. And in the second instance he had always been sitting down in one of those high-back leather chairs, wearing a dark formal suit with a shirt and tie.

In both cases he had been on the small screen, minimised before being transmitted into people’s homes.

He was huge, was Abby’s first thought. It wasn’t just his height, of about six feet two inches, he also had incredibly wide and muscled shoulders, his skin was darkly tanned, the ebony hair on that powerful chest tapered down to—

‘Seen enough?’

Not nearly enough, was her second, slightly fevered thought. Oh, dear! was her wincing next one, as she slowly raised her gaze back to his face, her cheeks awash with embarrassed colour.

Really, it might be some time since she had seen a man naked—or in this case semi-naked—but she had seen one or two!

But looking at Max Harding’s face wasn’t reassuring. She had hoped the severity of his expression on television was due to the seriousness of his subject matter, but even one glance at his rock-hewn features was enough to tell her that those weren’t laughter lines beside the intense grey eyes, the arrogant slash of a nose and sculptured unsmiling mouth. This man looked as if he rarely smiled, let alone laughed!

Abby straightened her shoulders, deliberately arranging her features into ‘serious but pleasant’. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard of me, Mr Harding, but I’m Abby Freeman—‘

She didn’t get any further than that. The door firmly slammed in her face.

He had heard of her, she thought ruefully. His reaction was a bit drastic, though! Especially as he must have received at least two letters concerning appearing on her show—one from her researchers, and one from her personally. Neither of which he had answered. But he might at least have—

Her eyes widened as the door suddenly swung open again. A hand reached out to grasp the collar of her jacket, and she was unceremoniously pulled inside the apartment, her boot-clad feet barely touching the luxurious carpet.

‘Mr Harding—’

‘How the hell did you get up here?’ He glowered down at her, somehow still managing to look imposing despite his lack of clothing and the wild disorder of his overlong dark hair.

Abby blinked, totally stunned at finding herself inside the apartment instead of outside it.

She delayed answering as she pulled her white T-shirt back into place beneath her black jacket, her ebony hair loose onto her shoulders, blue eyes wide as she fought her inner feelings of indignation.

‘I said—’

‘The man downstairs let me in,’ she cut in.

‘After you told him what?’ Max Harding bit out contemptuously, hands on narrow hips.

Bare hips, Abby noted somewhat awkwardly. The towel was starting to slip down those long, muscular, hair-covered legs.

‘I’m waiting for an explanation, Miss Freeman,’ he reminded her harshly, those grey eyes glacial now.

Abby bristled; he sounded like a schoolteacher talking to a disobedient schoolgirl!

‘Maybe you should go and put some clothes on?’ she suggested with forced pleasantness. ‘I’m sure you—’ and she! ‘—would be more comfortable if you did.’

‘I’m not uncomfortable, Miss Freeman,’ he assured her derisively, enjoying the fact that she obviously was. His mouth hardened before he spoke again. ‘Exactly what story did you spin Henry in order to get him to let you up here without first ringing me?’

That cold silver gaze was very forceful, Abby decided with discomfort. The sort of gaze that would compel you to confess to whatever it was this man wanted you to confess to, whether you were guilty or not.

She grimaced. ‘I told him I was your younger sister, that it’s your birthday today, and that I wanted to surprise you,’ she answered truthfully.

That sculptured mouth twisted wryly. ‘Not bad for a beginner,’ he drawled.

Her cheeks flushed. ‘Now, look—’

‘On your way out,’ Max Harding continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘you can tell him you succeeded.’ He opened the door pointedly. ‘I’ll tell him what I think later!’ he added grimly.

Abby didn’t move towards the door. Having got this far, she had no intention of leaving just yet. ‘I hope not with any idea of reprimand in mind? I can be very persuasive when I try.’ She gave him an encouraging smile.

A smile he made no effort to return, and that steely, unamused grey gaze quickly made the smile falter and then fade.

Back to business, she decided hastily. ‘I’ve written to you several times, Mr Harding—’

‘Twice, to be exact,’ he interrupted, his terse tone telling her that he liked to be that, at least. ‘Two letters, both of which I read before duly consigning them to the bin!’

He had enjoyed telling her that, Abby realised with an annoyance she tried hard not to show—one of them being antagonistic was quite enough! Besides, she couldn’t afford to be. She had assured the sarcastic and sceptical Gary Holmes, director of The Abby Freeman Show, that she would get Max Harding to appear on her final show. A very ambitious claim, she had come to realise over the last few weeks, but she needed something—someone!—really impressive to finish the series if she were to stand any chance of being offered another contract.

Though she did wish she had approached Max Harding before making that ambitious claim to Gary…!

She gave Max Harding a bright, unruffled smile. ‘Then you will be aware that the whole of the half-hour show will be dedicated to you—’

‘No.’

‘Oh, but I’m sure I made that clear in my letter.’ Abby frowned. ‘I would hardly offer less to a man of your professional stature—’

‘Cut the bull, Miss Freeman,’ he bit out harshly. ‘In this case flattery, professional or otherwise, will get you precisely nowhere! I have no intention, now or ever, of appearing on The Abby Freeman Show.’ He made the programme title sound like something obscene.

Nevertheless, Abby persevered; this was too important to allow obvious insults to upset her. ‘But you’re such an interesting man, Mr Harding,’ she said lightly. ‘You’ve seen so much, done so much, and I’m sure the general public would be fascinated to hear about—’

‘The general public have absolutely no more interest than you do in hearing about any of the things I’ve seen and done,’ he rasped coldly. ‘All anyone wants to hear about from me is the night Rory Mayhew tried to commit suicide on my television programme.’ His eyes glittered icily. ‘It also happens to be the one thing I will never discuss in public. Is that clear enough for you, Miss Freeman?’

Crystal-clear. And he was partly right about the Rory Mayhew ‘incident’; obviously it was such a big thing that she could hardly not ask about it. But it certainly wasn’t the only thing she wanted him to talk about. They could hardly discuss an attempted suicide for the whole of a thirty-minute interview, for goodness’ sake.

‘I thought about mentioning that initially, obviously,’ she conceded. ‘But then I thought we could move on to other things. Your last two years as a foreign correspondent have made fascinating listening, and—’

‘I said no, Miss Freeman.’

‘Oh, please do call me Abby,’ she invited, with a warmth she was far from feeling. In fact, the coldness emanating from this man was enough to make her give an involuntary shiver.

‘You can call me Mr Harding,’ he bit out. ‘But first—’ he moved to close the door again, its soft click much more ominous than the loud slam of a few minutes ago ‘—I have one or two questions I would like to put to you.’

The sudden smoothness of his tone was more menacing than his previous sarcasm and coldness, making Abby very aware that she was completely alone in this penthouse apartment with a powerful-looking man. A very angry, half-naked, powerful-looking man!

She gave him another of her bright, confident smiles—although inside she was neither of those things. This meeting with Max Harding wasn’t turning out at all as she had hoped. ‘Fire away, Mr Harding,’ she invited lightly. ‘I’m happy to answer any questions you have concerning the programme. In fact, I look on it as a very positive—’

‘My questions have absolutely nothing to do with your programme, Miss Freeman,’ he assured her scornfully, ‘and everything to do with how you obtained my personal address in the first place.’ His voice had hardened over this last, his expression grim.

Not much of a chance of him offering her a coffee, then! Or inviting her to sit down in the comfortable lounge she could see through the open doorway behind her.

Not much chance of this turning into a successful meeting, either, if the conversation so far was anything to go by.

‘And don’t say the local telephone book,’ he warned. ‘Because I’m ex-directory.’

Her palms were starting to feel slightly damp, and she was sure there was an unbecoming sheen materialising on her top lip.

Nevertheless, she forced another carefree smile to her face. ‘The how isn’t really important—’

‘It is to me.’ He stood firmly in front of the door now—her only means of escape!—powerfully muscled arms folded in front of that bare chest.

In the same circumstances, wrapped only in a towel, Abby knew that she would feel at a distinct disadvantage talking to anyone. And yet this man gave no such impression—in fact, the opposite. He seemed to know exactly how his near-nakedness was making her feel—and he was enjoying watching her squirm.

Because squirming she undoubtably was. This man, Max Harding, she was becoming increasingly aware, exuded a sexual magnetism that had very little to do with whether or not he was wearing any clothes! There was a toughness to him, a self-containment, that at thirty-nine had been hard earned.

He made a sudden movement, quickly followed by the first sign of amusement, albeit mocking, she had seen on his harsh features. Abby instinctively took a step backwards. ‘I don’t usually eat little girls like you until after breakfast,’ he drawled, grey eyes mocking as he looked her over with slow deliberation. ‘You’re one of those “bright young things” the powers-that-be in public television have decided the masses want piped into their homes every minute of the day and night, aren’t you?’ ‘I—’

‘What did you do before being given The Abby Freeman Show?’ he continued, unabated. ‘Present one of those kids programmes where you have to constantly look like a teenager—even though you’re not—and rush around risking life and limb climbing mountains and jumping out of aeroplanes? I’m sorry, what did you say?’ he prompted scornfully as Abby muttered something inaudible.

Her chin rose defensively, twin circles of colour in her cheeks. ‘I said I was the weather presenter on a breakfast show, and then the stand-in presenter,’ she repeated tautly. Withstanding Max Harding’s obvious derision certainly hadn’t been in her plans for today!

He continued to look at her, his expression blank now, as if he wasn’t quite sure he had heard her correctly. And then his mouth twitched and he began to laugh, a harsh, humourless sound that echoed the scorn in his eyes. ‘A weather girl?’ he finally sobered enough to say disbelievingly.

Her cheeks felt on fire now. ‘You don’t have a lot of respect for your fellow presenters, do you?’

‘On the contrary, Abby, I have immense respect for my fellow presenters—you just don’t happen to be one!’

This was important to her—very important if she was to prove to Gary Holmes she wasn’t the lightweight he insisted on treating her as. But right now, with Max Harding’s derision directly in her face, she wanted to turn on her heel and run. Unfortunately, Max Harding still stood between her and the door!

Attack, she was sure, was still the best form of defence. ‘I never had you figured for a misogynist, Mr Harding!’

He didn’t even grimace at the insult. ‘Oh, but I’m not, Abby,’ he told her, silkily soft, his grey eyes hooded as he looked her over with slow deliberation from her toes to the top of her ebony head. The arrogantly mocking gaze finally returned to her flushed face and he gave a derisive shake of his head. ‘You just aren’t my type,’ he drawled, with deliberate rudeness.

She should never have come here, Abby realised belatedly. She had thought she was being so clever, fooling Henry downstairs, and had been quietly patting herself on the back at her success all the way up here in the lift. But all she had really succeeded in doing was totally annoying this man. And even on this short an acquaintance she knew he would be dangerous when he was annoyed!

Come to that, he was dangerous when he wasn’t annoyed. She couldn’t imagine what she had been thinking of!

She hadn’t really been thinking at all, she finally realized. Had been too stung by Gary Holmes’s scornful scepticism that she would ever persuade Max Harding to appear on her show to plan this meeting today any further than actually meeting the man face to face.

‘You and my director should meet,’ she snapped irritably. ‘The two of you have so much in common!’

‘Doesn’t he like working with amateurs either?’ Max Harding taunted.

That was it.

She had had enough.

More than enough!

She had already spent weeks at the sharp end of Gary Holmes’s sarcastic tongue; she had no intention of taking it from this man too! Besides, he wasn’t going to appear on her show anyway, so she really had nothing to lose!

She drew herself up angrily. ‘I have no idea why I ever thought anyone would be interested in hearing anything you have to say.’ And she didn’t—not anymore. ‘You’re rude. You’re arrogant. You’re mocking, and thoroughly unpleasant. And I don’t like you!’ Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides.

Max Harding continued to look at her for several long seconds, and then he gave a decisive nod. ‘That, my dear Abby, is the most honest thing you’ve said all morning! Come on.’ He stepped past her into the lounge. ‘I’ll put some coffee on to brew while I’m dressing.’

Abby stood open-mouthed, watching him as he strolled across the sitting room and into what she assumed must be the kitchen.

She had been as rude and brutally frank as he was himself, and now he was offering to make her coffee!

She gave a slightly befuddled shake of her head before following him. She would have given up all pretence of politeness long before now if she had known this would be the result.

The sitting room, as she had already observed from the hallway, was spacious and well-furnished, decorated in warm, sunny golds and creams, with a wonderful view over London from the huge picture window. It also looked totally unlived-in—like a hotel suite, or as if the interior designer had only finished his work yesterday and everything was new and unused.

The kitchen was almost as big, with walnut cupboards and gold-coloured fittings. But apart from the coffee percolator, which had already started its aromatic drip into the pot, the work surfaces were bare—as if this room were rarely used either.

‘Take a seat,’ Max Harding invited, without turning round as he got coffee mugs from a cupboard.

Abby made herself comfortable on one of the stools at the breakfast bar—well, as comfortable as someone of five foot four could be on one of the high stools!—still not quite sure how she had managed to get herself invited in for coffee. But she wasn’t complaining. The less inclined Max Harding was to throw her out, the more chance she had of persuading him to change his mind about appearing on her programme.

‘Right.’ He turned from what he was doing. ‘I’ll go and throw on some clothes while the coffee’s filtering. Oh, and Abby?’ He paused in the kitchen doorway, his expression once again derisive. ‘Stay exactly where you are!’

She looked at him blankly for several seconds, frowning, her cheeks becoming hot as she realised what he meant. ‘I’m not a snoop, Mr Harding,’ she protested waspishly.

His mouth twisted. ‘That’s why you’ll never make an investigative reporter!’ he retorted, before leaving the room.

Abby put her elbows on the breakfast bar and leant forward to rub her throbbing temples with her thumbs, wondering if all these insults really were worth it. Even if she succeeded if getting him to appear on the show—which was doubtful!—there was no way, him being the man that he was, that she was going to be able to control the interview. And that wasn’t going to help her get that second contract she wanted. Maybe…

‘I didn’t mean it quite that literally,’ Max remarked scathingly as he came back into the room. ‘You could have helped yourself to coffee.’

In truth, she had been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn’t really been aware that the coffee had stopped filtering into the pot. And, as she looked up at him now, her mind once again went completely blank.

‘I’ll go and throw on some clothes’ was what he had said, and, looking at him, that was pretty much what he had done. His damp hair looked as if he had just run a hand through it, he was wearing a clean, but very creased white T-shirt, and a pair of ragged denims, also clean, but worn and faded, the bottoms frayed. And that was all he was wearing from what Abby could tell. His feet were bare on the coolness of the tiled floor.

He looked sexy as hell!

This side of Max Harding hadn’t really been apparent in the tapes of his shows she had watched from the archives, but she had certainly been made aware of it when he’d opened the door earlier, wearing only a towel. And—strangely—she was even more aware of him now, because the clothes hinted at the powerful body beneath.

She straightened, shaking her head. ‘Sorry. It didn’t occur to me.’

He placed a steaming mug of black, unsweetened coffee in front of her. ‘There isn’t any milk,’ he announced off-handedly as he passed her the sugar bowl. ‘I only got back late last night, and I haven’t had time to shop yet.’

‘Black is fine,’ she assured him, though she usually took both cream and sugar in her beverages. Somehow, from the look of the unused kitchen, she doubted he had time to go to the shops very often!

‘So.’ He sat down opposite her at the breakfast bar, his gaze piercing. ‘You have yet to answer my question.’

She could always try acting dumb and ask which question he was referring to—but as he already thought she was dumb that probably wasn’t the approach to take!

She shrugged. ‘I obtained your address from a friend of a friend,’ she said dismissively, wishing she felt more self-confident and less physically aware of this man…

His gaze narrowed. ‘Which friend of what friend?’

‘Is that grammatically correct?’ She attempted to tease, deciding that probably wasn’t a good idea either as his scowl deepened. ‘You aren’t seriously expecting me to answer that?’

He didn’t return her cajoling smile. ‘I rarely joke about an invasion of my privacy,’ he grated.

She raised ebony brows. ‘Aren’t you overreacting just a little? After all, I only rang the doorbell. You were the one who invited me in!’

‘I can just as easily throw you out again!’ he rasped. ‘And I “invited” you in as you put it, for the sole purpose of ascertaining how you obtained my address.’

‘Knowing full well that I couldn’t possibly reveal my source,’ Abby came back sharply. Challengingly. It was the first rule of being that investigative reporter he had told her she would never be; a source’s identity was as sacrosanct to a reporter as the information a client gave to a lawyer.

Max sat back slightly, his expression—as usual!—unreadable. ‘Tell me, Abby,’ he said softly, ‘just what made you think you would succeed where so many others have failed?’

She blinked, not sure she quite understood the question. Surely he didn’t think that she trying to attract—?

‘Not that, Abby.’ He sighed. ‘I was actually referring to other requests for me to appear on TV programmes or give personal interviews to newspapers over the last two years. Haven’t I already assured you that you aren’t my type?’ His mouth twisted scathingly as his gaze raked over her ebony hair, deep blue eyes, creamy complexion and full, pouting lips.

Exactly what was ‘his type’? Abby felt like asking, but didn’t. As far as her research was concerned, he didn’t appear to have a type. He had been married once, in his twenties, and amicably divorced only three years later, and the assortment of women he had been involved with over the years since that marriage didn’t seem to fit into any type either, having ranged from hard-hitting businesswomen to a pampered Californian divorcee. The only thing those women seemed to have in common was independence. And possibly an aversion to marriage…?

‘Well, that’s something positive, at least,’ Abby came back dismissively. ‘Because you aren’t my type either!’

Grudging amusement slightly lightened his expression. ‘No,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘I should imagine a nice, safe executive of some kind, preferably in television, would be more your cup of tea.’

This man managed to make everything he said sound insulting!

And in this case he was wrong; she had been briefly engaged to a ‘nice, safe executive of some kind’—and been totally bored by Andrew’s complete lack of imagination. Besides, Monty hadn’t liked him…

‘Really?’ she said wearily. ‘How interesting.’

Max continued to look at her for several seconds, and then gave an appreciative grin. ‘You sound like my mother when confronted by one of my father’s more boring business associates!’

His father, Abby knew, was James Harding, the owner of Harding Industries. His charming and beautiful wife Amy was a banking heiress, and Max’s mother. Obviously Max hadn’t inherited that first trait of hers!

‘Really?’ Abby repeated unhelpfully, slightly disturbed by the attraction of that grin—and desperate not to show it.

‘Really?’ he mimicked dryly. ‘Am I boring you, Abby?’

So far she hadn’t been able to relax enough in this man’s company to feel bored! But if he wanted to think that—fine; she needed every advantage she could get with this thoroughly disconcerting man. ‘Not specifically,’ she drawled, sounding uninterested.

His mouth quirked humorously. ‘How about unspecifically?’

She pretended to give the idea some thought. In fact, she very much doubted too many people found this man boring; the level of mental alertness necessary just to have a conversation with him wouldn’t allow for that. Besides, the man was playing with her, and, despite what he might think to the contrary, she really wasn’t one of those vacuous ‘young things’ he had initially accused her of being. At least, she hoped she wasn’t!

She had left school with straight As and gone on to graduate from university three years later with a degree in politics. But two years of working as a very junior underling to a politician who just wasn’t going to make it, despite putting in sixteen-hour days, had very soon quashed her own ambitions in that direction, and she had done a complete about-face, becoming interested in a career in television instead.

Being the smiling face of a lowbrow programme’s weather segment hadn’t exactly stretched her mentally, but everyone had to start somewhere. Besides, being offered her own six-week series of interviews now was worth the year she had spent getting up at four-thirty in the morning just so that she could be at the studio bright and early to give her first weather report of the day when the programme began at six-thirty.

And even Max Harding, despite his privileged background and a father who had probably been able to pull a few strings for him, had to have started somewhere—

‘Sorry?’ She shook her head as she realised Max had just spoken to her.

‘I asked whether your meteoric rise to fame has had something to do with the way you look rather than any real qualifications to do the job?’ He looked at her challengingly.

He had obviously decided to make sure there was no possible chance of her being bored by him any longer!

But if his intention was to anger her by the obvious insult, then he hadn’t succeeded in doing that either. She had heard every insult there was these last two months, from other women as well as men, and especially from Gary Holmes, and she was no longer shocked or bothered by them. Well…not much, anyway.

She gave him a pitying glance. ‘Which one do you think I slept with? The producer or the director?’

Grudging respect darkened his eyes. ‘Either. Or possibly both.’ He shrugged.

Now he wasn’t trying to be insulting—he was succeeding! ‘Pat Connelly is a grandmother several times over, I believe, and seriously not my type!’ Abby told him derisively. ‘And Gary Holmes is just an obnoxious little creep!’ she added with feeling.

A veteran director of fifteen years plus, Gary was one of the most handsome men Abby had ever met—but he had the infuriating habit of treating her like an idiot. He obviously disliked her—possibly because he also thought she was a pretty airhead—but as the dislike was wholly reciprocated Abby wasn’t particularly bothered by his attitude. Except on a professional level. And he had hardly given her time to prove—

She suddenly realised that Max had gone strangely quiet, and looked across at him curiously, but she was able to learn nothing from his closed expression. ‘What is it?’ she prompted with a frown.

He seemed to snap himself out of that scowling silence with effort. ‘Nothing,’ he said abruptly. ‘And if it’s taken you this long to think about my previous question, perhaps you would be wiser not to answer at all!’ he drawled, with some of his earlier mockery. ‘Who’s scheduled to appear on your first programme?’

She was a little stunned by this abrupt volte face, and would have liked to pursue the reason for his sudden silence, but the coldness in his gaze was enough to warn her that she would get precisely nowhere if she did.

‘Natalie West and Brad Hammond,’ she answered instead, with not a little pride.

The famous couple, both having appeared on primetime television, but in different series, had been involved in the very noisy and very public break-up of their marriage six months ago, culminating with Natalie announcing it would give her great pleasure to see Brad run over with a steamroller, and Brad retaliating with the claim that he would gladly step in the path of the steamroller if it meant he didn’t have to set eyes on Natalie ever again!

It had taken weeks of persuasion and negotiation on Abby’s part, but she had finally got them both to agree—separately—to appear together on her opening programme. It promised to be an explosive debut for The Abby Freeman Show!

Max whistled softly through his teeth. ‘Are you going to supply the steamroller?’

He did have a sense of humour after all! He also, despite his many career-related trips out of the country, obviously kept up with the less serious side of current affairs.

Abby shook her head, her hair silky against her cheeks, blue eyes gleaming with laughter. ‘I already checked—even if Natalie felt so inclined, a steamroller wouldn’t fit through the studio door!’

Max gave an appreciative chuckle. ‘Perhaps you aren’t such a lightweight after all!’

It was far from an apology for his earlier rudeness—in fact it was still a remark tinged with condescension—but it was certainly an improvement on his initial antagonism. ‘Does that mean you’ll reconsider appearing on my programme?’ God, how it still gave her a thrill of pleasure to say ‘my programme’!

She had earned a certain amount of recognition from her appearances on breakfast television, with members of the public coming up to her in supermarkets and restaurants to say hello, but she was really hoping that having her own programme was going to take her one step further than that, and earn her the professional respect of people like Max Harding. If she ever got the chance, that was!

‘Not in the least.’ He instantly shot her down, his tone bored and noncommittal. And totally uncompromising. ‘And, as you aren’t going to tell me who this “friend of a friend” is…’ He raised dark brows.

‘I told you I can’t do that,’ she confirmed, her disappointment acute at his continued refusal.

Max shrugged. ‘Then it would appear we have nothing else to say to each other.’ He stood up, removing his own empty coffee mug and Abby’s full one and placing them on the worktop before turning to look at her pointedly.

He was obviously waiting for her to leave.

She had lied her way up here in the first place, and been taken in to this man’s inner sanctum, yet still she had failed in her objective. But other than continuing to pressure him—something guaranteed to annoy him even further—she didn’t have any choice but to comply with his less than subtle hint.

‘You won’t be too hard on Henry?’ she asked as she followed Max back through the sitting room to the door. She hadn’t realised earlier just how strongly Max felt about any invasion of his privacy, and Henry was a man of advanced years, who would have great difficulty finding another job if he was sacked from this one.

Max glanced back at her. ‘Calm down, Abby,’ he taunted. ‘Having witnessed your persuasive powers firsthand—no, I won’t be hard on Henry at all.’ He opened the door as he spoke.

Her ‘persuasive powers’? Did she have some of those? And if she did, why hadn’t Max Harding been persuaded?

He shook his head, smiling slightly. ‘Don’t beat yourself up trying to work out what they are, Abby; all that matters is that they didn’t work on me!’

Obviously not—but she would still have liked to know what they were. If she did, she might be able to use them again—to better effect!

But she could see by the derisive expression on Max’s face as he stood there waiting for her to leave that he certainly wasn’t going to enlighten her. Pity.

‘I’ll make a point of watching your first programme,’ he told Abby softly as she stepped out into the hallway.

She stared up at him suspiciously, uncertain of exactly what he had meant by that, and unable to read any of his thoughts from his blandly mocking expression.

But he had just succeeded in increasing her own first-night nerves by one hundred per cent!

CHAPTER THREE

‘WELL, well, if it isn’t little Abby Freeman!’

Abby groaned as she sank further down into her armchair, having instantly recognised Max Harding’s mocking voice.

Holed up in a corner of the Dillmans’ crowded drawing room, having already drunk three-quarters of the bottle of champagne sitting in the ice bucket on the low table beside her, she was in no mood for company. Something everyone else in the room, including her hosts Dorothy and Paul, seemed to know instinctively and act upon—and of which Max Harding had taken no notice whatsoever!

‘Go away,’ she muttered, without so much as glancing in his direction. She could see the long length of his legs from the corner of her eye, though, and observed that he didn’t move by so much as an inch.

‘I didn’t have you figured as a woman who likes to drink alone.’ He sounded amused now.

Abby raised dark lashes in order to glare at him, her gaze belligerent. ‘I don’t usually drink—alone or otherwise,’ she snapped impatiently. ‘But I’m sure that you and probably everyone else in this room are aware of the reason I’ve made tonight the exception.’ And several million other people, she thought with another inner groan at the remembered humiliation.

How could she have known? How could she have guessed? Why hadn’t someone told her?

‘Hey, Abby, it really wasn’t that bad.’ Max came down on his haunches beside her chair now, the amusement having disappeared from his voice as he looked at her with something like concern. ‘In fact, I thought you recovered very well.’

She hadn’t ‘recovered’ well at all, and she was sure that everyone watching the airing of her first show earlier this evening had known it, too.

As previously agreed, she had interviewed Brad Hammond first for ten minutes, chatting warmly about his earlier career and his success now in a popular television series. Then Brad had gone off the set and Natalie had come on for her allotted ten minutes, discussing her own success.

But all the time those interviews were taking place a buzz had been felt in the studio. Both crew and audience obviously waiting expectantly for the time the estranged pair would come on together, with the promise of emotional fireworks in the air.

Except it had turned out Brad and Natalie were no longer estranged!

Abby had announced the two of them coming on together, feeling the tension rising in the studio as she did so, and could have collapsed in a heap when, instead of showing antagonism, Brad and Natalie had smiled warmly at each other before kissing and sitting down close together, their hands entwined, as Brad announced that the two of them had been reconciled for three days.

Abby had been rendered speechless by the announcement. All her carefully prepared questions had become null and void—questions she had spent hours labouring over in an effort to ensure she wouldn’t become the cause of further antagonism between the separated couple, intending to leave it to the two of them to set their own scene with as little prompting from her as possible. Brad’s announcement had made a complete nonsense of them.

She’d done her best to rally round at this sudden change of circumstances, congratulating them on their reconciliation, asking what their plans were for the future. A baby, for goodness’ sake; after all the public insults they had hurled at each other over the last six months!

Yes, Abby had done her best to keep the show alive and buzzing, but she had been aware that it had definitely lacked the sparkle and interest she had been hoping for when she’d invited the pair on her show.

And Gary Holmes’s snort of derision when she’d finally walked off the set had been enough to send her hurtling for the champagne bottle the moment she’d reached Dorothy and Paul’s house half an hour ago.

‘Go away,’ she told Max Harding a second time, turning away to lift up the champagne bottle, having no intention of crossing swords with him this evening.

Instead of complying with her request, she felt him take the champagne bottle from her hand. Her grip tightened but was no match for Max’s superior strength. The fluted champagne glass in her other hand was the next to go, before Max took her by one of her now empty hands and pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

‘You need food,’ he told her firmly as she began to protest. ‘Otherwise the headlines on tomorrow’s tabloids will read “Abby Freeman plastered”, accompanied by a photograph of you being carried out of here!’ He didn’t wait for any more arguments as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her into the adjoining room, where a table was set with a sumptuous buffet supper.

Not that Abby had been about to argue with him; the way she’d swayed unsteadily as she got to her feet, with the room tilting dizzily, was enough to tell her that food was exactly what she needed. Even if it was the last thing she wanted!

‘There you go.’ Max placed a heavily laden plate in her unresisting hand before turning to choose some food for himself.

Abby’s vision blurred as she looked down at the food. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ She sniffed, not sure she was going to be able to hold back the tears for much longer, despite blinking them away desperately.

He glanced at her, very tall and handsome in a black evening suit and snowy white shirt, although the dark hair was even longer than it had been when they’d met three weeks ago, and the grey eyes were still as mockingly amused.

‘I figured someone ought to be,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘You presented rather a lonely figure sitting in there.’ He nodded in the direction of the drawing room.

Pity. He felt sorry for her. And only hours ago she had hoped to finish this evening on a note of triumph. Euphoria, even.

‘Keep your damned pity!’ she snapped as she slammed the untouched plate of food back down on the table, her eyes sparkling deeply blue, twin spots of angry colour in her cheeks. ‘You’ve heard of the phoenix rising from the ashes? Well, watch the show next week and see what a good job I make of doing exactly that!’ She turned on her heel and walked—steadily, thank goodness!—out of the room, unknowingly beautiful in her midnight-blue knee-length dress, dark hair loose about her shoulders. She made her way over to where she could see Dorothy, chatting with a well-known newspaper reporter.

Dorothy’s parties were always like this—attended by the rich and the famous—although Dorothy herself was one of the least glamorous people Abby knew. Her plain black evening gown was an old favourite with her, her face was homely rather than beautiful, and her figure tended towards comfortable plumpness now that she was approaching her sixtieth year.

But Abby had known the other woman all her life—knew that it was Dorothy’s genuine warmth and kindness that attracted people to her like a magnet. Her handsome husband of the last thirty-five years absolutely adored her.

‘You can’t leave just yet, Abby!’ Dorothy responded with genuine regret at Abby’s excuse of tiredness. ‘I haven’t had a chance to introduce you to anyone,’ she protested. ‘Jenny and I were just commenting on what an absolute triumph your programme was this evening. Natalie and Brad have made complete idiots of themselves these last few months, and I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house—well, certainly not in this one!’ she admitted unabashedly ‘—when they announced that they’re back together and trying for a baby.’

Abby’s smile was fixed on her face with sickening determination. She knew Dorothy was only trying to be kind by talking like that about her show—the older woman didn’t know how to be anything else!—but Abby really wished she didn’t have to stand here and listen to this. The whole show had been a disaster as far as she was concerned—and as far as Gary Holmes was, too, if his scornful remarks as she’d left the studio were anything to go by.

‘Yes.’ Jenny Jones took over the conversation, her manner slightly gushing. ‘The Natalie and Brad reconciliation was an absolute coup for your first programme!’

Was it? Or was the other woman just veiling her sarcasm for Dorothy’s benefit?

No, Abby realized, slightly dazedly, Jenny Jones looked genuinely disappointed that she hadn’t been the one to scoop the exclusive.

Abby brightened. Maybe it hadn’t been such a disaster, after all? Meaning that perhaps Max’s earlier comments hadn’t been out of the pity that she had thought they were either?

No—there was no need to go that far! If her show hadn’t been the complete failure she had initially thought it was, then she still knew she had only scraped through by the skin of her teeth, and someone as acutely intelligent as Max would be aware of that fact, too. And she would rather listen to Dorothy and Jenny’s misplaced praise, than Max’s mocking condescension.

‘My editor is running the story on the front page tomorrow,’ Jenny confided. ‘“Abby Shock: Brad No Longer a Free Man!”’

Abby gave a pained wince at the awful play on her surname. Although she couldn’t really have expected much else from the dreadful rag Jenny worked for. But she didn’t think Natalie would care for the headline too much, either!

‘How clever,’ Dorothy put in lightly at the lengthening silence. ‘I do so wish I could think of things like that.’

‘It comes with experience,’ Jenny consoled her slightly pityingly as she laid a sympathetic hand on the other woman’s arm. ‘I—Oh, look, there’s Max Harding.’ Her green eyes were bright with the fervour of the predator as she spotted Max entering the room. ‘I’ve been wanting to speak to him for absolutely ages. If you ladies would excuse me…?’ she added distractedly, not waiting for either of them to reply before striding purposefully across the room in Max Harding’s direction.

‘Gladly!’ Dorothy muttered with feeling. ‘That woman is such a pompous bore!’ she added with disdain.

‘Dorothy…?’ Abby looked at the older woman incredulously. ‘I’ve never heard you say an unkind word about anyone before,’ she explained at Dorothy’s questioning look.

‘No? Well, put it down to my age.’ Dorothy chuckled, easily shrugging off her brief bad humour. ‘My only consolation is that I know Max will quickly send her away with a flea in her ear! There.’ She nodded with satisfaction as she glanced across the room. ‘That has to be something of a record—even for Max.’ She sounded impressed.

Abby turned just in time to see Jenny Jones beating a hasty retreat from the glacially angry Max. There were twin spots of humiliated colour in the tabloid reporter’s cheeks. Having received what Abby was sure was a similar put-down herself only three weeks ago, she couldn’t help but feel a certain fleeting sympathy for the other woman.

‘Why does he do that?’ she mused, shaking her head as she turned back to look at Dorothy. ‘And get away with it, too!’ she added wryly, absolutely positive that not a single word of Max’s rude put-down of the other woman would ever reach the pages of even the tacky tabloid Jenny worked for.

‘Because he’s absolutely brilliant at what he does, of course,’ Dorothy answered. ‘And gorgeous as hell, too,’ she added with relish.

Abby watched as Max fell into easy conversation with Dorothy’s husband Paul. The two men were of similar height and build. Paul’s blond hair was sprinkled liberally with grey, but otherwise, to Abby’s eyes, he looked every bit as fit and handsome as the younger man.

‘I would rather have Paul any day,’ she announced firmly.

‘Well, of course, having been married to the darling man for thirty-five years, so would I,’ Dorothy agreed laughingly. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m blind to the way other men look—and Max has to be the epitome of “tall, dark and handsome”. And all that brooding aloofness has to be a direct challenge to any normal red-blooded woman!’

Then Abby had to be an abnormal red-blooded woman—because she had been daunted by Max rather than attracted to him.

Well…she had been attracted to him too—but the daunting had definitely outweighed that attraction!

‘If you like that sort of thing,’ she dismissed, with an audible sniff of uninterest.

Dorothy gave her a searching look, warm blue eyes probing now. ‘You never did tell me how your meeting with him went three weeks ago…?’

Abby withstood that searching gaze for several long seconds before looking away. ‘I told you—he said no to coming on the show,’ she said with a casual shrug.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Dorothy, I really don’t want to talk about Max Harding.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he drawled mockingly from directly behind her, making Abby start guiltily. His grey eyes were openly laughing as she turned sharply to face him. ‘I find the subject of me boring, too,’ he acknowledged, with a derisive inclination of his dark head.

‘Then at least we’re agreed on something, Mr Harding!’ she came back waspishly, completely disconcerted at having him appear behind her in this way; the last time she had looked he had been deep in conversation with Paul.

‘Well, well.’ Dorothy chuckled with delight. ‘What do you have to say to that, Max?’ she teased, obviously deeply amused by the turn in conversation.

Max gave the older woman an affectionate smile. ‘That Abby obviously has exceptional taste,’ he drawled unconcernedly. ‘Here.’ He handed Abby one of the two champagne flutes he held in his hands. ‘I thought you might be in need of it after talking to Jenny Jones!’ He grimaced.

‘What a perfectly dreadful woman,’ Dorothy agreed as Abby rather dazedly took the glass of bubbly wine from Max. ‘I really will have to have a chat with Paul about the sort of people he’s inviting into our home. In fact, if the two of you will excuse me, I think I’ll just go and have a word with him now.’ She gave them a bright smile before moving to join her husband.

Leaving Abby completely alone with Max Harding. Again. And, despite the champagne she had consumed earlier, she now felt completely sober. Stone-cold sober.

‘How is it that you know the Dillmans so well?’ Max asked lightly.

‘As until quite recently I was only a lowly weather girl, you mean?’ she came back tartly.

He took a leisurely sip of his champagne, that grey gaze unwavering as it met Abby’s seething eyes. ‘I didn’t say that,’ he finally drawled.

‘You didn’t need to. But it just so happens that I’ve known the Dillmans all my life,’ she told him with satisfaction.

‘Really?’ Max murmured, his gaze speculative as he glanced across to where Dorothy was now in laughing conversation with her husband. ‘“A friend of a friend”, I believe you said…?’ That grey gaze was once again fixed piercingly on Abby.

Damn it! She was sure Max had just set a trap for her—and she had just walked straight into it. Like an innocent mouse into the lion’s den. But unfortunately she seemed to have taken Dorothy in with her, and the other woman deserved better than that.

‘That description hardly fits Dorothy,’ Abby told him. ‘She happens to be my godmother.’ Dorothy was actually the ‘friend of a friend’ who had told her Max’s home address, but Abby had no intention of betraying her godmother’s confidence by admitting that.

‘Your godmother?’ Max repeated evenly, seeming to be having trouble digesting this piece of information.

‘Yes—godmother,’ Abby confirmed, wondering what he found so strange about that. ‘She and my mother were at school together, and they have remained friends ever since,’ she added defensively, wondering just what his problem was with that. Although, whatever it was, it had at least succeeded in diverting his attention away from that ‘friend of a friend’ she had unwisely admitted three weeks ago to have been the source of his address.

She wasn’t quite prepared for what he did next. She was sure her comment hadn’t warranted derisive laughter!

But laughter was a definite improvement on his usual mocking expression. Laughter lines appeared beside his eyes and mouth, his teeth were very white and even, and he had a slight dimple in the groove of one cheek.

But none of that detracted from the fact she had no idea what she had said that was so amusing.

‘So you were telling the truth after all about your producer and director?’ he finally taunted, once his laughter had faded. ‘It was relatives in high places instead,’ he added appreciatively. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Abby, I’m not knocking it,’ he went on, at her startled and indignant expression. ‘We all have to start somewhere, and why not use the advantages—the less obvious ones—’ he gave her slender attractiveness in the midnight-blue dress an appreciative glance ‘—that you have at your disposal.’

It didn’t matter that Abby had no idea what he was talking about. His mocking tone and derisive expression were enough to tell her it was nothing pleasant. But then ‘pleasant’ hardly described this man, did it?

She gave a shake of her head, her raggedly layered hair dark and shining as it moved on her shoulders. ‘I’m not sure which of us has imbibed the most champagne this evening, Max, but I do know I have no idea what you’re talking about. So either you’re talking gibberish, or I’m just too befuddled to understand you. Either way, I think it best if we terminate this conversation right now,’ she added firmly, more than ever determined to follow through on her earlier decision to make her excuses and leave.

‘This is my first drink of the evening.’ Max held up his barely touched glass of champagne.

Implying she was the one who was ‘too befuddled’ to understand him. Well, he might just be right about that. It had been a long day—and an even longer evening.

She straightened determinedly. ‘I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure meeting you again, Mr Harding—’

‘Oh, I think we’re well enough acquainted now for you to call me Max,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘As you did a few minutes ago.’

They weren’t acquainted at all—in fact, she knew less about this man than she had thought she did the first time she’d met him. ‘If you say so.’ She gave him an insincere smile, hoping they wouldn’t meet again, so she wouldn’t need to call him anything. ‘I really do have to go now, Max,’ she continued brightly. ‘So, if you’ll excuse me—? What are you doing?’ she demanded indignantly as he reached out and grasped her arm when she would have turned and walked away.

It wasn’t just that the physical contact was so unexpected—though it was!—but also that Max Harding didn’t give the impression he was the touchy-feely type of man that always made her cringe. In fact, to date he had given the clear impression that his ice might be in danger of melting if he actually touched someone, and so he chose not to do it.

‘Would you like me to give you a lift home?’ came his also completely unexpected reply.

Abby frowned up at him, searching that enigmatic face for any hidden meaning behind his offer. But years of presenting an inscrutable expression to the world in general made that impossible.

‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’ Abby couldn’t keep the astonishment out of her voice. The last time the two of them had met he hadn’t been able to get rid of her fast enough.

And yet he had been the one to approach her this evening—not once but twice, so perhaps…

‘I haven’t changed my mind about your show, Abby,’ he assured her mockingly.

Which was exactly what she had been wondering! Were her thoughts so obvious to everyone? Or was it only this man who seemed to know what she was thinking?

That definitely wasn’t a good idea, considering some of the thoughts she had been having about him. They swung erratically between being left breathless by his animal magnetism to actually wanting to hit him!

He was grinning when she glanced back at him—as if he had definitely been aware of that thought.

‘You can’t blame me for trying.’ She shrugged dismissively, avoiding that knowing gaze.

‘I never blame anyone for trying, Abby,’ he retorted. ‘But, to answer your earlier question, considering you know exactly where my apartment is, I thought it only fair that I should know where you live, too!’

‘Fair’ had nothing to do with it. Where this particular man was concerned she was a lot more comfortable with him not knowing where she lived!

‘It’s not far from here, actually,’ she said evasively. ‘In fact, I walked over this evening.’

He nodded. ‘It’s a pleasant spring evening. A walk sounds an excellent idea.’

Not with this man it didn’t. And why was he being so persistent? He obviously thought her a lightweight in the world of television, and had made no effort to disguise the fact that he wasn’t particularly enamoured of her as a woman, either—those remarks about her not being his type had stung! So why was he deliberately seeking out her company now?

His face, unfortunately, revealed none of his inner thoughts or emotions.

‘There’s really no need for you to accompany me,’ she assured him lightly. ‘This is one of the safer areas of London.’

‘One of the more expensive ones, you mean,’ Max drawled. ‘I guess having your own show pays a lot more than being a weather girl?’

‘I guess it does!’ she snapped, blue eyes glittering angrily. He was so insulting!

In fact, she had been quite surprised at just how much more her change in status paid. Moving to a new apartment two months ago was only one of the changes it had made in her life. She had a sporty Jaguar in the underground car park of the apartment building, and the wardrobe allowance for her new show was almost more than she had earned in a year at her previous job.

Still, it was really none of his business.

‘Do you ever say anything nice?’

‘Sometimes—when I forget myself,’ he said unrepentantly. ‘Do you have somewhere else you have to go?’

‘No—’

‘Then let’s go for that walk, shall we?’ he announced briskly, giving her no further time to protest as he took a firm hold of her arm, quickly made their excuses to Dorothy, and pulled her along at his side as he made his way with assurance towards the door.

It had still been light outside when Abby had arrived a short time ago, but it was completely dark now. The high heels of her shoes echoed in the silence of this residential area of the city. In fact, it was almost as if they were the only two people around, with only the distant roar of the Friday evening traffic to confirm that they weren’t.

Which wasn’t nearly enough, as far as Abby was concerned. Max maintained his light but unshakeable hold on her arm as they walked along together, making her skin tingle with awareness. Maybe she was a ‘normal red-blooded woman’ after all!

Because awareness seemed to be coursing through her whole body. She was beginning to feel warm all over, her breathing shallow as she shot him a glance from beneath lowered dark lashes.

Dorothy was right. He really was gorgeous as hell. That overlong dark hair was crying out to have fingers running through it caressingly, and those sculptured lips, the bottom one fuller than the top, invited kisses. And as for the obvious power of the body beneath that formal evening suit—! Abby knew exactly how wide and muscled those shoulders were, clearly remembering the silky short hair on that powerful chest, the flatness of his tapered stomach, the force of his—

‘You’re very quiet—Careful!’ Max steadied her as she stumbled slightly. ‘Those strappy black sandals look great with your wonderful long legs,’ he drawled, ‘but they aren’t very practical for walking anywhere!’

Max thought she had ‘wonderful long legs’! It was amazing how the compliment gave her an inner glow.

Especially as until this moment she hadn’t even thought he had noticed she had legs. The last—first—time they had met, she had been wearing denims. As for his remark about her being quiet—the more aware she became of him the more tongue-tied she felt. But she couldn’t tell him that!

Instead she managed a casual shrug. ‘You didn’t give me the impression that you wanted to talk.’

‘No?’ He stood facing her now, his expression unreadable in the dim glow given off by the streetlights overhead. ‘What did I give you the impression that I wanted to do instead?’ His voice was huskily soft.

Abby swallowed hard, totally aware of how close he was standing, mere inches away from her—so close that the warmth of his breath stirred the feathery tendrils of hair on her forehead. She had no idea what Max wanted to do, while at the same time knowing exactly what she wanted him to do!

She wanted to have his lips against hers, to feel the lean strength of his arms about her as he moulded her body against his, to know the caress of his hands down her spine and against her sensitised breasts. And she wanted the same freedom to touch him intimately.

‘Abby…?’ he prompted softly at her continued silence. Breaking—thank goodness!—the emotional spell she had rapidly been falling under.

She gave herself a mental shake. This was Max Harding, for goodness’ sake. A man who on first acquaintance she had decided was rude, arrogant and mocking—not to mention dangerous. She didn’t even like him!

She still thought he was all of those things, but further acquaintance on her part had shown her he was also irresistibly attractive, sensually magnetic—and most definitely gorgeous. So much so that if he had kissed her a few moments ago, as she had so wanted him to, she knew she would have just melted into his arms, that the word ‘no’ would no longer have been part of her vocabulary.

But even acknowledging that to herself was enough to bring her to her senses with the suddenness of a bucket of water being thrown over her. This was Max Harding: cold, aloof and totally unobtaintable!

She straightened, determinedly pulling her gaze away from the sensual kissability of those lips. ‘Just walk me home and get this over with,’ she instructed coolly, inwardly pleased at the normality of her tone—she had expected to sound like Minnie Mouse!

Max continued to look at her for several long seconds and then gave a curt nod of his head—whether of agreement to her statement or dismissal of it, Abby wasn’t sure. ‘Fine,’ he rasped, no longer touching her as he strode forcefully ahead.

Leaving Abby to click-clack along behind him, in shoes that definitely weren’t designed for it, in order to keep up with him. But she wasn’t about to voice any complaint at the pace he had set. She just wanted to disappear into the privacy of her apartment now. Besides, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction!

Five minutes and probably a ruined pair of expensive shoes later, they reached the building that housed her apartment. ‘Thank you for escorting me home,’ she said with firm dismissal, and stood as if guarding the entrance to the building, having no intention of letting him get anywhere near her actual apartment.

‘Very politely said!’ Max’s mouth twisted mockingly. ‘Your mother and Dorothy obviously attended a good school.’

Abby gave him an impatient look, at the same time aware that there was something at the back of her mind that Max had said earlier, and it had been bothering her. ‘What did you mean when you said I had relatives in high places?’ She had thought it a strange remark at the time, but she had been slightly side-tracked after it and forgotten to pursue the subject.

Max tilted his head slightly as he looked down at her quizzically. ‘You aren’t trying to tell me that you don’t know?’ He sounded sceptical.

Her frown deepened. ‘Don’t know what?’

‘About Paul Dillman’s connection to Ajax Television—and consequently Dorothy’s?’ he drawled.

The obvious response to that was, What connection? But as she really didn’t want to let this man know that she didn’t have any idea what he was talking about, it was a question she had no intention of asking.

At least, not of Max.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘PAUL recently became a major shareholder in Ajax Television,’ Dorothy told her as she moved about her conservatory, watering her plants, glancing over only when Abby’s silence lengthened. ‘I thought I’d mentioned it to you?’ the older woman prompted softly.

No, of course Dorothy hadn’t mentioned it to her! If she had Abby might have questioned her sudden rise to fame a little more deeply. But she had genuinely thought it had happened as Pat Connelly had claimed—that Abby had done so well during her months of co-hosting the breakfast show that she was now being offered a show of her own.

Despite being awake most of the night thinking about this, she had waited until ten before calling to see Dorothy, aware that the party the evening before probably wouldn’t have ended until late, and giving the other woman time to have a lie-in.

Abby hadn’t been as lucky—unable to sleep at all after making her hurried goodbyes to Max and retreating to her apartment. Instead, she had paced up and down most of the night, wondering if what Max had claimed could possibly be true.

It obviously was!

Dorothy gave her a searching look. ‘Abby? What difference does it make?’

‘It makes a lot of difference,’ Abby said sharply, feeling as if her whole world—well, her professional one, at least—was crashing down around her ears. First last night’s disaster, and now this!

Dorothy put down her watering can, giving Abby her total attention now. ‘I don’t see why. Pat Connelly was the one to approach Ajax with the idea for the show. As I understood it, she had seen you on early-morning television and thought you had something more to give. Paul did become a shareholder a few months ago, Abby, but he’s had very little to do with programme selection,’ she added, when Abby still looked doubtful.

‘Even if that’s true—’

‘It is,’ the other woman assured her, with her customary briskness. ‘Obviously when Paul was told of the idea of giving you your own chat show he was absolutely thrilled for you. But that’s as far as his involvement went.’ Dorothy’s gaze sharpened suspiciously. ‘Who has implied otherwise?’

Abby avoided meeting the older woman’s gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, deciding that perhaps it had been a mistake to question Dorothy about this—even if it had seemed the quickest way of getting an answer. ‘I guess I’ll just have to work twice as hard in an effort to prove those accusations of nepotism wrong, won’t I?’ she added with forced lightness.

‘Who is “everyone”?’ Dorothy looked most displeased. ‘It isn’t that awful Gary Holmes, is it?’ she added disgustedly.

Abby’s eyes widened. ‘I didn’t realise that you thought he was awful, too.’

Dorothy wrinkled her nose with distaste. ‘I know he’s wonderfully good-looking, darling, and that most women find him irresistible, but I’m well past the age where looks alone impress me. He made a pass at me once—which I thought totally out of line and Paul found highly amusing!’ she added.

Abby gave a rueful smile at the image this evoked. ‘No, for once this has nothing to do with Gary Holmes.’

‘Who then? Not Max?’ the older woman protested indignantly. ‘Surely not…?’ She seemed to be speaking to herself now rather than Abby. ‘Despite what you said about him earlier in the evening, I noticed that the two of you seemed to be getting on well together last night. I was absolutely thrilled when you left together a short time later.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ Abby muttered with a dismissive shake of her head, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘Is that really the time?’ She feigned haste, although it was actually still only ten-thirty, and since it was a Saturday she had very little else to do but catch up on her laundry. But Max Harding, and yesterday evening were the last things she wanted to discuss right now—with Dorothy or anyone else.

‘But we haven’t even had coffee yet,’ Dorothy protested. ‘I was going to ring and have Dora make some.’

‘I’ll have to take a raincheck.’ Abby smiled reassuringly—even though it was the last thing she felt like doing. ‘I have to be somewhere else at eleven o’clock.’ At home. With the door firmly locked. And the answering machine switched on to take any telephone calls.

Because at the moment she felt as if she needed a little time and space away from the rest of the world in order to lick her wounds in private.

Despite what Dorothy claimed to the contrary, she wasn’t one hundred per cent convinced of Paul’s non-involvement in choosing her to present Ajax Television’s new Friday evening chat show.

‘Just ignore it, Monty,’ she advised her pet firmly as the doorbell rang for a second time in thirty seconds. ‘Mum would have telephoned before coming, and I don’t want to see anyone else.’ She just wanted to continue sprawling on the sofa, Monty curled up on her chest, loudly purring his approval of this inactivity. ‘You know, Monty, all I ever wanted—’ She broke off as the doorbell rang a third time.

And kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Whoever her visitor was, he was keeping a finger continuously on the doorbell now.

Driving Abby insane!

‘That’s it!’ She finally snapped after a good thirty seconds or so of the incessant nerve-jangling noise. She placed Monty gently on the cushioned sofa—attempting to do it any other way would probably have resulted in claw-flexing disapproval!—before standing up and pressing the intercom impatiently.

‘Yes?’ she snapped aggressively into the speaker, scowling. ‘What is your problem?’ She sounded as irritable as she felt, and was not in any sort of mood for visitors. Especially such a persistent one!

‘Open the door, Abby,’ a familiar voice drawled derisively.

Abby snatched her finger off the intercom as if it had burnt her. Max! What on earth was he doing here? Why—?

The doorbell began to ring again.

She pressed the intercom again. ‘Will you stop doing that?’

‘As soon as you open the door and let me in—yes,’ he replied evenly.

She didn’t want to open the door. Didn’t want to see Max. Didn’t want to speak to him. But the alternative, she realised as the bell began to ring again, was to be driven noisily insane by the sound of her own doorbell.

She pressed the door-release button, moving to shove open her apartment door too, before stomping back into the sitting room to throw herself back down onto the sofa—receiving a hiss and a scratch from Monty as she inadvertently sat down on him.

She picked up one of the cushions and hugged it to her defensively as she heard Max outside in the hallway, followed by the soft click of her apartment door closing as he let himself inside and came to stand in the lounge doorway. The still ruffled Monty refused to acknowledge her visitor by so much as a twitch of an eyebrow.

‘Very nice,’ Max murmured appreciatively as he moved forward into the room.

Abby was well aware that he couldn’t be referring to her—the last time she had checked in the mirror she had looked less than her best. Her hair was in wild disorder from the light breeze blowing outside, and she’d made no effort to renew her lipgloss since her return from Dorothy’s. He had to be commenting on her apartment.

It was very nice—the rooms spacious and grand, with a fantastic view over the Thames. But she was sure Max hadn’t come here to discuss the comforts of her apartment. She didn’t know what he had come here to discuss, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t that!

‘Max, what do you want?’ she demanded rudely, keeping her gaze cool as she took in his appearance in those ragged denims and a black T-shirt.

God, he really was gorgeous, she acknowledged to herself. Her heart was beating erratically just at the sight of him.

‘Coffee,’ he replied briskly. ‘Black. One sugar.’ He dropped down into one of the comfortable armchairs.

Abby blinked dazedly. How did ‘What do you want?’ equate with ‘Coffee. Black. One sugar’? And Monty was no help as a watch-cat either; he had beaten a hasty retreat into her bedroom at the first sound of Max’s voice!

She frowned. ‘I wasn’t offering you anything to drink,’ she told him impatiently.

‘No?’ He raised dark brows, his grey gaze moving slowly over her face before moving down to her slender curves in denims and a blue T-shirt. ‘What were you offering me, then?’

Abby felt a betraying tingling down her spine as his husky, seductive tone washed over her, and knew that heat had coloured her cheeks.

Damn it, this man only had to look at her in a certain way, only had to talk to her in a certain way, and all she could think of was the nakedness of his body at that first meeting, her fingers aching to touch the silky dark hair on his chest.

She stood up restlessly, returning the cushion to the sofa. ‘I was asking why you’re here,’ she explained succinctly.

Max looked up at her, gaze narrowed. ‘You’re looking tired today—didn’t you sleep well?’

Abby glared at him. ‘No, I didn’t sleep well!’ How could she, after what he had told her about Paul’s connection to Ajax Television?

He shrugged. ‘The reviews were good in this morning’s newspapers.’

Surprisingly, they had been—not all as sensationally headlined as Jenny Jones’s rag, but very positive nonetheless. One more reputable newspaper had even commented that if the rest of The Abby Freeman Show proved to be as entertaining then she was a very welcome addition to the genre.

High praise indeed, but in Abby’s mind none of that altered the fact that it hadn’t been the show she had planned—or what she now knew of Paul’s involvement with Ajax Television. If the formidable English press ever got hold of the fact that she had a personal connection to Dorothy Dillman then they would have a field-day!

‘Or does your lack of sleep have anything to do with the fact that Dorothy telephoned me a short time ago and told me I have a big mouth?’ Max added softly.

Abby’s gaze swung instinctively to look at the mentioned feature. It was such a decisive-looking mouth—a mouth that in spite of herself she longed to kiss! Although at the moment it was set in a determined line as he waited for her answer.

‘Did she?’ Abby moistened her own lips with the tip of her tongue, her gaze not quite meeting his now.

‘She did,’ he confirmed with a pointed sigh. ‘Something, as Dorothy happens to be one of my favourite people, I wasn’t too pleased about. Even if—as I pointed out to her—I was just returning the compliment.’ The steadiness of his gaze told her he was referring to the source who’d given her his address.

It was impossible to mistake his displeasure for anything else. The grey eyes were glittering, his earlier mocking humour gone without trace, his restless anger tangible in spite of the fact he still lounged back in the armchair.

‘Dorothy is one of my favourite people, too,’ she assured him quietly.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ he rasped. ‘But she hasn’t just told you that you have a big mouth!’

No, and she couldn’t imagine Dorothy having said that to Max, either. ‘Dorothy is far too sweet to talk to anyone like that,’ she argued.

Max shrugged. ‘Ordinarily I would have said so too, but she told me to put it down to her age.’

Abby remembered that as the phrase her godmother had used the evening before, when discussing Jenny Jones, so perhaps Dorothy had said it after all. Abby’s mother, Dorothy’s best friend, had gone through the menopause several years ago, and she seemed to remember there had been something of a personality shift then, so maybe that was what Dorothy was referring to when she talked of her age being responsible for her uncharacteristic outspokenness.

‘Well, I’m sorry if it was anything I said that caused Dorothy to talk to you in that way.’ Abby sighed. ‘But, after what you said last night, I needed some answers to some questions, and in the circumstances Dorothy seemed the obvious choice to give them to me.’ Even if, as far as Abby was concerned, those answers had been less than satisfactory.

‘How about I take you out and we discuss this further over lunch?’

Abby stared at Max now, too stunned by the suggestion to hide her surprise. ‘You’re inviting me out to lunch?’ She looked at him suspiciously.

His mouth twitched as he easily read her disbelief. ‘That would seem to be what I just did, yes,’ he confirmed mockingly.

Her stare turned to a frown. Why on earth would Max Harding, of all people, be inviting her out to lunch? It was—

‘You think too much, Abby,’ he told her irritably, and he stood up. ‘Grab a jacket and let’s go.’

Did she want to go out to lunch with Max Harding? The answer to that was a definite yes!

And it had absolutely nothing to do with continuing her efforts to persuade him to appear on her show, on the basis that any dialogue between them was better than none, and everything to do with the fluttering sensation in her chest and her complete physical awareness of him.

He took some car keys out of the pocket of his ragged denims. ‘Yes or no, Abby?’

A part of her so badly wanted to say no—if only to see the look on his face when she did. But the rest of her wanted to say yes—even if she did know it was a mistake to be attracted to this man.

‘I’ll take your silence as a no,’ he rasped impatiently as he turned to leave.

‘Yes!’ Abby burst out forcefully.

Max came to a halt, slowly turning to face her, his expression unreadable. ‘Yes, I can take that as a no? Or, yes, you’ll have lunch with me?’ His offhand tone implied he was no longer bothered either way.

Which he probably wasn’t, Abby accepted ruefully. He had made the gesture—for whatever reason—and the rest was up to her. It was a sure fact that if she said no now he would never repeat the invitation.

‘Yes, I’ll come to lunch.’ She plucked her jacket from the back of the chair, where she had thrown it earlier, deftly slipping her arms into the sleeves. ‘After all, a free lunch is a free lunch!’ she added with casual dismissal. No need to look too eager!

Max eyed her mockingly. ‘Didn’t you know, Abby? There’s no such thing as a free lunch.’

Maybe there wasn’t, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine what price he might consider extracting for buying her lunch; after all, he had told her on several occasions that she wasn’t his type. And even if she was, that price might be a little high!

He sighed, indicating his impatience with her delay. ‘Would you just get your act in gear? I get tetchy when I’m hungry,’ he added ruefully.

Abby slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘How can you tell?’ she taunted as she passed him on her way to the door.

‘Oh, ha-ha,’ he muttered. ‘You’ll see—I’ll be a veritable pussycat once I’ve eaten.’

A lion or a tiger, maybe. Or at least one of the man—woman?—eating kind!

But, talking of cats…

‘Just a minute.’ She beat a hasty retreat back into the apartment, going through to the kitchen to check that Monty had enough water while she was out.

When she returned to the lounge she discovered that Monty had left his hiding place and was now graciously allowing Max to get down on his haunches and stroke his silky white fur.

‘My cat Monty.’ She introduced him wryly. Her traitorous cat Monty. Really, couldn’t Monty recognise an enemy when he saw one?

Max looked up at her. ‘This isn’t just a cat, Abby, he’s a Persian. Rather a magnificent example of his breed, too,’ he added admiringly.

‘Oh, don’t you start!’ She raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Monty already has an elevated enough opinion of himself as it is.’

‘Quite right too,’ Max straightened. ‘Are you finally ready to go?’

‘Well, I could always do a little dusting, and the bedroom probably needs tidying…Yes, I’m ready to go now!’ she taunted lightly, and he shot her a scathing look.

She was even more pleased she had accepted his invitation when she realised he was driving to her favourite restaurant. She loved Italian food, and Luigi’s served some of the finest in London. The busy restaurant also had the advantage of being close to the studio where she now worked. Not that it mattered today; she wasn’t going back in to work until Monday.

‘I asked Dorothy where you like to eat,’ Max told her as he saw her pleased expression. Which meant he had intended inviting her out to lunch all the time…

Interesting.

Although the fact that Dorothy knew Max meant to invite her out to lunch probably meant that her mother now knew about it too.

The two women—Dorothy and Abby’s mother Elizabeth—spoke on the telephone at least a couple of times a week, and Abby was sure that Dorothy would consider Abby being invited out to lunch by Max Harding as more than enough reason for one of those lengthy calls. Max probably had no idea, but, knowing the two women as well as she did, Abby had no doubt that by the time the telephone conversation came to an end Dorothy and Elizabeth would have chosen the colour of the bridesmaids’ dresses and decided on names for their children.

‘What’s so funny?’ Max prompted after parking the silver Mercedes and coming round to open her door for her.

She gave a dismissive shake of her head. ‘You had to be there!’

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Maybe I would have been if I’d known it was going to be so much fun!’

No, he wouldn’t. One thing she could say with absolute certainty about Max Harding—without any fear of contradiction on his part—was that he certainly wasn’t the type of man you took home to meet your mother!

As far as Abby was aware, apart from that very early marriage, at thirty-nine years old he had never been involved in a relationship that even approached that level of seriousness.

She wondered why that was. There was no doubting his good looks, or his sensual attraction, and he was certainly wealthy enough, so Abby was sure that his reluctance about commitment couldn’t have come from the females he’d dated. Maybe—

‘What are you thinking about now?’ Max enquired, his hand lightly on her elbow as they crossed the car park to the restaurant.

Abby gave him a look from beneath lowered lashes. ‘The truth?’

‘I find that preferable.’

She drew in a deep breath. ‘I was wondering if perhaps you had homosexual tendencies.’

‘You were wondering—!’ Max broke off incredulously. ‘By all means be blunt, why don’t you?’ He gave a dazed shake of his head.

‘Well, you did ask.’

‘I know I did. And the answer is no. A definite no,’ he added impatiently.

Abby gave an unconcerned shrug. ‘It was just a thought.’

Max swung open the restaurant door for her to enter. ‘Well, in future I suggest you keep those sort of thoughts to yourself!’

‘You asked,’ she protested. ‘Besides, you said I wasn’t your type, so I—’

‘Jumped to a conclusion a dozen steps ahead rather than one!’ He shook his head. ‘And I wasn’t referring to the whole of the female sex, anyway.’

‘Just me?’

He gave her a considering look, that sweeping gaze taking in the whole of her appearance from her silky dark hair to her booted feet. ‘I think it might be best if I were to reserve judgement on my previous statement,’ he finally answered huskily.

‘You sound like a lawyer,’ Abby mocked.

‘I shall be “taking the fifth” in a moment,’ he assured her sardonically.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think that applies over here.’

‘Then maybe it should,’ Max said with feeling.

Exactly what had he meant by that remark? Abby wondered with a fluttering sensation in her chest. Could he—?

‘Abby!’ Luigi himself was acting as maître d’ today, smiling his pleasure as he moved to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Such an honour to have you with us today,’ he beamed. ‘For obvious reasons I couldn’t see your show myself last night.’ He looked pointedly around the crowded restaurant, which was even more frenetic in the evenings. ‘But my wife tells me it was very romantic.’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Abby laughed, making no comment on the show herself; as far as she was concerned the jury was still out on whether or not it had actually been a success. ‘Luigi, this is Max Harding.’ She changed the subject by introducing the two men.

‘But of course.’ Luigi clearly recognized him. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Harding.’

‘Max, please,’ he responded smoothly. ‘I telephoned earlier and booked a table,’ he told the corpulent Italian.

‘I had no idea Abby was to be your dining companion.’ The restaurant owner smiled, removing a ‘Reserved’ sign from a table in the middle of the room and taking them to a window table instead.

‘You eat here quite often, I gather?’ Max murmured dryly, obviously having noticed the move.

‘Often enough,’ she agreed, nodding to several people in the restaurant whom she knew—quite a lot of them from the studio down the street.

Max had been so sure that he could persuade her to have lunch with him today that he had booked a table? That sort of confidence, and the fact that she was here and proving it justified, made her feel more than a little annoyed. Was she that easy to read? Or just that easy?

‘Dorothy warned me I’d need to book a table if we weren’t to be disappointed when we got here,’ Max put in quietly, perhaps noticing her rapidly rising indignation.

Seated opposite him, totally aware of him and anticipating one of Luigi’s delicious pasta dishes for lunch rather than the crackers and cheese she had intended having at home, Abby decided she couldn’t be bothered to argue.

‘A glass of your house red, please,’ she told Luigi in answer to his question concerning drinks. ‘It’s very good,’ she assured Max as he looked at her enquiringly.

‘Make that two glasses of house red—thanks,’ he told the other man, before turning his attention back to Abby. ‘So how does it feel to be a celebrity?’

She grimaced, fiddling with the small vase of fresh flowers in the middle of the table. ‘If I ever become one I’ll be sure to let you know!’

Max reached out and put one of his much larger hands over both of hers. ‘Take a look around you, Abby,’ he advised softly.

She did, her eyes widening as she saw that a lot of the other diners were now sending surreptitious glances in their direction. One or two of those people were actually smiling at her approvingly.

She gave a rueful shrug as she turned back to Max. ‘They’re probably all wondering who the woman is having lunch with Max Harding!’

He gave a shake of his head. ‘I’m yesterday’s news, Abby. It’s you they’re looking at,’ he assured her.

Another slightly self-conscious look around the room confirmed that he was right—that she was the one people were nodding and smiling at.

She had come in for her fair share of recognition from being on breakfast television for over a year, but nothing like this. Then she had usually been recognised and stopped in the supermarket buying her week’s supply of chocolate—or, even worse, in the chemist as she was buying essential but embarrassing female toiletries.

But most of that recognition had been from middle-aged or elderly females; the wave of awareness she could feel in the restaurant now was coming from both males and females—of all ages. Recognition and smiling approval, she realized. Most of those friendly gazes seemed to be smiling indulgently at the hold Max still had on her hands.

She hastily removed her hands from his. ‘They’ll have the two of us married to each other by tomorrow morning!’ she explained with fiery red cheeks.

‘Possibly,’ Max acknowledged lightly, sitting back with apparent unconcern. ‘Need any more confirmation that your show was a success?’

‘Lots!’ She grimaced. ‘Especially as the whole thing seems to be a case of “not what I know but who I know” getting me the job in the first place,’ she recalled heavily.

It might also help to explain Gary Holmes’s obvious contempt for her from the start—he had known of her relationship to Paul Dillman’s wife. Although Max certainly hadn’t been aware of that connection until she had told him…Oh, well, perhaps Gary Holmes was just rude and cutting to any young upstart he considered had been foisted on him. Whatever—he certainly didn’t like her.

‘Well, well, well, Abby. Out for a celebration lunch? Or is it one of commiseration?’ The last word dripped with scorn.

Perhaps it was thinking about him, or maybe he was just becoming her nemesis, but Abby could only look up in open-mouthed dismay as Gary Holmes himself materialised beside their table. In fact, she was so surprised she couldn’t even speak.

In the event, it was Max who answered the other man. ‘A celebration, of course, Gary,’ he assured him challengingly as he stood up.

To say Gary looked stunned at the identity of her dining companion was putting it mildly. The older man’s face was suffused with heated colour. What followed was the draining of all that colour, leaving him white and drawn.

Max, in contrast, looked arrogantly assured at he stared down at the other, shorter and more slenderly built man.

Gary swallowed convulsively as he tried to return that hard gaze. ‘Max,’ he muttered unnecessarily.

Max gave a humourless smile, his eyes glittering icily. ‘At least neither of us is hypocritical enough to say it’s good to see you again.’

Because it obviously wasn’t, Abby saw.

The one and only time Gary Holmes’s name had come up in conversation between herself and Max had been that first day, when Abby had managed to get herself admitted into Max’s apartment. She remembered that Max had gone very quiet afterwards, brushing off her question and changing the subject when she had asked him for an explanation. But now, seeing the two men together, she knew her instinct that day had been correct. These two men heartily disliked each other.

She wondered why.

But Gary was recovering rapidly now, his initial shock fading to be replaced by his usual sneering smile as he turned back to look at Abby. ‘Can I take it from the two of you being here together that you have succeeded in persuading Max to come on your show after all?’ he taunted.

‘You can take it any way you like, Gary,’ Max answered harshly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind? You’ve interrupted our meal for quite long enough.’ He gave the other man a pointedly dismissive look.

‘Not at all.’ Gary was obviously fully recovered now. ‘I’ll look forward to working with you again,’ he added challengingly, before shooting Abby once last dismissive glance and swaggering his way out of the restaurant.

Abby looked curiously up at Max as he still stood beside the table.

Again. Gary had said he looked forward to working with Max again.

When had the two men worked together in the past? Whenever it was, it clearly hadn’t been a friendly relationship!

She moistened dry lips. ‘Max—’

‘Don’t ask!’ he rasped, his expression harsh and remote as he resumed his seat.

But she wanted to know—needed to know before she worked with Gary again. She was sure that the other man wouldn’t let this chance meeting pass without further comment. Which, in her ignorance, she would have no chance of combating.

But Max’s frostily closed expression certainly didn’t invite further questions on the subject!

In fact, Gary’s uninvited appearance had put a complete dampener on their meal together. Neither of them—to Luigi’s obvious disgust—did more than pick at the homemade pasta, and both of them refused dessert or coffee.

Max asked tersely for the bill before driving her home in stony silence.

All of which brought Abby to the decision that the first thing she would do on Monday morning was set about finding out the history of the obvious antagonism between Max Harding and Gary Holmes.

She had a feeling it was a history worth knowing.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘I’M SORRY.’

Abby, half in the car, half out on the pavement, paused to turn and look at Max. ‘Sorry for what?’

After starting out so promisingly, she had just suffered through the most awful lunch of her life; there had better only be one thing he was sorry for!

His expression darkened. ‘Damn it!’ His hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel before he turned to push the car door open beside him and stepped forcefully onto the road—instantly having to hold up a hand of apology to the driver of an oncoming car, who had to veer further out into the road to avoid hitting him. Max strode round the car to stand on the pavement next to the watching Abby. ‘I’m sorry I was such a lousy lunch companion,’ he muttered.

Not the most gracious apology she had ever received, but for all that Abby could see that it was sincere. Although his grim expression didn’t exactly encourage questions as to why he had been so angry and bad-tempered throughout their meal. She knew the who, of course, just not the why…

But now probably wasn’t the time to pursue the subject. ‘I didn’t notice,’ she came back lightly, eyes glowing with mischief as she met his gaze.

‘Yeah, right,’ he drawled self-mockingly, his dark mood seeming to ease somewhat.

‘Would you like to come up for the coffee we both refused at Luigi’s?’

Max gave her a look. ‘The last woman to invite me in for coffee had something else in mind.’

‘I’m only offering coffee,’ she assured him dryly.

At least, she thought she was…

Because, despite—or because of!—his lack of conversation during lunch, Abby’s awareness of him had only grown. To the point where she was acutely aware of every move he made, of the dark hair visible above his T-shirt, of the way that fitted T-shirt emphasised the powerful width of his shoulders and chest, of the hard sensuality of his face, of the way his hair fell endearingly across his forehead…

She hoped she was only inviting him in for coffee…

His sensuality was something she was too aware of. His aura of totally masculine power touched and inflamed something deep inside her—something that had been totally unknown to her until today. Total physical awareness. And it completely took her breath away. Her body felt incredibly warm, her legs and arms lethargic.

She hoped Max wasn’t aware of it, too!

He didn’t appear to be as he locked the car before taking a light hold on her arm. ‘Remind me to have a word with you later about the fragility of a man’s ego,’ he told her dryly as she let them both into the apartment building.

Some men’s egos, perhaps, Abby thought as they went up together in the lift. The research she had already done on this man told her that just because he had never remarried it didn’t mean there had been a shortage of women in his life—she had been being deliberately provocative earlier, when she’d questioned his sexual preference! And he was usually the one to bring an end—usually an abrupt end—to his relationships.

Which warned her that she would be a fool to follow up her own obvious attraction to him—if she needed any warning…

Research was one thing, but the man himself was a puzzle within an enigma. And Abby had a distinct feeling he preferred it like that. An only child of wealthy parents, who had lived mainly on the island of Majorca for the last ten years, with no other emotional ties, Max was pretty much a law unto himself.

And everything about him shouted that he intended remaining that way.

Not that Abby was interested in a serious relationship with anyone, either. Her last relationship, of six months’ duration, had ended several months ago, and she was in no hurry to repeat the experience of someone wanting to know what she was doing and what she was thinking twenty-four hours a day! Besides, Monty hadn’t liked Andrew at all—arching his back and hissing whenever he’d seen him.

But he liked Max, a little voice whispered inside her head.

Something that was reaffirmed when Abby came back from the kitchen carrying two mugs of steaming hot coffee and found Monty sitting majestically on Max’s knee, his whole body one big purr.

‘What can I say? He likes me!’ Max laughed huskily as he saw her disgusted look.

Abby put one of the mugs down on the table in front of him. ‘Enough to have restored that fragile male ego?’ she taunted as she sat down in the chair opposite.

‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far.’ He shrugged, his expression sobering. ‘I really am sorry about lunch. I invited you out, and then behaved like a bad-tempered idiot throughout. Gary Holmes will do that to me every time!’ he added harshly.

Abby eyed him over the top of her coffee mug. ‘I know why I don’t like him, but what did he ever do to you?’

Max’s expression was grim, his eyes glacial. ‘I took you out to lunch because I thought we needed to talk, not so that I could answer questions—’

‘But we didn’t talk, Max,’ Abby cut in pointedly, deciding to ignore his deliberate challenge, though she was aware that he was reverting back to that coldly arrogant man of their first meeting, those barriers coming down like the steel of prison bars.

‘No, we didn’t,’ he acknowledged harshly, looking at her with piercing grey eyes. ‘Because Holmes’s remarks made me realise that I had stupidly allowed myself to become sidetracked from the fact that you’re still just another reporter looking for an angle. Worse—you’re a chat-show host looking for an angle.’ He put Monty to one side before standing up.

That last remark hurt—on two fronts. Personally, because she liked this man far more than was good for her. And professionally, because the intensifying attraction she felt towards this man had made her forget all about her job. The truth was, she found Max so physically mesmerising that she hadn’t even thought about her show the whole time they had been together—or the fact that she still wanted him as her final guest.

It was this latter realisation that brought her to her feet, too, eyes sparkling with resentment now. ‘You are being extremely unfair,’ she snapped. ‘I never so much as—What do you mean, you “allowed” yourself to become sidetracked?’ she demanded with a frown.

Max gave a humourless smile. ‘Stupidly allowed myself to become sidetracked,’ he corrected harshly, that icy grey gaze unfathomable as it swept over her with calculation.

Abby withstood his cold look with a challenging lift of her chin, knowing from the contemptuous curl of those sculptured lips that whatever he was looking at certainly wasn’t the same reflection she saw when she looked in the mirror every morning.

And the tension was unbearable. The very air seemed to crackle between them as their gazes remained locked in silent battle.

Abby was determined—childishly?—not to be the first to break that gaze. No, not childishly; there was nothing in the least child-like about the way she was looking at Max. Or the way he was looking at her. In fact, his gaze had become altogether adult in its appraisal now, those grey eyes seeming to frown disapprovingly even as his gaze shifted to her mouth.

She couldn’t help what happened next: it was pure instinct that made her run her tongue self-consciously over the lips he was frowning at so darkly. A move that only seemed to make his expression become grimmer than ever.

She sighed. ‘Look, Max, I don’t know—’

‘Oh, you know, Abby,’ he ground out, even as he stepped towards her. ‘You really can’t be that naïve!’ he added scornfully.

But she was! In fact she had no idea what he was talking about—what she had done…

Every coherent thought left her head as Max reached out to grasp her arms and pull her into the hardness of his body, lowering his head as his lips claimed hers.

She did know, after all. This was what Max was talking about. This was what had sidetracked him earlier—he was as aware of her as she was of him.

It was a punishing kiss. Max completely skipped the tentative, the gentle exploration, going straight to heated passion, his mouth possessing hers with a fierceness Abby more than returned. Her arms slid up his chest as she pushed the jacket from his shoulders and threw it over onto the sofa, and his arms were like steel bands as he moulded her soft curves against the powerful hardness of his, at the same time making her fully aware of his arousal.

She was so hot, so aware, every nerve, every sense heightened as she kissed him back with all the pent-up emotion of the last couple of hours. This was what she wanted, what she had longed for since the moment she had first looked at Max Harding.

He felt so good, his shoulders so wide and muscled. He smelt so good, a light cologne only adding to the musky smell that tantalised her senses as much as the lips exploring hers with such thoroughness. His hands were now seeking the pleasure spots of her body, palms running firmly down her spine before moving forward to cup her breasts, the soft pads of his thumbs moving rhythmically against the hardened tips.

Abby gasped with pleasure, groaning low in her throat as Max’s tongue sought and found hers, before exploring the moist hollows of her mouth, touching nerve-endings she hadn’t known existed, taking her to heights she had never known. She was aware only of Max, of the touch of his hands, his lips, his tongue. Every particle of her, it seemed, was consumed by a need that was rapidly growing out of control inside her. She—

She suddenly found herself thrust away from him at arm’s length, blinking up at him dazedly, knowing by the flush above the hard cheekbones that he had been as aroused as she was, and with no idea what had caused him to bring a halt to their lovemaking. It certainly hadn’t been because of a lack of response on her part, she acknowledged with a certain amount of self-derision, her cheeks becoming heated with the awareness of the depths of her arousal.

She shook her head. ‘Max, what—?’

‘You have a visitor,’ he rasped, eyes glittering as his hands briefly tightened on her arms before he released her with a suddenness that made her stumble slightly. At the same time the doorbell buzzed—for the second time?

If someone had buzzed up already then Abby hadn’t been aware of it—completely lost in her desire for Max, in the way he had kissed and tantalised her. But Max obviously hadn’t been as mindlessly aroused as her.

‘Shouldn’t you answer that?’ he bit out abruptly, thrusting his hands into his pockets, his expression darkly brooding as he looked at her.

Should she? Did she really want to see anyone just now? Besides, who could it be? Her parents lived in the country, she had seen Dorothy only this morning, and at the moment, with the sexual tension still tangible between herself and Max, she didn’t want to see anyone else.

She shook her head. ‘I’m not expecting anyone.’ Her gaze locked on Max as she searched for signs of his arousal. And found none.

‘No?’ He quirked dark, sceptical brows as the buzzer sounded—more persistently this time.

Abby gave a pained frown. They needed to talk, not to be interrupted by a third party. Any third party. The kiss just now had proved that Max was as attracted to her as she was to him. That was why he had become ‘sidetracked’, as he’d put it, and they needed—

‘Just now was a mistake, Abby,’ Max told her harshly as he seemed to read her thoughts. ‘One not to be repeated!’

‘But—’

‘Get the damned door!’ he grated as the buzzer sounded again. ‘I’m leaving, anyway,’ he added, sounding disgusted, as he shrugged back into his jacket.

She could feel the heat of tears in her eyes at this total rejection of her, of what they had just shared. But she knew she hadn’t imagined his response to her; she wasn’t that inexperienced!

But in the face of his denial, and the return of the iceman from their first meeting, she knew she would be a fool to pursue it, that she would be only leaving herself wide open to further humiliation. Worse, Max was more than capable of verbally annihilating her if she pushed him any further on the subject.

With one last lingering glance at the rigidity of his uncompromising back she walked dejectedly over to the door to press the intercom. ‘Yes?’ she said dispiritedly, not in the mood to speak to anyone right now. Except Max. And he didn’t want to speak to her.

Maybe, if they hadn’t been interrupted like this maybe they would have ended up in bed together! After which Max would still have left…

‘Not interrupting anything, am I, Abby?’

She stiffened, her eyes widening incredulously as she recognised Gary Holmes’s insolent tone. She turned quickly to look at Max, knowing by the iciness of his gaze, the sudden tension of his body, that he had recognised the other man’s voice too.

What was Gary doing here? He had never been to her apartment before—had never been invited! Well, he hadn’t been invited this time either, but he was still here. And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time!

What was Max thinking about the other man turning up here?

Hard to tell from that arrogantly closed expression. Certainly nothing good, anyway.

‘Abby?’ Gary Holmes prompted irritably at her continued silence.

Max’s mouth twisted contemptuously. ‘He seems to be getting impatient. I should let him in if I were you.’

Well, he wasn’t her. And as far as she was concerned Gary Holmes had no right being here. She didn’t like him, and certainly didn’t want to invite him into her home. He might be the director of her show, but that gave him no right to invade her personal life.

She gave Max one last resentful glare before turning away to speak into the intercom. ‘What do you want, Gary?’

He gave an audible chuckle. ‘Now, that’s a leading question!’

Not as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t! Not as far as Max was concerned either, if the scornful way he was looking at her was anything to go by.

She gave an impatient sigh. ‘I’m not in the mood for your mind games right now, Gary, so just say what you have to say and then go.’

‘That isn’t very friendly of you, Abby,’ Gary drawled unconcernedly. ‘I have a few things I need to discuss with you.’

‘We’ll talk on Monday—’

‘I want to talk to you now, not Monday,’ he cut in cheerfully. ‘Look, why don’t I walk up, instead of taking the lift, and give the two of you time to put some clothes on—’

‘How dare you?’ Abby gasped, shooting Max a panicked glance.

Gary knew that Max was up here with her, knew they had been making love—even if he had got their state of dress slightly wrong. Although if he had arrived ten minutes or so later, he might not have done…

‘Oh, for God’s sake, stop acting like some outraged virgin and open the door, Abby!’ Gary rasped.

She didn’t resist as Max appeared at her side, putting her firmly out of the way before pressing the intercom button. ‘I have a better idea, Gary,’ he bit out coldly. ‘Abby will leave the door locked, and you can go and—’

‘Really, Max,’ Gary interrupted tauntingly. ‘I’m sure you shouldn’t be using language like that in front of a lady. And Abby is so very much a lady, isn’t she?’ he continued tauntingly. ‘Wealthy parents, private schooling, not having to work her way through university, with the sort of looks and body all that money can buy. Class, with a capital C, that’s our Abby—’

‘I am not your Abby, damn it!’ she was stung into shouting.

‘No?’ Gary came back mildly. ‘Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it. I guess I’ll speak to you later, after all. Bye, Max,’ he added mockingly.

What was Gary doing? What was he implying? There was only the sound of static on the intercom now.

One glance at Max’s icily contemptuous expression and she knew exactly what Gary had been trying to do. Surely Max couldn’t really think—couldn’t honestly believe—?

But as Max turned away, his expression now more coldly remote than ever, Abby could see that was exactly what he believed.

She drew in a shaky breath, realising as she did so that she was actually trembling. Not surprisingly. First that passionate explosion between herself and Max, quickly followed by this totally unwanted visit from Gary Holmes!

The latter she would have to deal with later—and deal with it she would! The former—well, Max already looked in the process of leaving…

‘Max, you can’t believe—’

‘It doesn’t matter what I believe, Abby.’

‘But it does,’ she protested emotionally. ‘I have no idea what—what all that was about.’ She gestured in the direction of the intercom. ‘I’ll have to talk to Gary about that on Monday,’ she added determinedly. ‘But you can’t allow Gary Holmes’s warped sense of humour to affect us—’

‘Us?’ Max repeated tauntingly, smiling with grim humour as he shook his head. ‘A few kisses and a little light groping do not make an “us”, Abby,’ he dismissed.

A few kisses and—! Abby felt her cheeks suffuse with humiliated colour. First Gary, and now this—it was just too much!

She drew herself up to her full height of five feet four inches, her chin raised challengingly. ‘I think you had better leave—’

‘Before I say something I’ll regret?’ Max finished scornfully, his hooded gaze unreadable. ‘In the circumstances, do you really think that’s possible?’

Probably not, she thought, swallowing her inward misery. If he didn’t go soon—very soon—she was very much afraid she might just break down and cry—and in the circumstances that was the last thing she wanted to do in front of Max.

She had no idea what game Gary was playing, or why he should have guessed that Max was up here with her. When Gary had seen the two of them together at the bistro they hadn’t so much as kissed each other yet, had surely given off no air of intimacy. Maybe his game was really just with Max—there had certainly been enough animosity between the two men earlier. If that were the case, then she didn’t care for being caught in the middle of their obviously long-standing dislike of each other.

Besides, Max obviously couldn’t wait to get away from here. From her. And she needed him to go, too, if only so that she could think clearly enough to try and make some sense of what had just happened between the two of them. If there was any sense to be made of it…

She gave a confident shake of her head. ‘You aren’t interested in what I think, Max.’

‘You’re right,’ he shot back sharply. ‘I’m not.’ His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Good luck with the show next week.’

He didn’t really mean that either, Abby knew, as he turned abruptly on his heel, her apartment door slamming forcefully behind him seconds later.

Which was the signal for the tears she had so determinedly held in check to fall hotly down her cheeks.

She had never felt so humiliated in all her life—and, added to that, she didn’t know which man she was the most angry with. Max or Gary.

Ten minutes later, her tears all cried out, the comforting Monty purring as he lay curled up on her lap, she had decided that on reflection Gary was the one who most deserved her wrath.

And he was going to get it!

‘You have to understand, darling,’ Dorothy soothed patiently. ‘As Paul has just told you, what you’ve asked for simply can’t be done.’

‘Why can’t it?’ Abby snapped, eyes flashing deeply blue. ‘I’m the presenter of the show; Gary is the director. And I’m no longer happy for him to direct me across a road!’

The last twenty-four hours had done nothing to lessen Abby’s anger. In fact she had barely slept the night before, for thinking about what had happened with Max and Gary. The weekend with her parents had been as lovely as usual, their company calming, but it hadn’t deterred her from her purpose in the slightest; she no longer wanted to work with Gary Holmes.

The first thing she had done after travelling back into London was call and see Paul and Dorothy, with the sole intent of asking Paul to support the demand she planned to make on Monday to have Gary removed as her director. A request he had just turned down.

Not that she had told Paul all the personal reasons why she no longer felt she could work with Gary—only that personal dislike on both sides, meant that even a professional relationship between them couldn’t work.

Paul had listened, nodding his head in all the right places, murmuring understandingly about ‘professional differences’, but finally had informed her, before leaving the two women alone together, that he didn’t have the necessary reasons to support removing the highly experienced Gary from his position.

Dorothy smiled at her now. ‘He has a binding contract, Abby—’

‘So do I.’ She paced the room restlessly, having already refused Dorothy’s request for her to sit down. ‘And nowhere in that contract does it say I have to work with a man so obnoxious you’ve told me you won’t have him in your home!’ She was breathing hard in her agitation.

‘I somehow doubt there’s anything in that contract that says you don’t have to either,’ her godmother said ruefully, at the same time giving her a considering look. ‘What’s happened since yesterday to make you so vehemently opposed to him? He hasn’t been sexually harassing you, too, has he?’ Dorothy looked suddenly alarmed. ‘Because I’m sure under those circumstances Paul would act.’

Abby gave her a humourless smile. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Aunt Dorothy, but no sexual harassment to report.’

‘I’m not in the least disappointed.’ The older woman gave her a reproving look. ‘Just trying to understand this sudden aversion to the man. I thought you had spent the rest of the weekend with Elizabeth and Jeremy?’

She had, having left for her parents’ house almost immediately after Max left—as soon as her tears had dried and she’d realised she couldn’t just simply sit around in her apartment all weekend brooding. She’d had to get out of there, away from the memories of being in Max’s arms and the awful scene that had followed.

And so she had bundled Monty into his travelling basket—one where he could see and be seen, of course; Monty only tolerated those train journeys to her parents’ on the understanding that he would be duly admired by fellow travellers on the journey, with the added knowledge that he would get to roam freely around the big, rambling vicarage that was the family home.

Wouldn’t Max have fun with that little piece of information? She was the daughter of a vicar—and an ex-actress…

It had all the makings of one of those awful jokes, but Abby knew that her parents’ marriage was far from a joke. The unlikely pair had been happily married for the last thirty years, and as their only child she had always been surrounded by their love and cosseting.

Which was exactly what she had needed these last twenty-four hours, away from London and all its complications.

Thoughts of Max she had put completely from her mind—they were just too complicated for her to deal with!—giving her time and distance to decide what she had to do about Gary Holmes. Unfortunately, Paul didn’t seem to be willing to help her with the decision she had made.

‘I did,’ she answered Dorothy now. ‘But Gary Holmes came to my apartment before I left for Hampshire. No, not for anything like that!’ she snapped as Dorothy raised interested brows. ‘He’s so smug. So superior. As if he knows something that I don’t. Oh, I’m sure that he knows a lot of things that I don’t,’ she went on ruefully as the older woman gave her a teasing look, ‘and I’m well aware of what an experienced director he is, that he’s been in the business almost twenty years—but, Dorothy, don’t you find it strange that no men, and only silly women, seem to actually like the man?’

The other woman shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose it’s essential to being brilliant at his job.’

‘No, but—Dorothy, he wanted my show to be a disaster on Friday night!’

‘Now, that is silly, darling,’ her godmother reasoned. ‘As the director, there could be absolutely no personal benefit to him if that had happened.’

Abby knew that—didn’t understand the reasoning herself. She only knew that Gary had seemed disappointed the show hadn’t failed on Friday night, that he had wanted her to fall flat on her face. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t known of the Brad/Natalie reconciliation! His taunt in the bistro yesterday, about her lunch being a celebration or a commiseration, had seemed to confirm his malevolence. Only the fact that Max had jumped to her defence, and Gary had obviously been not at all pleased to see him there, seemed to have stopped Gary from saying something even more scathing.

She had thought all this through over the weekend and knew that she was right—she just had no idea why.

And, without any reason, she realised that her request to Paul must have sounded slightly ridiculous.

‘You’re right, Dorothy,’ she accepted with a sigh. ‘No personal benefit at all.’

Except…As a relative newcomer, if her show should fail she would simply fade away into obscurity. As a seasoned director, and a brilliant one at that—Abby would allow him that!—Gary Holmes would simply move on to directing something else, with no detriment to his career at all.

But was that enough reason for what she suspected…?

Dorothy moved with her as Abby walked to the door. ‘Don’t be angry with Paul, Abby,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m sure that if you can come up with something concrete against the man, Paul would be only too happy to help. It’s just that, as things stand, if he were to do anything now Ajax Television is likely to be slapped with an unfair dismissal charge. I suppose they could always ask him to resign and see what—No, I wouldn’t advise that, either.’ She winced. ‘The man is just horrible enough to enjoy the fact that you obviously don’t like working with him.’

Abby knew her godmother was right. She just wished that she wasn’t. She also wished she had some answer to the dilemma herself.

But she didn’t.

The telephone was ringing as she let herself into her apartment half an hour later, pausing briefly to open Monty’s basket and let him out before hurrying to answer it.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear as she held up the receiver. And yet the ringing sound continued.

Because it wasn’t her telephone ringing, she realised after a couple of confused seconds.

She put the receiver slowly back on its cradle, frowning her confusion as she looked around the sitting room for the source of the ringing. Her search becoming physical as the noise persisted, seeming to become more urgent by the second as she lifted cushions and newspapers in an effort to locate it.

A mobile phone! Lying half under her sofa, its ringing becoming louder as Abby brought it out fully.

Yes, it was a mobile—but whose? Because it certainly wasn’t hers. That was switched off, in her shoulder bag. And she had vacuumed the sitting room yesterday morning; she was sure it hadn’t been there then. Only Max had been in her apartment since that time…

She stared down at the silver-coloured mobile with rapidly widening eyes. Max’s jacket had been thrown over the back of the sofa; it must have fallen out onto the floor then.

But what did she do now? Take the call and utterly confuse the caller when it was a woman rather than a man answering? Or did she just wait for it to stop ringing and hope they didn’t call back?

Of course it could be Max himself, ringing in order to tell her he had dropped his mobile phone. In fact, he could have tried to reach her in the same way several times during her absence over the last twenty-four hours.

She didn’t really have any choice but to answer the call, did she?

‘Yes?’ she prompted hesitantly, after pressing the call button.

‘Max?’ a female voice came back, almost as tentatively.

Well, hardly, Abby thought with a disgusted raising of her dark brows. ‘Actually, no,’ she answered more assuredly; she was obviously speaking to one of Max’s women-friends—possibly the woman-friend of the moment. Of course, it could be his mother—but somehow she doubted that very much!

‘Is this Max’s phone?’

‘Probably,’ Abby answered dryly.

‘Could I speak to Max, then?’ the other woman asked coolly.

Abby drew in a deep breath. This was the tricky bit. The last person she wanted to talk to was the possibly current woman in Max’s life, but at the same time she knew that he wouldn’t thank her if she said anything to alienate this woman—something like, No, you can’t talk to Max because he isn’t here. He just happened to drop his mobile phone when he came to my apartment yesterday and made love to me!

No, Max wouldn’t like that at all…

‘I’m afraid he isn’t here to take your call at the moment,’ she answered evasively.

‘Oh.’ The other woman sounded disconcerted.

‘But I’ll be happy to tell him that you called,’ she added untruthfully.

Max shouldn’t even have been making love to her yesterday if he was already involved with someone else!

‘I see. Right.’ The other woman sounded slightly flustered. ‘Okay. Perhaps you could just tell him that Kate called?’

‘Just Kate?’

‘Just Kate,’ the other woman confirmed unhelpfully.

‘Shall I tell him you’d like him to call you back?’ Abby persisted.

‘I think he’ll know that when you give him my message,’ she retorted.

There was nothing worse than someone cleverer than yourself!

Especially a female someone. ‘Okay, I’ll do that,’ Abby managed to assure her through gritted teeth, before the other woman abruptly ended the call.

Kate.

Max was involved with someone called Kate.

She should have known. Should have guessed that a man like Max would already have someone in his life.

But she hadn’t. In truth, it wasn’t something she had given any thought to.

If she had she might not have allowed herself to become so attracted to him. If it was possible to control something like that, that was…

CHAPTER SIX

‘YOU appear to have my mobile phone.’

She had been expecting this call, of course; Max was intelligent enough to realise that the easiest and quickest way to locate his missing mobile was to ring the number and hope someone answered it. In this case, Abby.

Oh, yes, she had been expecting this call the whole time she’d prepared her own and Monty’s evening meal—chicken salad for her, chicken with rice for Monty—and as she’d cleared away the dishes and sat down to go through her notes and research on this week’s guest. Mostly in the hope it would distract her from just sitting and waiting for the mobile to ring again. It hadn’t succeeded, of course, but it really didn’t matter; her research on the writer Barnaby Hamilton was complete, with no hidden surprises.

So, yes, she had known that Max would telephone his mobile at some point during the evening—had expected it—but she could tell by Max’s derisive tone that he had already worked out that she would be the one who answered it!

‘So I do,’ she returned with a calm that matched his own, her hand tightly gripping the silver-coloured mobile.

‘Can I come over and collect it now, or are you busy?’

She knew exactly what he meant by that last remark; he still thought, despite her denials yesterday, that Gary Holmes might be at her apartment with her this evening!

‘No, I’m not busy,’ she came back waspishly. ‘But wouldn’t it just be easier for me to post it back to you tomorrow?’

She had already given this some thought after ‘Kate’ had called, and, no matter how she might feel towards Max, she had decided she really wasn’t up to another series of his cutting remarks. Her newly realised attraction to him, and the knowledge of Kate’s presence in his life, had left her rawly exposed—so much so that she wasn’t sure she could bear to see him again just yet.

‘Easier for you, maybe,’ he agreed dryly. ‘But not as immediate. I need the mobile now, Abby. Not in two days’ time,’ he added firmly.

Of course he did. He was probably expecting Kate to call—probably had no idea that she had already done so!

‘That sounds reasonable,’ Abby returned coolly—it was the way she had decided she had to be with him if she should ever see him again—prior to finding the mobile, of course, and to Kate’s call! But in these circumstances that decision applied even more.

‘Oh, I’m glad about that.’ He made no effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. ‘I’ll be there in half an hour.’ He rang off abruptly.

‘Damn him, Monty!’ Abby’s eyes blazed as she threw the mobile down onto her sofa, glaring at it as if it were the man himself. ‘First he kisses me, then he insults me, and now he’s talking to me as if I’m slightly simpleminded. Which,’ she bit out self-disgustedly, ‘considering I’m having a one-sided conversation with my cat, I probably am!’

Not surprising either, considering the battering her emotions had taken during the last forty-eight hours. Gary, she just wanted to strangle with her bare hands. Max…she still didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him or hit him—and at the same time knew she would do neither!

‘Damn the man,’ she muttered again, even as she hurried through to her bedroom to do something about her appearance.

If she had to see Max again so soon—and it appeared that she did!—then she didn’t have to do it looking travel-worn and frankly less than her best. Besides, she needed an extra boost to her confidence if she was to get through this meeting with any degree of dignity at all.

She changed into stone-coloured linen trousers and a fitted brown T-shirt, freshening her make-up before brushing her shoulder-length hair until it gleamed like ebony. Slim, elegant, but not overly so, and self-possessed, she decided as she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. Not bad at all. She nodded her satisfaction.

Now all she had to do was maintain that confidence in the face of Max’s sarcasm—

She dropped the hairbrush she had been using on the bedroom carpet as her buzzer rang, announcing his arrival. So much for self-confidence!

She didn’t even bother with the intercom, just pressing the button to let him into the building and moving to open the door seconds later as she heard the ascent of the lift.

‘So much for security,’ he rasped, totally ignoring the mobile she held out to him as he strode past her into the apartment. ‘You could have been letting in a serial rapist for all you knew!’ he added harshly.

Abby closed the door gently behind him. ‘Or worse—one of those religious fanatics,’ she returned, dark brows raised mockingly.

He looked—wonderful, she thought, aching. Black denims, black T-shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, his dark hair windswept.

His expression, as usual, was guarded as his gaze swept over her own appearance with the same nonchalance. ‘Or a religious fanatic,’ he agreed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. ‘Not that I have anything against religion. I just don’t like it appearing uninvited on my doorstep.’

Abby, in the circumstances of her father actually being a vicar, had no intention of commenting on the subject. ‘Yours, I believe.’ She held out the mobile to him once again.

He took it, his fingers lightly brushing hers, before slipping the mobile into his jacket pocket. ‘Where did you find it?’

She shrugged, moving away from the intensity of his gaze. ‘It must have fallen out of your jacket pocket yesterday, when you threw it on the sofa.’

‘When I threw it on the sofa?’ Max repeated huskily.

She had been hoping he wouldn’t bring up the subject of that time in his arms yesterday—or the fact that she had been the one to remove his jacket in order to be closer to the warmth of his chest and arms.

She should have known he wasn’t the sort of man to avoid any subject. As long as it wasn’t one he wanted to avoid, of course!

Her chin rose challengingly as she met his gaze. ‘You had a phone call earlier.’

‘Yes.’ He nodded, unmoving, his gaze as steady and unyielding as hers.

He knew Kate had called!

And the only way he could know that was if the other woman also had the number of his land-line—or had actually gone to his apartment to see him in person. In order to ask him who the woman was who had answered his mobile? Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

But that wasn’t Abby’s problem, was it? Okay, so she had been the one to throw off his jacket, and consequently cause his mobile to fall out of the pocket, but if Max hadn’t been kissing her at the time, touching her so that she needed to touch him in return—

‘From a woman called Kate,’ she went on—she was sure unnecessarily.

Max’s mouth tightened grimly, his gaze once again guarded. ‘She told me.’

How had she told him? In person? Was the other woman at his apartment even now, waiting for him to come back to her…?

No! She wouldn’t do this! She was thinking and acting like a jealous lover where Max was concerned. Something that after only a few kisses she had no right to do. No matter how much she might wish it were otherwise…

Abby thrust her shaking hands into the pockets of her linen trousers. ‘Don’t let me keep you,’ she told him tightly.

He completely ignored her dismissal as he moved to sit in one of the armchairs, looking up at her thoughtfully. ‘You seem a little—tense?’

Her frown was pained now. She’d had the impression this would only be a quick visit on Max’s part—to collect his mobile and then leave. But he seemed to be making himself comfortable.

She shrugged. ‘We didn’t exactly part on a happy note yesterday,’ she reminded him tautly. ‘In fact, I had the distinct impression you hoped never to see me again!’

‘Did you?’ His gaze softened, unnerving after his earlier stiltedness. ‘And yet here I am,’ he added. ‘Hello, boy,’ he greeted Monty ruefully as the cat jumped up onto his lap and began to purr for attention.

Attention he received. One of Max’s sensuously long hands began to stroke the long silky fur on the cat’s back, causing Monty to arch in pleasure, his expression ecstatic.

In the same way that she had when Max had caressed her?

God, this was just too embarrassing; every thought she had seemed to come straight back to Max. It was devastating to realise she was so attracted to him she couldn’t think of anything else.

Why him? she groaned inwardly. Why was she so enraptured with this arrogantly aloof man, who pushed her away one second and pulled her into his arms the next, and not with some nice, uncomplicated man like Andrew, who had wanted to marry her and have lots of children, be the father of the grandchildren her parents had begun painfully to hint that they would like?

Max Harding wasn’t that sort of man, and he never would be.

She shook her head. ‘I really think you should go now, don’t you?’

A smile still curved his lips as he looked up from stroking a now settled Monty. ‘I thought you said you weren’t busy this evening?’

‘I’m not—but you probably are!’ she said forcefully. Exasperatedly. He had his mobile—why didn’t he just go?

He shrugged. ‘Not particularly.’

She was going to make a complete idiot of herself in a minute and say something embarrassing—for herself, that was. She doubted that there was very much that embarrassed Max.

‘I thought perhaps you had to get back to Kate?’ She said it anyway, at the same time refusing to drop her gaze from his suddenly narrowed eyes.

‘Did you?’ he finally said slowly.

‘For God’s sake, will you stop answering a question with another question?’ Abby’s control snapped impatiently, her movements agitated.

Max arched dark brows. ‘Am I doing that?’

‘You just did it again!’ she snapped. ‘And if you answer a question with another question you give no answer whatsoever. It’s an art you’ve obviously perfected,’ she added derisively.

He was frowning darkly now, his movements studied as he placed Monty on one of the cushions of the sofa and stood up before turning to face her. ‘Maybe I was a little hard on you before I left here yesterday—’

‘You weren’t “hard”, Max—you were brutally honest!’ she corrected tightly, blue eyes glittering with humiliated memory. ‘But then,’ she added slightly bitterly, ‘why should I have expected anything else from the great, the talented, the acerbic Max Harding?’

Was she going too far? Probably. But she was too angry, too hurt, to defensive about her own feelings for him to be anything else.

He sighed his frustration. ‘I’m not someone you should become involved with, Abby—’

‘I’m not involved with you,’ she interrupted, knowing she lied. How she lied!

‘—and, no matter how I might wish it were otherwise, you aren’t someone I can become involved with, either,’ Max finished.

She became very still, frowning across at him, finding that last remark enigmatic in the extreme. What did he mean, she wasn’t someone he could become involved with?

In a sense, the two of them were already involved—their lives were entangled even if their emotions—Max’s, at least—weren’t. They each knew where the other lived, they had lunched together, had a mutual friend in Dorothy. Their lives might never have crossed before, but now that they had it was unlikely they would never do so again. In fact, feeling about him as she did, Abby hoped they would!

She raised dark brows. ‘Are we back to your friend Kate again?’ It was difficult for her to keep her voice even and unemotional.

Max’s breath hissed harshly through his teeth. ‘I would like you to forget that you ever took her call—’

‘I’ll just bet you would!’ Abby came back incredulously, shaking her head. ‘You keep your relationship with her pretty quiet, don’t you, Max?’ she challenged. ‘No being seen out together. No photographs of the two of you in the newspapers. No—

‘My God!’ she gasped as a sudden thought occurred to her. ‘She’s not married, is she?’ she asked belatedly, more disappointed than shocked.

She wasn’t a prude, despite having a vicar for a father, and knew that even if her guess was right, Max would be far from the first man to have an affair with a married woman. The difference was, she wasn’t attracted to any of those other men!

‘So the great, the legendary Max Harding, is having an affair with a married woman!’ she said scathingly.

Max didn’t move so much as a muscle, and yet he suddenly seemed bigger, more powerful, more—dangerous!

Yes, that was exactly how he now appeared, Abby realised with a slightly dazed blink. His eyes were glittering furiously, his face grimly challenging, every muscle in that tightly hewn body tensed as if ready to spring. At her? Because she had guessed his secret? But why should it matter so much that he was involved with a married woman? After all, he wasn’t the first, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be the last either.

‘This,’ he finally bit out with cold derision, ‘coming from a woman who hasn’t been in her own apartment for the last twenty-four hours! Oh, yes, Abby, I know you’ve been out all night,’ he taunted her, as her expression turned to one of astonishment. ‘You see, I missed my mobile some time yesterday evening, so I rang it to see who answered. No one answered. Not last night. Not this morning. Not early this afternoon either.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Monty wasn’t the only one ‘out on the tiles’ all night!’

Abby stared at him. The conclusions that Max had come to concerning her absence were simply incredible. Okay, so she was twenty-seven years old, unattached and not unattractive—but did that really mean that the only reason she could possibly have been out all night was because she had spent it with a man? Obviously to Max it did.

‘As this is the middle of London, Monty doesn’t actually go out on the tiles,’ she began, knowing her pet’s reticence had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with the fact that all his creature comforts were right here. ‘And, as it happens,’ she continued determinedly as Max tried to speak, ‘neither do I! In fact,’ she added firmly as her resolve deepened, ‘I think the implication is just a clever attempt on your part to distract my attention from your relationship with Kate. How frustrating it must be for you that the two of us talked on the telephone earlier—’

‘I think you should stop right there, Abby!’ Max cut in icily, his expression grimmer than ever—dangerously so.

Abby refused to back down, just as she refused to let her gaze drop from his cold eyes. ‘I think you should just take your mobile and leave.’

He gave a frustrated sigh. ‘There’s just no reasoning with you, is there?’

‘Reasoning, yes. Sheer bloody arrogance, no! I get all the arrogance I can take working with the conceited Gary Holmes,’ she added challengingly. And after the accusations Max had made yesterday, and his comments now concerning her absence from her apartment last night, he could make what he liked of that remark!

But there was no telling what he did think about it. Max’s expression became remotely unreadable just at the mention of the other man’s name. ‘I would rather not talk about Gary Holmes. And I would prefer it if you didn’t discuss my private life with him either.’

‘I don’t know anything about your private life!’ Except the brief—very brief—part she had played in it. And about Kate, of course…

Abby gave him a searching look. Was she the ‘private life’ he was referring to? And, if so, what possible interest could this woman Kate be to Gary Holmes?

Unless the other man knew Kate? Who she was? Whose wife she was?

‘Don’t even go there, Abby,’ Max warned darkly, seeming to easily read her thoughts from her expression.

She had never been good at hiding her emotions; it probably came from being the only child of loving parents who had always encouraged her to believe that honesty was the best policy. Because in her parents’ world—in her own world until she was twenty-one and left university—it had been. It was only since she had entered the world of politics and television that she had discovered the truth usually had very little to do with anything. Cynical, perhaps, but it was a lesson she had learnt during the last six years—and learnt it well.

She met Max’s gaze unflinchingly. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m warning you, Abby—’

‘Threats now, Max?’ she taunted lightly, shaking her head. ‘Not a good way to divert an interviewer’s interest away from a possible story!’

‘There is no story.’

‘Isn’t there?’ Abby returned tightly. ‘You’re very emotional about something you claim is unimportant—’ She broke off as Max stepped forward to grasp her arms and glare down at her fiercely, his face mere inches away from hers, the warmth of his breath stirring the ragged tendrils of hair on her forehead.

Her first wide-eyed thought was that he was going to shake her until her teeth rattled. Her second was that he was going to kiss her insensible.

The second thought was the correct one.

And it didn’t take him too long to do it, either.

Mere seconds after Max had taken her into his arms, his mouth taking fierce possession of hers, Abby had totally forgotten everything but that—was aware of nothing but Max and the desire that glared between them unchecked.

It was as if no time had elapsed between yesterday afternoon and tonight. And maybe it hadn’t. Their passion seemed to rage to fever-pitch in seconds.

Abby had no idea, no memory, of going into her bedroom—only knew they must have left a trail of clothes on their way there, since both of them were naked by the time they fell on top of the bedclothes, hands seeking, mouths locked hungrily.

Max’s body was just as she remembered it from that first day: lean and hard, covered with fine, silky dark hair, thicker on his chest and down his stomach. His back was wide and muscled, tapering to powerful thighs and long, athletic legs—legs that became entangled with hers as she lay back on the bed.

His dark head bent and his lips claimed the pouting arousal of her breasts. Her body arched as she gasped with pleasure. Max’s mouth was hotly moist, his tongue caressing, teeth gently biting, sending rivers of molten pleasure coursing deeply between her thighs. One of his hands was caressing her there, seeking and finding the centre of her pleasure, his lightest touch sending her completely over the edge. The pleasure was everywhere now, inside her, hot, wet, totally mind-blowing.

But there was no time to even catch her breath as Max’s mouth moved back to claim hers, tongues duelling, hands seeking, finding. Abby felt Max shudder with pleasure as she touched his hardness, hot and throbbing, guiding him now as he sought to join his body with hers.

He filled her totally, possessed her as he moved inside her with long, slow strokes that quickly aroused her already sensitised flesh to a second climax, her body convulsing about his, threatening to take him with her.

He became still above her, delaying the moment, lips and hands once more caressing. Abby’s hands moved restlessly across his back, nails raking the skin there, feeling the way he quivered beneath those caresses, knowing his self-control was reaching breaking point.

And she wanted it to—wanted to feel his own shuddering release, to know that she had pleasured him as he had pleasured her.

And then his movements were no longer slow, his hips pulsing against hers, taking her with him. Their moment of release was completely simultaneous, with Abby no longer sure where Max began and she ended, only able to cling to Max in an effort not to be completely swept away by the tidal wave.

‘My God…!’ Max groaned as he looked down at her with dark, heated eyes before burying his face in her throat.

My God, indeed. Abby had never dreamt, never known…It was true—love did make a difference!

And she loved Max. Deeply, strongly. In fact, nothing else mattered but the deep love she now realised she felt for him.

It was dark when she woke, some time later, briefly disorientated by the knowledge of another presence. Then, as Max sat up and quietly moved to the other side of her bed, it all came back to her in a warm rush of well-being: their incredible lovemaking, being held in Max’s arms afterwards, her head resting on his shoulder as he cradled her against him and they both drifted off to sleep.

Max hadn’t commented on it last night—and she hoped he never would—but he had been her first lover.

She wasn’t a prude—hadn’t lacked opportunities either. And of course there had been Andrew. It was just that she had been brought up to believe that love, not curiosity, was the only reason for making love with someone—that the body as well as the emotions was a precious gift, not to be given lightly.

But until Max she had never been in love…

And, being the newly awoken lover that she was, even in her sleep she’d been completely attuned to Max’s slightest movement—knowing the moment his arms left her and the warmth of his body was removed from her side. She turned her head on the pillow now, to look at the broad expanse of his back reflected in the moonlight from the undrawn curtains at the window. But he didn’t move, simply sat there, seeming unaware that she was awake.

‘What are you doing?’ Even her voice sounded different in her knowledge of what it was to make love: softer, more sensual.

Max turned sharply, his face all shadows in the moonlight, his eyes unreadable. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

Abby shook her head, her hair darkly tangled on the pillow beneath her. From the wild caress of Max’s hands, she remembered warmly.

‘You didn’t.’ She smiled, stretching her newly awakened body. Every ache was a pleasurable one. Even the bruises she was sure would be on her shoulders from the pressure of Max’s fingers as their desire had spiralled out of control were something to be cherished and held to her. Like battle scars. Except these were love scars…‘What are you doing?’ she repeated more urgently as Max stood up and began to pull on the items of clothing—denims, and boxer shorts—that littered the bedroom carpet.

He zipped his jeans over perfect hips before answering her. ‘Leaving you to get some more sleep.’

‘But—’

‘I need to get home to shower and change; I have an early appointment this morning, Abby.’ He moved to sit on her side of the bed, reaching down to caress the hair from her face, smoothing the frown from between her eyes with the pad of his thumb. ‘I’ll call you later, okay?’

No, it was not okay. She didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to go back to sleep, wanted the two of them to make love again. And again. And again. She wanted Max to stay!

Her absolute certainty from last night, of loving and being loved, began to fade in the increasing daylight in the bedroom. Max’s expression revealed nothing of what he did or didn’t feel towards her. Last night had been incredible, a revelation to Abby, but she could see none of that reflected in Max’s face. In fact, his expression was once again totally unreadable.

Abby felt like crying.

Max looked at her searchingly for several long seconds, and then he was gone from the side of the bed, standing up forcefully. ‘I will call you, Abby.’

‘When?’ she asked—and despised herself for doing so. She sounded like someone clinging to a man who didn’t want to be clung to.

‘Later,’ he promised harshly, before turning away to stride into the other room—probably in order to collect the rest of his abandoned clothes.

Abby’s instinct was to follow him—an instinct she instantly resisted, instead lying unmoving in the bed, her hearing acutely attuned as she heard Max dressing, talking briefly to Monty, heard her apartment door opening and then closing softly seconds later.

Max had gone.

After sharing with her the most beautiful, memorable experience, he had simply dressed and left.

Because last night hadn’t meant the same to him as it had to her?

The tears began to fall then, hot rivers of them, scouring and burning as deeply as the love she now felt for Max.

Love. A word, she realised with painful hindsight, that had never passed Max’s lips.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘HAS anyone ever told you you’re an extremely difficult woman to find?’

Abby glanced up from the sheets of information strewn across the desk in front of her, no welcome in her expression as she watched Gary Holmes stroll into the room uninvited to perch on the edge of her desk, boyishly handsome.

‘Do you mind?’ she snapped, looking at him pointedly as he sat on some of the papers she had been reading. Or at least attempting to read.

It was an effort to distract herself from thinking about Max and his abrupt departure this morning. Not that it was working at the moment. For her there was nothing except Max.

Even though it had only been five-thirty when he’d left, she hadn’t slept after he had gone. Her year of working on breakfast television had disciplined her into waking early and alert; it was a habit she hadn’t yet managed to shake off, and Max’s sudden departure had completely robbed her of any desire for further sleep anyway.

So she had got up instead, drinking several cups of coffee as she’d prowled her apartment, no longer sure, as the agonising minutes had passed, what had happened between herself and Max.

The more she’d thought about it the more she had come to realise that although Max might have made love with her, he had certainly never said he was in love with her—not even during those most intimate moments.

And the more convinced she had become that he was not going to call her later, either.

She had, in fact, become that well-worn cliché, a one-night stand. Her own feelings of love towards Max had just blinded her to that fact.

Until that moment.

She had left her apartment, the scene of her naïveté, like one pursued, rushing to the office she shared with her researchers, glad no one else was in yet as she tried to bury herself in the extensive notes she needed to go through before her programme on Friday evening.

A wasted effort so far. She had no interest in her guest or in the programme, couldn’t concentrate on the words written in front of her as thoughts intruded again and again of what had happened the previous night—seeking a balm, anything to salve her cringing humiliation. And finding none.

Gary Holmes, grinning at her cheerfully as he pushed the papers to one side and sat down again, was the last person she wanted to see just now!

His blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he looked down at her, almost as if he sensed there was something different about her…

Was there? she wondered, slightly panicked. Did the sort of mind-blowing, sense-filling lovemaking she and Max had shared the night before leave some sort of physical mark for others to see? She hoped not!

She stood up abruptly, moving restlessly to stand in front of the window, her expression shadowed by the sunlight streaming in behind her. ‘What do you want, Gary?’ she snapped.

Her annoyance was completely wasted on the thick-skinned Gary, and he returned her hostile gaze unperturbed. ‘You aren’t exactly being nice, Abby. All I’ve ever wanted was to be your friend.’

Abby gave a scornful laugh; she must have missed that particular conversation! All Gary had ever done was ridicule and belittle her. ‘You haven’t succeeded!’

‘No?’ He raised blond brows, his expression thoughtful for a few seconds before he shrugged. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he agreed without concern. ‘But it isn’t too late for us to start again?’ he added with throaty flirtation.

‘Start again?’ she repeated. ‘And just what have I done to merit this generous offer on your part?’ Her eyes glittered with challenge.

He was openly grinning now. ‘I may not have liked you very much to begin with, Abby—’

‘What a surprise!’ She shook her head. ‘The feeling, I can assure you, is still mutual.’ She had no intention of even trying to be polite to this man after the mischief he had deliberately tried to create for her on Saturday.

Initially she had tried, in the face of great provocation, to maintain a professional respect for this man’s obvious brilliance as a director, but over the last few days he had been the one to step over the line of that working relationship and into her private life. There, she owed him no respect whatsoever.

‘Just what did you think you were doing, coming to my apartment in that way on Saturday?’ she demanded.

He shrugged. ‘Believe it or not, trying to save you from yourself.’ He looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘But perhaps I’m too late to do that…?’ he said slowly.

Something about her was different, Abby realized, and embarrassed colour stained her cheeks. She had no idea what it could be, what it was that Gary could see that she couldn’t, but he knew. It was written there in his scathingly pitying expression; he knew she and Max were lovers.

The scorn she could understand—Gary seemed to feel that way about most emotional relationships—but why the pity?

Her gaze didn’t quite meet his now. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t you?’ he came back quickly. ‘Oh, I think you do, Abby.’ The colour drained from her cheeks as quickly as it had stained them, and Gary shook his head. ‘You’re playing with the big boys now.’

‘I’m not playing at all,’ she snapped, wondering, after her recent humiliation, just how much more of this she could take.

He nodded. ‘And that’s going to be your problem.’ He made himself more comfortable on the desktop. ‘Max is a major league player, and you’re nothing but a lightweight. In other words, Abby, he’ll crush you like a bug that’s unwittingly stepped into his path.’

She gave another shake of her head, trembling slightly now, having already come to the same conclusion herself not so long ago. ‘Isn’t that my business?’

‘Not if it’s going to affect the programme, no,’ Gary rasped. ‘As I said, you’re a lightweight who should never have been put in this position, but—’

‘That’s only your opinion,’ she cut in forcefully, stung beyond measure that he was repeating Max’s words from their very first meeting.

That seemed so very long ago now. So much had happened—and yet in reality it was only a matter of days.

‘My professional as well as my personal opinion,’ Gary continued remorselessly, a man confident of his own professional worth. ‘So, to recap: you’re a lightweight, but unfortunately you happen to be the principal in my latest programme. It’s in my interest to see that you don’t self-destruct.’

‘And you believe my seeing Max Harding is going to result in that?’ she said scornfully. ‘I’m still trying to persuade him into appearing on the show, Gary. Or had you forgotten that?’ She tossed back the darkness of her shoulder-length hair.

He gave her another pitying glance. ‘How have you been doing so far?’

Not well, she inwardly acknowledged. In fact, she hadn’t even given that aspect of their relationship a thought during the last twenty-four hours!

‘An open channel of dialogue is a vast improvement on his total non-compliance of a week ago,’ she defended evasively.

‘Has he agreed to appear on the programme?’

‘I told you, I’m still—’

‘Has Max Harding agreed to appear on the programme?’ Gary repeated through gritted teeth, all mockery gone now, his eyes glittering intently.

She swallowed hard. ‘Not yet. But that doesn’t mean—’

‘He isn’t going to.’ Gary ignored her protest. ‘Not now. Not ever. But don’t take it personally, Abby,’ he added with some of his earlier derision. ‘Max Harding will never appear unscripted on public television again. He daren’t. Because he can’t take the risk of being questioned about his private life.’

Abby became very still, her expression guarded now. ‘What about his private life?’ So far she and the researchers had managed to find out very little about that—just normal background stuff, such as parents, education, television credits. The private side of Max’s personal life remained exactly that. Private.

Except, she thought dully, last night probably made her a part of that private life…

Gary gave her an exasperated look. ‘Did you never wonder why Rory Mayhew chose Max’s programme to attempt to commit suicide?’

‘The man’s life was in tatters,’ she came back impatiently. ‘His political career was in ruins, totally beyond repair after that property scandal. He had only that day been forced into resigning from his government post. It was also rumoured that his wife was leaving him because of an affair—’

‘Yes,’ Gary put in softly, the full weight of innuendo behind that one word.

Abby looked at him dazedly. She was tired from lack of sleep, upset beyond measure at Max’s casual ‘I’ll call you later’—how many other women had he said that to before never contacting them again?—and just too emotionally fragile to make any sense of whatever Gary was implying.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t see how any of that has anything to do with Max.’

‘No?’ Gary gave her another pitying look. ‘That rather depends on which of the Mayhews was having the affair, doesn’t it? And who with,’ he added softly.

Abby stared at him unblinkingly for several long seconds, and then she finally realised exactly what he was saying.

She didn’t believe it!

Rory Mayhew’s professional life had been over so far as politics were concerned—absolutely no going back on that. The bribes and deals he had arranged during his brief time in government, and the added rumours of the total collapse of his private life had been enough to drive any man to the point of suicide.

Something he had achieved on his second time of trying…

The shamed politician had been seen by a doctor following his behaviour on the Max Harding show, but must have given quite a convincing performance of sanity, because he had been released from medical supervision only two days later. At which time he had booked into an obscure hotel and downed the contents of a bottle of pills, washing them down with whisky.

There had been no Max Harding on hand to stop him that time.

But now Gary seemed to be implying something else about that whole incident. Something totally unbelievable.

She gave a denying movement of her head. ‘Rory Mayhew was the one having an affair—’

‘Was he?’ Gary’s smile was completely confident. ‘Or was that just something that gained credence once the man was dead? After all—’ his mouth twisted derisively ‘—his reputation was already beyond repair. And—what’s the saying?—you have to protect the living…’

What he was implying, what he was saying, was that it had been Rory Mayhew’s wife who had been having an affair. And that the man involved was Max.

‘You don’t have to believe me, Abby.’

‘I don’t!’ she said, with more determination than actual conviction.

Because she didn’t know!

The whole incident had taken place two years ago, at a time when she had been trying to pursue her own career. Oh, she had seen the programme, had been as shocked as the rest of the general public and had read all the scandalous details that had followed in the newspapers. But she, like everyone else, had only ever known what the press chose to tell her. She didn’t really know what had happened, why it was that Rory Mayhew should have felt desperate enough to attempt suicide on television.

‘Don’t you, Abby?’ Gary taunted as he saw her doubts. ‘She was in his life then, and she’s still in his life now,’ he added softly.

Her lashes fluttered uncertainly. She couldn’t meet his gaze. ‘Who is?’

‘Kate Mayhew, of course.’

‘Kate?’ Abby echoed sharply, clearly remembering Max’s excuses about the woman Kate who had telephoned, and his reaction to her suggestion that the other woman might be married. ‘Kate Mayhew?’

Was that the reason Max had made love to her? Because he had hoped to distract her attention from his relationship with the woman she knew only as Kate?

No, she couldn’t believe that—wouldn’t believe that of Max. Gary was just being his usual vindictive self. If only she didn’t feel so vulnerable. If only she felt more sure of her own relationship with Max!

Gary was looking at her speculatively now. ‘You’ve obviously heard the name.’ He nodded his satisfaction. ‘But not from Max, I’m sure. Max likes to play things close to his chest on that particular subject. He’ll do anything he can to hide the fact that he’s still involved with Kate Mayhew.’

So the woman who’d called had had the same name—that didn’t prove anything. Did it?

‘How do you know so much about him?’ Abby attacked.

‘Didn’t he tell you?’ Gary smiled, standing up. ‘I was the director on The Max Harding Forum two years ago. So you see, Abby,’ he continued mercilessly at her stunned silence, ‘I’m in a position to know exactly what happened. In fact, if you decide you want to know any more about it, I suggest you come and ask me.’ He swung the door open. ‘Max, I’m sure, will never tell you or anyone else the truth about what happened,’ he concluded with certainty, closing the door softly behind him as he left.

Abby couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Gary had been the director on Max’s show two years ago? Was that the reason for the antagonism between the two men?

What did it matter what the reason was for their dislike of each other? None of that told her what she really wanted—needed—to know. And that was the truth about the Mayhews. What had really happened two years ago. Whether Kate Mayhew was the Kate from the phone call! Because, if she was, that put a whole different light on Max’s continuing friendship with her…

But until she did know—and she was far too familiar with how much Gary enjoyed being malicious!—she was more inclined to believe the man she loved than Gary’s vicious lies.

Although that didn’t stop her sense of unease every time she thought of the possibility of the woman Kate being Rory Mayhew’s widow…

‘Dinner tonight, Abby?’

This had not been the best day of her life—in fact, Abby couldn’t remember a worse one!

She had spent most of it, after Gary had left, fluctuating between believing totally in Max and their own relationship, and doubts concerning his evasion where that call from Kate was concerned.

She was still inclined to believe that Gary had it all wrong, and that the woman who had telephoned Max wasn’t Kate Mayhew at all—after all, Kate really wasn’t an uncommon name—but every time she decided that she remembered Max’s behaviour over the call, his refusal to discuss it or the woman called Kate.

She had arrived home ten minutes ago, literally feeling like something Monty had dragged in, and really hadn’t been prepared, emotionally or in any other way, for Max’s telephone call.

‘Abby?’ Max prompted now at her continued silence. ‘If you would rather not go out I can always come over there, and we can order something in—’

‘No!’ She felt compelled to reject that idea; she had no idea how this evening was going to turn out, and knew that in spite of herself she was still disturbed by her conversation with Gary earlier. Even if that was probably what he had intended all along. ‘Why don’t I bring some food over to your apartment and we can cook there?’ she went on hastily. ‘That way you won’t have to get up and leave in the morning.’ She couldn’t stop herself from adding that. His sudden departure this morning still rankled.

Even if he had now called, as he had said he would…

‘It’s been a while, Abby,’ he remarked wryly.

‘What has?’ she came back warily, desperately wishing she didn’t feel so uncertain—of Max, of their own relationship. Because if she hadn’t she would have been able to tell Gary to take his accusations and innuendos and—

‘Abby?’ Max questioned sharply now, obviously sensing that something was wrong.

How she wished she could behave differently. How she wanted to behave differently! But the truth was she felt battered and bruised—from Max’s sudden departure this morning, from her hateful conversation with Gary Holmes later—and was hating the fact that her uncertainties about her own relationship with Max had succeeded in putting doubts into her mind.

‘Abby, have I upset you with the way I left this morning?’ Max pursued gruffly. ‘I told you, I’m a little rusty at this sort of thing. I didn’t mean to upset you by leaving the way I did, but I really did have an early appointment.’

At five-thirty in the morning? Somehow she very much doubted that! Unless it had been with the lovely Kate? And if that Kate was Kate Mayhew, then she was lovely, Abby knew, having managed to find several photographs on file of the tall, beautiful redhead. Now thirty-five, the mother of two young children, Abby also knew that Kate Mayhew had not remarried…

‘I’m not upset, Max,’ she told him. ‘I’ve been working all day, I only got in ten minutes ago, and I’m tired—that’s all.’

‘Sure?’ His voice had deepened to husky intimacy, causing a quiver of awareness down Abby’s spine as it brought sharply back into focus all the intimacies they had shared the previous night.

‘I’m sure,’ she told him with brisk determination, shaking off that awareness. For self-preservation’s sake, if nothing else! ‘Look, just give me an hour to shower and change, and I’ll come over with some food.’

‘Forget the food. Just bring yourself,’ Max told her gruffly. ‘If we get hungry for food later we can order something in.’

Later. Implying they would be occupied doing something else when she first arrived. And Abby wasn’t naïve enough not to know what that something would be.

But she needed to be a lot more certain of him than she was to withstand a second battering to her emotions…

‘I haven’t eaten all day, Max.’ She had been too busy to even think about food! ‘I need feeding before I do anything else.’

There was the briefest of pauses before he replied, ‘Okay. I’ll uncork some wine and have it waiting for when you get here.’

A whole bottle of it to herself, Abby decided as she rang off and moved lethargically towards the bathroom. Preferably with a straw!

She shouldn’t be doing this—shouldn’t be going anywhere near Max when she was so filled with questions and doubts about the two of them continuing to see each other.

Oh, stop lying to yourself, Abby, she told herself disgustedly. She wanted to see Max again, needed to see him. She loved him, for goodness’ sake! And once she was with him all Gary’s lies, his insinuations, would evaporate, she was sure.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘I WAS beginning to think you had changed your mind,’ Max greeted her huskily an hour and a half later, as he let her into his apartment.

In truth, she had. Several times, in fact. Her emotions had fluctuated between wanting to see Max, to be with him and the other extreme of wondering why he had made love to her last night—whether it was because he loved her as she loved him, or for some other reason.

She needed to see him again tonight if only to try and find the answer to that. All the time hoping it was because he loved her!

‘Did you?’ She moved on tiptoe to lightly brush her lips against his. ‘Dinner.’ She held up the bag she carried, looking at him beneath from under lashes.

He looked ruggedly handsome in a black silk shirt and faded black denims, his feet once again bare; obviously it was a trait of his when in the privacy of his apartment. Or else it was his way of having less clothing to remove later…

Oh, God!

Just looking at him made her feel weak at the knees. Not only did she know Max intimately, but he knew her in the same way—much more so than any other man. And without any declaration of love, from either of them, how could she help but feel a certain amount of shyness and uncertainty now that she was with him again?

Gary Holmes and his insinuations could just go to hell—she had enough insecurities of her own concerning this relationship without wondering if there was any truth in what he had said!

It was taking every ounce of self-confidence she had to face Max again this evening. In fact, with Max looking at her so broodingly, she suddenly wished she’d inherited some of her mother’s undoubted acting ability; she might at least have been able to pretend a semblance of sophistication then. As it was, she had absolutely no idea how to behave with this man who was her lover!

She smiled at him brightly. ‘Shall I take the food through to the kitchen?’ She didn’t wait for his reply before turning and doing exactly that. ‘I brought steak, potatoes, and the makings of a salad,’ she continued as she unpacked the food, desperately hoping to hide her increasing tension.

Max’s next comment proved she hadn’t succeeded. Sorry, Mum!

‘What’s happened, Abby?’

She opened wide cornflower-blue eyes. ‘Happened?’ she repeated with a puzzled glance.

Max was standing only inches away now, his expression more brooding than ever. ‘You seem—different.’

Well, of course she was different! She was no longer a twenty-seven-year-old virgin, but this man’s lover. And she had no idea and no experience of how to behave in a situation like this!

‘In what way do you feel I’m different this evening?’ she asked casually. ‘If you mean I seem a little tense, then you’re probably right. Unlike you, Max, I’m not just a little rusty; this is all new to me.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ he murmured huskily, moving forward to take her into his arms, his gaze intent on her face. ‘Why me, Abby?’

He had known he was her first lover. That just made it all the more embarrassing. Max was thirty-nine, obviously a man of experience, and probably found it incredible that she had actually been a virgin. And, having no idea how he felt towards her, she could hardly come out with a declaration of love, now, could she?

She smiled, determined to salvage some of her shaky pride; after all, she was in her late twenties, not an immature schoolgirl. ‘Why not you?’ she came back flippantly. ‘I always was a late developer, but every girl has to start somewhere!’

His gaze was searching now. A gaze Abby withstood with effort.

Max shook his head. ‘If you had told me I would have been more—gentle.’

He had been ‘gentle’ enough for her to fall more deeply in love with him than ever!

‘Why didn’t you—’ she poked a friendly finger into his chest ‘—tell me that Gary Holmes was the director on your programme two years ago?’ Changing the subject, even to one as unpleasant as Gary Holmes, seemed like a good idea at that moment.

A shutter came down over Max’s features, telling her of his sudden tension. ‘You’ve talked to Holmes today?’ he said harshly.

‘Well, of course I’ve talked to Gary today; he’s the director of my show too, you know,’ Abby came back lightly—perhaps she did have some of her mother’s acting ability after all?

She certainly didn’t want to be having this seemingly playful conversation with Max. What she really wanted to do was scream and shout, to cry, to demand he tell her exactly what was going on, to pummel the hard width of his chest with her fists as she felt he was pummelling her heart.

Max’s arm dropped from about her waist and he stepped back, his expression wary now. ‘And what else did he have to say?’

She shrugged. ‘You know Gary—as acerbic as ever.’

Max’s mouth thinned. ‘Exactly what did he say to you, Abby?’ he rasped harshly.

Her mouth twisted. ‘Just his usual bluster, really. Mainly directed at the fact that I’ll never persuade you into appearing on my show. But then, I already know that, don’t I?’ she added with a casualness she was far from feeling. ‘Look, could we start cooking dinner now? I really am hungry.’ Every mouthful would probably choke her, but she was determined to get through this.

Because, if she were to salvage anything from this relationship at all, it was becoming increasingly obvious that she needed to know what had really happened two years ago. Was still happening?

Max seemed to shake himself out of his sudden tension with effort, taking the steaks from her to begin preparing them for grilling. ‘I think I now understand the reason why you aren’t in the best of moods this evening,’ he remarked lightly. ‘Gary Holmes used to have that effect on me too!’

Abby turned away to wash the potatoes. ‘You still haven’t told me why you didn’t mention he had been your director,’ she prompted.

Max grimaced. ‘Gary Holmes, and working with him, are things I’ve tried to block out of my mind.’

It wasn’t exactly an answer. Any more than Gary’s attitude towards Max had been explained by either of them. But it was obvious the two men disliked each other intensely, and it was yet another riddle Abby felt she had to get to the bottom of.

‘Here, let’s have a glass of wine—’ Max poured them both a glass of the red wine he’d uncorked ‘—and forget all about Gary Holmes.’

She only wished that she could, Abby acknowledged as she obligingly sipped the delicious wine. But no matter how she tried she simply couldn’t forget the awful things Gary had said to her.

‘How did your meeting go this morning?’ she asked, once they were sitting down to eat their meal.

Max had prepared the table in the dining-room before she’d arrived, with silver cutlery and lighted candles. Very romantic. Except Abby didn’t feel very romantic. What she really felt was an inexperienced fool. And fools, she knew, made bad company. Hence her less that scintillating conversation.

How much different this could have been, she cried inwardly. If she hadn’t already felt upset by Max’s sudden departure this morning. If Gary hadn’t poured his vitriol into her ears.

She could see by Max’s rueful expression that he was less than satisfied with the way the evening was going too.

‘Not very well,’ he answered her, sipping his wine. ‘I spent the best part of two hours over a mediocre breakfast, convincing a man that I’m not interested in having my biography written and that at thirty-nine I’m only halfway through my life, not at the end of it.’ He grimaced. ‘No doubt he’ll go ahead and write an unauthorised version, anyway.’

‘A biography?’ Abby’s interest quickened. ‘Now, that would be interesting,’ she said slowly. Very interesting!

Max gave her a reproachful grin. ‘If I’m not interested in appearing on a half-hour chat show, I’m certainly not interested in seeing a book about myself!’

She kept her lashes down in order to hide the sudden flare of hurt in her eyes.

That had been very neatly done. Too neatly. Letting her know that nothing had changed with regard to appearing on her show, but doing it without actually antagonising her. Because he still had the woman Kate to protect! That knowledge had nothing to do with anything Gary Holmes had told her this morning about the other woman’s full identity—she still didn’t trust him!—and everything to do with Max’s own attitude with regard to the other woman.

And that would hurt no matter what Gary had said to her. She and Max were lovers, and yet there was another woman in his life called Kate that he refused to talk about. Not exactly reassuring to any new lover, was it?

How many other women in the last two years had wondered about Max’s friendship with the other woman, too? And how many of those relationships had floundered because of it?

More to the point, why was Max so secretive about the relationship?

The answer to that, if the woman really was Kate Mayhew, was all too easy to guess, Abby realised painfully; any public relationship between Kate Mayhew and Max Harding after the scandal two years ago would dredge it up all over again—perhaps even lead to speculation concerning exactly what their relationship might have been then.

In the same position, Abby felt she would say to hell with it and let the media do their worst. The fact that Max and Kate hadn’t only seemed to confirm that they had something to hide…

‘This evening isn’t going too well, is it?’ Max rasped suddenly, giving up all pretence of eating his own meal and pushing the plate away.

If he hadn’t left so abruptly this morning…If Gary hadn’t told her the things he had, causing her concerns to become full-blown doubts…Abby knew it would all have been so different then, that instead of being on the defensive, guarded in her words and actions, she would probably have behaved like a simpering lovestruck idiot. In retrospect, perhaps this was better. More painful, maybe, but better.

Her gaze was still guarded as she looked across at him. ‘We don’t know each other very well, that’s all,’ she said, with an attempt at unconcern.

He frowned darkly. ‘That didn’t seem to bother either of us last night.’

Sadly, despite everything, Abby knew it wouldn’t bother her if he were to take her in his arms again now either.

‘Perhaps that’s the problem?’ she suggested lightly. ‘We jumped ten steps ahead of where we really were.’

‘Well, it’s too late to go back on that now!’ Max flung the contents of his wine glass down his throat before standing up and moving forcefully away from the table.

Abby gave a pained frown, a little surprised at his sudden anger. ‘I wasn’t suggesting that we should—’

‘No?’ he challenged, pouring himself another glass of wine. ‘What is it you want from me, Abby? What do you want to know about me?’ His eyes were glacial. ‘Parents? Siblings? An exchange of the names of past lovers?’

The latter might be interesting. And painful. And destructive. She also very much doubted that Kate Mayhew would be included in that exchange!

She gave a half smile. ‘I already know about parents and siblings from my research. As for past lovers—wouldn’t that be a little boring for you, considering I don’t have any?’

He gave her an impatient glare. ‘Contrary to what you may think, I don’t have that many either!’

Abby shook her head. ‘This isn’t very helpful, is it? Perhaps I should just leave?’

Max stopped his pacing to stare down at her frustratedly. ‘Is that what you want to do?’

Yes! No! She didn’t know!

If she left she wasn’t sure when, or if, she would see Max again.

Max seemed to have the same doubts, taking a step towards her. ‘Abby, I don’t want to fight with you,’ he groaned.

She swallowed hard. ‘No…’

She had no defences when he took her in his arms—but then she didn’t really want any. Held in Max’s arms, being kissed by him, able to feel his response to her, she had no doubts whatsoever…

Doubts came later, much later, when she woke in the darkness of Max’s bedroom early the next morning, her body still aching pleasurably from the intensity of their lovemaking.

She had been lost from that first kiss, their responses to each other wild and abandoned.

Too much so?

As if both of them had known they were trying to hold on to something so fragile it might break when exposed to the outside world?

There had certainly been no words of love from either of them. Just those intense hours of lovemaking, and Max cradling her in his arms as they both drifted off to sleep.

Max was still sleeping, she realised as she turned on the pillow to look at him. The early-morning light showed his face looking younger and less strained, with the darkness of his hair falling endearingly over his forehead.

God, how she loved him!

Enough to know that she had to be the one to leave this time. That if she stayed she would only do or say something she might regret—that she would regret. If Max wanted to take this slowly, to let time and familiarity decide whether or not they had a future together, then that was what she would have to do.

She slid silently out of bed, gathering up her clothes from where they had been thrown the night before and going into the adjoining bathroom.

Max was still asleep when she came back from taking her shower. She gave him one last wistful look before letting herself out of the apartment.

She was too restless to go back to her own apartment, and went to her office instead. There was something she needed to do before she saw Max again…

If the security man found her early arrival strange, he didn’t say so, greeting her cheerfully enough as he let her into the building. One advantage of being on a weekly TV show!

The day before, after Gary Holmes’s insinuations, she had impulsively got a copy of Max’s show from two years ago from the archives, and then decided she didn’t want to look at it.

Because it might confirm what Gary had said?

Maybe, but this morning, since she was alone in the building, apart from security, with no danger of being interrupted—especially by the gloatingly sarcastic Gary!—it seemed like the ideal time for her to sit and watch it.

As she had known it would be, it was distressing viewing. Rory Mayhew’s despair was so utter that Abby’s heart ached for him.

Those emotions dominated her first two viewings of the recording, but the third time she began to concentrate on other aspects of it—on Max’s responses to the other man’s rapidly escalating incoherency as Rory Mayhew seemed the worse for drink.

Max had obviously tried to direct the conversation under great provocation, tried to keep things under control. But when Rory Mayhew had produced an old service revolver that looked as if it might have seen use in the Second World War and started waving it about erratically, it had become obvious that the other man was beyond reasoning with.

His voice slurred from the alcohol he had consumed before appearing on the show, Rory Mayhew had begun to rant and rave about the things he was being accused of, the mistakes he had made, how they had cost him his career, the respect of his colleagues and his friends, and how he feared he was about to lose his wife and children too.

But never once during that tirade had Rory Mayhew accused Max of being involved in his downfall.

Gary’s insinuations, she was sure, were exactly that—and, moreover, they had been made with the deliberate intent of driving a wedge between herself and Max.

She shouldn’t have waited. She should have watched this recording yesterday, she berated herself impatiently. It didn’t take away her uncertainties concerning the woman Kate, of course, but it did add to her impression that she and Kate Mayhew were not one and the same woman.

Damn it, she had been unfair to Max last night, and now she had left this morning without any word of farewell. What on earth was he going to think of her?

It was only nine-thirty now, she realized, after a glance at her wristwatch. Other people were starting to arrive in their offices. She could still go back to Max’s apartment—maybe with coffee and Danish for their breakfast?

One thing she did know. She couldn’t simply leave things like this between them!

The sun was shining as she walked back to Max’s apartment. The birds were singing, the coffee and Danish she carried smelled delicious, and the prospect of being with Max again made her smile at the people she passed.

But the colour drained from her face as she turned the corner and saw Max standing outside on the pavement, talking to a woman just about to get into a car parked there. Because the woman, Abby knew without a doubt, was Kate Mayhew!

She easily recognised the other woman from the photographs she had seen of her, and her breath caught in a gasp of protest as she watched the other woman reach up and hug Max before getting into her car and driving away. Max’s smile was wistful as he watched her leave.

Abby didn’t even hesitate. She dropped the coffee and Danish into a bin before turning and walking hurriedly away, the tears falling hotly down her cheeks. There were no doubts left in her mind now, absolutely none, that the woman Kate was indeed Kate Mayhew. And, from the touching scene she had just witnessed, the other woman was still well and truly in his life.

‘Why are you here, Max?’ she prompted dully, her emotions still numbed by the scene she had unwittingly witnessed that morning.

After her abrupt departure she had been expecting a telephone call from him all day—had been prepared to deal with that. What she hadn’t been prepared for was for him to actually come to her apartment this evening!

But she should have been, she realised heavily; Max had no idea she had seen him and Kate together this morning!

He looked at her frowningly. ‘I was a little surprised to wake up this morning and find you gone…’

He would have been even more surprised if she had still been there when the lovely Kate had paid him a visit!

She shrugged, standing across the room from him, her shaking hands thrust into the back pockets of her denims. ‘I was under the impression that was the way it was done.’

He gave a pained frown. ‘I’ve apologised for my behaviour yesterday morning—’

‘And your apology was accepted.’ She nodded abruptly.

‘But—’ Max broke off whatever he had been about to say as his mobile began to ring, his expression one of irritation as he took it out of his pocket to check the number of the caller. ‘If you’ll excuse me—I have to take this,’ he muttered, before moving into her kitchen.

His behaviour, in light of all Abby’s unanswered questions, was like a slap in the face.

The caller was Kate, she thought instantly.

And then as quickly she chastised herself. Max must have dozens of friends and associates, family too, who’d feel comfortable telephoning him at eight-thirty in the evening. The caller didn’t have to be Kate Mayhew. She was becoming paranoid, Abby acknowledged heavily. Believing everything Max did or said was somehow connected to the other woman.

She still had no idea what she was going to do about their relationship. Despite what she had learnt earlier today, and judging by his appearance here this evening, Max was obviously quite happy to let it continue. But she knew that she couldn’t. Not under these circumstances.

She needed to know why Max had made love to her. Was it because the first time he had wanted to put a halt to their conversation about the woman called Kate who had called him? And the second time because Abby had been asking him questions about Gary Holmes?

Honesty had always been such a big part of her life. It was far too late for her to behave in any other way now. She could try simply asking Max for the truth about Kate Mayhew, telling him what she had seen this morning, but in reality she had already asked him about the other woman—several times—only to be told by Max not to go there.

‘I have to go, Abby.’ Max strode forcefully back into the room, his expression grim. ‘Something’s happened.’ He ran a hand through the dark thickness of his hair. ‘I can’t explain right now, but—’ He shook his head frustratedly. ‘I have to go,’ he repeated flatly.

‘Okay,’ she agreed dully, her gaze studiously avoiding meeting his.

‘Abby…?’ He grasped her arm as she turned away, one hand moving beneath her chin as he forced her to look up at him.

It didn’t help. He looked so good, she loved him so much—and he was probably leaving her to go to another woman!

‘It isn’t what you think, Abby. Hell, I don’t know what you think!’ he ground out, shaking his head impatiently. ‘This is what happens in my life—the way that it is. I receive a call and—’

‘And you have to go,’ she said evenly.

‘Damn it, yes—I have to go!’ His hands dropped back to his sides as he moved away from her. ‘You’ve worked in television for a while now, Abby, in the media. You must know how it is—how my life has been for the last two years since I went back out as a political reporter. My stage is now the world stage, and when something of a political nature happens in it I have to go where it’s happening. No matter what might be going on in my own life at the time,’ he added heavily.

She gave a confused frown. ‘You’re saying that call was work-related?’

‘Well, of course it was work-related. What else—?’ Max broke off abruptly, his gaze narrowing on her with slow deliberation. ‘You have been different the last couple of days, Abby,’ he began slowly, ‘and I’m pretty sure, knowing him as well as I do, that this change probably has something to do with Gary Holmes. Unfortunately, it isn’t something I have the time to deal with right now.’ He glanced down at his wristwatch impatiently. ‘I have transport waiting for me, and I really do—’

‘—have to go,’ she finished for him, unable to hide the pain in her voice.

‘Abby, when I get back we need to talk.’ Max stood close to her again, cradling either side of her face with warm hands. ‘Really talk. All I ask in the meantime is that you shut your ears to anything Gary Holmes might have to say about me.’ His mouth tightened. ‘I should have dealt with him long ago. I realise that now. This time he may not leave me any choice. Will you trust me on this for a while, Abby?’ He looked down at her intently.

How could she trust him when she had actually seen him and Kate Mayhew together?

But not trusting him, she realized, now that she was with him again, didn’t stop her loving him…

She had never felt so miserable in her life.

‘I’ll call you as soon as I can,’ Max promised huskily, before his head lowered and his lips claimed hers with an aching need, sipping, tasting, as if he were committing the taste and feel of her to memory.

She didn’t understand any of this. How could Max kiss her like this, be with her like this, if he really was involved with another woman?

Another woman he was even now leaving her to go to?

She pulled away. ‘You have to go, Max,’ she reminded him distantly.

He sighed. ‘I wish it didn’t have to be like this.’

So did she. But in retrospect perhaps this separation from Max was exactly what she needed to get back to her normal confident self; it was a sure fact that this relationship, a triangle she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, was doing nothing for her whatsoever!

As she sat in her office the following day, eating a working lunch, watching the breaking news on television of a terrorist attack on the leader of one of the Middle Eastern countries—he’d been taken hostage—which was threatening to bring down the whole already shaky government, she wished that she and Max hadn’t parted quite so distantly.

The voice of Max Harding—live coverage was unavailable at the time, due to the continuing unrest in the country—was informing her that so far there had been no ransom demand made for the kidnapped leader, and that the country was in turmoil as its citizens feared further action, possibly military reprisals, that would lead to all-out war in a country that had already known its fair share of death and destruction.

CHAPTER NINE

‘YOU look terrible, darling.’ Dorothy voiced her concern as she sat across from Abby in the conservatory of her home.

Abby gave a wan smile; even with the help of blusher on her cheeks, she knew that her godmother only spoke the truth.

But the last week had been the worst she had ever known—continually watching the news just in order to hear the sound of Max’s voice.

The news from the war-torn country—the terrorists had executed the leader rather than releasing him, and the military were retaliating with force—was far from encouraging. But she had heard nothing from Max personally, and as each successive day passed her anxiety for him grew. The way they had parted and her unasked questions about his relationship with Kate Mayhew had faded into the background in her single-minded concern for his safe return.

In fact, her godmother’s telephone call this morning to ask her to come over to the house had been a happy diversion of those worries. Although, looking at Dorothy’s slightly flustered expression, she was beginning to have her doubts, sensing that the other woman wasn’t happy with this conversation at all.

‘Dorothy, has something happened?’

‘Well, yes, darling. I’m afraid it has.’ Her aunt sighed her obvious relief that Abby had introduced the subject. ‘And Paul thought that the news might be better coming from me—’

‘Dorothy, you’re starting to frighten me now!’ Abby stood up restlessly, her face pale. ‘What is it? Has something happened to Max? What—?’

‘Abby, calm down.’ Her godmother looked deeply concerned at her reaction. ‘He isn’t dead, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Well, of course it was what she was worried about. The country he was in was extremely unstable politically, and the fighting between the terrorists and the military had increased over the last two days. Max’s reports had ceased altogether. In fact, there was very little news coming out of the country at all at the moment.

‘Sit down, Abby—please,’ Dorothy instructed briskly. ‘Take deep, calming breaths, drink some of this.’ She handed Abby the glass of water she had poured. ‘And I’ll tell you the little that we know.’

‘Oh, God…!’ Abby groaned weakly, her hand gripping the water glass so tightly she threatened to break it.

‘I said he’s all right, Abby,’ her godmother insisted firmly. ‘Max managed to get a message out through the television network there, who then passed it on to the English network, who passed it on to Paul, who passed it on to me, feeling it would be better if I spoke to you.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘Apparently Max and his cameraman were caught up in some shooting a couple of days ago—he wasn’t injured,’ she added quickly, as Abby paled even more, ‘but the terrorists—wishing to play on a world stage, presumably—took the two of them hostage two days ago—’

‘Two days ago?’ Abby repeated disbelievingly. ‘But there’s been nothing on the news, nothing in the—’

‘There’s going to be. Which is why I’m talking to you before that happens,’ Dorothy told her gently. ‘After shooting the leader of the country, these terrible people obviously realised they had left themselves with no leverage. A foreign news crew must have seemed like a good way to recapture some of that leverage. There’s going to be a news bulletin relayed later today, stating their demands,’ she concluded heavily.

Abby felt sick. She couldn’t believe this was happening. And she knew as well as the rest of the world how these situations usually turned out.

They needed to talk when he got back, Max had said. But what if he didn’t get back?

‘Drink some of your water, Abby,’ Dorothy instructed firmly.

She did so without even knowing she had. ‘What do they want?’

‘What do they all want?’ The other woman sighed. ‘Freedom from tyranny in their given country, the release of political prisoners. It’s never going to happen, of course. The military will eventually take control again, and put in one of their own as leader, and so it will all start again.’

Abby moistened dry lips, thoughts racing but going nowhere. ‘And Max?’

Dorothy sighed. ‘As I said, he’s one of the people the terrorists are now holding as bargaining power.’

But the western world didn’t negotiate with terrorists. Not now, not ever…

She swallowed hard, feeling as if her world had been turned upside down, and inside out; like everyone else, she had watched these situations before. But, although she’d watched them with compassion for the hostages’ families, it had been in a detached way, never dreaming it would one day happen to the man she was in love with.

Did anyone ever think something so horrendous could happen to someone they loved?

‘Abby, Max wanted you specifically to know that he’s okay.’ Dorothy came down on her haunches beside where Abby sat, taking one of her hands in both of hers.

She looked dazedly at the other woman. ‘He did?’

‘He did.’ Dorothy squeezed her hand reassuringly.

‘I—But—What about Kate?’ Even in her complete shock she couldn’t help but think of the other woman in Max’s life, of what this might mean to her.

‘Kate?’ Her godmother looked puzzled now. ‘I know nothing about anyone called Kate. The message that he’s okay was for you and you alone.’

He was okay for the moment. Until the terrorists’ demands weren’t met. And then, as had happened so many times before, the killing would start.

Oh, God…!

The misunderstandings, the uncertainty between them, now seemed totally unimportant. Only Max and his safety mattered to her now.

And Kate Mayhew.

Because, much as Abby hated the fact, much as she hated the other woman’s role in Max’s life, she knew that she couldn’t let the other woman just hear about this as a news item flashed on the television screen. That would just be too cruel after what the other woman had already gone through.

Someone had to go and tell Kate Mayhew what had happened.

And that someone would have to be Abby.

‘I’m terribly sorry.’ The other woman smiled at Abby blandly as the two women stood in the golden south-facing drawing room of Kate Mayhew’s London home. ‘I believe you told my housekeeper that your name is Annie Freeman?’

‘Abby,’ she corrected automatically, not so sure, now that she was here, that this was a good idea.

It had been instinctive, perhaps—the need to see someone, be with someone, who cared for—loved?—Max as much as she did. But here, in the quiet elegance of Kate Mayhew’s home, with family photographs of before and since Rory Mayhew’s death adorning every surface, Abby was having serious doubts.

The fact that Kate Mayhew was so startlingly beautiful didn’t help.

The tall, slenderly elegant redhead had always looked lovely, of course—a beautiful accessory on her politician husband’s arm—but the last two years, away from the public stadium, she had become even more so. The denims and T-shirt and loosely flowing red hair were certainly not anything she would have worn as the wife of a serving minister, and made her appear much younger than the thirty-five Abby knew her to be.

‘Abby,’ the other woman acknowledged, in the cool, well-modulated voice Abby remembered so well from their brief telephone conversation just over a week ago. ‘Won’t you sit down?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Abby shook her head; this wasn’t a social call, and—instinct apart—she didn’t intend staying long. She would just say what she had to say and then leave. ‘I believe we spoke on the telephone last week,’ she added softly.

A flicker of recognition showed briefly in the other woman’s eyes before it was quickly masked. She was looking at her guardedly now.

She was so beautiful, Abby thought dully. Absolutely stunning. And the thought that Max had been secretly involved with this woman for the last two years was heartbreaking.

She had to get out of here!

‘Did we?’ Kate Mayhew shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you told my housekeeper that you’re here in connection with my son’s school…?’

It was the best excuse Abby had been able to think of at the time, knowing the other woman was unlikely to let someone involved with the media past the front door. Any more than she would have agreed to see a woman Max was possibly involved with. Abby wouldn’t be here herself if she hadn’t felt she owed it to the other woman not to let her just see the shocking news relayed over an impersonal television screen!

‘I lied,’ she told the other woman briskly, just wanting to get this over with now. ‘I’m a friend of Max Harding’s—’

‘Who?’ Kate Mayhew enquired with light confusion.

‘Oh, please.’ Abby really wasn’t in the mood to play games. ‘Even supposing the two of you haven’t remained friends, you would hardly be likely to forget your husband’s appearance on Max’s programme shortly before he died—’

‘I think you had better leave!’ The other woman was breathing hard in her agitation, her face pale now, hands tightly clenched together. ‘Abby Freeman,’ she repeated. ‘I realise who you are now. And, let me assure you, I have no intention of talking to a reporter—’

‘I’m not a reporter!’ Abby was just as angry, her nerves stretched to breaking point, sure now it had been a mistake to come here. ‘I just thought—wrongly, it seems—that you’d like to know that, no matter what you might hear on the news later today, Max has got word out that he’s okay.’ He was still alive, anyway. And, really, that was all that mattered. Whether he came back to her or to this woman wasn’t important. Only that he should come back.

The other woman was even paler now, sculptured cheekbones standing out starkly, big eyes a deep brown. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You will. Later today,’ Abby warned her abruptly.

Those brown eyes widened. ‘Are you threatening me? You get into my house under false pretences, talk about people I don’t even know—’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ Abby was beyond patience with this woman now; Max was in danger, and this woman was continuing to deny she even knew him! ‘I came here with the sole intention of reassuring you as to Max’s safety. But, as you don’t even know him, it doesn’t really matter, does it!’ Her voice broke emotionally. ‘Just as it isn’t going to matter to you if in the next couple of days he’s shot and killed!’ There were two spots of angry colour in her cheeks now. ‘I’m so glad I don’t have friends like you!’ She turned on her heel and walked out of the room, out of the house.

And out of Kate Mayhew’s life, she hoped.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

Abby blinked up at Max dazedly as he stormed into her apartment, his face furious, eyes glacial as he demanded an answer to his question.

Almost three weeks she had been waiting to see him again. Two of those weeks in absolute terror for his life as she recoiled from the awful photographs being shown of him and the other hostages on public television.

The English government had tried every diplomacy they could to secure their release without actually giving in to the terrorists’ demands. And then yesterday, finally, the military had managed to overpower the terrorists—having put in place a leader who realised the benefits of a sympathetic western world—and release all the hostages still alive. Max—thankfully!—still amongst them.

Abby had first cried, and then laughed with absolute relief. And then she had cried some more. Her last twelve days had been an absolute hell of a different kind from Max’s.

Something Dorothy had told her she looked like when she had come to Abby’s apartment yesterday to tell her the good news.

She certainly wasn’t looking her best now, she knew—a fact the make-up lady had fussed about four days ago as she’d gone about the business of repairing as much of the damage as she could. Although there had been little she could to do erase the shadows from beneath Abby’s eyes from lack of sleep, or the hollows in her cheeks from lack of appetite. Wardrobe hadn’t been too happy about the hasty alterations they’d had to make to her suit either, her figure having become almost wraith-like.

Max didn’t look as if he had fared too much better. Very pale, much thinner than he had been, his hair in need of cutting.

He had never looked dearer to Abby!

But, after waiting in a state of increasing agitation for him to come to her apartment once he was safely back in England—his telephone call from the plane had been necessarily brief—at least, she had thought it was necessary, now she wasn’t so sure—she certainly hadn’t been expecting his first words to be ones of attack!

She didn’t understand. She hadn’t been expecting hearts and flowers, declarations of undying love—she didn’t believe that was Max’s style at all—but neither had she been expecting this explosion of anger the moment he saw her.

‘Abby,’ he grated, hands clenched at his sides. ‘I asked you—’

‘I heard you,’ she cut in forcefully, the strain she had been under, her lack of sleep, lack of interest in food, all finding an outlet in her own anger. ‘I heard you,’ she repeated more calmly. ‘I just didn’t understand you!’ Her voice broke emotionally. ‘What happened between your reassuring call from the plane, when you told me you couldn’t wait to see me again, to what the hell did I think I was doing?’ She shook her head, tears in her eyes now. ‘You aren’t making any se—’ She broke off, staring across at him now as the truth hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. ‘You’ve spoken to Kate Mayhew!’

He had arrived back in the country only hours ago, to cameras and reporters waiting to welcome the hostages home, and had endured a press conference since then—and yet somewhere in all that activity, Abby was becoming increasingly sure he had found time to telephone Kate Mayhew.

She sat down abruptly, her emotions in turmoil. She had thought—hoped—that Max’s concern for her during the hostage situation meant that he felt something like the love she felt for him towards her. The fact that Max had obviously felt that same concern for Kate Mayhew, that he had actually already spoken to the other woman—been to see her first?—now gave lie to that hope.

‘Well, of course I’ve spoken to Kate,’ Max retorted savagely. ‘You had no right to do what you did—’

‘I had every right, damn you!’ She stood up again, glaring at him, her heart breaking at how different this reconciliation was from her imaginings; it couldn’t have been more different!

She had food waiting in the kitchen to be cooked, the table laid in the dining room—she had even put clean sheets on her bed! None of which, in the face of Max’s hostility, were going to be used!

‘You had been taken hostage, and the two of you are obviously…friends. I felt that the least I could do was go to her and try to warn her—try to alleviate some of the shock she would feel when she heard the news that day.’ The same shock she had felt when she heard the news!

Max’s hands were thrust into the pockets of his denims—denims that hung loosely on the accentuated leanness of his hips. The last two weeks had taken their physical toll on him: the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the deep grooves beside nose and mouth told of the emotional strain he had been under, not knowing from one moment to the next whether he was going to live or die.

Just looking at him was enough to make Abby wilt with weakness. She wanted to launch herself into his arms, to feel the living strength of him, just to know that he really was here.

He ran a hand tiredly over his eyes. ‘Was that your only reason, Abby? Or was it that you hoped to catch Kate during a moment of weakness, when she—?’

‘Stop right there, Max,’ she cut in incredulously. ‘Do you have any idea of what it cost me to go and see her?’ She breathed deeply. ‘The two of us were lovers, and before you left you asked me to trust you; I thought my going to see Kate to reassure her of your safety was part of showing my trust in you. Obviously I was wrong!’ She turned away. ‘I think you had better leave, Max, don’t you?’ she said dully.

This was unbearable—unacceptable. She could only imagine what Max had gone through the last twelve days, knew only that she had felt as if she were poised on a knife’s edge, not knowing if she would see him again, only sure that she loved him, longing to see him once more, if only to tell him that.

Now all she wanted was for him to leave—to go back to Kate Mayhew and whatever strange, unfathomable relationship the two of them shared and just leave her alone. She didn’t want to be a part of their sordid triangle.

‘Abby—’

‘Go to her, Max,’ she told him scornfully as she spun round to face him. ‘I want no part of your relationship with Kate Mayhew!’ She stared at him challengingly.

A nerve pulsed in his tightly clenched jaw. ‘Kate and I aren’t lovers—’

‘No? That explains why you have women like me in your life then, doesn’t it?’ she retorted scathingly. ‘I suggest you talk to her about it, Max—because I no longer want to hear anything you have to say!’

Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, his gaze searching now on the pale gauntness of her face. ‘You look awful, Abby.’

‘What a blessing for world peace that you never thought about joining the diplomatic service!’ she said incredulously. ‘Of course I look awful! I’ve been worried out of my mind about you—unable to sleep or eat.’ She gave a self-derisive shake of her head. ‘What a waste of time that was!’

He frowned. ‘I heard that your last two shows have been incredibly successful.’

They had been. The ratings last week were the highest they had ever been. And she knew that for the most part she owed that to her worry over Max. It had brought her a new maturity, a seriousness that had completely obliterated that ‘bright young thing’ he had spoken of so scathingly at their first meeting, leaving in its place a quietly assured young woman who dealt with her guests with a new, forceful capability.

She was surprised that Max, only back in the country a few hours, would already know about that.

‘They have, yes,’ she confirmed abruptly.

‘No more problems with Gary Holmes?’ Max probed, his grey gaze intent on her face.

No more than usual. They obviously still disliked each other intensely, and Abby didn’t trust the other man an inch, but Max being taken hostage and consequently being no longer in the picture seemed to have created some sort of hiatus in hostilities. The two of them just stepped warily around each other whenever possible.

‘Not really, no,’ she dismissed woodenly, wondering when Max would go. She needed to cry, badly, and she wasn’t going to do it in front of him.

‘That’s good.’ He nodded distantly. ‘I—Hello, boy,’ he greeted Monty warmly as the cat strolled over to twine in between his legs.

Abby watched as Max went down on his haunches to stroke the happily purring feline, despite everything her heart aching at how good it was to see Max here, alive and well.

Their meeting hadn’t turned out anything like she had expected—hoped—but the fact that Max had come back unharmed was more than enough. If he had come back to another woman it was something she would just have to accept.

And exactly when had she got to be so selfless?

The easy answer to that was—she wasn’t! Even now she wanted to launch herself into his arms, to feel the physical strength of him around her, inside her, to reassure herself inch by precious inch that he really was safe, to touch him, to kiss him, to just lose herself in the wonder of having him here.

But she knew she wasn’t going to do any of that. She had her pride, if nothing else. God, she really was starting to sound ridiculous now! Where was pride going to get her once Max had gone?

It was her Max had got a message out to. It was her he had—eventually—come to once he was free to do so.

But only, as far as she could tell, in order to protect another woman…

It was too much on top of everything else she had gone through these last weeks.

She bent down to snatch Monty up into her arms, holding him defensively in front of her as Max slowly straightened, his expression guarded. ‘I really do think it’s best if you leave, Max,’ she told him huskily.

He took a step closer, then went very still—like a tiger poised to spring. ‘Do you?’ he finally prompted gruffly.

‘Yes!’ She forced her gaze to meet his, determined to hold her ground; she wasn’t sure she could have moved even if she had wanted to!

He shook his head impatiently. ‘Look, Abby, even if I want to I can’t explain about Kate. Not without—’

‘I don’t want you to explain about Kate!’ she cut in forcefully. What new, fragile lover wanted to hear about a continuing obsession with another woman?

His mouth tightened. ‘You just want me to go?’

Her arms tightened about Monty, a move he showed his disapproval of by squirming in protest. ‘Yes.’

He looked at her frustratedly for several long seconds, eyes blazing, before giving an abrupt nod of his head. ‘Have it your own way,’ he rasped. ‘This whole thing was probably a mistake anyway.’ He turned on his heel and left.

But it needn’t have been a mistake. If Max hadn’t persisted in deceiving her about his relationship with Kate Mayhew…If she hadn’t seemed to trip over the other woman at every turn…If Max had only loved Abby as she loved him…!

‘If the sky were really made of marshmallow,’ she told Monty emotionally. The saying was a favourite of her father’s from when she was growing up and had wished for the impossible. Having Max fall in love with her was definitely one of those impossibles!

‘I think I should tell you from the onset that Max has absolutely no idea that I’m here.’

Abby looked across the table at Kate Mayhew, still stunned at having left the studio on Thursday afternoon to find the other woman waiting outside for her.

It had been a strange couple of days. Only concentration on her work had distracted her from the heartache of having Max return safely only to show he cared more about Kate Mayhew’s ruffled feelings at Abby’s visit to her than he did the distress she had gone through.

To have Kate Mayhew come to see her, suggesting the two of them go and talk over an afternoon coffee in Luigi’s, was the last thing she wanted. Or needed.

‘Max who?’ she asked the other woman dryly.

Kate Mayhew’s mouth twisted. ‘I deserved that,’ she said huskily. ‘I was—less than honest with you two weeks ago.’

Abby had known that then, and didn’t need it confirmed now, but other than causing a scene and refusing the other woman’s invitation, she felt she’d had no choice but to agree to this cup of coffee. A coffee neither woman had touched, incidentally. Luigi’s frown was disapproving as the coffee cooled in the cups.

She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does matter,’ Kate Mayhew told her, determined. ‘I—At first I thought Max was different because of what had happened to him.’ She shuddered. ‘It must have been so awful for him, never knowing from one minute to the next whether he was going to get out of there alive!’

And Abby had lived every moment of that uncertainty with him. Only to have him return and berate her for visiting this woman…

‘It would take much more than a few unstable terrorists to shake Max Harding.’ She gave another derisive shrug.

The other woman looked at her with unflinching brown eyes, more lovely than ever today, her fiery red hair loosely flowing, her tailored black suit and cream blouse extremely elegant while remaining completely feminine, her legs long and shapely in high-heeled black shoes.

Next to her, in denims and a cropped white T-shirt, her hair secured untidily on top of her head, Abby felt distinctly scruffy.

‘You’re in love with him,’ Kate Mayhew murmured huskily.

‘I don’t think so!’ Abby gave a hard laugh, determined not to show how shaken she was by the comment.

‘Oh, yes.’ The other woman gave an assured nod. ‘Is he in love with you too?’

Abby’s hands clenched around her cooling coffee cup. She felt as if the breath had suddenly been knocked from her body; scenes like this were way out of her league. ‘Doubtful, wouldn’t you think?’

Kate smiled slightly. ‘One never knows with Max.’

Abby shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t help you there.’

The other woman straightened, eyes a candid brown. ‘He won’t talk about you, of course—’

‘Of course,’ Abby echoed dryly; he wouldn’t talk to her about this woman either! ‘Well, the fact that Max and I were once—friends has absolutely nothing to do with anyone but the two of us.’ Any more, it seemed, than Kate’s relationship with Max was any of her business!

‘Max has been—different, since he came back.’

‘You already said that,’ Abby snapped. This really was beyond what any woman in love with a man who was involved with another woman—this woman!—should have to endure! ‘But if you and Max are having problems then he’s the one you should be talking to about them. Not me.’

‘No,’ Kate told her firmly. ‘Max is very protective towards me. To the point where he wouldn’t want to do or say anything that might upset me—’

‘How commendable,’ Abby bit out tightly; sarcasm wasn’t normally a part of her nature, but she really didn’t know how else to deal with this. ‘Look, Kate,’ she began again. ‘If you’ve come here to warn me off Max, then I think I should tell you you’re too late; we aren’t even talking to each other any more! The truth is that Max and I had a—a mild aberration.’ Her mouth twisted self-mockingly. ‘But it was a mistake—for both of us,’ she continued as the other woman would have spoken. ‘An attraction that blazed fiercely and then just as quickly blew itself out. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I can assure you it is over.’ If it had ever really begun. Which, on Max’s part, Abby was sure it hadn’t.

The other woman sighed. ‘I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you, Abby—’

‘I’ve told you that it doesn’t matter to me what you and Max do. It’s none of my business. There’s nothing between Max and I!’ She was so angry with this woman, and with herself, but most of all with Max, for having put her in this position in the first place.

‘Max isn’t his usual happy self, Abby—’

‘I’ve never seen Max happy, so I wouldn’t know the difference!’ She had seen him arrogant, mocking, and angry, but she couldn’t say she had ever seen him happy!

But she had also seen him relaxed and charming, a little voice inside her head taunted. Over the lunch they had shared. And protective of her where Gary Holmes was concerned, gentle with the demanding Monty—and so sensually ignited the two of them had been in danger of going up in flames…

And none of that mattered a damn in the face of his obsession with Kate Mayhew!

The other woman shook her head, a haunted look in those deep brown eyes. ‘I made a mistake two years ago, Abby—’

‘I don’t want to know!’ she cut in forcefully, giving up all pretence of drinking her coffee and turning to unhook her shoulder bag from the back of the chair. ‘I have no idea whether or not you intend telling Max about this meeting, but my advice to you would be—don’t!’ Her mouth twisted. ‘He has a way of misinterpreting anything that involves me.’ And she was already shaken enough by this meeting without having an enraged Max back on her doorstep!

Kate looked up at her as she stood. ‘Of course I’ll tell Max the two of us have spoken; we don’t keep secrets from each other.’

That hurt more than anything else this woman could have said to her!

‘He kept me a secret!’ It was a cheap shot, completely unworthy of her, but in the last three weeks these two people, Max and Kate, had broken her heart. She didn’t have to let them continue to do it.

Kate gave a regretful sigh. ‘I really didn’t come here today with the intention of hurting you—’

‘You haven’t,’ Abby assured her abruptly. ‘Goodbye, Kate. I doubt the two of us will ever meet again.’ She turned on her heel and left, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks.

She had no idea where she went after that, totally oblivious as she wandered from shop to shop, not buying anything, not seeing anything, completely lost in her own humiliation.

Her only consolation was that this time Max couldn’t blame her for what had happened. At least, he shouldn’t. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t. He seemed to hold her responsible for everything else, so why not this too?

Her telephone was ringing when she let herself into her apartment hours later, throwing her bag down in a chair to stare at the noisy instrument as if it were about to bite her. Max. It had to be Max. With the intention of hurling more accusations, no doubt. Well, she couldn’t face them right now. She wished she had never set eyes on the man.

This should have been such a happy time in her life—one of those magical overnight success stories, that was really nothing of the kind but gave the appearance of being so. Instead she had met Max, and it had all become something of a nightmare.

She ignored the ringing telephone, walking straight past it to go through to the bathroom and run herself a hot, scented bath—always her point of refuge when she was troubled or in distress.

It didn’t work this time. Her emotions were too much in turmoil. Part of her wanted to pick up the telephone and tell Max to get his girlfriend off her back, another part of her wanting to put even more distance between the two of them than there already was.

It didn’t help that the telephone rang twice more while she was in the bath, setting her nerves jangling anew.

And then, on the fourth time of ringing, a thought occurred to her: Max didn’t know her land-line number! She had never given it to him. It was an unlisted number, and the only time Max had called her in the past had been on either his or her mobile! Of course he could have asked Dorothy for it, but somehow she doubted it…

She left a trail of damp footprints as she jumped out of the bath, wrapping a peach-coloured towel about her nakedness as she hurried through to grab up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ she prompted breathlessly.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Gary Holmes demanded angrily. ‘I’ve been ringing you for hours.’

‘What do you want, Gary?’ she asked warily as she dropped down into an armchair; she’d thought she had made herself more than plain concerning the privacy of her home.

Although their working relationship had continued to be less than cordial these last two weeks, Abby had really been too numbed to react to any of the cutting remarks Gary had made. And over the last couple of days she had simply tuned the man out when he’d tried to ask her if Max would be appearing on her show now that he was back—as if. She’d been concentrating all her efforts on her work in order not to think about Max.

But Gary, of necessity, did have her home telephone number; it just hadn’t occurred to her that he might be the one actually ringing her.

‘What I want is for you to get yourself back in here now,’ her director rasped impatiently. ‘We have a change of guest for tomorrow evening, and a hell of a lot of work to get through before then!’

Abby straightened. ‘What do you mean, we have a change of guest? Everything is set for Cameron Harper—’

‘He’s been bumped to next week,’ Gary interrupted. ‘It would seem that you’ve succeeded in working your charm, after all, Abby,’ he added scathingly. ‘Pat called me a couple of hours ago and told me that Max Harding has agreed to come on your show. Tomorrow night—not for the last show, as you originally suggested he might.’

Abby’s hand tightened so hard about the receiver that her knuckles showed white.

Max was going to appear on tomorrow evening’s show?

No, that wasn’t the question. The question was, why had Max, after all he had said and done, agreed—no, requested!—to appear on her show after all?

CHAPTER TEN

‘I STILL don’t understand what this meeting is about.’ Abby shook her head slightly dazedly as she sat across the table from Gary in the conference room where they were all to meet.

Gary gave her a sneering smile. ‘Sounds pretty simple to me.’ He raised a sarcastic eyebrow. ‘You practised your seduction on Max Harding. He fell for it. And now we’re sitting here, waiting for the great man to arrive so that he can tell us what he’s going to say tomorrow night.’

It was the last bit she didn’t understand. Well, she didn’t understand any of this, actually—least of all Max’s volte face—but she really had no idea why Max wanted a meeting with Pat, Gary and herself at nine o’clock at night. It was going to be hard enough seeing Max again at all, let alone in Gary’s presence.

‘Hey, don’t blame me.’ Gary held up defensive hands. ‘The great man dictates and we all jump!’

She didn’t jump. Had no intention of jumping again. Ever.

And this was her show, and no one had even bothered to consult her on a change of guest for tomorrow evening. Not a good basis from which she should interview any of her guests.

All thought fled as the door opened suddenly and the energetic figure of Pat Connelly preceded Max into the room. The small, rotund woman, in her usual sweatshirt and joggers, her grey hair short and slightly ruffled, looked slightly incongruous next to the tall, brooding Max, who was wearing a dinner suit and snowy white shirt.

Abby’s gaze instantly swung back to Pat as she swept forcefully down the room to sit at the head of the long table. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t wholly aware of Max, as he strolled over at a more leisurely pace to take a seat beside the older woman.

‘Obviously Max needs no introduction,’ Pat began with irony, her homely face and less than sartorial elegance belying the fact that she was one of the most dynamic producers in television today.

‘Obviously not,’ Gary echoed dryly, his gaze, when Abby glanced across at him, fixed challengingly on the other man. ‘What’s this all about? Abby is all set to go with Cameron Harper tomorrow—’

‘I’ve already spoken to Cameron; he’s more than happy to appear on the next show rather than tomorrow—’

‘What’s the rush?’ Gary interrupted his producer. ‘Abby always had Max in mind for the last show anyway, so—’

‘Max has offered to appear tomorrow, Gary, not any other time,’ Pat told him harshly. ‘And, it may have escaped your notice, but it would be in our interest to pursue this while Max’s recent—predicament is still so fresh in people’s minds.’

Abby was deeply aware that she and Max weren’t taking any part in the conversation. Not that it was too much of a hardship for her; she would rather listen at the moment anyway. But she had never known Max to be less than verbally expansive. Especially when he was the subject under discussion!

She chanced a look down the table to where he sat, feeling a jolt of awareness as she found him staring straight back at her, those grey eyes hooded and unreadable, his expression grimly remote.

And as she continued to look at him—like a rabbit eyeing a fox—he raised one dark brow in silent challenge.

He knew about her meeting earlier today with Kate Mayhew!

Without his having to say a word, Abby knew that the other woman had kept to her intention not to keep any secrets from Max.

Well, that was just fine for the two of them. Abby just hoped that the other woman had also told him that she’d had no part in setting up the meeting—also that she had refused to discuss him, or their own brief relationship.

‘It’s done, Gary,’ Pat was telling the director when Abby determinedly turned her attention and her gaze back to the two of them. ‘So live with it.’

Gary scowled his resentment. ‘I was under the impression this was my show—’

‘And everyone else was under the impression that it was Abby’s.’ Max spoke at last, coldly, abruptly, making no effort to hide his contempt for the other man.

‘It is,’ Abby answered firmly. ‘But I don’t understand this any more than Gary does. You told me quite adamantly that you wouldn’t appear on the show—’

‘And now I’ve changed my mind,’ Max bit out harshly.

Her mouth tightened at his sheer arrogance. ‘And now we’re all supposed to get down on our knees and say thanks at the shrine of Max Harding?’

‘Abby!’ Pat gasped her surprise at the attack.

Abby ignored her, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on Max; there was more going on here than Pat could possibly know, and Abby didn’t like the feeling of being simply a pawn in a game. Especially when she didn’t know what the game was—only that Max was the one making the rules.

Max was looking at her with rueful respect now. ‘It’s okay, Pat,’ he assured the other woman, without looking at her. ‘Are you saying that you don’t want me to appear on your show after all, Abby?’

He had her, and he knew it—knew that after what had happened to him in the last two weeks she would be committing professional suicide in not accepting the interview he was offering her. Especially if she wanted her contract renewed for another year. It wasn’t that she was questioning, only his motives for doing this.

Why had he changed his mind now? The only thing that had happened since the two of them had last spoken on the subject that she could see was her meeting earlier today with Kate Mayhew. The other woman in his life…

A meeting, no matter what Max might think to the contrary, that had not been of her choosing…

Although she had no guarantee that Kate Mayhew had told him that when she’d confided that particular secret to him—any more than she had any idea what the other woman had told him about their meeting. If the coldness of his gaze was anything to go by, then it probably hadn’t been anything good…

‘…go over the list of questions Max has agreed to answer.’

She tuned back into the conversation as Pat put her briefcase on the tabletop and opened it.

‘Now, just a minute!’ Abby gasped, standing up. ‘The list of questions Max has agreed to answer?’ she repeated forcefully. ‘Where is my involvement in that?’ She was no longer looking at Max but concentrating on Pat instead. ‘I’ll end up as merely a mouthpiece—a bystander on The Max Harding Show!’

‘Do you have a problem with that?’ Max asked quietly, before Pat could speak.

Abby’s eyes flashed deeply blue as she glared at him. ‘I won’t do it!’ she said determinedly.

‘Even at the risk of losing an exclusive?’ he challenged softly.

Goading, baiting her. Which only made her all the more adamant. If Max had known her better—if he had known her at all!—then he would have realised she wouldn’t be pushed about and bullied in this way.

‘Even at the risk of that—yes,’ she bit out tautly, her gaze unwavering on his.

The two of them continued their visual battle for several seconds. Max determined and unreadable, Abby stubbornly unyielding.

‘Pat.’ He finally spoke softly, his gaze remaining unwaveringly on Abby’s. ‘Would you and Gary mind leaving Abby and me alone for a few minutes?’

Every particle of Abby inwardly protested at such an idea. She didn’t want to be alone with him, had nothing to say to him. But then, that wasn’t the idea, was it? Max had something he wanted to say to her! And it wasn’t too difficult to guess what that something was.

‘Won’t you sit down, Abby?’ Max invited softly seconds later, when the others had left the room—Pat happily, Gary protestingly.

For once, Abby had found herself agreeing with Gary!

‘I won’t, thanks,’ she refused abruptly, her palms feeling damp, her whole body aching from the tension she felt. ‘If this is because of Kate Mayhew—’

‘Let’s leave Kate out of this.’

‘I would be happy to!’ Abby assured him heavily. ‘But that’s actually impossible to do, isn’t it, Max?’ she went on. ‘Because everything you say and do begins and ends with Kate Mayhew! She came to see me today—’

‘I know that.’ His mouth was tight. ‘She said that you refused to discuss our relationship.’

Well, at least Kate had been honest about that.

‘Because we don’t have a relationship!’ she snapped, moving to the other end of the table, as far away from Max as she could get in the confines of the conference room, too distracted by his proximity to be able to think straight—except to know she couldn’t allow the fiasco being suggested for tomorrow night’s show to continue. ‘Why don’t the two of you just go public with your relationship, Max?’ She sighed. ‘It’s been two years. The media can be extremely forgiving, and I’m sure with your way with words—’ her mouth twisted scathingly ‘—you could arrange to bring all of this round to a romantic angle they will totally accept!’

‘I’m sure I could,’ he drawled. ‘Unfortunately, that isn’t the way it happened—isn’t the way it is.’

‘I don’t believe you!’

‘No, I know you don’t.’ He sighed too. ‘But you’re just going to have to trust me on this one, Abby.’

‘I trusted you once before—I won’t do it again!’ Her eyes blazed, her face pale.

‘No,’ he accepted heavily. ‘I can see that. But I will be appearing on your show tomorrow evening, Abby. And I will be answering the questions that Pat and I have already agreed on.’

‘Pat had no more had a say in what those questions are than I did!’

‘No,’ he acknowledged without apology. ‘However, the difference is she’s enough of a professional to trust in my judgement.’

‘And I’m not?’ Abby guessed tartly. ‘Fine, Max. Go ahead and arrange this between the two of you.’ She snatched up her bag. ‘But do it on the understanding that I may or I just may not turn up to ask you those questions on my own show!’

Max moved swiftly, grasping her upper arms, shaking her slightly in obvious frustrated anger. ‘You are one of the most stubborn women it has ever been my misfortune to meet!’

She faced him unflinchingly, desperately hanging on to her anger in an effort to fight the weakness she felt just at his touch. A weakness that would leave her totally defenceless if she gave in to it. And at the moment those defences were the only thing keeping her from saying, To hell with all this. She didn’t care what role Kate Mayhew had in his life, that she just wanted him. Here. Now.

How sad was that?

She shook back the dark curtain of her hair. ‘More stubborn than Kate?’

He drew in a sharp breath. ‘I told you—’

‘To leave her out of this,’ Abby finished derisively. ‘Maybe I will turn up for the show tomorrow night after all, Max,’ she said slowly. ‘In fact…after some thought, I wouldn’t dream of missing it!’

His mouth tightened. ‘Abby—’

‘Yes?’

He breathed heavily. ‘I’m not your enemy, Abby,’ he warned softly.

‘No?’ She faced him defiantly.

His mouth tightened. ‘I’m really not.’

‘I don’t believe that either,’ she challenged.

‘We sound like two opponents facing each other in a boxing ring!’

‘That’s probably because it’s exactly what we are.’ She smiled humourlessly. ‘And I should warn you—it isn’t a fight I’m prepared to lose!’

Max looked down at her for several long seconds before releasing her abruptly. ‘You’re making a terrible mistake, Abby. I’m far from being your enemy, and tomorrow evening I intend proving that to you,’ he assured her.

‘Let the battle commence!’ she scorned, before turning on her heel and walking out of the room. ‘He’s all yours,’ she told Pat as she stalked by.

Because he wasn’t hers.

And he never would be…

None of that iron control—thankfully—had faded by the following evening. In fact, it was the only thing that kept her from falling apart completely.

That and the professionalism that wouldn’t allow her to become simply Max Harding’s mouthpiece.

A fact he was shortly going to find out, she realized, after a quick glance at her wristwatch told her they would be on the air in only ten minutes. But on her terms, not Max’s.

As usual she had arrived at the studio two hours ago. As usual she had allowed Make-Up to do their work. Unusually, she hadn’t spent any time talking to her guest, putting him at ease before they appeared live in front of the cameras.

She knew Max was at the studio too—had been informed the moment he arrived, an hour ago—but she had made no effort to go through her normal practice of chatting to her guests beforehand, establishing an ease, a rapport, before the show went on air.

What was the point? There was no ease or rapport between herself and Max. And there never would be.

‘All set, Abby?’ Gary appeared in the doorway of her room.

As set as she was going to be! ‘I’m fine,’ she said shortly, not particularly liking the feral grin on Gary’s face, but knowing there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. He knew she was angry about this interview, and he was loving all the tension in the studio.

‘You’re looking very—professional this evening.’ He nodded his satisfaction with her appearance.

Deliberately so. This wasn’t going to be like any of her previous shows. It hadn’t been hyped as such by the television station throughout the day when they’d announced the change of guest, and Abby had dressed accordingly. The black tailored suit and white blouse were businesslike, her hair was swept up on top of her head, and her make-up was subdued—no lipgloss, only a peach-coloured lipstick, and blusher adding colour to the white of her cheeks.

‘I have to go, Gary,’ she told him woodenly as she received the signal for going on the air in five minutes.

‘I hope you’re going out there to get him, Abby,’ he encouraged, blue eyes glittering with malice.

It gave Abby her first feelings of misgiving concerning what she was about to do. Anything that Gary could smile on so approvingly had to be suspect, she realized, with a belated flash of uncertainty.

Was it so obvious what she intended doing? That she had drawn up her own list of questions, and intended replacing Max’s with them?

Was she doing the right thing? she wondered as she hurried to take her place in the studio.

Did she have any choice? came the second, heartbreaking question.

No, she didn’t, she decided with fresh resolve. Max had his own reasons for agreeing to appear on her show, but they weren’t her reasons. And her personal life might be in ruins, but that didn’t mean her professional one had to be too. Max was playing with her—probably in order to continue protecting Kate Mayhew. He had made love to her for the same reason. And, while she didn’t want to hurt the other woman, she didn’t feel the same compunction where Max was concerned.

Her resolve was shaken even further when she saw Max waiting for her as she walked on to the set, and the colour—so expertly applied earlier—faded from her cheeks.

Max’s eyes were hard, his expression grim. ‘What are you up to, Abby?’ he ground out suspiciously.

She gave him a startled look. How did he know? What did he know?

Her new set of questions had been prepared in absolute secrecy. How could Max possibly—? He couldn’t, she decided determinedly. He was just guessing. As Gary had. The fact that both men had guessed correctly was more fluke than certainty. And bad luck for her.

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Max,’ she told him. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go,’ she added firmly, as the theme for her programme began to play.

‘Abby!’ He reached out and grasped her arm in a vice-like grip, his expression intent. ‘Abby, I love you!’ he told her forcefully.

‘How dare you?’ she gasped, sudden tears blinding her.

Did he really think she was so stupid, so naïve, that she would fall for a ploy like—?

‘I love you,’ he repeated grimly. ‘It’s because I love you that I’ve agreed to come on this show at all. But there’s much more at stake here than your pride or mine, and if you do this, Abby, then I’ll have no choice but to fight back!’

She wrenched out of his grasp, drawing inside herself, her eyes no longer glittering with tears but with a fury she had no control over. ‘I’ll be waiting for you in the arena, Max.’

Pure professionalism took over as she stepped in front of the cameras, smilingly welcoming her audience before she had to introduce her guest for the evening.

The studio audience was buzzing, seemingly aware that something momentous was about to happen.

Just how momentous neither they nor Abby could possibly have guessed!

The interview began exactly as it should have done: Abby and Max were all smiles as they shook hands before taking their seats, and the first four questions were as originally planned, touching on the events of the last two weeks, with Max’s replies relaxed and assured as he talked of the ordeal.

But the underlying tension was there nonetheless. And as Abby reached the fifth question of the evening she could sense a change coming over Max. Her resolve wavered once again as she hesitated about stepping from the script he had dictated for the evening.

Arrogantly. Arbitrarily.

No matter what he had just said, he most certainly didn’t love her! He—

‘So tell me, Abby,’ Max suddenly drawled pleasantly, ‘how are you liking presenting your own show?’

She stared at him even as she gave an appropriate reply. What was he doing?

‘I hear rumours of there being a second series?’ he continued lightly. ‘You must be pleased by the show’s success?’

He was attempting to take over the programme; that was what he was doing!

She straightened in her chair, her hands tightly gripped together, her pulse racing as she made the decision to step into the arena.

‘I haven’t heard those rumours, Max,’ she said. ‘But, to get back to you: this is the first interview of this kind you’ve given in two years. Understandably so. And I’m sure everyone watching this evening is aware of the events that led up to your decision not to appear in public again in this way.’

‘Abby!’ he warned softly, still seemingly relaxed with only the white knuckles of his hands, as he gripped the arms of the chair, to show that he was far from it.

‘But it has been two years,’ she continued evenly, knowing she was committed to going ahead with this now. ‘And I’m sure we would all like to know—’

‘Abby. Darling. I’m sure that you don’t want me to tell everyone,’ he cut in smoothly, ‘that the only reason I’m here tonight is because I could hardly continue to say no to coming on the show of the woman I’m going to bed with!’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘AND that, my darling Monty, is when I hit him,’ she concluded with an emotional sniff. ‘And why I can never go out in public again. Never see any of my friends again. Never be able to face my parents again!’ She groaned with remembered humiliation. ‘They were watching all that, Monty. Oh!’ She buried her face in her hands once again.

How could Max have done that to her?

And what had she intended doing to him? a little voice inside her head reminded her reasonably.

Yes, but that was different. He had deserved what she’d been about to do to him!

Besides, she’d had no intention of asking him anything to do with Kate Mayhew. The angry humiliation she felt at Max’s hands—even seconds before they’d gone on air he’d tried to make her believe he was in love with her!—didn’t extend to deliberately hurting the other woman or her children. Max had been her only target—and instead he had reversed the roles and made her the target instead.

She was finished—both professionally and personally. In fact, she would be surprised if she could find the smallest corner of the world who wouldn’t know of her humiliation at Max’s hands—and mouth!—by morning. Maybe Bolivia, after all? A loud pounding sounded on her apartment door.

Not happy with telephoning, with ringing her doorbell, now someone had actually managed to get as far as her apartment door!

The pounding continued, despite her efforts to shut it out, and through the width of two doors she could hear the muffled sound of a voice.

Max’s voice?

She wasn’t sure.

And she didn’t want to be sure, reaching up to put her hands over her ears. Whoever it was would tire soon, would realise she either wasn’t at home or she simply wasn’t about to open the door. To anyone. Even if the building were to catch on fire. Like a captain, she would go down with the ship—

The bathroom door burst open. Abby’s hands fell away from her ears as she stared at a wild-eyed, frantic-looking Max where he stood in the doorway.

Relief flooded over his features as he saw her gaping at him. ‘Thank you, thank you!’ he breathed deeply. ‘Abby—’

‘Get out of here!’ she gasped, sinking beneath the rapidly cooling bubbles, not caring that this man had already seen her completely naked; that had been at a time when she had thought there was a chance the two of them might actually be in love with each other. Now it was just a complete violation.

But instead of leaving he stepped further into the room. ‘I need to talk to you, Abby—’

‘Well, you aren’t talking to me here, damn it!’ she burst out incredulously. ‘Besides, I don’t need to talk to you. What I need, what I really need, is for you to just turn around and leave!’ And never come back!

He paled slightly. ‘Abby, please let me—’

‘Please!’ she repeated incredulously, sitting up slightly, the perfumed bubbles still just enough to cover her nakedness. ‘You humiliated me this evening—deliberately, coldly, calculatedly humiliated me—and now you dare to say please to me?’ She glared furiously at him. ‘Get out now, Max, and don’t ever come back!’

He shook his head, his expression grim. ‘I know it must seem that way to you—but, Abby, I never meant to hurt you—’

‘Oh, you didn’t?’ she challenged with sarcasm. ‘Strange, because as I remember it that’s exactly what you did!’ Tears filled her eyes now. ‘My parents were watching that show earlier, Max. My parents!’ Her voice rose in horror at how they must be feeling after hearing publicly that their daughter had been to bed with this man. ‘Don’t come any closer, Max,’ she warned, as he did exactly that. ‘You—What’s that?’ she questioned sharply as she saw the recording in his hand.

‘The rest of the show.’

‘I don’t need a hard copy of that show, Max—it’s indelibly imprinted on my brain!’ And on those of millions of others…

‘I said it’s a copy of the rest of the show, Abby,’ he told her firmly. ‘And you really do need to see it.’

‘The rest of the show?’ Abby repeated scornfully. ‘There was no “rest of the show”.’ The last thing she had heard, before she’d ripped the earpiece from her ear and thrown it on the ground, had been Gary’s instruction to go to a commercial break. Instruction? He had screamed the order!

‘Oh, yes, there’s a “rest of the show”, Abby,’ Max assured her determinedly. ‘Put something on and I’ll get this set up to watch.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she raged, very close now to completely losing it. ‘Take your recording, and yourself, and just—How did you get in here, anyway?’ she suddenly asked suspiciously. ‘I know I locked the door.’

‘Well, I didn’t bother with the “it’s your birthday” ruse.’ Max sighed as he reminded her of her own initial method of getting up to his apartment seven weeks ago. ‘But your doorman recognised me easily enough, and once I explained to him that you weren’t answering your telephone or your door buzzer, that I was worried about you, he was only too happy to let me in with his key.’

‘Oh, great!’ Abby scorned. ‘Now everyone thinks I’m a suicide case!’

‘Not me,’ Max assured her with a rueful smile. ‘You’re too strong, too courageous—’

‘Oh, cut the bull, Max,’ she said impatiently. ‘After tonight the only way I’m going to be able to go out in public again is if I dye and cut my hair and change my name—and even that probably won’t work!’

He gave an appreciative smile. ‘The change of name we can discuss in a few minutes. But leave your hair exactly as it is; I happen to like it just that colour and style!’ He sobered. ‘Come and watch the rest of the show, Abby,’ he invited softly. ‘If you still want me to leave after that, then I will.’

‘You most certainly will!’ she assured him with feeling. But at the same time knew she no longer felt quite as desperately unhappy as she had.

She had no idea how, but a part of her—the part of her that was in love with him—somehow knew that Max was going to make all of this turn out fine.

Which was laughable after all that he had done!

She didn’t have any clothes in the bathroom with her. Instead she put her robe on over her nakedness, its deep blue colour an exact match for her eyes. It zipped at the front from neck to ankles, meaning she was perfectly decent. Besides, what did it matter? Her inner emotions might have been publicly bared this evening, but Max had seen all of her bared!

He was on the sofa when she joined him in the sitting room, and Abby avoided his gaze as she deliberately sat in one of the armchairs. Monty, the continuing traitor, made no move to leave the comfort of Max’s knee.

‘I tried earlier to explain the situation to him,’ she said dryly. ‘But I guess he just didn’t understand!’

‘Oh, I think Monty understands more than you realise,’ Max told her huskily.

Her eyes flashed deeply blue as she glared at him. ‘He’s a man,’ she snapped. ‘And men usually stick together, don’t they?’

Max gave her a long, lingering look. Abby met his gaze unflinchingly. He gave a sigh. ‘Let’s watch the recording,’ he suggested huskily.

‘By all means—let’s all watch my annihilation!’ she agreed coldly.

Max looked as if he would like to argue that point, but instead he tightened his mouth and switched on the recording.

The first ten minutes of her show were exactly—painfully—as Abby remembered them. She had believed herself cool and in control earlier this evening, but the recording showed her to have been tense and obviously nervous, becoming borderline agitated as Max reversed the roles and began to question her, until, taking control again, she had begun to ask him about the events of two years ago.

She stood up impatiently. ‘I’ve seen enough—’

‘No—you haven’t,’ Max said firmly. ‘Nice punch, by the way,’ he complimented her dryly, as the screen showed him toppling backwards over his chair to lie unconscious on the ground, with a tearful Abby stepping over him as she marched out of the suddenly hushed studio.

It was almost worse viewing the incident like this, as one of the outsiders looking in. And the sudden appearance of an advertisement for a popular brand of nappies only made the whole thing appear even more ludicrous.

She gave a disgusted shake of her head. ‘Couldn’t they have found something with a little more—?’ She broke off, frowning as the advertisement abruptly went off air and the cameras returned to the studio. ‘What—?’

‘Watch, Abby,’ Max invited softly, his face grimmer than ever as his gaze returned to the screen.

She did watch. And listen. As had millions of others, presumably.

Gary Holmes, having left his control room, believing they were off the air, had confronted a still-miked Max as he slowly began to get up from the floor. The conversation between the two men had been both startling and enlightening!

‘Satisfied, Gary?’ Max challenged, standing to massage his painful jaw.

‘Completely,’ the other man returned scornfully. ‘I knew when Abby told me she was going to get you on her show that she was going to be trouble.’

‘Is that why you’ve made her life such a misery these last months?’ Max challenged.

‘Of course,’ Gary taunted. ‘I tried to get rid of her completely, but that proved harder to do than I’d realised. Not that it matters now, because tonight she succeeded in totally humiliating both of you; what more could I ask for?’

‘Kate Mayhew’s continued silence, maybe?’ Max suggested softly.

‘Well, there is that, of course,’ the other man derided confidently.

Max gave a disgusted shake of his head. ‘I should have just let Rory Mayhew shoot you two years ago!’

Abby shot Max a startled look at this statement. What on earth did he mean? Rory Mayhew had gone on Max’s show intending to ruin the man who was having an affair with his wife by committing suicide on his show. Where did Gary come into this?

‘Perhaps you should,’ Gary continued mockingly on the screen.

‘You blood-sucking parasite,’ Max told the other man coldly. ‘Kate made the mistake of having an affair with you, and despite all her pleading you used it against her by telling her husband when his career was already falling apart.’

‘Why not go for total meltdown?’ Gary said, seeming horribly amused.

Max shook his head disgustedly. ‘He was foolish. And so was Kate, for ever thinking you had any human decency inside you. But neither of them deserved what you did to them.’

‘And exactly what did I do?’ the other man challenged.

‘You blackmailed Kate into continuing to see you by threatening to tell her husband of your relationship. And then, without telling her, you secretly blackmailed her husband with exposure, too. Doesn’t directing pay enough? Is that it, Gary?’ Max challenged. ‘Or could it be that you did it for another reason?’

Gary gave him a scathing glance. ‘And what reason would that be?’

‘That you’re a man who likes to have power over others,’ Max said. ‘You don’t want to just stick the knife in, you like to twist it around too!’

‘So I played a little game with the Mayhews that went too far. So what?’ Gary challenged.

‘It wasn’t a game. It was people’s lives,’ Max returned icily. ‘It cost Rory Mayhew his life and Kate Mayhew her husband—her children their father! Doesn’t that mean anything to you, you bastard?’

‘Not a lot, no.’ Gary shrugged. ‘Besides, you can’t prove any of this, Harding,’ he added dismissively.

‘Oh, no?’ Max challenged softly. ‘Try looking at the cameras, Gary. See that green light? My live mike? Yes, I thought they might surprise you,’ he said with satisfaction as the other man blanched. ‘You see, I don’t have to prove a thing, Gary. You’ve done that yourself—very effectively.’

Gary looked like a man who had been hit between the eyes, beyond pale now, looking almost green.

‘I’ve waited two years for this, Holmes. I was never able to prove any of this before. But with your public—very public—confession…’ He smiled. ‘You’re finished, Gary. Absolutely. Completely. In fact, I should think that in future you might have difficulty getting a job sweeping the floor of this studio, let alone directing in it—’ He broke off as the other man, with a low, guttural growl, launched himself at him, his hands going for Max’s throat, a maniacal light in those pale blue eyes.

‘He was arrested seconds later for attempted assault,’ Max said. ‘And I will obviously be only too happy to press charges. The police are also going to look into the events of two years ago to see if they can find any other charges against Holmes—blackmail included—that might stick.’

Abby sat in mute silence, completely stunned by what had taken place in the studio after she’d left.

And the fact that it had been Gary—not Max—who had been having an affair with Kate Mayhew two years ago!

And now? What was Max’s involvement with the other woman now?

‘I felt responsible, Abby.’ Max seemed able to gauge her thoughts. ‘It all came to a head on my programme, culminating in Rory’s death two days later.’

‘He didn’t get drunk and bring that gun on your programme intending to hurt you with it, did he?’ Abby asked wonderingly.

Max shook his head. ‘Gary was always his target. But there was nothing that he could do, that any of us could do, to prove what Gary had done to all of them those months before Rory’s death. Yes, Rory made mistakes, and, no, he shouldn’t have got drunk and come on my programme with his grandfather’s old gun.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘By that time Rory was totally irrational. He had some idea in his head that shooting Gary would put an end to all his misery. But once Rory sobered up and realised what he had done, in front of millions of viewers, I don’t think he felt he had any other choice than to kill himself. After that, all I could do was be Kate’s friend and keep Gary Holmes as far away from her—and me—as possible.’

‘And two years later I came along,’ Abby realised weakly. ‘Nosing. Prying. With Gary as my director.’

‘And then you came along,’ Max echoed softly. ‘Beautiful. Impulsive. Warm. But with Gary Holmes as your director!’ he acknowledged. ‘He, as he’s just admitted, was far from happy at the thought of my being a guest on your show.’

Hence his constant harassing of her on the subject, his deliberate attempts to drive a wedge between herself and Max—even to the point of implying to Max that the two of them had some sort of relationship!

‘Your obvious anger towards me this evening suited him perfectly, Abby.’ Max grimaced.

She raised heavy lids, her eyes pained. ‘He knew all along I was going to switch questions on you.’

He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t too difficult to guess what you intended doing. Of course I couldn’t have known what Gary was going to do after you hit me and walked out, but once he came down onto the studio floor and started talking—’ He gave a shake of his head. ‘It couldn’t have worked out better if I’d planned it that way. Although Pat, bless her, must have thought I was completely insane when I indicated she was to keep the cameras rolling.’ He gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘I think the only reason she did so was because she was still stunned from seeing Abby Freeman lay Max Harding out cold on the studio floor! Where did you learn to punch like that, by the way?’ He rubbed his bruised jaw.

There was laughter in his expression, but not malicious, or even full of the cynicism she was used to. ‘My father,’ she acknowledged, still slightly numbed by what she had just seen on the screen.

All this time—years—Gary Holmes had been largely responsible for pushing Rory Mayhew to the point of suicide. What sort of man was he? A very sick one, obviously.

But she must have really shaken his complacency—more than shaken it!—when she had announced she was going to have Max as the final guest on her show. The one man who, because of his friendship with Kate Mayhew, knew exactly what had taken place two years ago, but couldn’t prove Gary’s part in it.

All those times he had tried to keep her and Max apart—his sarcasm, his hints that Max was involved with Kate, in Rory Mayhew’s death. No wonder he had looked so shocked that day at Luigi’s when he’d seen Abby and Max together!

Until that point he must have been so confident, so sure that Max, with his well-known aversion to appearing on public television again, wouldn’t even allow her access into his life, let alone actually be out having lunch with her. Hence his completely unexpected visit to her apartment later that day, and his broad hints that the two of them were involved. He must have realised that day that Abby was getting too close to Max, to the possibility of learning the truth about him.

Her gaze flicked sharply back to Max. ‘I was never, ever involved with that—that excuse for a human being!’ She grimaced her complete disgust just at the thought of it.

Max gave a pained wince. ‘I know that better than anyone, Abby,’ he reminded her. Bringing the warmth of colour to her cheeks as she acknowledged just how he knew that.

‘There are other ways of being involved with someone other than the physical,’ she said tightly.

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘And you knew Gary in none of them.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ she challenged. ‘You certainly weren’t a couple of weeks ago. In fact, as I recall you couldn’t wait to get out of my bed and escape!’

‘I wasn’t escaping, Abby—I was running scared!’ he told her firmly.

‘Max, I saw you and Kate together outside your apartment that morning before you went away. I was bringing coffee and Danish for breakfast,’ she added quickly. ‘Not spying on you. And—’

‘I never for a moment thought you were,’ he assured her softly. ‘But if the morning you’re referring to is the one I think it is, then Kate had called in to see me on the way back from taking the kids to school. She had some good news to tell me—personal news. Abby, the mistake I made that first morning was in getting up and leaving the way that I did. But the fact is, I was—I’ve never been in love before!’ He gave a shake of his head. ‘I’m not, nor have I ever been, nor will I ever be, involved with Kate,’ he assured her. ‘I told you—I felt responsible. At least, that’s how I felt initially. Then I got to know Kate—and her children. She’s a very lovely person, Abby—’

‘I don’t think I can bear to hear that right now, Max,’ Abby cut in dully. ‘I’m pleased for her—for both of you—that Gary Holmes has finally been made accountable for what happened two years ago. As you say, there’s no way he will ever recover professionally from this evening. But I really can’t bear just now to hear how wonderful Kate is—how—how much you care for her!’ That would just be too much, when her own life, both personal and professional, was in ruins.

‘I told you earlier—not once, but twice, and again just now—it’s you that I love,’ Max murmured throatily. ‘Abby, why do you think I finally agreed to appear on your show?’

‘To try to get to Gary—’

‘I told you.’ He shook his head. ‘I had no idea Gary was going to lose it like that. How could I have known? I came on your show, Abby, because I thought it was a way of showing you that I loved you. That my first public appearance in two years being on your show would convince the powers that be that I, for one, consider you a first-rate interviewer.’

‘Is that why you threatened me earlier this evening?’ Her voice broke emotionally. ‘Because you’re in love with me?’

‘Weren’t you intending to publicly crush me?’ he returned challengingly.

‘I wasn’t going through with it,’ Abby told him flatly, knowing that was possibly her worst humiliation.

She had sat there in the studio with him tonight, intending to hurt and humiliate him as he had hurt her, and in the end she had known she couldn’t do it—that it would hurt too many other people if she did. So she had decided, in that moment of hesitation, to go back to the original set of questions.

‘I wasn’t going to do it,’ she repeated firmly. ‘Even as I started to ask you the question I knew that it wasn’t the place or the time to air my private grievances. But, feeling threatened, you didn’t feel the same compunction, did you, Max?’ Her chin rose dangerously.

Max held her gaze with his for several long seconds before reaching forward to pick up the remote control, pressing the button to resume playing the recording.

And, like a magnet, Abby found her gaze drawn to the screen. The studio was empty now of everyone but Max—Gary obviously having been taken away by the police. Apart from the bruise on his jaw, Max looked none the worse for the scene that had just taken place, and was every inch the seasoned television presenter that he really was.

And then Abby stopped noticing what he looked like and actually heard what he was saying…

‘—to thank Abby Freeman for allowing me to use her show in this way to bring Gary Holmes’s crimes, past and present, to light.’ He spoke confidently. ‘I’m sure you’ll all agree with me when I say it’s my misfortune that she didn’t actually seduce me in order to get me on to the show. I should be so lucky!’ He smiled ruefully as the audience broke into spontaneous applause. ‘But any man can dream, can’t he?’ He gave a rueful grimace as the audience gave an appreciative laugh.

Abby stared across at him. With a few simple sentences and a certain amount of self-deprecation Max had turned her humiliation into something else entirely, making it sound as if she had been part of the whole thing, while at the same time making himself a figure of fun.

‘Seriously.’ Max’s image on the screen sobered. ‘Abby took a risk this evening, knowing she had no certainty of succeeding, and I would personally like to thank her. I’m sure that Kate Mayhew, if she were here, would want to do the same. What happened to her husband two years ago was a tragedy—compounded, as we’ve proved this evening, by the vindictive nature of one man. We’ve all made mistakes in our lives, and I’m in no way trying to exonerate any of the people involved, but those human weaknesses didn’t have to end in the tragic way that they did. Tonight, I hope, has put an end to two years of personal speculation for Kate Mayhew and her family, and I’m sure that you’ll all join me in wishing her and her children well for the future.’

There was another spontaneous round of applause.

‘The Abby Freeman Show will return at seven-thirty next Friday evening, when her guest will be Cameron Harper. I advise you to watch out for the right hook, Cameron!’ he concluded lightly, before the theme music began to play.

Abby stared at the screen as it went blank. Max had completely turned the situation round with a few well-chosen words, making Gary’s behaviour two years ago the issue, rather than the fact that she had punched Max live on television.

She slowly moistened dry lips, not quite able to look across and meet his gaze. ‘What happens now?’

‘Well, as I said, Gary has been taken into custody—’

‘Not to Gary!’ She looked up protestingly. The other man had got everything he deserved!

‘Well, for one thing Pat assures me that the executives are already clamouring to renew your contract.’

She swallowed hard. ‘They are?’

‘They most certainly are. And deservedly so. You’re good, Abby—very good.’ Max nodded. ‘As for the rest—tomorrow morning’s newspapers will carry both this story and the news of Kate’s engagement and future marriage to Edward Southern, an Australian businessman.’

Abby’s eyes widened. Kate Mayhew was getting married—but not to Max!

‘It’s what Kate came to tell me that morning you saw the two of us together.’ Max smiled at her stunned expression. ‘She and the children will be moving to Australia after the wedding next month.’

And with her husband’s death and Gary Holmes’ involvement in it safely behind her, Kate was now completely free to move forward with her life…

‘But I thought—I know you said—How do you feel about that?’ Abby looked at Max uncertainly.

‘In a word? Relieved,’ he told her ruefully. ‘After what happened on my programme I felt a certain responsibility for Kate and the kids. But maybe now, with Gary safely out of the picture for a while, we can all get on with our lives.’ He stood up, moving towards her. ‘And I would very much like my own future to include you, Abby. Do you think that’s possible?’ he prompted huskily.

She swallowed hard. Max had told her three times tonight that he loved her. In view of what she had just seen and heard on the television recording, was it possible that he had really meant it…?

There was only one way to find out!

She drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Max, but my father is a vicar—’

‘I wasn’t, but I probably should have guessed.’ He smiled. ‘Although the idea of a pugilistic vicar may take some getting used to!’

‘Wait until you meet my mother!’ she warned, knowing her flamboyant ex-actress mother was the last person he would expect to be married to a parish vicar.

He tilted his head to one side. ‘Am I going to?’

‘That depends.’ She moistened dry lips. ‘You see, their dearest wish is to see me married to the man I love.’

Emotion flared in his deep grey eyes. ‘Abby, are you asking me to marry you?’

Was she? Yes, she most certainly was! She loved him, he said he loved her, and she could imagine nothing she wanted more in life than to be his wife.

‘If you are, then my answer is definitely yes.’ Max cut in firmly on her thoughts before she could speak, standing directly in front of her now. ‘I haven’t mentioned it before now, but since I got back I’ve been offered my own current affairs programme, to be aired in the autumn, and as a married man I would be much happier being closer to home—and you. I love you so very much, my darling. I want to be with you always. I want to have babies with you,’ he added huskily. ‘Lots of them!’

She stared at him, hardly daring to believe, after all the trauma of this evening, that this could really be happening.

‘Okay, I’ll settle for two,’ he conceded at her continued silence. ‘And a guarantee that if either of them is a girl, your father will teach her to box. There are a lot of bastards out there—I should know—and I don’t want our little girl getting involved with any of them—’

‘Max!’ Abby broke in laughingly, with relief as much as happiness. ‘I love you so much. I want to be with you too, and we can have as many babies as you like!’ Max’s babies, with that thick dark hair and those beautiful grey eyes…

He reached out and took her into his arms. ‘You never know—we may already have started on the first one…!’

That thought had already occurred to her too.

Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

‘I love you so very much, Abby,’ Max told her intensely. ‘So very much!’

And to have Max love her, to love him in return, was all the happiness she would ever want.

Undercover Virgin

By Becky Barker

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Contents

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 1

It had been too easy. Too damn easy, thought Kyle Tremont as he surveyed the elegant ballroom of Gregory Haroldson’s estate. The plan to get him into the employ of the wealthy banker had come together without a hitch. It had all gone like a perfectly choreographed dance.

The ease of it only made him edgy and more vigilant.

Some unseen sharpshooter had taken a wild shot at Haroldson, and Kyle had been on hand to shield the other man with his body. Instant gratitude and a generous job offer. Kyle had wondered, several times, why he hadn’t shoved Haroldson into the path of the bullet. Dead was a more sure-fire way to punish a man than the prospect of a jail term.

Only five days into the operation, and he wanted out. He’d cursed himself a thousand times over for letting Donald Sullivan coerce him into helping. The daily doses of Haroldson’s arrogance were more than he could stomach. The urge to strangle the man with his bare hands grew stronger every time he laid eyes on him.

Undercover work had definitely lost its appeal. The innate hunger for a challenge that had motivated him in his younger days was nonexistent now. He had retired four years ago when the taste for intrigue died along with his partner.

Despite being on Haroldson’s payroll, he’d yet to be contacted by the elusive agent with the code name Phantom. His assignment was to help the undercover FBI agent escape Haroldson’s heavily guarded compound. Deputy Director Sullivan had lured him out of retirement with a promise that Phantom had gathered enough concrete evidence to make Haroldson pay for his crimes.

Kyle was tired of waiting and at risk of losing his patience altogether.

“She’s a first-class babe, ain’t she.”

Kyle glanced at his fellow employee. Damon was young, cocky and a little dim-witted, but basically an okay guy. The two of them were usually paired as driver and bodyguard for high-ranking members of Haroldson’s little empire.

Tonight, they were enjoying the annual staff appreciation dinner. Haroldson knew how to keep his people happy and loyal by pretending they were important to him. The ballroom’s many chandeliers had been dimmed to a soft, intimate glow. Food was abundant, booze flowed freely and a small orchestra played music for dancing.

Damon’s admiring gaze was fastened on their hostess for the evening.

“You mean Haroldson’s fiancée?”

“She’s a real knockout, and damn nice, too. Always doin’ something for the staff and their families.”

Nice wasn’t exactly the word Kyle would use to describe Haroldson’s very young, very blond girlfriend. Definitely a May-December relationship. Gossip had it that she’d moved in with him as soon as they’d announced their engagement. Apparently, he adored her and refused her nothing.

“I guess she can afford to be generous.”

“Yeah, but I seen plenty of those rich bitches who turn their noses up at guys like us. ’Fraid they’ll get dirty if we touch ’em or somethin’. Samantha, she’s not that way.”

Kyle had never been introduced to the lady in question. Nor did he want to be. He couldn’t summon much interest in a woman who’d sleep with a bastard like Haroldson.

“I don’t figure I’ll be getting up close and personal with the boss’s woman.”

The younger man laughed. “That’s what you think. She’s makin’ her way toward us now. She and the boss, they have this little routine. When he hires a new employee, she’s the one what gets up close and personal. The boss gets a kick out of watchin’ the hired help drool. She’ll have you pantin’ after her in a few minutes.”

Oh, hell, thought Kyle. Damon usually knew what he was talking about when it came to his boss’s habits. He ground his teeth in frustration. The last thing he needed was attention drawn to him, especially for Haroldson’s amusement.

Their hostess slowly made her way through the throng of partygoers, stopping to speak to several people as she crossed the room. Everyone wanted a word with the lady of the manor. He watched her graceful, unhurried progress and steeled himself to suffer her attention. It wouldn’t do to make his distaste evident. Better to play the dumb but awed hired hand.

“Damn, but she looks hot in that red dress,” muttered Damon. “Too bad she never strays for real. I’d be first in line to jump her delicate bones.”

Haroldson’s fiancée wasn’t what he’d call petite—probably five foot seven or eight, with a slender but generously curved figure. As she drew closer, Kyle’s gaze drifted down her elegant neck, across the bare, unblemished skin of her shoulders and chest to an enticing view of softly rounded breasts displayed by the strapless dress.

The full-length evening gown managed to look both tasteful and wickedly provocative. A man would have to be dead not to react. Her heavy mane of platinum-blond hair parted in the middle and framed an oval-shaped face in feathery layers. Although not classically beautiful, her features were striking, attractive and enhanced to perfection.

The best money could buy. She had to be an unprincipled gold digger who’d sold her soul to the highest bidder. That alone should leave him cold, but his body wasn’t listening to common sense. It was just reacting.

Wide-set, exotically highlighted blue eyes captured his attention and held his gaze as she came to a stop in front of him. He felt the impact of her gaze clear to his toes. Her expensive perfume teased his senses, and set his nerves alive with reaction. The sizzle of attraction hummed through his veins at the sultry challenge in those beautiful eyes.

“T. R. O. U. B. L. E.” The lyrics to a country-western song popped into his mind. Haroldson’s ladylove packed a sensual wallop that could mean nothing but trouble.

“Mr. Jackson.” She greeted him by his alias and offered her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Her voice was low and sexy, barely audible above the noise of the party. “I wanted to personally thank you for saving Gregory’s life.”

Kyle briefly grasped her hand, but kept his grip limp. She responded with a warm, firm grasp. Her touch made his skin sizzle with awareness.

She smiled, transforming her features to unexpected loveliness. It gave him another jolt. Not just because of the physical difference, but because of the genuine warmth and charm she emanated. No wonder she had the staff ready to jump her bones or jump through hoops for her. Warning himself to beware of wolves in sheeps’ clothing, he briefly returned the smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“There’s no need to call me ma’am. We’re all one big family here. My name is Samantha,” she said, and then asked, “And your first name is Anthony?”

“Tony’s fine.”

For this assignment, he was keeping his hair dyed inky black. Thanks to tinted contacts, his blue eyes were temporarily brown. He’d even added a mustache. His naturally dark complexion had always made it easy for him to take on a Mediterranean look.

“Well, Tony, I certainly hope you’re enjoying yourself. Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes, ma’am—I mean Samantha.”

She smiled again—a smile meant to reach right into a man and make him relax. Maybe even threaten his control. Kyle felt another unexpected zing of physical awareness, but hardened himself to the response.

“Do you dance, Tony?” she asked.

He glanced toward Damon, who was giving him a cheesy grin and a sly thumbs-up behind her back. Then he looked toward the dance floor. Several couples were shuffling around to a slow tune, but he wasn’t eager to join them.

“I’m not much for dancing,” he insisted.

Samantha curled her fingers around his forearm, smiled and batted her lashes with the finesse of a siren.

“Please, don’t be shy. I promise I won’t step on your feet,” she teased. “I’d feel honored if you’d share at least one dance with me.”

He glanced toward Haroldson. “Sure the boss won’t mind?”

Her husky laughter shivered along his nerves. “I promise the boss won’t mind. He thinks it’s important for a hostess to mingle with her guests.”

She gently but firmly led him to a shadowed corner of the dance floor, and then fitted herself snugly against his body. Heat radiated through him at every point of contact. Her hands slid up his chest to settle lightly on his shoulders, and she tilted her head back to study his face.

Kyle returned her steady gaze while his senses feasted on her warmth, the sweetness of her scent and the full, firm breasts pressed against his chest. He slid his hands to her waist and enjoyed the feel of the taut feminine body wrapped in soft, silky fabric. His fingers tightened convulsively.

It felt good to hold her. Really good, yet disturbing. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong woman, his brain insisted while his body vibrated with pleasure. It had been too long since he’d felt such a rush of sexual response to a woman. His deprived hormones were going haywire, but there was no sense fighting the reaction. Might as well enjoy the moment, he thought with a mental shrug.

“Tell me about yourself, Tony,” she coaxed, sounding as though she really cared.

He wondered if the attentive attitude was all part of a well-orchestrated game she played with Haroldson. Her lover never made a move without a carefully thought-out plan. Did she support him in his sick games? Would she tempt him with her smile and body, then chuckle about his response in bed tonight?

At the thought, a shaft of anger pierced Kyle, but he swiftly controlled it. Samantha’s eyes widened a little, making him wonder if she sensed his tension. Maybe she’d attribute it to sexual frustration.

“There’s not much to tell,” he finally answered.

“Everybody has something to tell,” she urged, subtly shifting closer to him.

He grew even more tense as she swayed against him, held his gaze with her beautiful, beguiling eyes and pleaded for a response.

“Everybody has likes and dislikes,” she said. “Favorite books or TV shows or movies.”

When he failed to respond, she continued, undaunted. “I enjoy movies myself, but I’m especially fond of the theater. Have you ever seen the classic Phantom of the Opera?”

Kyle froze. His muscles locked and his mind went blank for an instant. “Phantom of the Opera.” The code for recognizing Sullivan’s undercover operative. He’d been waiting for someone in the organization to use that phrase. A phrase no other member of Haroldson’s family or staff was likely to use.

He stared at the perfect, pouting lips, wondering if he’d misinterpreted the message. The undercover agent’s nickname, Phantom, registered in his brain, but he couldn’t reconcile the fact that the beautiful, possibly treacherous woman in his arms was one of the FBI’s top operatives.

Haroldson’s lover? Sullivan had said Phantom was deep in the organization, but this staggered the mind. He couldn’t imagine any agent being dedicated enough or reckless enough to sleep with the enemy. Nor could he imagine the deputy director condoning it, however badly he wanted Haroldson brought to justice.

He had to be missing something.

She gently nudged him into motion, and Kyle automatically took the lead again. He stared into her eyes. Were they glittering with satisfaction, or warning? Was her expression taunting him for his unprofessional reaction?

Her husky voice interrupted his thoughts. “Am I boring you, Tony? You seem to have gone into a trance.”

He didn’t have to be a genius to realize he’d blown his cover like a raw recruit. At least where she was concerned. Allowing himself to be caught so totally off guard could get him killed. Might still get him killed if he didn’t pull it together.

He continued to stare at her, studying the creamy skin of her cheeks, highlighted with a hint of natural blush, the lips that glistened with lipstick as red as her gown.

He silently cursed Sullivan for setting him up to extricate a female agent. His last partner had infiltrated Haroldson’s organization, too, but she hadn’t made it out alive. Margie—his partner, best friend and lover. The thought of her made his breath hitch. She’d given her life for the job, and he’d never forgiven himself for not being there to protect her.

Samantha slid her hands to his chest and flexed her fingers against his shirt, her nails scoring him through the lightweight cotton and jarring him back to the present.

“Cat got your tongue?” she whispered.

Her touch lit a fire beneath his skin, making his blood run hotter. Kyle fought the wave of heat and racked his brain for the code Sullivan had given him to verify his own identity. He recalled the answer and recovered some control.

“I don’t know nothin’ about no phantoms,” he declared exactly as he’d been coached. “I don’t go for that high-brow stuff.”

Her smile widened. She batted her lashes flirtatiously even though her eyes sparkled with keen intelligence. A paradox, to be sure, but could he trust her? Kyle continued to scrutinize every feature of her face, his mind still coming to terms with all he’d heard about Phantom, all he’d learned about Haroldson’s fiancée, and what a helluva tangle the whole assignment had just become.

According to his instructions, she was the agent in charge of the rest of the assignment. Once they’d made contact, he’d been ordered to let Phantom orchestrate the escape strategy. He waited, barely breathing, for her to make the next move.

“I like you, Tony. I think I’ll have Gregory reassign you as my personal driver.”

Her throaty announcement was accompanied by a seductive thrust of her hips, just as the music came to an end. But the ploy to tease him backfired. Heat simmered between them; the intimate connection sparked and crackled. Blood sizzled beneath his skin, and he knew she felt it, too.

Her brow creased at the undeniable attraction. Annoyance shimmered briefly in her eyes before being quickly replaced by iron determination, then her more proper hostess facade.

In any other circumstances, Kyle would have laughed out loud at the telltale crack in her armor. He wasn’t the only one who’d been caught off guard by a spark of desire. Maybe in the future she’d be more careful about teasing a man.

“What do you think, Tony?” she prodded, her tone edged with impatience. “Want to be my personal driver?”

“That sounds just fine, ma’am.”

“Samantha,” she insisted. Then she slipped out of his arms and strolled off the dance floor.

He watched her closely, appreciating the gentle sway of her hips as she moved across the room, and wondering if he’d just signed his own death warrant.

One thing was for sure: this assignment would be coming to an end soon. Adrenaline pumped through his veins at the knowledge. He’d finally been offered a real challenge, to get Phantom out of harm’s way and to the FBI’s safe house. Sullivan had sworn the evidence she’d collected would be enough to nail Haroldson.

Both prospects spurred his excitement, fueling a long-suppressed need. He could have done without the sexual jolt, but he was an expert at tamping down those flames.

“What’d I tell ya, Tony?” Damon met him as he left the dance floor. Handing him a cold beer, he elaborated. “She’s something, ain’t she? I’ll bet that’s the first time you ever held such a classy piece of sugar in your arms. You looked a little starstruck.”

Kyle glanced sharply at the other man. So Damon had noticed his momentary confusion. Damn. How many others had witnessed his involuntary reaction? He’d been so distracted that he’d lost objectivity. A good agent had to be observant at all times. Lives depended on it.

Swallowing a long drag of beer, he comforted himself with the fact that he wasn’t a field operative anymore. He was a woodcrafter from a sleepy Texas town who’d been dragged back into service. Just a civvie doing a deferred duty. His pride still stung, but he figured he could live with another dent in his ego.

“Haroldson must be crazy to turn her loose on his employees,” he finally said, wondering if the slight insult to their boss would be tolerated.

Damon just chuckled.

“He’s crazy, all right. If she was my woman, I’d keep her chained to the bed. Preferably in the buff.”

Kyle felt a spurt of annoyance at the lewd suggestion, but he quickly stifled it. An explicit, erotic image followed, teasing him with a slender, shapely body all soft and naked and needy in bed. Regardless of her name or game, he wouldn’t mind getting more intimate with the body.

For that reason, he avowed sexy Samantha/Phantom off-limits. He prided himself in learning from his mistakes, and the biggest of his life had been getting involved with a female agent. His relationship with Margie had sent up all sorts of red flags, yet he’d arrogantly ignored the warnings. Her death had been an emotional blow he never wanted to repeat.

Foul play or fair, the lovely Phantom had prostituted herself to the scum of the earth. He believed in honor and duty, but not if it meant selling your soul to further your career. Nothing she could do or say would ever erase the facts, and that dropped her desirability to zilch.

Samantha made her way back to Haroldson’s side on legs that weren’t as steady as she’d have liked. Her heart pounded, her breasts felt full and tight, and her skin was flushed with heat. The intensity of her arousal was unsettling. She didn’t appreciate the way her body had come alive in a stranger’s arms.

For most of her adult life, she’d existed in sexual limbo, devoid of any burning desire beyond professional duty. She’d met and dated a few men she found attractive, but none who’d made her wild with desire. She’d never been easily aroused, and had resigned herself to the fact that she must somehow be lacking.

The emotional and physical reserve was an advantage to her career, if not her personal life. Now, all of a sudden and at the worst possible time, she’d experienced the hots for a total stranger. It had to be the mental strain and incredible tension of the situation, she decided, shaking her head.

She reached Gregory’s side, and he pulled her hand through the crook of his arm. His touch was cold compared to the masculine heat she’d just experienced. She repressed a shiver of revulsion.

A head taller than her, Haroldson was trim and fit, his spine ramrod straight. He had handsome, aristocratic features with dark brown eyes. His personal hairstylist made sure the color of his hair stayed the same dark brown, so that he looked younger than his sixty years.

His expression was affectionate and approving. She gave him a practiced smile that hid her true feelings. It wouldn’t do for him to know how much she despised him, from his polished good looks to his ugly black soul. When they’d first met, it was all she could do to keep from recoiling at his touch, but she’d hardened herself to that emotional weakness.

The past few months had been an ongoing nightmare. The only thing that kept her sane was the knowledge that it would be over soon. Haroldson had destroyed her family, and now she had the evidence to prove it.

She forced herself to slip back into the role of fiancée and hostess. She’d made it her life’s work to bring him to justice, but the only way to do that had been to get close, really close. It meant drawing on incredible reserves of strength, and it got more difficult each day, but she’d worked too long and hard to fail now.

“What did you think of the new guy?” he asked.

“He seems nice enough. A little lacking in personality, perhaps, but pleasant. Is he a good driver?”

“Nearly as good as Damon.”

“In that case, you should have Damon driving for you again. You’re on the road more than I am. If the new man is good, I’m sure I’ll be safe with him.”

Gregory patted her hand. “Your wish is my command,” he insisted. “You’ll be perfectly safe with Tony. He knows that I’m fanatic about my future wife’s welfare.”

She smiled, forcing her expression into one of warmth and gratitude. It was imperative that she keep up appearances. He thought her a well-bred, sophisticated socialite, so that’s what she’d become for the past few months.

He’d proposed to her in an effort to garner more respect. For Gregory, image was everything. Respect was a living, breathing entity. He’d spent a lifetime accumulating wealth and power in hopes that it would buy him the respect he so badly craved.

That’s why he’d decided to pursue a partnership with one of North Carolina’s oldest and most reputable import-export companies. He wasn’t satisfied with ruling his own small empire. He wanted to prove his respectability to the whole community.

As a prominent banker, he was welcomed into many social circles but he wanted a foot in the door of the most elite. He’d been advised to marry someone who’d be an asset to his home and social life. That’s where she’d stepped into the scene.

He boasted that he was a hardworking man who’d realized the American dream. The story he gave the media was one of rags to riches: a life so dedicated to work that he’d had no time for personal relationships. In reality, his wealth stemmed from a lifetime of carefully coordinated crimes. He owned several offshore banks where he laundered drug money and practiced tax evasion.

But that wasn’t why she wanted to bring him down. He had far greater sins to answer for. One was the murder of an undercover FBI agent. Another was the slaughter of a small, law-abiding family. Hers. She had put her life on the line to bring him to justice. And when she did, maybe, just maybe, she could shed a heavy burden of guilt that never seemed to ease.

Another glance at Gregory sent a shiver down her spine. She wondered, yet again, whether he was somehow aware of her double life.

Chapter 2

Three days after the party, Kyle got orders to drive Samantha to a beauty salon in Elizabeth City. He deliberately thought of her by her alias to distance himself from the woman behind the facade. Every time his fantasies drifted toward the feel of her in his arms, he quickly slammed the door on his memory.

She preferred to travel in a Mercedes, and he had no complaints. It handled like a dream, and had plenty of power plus bulletproof windows. He hoped her escape plan didn’t include a shoot-out, but he wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

Rudy, one of Haroldson’s most trusted bodyguards, accompanied them. Big and muscular, he looked like a brainless bull moose, but looks were deceiving. He moved faster than a jackrabbit and was nobody’s fool. His responsibilities included escorting Samantha into the salon and waiting there while she had her hair styled. Haroldson was notoriously protective of all his possessions, especially his fiancée.

Kyle waited in the car, surveying the area for any sign of other guards on Haroldson’s payroll. Security had tightened in the past few days, making him wonder if their assignment had been compromised. He sensed that Samantha would make her move soon. He expected her to enact her plan in the dark of night, not the middle of a bright summer day, but he wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

An hour after entering the salon, she exited, looking every inch the pampered socialite. Her jeans were designer tight, accenting rounded hips and long legs. She wore red again, this time a full-sleeved blouse, unbuttoned down the front to display a white knit top that hugged soft, full breasts.

Despite the casual wear, there were diamonds at her throat, on her wrists and fingers. The brilliant sunshine caused them to shoot sparks in every direction. The only difference he noticed in her personal appearance was a fuller hairstyle. As well as a purse that was big enough to pass for a suitcase, she also carried a shopping bag with the salon’s name on it.

A ripple of masculine interest spread through Kyle as he watched her slow, graceful movements. He felt a punch in the gut when she smiled at her escort, but he swiftly stifled the reaction.

Rudy followed a few steps behind her. He opened the back door of the car and held it, while she took a seat, filling the car’s interior with her unique, expensive scent. Then he closed the door, opened the front passenger door and settled in the seat beside Kyle.

“Where to? Back to the house?” he asked, glancing at Samantha in the rearview mirror.

“I need to go to Anderson’s Jewelers and have the safety catch on my bracelet checked. Do you know where it’s located?”

Kyle had spent his spare time learning his way around the city. He knew every alley, intersection and parking lot, but not every business.

“What’s the address?”

“It’s out near the strip mall,” offered Rudy.

“The south side of town,” she added.

Bingo. So this was it. Her side trip would take them to the edge of the city, close to the freeway interchange. The safe house was to their northwest, but it would be smarter to head south, and then change directions once they were sure they weren’t being followed.

Showing no reaction, Kyle nodded and put the car in gear. His muscles tightened, tension slowly coiling in him as he tried to anticipate how she’d neutralize Rudy. The big man wouldn’t be easy to handle.

He waited, alert, as she started rustling through the shopping bag.

“Paulo gave me some samples from his exclusive new perfume line,” she told them chattily. “I can’t decide which one I like best, so I need a masculine opinion.”

The high seat backs and headrests prevented the men from having a clear view of her, but they heard the hiss of an atomizer. Then her hand reached between the headrests. She put a tissue near Rudy’s face and let him inhale the perfume.

“This one’s called Ambrosia,” she said, shifting the tissue toward Kyle so he could get a whiff before she withdrew it.

He heard her spraying another sample, then another tissue was held toward Rudy’s nose. “Now this one is called Sweet Nectar. It has more of a fruity scent, don’t you agree? I’m not sure I want to smell like fruit. What do you think?”

Rudy mumbled a vague reply.

Damn. She was good. Kyle hid a grin as he obediently sniffed at the second sample she held near his face. Haroldson’s henchman wouldn’t know what hit him when she finally made her move.

They heard the spray of another atomizer, and she was reaching around the seat again. Then she slapped an ether-soaked cloth over Rudy’s face, holding it tightly with both hands. He grabbed at her wrists, but she’d locked his head in a vice between her hands and the headrest. The bodyguard struggled briefly before realizing he couldn’t break her hold, then he reached for the beeper at his belt.

Kyle grabbed his wrist and held tight until the big man sagged into unconsciousness. Then he hit the window button to let some fresh air into the car so the ether wouldn’t affect them.

“So which do you like best?” She continued the charade in case the car was bugged. Then she slithered over the seat and slid between him and Rudy. The action had her body bumping against his, her thigh brushing his shoulder and chest. Kyle steeled himself against the feel of her wiggling form.

He offered a noncommittal grunt in response to her question.

“You guys aren’t much help with the perfume preferences,” she said on a heavy sigh as she shoved Rudy’s limp body closer to the door, maintaining a conversational tone. “I guess I’ll leave the choice to Gregory. How about some music?”

Kyle switched on the radio and cranked the volume to cover their conversation.

“What next?” he muttered.

“Anyone tailing us?” Her husky tone had been replaced with a crisp, no-nonsense whisper.

“Damon in a dark green SUV. I can’t see who’s with him.”

“Lose ’em. I want to dump Rudy out of here before the ether wears off.”

Considering the bodyguard’s size, it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes for him to recover. Kyle altered their route and headed for a less congested area of town. Once they’d cleared the heaviest traffic, he had a better view of the car following them. He made a couple of unexpected turns, and Damon started closing the distance between them.

“He’s suspicious,” she grumbled, dividing her attention between Rudy and the car behind them.

The traffic began to thin out as they reached an industrial park. The area was nearly deserted on Saturday, so Kyle made a sharp turn between two huge warehouses. They were nearing the end of the connecting alley when the SUV came into view again.

For the next few minutes, they wove in and out of alleys, slowly increasing their lead. Then Rudy started to stir.

“Stop in the middle of the next one,” said Samantha.

He did as she said, slowing the car enough for her to open the door and nudge Rudy onto the pavement. The big man fell with a thud and a grunt. She slammed the door, and Kyle floored the accelerator, peeling rubber, as she settled into the bucket seat.

The plan went like clockwork. They were just pulling out of the alley as Damon was forced to stop for a groggy and stumbling Rudy. The few minutes it took their pursuers to get the extra man into the SUV gave them the time needed to disappear.

Kyle shot out of the complex and turned onto the nearest residential street, and then another, tires squealing. Meeting minimal traffic, he sped up for another few streets, then made a third turn onto a deserted, tree-lined street.

Pulling into the drive of a small ranch-style house, he quickly punched the code of a remote garage door opener. It slid upward, he drove inside, and the door closed to conceal them from the street.

As soon as he’d switched off the ignition, he motioned toward the dusty, nondescript black pickup truck parked next to them in the two-car garage. Samantha grabbed her bags, and they jumped from the car.

“Good plan, Jackson. I was afraid we’d have to elude Gregory’s men in his Mercedes.”

“No. Too easy for him to track.” He’d rented this place to store a getaway vehicle and a few of his personal things. Haroldson would probably track down his car if he had it bugged, but not until they were long gone.

They climbed into the truck. He stripped off his dark shirt, leaving him in a white T-shirt. Then he reached for a baseball cap on the dash, tugged it over his head and hit the ignition.

“Shouldn’t we wait a while?”

“Too risky. They’ve already called for backup, but they won’t be looking for a truck with one occupant.” He gave her a meaningful glance.

“Got it,” she said, sliding to the floor and crouching out of sight just as Kyle activated the overhead door. He backed the dusty truck from the garage.

Heart racing and adrenaline pumping, he found it hard to control the urge to speed, but he wove back through several residential streets at a sedate pace. As he approached the intersection that led back to the main highway, he spotted the SUV, but it didn’t follow as he made the turn.

Within another two miles, they’d reached the freeway ramp leading south. As he paused at the yield sign, he spared a glance for his passenger, and then did a double take. She’d lost the long blond hair, apparently a wig, and now had short, spiky red hair. She’d also shed her blouse for a white knit top and ditched the jewels along with the pampered princess look.

The new look suited her new role.

Their gazes met, and something dangerously sexy arced between them. His muscles clenched as the unwelcome heat curled through his bloodstream. Undercover girl became more fascinating with each layer she revealed.

Her instant frown and the tightening of her jaw convinced him that she didn’t appreciate the unexpected attraction.

“Got another ball cap?” she asked, breaking the strained silence. “I’m getting a little cramped down here.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror again, then handed her a hat. After donning it, she slowly eased into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt. Her tone was terse when she spoke.

“Where are we headed?”

“South for a while,” he explained, easing into traffic. “Then we’ll be turning north toward the safe house in Virginia.”

Samantha nodded.

He thought she relaxed a little, but she kept a close watch on the traffic around and behind them for an unexpected tail. After a few minutes of silence, he offered a compliment.

“You handled Rudy like a pro.”

Her tone chilled. “I am a pro.”

Kyle hid a grin. Touchy. He didn’t doubt that the mysterious Phantom was one of the best, but she also had to be insane or inconceivably ambitious to live with a slimeball like Haroldson. What could possibly motivate a beautiful young woman to that extent?

Despite doubts about her mental stability, he was finding her more intriguing by the minute. Which meant, the sooner they parted ways, the better. He didn’t want or need involvement with a sexy, lunatic secret agent. He couldn’t deny his yearning for uncomplicated feminine companionship, but there was nothing uncomplicated about his current companion.

He’d be glad to have his end of the job finished. A heady sense of freedom rushed through him. In a couple of hours, he could head home to Texas and know he’d done his part in bringing Haroldson to justice. The thought brought a sweet surge of satisfaction.

Samantha withdrew a cell phone from her bag. She punched in a series of numbers. He heard ringing and a pickup. She punched another series of numbers, and then snapped the phone closed.

“Notifying someone?”

“Sullivan. He’ll know we’re on our way when he gets a coded message from this number.”

It pleased him that she had mentioned Sullivan’s name and that the two of them had the operation so ingeniously coordinated. That meant less chance of confusion or errors. Fewer risks meant higher achievement rates.

“So you’re the infamous Kyle Tremont?”

He gave her a sharp glance. How had she learned his name? “You’ve been in regular contact with Sullivan? Wasn’t that risky considering how close Haroldson has you guarded?”

“I haven’t talked to him, but I knew he planned to contact you. He promised me someone who couldn’t be compromised. I’ve seen your photo in old agency files and read about a few of your accomplishments. I don’t remember your hair being so dark. Dyed?”

Kyle nodded, a wave of nostalgia tightening his gut. She was one of them, one of the FBI’s elite force of undercover agents. He’d known a few female officers, and they had his utmost respect. Margie had worked twice as hard as a male agent and rarely got the recognition she deserved. The law-enforcement world was still a male-dominated profession.

“You shed your blond locks pretty quick. Are you a natural redhead?”

“No.”

She didn’t elaborate, which stirred his imagination. When he realized how curious he was to know more about her, he abruptly halted the direction of his thoughts.

She continued. “You earned quite a reputation with the agency.”

“Not all good,” he qualified. “I hated the political games.”

“Is that why you quit the agency at the ripe old age of thirty? You just got fed up with the politics?”

“Partly,” he said.

“So what made you decide to come out of retirement for this job? Did Sullivan call in markers or do you have a personal vendetta against Gregory?”

Kyle ground his teeth to keep from growling that it was none of her business. Her questions ticked him off, but he supposed she had a right to ask.

“I don’t owe Sullivan any favors.”

His passenger wisely didn’t pursue the subject. She could believe whatever she wanted, because he didn’t plan to offer any details. She didn’t need to know about Margie or the guilt that had haunted him for four years.

Margie would have admired Samantha, he thought, his chest going tight. She’d always wanted to do undercover work. When she’d finally gotten her big chance, she’d walked into a trap that had cost her life. The memory made him angry and restless, so he changed the subject.

“Do you have a name besides Phantom or Samantha?” he asked, studying her profile while she stared out the windshield. “Is that your real name or is it a top-level security secret?”

She hesitated, glancing his way and then turning her attention forward. It was the first time she’d acted tentative about anything. Kyle found himself wanting her to trust him, yet annoyed that it mattered.

He’d almost given up on an answer when she finally responded. “You can call me Rianna, if you’d like.”

Rianna. He liked it. It sounded soft and feminine. A little inconsistent with what he knew about her, yet appealing.

“That’s a pretty name, but unusual.”

She hesitated another instant, then added, “My given name is Marianna, but I’ve always shortened it in one form or another.”

Not a giant leap of faith, but a baby step. He didn’t expect much more. He knew how hard it was for an undercover agent to trust anyone after months of being constantly on guard, when a slip of the tongue could blow your cover and end your life. He didn’t know how long Rianna had been hiding behind a phony name and background, but he knew it would take her a while to unwind.

Neither of them was inclined to make small talk, so conversation came to a halt. As the miles passed by, they watched the passing scenery, kept an eye on the traffic behind them and gradually relaxed.

Kyle grew increasingly aware of her scent, the warmth radiating from her body and even the soft, steady sound of her breathing. His senses absorbed everything about her in an intense, disturbing fashion, even while he argued the idiocy of the reaction. He comforted himself with the thought that their forced alliance wouldn’t last much longer.

It took them a little over two hours to reach the state border and cross from North Carolina into Virginia. Their destination, a single-story house on the outskirts of Emporia, was easily found. Surrounded by several large bushes and evergreen trees, it sat apart from any neighboring houses.

Kyle turned into the drive, pulled to a stop near the front porch and shut off the engine.

Tension hiked upward a few degrees as they faced a new and unknown territory. He and Rianna both studied their surroundings for a long time before considering it safe to get out of the truck. He reached for her bags, but she halted him.

“Leave them for now.”

His gaze held hers for the first time since they’d left Elizabeth City. More tension flashed between them, complicated by a touch of suspicion. Her wary expression didn’t surprise him. She wasn’t prepared to trust anyone or anything right now. He nodded, understanding the reaction, and climbed from the truck.

Rianna let him lead the way to the front porch. He found the key where he’d been told to look and preceded her inside the house, then stopped.

“Stay put a minute,” he said, reaching for the gun he’d tucked in the waistband of his jeans.

She ignored the command and accompanied him as he searched the house, checking each room thoroughly and making sure they were alone.

“Everything looks okay,” he said a few minutes later as he slowly replaced his gun. “Sullivan should have gotten your message by now. He’ll have a couple of agents here to guard the place in an hour or so. They’ll be coming from D.C., so it shouldn’t take them long.”

“You’re not staying?”

Their gazes met, hers slightly accusing. He ignored a brief pang of guilt.

“My part of the plan was to get you out of Haroldson’s estate and to this safe house. That’s all I agreed to do.”

“So you’re ready to disappear?”

The antagonism in her tone had him clenching his jaw. “A week of playing lackey to Haroldson is more than any man should have to take,” he argued grimly. “As soon as your bodyguards show up, I’m outta here.”

Rianna snorted indelicately. “Meantime, I’m starved,” she said. “I think I’ll see what kind of food we have stocked.”

His annoyance vanished at the thought of food. It had been a long time since breakfast, and a meal now would help him avoid making extra stops on his way home. He decided not to argue.

“Sounds good.”

Kyle followed her to the kitchen and watched while she rummaged through the refrigerator. He admired the way her jeans molded the feminine curves of her hips, thighs and long legs. A man would have to be emasculate not to notice how well she was put together, but that’s as far as his interest went.

He quickly redirected his attention. Moving to the window, he surveyed the backyard for as far as he could see. The house was secluded; there was no sign of neighbors and everything was quiet.

“Are you eating?” asked Rianna.

“Sure.”

He turned back and helped her get the food on the table. They put together some sandwiches, opened a bag of potato chips and ate in silence. Kyle studied her as he chewed, familiarizing himself with her new punk look. It suited her oval face and delicate features as well as the seductive blonde image. He wasn’t sure which he preferred.

It seemed Phantom was a chameleon, as well.

“Do you mind if I ask what you do now that you’re not with the agency any longer? Do you still live and work in D.C.?”

He’d never been comfortable discussing his personal life, but he didn’t see the harm in small talk. “I moved out west a few years ago.”

“You still work in law enforcement?”

“No, I’m just a private citizen who minds his own business.”

Her brow creased in a frown, and he realized how censorious his comment sounded. She abruptly stopped asking questions and grew quiet, which should have pleased him, but perversely didn’t. They finished their meal in silence, and then worked together to clean the kitchen.

After they had taken turns in the bathroom, he switched on the TV in the living room while Rianna paced around the house, checking the contents of cupboards and closets.

She had just stopped her restless prowling and joined him, when a knock at the front door startled them.

“Stay out of sight,” he told her, heading toward the front of the house while she headed toward the back.

A glance through the peephole showed two familiar faces, Dan Hoskins and Ted Blaine, both experienced agents he recognized from his days at the bureau. Tucking his gun back in his jeans, he opened the door. They shook hands and exchanged greetings, then he lead the way back to the kitchen.

They found it empty. Kyle glanced at the door, then toward the window, annoyed and confused until noises from the bathroom helped him pinpoint Rianna’s location. He heard the toilet flush, some clinking of the toilet tank, and then she called to him for assistance.

“Kyle, could you help me again? This toilet still isn’t flushing right.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but he decided to find out. “You guys help yourselves to some lunch. I’ll be right back,” he said, walking down the short hallway to the bathroom.

To his surprise, his reluctant charge was slipping backward out the narrow window. She spared him a fierce glance, jerked her head toward the front of the house and disappeared.

He flushed the toilet again, stalling for time and making more noise to cover her actions. Then he followed her out the window, feetfirst. It was a tight squeeze, and he muffled a grunt as he hit the ground. By the time he’d rounded the corner of the house, she was flattening the tires of the agency’s sedan with a pocketknife.

“Let’s go,” she said in a terse whisper, climbing into the truck and quietly closing the door.

“What the hell?” Kyle demanded, but he didn’t hesitate to follow her lead. All he could do was trust her instincts until he knew what had spooked her.

“The guy who called you a renegade retiree.”

“Blaine?”

“I don’t know his name, but I recognized his voice. I’ve heard it on Gregory’s private phone.”

“Sonofabitch!” Kyle’s hoarse oath echoed in the cab as he hit the ignition. His first instinct was to confront Blaine; to beat some answers out of the rotten, low-down traitor. Personal need warred with common sense. As much as he wanted to grill the other man for answers, he had to consider Rianna’s safety first.

There was nothing lower than a cop on the take. How long had Blaine been on Haroldson’s payroll? How long had the man been dirty? Long enough to have orchestrated Margie’s disappearance and death? Kyle ground his teeth in frustration, clenching the steering wheel and slamming the truck into gear while mentally vowing to get some long-overdue answers.

They heard shouts behind them as they sped down the street, but lost sight of the house when they turned at the next intersection. They were both too busy checking for other threats to worry about the stranded agents.

Sure enough, the green SUV pulled from the curb as soon as they hit the connecting street. Kyle pushed the accelerator to the floor.

“Damon and Rudy.”

“I saw them,” she said grimly, pulling a semiautomatic out of her bag. It looked big and heavy in her small palm, but she handled it skillfully, checking the load and flipping the safety.

When they turned onto a nearly deserted, straight stretch of road, she opened the passenger window. “Swerve to the right.”

“And give them a clear shot at you? Hell, no.”

“Give me a clear shot at them.”

“You’re a better marksman?”

“I’m good. Now, swerve.”

Kyle did as she asked, veering the truck to the right so she could have a straight shot at the SUV gaining on them. He heard her squeeze off four successive shots, then she swung back into the cab and stayed low.

There was no return fire.

He steadied the truck again, changed lanes, then glanced in the rearview mirror. One of her shots had shattered the windshield of the SUV, but Damon hadn’t slowed his pursuit. Kyle knew how skilled he was at the wheel.

“Haroldson wants you alive.”

“For a while, at least,” she agreed. “He always has a master plan and his own agenda.”

They hit the green light at the next intersection and turned into heavy, two-lane traffic. Another look in the mirror showed Damon running a red light, but steam was starting to roll from beneath the hood of the SUV.

“Did you puncture their radiator?”

“That’s where I aimed,” she said, lifting her head long enough to check behind them. “I figured it would be the fastest way to disable the car.”

“You’re right.”

Within a few minutes, the tailing vehicle was engulfed in a cloud of steam.

“They’ll have to slow down now.”

Kyle took advantage of the pursuing vehicle’s problems and wove in and out of rush-hour traffic until he’d put a good distance between them and other pursuers. After traveling several more miles, he thought they’d probably lost the SUV. He turned his attention to his passenger again.

“What now?”

“I have a contingency plan.”

“Glad to hear it.” His tone and expression were harsh. “Care to fill me in?”

Rianna didn’t respond right away, but she eased herself upright and faced forward, pulling her seat belt around her. “If we get on the interstate and head south, I know a small town where we can stop over and switch vehicles again.”

“Another safe house?”

Her lips tightened. “At this point, I’m not trusting my life to the agency. I’ll find my own safe place and then make new arrangements with Sullivan.”

“And what do you figure my role will be in your alternative plan?” he grumbled, his hopes of a speedy return to Texas fading fast.

Tension sizzled in the silence that followed. They both knew he didn’t want any further involvement, but he’d promised Sullivan to keep her safe until she had adequate protection. He didn’t make idle promises, and this one had just taken on a whole new perspective.

“That’s up to you,” she said. “You can drop me off in Hendersonville or you can accompany me to my destination.”

“Which is?”

“Ultimately, Kentucky.”

“What’s in Kentucky?”

“It’s not what’s there, but who and what aren’t there.”

“Haroldson and the strong arms of his organization?”

“Right.”

Kyle had little alternative but to follow her plan of action. It grated that he’d been so close to making his solitary getaway, but he couldn’t just dump her alongside the road. He’d have to stick with her until alternative plans could be coordinated with Sullivan.

Reining his frustration, he focused his thoughts on Blaine, mentally reexamining every aspect of the agent’s participation in Margie’s last assignment. Not for the first time, he wished he knew more about what went wrong that day. The lack of details was a constant thorn in his side.

They drove through the late afternoon with minimal conversation, each lost in thought. Much to his annoyance, Kyle grew increasingly aware of his sexy, enigmatic companion. He became attuned to every subtle move she made; his nerves jangling when any part of her shifted closer to him.

They passed a car with a kid mushing his face against the window, and Rianna chuckled softly. The sound punched him in the gut, making him feel things that weren’t safe to feel.

Despite his fundamental longing for a woman, he knew better than to get physically or emotionally tangled with this one. She was trouble with a capital T. She represented everything he knew he should avoid—federal bureaucracy, undercover activities and Gregory Haroldson’s criminal dealings.

And she was another man’s lover. The circumstances were strange, to be sure, but that still made her off-limits. He tried not to focus on her quiet, undemanding presence or wonder what she was thinking and feeling.

To keep his thoughts off his hormones and his companion, Kyle replayed the events of the day over and over in his mind.

He wondered if Hoskins was as dirty as Blaine. They’d seemed surprised to see him at the safe house, so Sullivan must have kept his involvement a secret.

How much of the agency’s security had been compromised? Blaine had been an agent for years. How much money did it take to buy a man’s soul? How much to make him betray his comrades or sign death warrants for co-workers?

How widespread was the corruption? He wanted a few words with Sullivan, but didn’t want to make contact through the agency. He’d wait and call his home number later. It was long past the time for some answers.

Frustrated with his own thoughts, Kyle’s attention turned to Rianna. She lifted a hand to rub the back of her neck, the first small indication of weariness. She had to be exhausted, yet she hadn’t uttered a word of complaint.

In profile, she looked deceptively young and innocent. Her lashes had a pretty, feminine sweep of curl. The soft curve of her cheek made her look almost delicate when you couldn’t see the stubborn set of her chin or the iron determination in her eyes.

She was a paradox, to be sure, one that challenged him more than any woman had done for several years now. Off-limits, he reminded himself sternly, turning his gaze back to the road.

Chapter 3

They reached Hendersonville just as the sun was setting. Rianna gave him directions to a small, private storage unit. Once there, she produced a key to unlock one of the garage stalls. He lifted the overhead door and triggered an automatic light switch. They did a quick check of the space, and then she climbed into a small car and started the engine. Kyle stepped aside while she backed out of the narrow space.

Now it was decision time. He could either send her on her way alone or break his self-made promise not to get more deeply involved. Even as he cursed his own streak of chivalry, he knew there really wasn’t any choice. Call him a chauvinist and a fool, but he couldn’t desert her while she was being hunted by the likes of Haroldson. Despite his disapproval of her methods, she was trying to bring the other man to justice.

As soon as she’d cleared the building, he hopped into the truck and drove it into the storage unit. After grabbing their bags, he pulled the door back down and secured it. He’d planned to drive the rental back to Texas, but he’d have to take care of it later. Now it could be recognized.

When Rianna approached to relock the storage unit, their gazes tangled and awareness crackled between them. Her expression softened with gratitude. The slight chink in her tough-guy armor stabbed him with unreasonable pleasure, but he stiffened himself against the emotion.

“I promised Sullivan I’d stick with you until you were safe,” he said, making light of his decision.

She nodded, accepting without comment. When she moved close enough to grab her bag from him, every hair on his body reacted to her warmth and scent. He clenched his fists to keep from touching her, and searched for something to break the tension.

Turning, he took a good look at their new transportation. Then he swore. “Pink? You expect us to hide in a pink car?”

“It’s mauve,” she insisted. “And it’s perfect. Who’d ever believe we were on the run in a mauve economy car?”

He grumbled, but couldn’t argue the logic. Neither Haroldson nor the FBI would be searching for a compact sedan.

“I’ll drive,” she said as she headed for the driver’s side and stowed her bag in the back seat. “You have to be getting tired, and I’m used to driving in the mountains.”

He didn’t argue, just moved to the passenger side and threw his bag in beside hers. The space was cramped, the bucket seat small, but he slid it back as far as it would go and strapped himself in. She did the same, and they were on their way again.

Hendersonville was little more than a crossroads with a couple of streetlights. Traffic was minimal. They found a convenience store, made use of the bathrooms and filled a thermos with coffee.

Rianna bought a variety of supplies, making him wonder where she planned to take them. Another safe house? A rental? The home of a friend or family member? He hoped it was someplace he could safely leave her and head back to Texas with a clear conscience.

She stood by while he used a pay phone to call Sullivan’s private number. There was no answer, so he left a short, terse message on the answering machine: “Blaine’s your mole. We’re on the run, but we lost our tail and Phantom is okay.”

Though rarely comfortable with another driver, Kyle climbed into the passenger seat, and Rianna drove back onto the highway. He remained tense for the first few miles, but soon realized that she could handle the car with the same ease she did everything else. Was there no end to her talents? He relaxed a little, deciding to pry some information out of his cohort.

“Sullivan told me you were in deep, but he didn’t hint at how deep. My reaction to your identity could have gotten us both killed.”

“Rookie mistake,” she taunted.

The barb stung, but Kyle knew he deserved it. “Retiree mistake,” he corrected sharply.

“Whatever.”

Her voice held a teasing note, making him wonder if superwoman might have a sense of humor.

“How’d you manage a marriage proposal?”

She hesitated briefly, but then explained. “Gregory wants legitimacy and the image of a normal, healthy lifestyle. I played the part of an impoverished but highly eligible socialite with a pedigreed background.”

“The perfect bait?”

Her features tightened mutinously, making him realize how disparaging his tone had sounded.

“It worked.”

The succinct reply held a touch of hurt and made him feel like a heel. He cursed himself for not being more diplomatic. She’d been under a tremendous amount of strain, yet it bugged him to think of any woman offering herself as bait to a man with so few scruples. Her deception would be all the more personal and galling to an egomaniac like Haroldson.

Was she a total rebel? Some power-hungry female who enjoyed living on the edge? A lunatic who thrived on danger? Hadn’t she realized she’d be flirting with certain death if he ever got his hands on her again?

A mental image of Haroldson touching her made Kyle grind his teeth. He didn’t want his protective instincts roused, yet she kept getting under his skin.

He had to ask. “Why did you move in with the guy?”

“I had to have unlimited access to the estate without him watching my every move. I tried for weeks while we were dating, but finally decided there was no other way.”

Kyle made an effort to sound curious rather than accusing. “So why you? Why would any woman put herself in such a dangerous, compromising situation? Just to prove yourself with the agency?”

The silence stretched until he thought he’d pushed too far. Finally, she responded in a tight voice.

“We all have our crosses to bear, Tremont. I have my reasons, but they have nothing to do with proving myself or advancing my career. I can’t be bought, and I’m not motivated by greed or glory, so that’s all you need to know.”

He cursed the fact that her passionate response only served to make him more curious.

“How about a change of subject,” he suggested.

“Okay by me,” said Rianna. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself. Where’s home for you now? That’s not classified information, is it?”

“Far from it.” He remembered how well-informed Sullivan had seemed about his current lifestyle. “I live in Texas, not too far from El Paso.”

The small bit of casually supplied personal information caused a slight relaxing of her rigid posture. Her shoulders sagged a little, and he wondered how she was handling the unrelenting stress.

“I’ve always been curious about Texas but I’ve never been there,” she said, then asked tentatively, “Is that where you grew up?”

“I grew up everywhere. I was a military brat.”

The urge to see her at ease had him offering details about his private life. “Both my folks were Air Force officers. We moved around a lot, but I spent my early years and most of my summer vacations with Granddad Tremont in Texas. He was a craftsman. I inherited his knack for working with wood, and his home. I moved back there when I retired from Uncle Sam’s employ.”

His granddad had also been a decorated Second World War veteran. From the time Kyle was old enough to listen, he’d heard tales of the war, the cost of freedom, and a man’s duty to serve his country. They’d watched old movies and cheered when justice triumphed over evil. He’d hung on every word of his granddad’s lectures, vowing to live by the same high principles. He’d taken it all to heart—but it had nearly cost him his soul.

“Did your parents retire to Texas, too?” she asked.

Her tone sounded wistful, and he studied her profile. What did her family think of her career? Maybe she didn’t have anyone. That might explain why she’d been willing to risk her life for a job.

“Dad died about four years ago, and Mom remarried. She and her new husband are stationed in Germany right now.”

“Sounds like she’s really dedicated to the service.”

“Yep, that’s how I was raised. Everything’s right or wrong, black or white, with no in-betweens. That’s why I got fed up with the FBI.”

“Too many shades of gray?” she asked in a tone that suggested she really understood.

“Yeah, way too much gray.”

They were quiet for a few miles, each lost in thought, and then she spoke again. “Donald said you left because you lost a partner and blamed the agency. Is that true?”

Kyle stared out the window, watching the scenery flash past as his memories fixed on Margie. She’d been more than a partner. So much more. Impotent rage still churned in him when he dwelled on the unfairness of her death.

“Margie went undercover while I was on leave for Dad’s funeral. She went in alone, but with standard backup from the agency. She understood the risks.”

Logically, Kyle knew he might not have been able to save Margie, but emotionally, he still felt responsible for not being there for his lover and friend. After years of trying, he’d finally realized he couldn’t be content until the man responsible for her death was brought to justice.

Rianna broached her next question softly and cautiously. “The records suggest that she might have turned bad.”

“That’s a filthy lie!” Kyle snarled, making her jump and go tense again.

He tempered his next words, but they still quivered with underlying fury. “That’s what pisses me off the most. An agent gives her life for her country, and what does she get in return? A damn blight on her record? Rumors that she was on the take? That’s why I hate the freakin’ politics. The FBI lost an agent, so they try to save face by suggesting she’s the one at fault!”

A thick silence fell in the car, but the unbridled strength of his emotion pulsed between them, intimately binding them in its intensity. Kyle took a deep breath, uncurled the fingers he’d fisted, and forced himself to relax again. It was futile to give in to the long-simmering frustration.

His loss of control unnerved him and made him realize he was bone-tired. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be wasting time and energy on useless venting.

Rianna spared him a glance. “That’s the gray part you hated so much?” she asked quietly.

“Enough to make me call it quits.”

She nodded, and something about the small, supportive action clutched at his gut. It had been a long time since anyone had really cared or understood his feelings. He needed to shut her out before she had a chance to undermine all his good intentions.

“I think I’ll take a nap.”

Rianna kept her attention on the winding, mountainous road, but stayed alert to every move and sound her passenger made. Tremont reclined his seat, stretched out his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. Finally, he settled his long, lean body in the tight confines.

The tension in the car eased along with him, like the cleansed calm after a storm.

“Sure you’re all right to drive?” he asked, tipping the bill of his hat over his face.

“Positive,” she said, still too wired to relax. “I rested earlier.”

“It’s been thirty-six hours for me. I could use some shut-eye.”

“I imagine you could. Will it bother you if I listen to cassettes?” Music was one of her greatest passions, probably because it was a continual, no-risk pleasure that warded off loneliness. “Our radio reception won’t be very reliable for a while.”

“Music doesn’t bother me unless it’s that rap stuff.”

“No rap or heavy metal, I promise.”

“Glad to hear it.”

There was just a hint of teasing in his tone. It surprised and warmed her, so she responded in kind. “Then, go to sleep. If I get drowsy, I’ll wake you.”

“Do that.”

His comment sounded more like a command. Rianna shook her head, but didn’t respond. Men, she thought, they always want to be the ones in charge. She recognized and could tolerate the attitude as long as it suited her purposes.

A half-hour outside of Hendersonville, she heard his breathing turn slow and steady. The sound of his soft snoring was strangely comforting, which worried her. It made her wonder at her own reactions to the FBI legend.

She’d been shocked by her physical response during the brief moments she’d spent in his arms on the dance floor. She’d held her own emotions under rigid control for so long that she’d begun to feel like a zombie. The sting of attraction had been so alien that she almost hadn’t recognized it. Now that she had, it had become an unwelcome complication.

Being cooped up in their current tight quarters stirred her senses again. Heat radiated from Tremont, enveloping her. His sheer size and stature tugged at something elementally feminine in her, something she couldn’t quite analyze.

Maybe a compact car wasn’t such a good idea, but she hadn’t given a thought to prospective passengers when she’d bought it. She’d always been something of a recluse, and her lifestyle didn’t allow much time for men or long-term relationships. Her greatest strength was the ability to function in any given situation while maintaining emotional distance—protected in her own insular little world.

So why was she having such a strong reaction to this man?

His service record had fascinated her from the beginning—dedication to duty coupled with a renegade personality. He’d been both praised and damned by his peers, but his devotion to job and country had never been in doubt. The fact that Donald Sullivan trusted him implicitly was testimony enough to his integrity.

That didn’t mean she fully trusted him. She’d been alone for too many years, fiercely independent, working toward one goal with steadfast, obsessive determination.

Did she find Tremont attractive because he represented an end to her self-imposed isolation? The light at the end of the long, dark tunnel? Or because he represented all that she’d given up to accomplish her goal?

She was twenty-eight and had bypassed the usual coming-of-age flirtations—the dating games and variety of partners most people took for granted. She’d never trusted any man with her heart or her body, and didn’t plan to start now.

As a teenager, she’d had a serious crush on an upperclassman. Her family had been in the witness protection program because her dad testified against his former boss, Gregory Haroldson. They had feared their location had been compromised and wanted to move, but she’d begged to stay for the high school prom. It had cost her mom, dad and brother their lives. Since then, she hadn’t let anyone get too close, nor had she let anyone interfere with her quest for justice.

To Gregory, she’d been a possession, a means to an end, just another collector’s item. She’d told him she wouldn’t have sex until they were married. It had been a condition of their engagement, and he’d agreed. He had other women, but they were more than welcome to his amorous advances.

Men like Tremont—handsome, smart and reeking of sex appeal—usually had a bevy of women vying for attention. He could even have a wife or lover or significant other. She glanced at his left hand. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that could be for any number of reasons. Why hadn’t she thought to ask when he’d been talking about his family?

It annoyed her that she’d missed the opportunity to pry some more. He’d been unexpectedly forthcoming about his parents, his dead partner, and his grievance with the agency. His exhaustion had probably contributed to his candor, but it wouldn’t hurt to give it another try when he woke.

Rianna gazed into the unending darkness of the mountains, broken only by her headlights and an infrequent passing car. For the most part, the skies were cloudy with random glimpses of a star-studded sky. The slivered moon did little to illuminate the winding, ascending road.

She didn’t mind the darkness. Her thoughts were equally dark. Over the next couple hours, she reviewed the past six months in her mind—the conversations she’d overheard, the records she’d unearthed and the security she’d breached. With her testimony, they could put Gregory Haroldson behind bars for the rest of his life.

It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed and a strength born of necessity to carry out the assignment. Pretending to accept his proposal and moving into his home had taken nerves of steel, but she’d sworn to make him pay for destroying her family. That pledge had seen her through the worst of it.

In her mind’s eye, she projected the image of her mother, dad and brother. It was a vision that comforted her in times of extreme stress. They’d been the axis of her world until Gregory Haroldson had ordered their deaths. If she’d been a little stronger, a little wiser, or a better person, she could have prevented what happened. The knowledge ate at her like a disease. The only way she knew to counteract the guilt was to make Haroldson pay for his crimes.

No jury in the country would fault her for the engagement deception. Not once they heard the whole truth. She and Donald were banking on that fact. There was no way their undercover operation could be labeled entrapment. Haroldson’s corruption dated back too many years to afford him that defense.

We have him. We have him. We have him. The litany ran through her mind like the constant spinning of the car’s wheels. We have him. We have him.

When Rianna realized she was becoming mesmerized by the sound of her thoughts, she reached out and touched Tremont’s arm. Heat and muscle. The warmth of another human being. The comfort it offered unnerved her a little because it was so unexpected. It was a pleasure she rarely enjoyed with anyone but her adoptive parents. The contact soothed her, subduing the painful turbulence of her memories.

Her passenger stirred, tilted his hat back and glanced up at her. She watched him in her peripheral vision, feeling her own body come awake with tingling alertness as he uncoiled his arms and straightened in his seat.

They’d reached the peak of the mountains, shrouded in late-night fog. She dimmed her lights to cut through the haze, and then spoke to Tremont.

“There’s a roadside rest area a few miles ahead. I thought we might get out, take a break and stretch our legs. I’m starting to get numb.”

“Sounds good,” he mumbled.

His voice was so low and husky and incredibly sexy that it snapped her senses to alertness. A tremor of reaction tingled along her spine. It was a quick fix to her lethargy.

“Any of that coffee left?”

“About a cupful, but it’s only lukewarm.” She handed him the thermos, then wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel.

“I want to try and reach Donald again if the pay phone’s working at the rest area.” She’d already decided to call, but threw out the comment for conversation’s sake.

“I don’t mind waking him in the middle of the night. I hope he’s sound asleep. I owe him one.” After all, Sullivan had called him at four a.m. to request his help.

“Even if someone traces the call, there’s no way to pinpoint our exact location,” she expanded. “Once we clear the mountains, we could go in any direction.”

“Do you have a specific destination in Kentucky or is it just an unlikely spot for someone to find?”

Rianna deliberated, but then decided to trust him even further. “I’m familiar with the Cumberland Lake area, so that’s where I’m headed.”

“A resort lake?”

“Miles and miles of man-made lake. It’s all buried in a deep valley between jagged, boulder-lined hills topped with a thick wall of evergreen trees.”

“A nice place to get lost?”

“That’s what I’m hoping.” She wanted nothing more than to disappear, to fade into the background after months of constantly being in the spotlight and on display.

The rest area was nearly deserted as they pulled to a stop in the parking lot. Rianna climbed from the car, grabbed her bag and headed for the rest room with Tremont close beside her. They parted ways inside the utilitarian concrete structure.

She used the toilet in the women’s room, splashed water on her face at the sink, brushed her teeth and restored some order to her hair. It took a while, but she managed to tame some of the spiky tufts of the punk hairstyle. The result wasn’t very flattering, but it was a whole lot less noticeable. The last thing she wanted to do at this point was draw attention to herself.

Feeling more human, she rejoined Tremont near the pay phone. He’d freshened up, too. His hair was damp and a shade lighter, evidence of his attempt to wash out the dye. He’d shaved off the mustache, which drastically changed his looks. Rianna’s admiring gaze traced the smooth curve of his lips. A firm, sexy mouth, she thought, before quickly redirecting her thoughts.

He’d already dialed the number and was greeting Sullivan when she stepped closer. Their gazes met, and she was taken aback by the crystal-clear blue of his eyes. He’d shed the dark contacts, altering his looks even more. The clarity of his steady gaze caused her to shiver. It felt as though he could see right into her soul, and she knew it wasn’t a very pure place.

Tremont turned the receiver so that they could both hear.

“I got your earlier message,” said Sullivan. “But Blaine’s dead. Killed by Hoskins. According to him, Blaine pulled a weapon and tried to shoot at you when you left the safe house. They scuffled over the gun and Blaine was fatally shot.”

Kyle and Rianna exchanged frowning glances, neither sure what the latest twist could mean.

“You’ll be watching Hoskins?”

“For sure, and we’ll do some serious checking on Blaine’s record. I’ll personally interrogate everyone he’s worked with.”

“When are you having Haroldson arrested?” asked Tremont.

“First thing Monday morning, but there’s a glitch. His lawyers will demand he be released on bail, and there’s a good chance we won’t be able to keep him long.”

“What about his flight risk?” insisted Rianna, her heart sinking at the word glitch. Gregory wouldn’t want to leave his little empire or the U.S., but once he realized how damning the evidence was against him, he had the money and connections to disappear. “I thought once we had him jailed, we could keep him there indefinitely.”

“I did, too, but as soon as you disappeared today, he made a public announcement that you’d been kidnapped. He’s conducting a media circus, featuring himself as the devastated fiancé who’s bravely coping with a great tragedy.”

The information had Kyle and her staring at each other in disbelief.

“So that’s his master plan,” she whispered. “He wants the world to believe I’ve been kidnapped. That way he gains a lot of sympathy without having to deal with me himself.”

“He also gains the means to get us permanently out of his hair,” Tremont added grimly. “That’s why it was so easy. He’s been playing us all along. If we turn up dead, he’ll have an alibi, someone to blame for your murder. Then, if I’m conveniently killed by one of his men, the murder will seem justified.”

“You’re probably right, but that won’t help him against the indictment,” said Sullivan.

“He’s not aware of that yet,” she reminded. “We’re still the only ones with access to that information, aren’t we?”

“Yes, and that has to stay a secret until I get the arrest and search warrants. If not, there’s a risk of him fleeing. Meanwhile, he’s playing the media for all it’s worth. I’ll have to publicly acknowledge your identity or risk having a judge release him on bail,” explained Sullivan.

“How bad’s the risk for Phantom if you expose her identity?” Tremont asked. “Haroldson must know she’s a federal agent by now.”

“Even if he does, it won’t keep him from putting a contract out on both of you. Her disappearance threatens her standing with the bureau, since we don’t have her in protective custody. If I can’t verify her whereabouts, that leaves us without a witness who can support the indictment.”

“You’re suggesting we come to D.C.?”

“Are you staying with her?”

“I said I would.”

Tremont’s tone was getting harsher by the minute. Rianna studied his fierce expression and wondered what concerned him most—the risk to her safety, the risk of weakening their case or the thought of prolonging his own involvement. It worried her that she was beginning to care about his motives.

Sullivan took his time answering. “No. I’ll swear I know where she’s being held. You two disappear for a few days until we see how this is going to play out. Keep in touch with me through this number. If I’m forced to produce a witness, we’ll worry about additional security then.”

They ended the call and Tremont replaced the receiver. Only then did Rianna realize how close the two of them were standing. Her right shoulder and arm were pressed against his chest, the heat of him permeating the thin layers of her clothes. It seemed so natural, yet disturbing. She had an unprecedented urge to press closer, and that wouldn’t do at all.

Once they stepped apart, she felt a chill and shivered.

“You’re cold. We need to get back in the car,” he insisted, and surprised her by wrapping an arm around her as they moved toward the parking lot.

Her first instinct was to shift from the warmth of his touch. She didn’t want to seem weak or needy, but she was cold and tired and trying to ward off an emotional collapse. She’d been warned by bureau psychologists about a dramatic letdown after an undercover assignment.

Maybe she’d be wise to accept a little impersonal support. Just as long as it remained impersonal. So far, she and the renegade retiree were making a pretty good team.

Kyle offered to drive, but Rianna insisted that she’d rather continue until they were through the mountains. She drove while he caught a few more hours of rest. Then they exchanged places, but she still wasn’t able to sleep.

They shared a comfortable silence, passing the time listening to music and studying the darkness beyond the windows of the car. Rianna had picked up a map at the rest area, so she navigated them through southern Kentucky. By daybreak, they were nearing their destination.

“Where are we heading now?”

“I think Somerset is one of the largest towns in the lake area,” she said. “It’s not too big, but it offers the basics. If I remember correctly, there are several docks, and check-in times at the marinas are about the same as most hotels.”

“Marina?”

“I’m planning to rent a houseboat if there’s one available,” she explained, glancing at him and wondering if he was going to bail out on her now. “The lake is huge, so you can disappear for days at a time without anyone checking up on you.”

“You can actually stay out on the water?”

“It’s been years since I was there, but I remember cruising around until we needed to refuel. At night, we’d set the anchor near the shoreline and stay put. Either way, you avoid contact with civilization.”

“You’ve vacationed there in the past?”

“Once, a long time ago.” The thought made her melancholy, but she tried to shrug it off. “How about you? Are you interested in staying or do you want to head on home? I don’t see any possible way I can be traced now, so you don’t need to feel obligated.”

“I said I’ll stick with you until Sullivan makes other arrangements.”

“What about your family? Do you need to get home to a wife or kids or a partner of some sort?”

Tremont threw her a rakish grin. “‘Partner of some sort’?”

“Partner, as in significant other or anyone who expects you home soon.”

“Fishing for more details about my private life?”

The man really could be maddening. Rianna gritted her teeth. “I think it’s important that I know the basics,” she insisted.

“What you see is what you get,” he finally said. “I don’t have to account to anyone for my whereabouts. Not even Sullivan, since I already honored my promise to help you escape Haroldson’s estate.”

“No regular job? Are you one of those independently wealthy men who risks his life for kicks?”

Tremont’s gruff chuckle rippled over Rianna like a sweet, sexy melody. Her heart thudded uncharacteristically. She scolded herself for the foolish reaction, realizing how desperately she needed sleep.

“I’m not rich, that’s for sure. Unless you count the fact that I own my own little place. I’m self-employed. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

No way would Rianna ever consider this man ordinary. He might prefer to think of himself that way, but she couldn’t.

“Do you know anything about boating or fishing?”

“Not much.”

Neither did she, but they were intelligent, resourceful adults. They could learn.

Conversation lagged as they covered the last hundred miles of their journey. The sun was rising behind them as they reached the outskirts of Somerset.

Their first stop was another convenience store and refueling station. They filled the gas tank and bought souvenir T-shirts. Then they freshened up with a change of shirts to cut the risk of being recognized. They’d drastically changed their looks since leaving the coast, but it didn’t hurt to cover every angle.

Next they found a small roadside restaurant and took their time over breakfast and coffee. When the place started to get crowded, they drove into town. Rianna asked Tremont to stop at the local post office.

He stayed in the car while she rented a post office box and bought two padded envelopes. In one, she mailed herself extra cash and a fake driver’s license at her personal P.O. box, knowing the post office was the safest place to hide it in case of another emergency.

She used the second envelope to mail all her jewelry to her adoptive aunt Margaret’s address in Maine. It was a risk to mail anything so valuable, but the necklace, bracelet and rings were all gifts from Gregory. They held no sentimental value. If she ever got a chance to sell them, she’d make good use of the money, but she wouldn’t be destitute if the jewelry got damaged or lost.

They spent the next couple of hours driving around the town and familiarizing themselves with the area. When the stores finally opened, they purchased additional clothing, more groceries and a few other necessities.

Rianna found a brochure with information on boat rentals, so she called several marinas until she found one with a recent cancellation. After learning that a houseboat was available immediately, they headed for the lake.

“What’s the name of the place?” asked Tremont.

“It’s called Beaver Creek Resort, and it’s near Monticello. There are several marinas with docks and fuel stations, but the only one with an availability is Beaver Creek. This is the height of their tourist season, so we got lucky. I think they said they have one good-size houseboat for rent.”

“What’s good-size?”

She showed him the picture in the brochure. “There are several types, each in a different price range with different amenities and the capacity to sleep a different number of people. I guess ours is over sixty feet long.

“According to the brochure, it features a galley with a gas stove, refrigerator, running water, generator, central heat, AC, microwave, electric lights, deck furniture, gas grill, swimming ladder, power steering, and a sliding board off the top deck.”

Tremont whistled softly. “Sounds like a small yacht, and looks like it must be top of the line.”

“Nope, top of the line is a lot bigger, sleeps more people and costs more.”

He shot a glance at her. “Which brings up the question of how we’re going to pay for this rental. I don’t carry around that sort of cash, we can’t charge it to Uncle Sam, and we sure can’t use plastic.”

“I have several thousand dollars’ worth of cash with me,” she told him, earning herself another, longer, sharper look. “When I moved in with Gregory, he insisted on giving me an allowance and buying me designer clothes. I’ve been hoarding the money and even selling a few designer gowns.”

His laugh wasn’t pleasant. “So your lover is paying for our little hideout.”

Rianna managed to keep her temper reined, but just barely. “He and all the people he’s swindled out of money, including Uncle Sam,” she returned succinctly.

The reminder of Haroldson cranked the tension between them again, so they grew silent, speaking only about directions. The road that led to the marina was sharply winding, and they drove downhill at a forty-five-degree angle for more than fifteen minutes before Tremont complained.

“You’re sure this dock isn’t in China?” he asked, as they kept going downward, mile after mile, in the seemingly endless spiral of a roller coaster.

“I told you the lake was carved out of solid rock. It takes a while to get down to the water.”

She hoped the high rock walls would be an added barrier between them and Gregory’s far-reaching network of criminals.

Chapter 4

The marina came into view just as she finished explaining, and she caught her breath at the sight. There were boats in all sizes and shapes. Some were moored while others were coming or going on the water. The whole place was bigger, more modern and a lot more commercial than she remembered, but the overall beauty still held her in awe.

Her heart thudded heavily in her chest as emotion ballooned inside her. She could visualize her parents holding hands, laughing and teasing while her brother chased after them, always skipping and chattering. There hadn’t been many happy, carefree times for her family, but they’d shared one wonderful week here.

The precious memories brought a lump to her throat and a rush of rare tears to her eyes. She swiftly blinked them away as Tremont parked the car.

He turned more fully toward her, and Rianna knew he sensed a change in her. His demeanor underwent a subtle change, too.

She clenched her teeth and turned her head to avoid his probing gaze. She hated feeling so emotionally fragile. The memories were private and cherished, so she kept them carefully guarded in her heart.

“You okay?”

She wanted to allay his concern by responding in a crisp, no-nonsense fashion, but her voice failed her. To cover her awkwardness and give herself more time, she grabbed her bag and searched for a wallet. Once she’d found it, she opened the door and climbed from the car without a word.

Tremont got out of the car and followed her toward the marina. “Better tell me how we’re registering,” he insisted.

That had her pausing to regroup. She swallowed the last of her silly tears and turned to him. “Think we can get by with separate names and IDs?”

“Sure, it’s common practice these days. We don’t have to pretend we’re married. We can just be lovers,” he explained, his eyes challenging her to refute.

The suggestion sent a shiver of awareness over her, but she humphed, pretending the idea was too annoying to consider.

Since she was handling the money, the houseboat was rented under the alias Donna Elise Simons. The normal check-in time wasn’t until three p.m., but due to the last-minute cancellation, their boat was ready to be boarded.

They left the car in a hillside parking area and hauled everything onto the boat. A dock attendant gave them a quick tour and basic watercraft instructions. Shortly after noon, they were casting off and making their way toward less congested waters.

Rianna quickly accustomed herself to the hum of the engine and its steady vibration as they glided over water as smooth as glass. The sun shone brightly, making everything sparkle with a freshness that soothed her nerves within minutes.

Tremont settled behind the steering wheel, just inside the combined living room and kitchen area. He wore a short-sleeved blue T-shirt that made his pale eyes look darker and deeper. She alternately admired the beauty all around them and his physique. His shoulders and chest were broad, the strength in his arms apparent as he easily maneuvered the big boat.

His thighs, encased in tight, worn jeans, also contracted with solid muscle. The rest of him was lean and just as appealing. She silently admonished herself for mental drooling and tried to concentrate on the water.

“It really is gorgeous here, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, and probably one of the last places Haroldson would expect his high-society lover to hide.”

“I’m not really, you know,” she insisted. At his searching glance, she bit back the words she’d almost blurted in self-defense. Knowing it was safer to let him believe she had the morals of an alley cat, she rephrased her response. “I’m not really a high-society type.”

“If you say so,” he muttered.

All of a sudden, Rianna felt the strength drain from her limbs. Exhaustion overtook her with unexpected speed and force. She stared blankly at the water, then Tremont.

“Something wrong?” he asked, concern creasing his brows.

“I’m tired.”

His laugh sounded more like an abrupt bark. “I’ll bet you are. You’ve been running on nothing but caffeine and nerves for days. Ready to crash?”

“Yes” was all she said. Then she moved toward the sleeping compartments, her feet and limbs feeling like lead. She fell across the first bed she found and dropped off to sleep within seconds.

Kyle spent the rest of the afternoon learning his way around the lake. A map hung above the steering compartment that displayed the overall size and shape of the waterways, but he needed to get his bearings.

Over one hundred miles long, the lake had winding waterways that covered sixty-three thousand surface acres with twelve hundred miles of wooded shoreline.

The entire shoreline was dotted with sandy-beach coves surrounded by twelve-foot-high, boulder-strewn banks. They’d been told that boaters could drop anchor in the coves to picnic, swim or fish during the day and to sleep at night. He liked the idea of being able to find their own private niche.

When hunger and thirst eventually had him stirring from his perch at the helm, he let the boat idle and went to check on Rianna. He found her sprawled, facedown, on one of the double beds. She was down for the count.

The total abandon of her position made his stomach muscles clench. Her slim, pale arms were flung, spread-eagle, across the mattress. A wedge of creamy skin was exposed at the small of her back. Her jeans-clad rump was slightly elevated, and he had an insane urge to crawl into bed and wake her with caresses.

“Whoa, boy.”

He issued the soft, urgent warning to his body as blood began to pool in his groin. An unexpected arousal burgeoned against the zipper of his jeans, pulsing to life and sucking the air from his lungs.

Heat crept up his neck as he fought the temptation to slide his body over hers and wake her with greedy hands and mouth. He wanted to explore every dip and curve of her feminine form, and lose himself in her softness. The urge was so primitive and shocking in its force that he shuddered. What the hell had prompted the sudden, intense hunger?

It was the ultimate in stupidity—a risk neither of them could afford. Kyle shook his head to rid it of lecherous thoughts. As tempting as he found his sexy partner, he couldn’t afford to get any more involved with her.

Instead, he slowly slipped her shoes off her feet and eased her more fully onto the bed. She didn’t so much as flinch, testimony to how soundly she slept.

He soothed himself with a cold beer, and then another, as he tried to shove Rianna from his thoughts. She’d probably sleep through the night, so he was left to his own devices. Normally, he preferred his own company, but her proximity kept him restless.

After slapping together a couple of sandwiches, he washed the meal down with a third beer, his personal limit, then went back to the helm. He found a cove to anchor in for the evening, where he could do some fishing. By the time dark had fallen, he was ready to call it a night himself.

He secured the front and back doors, and then carried his bag to the small compartment opposite the one Rianna had chosen. The bathroom was smaller than a phone booth, but Kyle showered, brushed his teeth and donned a pair of clean sweatpants.

After steeling himself to check on his companion again, he grabbed a blanket and covered her lightly, then quickly retreated to his own full-size bunk. He didn’t expect to drop off easily, but the soothing sounds of the country night and gentle rocking of the boat soon lulled him to sleep.

The rising sun coaxed him out of bed the next morning, and Kyle quickly checked on Rianna. She was still fast asleep, but she’d apparently been up during the night. She’d shed her jeans and crawled under the covers, leaving only one long, bare leg exposed. The sight of the slim calf and thigh caused his blood pressure to rise, so he swiftly shifted his attention to her upper body.

His eyes widened a little as he studied her head. The red hair, obviously another a wig, was gone, tossed aside like lifeless vermin. In its place was a cap of light brown hair that parted down the middle and curved across her cheek. It looked as soft and shiny as corn silk.

Something inside him went soft, too, as he glimpsed yet another layer of the woman. Both the elegant blonde and the brassy redhead had been fascinating, but easily abandoned. Now Rianna looked sweet and natural and so desirable that he had to fight another fierce shaft of desire.

The real woman was slowly being revealed, like a flower opening its petals, and each new revelation intrigued him more. He wondered if her personality would undergo a similar transformation. She’d be experiencing an emotional letdown, so it would be a while before she even recognized her own personality. Not much use in speculating.

With that thought, he moved into the kitchen area and brewed a pot of coffee. While it was perking, he watched the early sunshine glisten on the water. A light morning haze hung on the air, but there were no other watercraft to disturb the view—just soothing, unblemished isolation.

It looked as though they’d have another warm, calm day on the lake. Maybe he’d swim in lieu of his usual run. Or maybe he’d check out paths along the upper bank. It was always good to have an escape route, however safe and isolated the location.

When the coffee was ready, he filled a cup and turned toward the narrow hallway. Rianna materialized in the doorway and they collided with a soft thud. She fell against him like a limp rag, her face buried against his shoulder. Kyle clutched her close with his left arm while he set down his cup. Then he tentatively rested his right hand at the small of her back.

Instead of moving out of his grasp, she burrowed closer, like a sleepy child. Her arms encircled his waist, a ring of fire that seared him. The feminine warmth and scent of her made his pulse leap wildly, and his body come to full sexual alert.

“Coffee. I smell coffee,” she mumbled innocently against his shirt.

The feel of her mouth moving against him, even through the cloth, made his muscles clench with excitement. Her breasts pressed into his chest, branding him with erotic fire.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sensual pull, then took a deep breath. He wanted to lock her tightly in his arms, ravage her mouth with his own until he’d forced her to wake up and accept the consequences of her actions.

Desire raged through him as Rianna drifted back to sleep in his arms. She obviously wasn’t a morning person. Kyle clenched his jaws in frustration. He considered carrying her back to bed and having his way with her. As much as the idea appealed, he wasn’t the sort of man who took advantage of women, especially vulnerable ones.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy having her close, he thought.

He tightened his grip, pulling her body snug against his own. A moan escaped him at the exquisite feel. Rianna moaned, too, then suddenly went rigid in his arms. Kyle grinned as her head jerked backward, and she stared at him in sleepy confusion.

He slowly loosened his hold on her. She eased her grip on his midsection, allowing her enough room to splay her hands on his chest. More heat.

“What?” she muttered huskily.

“You came in search of coffee and ran into me.”

“You’re—” she began, then cleared the huskiness from her throat and licked her lips.

Kyle wanted to suck each glistening lip between his own and then devour her whole mouth. The need was so strong that he had to fight for control. How the hell had he gotten so needy?

“You’re very hard,” she finally managed to say.

And getting harder with each breath he took. “It’s a morning thing,” he supplied.

Her brows puckered, lashes sweeping upward as the drowsiness cleared from her eyes. As she came more fully awake, she began to withdraw.

“A guy thing,” she clarified for them both, then stepped out of his reach.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry if I made it harder.”

Kyle watched a rosy blush steal up her neck and over her cheeks as she realized what she’d just suggested. The flustered color made her all the more alluring.

“I’ll survive,” he teased, then decided to give them both a break from the escalating tension. “I just need some coffee.”

“Coffee,” Rianna parroted.

He reached for his cup, sipped it to see if it was still warm, and then downed the whole thing. Maybe the caffeine would knock some strength back into his knees.

After she filled her own cup, she refilled his.

“Thanks,” he said. “I was just heading outside to welcome the morning. Care to join me?”

“Sure,” she said, then preceded him through the narrow hallway between their sleeping compartments.

Kyle reached around her to unlock the door, held it open while she passed through, and closed it behind them.

“I want to go up on the deck,” she said, turning toward the ladder.

The roof of the houseboat doubled as a sundeck with chairs, tables and an attached sliding board for swimmers. Kyle took another sweeping glance around the area, noting that all was still quiet. He followed Rianna up the ladder, feeling his body respond to the sight of her shapely bottom, clad only in gym shorts that left a whole lot of leg exposed. Smooth, sleek legs that could feed a man’s fantasies.

He forced himself to concentrate on security. “You can’t get too comfortable up here. We’re as close to being sitting ducks as we can get.”

“I suppose,” she said, easing herself onto a lounge chair and stretching out her legs. “But it’s just about the most perfect spot anyone could want to be.”

Kyle had to agree. He settled into the chair opposite her and allowed himself to relax a little. The sun was beginning to sparkle on the water, burning off the morning haze. The waves were gently lapping at the boat in a peaceful rocking motion. Birds were singing as gulls squalled and dove for breakfast. The morning was clear and bright with a slight nip in the air.

“Are you warm enough?”

“I’m chilly, but it’s invigorating, not uncomfortable.”

He nodded, feeling the same. The sun would warm them before too long. It had already cleared the horizon and was moving upward like a brilliant ball of fire.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying their coffee and absorbing the peaceful beauty around them. Neither of them had known much peace these past few weeks, so it seemed a rare and welcome pleasure.

“I guess I really conked out on you last night. You didn’t have any problems, did you?”

“Not a thing. I explored a little, had something to eat and did some fishing.”

“Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

“Just a few other boats and some late-night fishermen. Nothing suspicious or threatening.”

Rianna sighed, resting her head against the back of the chair and closing her eyes. “Sounds wonderfully dull.”

“It was,” agreed Kyle, gazing out over the water.

Margie would have loved it here.

The image of his former partner slipped into his thoughts, unbidden. She’d had dark, wild curls that were always out of control. Her eyes had been dark brown, too.

Normally, the memories were too painful, so Kyle kept them buried where they couldn’t rub him raw with bitterness and frustration. But Margie had been on his mind a lot during this assignment, a result of working with another female operative.

She’d tackled life head-on, as if it were a great, unending adventure. Born and raised in the city, she’d loved doing anything outdoors, exploring new places and tackling new challenges, but it was that same daring personality that had cost her life.

Even the good memories made his jaw clench and his chest tight. For a long time, he’d been mad as hell at her for risking her life and abandoning him. Now he just felt sad at the loss of her life. Sad, and determined that Haroldson should pay.

Shaking his head to dismiss the images, he turned his attention back to Rianna. She could easily distract a man from troubling thoughts. He studied the smooth curve of her cheeks and noticed how perfectly her hair framed her face.

“I’m guessing that’s your natural hair.”

She reached up to tuck the ends behind her ears. “This is the real thing, and what a relief to be rid of those awful wigs.”

“I’ll bet. I’m sure glad to be rid of the mustache. It itched like hell.”

“And contacts,” they chorused, sharing a grin.

Kyle stared into her lovely, smiling eyes for a moment. Their natural color was a mixture of green and gray. It surprised him to realize how much pleasure he derived from just her smile. It warmed him.

The temperature cooled when she averted her gaze.

He watched as a frown marred her features, and suddenly wished for the power to keep her safe and smiling. He wanted to destroy anything that threatened her, to eliminate anything that might motivate her to put her life at risk. The depth of the emotion made him edgy and restless.

“How long do you think we’ll be able to stay here?” she asked, obviously sensing a need to distract him.

“A few days. Maybe through next weekend. I’m betting Sullivan will want you in D.C. the following week, at the latest.”

She nodded and closed her eyes again. Kyle couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away from her. He knew it was dangerous to let his attraction escalate, yet he couldn’t stem the increasing desire to know what made her tick.

Neither could he ignore the surge of impotent fury he felt every time he thought of her engagement to Haroldson—living in his home, accepting his touch, being intimate with a man twice her age.

How could she do it? How could she sell herself in such an obscene manner? What would make an intelligent, capable woman take on such a compromising assignment? She’d hinted at a deeper reason than ambition, so what could it be? A family vendetta?

He’d only known her a few days and the questions were eating him alive. He wanted answers, yet knew better than to ask. Even if she’d be willing supply answers, he wasn’t sure he could handle the whole truth. Better to guard against caring too much. All that had ever gotten him was more pain and disillusionment.

“I’m starving,” Rianna announced, breaking into his grim thoughts. “Since you made the coffee, I’ll cook breakfast. Any preference?”

“I’m not particular, but I’m hungry.”

“Bacon, eggs and toast?”

“Sounds great.”

He watched her rise from the chair and walk across the deck. Her smooth, supple movements had his body stirring in interest again, hungry for more than food. He clamped down hard on the desire and spent the next few minutes trying to convince himself that self-denial would make him a better man.

They pulled up anchor after breakfast, and Rianna took the helm for a couple of hours. There really wasn’t much driving involved, she mused, just a gentle steering as the big boat chugged across the water.

Tremont had taken a seat on the small front deck, so her attention shifted back and forth between the lake and him. The temperature had climbed to eighty already. He’d replaced his T-shirt and sweats with a pair of gym shorts. The rest of him was gloriously, tantalizingly naked.

A fine sheen of sweat made his bronze skin shimmer in the sunlight. Every time he moved a muscle, the ropelike flexing sent a frisson of sensation through Rianna. She didn’t suppose a woman would ever get tired of looking at his tight, flat stomach or his equally tight rear end.

What she didn’t dare do was get too excited about his great body. As much as she’d like to explore every inch of it, she knew it would be a monumental mistake. Her assignment for the agency was far from finished. Even if she survived to testify against Gregory—which the odds were against—the trial and appeals could go on for years. She had no business getting involved with anyone.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t do a little daydreaming about the hunk she’d hooked up with, she thought with a grin. Would he be an impatient lover? Or the slow, thorough sort? Did he like partners who were wild and uninhibited, or shy and innocent? She didn’t have any personal experience, but that didn’t mean she was totally ignorant about sex. A person could learn a lot through the media these days. Movies, television shows and books were pretty explicit.

Tremont stirred her feminine curiosity more than any man she’d ever met, yet she knew any interest he showed in her would be strictly physical. He wore his emotional detachment like a Mylar vest, shielding his heart.

He chose that minute to reenter the cabin, and Rianna felt a blush rising up her neck. She hoped he didn’t have a clue what had prompted her flush.

He offered a convenient excuse. “It’s getting a little warm in here, isn’t it.”

She jumped on it. “Yes, I was just thinking we might want to turn on the AC during the heat of the day.”

He moved to the controls and turned on the central air. “I’ll set it low enough that it doesn’t get cold—just not too hot.”

She mumbled her agreement and then turned her attention to the lake again. Tremont stepped behind her, and she was enveloped in the musky male scent of him. He radiated as much heat as the sun, raising her temperature even more. It was all she could do not to fan herself.

As they traversed the main waterway, the traffic was heavier, with ski boats and Jet Skis zipping around on all sides of them. The boat rocked in the rough wake, and he braced himself with hands on her chair. Even the casual brush of his fingers seared her, and she mentally admonished herself to get a grip.

“How about finding us another place to drop anchor. A place with some natural steps or handholds up the embankment would be nice. I’d like to scout around the area this side of the lake. Maybe have a run if I can find a smooth enough path up there.”

Rianna steered around the next jutting of land, then another before turning into an uninhabited cove with a boulder-lined bank. She cut the engine and let their boat drift as close to shore as possible.

“The brochure mentions cottages and other rental properties, so I’d think you could find a decent path somewhere near the shoreline,” she said.

“I’ll try. Are you a jogger?”

“No, but after you’re done exploring, I’d like to swim for a while. I’m used to a good daily workout, and I’m getting stiff just sitting so much,” she said.

Once she’d shut off the engine, Tremont stepped away, and she drew a calmer breath. He lowered the anchor, and then grabbed a pair of running shoes.

“Keep your gun handy while I’m gone. I won’t be more than an hour. If you even suspect trouble, get off the boat.”

“I’ll be careful. If I need to escape, I’ll follow you onto shore and then stay as close as possible until you get back.”

“Okay.”

They both moved to the front deck, and he dove into the water. Once he surfaced, she handed him his shoes. She noticed socks were tucked in one and a small handgun in the other. He held the shoes over his head as he waded the last few feet to shore. She watched until he’d climbed the steep bank and disappeared into the trees.

Her emotions were mixed about her sexy bodyguard. There was no denying the physical attraction. Though neither of them spoke about it or acted on it, it kept intensifying. It wouldn’t be smart to let her increasing desire fog her judgment. There was so much more at stake than personal satisfaction.

She wanted to trust him, yet she’d been trained to consider every angle, the potential risk in every situation. What if Donald Sullivan was wrong about Tremont’s reliability? What did she really know about him? Even though his service record was impressive, he’d retired under less than favorable conditions.

What if both sides had enlisted him to keep her under surveillance? Where did his loyalties lie? What if he’d just headed for the nearest pay phone to contact the men who wanted her dead?

Hating the paranoia that had been a part of her life for so long, Rianna shook her head in disgust. She’d have to wait and watch Tremont until she could decide whether or not to trust him. Right now, being with him held more appeal than being alone. She was so tired of being alone.

Thoughts of the loneliness brought memories of her family and their vacation on a similar houseboat. Her brother, Jimmy, had been so full of energy and enthusiasm. He’d wanted to investigate every nook and cranny, to learn how everything worked. He’d wanted to fish and swim and steer the boat. He’d asked a million questions that her parents had patiently answered.

Jimmy had called her Rianna instead of her given name, Marianna. It had been too much of a mouthful for him, so he’d created the nickname. Tremont was the first person she’d mentioned it to in nearly a decade.

She couldn’t say why she’d shared it with him, except that she’d grown sick and tired of aliases. Once this case was over, she vowed to find a new line of work: one where she never had to assume another name and identity. With Gregory out of the way, it might finally be possible.

Deciding it was a good time to take stock of the clothing she’d bought, she dragged out shopping bags and sorted through the hastily purchased collection. In addition to a few pairs of shorts and tops, she’d chosen four bikinis, two matching navy-blue ones and two neon-green ones. She set them aside and stashed most of the other clothes into the drawers under her bed.

Her biggest purchase had been panties. She took fourteen pairs of them, plus the bikinis, and moved back into the kitchen. After getting herself a can of soda, she settled down to sew, pausing every few minutes to check for unexpected guests.

Nearly an hour later, she heard Tremont shouting at her from the beach. She went onto the deck and waited until he’d swum close enough to toss his shoes onto the boat. Then she gave him a hand to board.

“Have a nice run?” she asked.

“Yeah. The path’s a little rough, but it felt good. Any problems?”

“Nary a one,” she said. “I saw a few boats pass by on the main waterway, but nothing came close.”

“Good. Ready to swim?”

“Almost. I have some sewing to finish. Then I’ll be ready.”

“Sewing?” he asked, following her back inside the cabin. He glanced toward the table. “Have an underwear explosion while I was gone?”

Rianna gave him a grin. “No, I’m just practicing an old trick my mother taught me.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well,” she explained as she went back to work, “you buy two matching pairs of underwear, then you cut part of the front panel out of one and sew it to the front panel of its mate. That makes a neat little pocket that can be sealed with thin strips of Velcro.”

“For hiding something?”

“For hiding a small plastic pouch with cash, an ID, and, in my case, the key to a post office box.”

“Nice, neat little package?”

“I never go anywhere without one.”

“Even to swim?”

“Even to swim. That’s why I bought matching bikinis. The plastic protects everything, so the shower’s about the only place I go without my backup supplies.”

“Clever. Your mother taught you this?”

“Yes, and it’s a trick that’s saved me on several occasions.”

“I imagine it has,” he said.

Conscious of his scrutiny, she lifted her gaze from her handiwork. Tremont had a strange expression on his face. It almost looked like compassion.

“Why are you staring?”

“I’m curious. I know parents teach their kids survival tactics, but why in the hell would your mother teach you something like that? What ever happened to the basics, like putting overzealous boyfriends in their place or protecting yourself against would-be muggers?”

Rianna dropped her gaze again. “My dad taught me that kind of stuff. Mom just expanded on the teachings.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, but knew exactly what he meant. How many mothers taught their children strange survival tricks? Hers had done so out of necessity.

“Why did she think you’d need that sort of security?”

“We moved a lot when I was younger.”

“So did we, but not without a chance to collect our stuff first. Why would you move with no more security than money tucked in underwear? Were you running from someone or something?”

Rianna debated telling him the whole truth. Instinct told her to trust him, yet it didn’t come easily. She held his gaze for a few minutes, and then returned her attention to her work.

“Don’t!” He ground the word out harshly, surprising her into looking directly at him again.

“Don’t what?” she asked lightly.

“Don’t shut me out. Just give me the basics. I can deal with whatever you have to say, and I know how to keep a secret.”

Something about the intensity of his demand made her heart stutter. Did he really care? Why? His tone suggested more than idle curiosity, but what? Rianna found herself telling him a little about her childhood.

“When I was twelve, my family got moved into a witness protection program, but we never felt safe. As soon as we’d get comfortable, the location would be compromised and we’d have to move. My parents taught us to be prepared.”

“Witness protection? I know about it from the agency’s end, but I never gave much thought to living that way. How could your location be jeopardized that often?”

“I don’t know.” Having finished her project, she gathered up the panties, tossing the ruined ones into the trash. “I was just a kid, so I didn’t know all the specifics—just what my parents told me.”

“Which agency was in charge of your relocation? Sounds like someone screwed up royally and kept putting your family in danger. Who do you blame for a breakdown in the system?”

She considered his questions as she put her panties away with the rest of her things. He didn’t need to know that the FBI had failed her family. Or that she and Donald still didn’t know who the informant had been. Blaine had been with the agency for years, so maybe he was the key to learning more.

“I don’t know all the answers. I wish I did, but I don’t,” she said. Having already donned the navy-blue bikini, she headed to the rear of the boat.

Tremont followed, but she ignored him and opened the door to the back deck. “I’m going to swim now,” she said, then dove cleanly over the side.

End of conversation.

Chapter 5

Rianna swam for a while, and then did a little sunbathing. She tanned easily but hadn’t been exposed to much sun lately, so she wanted to be careful not to overdo it. After coating herself with a liberal amount of sunscreen, she stretched out in a lounge chair on the upper deck of the boat.

Tremont stood near the railing with a collection of fishing gear scattered around him. She decided to lie on her stomach, but turned her head so that she could admire his casting techniques. Every hard line of his body was aesthetically pleasing.

She couldn’t help remembering how solid he’d felt when she’d latched on to him this morning. Even the memory of his reaction heated her blood hotter than the sun baked her skin.

It had been so long since anyone had held her, tightly and securely. Just held her. Without pretense, without making demands she couldn’t accept.

He’d wanted her this morning. At least, his body had hungered for hers. The thought thrilled a very private, feminine part of her. She found him wildly attractive and was pleased that he reciprocated the feeling, even if neither of them planned to act on it. It still gave her ego a much-needed boost, a warm, fuzzy feeling to hug to herself.

Gregory hadn’t wanted her in a physical sense. He’d had plenty of women willing to satisfy his carnal desires. He’d been openly affectionate in public, but very impersonal in private. The setup had suited her needs, yet it had kept her isolated. She’d had no one she could trust or be comfortable with for months.

Tremont had to be applauded for not trying to take advantage of their forced intimacy. She hadn’t known whether his legendary honor extended to personal relationships. She supposed it did, yet she had an insane urge to entice him beyond his control.

What would it take to make him lose control? What kind of woman would it take to make a man like him forget everything but raw, primitive need? Did such a woman exist? Was she stupid to even speculate? Probably. She’d never been the type to stir men to unbridled passion.

Deciding her backside had been exposed long enough, Rianna turned to offer her front to the sun. Tremont had fussed about her staying on deck too long, but it felt as close to heaven as she’d ever known.

Gregory, Sullivan, the agency and its moles were far, far away while she basked on her tiny island of freedom. She tilted a visor over her eyes, but managed to keep Tremont in full view. She loved watching the play of muscles in his arms and shoulders as he swung the fishing pole to cast out his line. His subdued but obvious strength fascinated her.

The midday sun soon had every inch of her skin tingling from prolonged exposure. Flesh that had been cooled by the water was now sizzling. Heat penetrated her bikini top to tighten her nipples, spreading the nerve-titillating sensation throughout her body. Watching her hunky companion increased her arousal, so she shut her eyes and tried to get a rein on her wayward libido.

Dozing and unaware of the passing time, she continued to rest until a shadow fell over her body. At the same time, she felt the gentle splash of something cool on her neck. It sizzled on her overheated flesh. Peeking from beneath the visor, she glared at Tremont. He stood beside her chaise, dribbling bottled water on her sun-drenched skin.

It felt like a liquid caress against her bare flesh, so cool and sensual that her breasts grew full and tight. For that reason only, she gasped and glared at him. He returned her gaze with an unrepentant and totally wicked grin.

“Time’s up.”

“Uh-uh, I’m not on a schedule.”

“Oh, yeah, you are. You’ve had enough sun and enough exposure for one day. It’s not safe to stay out here too long.”

“Go away. You’re just mad because you can’t catch any fish.”

“What makes you think that?”

She couldn’t confess to having watched his every move, so she improvised. “I haven’t heard any of those triumphant male whoops,” she drawled. “I think they’re a must for you macho types.”

“Macho, huh? What if I’m just a kind, sensitive guy who throws the fish back in the water?”

Rianna rolled her eyes in disbelief, and then she returned his grin. In that instant of teasing, something hot and electric flashed between them. So hot that her muscles tensed and her breath got caught in her throat.

Tremont’s eyes grew hooded, his features a taut mask as he stared down at her. She licked her lips, feeling wary, yet wildly excited by the fierce hunger throbbing between them. She needed to diffuse the situation before it erupted into passion, yet the look in his eyes held her mesmerized.

“If you’re going to waste your water, dribble some into my mouth,” she said, never imagining that the simple action could take on the impetus of sexual foreplay.

He did as she asked, watching her with an unblinking concentration as she swallowed, then lapped the excess off her lips. The unbridled flash of excitement in his eyes caused her breathing to grow shallow. Her heart banged against her chest as every nerve ending in her body quivered with excitement.

Closing her eyes against the ferocity of desire in his, she struggled to regain control of her rampaging pulse. Counting to ten and practicing her deep-breathing technique seemed the most practical course of action. At least, until he began to paint her body with the remaining water.

She felt the cooling stream of liquid start at her fingertips, run up her arms, across her chest and then down the other arm. Her skin sizzled, the cool water on her hot flesh causing a potent reaction in every cell of her body.

Next, he bathed her left foot, letting the water tickle over her toes and then zigzag its way up her calf to her thigh. She felt its pooling coolness on her stomach, where he painted a slow, leisurely pattern of water that caused her breathing to falter and her muscles to contract.

Her right leg got equal treatment, from toes to thigh, then the water settled in her naval. Rianna was coming apart at the seams. The erotic bath made her breasts swell against the confines of the bikini top, her nipples aching for attention.

She didn’t think she could get any more aroused, until Tremont aimed the water directly onto those rigid peaks. He slowly and painstakingly saturated each nipple through the cloth until her nerves sung with tension and she felt like launching herself off the chaise.

Her sharply indrawn breath signaled the devastating impact his caresses were having on her self-control.

“Kyle!” The exclamation was a tangle of shock, reprimand and excitement. His first name slipped out, inadvertently destroying another small barrier between them.

“I’m cooling you off.”

The words were simple, but his husky tone conveyed a more primitive message. His voice was thick with wanting. He wanted her. Maybe as much as she wanted him. Rianna dragged in a breath and opened her eyes, leveling her gaze at his body. He stood so close that his arousal was directly in her line of view. It bulged beneath the thin fabric of his shorts, signaling his own undeniable hunger.

She knew she should close her eyes and block out the sight, but her body wasn’t obeying the frantic mental commands. This man had the power to make her forget all her carefully formed plans. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed and out of her league, her panicked brain searched for a way to shatter the escalating tension.

“I think I’ll take a swim. That should cool me.” She intended to make a firm announcement, but the words came out all low and shaky. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Maybe we both better take a dip.”

Kyle took a step backward and offered her his hand, his gaze never wavering from hers. The blue in his eyes had gone dark and hazy with need, but he allowed her some space. She slipped her hand in his and let him draw her to her feet. The touch of skin on skin lit more fires along her nerves. Another minute of contact and she’d disintegrate into a pile of ashes.

“Race you?” Her challenge lacked spirit, coming out all confused and breathy.

“Not until I get a drink of that water,” he said on a low growl, pulling her tight against him and taking her mouth with savage hunger.

He tossed the empty water bottle aside and clutched her head with both hands as he ground his mouth onto hers. The force of his kiss left Rianna helpless to respond or withdraw, until he gradually eased the pressure. Then she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue with abandon, stroking and sucking until she drew a moan from deep in his throat.

Her hands clutched at his waist, the feel of the taut, warm skin making her eager for closer contact. He continued to cradle her head, devouring her mouth, while she strained to fit their bodies more snugly together. The rigid pressure of his arousal against her lower body made her insides quiver. Her legs began to tremble, and soon his strength was all that kept her upright.

Kyle finally lifted his mouth, allowing them to gulp in air, and then he nibbled at her lips while she fought to regain some control. Her desire for him was too strong, frighteningly so. She’d never wanted a man as much as she wanted him, and that scared the hell out of her.

Desire warred with common sense, but then he captured her mouth for another long, deep kiss. He coaxed her tongue into his mouth and sucked deeply. She felt the pull of it deep in the pit of her stomach. Moaning and rocking against him, she felt herself falling off a dangerous precipice and fought to pull herself back from the edge.

“Kyle, please!” she whispered against his hard mouth, unclear of what she begged for most.

“Tell me you’re protected,” he insisted gruffly, grasping her hips, lifting her and pulling her legs around his waist.

The action brought his arousal to the juncture of her thighs, and she gasped at the exquisite feel. So close. The satisfaction she craved was so close, his body straining and throbbing against her. She rocked herself against him and then swallowed his groan in another ravishing kiss.

“Protection,” he repeated, while his fingers dug into her flesh and pulled her still closer.

She took birth control pills. A female agent in a potentially dangerous situation had to protect herself against the possibility of sexual assault. But she couldn’t get the words past the lump in her throat. She wanted him, ached for him, yet something kept her from making the final commitment.

“No!” She almost screamed the word.

Kyle jerked his head back as though she’d slapped him. She felt every one of his long fingers pressing into her skin as his features underwent a frightening transformation. Rianna watched in horror as contempt replaced the passion in his eyes.

“Forget yourself for a while?” he snarled in a soft, dangerous tone that sent a shiver over her. “Or are you as skilled at teasing as you are at everything else? Another day, another conquest? Is that how you operate?”

For just an instant, she felt a shiver of fear. Kyle’s demeanor had changed in the space of a heartbeat. The drastic change shook her, and then it made her sick with shame.

She shouldn’t have screamed, but her instinct had been to protect them both. He believed her capable of selling herself, body and soul. It only proved how little they really knew each other. Succumbing to passion would satisfy a temporary urge, but ultimately make their situation worse.

She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t let her go. Instead, he swung her into his arms. Stifling the desire to scream, she clung as he moved across the deck.

“Hold your breath,” he commanded harshly.

The next thing she knew, they were catapulting down the sliding board. They hit the water hard and sank so deep that she nearly panicked. Quickly disentangling herself from his arms, she fought her way to the surface and dragged in a much-needed breath of air.

He swiftly put some distance between them, swimming toward the shore with strong, sure strokes. Rianna watched him, her heart heavy. What must he think of her? And why did it matter so much? He’d been equally guilty in the explosion of passion, but she felt like a fool and a phony.

After dragging in a few long breaths, she floated in the water until she’d recovered her composure. When he started swimming back toward the boat, she climbed from the water and headed straight for the shower.

Once she’d finished, Kyle took a turn, and she made them a light lunch. They ate in silence, each having withdrawn into a protective shell. Then he spent the next couple of hours boating around the lake while she watched a movie on the VCR. Despite their separate pastimes, each was acutely aware of the other’s proximity.

Toward late afternoon, Kyle realized the fuel tank was getting low. He turned to Rianna, allowing himself to study her for the first time since he’d had her in his arms. His muscles tightened at the memory, but he determinedly ignored the reaction.

Once his hormones were under control, he had gotten over the anger at her rejection. She’d prevented them from committing a major act of stupidity. Pregnancy might not be a concern, but he didn’t have any condoms with him. It shook him to think he would have engaged in unprotected sex with a woman who’d shared her body with scum like Haroldson.

The thought both disgusted and infuriated him. The disgust was normal, the anger wasn’t, and that worried him. He had no business getting more deeply involved.

Aside from Margie, there hadn’t been many serious relationships in his life. In his early years, he’d been too focused on his career to think about long-term commitments. Since Margie, he’d been too wary. Anytime he got involved, it was with the clear understanding that he wasn’t looking for permanency.

He should be thanking Rianna for calling a halt to an explosive situation, but he couldn’t find the words.

She’d put on a pair of pink shorts with a white, cropped top that partially bared her midriff. Her hair looked clean, soft and shiny. Her arms and legs already looked a shade darker and just a little sunburned.

He’d been aware of her activity ever since the movie ended, but now he realized she’d been baking. The scent of cookies filled the galley, making his mouth water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had freshly baked cookies.

“We need to refuel,” he said, capturing her attention.

She looked directly at him, but her expression remained guarded.

“According to this map, there’s a huge dock called Burnside at the other end of the lake. I’m heading there now.”

Rianna nodded. “It might be better to steer clear of the dock where we left the car. That way none of the staff will get too familiar with the sight of us.”

“We need to call Sullivan,” he added, “but we can’t use a local pay phone. Do you have a cellular?”

“Yes, but it’s probably of no use out here. It should work once we get to a little higher elevation.”

“Okay, then, we’ll dock, refuel and take a hike until we can get a signal.”

Rianna merely nodded, looking more subdued than he’d ever seen her. It made him feel guilty, yet irritated by the guilt. He searched for a way to ease the disturbing tension between them.

“You sharing any of those cookies? They sure smell good,” he said, his tone light as he offered an olive branch.

The innocent pleasure that lit her features made a knot in his gut. She offered him a tentative smile along with the cookies, and the knot tightened, a sure sign that he was beginning to care too much. He knew better than to get emotionally involved, yet she made it hard to maintain an impersonal distance.

“They’re just the packaged kind you slice and bake,” she warned, easing more of the strained atmosphere.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said, taking a handful. He thanked her and turned back to the wheel.

The refueling didn’t take much time. After they’d finished, Kyle steered them into an empty birth where he secured the boat. Rianna grabbed her oversize bag and they started climbing the winding path toward the highway.

People and cars came and went, but no one paid them much attention. They were just another couple of strangers in an area swarming with vacationers. They walked steadily uphill for half an hour, and then settled onto a wooden bench while Rianna called Sullivan.

“The call’s being forwarded,” she said. “He’s probably not home from the office yet.”

Kyle leaned his head closer so that he could hear any conversation, but the move brought his face disturbingly close to hers. Close enough that he could smell the flowery scent of her shampoo. His pulse reacted, and then he heard the click of a connection.

“Sullivan.”

“It’s Phantom,” said Rianna.

“You and Tremont okay?”

“We’re fine,” said Kyle. “How’s everything on your end? Is Gregory behind bars?”

Sullivan’s tone was grim. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” they demanded in unison.

“The district attorney got the indictment, but we’re waiting on a search warrant for his estate. As soon as we have it, we’ll arrest him. I don’t want to give him an opportunity to have evidence destroyed. We want to take him and his cohorts by surprise, or they’ll go into hiding behind a bunch of high-priced lawyers.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” said Tremont.

“Is there anything I should look for besides his business records?”

“My suite of rooms is on the northeast corner of the house,” explained Rianna. “The closet has a circular clothes rack with a center section portioned off for shoes. That’s where you’ll find the videotapes I couldn’t smuggle out with me. There should be five. It’s important that you keep the one labeled ‘Party.’ The rest can be turned in to the agency.”

“Why should I keep any of them? You know it won’t be valid evidence unless it’s legally confiscated during the search.”

“It’s not part of the evidence,” she insisted. “It’s personal and so important, Donald. You have to get all the tapes and keep that one for me. Don’t trust another soul with it.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Promise?”

“On my life,” he assured her, then added, “We’re going to get him.”

Kyle felt Rianna relax, only then realizing how tense she’d been during the conversation. His curiosity about her just went up a couple more notches. What kind of tape had she hidden? Was it personally incriminating? Maybe an x-rated video of the two of them? The thought made his gut clench.

He supposed it could be some kind of weird or deviant game Haroldson played. Maybe he’d taped her without her knowledge, or in a compromising situation. She wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands. The idea made him furious.

His voice held a low throb of anger as he spoke to Sullivan. “We’ve got to go. What next?”

“Stay low and call again tomorrow about the same time. I should have good news by then.”

“Is Haroldson still proclaiming that his fiancée’s been kidnapped?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t have to disclose Rianna’s identity. Someone tipped the press off to another possibility.”

“What possibility?”

“That Haroldson’s fiancée wasn’t kidnapped, but ran off with her lover. A much younger man.”

Kyle tilted his head enough to lock gazes with Rianna. He watched her eyes darken at the suggestion, and then she lowered her lashes to hide her reaction.

The ploy amused him, easing some of the tightness in his chest. “You wouldn’t have been responsible for that bit of gossip, would you?”

Sullivan’s response was all innocence. “I’m just doing my part to keep my FBI buddies in North Carolina informed. And you know how the media always jumps on every new angle.”

Kyle smiled and glanced at Rianna again. She looked equally pleased by Sullivan’s tactics.

“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control. We’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

Rianna said goodbye and closed the phone. Then she looked up at him. “Is there someone you’d like to call?”

He shook his head, wondering if anyone aside from Sullivan worried about her. During his years at the agency, he had found it impossible to sustain close relationships, but then, he’d always been a loner.

Except for Margie. Friends who had tolerated long absences were rare, but Margie had understood and been a true friend. He’d never forgive himself for not being there when his partner needed him most. On that last fatal assignment.

All the more reason to see that Haroldson rotted in hell.

“We’d better get back to the boat,” he said.

Kyle studied their surroundings as they retraced their path to the dock. When the path narrowed, Rianna took the lead. She stepped around a rock, and he accidentally bumped into her, but they quickly severed the contact.

One touch was enough to stir his imagination. He’d fought to suppress the mental image of her on that chaise—her lush body glistening in the sunshine and clothed in nothing but a few narrow strips of cloth.

Her breasts had been plump, their peaks beading into fat buttons when he’d teased them with water. Her mouth, so eager and responsive. God, what a luscious mouth. He could have feasted on it for hours.

And her legs.

Kyle stared at her backside when she stepped ahead of him again. Her hips were slim but nicely rounded. She had long, well-toned legs. Great legs. He could still feel the strength of her thighs wrapped around him, and the heat of her body arching against his. He’d almost lost it completely.

He had never wanted a woman more, had never wanted to bury himself in someone and claim full possession. He wasn’t the possessive type. Never had been. He’d never experienced such a fierce desire to conquer and possess. Not until this morning, and Rianna.

Need still clawed through him, but there’s no way he’d act on it now. The timing was all wrong. She might have been as hot as he’d been, but she hadn’t minced words when she’d wanted to shoot him down. Her panicked “no” had been as subtle as a knee to the groin.

They boarded the houseboat with no more than a passing nod to a couple of strangers. Everybody had their own agenda and nobody had the time or inclination to chat, which worked in their favor. Blending into the crowd had never been more satisfying.

“You want to take it out this time?” he asked, after making a quick security check through the houseboat.

“Sure.”

Rianna preceded him into the cabin and took a seat behind the wheel. She started the engine while he untied the mooring ropes. Then she slowly steered them through the maze of docks and boat traffic until they were in the main waterway again.

“My turn to cook.” He joined her in the cabin area and helped himself to another cookie. They were delicious. “What’ll it be?”

“What can you cook?”

Kyle rummaged through the refrigerator. “How about some grilled pork chops and baked potatoes? I can handle that.”

“Perfect.”

They ate their meal a half-hour later after dropping anchor in another small cove. She complimented his cooking skills and ate everything on her plate. Both were careful not to make too much eye contact or broach sensitive subjects. Studied politeness became the rule of thumb.

The sky grew cloudy at dusk and a small shower kept them inside the cabin. Kyle watched a baseball game while Rianna curled up on the sofa with a book. He divided his attention between the TV and her, until the hunger in him reared its ugly head again.

By the time the rain stopped around ten o’clock, he was more than ready to escape the confines of the cabin. The sky had cleared, so he wanted a last look around the area.

“I’m going up on deck for a while.”

Rianna glanced up from her book. Then she closed it and laid it aside. “I’m getting tired, but I’d like to sit outside for a few minutes before I call it a night.”

“Grab a towel for your chair. It’ll be wet.”

He followed her up the ladder, trying hard to ignore the gentle sway of her behind and the legs that were driving him crazy. As soon as they reached the deck, he distanced himself and flopped down in one of the lounge chairs. Rianna sat in the one she’d used earlier in the day.

A silent groan rumbled in his chest at the sight of her. She appealed to him even more than she had earlier. Her cautious reserve made her all the more alluring.

“Do you have a headache?” he asked.

Rianna glanced at him with a quizzical expression. “No, why do you ask?”

“You’re rubbing the back of your neck again. I’ve seen you do it several times in the past few days. I thought maybe you suffer from tension headaches.”

“No, I just have a sore spot on my neck.”

She hesitated, making him wonder if she intended to explain or leave him in the dark. Then she continued.

“I had a weird little accident while I was at Gregory’s estate. I’m still not sure how it happened. I guess Gregory and I bumped into each other at the bottom of the stairs. I cracked the back of my head on the corner of the newel. It bled so much that it needed stitches.”

“He took you to the hospital?”

Rianna laughed softly. “When you have the kind of money and clout Gregory has, they bring the hospital to you. Some doctor friend of his rushed to the house. He administered a local anesthetic, put a couple of stitches in the back of my neck, and went on his way again. I hardly felt a thing.”

“You were never unconscious? You’re sure Haroldson wasn’t somehow responsible?”

“At first I wondered if I’d blown my cover, and he was planning to drug me or something, but he seemed genuinely concerned. He and the doctor were very solicitous.”

“Don’t you need to have the stitches removed?”

“He said they’d dissolve naturally.”

“And the cut is still hurting?”

“It doesn’t hurt, it just throbs once in a while.”

“Maybe it’s infected. Lake water is full of bacteria.”

“It’s not that sensitive. I meant to have Paulo check it when he did my hair. I forgot, but he’d have noticed if it looked red or irritated.”

“I can take a look at it in the morning if you want,” Kyle offered, knowing she wasn’t likely to ask.

“Thanks, I’ll let you know if it starts to bother me again.”

He doubted that, but let the subject drop. Looking at her and thinking about her was distracting enough. So much so that he forced himself to focus on their surroundings.

The inky sky was brilliant with its canopy of stars. Water lapped lazily against the shore, the waves rocking them in their wake. Breathing deeply, he let the warm, rain-washed freshness of the air seep into his senses.

It soothed, while arousing, creating a sensual delight and bringing his body to full, aching awareness. The kind of awareness that no amount of moonlight would soothe. He wondered if she felt it as strongly as he did.

The night was meant for loving, for oh-so-slow caresses, hot, tangled bodies, and deep, drugging kisses. But making love wasn’t on their agenda. The woman he lusted after didn’t want involvement, and had ruthlessly reminded him of that.

It might be a very long night.

Chapter 6

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Rianna heard Kyle moving around the galley as soon as the sun had peaked over the horizon. She’d slept fitfully and knew he’d been restless, too. It didn’t help to be sleeping within a few feet, wanting each other so desperately, yet knowing they dared not succumb to the attraction.

The smell of coffee drew her from her bed, just as it had the previous morning. This time, she carefully entered the galley area, making sure she didn’t collide with his hard, male body. Still, he pinned her with a probing gaze that made her heart stutter. She offered a tentative smile, and he offered a caffeine fix. By mutual agreement, they carried it to the upper deck.

After a few minutes to appreciate another new day, Kyle decided he wanted grilled fish for breakfast.

“I hate to sound negative,” she reminded, hiding her grin, “but so far, the fish seem to have eluded capture.”

He flashed her a very male frown before his eyes lit with challenge. “Maybe you think you can do better?”

Rianna chuckled, shaking her head. “I know my limitations, and I know absolutely nothing about catching fish.”

“Any reasonable, intelligent person can learn,” he taunted.

Never one to resist a challenge, she took him up on it. Then he hauled out the fishing gear and began coaching her in the basics of freshwater fishing.

The lesson involved a lot of detailed instruction, concentrated effort and good-natured banter. The attraction between them heightened with each touch of a hand, brush of a shoulder or shared laugh, yet they didn’t allow it to sabotage their pleasure.

“The fish aren’t cooperating very well, and I’m starved,” she said after an hour without success. “How about I fix some breakfast, and we put fish on the lunch menu?”

He sighed and shook his head in disgust, then offered her a rare grin. It stole her breath. His eyes were as blue as the morning sky, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it, and her stomach did a crazy little flip-flop.

Hunger. It had to be hunger, she argued to herself. A man’s eyes and smile couldn’t really make a woman’s stomach do somersaults. That only happened in the fictional world, never in real life. She’d just gone too long without food.

Her voice sounded rusty when she spoke. “How about milk, cookies and a banana or two to hold us until we catch some unsuspecting little fishes?”

“Okay by me.”

She quickly made her exit and collected some food from the galley, all the while breathing deeply and lecturing herself on the idiocy of their attraction. When she returned on deck, she was calmer and managed to ignore the tension while they shared a snack.

Shortly after they’d eaten, the fish started biting. Rianna caught two nice-size bass, and couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed the small success. She caught a third one, then turned the pole over to Kyle, who caught a couple more.

Once they had enough for a meal, they decided to call it quits. The traffic on the lake had increased, and they’d been on deck long enough. She went to the galley to get a pan of water while Kyle cleaned the fish.

When she returned, he surprised her by scooping her into his arms. “Hold your breath,” he commanded.

Not again, she thought. Sensing his tension, she didn’t bother to argue, just wrapped her arms around his neck and clung. Then they were whizzing down the slide. This time she gulped some air and prepared herself for the chilly depths. Instead of trying to fight her way free of Kyle’s grasp, she clung to him and they surfaced together.

The first thing she did after catching her breath was pound on his chest. “What the hell was that for?”

“Helicopter,” he warned as he urged her toward the shadows at the back of the boat.

They each grabbed a rung of the swim ladder and ducked out of sight. Arms and legs tangled, then they went as still as possible, making no visible waves. They watched, barely breathing, as a helicopter slowly made its way along the main body of the lake, from east to west.

“It has some sort of logo on it,” she whispered.

“It could be a television news crew. Or some kind of law enforcement ’copter.”

The helicopter flew over the center of the lake without veering from its straightforward path or coming too near their cove. It didn’t hover long in any one spot.

Kyle had her sandwiched between the boat and his big body. Rianna couldn’t move, so she finally slid her free arm around his waist and let him tread water for both of them. A shiver raced over her as her palm slid over his hard, flat stomach, but it had nothing to do with fear. She pressed herself closer, peering over his shoulder and putting her mouth near his ear.

“You don’t think we could be seen or attacked from the air, do you?” She found it hard to believe that anyone could have tracked their escape. They’d been so careful.

“Tracked maybe, but not attacked. Haroldson’s men wouldn’t be that stupid, but they could be searching by air.”

“That logo looks more like a resort emblem. The owners probably police the area, don’t they? Or maybe they’re doing some promotional tours.”

“It wouldn’t take much for Haroldson to finagle a free ride for his goons. He’s a wealthy man and could pretend to have an interest in the resort operation.”

“They probably take prospective clients out for joy rides,” she said, absently wondering how his body could be so warm in the chill of the water. Everywhere they touched, she felt the heat of him. “I’ll bet this place is impressive from the air.”

He nodded, and they watched the helicopter depart, knowing they shouldn’t move out of hiding until it could no longer be seen or heard.

As the drone of the engine faded, she became even more aware of how their bodies were entwined. The hair on his thighs tickled hers, sending little shivers of reaction over her skin. Her breasts, stomach and thighs were tightly pressed against his broad back and tight rear, stimulating every tiny nerve.

Excitement sung through her veins. This sexy renegade stirred her senses as no other man had ever done. It wouldn’t do to let him know how easily he could throw her hormones into a tizzy. She tried to ease some space between them so that he wouldn’t feel how tightly her nipples had hardened.

“I think it’s safe now,” he said, pulling free of her grasp and shoving himself clear of the boat.

Missing the feel of him the instant he moved, Rianna took a slow, deep breath. After regaining some control, she hauled herself up the ladder on legs that quivered. Kyle threatened her hard-won independence. She was beginning to care too much. So much so that his smile and his touch made her ache with longing. And he’d slipped past her emotional guard—that worried her even more.

She showered while he finished cleaning the fish, then he took his turn in the shower. Subdued, and lost in their own thoughts, they grilled their fish and shared a quiet lunch.

Shortly afterward, they pulled up anchor and headed back toward the cove where he’d found the jogging trail the previous day. Rianna contented herself with watching the speedboats, tubers and Jet Skiers who zipped by them, but she didn’t venture on deck.

By mid-afternoon, they’d dropped anchor again, and Kyle announced that he wanted to take another run. He warned her to keep her gun within reach and to listen for a return of the helicopter. They repeated the transfer of his shoes, socks and gun. She watched until he’d swum to shore, strapped the gun to his ankle and donned his socks and shoes. Then he climbed the boulders that lined the bank.

Once he’d disappeared from view, she changed into her lime-green bikini and pulled a white T-shirt over it. She’d swim and work on her tan when Kyle returned, but in the meantime, planned to finish her book while she waited.

As interesting as she found the story, she quickly grew too restless to concentrate. An instinctive edginess propelled her toward the back of the boat. It was hard to stay cooped up inside when the sunshine and water beckoned, but she knew that wasn’t the real problem. The scare this morning had her senses on high alert. She decided to watch the water traffic from the back of the boat until her partner returned.

Moving to the windowed back door, she watched one speedboat cruise by pulling two skiers. It looked like so much fun that she promised herself to try it someday. Another boat passed pulling an inflated rubber tube with two teenagers clinging to the sides and bouncing wildly. That looked like a rough ride. Laughing softly, she decided she’d have to think twice about trying that.

Two jet skiers, driving dangerously fast, went zipping by next, then a pontoon and a slow-moving houseboat. The decks were crowded with people of all ages whose laughter drifted across the water. Rianna felt a pang of envy as she remembered her own family’s carefree vacation.

What would it be like to live a normal, happy life without the constant fear of discovery? Without the need to run and hide like a criminal, always fearful? She’d given up much hope of ever knowing that particular contentment.

Love and marriage had never been part of her long-term goals. Those goals hadn’t stretched beyond bringing a murderer to justice. She wanted Gregory to pay for the death of her parents and brother. Although she loved children, she’d always feared her biological clock would run out long before she could consider a normal relationship.

As the next speedboat passed, her lungs constricted on a harsh gasp, then her pulse lurched into overdrive. The boat held four big men and not one of them had the look of a vacationer. The silhouette of one in particular looked too much like Rudy to be a coincidence.

Rianna’s survival instincts kicked in, her only thought, escape. There was no time to gather belongings other than her gun. She checked the safety and tucked it into her bikini bottoms as she raced through the boat. The last thing she heard before diving off the front deck was the sound of the speedboat throttling to turn and head back her way.

She dove deep and swam underwater, kicking and pulling with all her might. Knowing she wouldn’t have time to reach the shore and climb the bank where Kyle had gone, she headed for the outcropping of land that separated one cove from the next. If she could get around it before she was spotted, she’d have a chance.

A few minutes later, she surfaced to catch her breath and get her bearings. With the houseboat between her and the intruders, she couldn’t tell how close they’d gotten, so she dove again and swam until her lungs burned and threatened to explode. The third time she surfaced, she found herself at the edge of the neighboring cove.

With one final sprint, she rounded the bend of land and put the outcropping of solid rock between her and the speedboat. Confident they couldn’t see her now, she surfaced and began to swim across the wide stretch of water.

The sound of men shouting gave her the extra strength to drag herself ashore. Her chest heaved and her limbs trembled from exertion. Her pulse roared in her ears. Catching some much-needed air, she squeezed excess water from her hair and shirt, frantically searching the bank for a place to climb.

She cursed herself for not remembering shoes, then stumbled across the beach and started up the slippery ascent. Years of strenuous workouts paid off as every muscle in her body strained to the max. Clawing and dragging herself up the rocky bank, she reached the top in a burst of adrenaline, and then lunged between two giant boulders.

For the next few minutes, she lay sprawled, facedown where she’d fallen. The semiautomatic poked her in the stomach, still secure, yet unreliable now that it had been immersed in water. Her breathing was harsh, but she smothered the sound in the tall, thick grass while struggling to regain some strength.

Kyle.

She was going to kill him. Maybe with her bare hands. Her fists clenched at the thought. Various methods of punishment and torture drifted through her mind, gradually replacing the terror she’d just experienced.

How could he have betrayed her?

There was no other explanation for the timely arrival of Gregory’s men; no possible way they could have tracked her down. Grinding her teeth in frustration, she wondered if she’d been a fool to trust him.

Her heart felt cold and heavy, clutched in a viselike pain, he’d been the rare exception to her longtime rule of not letting anyone get too close. She’d started to care for him.

Had it all been an elaborate scheme? His disgust for Gregory, his concern for her safety, and all the cautions he’d suggested? She didn’t want to think she could be so wrong about someone, but she intended to find out for sure.

Lifting her head, she searched the immediate area for the jogging path he’d described. At least that part of his story was true. She saw a path and let her gaze travel to where it disappeared into a line of trees. Her pulse had begun to quiet, but it went berserk again when she caught sight of him about a hundred yards distant.

He ran at a slow, steady pace, his arms and legs moving with an economy of motion. His body glistened with sweat, and his chest heaved gently. Rianna’s pulse skipped another few beats. He looked so normal, so sexy and so damn unconcerned.

She frowned. Could he be that good an actor? If he’d brought them here, why hadn’t he just disappeared? He looked so natural, as though he’d been enjoying a carefree run. Why hadn’t he just kept running toward the marina? Did he plan to help them trap her, or continue his vacation after she’d been hauled away?

Or could he be as much a victim as she?

Rising slowly to her feet, she reached under her T-shirt and locked her hand around the gun. It might not work, but neither of them could be sure of that. At least for now, she had the upper hand.

Kyle had covered most of the distance between them before she stepped clear of the boulder and into his line of view. He stopped immediately, his features tightening in concern. His gaze dropped to the gun and then back to her strained expression.

“What the hell?”

“You tell me,” said Rianna as she leveled the Glock at his midsection and flipped the safety off. She braced her right hand with her left, and her attention never wavered from his face. She desperately wanted to believe his confusion was genuine, but her life depended on caution. She couldn’t let her heart rule reason.

“Why’d you leave the boat?” he asked, panting as he tried to catch his breath. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got company.”

Kyle’s gaze swiftly flew toward the embankment, searching for the intruders. After aiming a blank glance at her, he headed to the bank above the cove where they’d left the boat. He turned his back to her without hesitation, as though she didn’t present any real threat. Or, like her, he realized she couldn’t afford to fire and alert anyone to her whereabouts.

Rianna gritted her teeth, clutched the gun and called herself a fool, but went with her instincts. If Kyle had any knowledge of the ambush, he deserved an Oscar. He looked genuinely surprised and worried.

Moving from boulder to boulder along the bank, he stayed hidden and waved her to stay back. She ignored the unspoken order and followed until they were directly above the cove where they’d anchored. From their vantage point, they could see the houseboat without being visible from the water.

The speedboat had pulled alongside their boat. Two men stayed on the smaller craft while two others searched the houseboat. Rianna recognized Rudy and another of Gregory’s employees, by the name of Tabone.

“Nowhere in sight, but they were here.” Rudy’s voice carried to them. “Search everything, Tabone.”

They watched as he moved onto the front deck and did a visual search of the cove. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and waved it in front of him. At first, Rianna thought it might be a gun, but then she thought it looked more like a cell phone. She just couldn’t figure why he’d be waving it around.

Kyle touched her arm, urging her to back away from the rock barriers. It wasn’t likely that anyone could see them, but they cautiously retraced their steps until they’d returned to the jogging path.

“What did he have?” she finally whispered. Still not sure he could be trusted, she kept the gun leveled at his midsection.

He studied the gun and then her features, his jaw tight and expression grim. “Use it or put it away,” he demanded tersely.

Tension quivered between them until she slowly flipped the safety on the gun and tucked it back into her swimsuit.

He grabbed her arm and started pulling her along the path to a clump of trees. “He’s got some kind of electronic tracking device.”

It made sense, but it didn’t make sense. “That would work if he had a signal to follow, but there’s no way. How the hell did they find us? Even if they traced our call to Donald, that wouldn’t have given our exact location. This place is huge!”

“They have to be honing in on a direct signal.”

“That’s not possible. I checked everything I brought out of the estate. Nobody knew where the car was garaged, so they couldn’t have bugged it,” she insisted, thinking aloud. “I mailed all the jewelry to Maine. Everything else I brought with me is on the boat, so they’d have found the bug when they boarded. It doesn’t fit.”

Kyle’s expression grew grimmer, his eyes going cold and hard while his jaws clenched. “Unless it’s on you,” he said.

She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, and liked his suggestion even less. “Where?” she demanded in a frustrated whisper. “I’m barely dressed, and I know there’s no bug in my gun. I’m not wearing any jewelry, and I haven’t even had a cavity filled since I met Gregory.”

“What if it’s implanted under your skin?” he suggested, studying her intently.

Rianna froze, eyes widening in horror. A terrible chill raced over her, freezing, and then numbing her with shock. Her lungs constricted painfully, her throat growing so tight that she could barely whisper the next questions.

“How? Where?”

He pulled her close and spun her around. Then he lifted the hair off the back of her neck and looked at her nape. His voice held a feral snarl when he finally spoke.

“What if your weird accident wasn’t an accident at all? What if Haroldson had a device implanted in your neck? It wouldn’t have to be very big,” he added, running a finger lightly over the stitches.

Rianna’s stomach roiled. It made sense, and it explained the strange accident. She slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming in outrage and denial. Her body became one giant tremor, shaking her to the very core.

“It’s possible,” she whispered gruffly. “It sounds like something he’d do. He’s fanatic about his possessions and that’s what he considered me. He has no morals and no conscience.”

Kyle muttered a string of vicious obscenities, and then jerked her around to face him. He gave her a fierce hug that helped soften some of her shock, but it was way too brief. A tracking devise was beyond her worst nightmare, and she was badly shaken.

“We’ve got to get away from here.” His warm breath touched her ear. “Right now, we’re shielded by those boulders. The signal probably can’t penetrate them, but as soon as they come over that embankment, they’ll be able to pinpoint our location.”

“What can we do?” she asked, knowing what a wild animal must feel like to be pinned in the headlights of a car.

Kyle was already reaching for the gun at his ankle. He unfastened the strap and then whipped it around her neck, positioning the gun over the scar on her nape.

“We run for it. Hopefully, the metal of the gun will interfere with the signal until we come up with a better solution.”

As soon as he’d secured the holster around her neck, he turned to lead the way. Rianna relegated the sick terror of a body invasion to the back of her mind. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on this latest atrocity. Survival came first.

They’d only gone a short distance before she realized an additional handicap. “I’m barefoot,” she called softly to Kyle.

He stopped abruptly, turned and stared down at her bare feet. “You can’t run this path like that. There’re too many sticks and rocks. You’ll have to ride piggyback.”

She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. He’d already been jogging for an hour. She was way too heavy to carry, and reluctant to be totally dependent on him. Remembering the last time she’d wrapped her legs around him, she panicked briefly, then latched on to the first lame excuse that leapt to mind.

“You smell like dirty socks.”

He looked stunned by the inanity of her comment. Then his eyes softened in understanding. “You smell like dead fish,” he countered gently. “Now, get on.”

She grimaced and conceded, knowing they were wasting precious time. He turned and leaned down so she could hop onto his back. Then he hefted her up until he had a firm grip on her thighs. She wrapped her arms around his upper chest, trying not to strangle him.

He ran deeper into the woods and splashed through a shallow stream of water, then followed it long enough to throw off anyone who tried to track them on foot. After they’d traveled a mile or so, he moved back toward the regular path, then stayed parallel with it without actually using it.

Rianna ducked her head to avoid low-hanging branches for a while, and then buried her face against his neck. He smelled of sweat and man. The heat of him scorched her inner thighs, belly and chest, making her extremely aware of every hard, muscled inch of his body. His pulse became hers as it pounded rapidly through his veins. It was an experience unlike anything she’d ever known.

“How far do you plan to run?” she whispered in his ear.

“Another few miles.”

“You can’t carry me that far!”

Kyle slowed, and then stopped just before a clearing with several cabins. He let Rianna slide to the ground. She sat still, watching him closely while he struggled to catch his breath.

“We have two choices,” he finally said. “We can try to make it to the marina and hot-wire the car, or we can hide out for a while in one of the deserted cabins around here.”

“There’s a key to the car hidden under the right front bumper, but we can’t risk going after it,” she said.

“Why?”

“If Rudy searched the houseboat, he found the marina rental receipt. It has the car’s license number. He’ll go there next and either have it watched or plant something worse than a bug.”

Kyle swore, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “We can’t hitch a ride while that gun’s strapped to your neck, so we’ll have to hide. I’ve seen a couple of cabins that don’t look inhabited right now.”

“You can leave me and hitch a ride to town to find some transportation.”

“No!” His response was harsh. He glared at her. “We stay together. Rudy and his men will have to split up if they search the whole area. As long as we’re together, one man at a time isn’t a threat. We’ll go to a cabin and formulate a new plan.”

Rianna didn’t argue. She didn’t want to part ways with him, yet she wondered at his motives. Did he have his own agenda for keeping her safe? Some unknown reason for not wanting her out of his sight? The answers weren’t forthcoming, so she nudged the questions to the back of her mind. She’d worked solo for too long and didn’t want to go it alone anymore.

“The path goes behind that group of cabins. I didn’t see anyone around earlier, but we should try to walk past like we’re taking a stroll. Since you’re barefoot, we’ll go slow.”

She nodded and fell into step beside him until they’d covered the short distance across the clearing. Once they were out of sight of the rental cabins, Kyle leaned down and hefted her onto his back once more.

“You’re going to owe me a serious rubdown,” he insisted, picking up his pace again.

Rianna smiled against his neck, and unconsciously tightened her grip on him. She’d reserve judgment about what she owed him. She still hadn’t decided whether it would be a debt of gratitude or slow torture. Come to think of it, a full-body massage might fit the bill in either case.

Kyle left the path and veered deeper into the woods, plunging them from dappled sunlight into near darkness. He slowed down to a walk as they encountered heavier vegetation.

“Are you sure there’s a cabin up here? How’d you find this place?”

“I’ve seen several isolated cabins, and figure they’re privately owned. I followed a doe and fawn through the woods here,” he explained. “They led me to the cabin with a salt-lick in the yard. Looks deserted.”

He breathed deeply from exertion, and she felt every intake of breath like her own. His muscles flexed and her nerves jangled. Never having experienced such an intense physical connection, the feel of it defied description.

The small log cabin stood buried in a cluster of tall evergreens. Covered in ivy, the whole structure was nearly hidden from view. He jogged around the right side to a small back porch, and then stopped to let her slide off his back.

“You’re sure nobody’s living here?”

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a while. Maybe someone only uses it a couple of weeks a year.”

“Let’s just hope this isn’t their week.”

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed. He searched the door and a small window frame for a spare key, but couldn’t find one. “I hate to break in if we don’t have to.”

She helped to search, overturning rocks and looking under a loose wooden plank in the porch. Kyle reached above them and felt along the rafters of the roof, while she looked in and under a collection of flowerpots.

“Look!” she exclaimed.

Chapter 7

Rianna held up a key she had found under a dried fern in a clay pot. Kyle took it and ordered her to stay put while he checked the house. She reached for her gun and followed him through the narrow door. It didn’t take long to establish that the cabin didn’t hold any surprises. There were only two sections, a living room with a small kitchenette and a small bedroom with an even smaller bathroom.

Except for some dust and a cobweb or two, the inside of the cabin appeared neat and well cared for. The furnishings were serviceable rather than fashionable, but with homey touches like dried flower arrangements. A stone fireplace took up one entire end of the living room area.

“Not bad,” said Kyle, after checking the kitchen cupboards. “It’s stocked with nonperishables.”

Rianna headed to the bedroom. “I hope the owners left some clothes here.” She opened the closet and found a collection of outerwear that wasn’t of much use, but the canvas tennis shoes thrilled her. Her feet hurt.

The dresser drawers offered a change of clothing. “Looks like this place belongs to a married couple. There’s a mix of clothing,” she told him as he followed her into the room.

“What sizes?”

“Large men’s and medium women’s. We should be okay. I think our absent host and hostess might be a little heavier than we are, but not so much that we can’t borrow a few things.”

“It might not hurt to add a little padding around our waists. Any disguise will help.”

She agreed. The elastic on the sweatpants would stretch for extra cushioning.

“I think we should shower, eat and head out again,” she said. “If we can get a ride to town, we can pick up money at the post office, pay for some transportation, and be miles from here before Rudy spreads out his search.”

“You don’t think it would be safer to hole up here overnight and head to town tomorrow?”

Rianna thought about spending another night like the last, trying to sleep, yet too achingly aware of her roommate. It wouldn’t be wise to invite more intimacy. Besides, neither of them would rest knowing Rudy might find them at any minute.

Then there was the electronic bug buried under her skin. Her teeth clenched in anger at the thought. She wanted it out as soon as possible.

“It’ll be a risk to leave, but more of a risk to stay. If you found this cabin, there’s a chance Gregory’s men will, too. I’d rather take our chances in town. We can appeal to the local sheriff, if necessary.”

“Okay. I’ll get the generator running and then get that gun off your neck.”

Rianna touched her nape. The gun felt cold and heavy against her tender skin. “What can we do?”

“If I cut off the bulk of the holster, the gun can be replaced with a butter knife. It won’t be pretty, but it shouldn’t attract attention.”

“Chokers are all the rage,” she muttered grimly, “but I don’t know about knife blades.” Then another idea had her heading back to the kitchen area.

“We’ll have to leave a big tip for our hosts.” She snatched a little notepad from the refrigerator. “This is magnetic. A magnet would really scramble the signal, wouldn’t it?”

“Good idea,” agreed Kyle as he followed her. “We should try to pay for what we take, but all my cash is on the boat. How about you?”

His gaze slid down her body to the juncture of her thighs, making her pulse leap and her flesh tingle. She shifted her legs and responded gruffly.

“Always. I told you I never travel without cash.”

“How much?”

Kyle’s voice had dropped an octave. His gaze returned to her face. They stared at each other for a few tense minutes, and then made a concerted effort to shake off the sensual tension caused by his intimate perusal.

“A few hundred. Enough for a couple of days’ food and lodging.”

“So we don’t need what you mailed to yourself in Somerset?” he asked.

“It all depends on how long we have to keep running. My stash won’t stretch for transportation.”

“How much did you leave in Somerset?”

“Several thousand, plus another phony ID.”

He sighed. “Okay, I guess we go there next.”

Dusk had fallen by the time they’d showered, changed into the borrowed clothing and eaten a cold, canned meal. Rianna had rinsed the lake water from her bikini, but wore the swimsuit under the sweats. She didn’t want to be without her special storage pouch, and her hostess’s bras were too big.

She’d kept her back to the brick fireplace while Kyle redesigned her leather necklace. It was far from attractive, yet not awful enough to draw unwanted attention. By the time they left the cabin, they looked like an average married couple in slightly creased casual wear and running shoes.

The trek through the woods was slow going—progress was made a few cautious yards at a time. Once they reached the main road, they hailed a teenager in a battered pickup truck. He worked at the marina, but his shift had ended, so he happily accepted twenty dollars to drive them to Somerset.

Rianna spent the ride squeezed between the two of them. The truck’s gearshift was on the floor, so she had to lean against Kyle to avoid bumping it with her leg. He slid an arm across the back of the seat to give her room, but that made her feel more trapped. Every curve in the winding road had her pressing into him, and the feel of his hard body kept hers singing with excitement.

They reached the southern edge of town shortly before eleven. Kyle helped her from the truck, but she quickly withdrew her hand from his grasp. They thanked their new friend and bade him farewell, then Kyle reached for her again.

“We’d better keep our hands free for weapons,” she insisted, pulling from his grip.

A lift of his brow questioned her response and the evasive action. They’d swapped guns, wrapped them in towels and secured them around their waists. The sweats didn’t have pockets, but the belly pouches gave them a place to hide the weapons while adding a few inches to their waistlines. Kyle didn’t argue, he just placed his left hand to the back of her waist and guided her into the shadows.

“I’ve heard of rolling up the sidewalks at dark, but I think this town really does it,” said Rianna.

“It’s a work night for most people,” he added, leading her toward the post office. The occasional streetlight helped illuminate their path, yet left enough shadowy corners to make them wary.

“We’d better not go into the post office together,” she said as they drew closer to their destination.

Kyle agreed. “I’ll circle around back and come up the alley on the other side.”

Rianna watched him disappear, her stomach sinking in an indescribable fashion. She shook her head in amazement. When and how had she let herself get so attached to the man? It was stupid to feel bereft without him by her side.

Surveying the street, she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so she made her way to the end of the block. The post office lobby was empty. She collected her package, and then returned the key through the drop slot. Tucking the envelope into her makeshift belly pack, she headed outside again.

After another quick glance up and down the street, she turned toward the shadowed alley. Suddenly, all the fine hairs on her arms and neck started tingling. Rianna tensed, deciding someone aside from Kyle was causing her alarm.

She didn’t react fast enough. A giant arm slammed her body against an equally solid chest. She felt the barrel of a gun pressing against her neck and immediately recognized her captor’s voice.

“Well, well, sweet Samantha. Nice to see you again.”

Rianna’s heart rammed against her ribs, and sweat dampened her skin. She went perfectly still, barely able to breathe as Rudy’s arm tightened around her arms and chest. He held her in a bruising grip—evidence that he was furious with her. She’d made a fool of him, and men in his position didn’t take that lightly.

Despite his size, he moved with the speed and agility of a martial arts expert. She’d seen him work out in the gym, and knew he wouldn’t be easily overpowered or outmaneuvered.

“Where’s lover boy, Tony?”

He slowly nudged her forward, and she saw a dark vehicle parked a few yards down the alley.

“We decided to split up.”

“Mr. Haroldson will be sorry to hear that. He was hopin’ to have you both back home real soon.”

An involuntary shiver raced through her at the thought. Rudy must have felt it, and he gave a bark of laughter. “You got that right, honey. You best be shakin’ in your shoes. Mr. Haroldson’s real upset.”

Rianna briefly wondered if Gregory had been arrested. It should have happened today, but they’d had no way to call and check. It didn’t seem likely, with Rudy still on the loose.

What could possibly have gone wrong? As far as she knew, Rudy was to be arrested along with several other members of Gregory’s staff.

They reached the car, a small Jeep, and he shoved her against the back door on the passenger side. He pressed himself against her in a deliberate attempt to humiliate. His laughter had a lewd edge as he breathed heavily in her ear.

“I sure hope the boss lets me have a go at you, little slut,” he said, thrusting his hips against her and grinding them in a disgusting attempt to demean her. “I always thought it was a waste to keep you in that big house with nobody gettin’ any of this sweet body.”

Another shudder of revulsion coursed through her. The touch of his body sickened her, but she forced herself not to panic. Rudy would never disobey orders, and she was relatively sure Gregory hadn’t given him permission to manhandle her.

At least, not yet.

Where the hell was Kyle? Would he be coming to her rescue? He could be trusted, she sincerely believed that, but she wasn’t used to depending on anyone. What if he’d been jumped by another of Gregory’s men?

“Open the door,” Rudy ordered.

He eased his grip on her enough to allow her to reach the handle. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of metal connecting with bone. Rudy grunted, his grip went slack, and she felt him falling to the ground.

“You okay?” asked Kyle.

She was trembling from head to foot, and leaned against the car for support. In the next instant, Kyle’s arms were pulling her close. Rianna didn’t resist the offer of comfort. She slid her hands around his waist and clung, feeling relieved, yet guilty for having doubted him again.

“Did he hurt you?” His tone sounded low and gruff in her ear.

She shivered again, but with a whole different emotion. Relief surged through her, accompanied by a needy, hopeful feeling that alarmed her. She eased from his grip.

“I’m okay,” she insisted, shaking off the momentary weakness. “It sounded like you cracked his skull.”

“Not that hard head. He’ll be awake and fighting mad in a few minutes. Let’s get him tied up.”

“With what?”

“Check the car.”

While Rianna searched the car, Kyle searched Rudy’s pockets. He found the car keys, a cell phone and the electronic tracking device Rudy had used to locate her.

“Nothing in the car.”

“He’s wearing high-top boots. We’ll use his bootlaces.”

They each grabbed a foot and began unlacing Rudy’s boots. Then they rolled him onto his stomach, tied his hands behind his back and secured his feet. Rudy groaned, prompting Kyle to check his head and his breathing.

“He’s not bleeding. He has a goose egg, and his breathing is fine. He’ll live.”

“What now? Leave him here? Take him to the police? The emergency room?”

“Help me roll him to the side of the alley so he won’t get run over,” he said. They half lifted, half dragged the big man off the concrete. “We’ll leave him and put some distance between us before we call the authorities. Then they can deal with him.”

“Maybe there’s a warrant out for his arrest,” added Rianna. “If Gregory’s been arrested, there should be warrants out for Rudy and Tabone, too.”

They moved back to the car. Kyle automatically headed for the driver’s side, so Rianna climbed into the passenger seat.

“Think it’s safe to take his car? It could be bugged,” she said.

“It’s got rental tags,” he reassured her as the engine roared to life. “They wouldn’t have had a reason to bug it.”

“Probably not.” She pulled her seat belt into place. “But Tabone and the others can recognize it, so we’ll have to find something else.”

“Later,” he insisted. “First thing we have to do is find a hospital and get that metal out of your neck. I’ve got Rudy’s tracking device, but there could be others.”

“There’s a regional hospital near here. As anxious as I am to have this thing removed, I’d feel more comfortable if we headed north a while before we stop.”

Kyle glanced toward her, then back to the road. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure I don’t want any more confrontations tonight.”

The brief brush with Rudy had made her physically ill. She’d never expected such a violent physical and emotional reaction. It still had her shaken, and that scared her senseless.

How could she bear to go back and face them? Even for a trial? She loathed everything and everybody associated with Gregory Haroldson. The loathing had deepened over the past few months. It wasn’t until she’d been free of it that she’d realized how profoundly the assignment had traumatized her.

“Lexington’s a couple of hours north,” said Kyle, glancing at her again. “You sure you’re okay?”

She sensed his concern, but couldn’t begin to explain her emotional turmoil. Hugging herself to ward off the deep-seated chill, she answered in what she hoped was a convincing tone.

“I’m fine.”

“You cold?”

“A little.”

He turned on the heat even though the temperature in the Jeep was plenty warm. The small, sensitive action made Rianna feel weepy and confused. She blinked back tears and stared out the windshield as they left the lights of town behind them.

Darkness settled around them as they hit the open highway. Her thoughts churned along with the echo of tires on the road. Memories of the months spent in Gregory’s home kept whirring through her mind like a movie reel, making her more and more agitated.

She’d taken on a phony identity for a noble cause. But no matter how she tried to rationalize her actions, she still felt cheapened by all the pretense and deceit. She’d become someone she neither knew nor liked. Somewhere along the path to justice, she’d lost herself, and it scared the hell out of her.

Despite the warmth of the car, she could quell neither the chills coursing through her nor the sick rolling in her stomach. Each passing mile brought a more frantic need to run and hide. Not just from Gregory, but from life and all the emotional upheaval that went with it.

She’d known going into the assignment that the risks amounted to a lot more than physical danger. She’d been repeatedly lectured by Donald and warned by the psychologists. She’d read all the data and known what to expect.

So why didn’t any of it comfort her now? Why were her hands as cold as ice? Why couldn’t she steady the shaky, queasy feeling of shock?

They’d been traveling for less than an hour when Kyle slowed the car, pulled to the side of the road and shut off the engine. The unexpected action jarred Rianna out of her silent misery. She glanced around them, seeing nothing but shadows beyond the highway, and then she turned to stare at Kyle.

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding and then relaxing. Next he unclipped his seat belt and hers, reaching to gather her into his arms. The instant she realized he was offering comfort, she launched herself at him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she clung to him as though her next breath depended on the contact.

His arms tightened in response. He pulled her across his lap as she pressed closer, burying her face in the curve of his shoulder. He felt hard and wonderfully solid, his sweatshirt damp from the excessive heat in the car. He’d sacrificed his comfort to try to soothe her, and that made her feel even more pathetic.

He hugged her tightly, his warmth permeating deep into her bones, chasing away the coldness. A sob clawed at her throat, and a tremor shook her as she battled her personal demons.

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, rubbing his face against her hair. “I should have gotten to you sooner. I wanted to make sure none of the others were near, but I shouldn’t have let Rudy touch you.”

She shook her head in denial. “It’s not just Rudy,” she said, although his repulsive treatment had triggered her reactions. “It’s the whole dirty business.”

“Yeah, I know.”

His low, soothing tone seeped into her ear and her heart. She realized that he really did understand.

“It’s okay,” he added, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re just crashing a little. Don’t be scared.”

Rianna knew he’d experienced similar situations. Still, she tried to explain. “For a little while, on the boat,” she whispered roughly, “I felt so clean and normal.”

“I know.”

Suddenly, she needed to let it all out, to get the terrible secrets off her mind. “I loved the power and adrenaline of living the lie, but I hate myself for feeling anything but disgust. I want Gregory punished, yet I wonder if I’m any better than him with all the lies and deceit.”

“There’s no doubt about that,” he assured, gently stroking her back. “Bringing him down means avenging a lot of people and saving a lot more.”

“I know. I keep telling myself that, over and over again,” she whispered. “I know what I did was important, personally and professionally. It just makes me sick. All of it. The games, the deception, the running and hiding. I just want it to be done.”

Kyle nuzzled her neck, still speaking quietly and calmly in her ear. “The psychologists warned you, didn’t they?”

She nodded, rubbing her head against his, soothed by the contact. “I know all the psychological explanations. It’s just harder to deal with the reality of it.”

“Yeah,” he gruffly agreed. “It’s harder. Especially as deep as you infiltrated.”

Rianna felt the increased tension in his body and hugged him even harder. She stopped wallowing in self-pity long enough to wonder what he felt and thought about her assignment. She’d let him believe she’d slept with a murderer and thief.

A heavy dose of guilt assailed her. Kyle had done nothing but help and protect her, yet she’d constantly doubted him and his motives. She’d deceived him by letting him believe a lie, and she’d used that lie to protect her own cowardly fear of involvement. It was past time to level with him, and risk a deeper involvement.

“I was inside the operation, but not as deep as you think,” she confessed in a small voice. “Gregory and I were never lovers.”

Kyle stiffened, and then eased her away until they could see each other. Moonlight bathed his taut features.

“Explain.”

Rianna flattened her hands on his chest and dropped her gaze from the intensity of his. “Gregory’s main interest in me was social status. I made it clear from the beginning that I wouldn’t have sex until after we were married. He agreed, and kept his end of the bargain.”

“He just wanted a pretense of normalcy?”

“Yes.”

She dared a glance at him, but he looked even more fierce.

“So you didn’t actually prostitute yourself for the assignment?” he growled, lifting her off his lap and putting some space between them.

His words stung, and her breathing stilled. Her next words were hard to get past the dryness in her throat. “That’s what you think of me? That I’m some kind of whore who’d use my body to gather evidence?”

“You tell me what to think.”

Rianna felt a small surge of anger, but it was quickly squelched. Sadness and regret followed. As much as she wanted his unconditional respect, she couldn’t blame him for thinking the worst. She’d encouraged everyone to believe it.

“Gregory and I had a pact. He wanted a society wife, and I pretended to be penniless. That gained me entrance to his estate.”

Kyle’s gaze never wavered. He stared at her with unblinking intensity. “You’re saying you never slept with him?”

“Never.” The thought nauseated her. “He has a mistress. She’s just not suitable wife material.”

“Damn!”

His curse echoed loud and long as he continued to glare at her. She could almost feel him struggling with the truth. A myriad of expressions crossed his features—first shock and disbelief, then relief, and then renewed anger.

“We’ve been living in each other’s pockets for the past few days, and you knew it bugged the hell out of me,” he growled. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

She was silent for a minute as she studied his tense expression. Then she warily made another confession. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

He rubbed his jaw and stared out the windshield. Rianna held her breath, wondering if she’d completely alienated him with her honesty. When moments passed without any comment, she settled back into her seat and fastened the seat belt.

Kyle fastened his seat belt and reached for Rudy’s cell phone. He handed it to her before starting the Jeep and pulling back onto the highway. His attitude didn’t invite further confidences.

“Better call directory assistance and get the number for the Somerset police,” he said. “Tell them where to find Rudy and that there might be a warrant for his arrest.”

“What if he tells them we attacked him and stole the car? They might put out a warrant for us.”

“He can’t risk involving more law enforcement agencies. His only recourse right now is silence.”

Rianna got the number and called the police department. She identified herself as FBI Agent Mary Sullivan, and gave them her shield number. Then she explained her belief that a wanted criminal could be located in the alley near the post office. She added a warning that Rudy was extremely dangerous and might have cohorts in the area.

“Done,” she said as she clicked off the connection.

“Did he sound podunk or professional?”

“He sounded skeptical, but intelligent and willing to follow through.”

Next, she dialed Sullivan’s private number. He answered after the first ring.

“What the hell took you so long to call?”

His impatience brought a smile to Rianna’s lips. “We’ve been a little busy.” She briefly outlined their escape from the boat, the electronic bug and the run-in with Rudy.

“He’s still tied up in an alley?”

“I just reported him to the Somerset Police Department. You might want to call them and corroborate my story. There is a warrant for his arrest, isn’t there?”

“Damn straight. And we have Haroldson behind bars.” His tone held deep satisfaction. “He’s been denied bail, at least for right now. I’m hoping the bulk of evidence will prevent any judge from releasing him, but you can bet his lawyers are working overtime to get him freed.”

“Yes!” she shouted, feeling a rush of triumph. She turned to Kyle and repeated the good news. “He’s behind bars and denied bail!” Of Sullivan, she asked, “You found the videotapes?”

“All of them, plus a few more stashed in the hidden safe you told me about. The evidence is damning and indisputable.”

“You’re being especially careful?”

“I swear on my life. He’s not gonna slip through any legal loopholes. We’ve got him, and he’s gonna pay, thanks to you.”

“No.” Rianna shook her head, thinking about her father and all the others who’d lost their lives. “Not just me. So many people gave so much. They all deserve credit.”

“Where are you now?”

She glanced at Kyle, wondering how much to say over the phone. “I’m not on a secure phone. We took this one from Rudy, so I’d better leave details ’til later. When do you need me in D.C.?”

“We’ll need depositions as soon as possible. You know the drill. I’d like to get started Monday. Make your way back to the summer place this weekend, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Stay safe,” Sullivan insisted, then broke the connection.

Rianna closed the phone and set it on the seat between her and Kyle. She briefly repeated the conversation to him even though he’d heard her end of it.

“Where’s the summer place?”

“He has a cabin about an hour from D.C.”

“You’ve been there?”

She shot a glance at him. His expression hadn’t softened, and he sounded disgusted again. “I know how to get there.” Her answer might not satisfy him, but she didn’t want to deal with any more issues tonight.

Realizing she’d gotten really warm, she shut off the heater. “You can open a window if you want. I’m fine now.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” She tugged at the strap around her throat. “I’m hot now and this stupid collar is starting to strangle me. Where are we, anyway?”

She desperately wanted to believe they could outrun Gregory’s lethal pursuit and make it to somewhere, anywhere safe.

Chapter 8

The ER doctor in Lexington ordered Kyle out of the room when he got ready to operate on Rianna, but Kyle refused to budge. He wouldn’t leave her. Not even for a minute.

The last time he’d let her out of his sight, Rudy had grabbed her. He’d died a thousand deaths while that gun barrel was pressed against her face, and never wanted to feel that kind of fear again. Especially since the short-lived incident had triggered a violent reaction in her. She’d been handling her extraction from the undercover assignment in a safe, gradual manner until that point.

The doctor hadn’t put up much of an argument once he’d introduced himself as Rianna’s federal bodyguard. Fortunately, the doc had been so appalled by the implant that he’d removed it without asking a lot of questions. They’d gotten by with a minimum of detail.

The procedure only required local anesthetic and a couple of new stitches. The operation was over in less than an hour with the whole visit charged to the FBI through Rianna’s real bureau identification, Mary Sullivan.

“You’re sure you feel like leaving the hospital so soon?” Kyle asked, sliding an arm around her back and guiding her out the emergency room doors. They’d decided to leave the Jeep in the hospital parking lot and hire a taxi. Tomorrow, they’d rent a different vehicle.

“I’m sure,” she said. “There’s no reason for me to stay. It’s no different than any other outpatient surgery. Besides, Gregory had the bug implanted while I was in his house.” Her tone turned caustic. “He didn’t even bother with antibiotics.”

Kyle’s hands clenched into fists. He hated the idea of that scum touching her or having any control over her, whether they’d been intimate or not.

Endangering her with a less-than-sterile surgery was just one of Haroldson’s many crimes. Inserting a foreign body so close to the base of her brain without her consent would be cause for prosecution in most people’s eyes. The man had a lifetime of atrocities to atone for.

He couldn’t think about it now. He had more immediate worries, like keeping Rianna safe. Just the thought made his gut twist. Somewhere along the line, she’d become more than an assignment; more than his need to avenge a partner’s murder; more than just a friend. He hadn’t worked it all out in his mind yet, but he was fully committed to protecting her from harm.

The taxi driver took them to a twenty-four-hour shopping mart where they had a bite to eat and bought a few necessities. Then they hired a different cab to take them to a motel on the north side of the city. It was nearing four a.m. by the time they’d registered and settled in to their room.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up first,” he told her after they’d done a complete security check, double-locking the door and window. The ground-level room was furnished in neutral tones like thousands of others in the chain—generic but clean.

“Suits me fine,” said Rianna.

Kyle could see the strain of the day’s events etched on her features. The fine skin under her eyes looked bruised and her face creased with worry lines. He had an unexpected urge to smooth away the creases and bring back her confidence.

“You’re not supposed to get those stitches wet,” he reminded, as she grabbed a shopping bag and walked into the bathroom.

“I know, and my hair’s filthy. I’ll have to improvise.”

“Need help?”

His offer was sincere, yet the vision that popped into his mind was anything but pure. His memory conjured the image of her stretched out on a deck chair, her slim, shapely body glistening in the sun. Then he mentally removed the bikini—and felt a shaft of heat between his legs.

“No, thanks. I’ll just be slow and careful.”

Her calm rejoinder was further evidence of her exhaustion. She didn’t even bother to berate him for the suggestion. Kyle smiled slightly, blocking the mental image and commanding his body to relax.

To pass the time, he sorted through the things he’d bought at the store: jeans, a couple of T-shirts and some underwear. The shoes he’d found at the cabin would be okay until he got home. He’d bought another pair of gym shorts for sleeping.

The only room available so late had been a single with a queen-size bed. That meant they’d have to share, and he’d have to make a strong effort to control his desire. A desire that had been steadily escalating since the first time he held the elusive Phantom in his arms.

Kicking off his shoes, he stretched out on the bed and grabbed the TV remote. The late-night offerings didn’t hold much appeal, but he settled on the sports network to pass the time while he waited for his turn in the bathroom.

In less than fifteen minutes, the door reopened, and Rianna came back into the room. His breath stopped at the sight of her, his muscles knotting and slow heat curling in his belly.

The sleepwear she’d picked looked like a man’s boxer shorts and a sleeveless white undershirt. It should have been plain, but not with the soft fabric molded to her damp body. She lifted an arm to adjust the towel around her head, and the action brought the shirt tight against the fullness of her breasts. She wore a bra, yet he could still see the outline of hard, round nipples.

Heat poured through him like roiling lava, slow and thick and scalding. A cloud of sweet-smelling steam engulfed him, making his muscles tighten even more, while his heart pumped a little too fast.

It would never do. They were both too tired to deal with sexual complications right now. Their relationship was too fragile, their future too unpredictable. Maybe a really cold shower would help.

Gritting his teeth, he clicked off the TV and rose from the bed. “You done in there?”

“It’s all yours, but I could use a little help first, if you don’t mind.”

Kyle moved closer. Everything about her delighted his senses, so he feasted on the closeness. He wanted to touch and taste and explore. More important, he wanted to do anything he could to help her rest and recuperate from her ordeal.

“What’s the problem?”

Her expression, though still weary, was relaxed. The delicate, freshly scrubbed features appealed to him far more than the perfectly made-up socialite demeanor. Everything about her attracted him like a magnet.

“I got my Band-Aid a little damp, so I took it off. Could you please put another one over the stitches?”

She handed him a fresh one and turned her back. His hands trembled as he applied it over the spot on her nape. Just the feel of her skin under his fingers sent erotic messages throughout his body, and had him aching for more. He dragged in a long breath, but that only served to pull her scent more deeply into his system.

“All set.” He cleared the gruffness from his throat and grabbed some clean clothes. “I won’t be long.”

In actuality, it took him fifteen minutes of frigid water to calm his rampaging desire. Then he took his time shaving, brushing his teeth and drying his hair.

He hoped Rianna would be sound asleep by the time he returned to the bedroom, but no such luck. She sat at the top of the bed with her legs curled under her. Her hair framed her face in a perfect oval, the baby-fine tresses looking shiny, clean and soft. Her shorts and top did little to conceal all her tempting curves. The sight of her elevated his temperature again, to dangerous levels.

She gave him a gentle smile that sent his blood pressure soaring with the simple innocence of it. There was nothing sexual or deliberately alluring about her manner, and he didn’t know if he liked that or not. He wanted her trust and wanted her to feel safe with him, but he didn’t want things to get too platonic between them.

“Watching anything special or ready for some shut-eye?”

“Sleep,” Rianna assured him, clicking off the television. She set the remote on the bedside table and switched off the light. Then she slid beneath the sheet.

“Okay if I sleep on the left side?”

“No problem,” he said. “I’ll leave the bathroom light on and keep the door cracked in case you have to get up during the night.”

“Thanks.”

Kyle laid the Glock on the table next to his side of the bed. He was certain Rianna had the smaller gun within reach. He didn’t expect any trouble, but they couldn’t afford to get careless.

He wondered what she’d done about her little security pouch. She obviously wasn’t wearing the neon-green bikini anymore or he’d have seen it through her white shorts. Warning himself not to dwell on that area of her body, he switched off his light. Then he stretched out on top of the covers and folded his arms behind his head.

They lay quietly for a while, adjusting to the unfamiliar sounds and shadows. Kyle tried to concentrate on everything but the warm, sexy, sweet-smelling woman at his side and how long it had been since he’d shared a bed with any woman. He thought back to the night Sullivan had called him. He’d been wishing for a woman in his bed. Now he had one, but had to curb his appetite.

He listened to the steady hum of the air conditioner. It drowned out most of the noise beyond the room. He studied the sprinkler system valve on the ceiling, trying to keep his mind occupied until boring details could lull him to sleep.

“Kyle?”

Rianna’s soft, hesitant whisper of his name made his nerves go haywire. He dragged in a slow breath.

“Yeah?”

She waited so long to respond that he finally shifted on his side and faced her. She turned toward him, her gaze settling on his face, but she didn’t say anything else.

“What’s wrong?”

“Would you hold me?”

A wild surge of emotion exploded inside him, so strong that it sent a shudder through his body. He wanted her in every sense of the word, in every way a man could want a woman, but he knew she only needed reassurance. She wasn’t asking for sex, just comfort and the intimacy of being close to another human being.

Still, he didn’t hesitate. He gathered her, sheet and all, into his arms and pulled her against his chest. She slid one arm around his waist and snuggled her face into the curve of his shoulder. Pressing a light kiss on the silky softness of her hair, he urged her to relax.

“You need to rest.”

“I can’t seem to shut down my brain.”

He slowly rubbed the small of her back, enjoying the contact, even through layers of clothes. “You’re not still worried about Haroldson’s men?”

“No.”

“Then what’s bothering you? Something specific or just everything?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

“All of it. The ugliness and deceit and my part in it. Even though I know how important it was to bring him to justice, I wish I’d never heard his name. Never learned all his dirty secrets. Never had to deal with him.”

Kyle went still. “Did he hurt you? Does he have some sort of sick or perverted habits?”

“No. I was just another possession.”

Anger roared through him, swift and uncontrollable. “How the hell could you stand it? Seeing him every day? Living in his pocket? Letting him believe he had the right to touch you whenever he wanted?”

Rianna stiffened and started to pull from his grip, but Kyle instantly tightened his hold on her. He cursed his own lack of control and willed himself to calm down, willed his muscles to relax until she felt comfortable enough to continue.

“Sorry.”

“I understand,” she whispered, hugging him briefly. “It makes me sick with anger, too, but I’ve spent half my lifetime working toward one goal. I want to see him pay for his crimes. Every time I felt sickened by the sight of him, I reminded myself of those long, lonely years.”

“Long and lonely?” He didn’t understand. “Explain.”

When she didn’t immediately respond, he tilted her head so that he could look into her eyes. Even in the darkness, he could see the turbulent emotion.

“Why was it so important for you to bring him to justice? He’s just one of a thousand criminals the FBI wants.”

It took a few moments for her to answer, and he had to strain to hear the response.

“He killed my family.”

The cold, hard edge to her voice shook him as much as the bald statement. He knew he wasn’t going to like the details, but he wanted her to trust him enough to offer them. Tucking her against his chest again, he murmured in her ear.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“I’ve never discussed it with anyone but Donald.”

A spike of jealousy caught him unaware, slamming through his body and making his muscles bunch. More slow, deep breaths.

“So tell me.”

A long minute passed. Rianna stroked his back, her hand soft and warm. He didn’t know if she was searching for words or refusing to share the story, until she finally responded.

“My dad worked for Gregory a long time ago. As his accountant, Dad was the first to notice the money laundering and other illegal activities. He went to the FBI and agreed to testify, but Gregory managed to lay the blame on one of his bank managers. The charges against him were dropped.”

“Leaving your dad to pay the consequences?” he put in grimly.

“Our family went into the protection program, but Gregory never stopped searching for us. He had to set an example, he had a reputation to establish, and he wanted revenge. We kept moving, but he kept finding us. When I was sixteen, his men shot both my parents and my baby brother. Then they set our house on fire, and it was all my fault,” she ended on a sob.

“You can’t blame yourself,” he said gruffly. “You weren’t responsible for his crimes.”

Rianna continued in a strained voice. “It was my fault he found us again. Dad and Mom were worried and ready to move, but I had a date for the high school prom. I begged them to wait a few more days, and they only stayed because of me,” she said roughly. “They’d have been safe if I hadn’t been so spoiled and selfish.”

Kyle’s heart ached for her. He hugged her closer, wanting to absorb some of her pain. He knew how much it had hurt to lose his dad, then Margie. He could only imagine how Rianna had suffered. She’d lost everyone she loved, and she blamed herself.

“How’d you escape?”

She cleared her throat and continued in a flat tone. “I was at a neighbor’s, but ran home when I heard the sirens. I’d been told to hide and call Donald in an emergency, so that’s what I did. He falsified the records to show that I’d died, too, and then put me in protection again.”

She didn’t need to say any more. Kyle could figure out what had happened from that point. She’d become obsessed with the need to avenge her family, to see some form of justice done. Then she’d spent more than a decade working toward her most important assignment.

“You’ve got him now.”

“He needs to pay for destroying my family.”

Her breath caught on a strangled sob that made him ache to ease the pain. How could you comfort someone who’d lost so much? He still hadn’t come to terms with the guilt over Margie’s death. Rianna had lost her family, plus the innocence of youth. No wonder she was driven.

“Your family would be proud.”

“You think?” she asked wistfully. “I wonder sometimes. My parents wanted to see Gregory brought to justice, but I’m not sure they’d approve of my methods. They’d never condone lying and deceit. I just didn’t know any other way.”

“How could they not be proud of your dedication and determination? You’re working on the side of the law. That’s the lesson they taught you.”

She sighed, snuggling closer. “You’re right. I followed in my dad’s footsteps when I gave evidence to the FBI. And I’ll testify just like he did, but I’m sick and tired of it. Once Gregory is convicted, I never want to hear his name again.”

“I’ll second that.” He swore softly. “I don’t care if I never hear the name again, either.”

With those words, the conversation ended and the room grew quiet again.

“We’d better get some sleep,” he finally murmured.

Rianna made a soft sound that could have been agreement, and then exhaustion took its toll. Her grip on his waist eased, and Kyle knew she’d finally drifted to sleep. He smiled slightly and dropped another kiss on her hair. The soft, silky feel of it soothed him as much as the warmth of her womanly body.

She generated a whole host of feelings he’d never experienced with any other woman, possessiveness being primary. He wanted to lay claim to her in the most elemental fashion, make love to her until she forgot every other man she’d ever known. Until her world revolved around him, not Haroldson, her job or anything else.

It was a selfish desire, but he felt it nonetheless. The admission made him frown. He’d never been the jealous, possessive type, had never wanted a woman to be solely dependent on him.

Rianna was different.

And definitely off-limits right now. He had to be patient. This wasn’t the time or place to stake a claim. They both needed sleep. He pressed his cheek against the softness of hers and gradually let his mind and body relax.

Hours later, he awakened as the warmth of Rianna’s body left his side. Grumbling in complaint, he reached for her, but she dodged his arms. He struggled with grogginess as she moved to the foot of the bed, pulling the sheet with her.

When she grasped one of his feet in her hands, her touch jarred him awake.

“What?”

He had no concept of the time, though sunshine glistened around the edges of the heavy drapes. The room was still shadowed, but light enough to see his sexy bedmate as she knelt at his feet. Her hair was tousled, her face flushed with sleep, and her expression mysterious.

She took his right foot into her hands and slowly massaged his heel, then his arch and the ball of his foot. Her hands were warm and soft, her thumbs stroking firmly. Heat arrowed up his leg to his groin. By the time she reached for his other foot, his morning arousal had surged to aching fullness.

“I owe you a massage,” she said quietly, her gaze locking with his. “Remember?”

His voice came roughly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He wanted her more than his next breath. The blood sang through his veins in a heated rush, but he didn’t want her offering anything out of gratitude.

“You carried me too far. You’ll be stiff and sore this morning.” She moved between his legs and began to rub his right calf with long, strong strokes, her fingers working magic on the hard muscles. She gave the same slow, diligent attention to his left leg, and then both knees.

Kyle groaned with pleasure. “Damn, that feels good,” he muttered, holding her gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long, breathless moment.

“Be warned,” he told her softly. “If you keep it up, I’ll want a whole lot more than a massage.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised huskily.

He gave her a fierce frown. “Not from gratitude.” He didn’t want gratuitous sex. He wanted her as needy as him.

She smiled, a slow, sultry, beautiful smile that turned his insides to mush and made his flesh prickle with anticipation.

“The massage is in appreciation. Anything else will be strictly my pleasure.”

She trusted him. He’d finally earned her trust, and he knew it wasn’t something she gave lightly. He hadn’t realized how badly he wanted it until she offered it. Satisfaction flowed over him like warm honey.

Her palms flattened across the top of his thighs, her fingers still kneading. She spread his legs wider and inched closer. Her touch electrified him, the heat sizzling along his nerves, his muscles clenching with each new stoke.

When she slid her fingers toward the hem of his shorts, he shuddered and reached for her. She countered the move by grabbing his hands, pressing them on the bed and clucking her tongue in rebuke. Then she urged him to roll onto his stomach.

Kyle complied, turning, and muffled a moan against the pillow as she straddled his hips. Her heat seared him, her thighs blanketing him with feminine softness through the thin barrier of clothing. Blood roared in his head.

She worked on the muscles of his back and shoulders, her touch strong and sure. His hands curled into fists at his sides as his body sang with excitement. Next, she slowly slid off his hips and straddled his thighs.

“You’re a little tense, Tremont,” she teased.

His tone was hoarse with arousal. “No kidding.”

Then her hands cupped his buttocks, strong fingers igniting an even stronger reaction from his flesh. His nerves were strung taut, his muscles bunched, his arousal growing thicker and harder with every beat of his heart.

Rianna slid off his legs and urged him to turn onto his back again. This time she straddled his hips, pressing her soft warmth tightly against his straining flesh. He made a sound deep in his throat and reached for her, but she snatched his hands and pressed them down on either side of his head. He tried to steal a kiss while she nibbled on his chin.

Her next caress was a string of wet, open-mouth kisses down his neck and across his chest. She took a long, torturous time to bathe his nipples. Her tongue sent hot, primitive need racing through him. Every nerve ending in his body hummed with tension.

By the time she’d worked her way down to his navel, his breathing had grown ragged and his chest heaved. He broke a sweat as her nimble fingers reached inside his shorts.

“You’re killin’ me,” he groaned.

She cupped him and stroked him until Kyle nearly strangled on his own need. He couldn’t let her fondle him much longer. This time when he reached for her, she didn’t resist, but slid back up his body and locked her mouth with his.

Their moans mingled as he plunged his tongue through her lips and explored the sweet depths beyond. He wanted to taste every inch of her, eat her up and lose himself in the taste, scent and feel of her.

He cupped her head in his hands, clutching fistfuls of silky hair to guide her closer. Their mouths were pressed tightly together, but he still couldn’t get enough of her. He angled his head, then sucked her tongue between his teeth and molded it with his own.

His hunger for her was insatiable. The more she gave, the more he wanted. He’d never wanted anyone so desperately. Even the need for breath annoyed him. After a quick drag of air, he captured her mouth in another deep, drugging kiss.

While he clung to her head, her hands were busy tugging at the waistband of his shorts. He paused long enough to shrug out of his clothes and kick them aside. Then he helped her lift her shirt over her head.

When she unhooked her bra and removed it, he was awed at her beauty. He forced himself to take long, calming breaths while he admired the feel and shape of her. He slid his palms over her rib cage and cupped the soft, firm mounds of her breasts, using his thumbs to bring the tips to rigid attention. She rocked against him in response, and her mewing sounds of pleasure fed his excitement.

“Kyle!”

The sound of his name on her lips had desire coiling even tighter in his groin. He pulled her up his body until he could replace his hand with his lips, and then sucked a nipple deeply into his mouth. He teased the tight bud with the tip of his tongue and felt her body arching against him in feminine demand.

Her throaty sound of hunger made him quiver like a tightly plucked bowstring. Together, they managed to get her out of her shorts and panties. Then they swallowed each other’s groans as they savored the feel of bare flesh against bare flesh.

He clutched her thighs and bucked against her as they got lost in another potent, probing kiss. He felt her hands on his cheeks, her grasp tight. Her mouth grew demanding as she rubbed her breasts against his chest, the hard nubs of her nipples spiking the heat in him even higher.

They kissed until neither of them could breathe. Their chests heaved, their bodies straining for more. Then Rianna slid down his body until his straining arousal was trapped at the cradle of her thighs. He gasped for breath, his chest heaving at the exquisite feel of her.

“Protection?” she insisted throatily.

“In the drawer,” he muttered.

She took care of that, too, and he almost came apart at her touch. Before he could completely recover, she eased herself onto his straining flesh and enveloped him with her soft, wet warmth.

So tight. So damn hot and tight. And so tense. It took a minute, but he finally realized that she’d gone really still and tense.

“Rianna?”

“I’m okay,” she whispered, but she still didn’t move.

“What do you mean, ‘okay’?” He didn’t like the sound of it or her stillness. “It’s been a while for you?” That would explain the incredible tightness.

She mumbled something he couldn’t understand, and then an amazing thought struck him. “Please don’t tell me this is your first time.”

“Okay.”

Her lack of denial sent a shudder through him and convinced him that he’d hit on the truth. A deep, possessive thrill coursed through him, quickly followed by a desperate need to be gentle.

He closed his eyes and groaned, but held completely still until she’d had time to adjust to the size and feel of him. She gripped him tightly, sending another quiver of erotic pleasure up his spine. Once she’d accepted him and begun to move, he grasped her hips, arching upward to meet her slow, careful thrusts.

The pressure built too quickly, the need too forceful. He strained to hold back, until Rianna moaned his name. Then he surged against her and felt himself exploding in one long, fierce burst of pleasure.

She collapsed against him, their chests heaving from exertion, the sound of their labored breathing filling the silence. He knew it hadn’t been all that great for her, but he silently swore to make it up to her.

For the next few minutes, all they could do was fight for air and hold each other while they recovered from the emotional and physical high.

Kyle hugged her tightly, wanting to prolong the exquisite contact. He closed his eyes, relishing the shared intimacy and the gift she’d given him. Not just her body, but her trust. He knew she didn’t give either one too freely. He’d made love to his share of women, but never to one who’d been as generous in her loving. Gut instinct told him what a treasure he’d found. She was his now, and he intended to keep her.

His partner.

His lover.

His woman.

Chapter 9

“Wow.” Rianna exclaimed in a soft, sighing whisper. She’d never shared anything so intimate, but she could understand why women enjoyed it so much.

Their chests had stopped heaving, but his vibrated again with triumphant male laughter.

“‘Wow’ doesn’t even come close,” he argued gruffly. “It gets a lot better, I promise.”

That brought a smile of satisfaction to her lips. She’d wanted their loving to be incredibly special because that’s how she felt about him—a special, unique feeling unlike anything she’d ever known with a man.

His response thrilled her and sounded so sincere that she pressed a hard kiss on his chest.

“Control yourself, woman,” he teased, running his fingers through her hair.

Then he cupped her head with his palm and lifted her face for a long, sweet kiss. She gently sucked his tongue into her mouth until a low, hungry sound gurgled from his throat.

When their lips parted, their gazes tangled. They stared into each other’s eyes, intently searching. Rianna wondered what he hoped to find in hers. The dark, possessive gleam in his sent a tremble over her. Her nipples tightened in reaction. Their bodies were still so closely entwined that she felt his muscles begin to twitch with renewed energy.

“You should have told me,” he insisted.

She didn’t want to discuss her virginity or make a big deal of it. Nor did she want to tell him that he was the first man who’d ever tempted her to part with it.

“I’m the one who did the seducing,” she reminded.

He wasn’t satisfied with her response. He started to speak, but she placed a hand over his mouth. “We have to get moving.” She wanted nothing more than to spend the day, or several, in bed in his arms. There was so much about him that she still needed to explore.

Kyle lifted his arm to check his watch. “It’s after eleven and we have to be out of here by noon.”

He didn’t mention that Gregory’s men might have tracked down Rudy and the rented Jeep by now. Given enough time, they’d eventually find them.

Rianna sighed. “First dibs on the bathroom,” she said, wondering how to gracefully extricate herself from their embrace. Even though they’d just shared an incredible intimacy, she suddenly felt shy and awkward. She had no experience to fall back on, and modesty had her searching for something to cover herself.

“How about we share a shower? It’ll save time,” said Kyle.

She blinked, and then studied his wickedly suggestive expression. His eyes had that hungry look again. Her stomach muscles clenched, but she had to resist temptation.

“You don’t really think that will save time, do you?” she admonished, laughing and wedging some space between their upper bodies.

“It could happen.”

When she started to sit up, he cupped her breasts in his hands. The contrast between his deeply tanned skin and her pale flesh gave her a feminine thrill. She watched him watching her as her breasts swelled, the tips budding. He teased them to hardness. When she felt his body hardening within hers, she cried out softly.

“Kyle!”

He held her gaze. “I know, we have to go, and you can’t take a shower. You can’t get your neck wet. But we could share a quick bath.”

So sexy. So much a man. He was so handsome and irresistible that Rianna felt herself melting all over again. She barely recognized her own throaty voice when she finally managed a response.

“A bath sounds nice.”

Kyle twisted around until his feet hit the floor, then he grasped her hips, lifting her without withdrawing from her body. She gasped at the exquisite sensation that coursed through her. His strength and obvious desire stirred hers to a frenzy again.

“Gun and condom,” he mumbled as he locked his mouth on her neck, sucking strongly, drawing another gurgle of approval from deep in her throat.

Rianna grabbed both from the bedside stand, then wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rubbing her breasts against his chest to ease their tight ache.

She locked the door behind them once they’d entered the bathroom, then scattered kisses over his chest while he reached down to turn on the faucets. They paused for a long kiss as water filled the tub and steam began to fill the room.

Kyle laid the gun on the soap shelf, took care of protection and brought his hands back to her buttocks. He cupped her with his big palms, squeezing gently, then more roughly as sharp, heated passion flared between them again. He clutched her closer. She rocked against him in demand, and then swallowed his low growl.

She felt the heavy thrust of his hips as he began to move deep inside of her with renewed fervor. The fire in her belly flared like a torch to kindling. She wanted him closer, deeper. She wanted him so close that he became an extension of herself.

He turned, pressing her back against the wall so that he could free a hand to grasp her head. Then he plunged his tongue into her mouth, demanding another deep, wet, devouring kiss.

Rianna’s thighs clenched convulsively, and she hugged him with arms and legs as he rocked against her. She returned his hungry kisses while meeting him thrust for powerful thrust, until they exploded in another fierce eruption of pleasure.

Guttural sighs of completion mingled in their mouths. When Kyle finally broke the contact, he pressed his forehead against hers. They sagged against the wall, trembling from head to toe, momentarily exhausted. Their breathing was labored again, with each fighting to draw air into depleted lungs.

“Whew!” he exclaimed on a harshly exhaled breath.

Rianna didn’t even have the strength to laugh. She gave him a shaky smile, then a light kiss on the nose. She clung to his sweat-slick body with what little strength she had left in hers.

He tightened his hold on her again, turning toward the tub. After testing the temperature, he shut off the taps and slowly eased her into the water. She tried to tug him in with her, but he resisted.

“Better not,” he said, his voice still rough, his eyes glazed with satisfaction. He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, then drew in a rough breath and continued. “We’ll have an overflow and end up wasting more time.”

Rianna knew he was right. She reluctantly released him, then immediately felt naked and exposed. As soon as he’d moved back a step, she pulled the curtain to block his view.

“Hey!” he complained.

“I’m shy,” she responded, grabbing a washcloth and soap.

His sexy laughter echoed in the small room. “You’ll get over it,” he promised.

She smiled to herself, but wondered at his assurances. Would she get the chance to grow accustomed to Kyle’s loving? Would there ever be time and opportunity to make love until they were totally comfortable with each other? She doubted it, and it scared her to want it so badly.

As soon as he was out of sight, doubts started to assail her. For years, the only future she’d considered was the successful completion of this assignment. She hadn’t allowed herself to think beyond that goal.

She had never allowed herself to become emotionally involved with a man. Never allowed herself to care so much, so fast. Had she just risked their lives by tempting fate? In her life, caring too much meant inviting pain and heartache.

One thing was certain. They had to concentrate on getting back to D.C. She couldn’t fail now. She couldn’t worry about relationships or the future or anything other than bringing Gregory Haroldson to justice. Everything else had to be put on hold until she’d accomplished that objective. She needed to stay focused, but it was getting harder and harder to do, with Kyle so near.

He shaved while she finished bathing, then they switched places. By the time he’d finished showering, she’d dressed in jeans and a yellow T-shirt. She was getting really tired of stiff, itchy new clothes, but didn’t have much choice. Soon she’d be home and could get comfortable again.

Just a few more hours.

Then what? What would happen when she no longer needed Kyle’s protection? When his promise to Donald had been fulfilled and their extraordinary partnership dissolved? Would that be the end of it? Would he go home, get on with his life and chalk up their time together as just one final assignment to be forgotten?

It hurt to even think about the what-ifs.

And that scared her spitless. The hurting part. She’d had more than her fair share of hurting. She’d been so careful not to care too much about anyone, yet Kyle had sneaked past her guard. He’d crept into her wary heart while she’d been too busy staying alive to notice the risk.

She couldn’t worry about it now. They had to get back to Virginia. Their best hope was that Donald had all Gregory’s men rounded up by now. Rudy should still be in jail, but they couldn’t relax until Tabone, Damon and the others were accounted for. Not to mention anyone in the agency who remained on Gregory’s payroll.

Rianna sat down on the bed and started pulling on her shoes, but when the bathroom door opened, her gaze flew to it. She caught her breath at the sight of Kyle, still damp from his shower, wearing nothing but a towel hitched around his waist.

Gorgeous didn’t even come close to describing him. Extremely sexy. Incredibly virile. Unbearably appealing. His sun-bronzed skin glistened over broad shoulders, a muscled chest and flat stomach. Silvery-blond hair curled between dark nipples and arrowed downward toward the low-slung towel. Her blood began to heat all over again.

He returned her stare with equal intensity until the emotion flowing between them became almost too painful to bear. Panic clutched at her chest and climbed into her throat.

Her brave, sexy lover was also one of the most honorable men she’d ever known. That thought crowded out his physical appeal and reminded her that she’d complicated his life, endangered it, and made him an unwilling accomplice to the nightmare she’d been living for months.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and dropped her gaze, then concentrated on tying her shoes.

“Rianna?”

He started toward her, but she rose and put out a hand to halt him.

He frowned. “You’re not sorry…”

“No!”

Her emphatic response seemed to reassure him. He gave her a smile and she returned it with one of her own.

“You’re sure?” he demanded.

“Positive.”

He studied her for another few seconds. “Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

When she gave her head a vigorous shake, he finally turned away and started pulling clothes out of shopping bags.

She tried to lighten the mood. “I’m just worrying again,” she said, moving toward the window to peek out the curtain. “Everything looks quiet, and there’s only one car in the parking lot. We’re probably the last to leave.”

“Yeah, I imagine most of their customers are vacation travelers. Everyone else probably got an early start.”

Rianna kept her gaze on the parking lot, but her attention stayed on Kyle. She heard him pulling on his shorts, then jeans, the zipper sounding especially loud in the quiet of the room. When he tugged a white T-shirt over his head, she turned to watch the flex of muscles as he tucked in his shirt and fastened the snap of his jeans.

Everything he did, every move he made, fascinated her. She wanted more time to explore, wanted to sate herself with him and then start all over again. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest at the idea of unrestrained, uninhibited loving.

Until today, she’d never thought of herself as a particularly sensual woman, but he’d changed that image forever. She wanted to smell and taste and feel until she had her fill. Just a pipe dream at this point in her life.

“Rianna? You sure you’re okay?”

She realized she was staring at him again, and licked her suddenly dry lips. “To be honest, I’m having a little withdrawal here. I want to go back to bed with you and stay there for a long, long time.”

She could see the effect her honesty had on him. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His whole body went tense, then he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

“Someday soon,” he swore softly.

She forced herself to breathe deeply, too. “I’m going to hold you to that, Tremont.”

He grinned, a purely male, purely wicked grin that lightened her spirits. “You won’t have to work too hard at it.”

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

She returned his grin, and then crossed the room to collect the small pistol from the nightstand. She stashed it in a leather fanny pack she’d bought at the store last night, added the plastic bag with the disabled electronic bug they’d smashed and bagged, along with the refrigerator magnet. It was further evidence of Gregory’s treachery.

Kyle tucked the Glock into the waistband of his jeans and covered it with his shirt. They were ready again.

“What now? Rent a car and drive to D.C.? Or take a cab to the airport?”

“I vote for flying, but the airports would be the most likely place to look for us. Especially Dulles,” she said.

“We could drive into Ohio and catch a flight to Newark, then rent a car. They can’t watch every airport in the region.”

Rianna nodded. “I want to call Donald again and get his input before deciding.”

She could tell the idea didn’t set well with Kyle. Why? Just a male thing, or a genuine mistrust of the other man? Surely that couldn’t be the case. He was here as a favor to Donald.

“The fewer people who know our plans, the safer we’ll be,” he reminded.

“Donald may have news about Rudy and the others, and I want to make sure Gregory’s still behind bars.”

Kyle seemed reluctant, but finally nodded. “Okay, we call Sullivan, but not from Rudy’s cellular. We’ll bag it up with anything else we don’t want and toss it in the Dumpster. We can find a pay phone to call Sullivan.” He looked around. “Is that it?”

She’d already bagged up what few clothes she wanted to take with her and discarded the others. After surveying the room one last time, she nodded. “I don’t think there’s anything else.”

“No extra underwear?” The frown on his face kicked up in a provocative grin. His blue eyes glittered like sapphires.

Rianna felt her face heat at the suggestion. “A good old safety pin will suffice in the absence of built-in panty pouches.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She’d forgotten to give him some money in case they got separated. Turning her back, she unfastened her jeans, unclipped the safety pin and pulled out a couple of big bills. When she’d refastened everything, she turned again, slamming into Kyle’s chest.

The look on his face was so lascivious that she laughed out loud. “Back off, Tremont. You’re altogether too interested in my secret hiding place.”

“Damn straight,” he growled, stealing a quick kiss.

Rianna returned his kiss with fervor, but they refrained from holding each other. When they broke apart, she handed him some money.

“First time I ever got paid for a kiss.” He tucked the bills into his pocket.

“Consider it an advance,” she teased.

“On services to be rendered?”

“Sounds good to me.”

He made a move to take her into his arms, but quickly backed off. “Damn.”

“I know.” She felt the same way. She didn’t want to leave their little cocoon and face the world again, but they had no real choice. “A cab or a rental company?”

“There’s a little restaurant a couple of blocks down the street,” he told her. “I noticed it last night. Why don’t we walk down there, get something to eat, and see if any of Haroldson’s men crawl out of the woodwork. If it looks safe, we can hire a cab to take us to the airport.”

Rianna thought about it. Flying would certainly be the fastest way to make the trip. Kyle probably didn’t want to waste any more time on the road dodging henchmen. He’d gone above and beyond his duty as a private citizen. He had to be anxious to get rid of her and get back to his normal life.

The idea shouldn’t hurt, yet it did.

“Sounds like a plan.” She hoped her tone sounded brisk and professional. It was time to start putting some emotional distance between them.

Turning from his probing gaze, she added, “I’m starved.”

“Rianna?” He stopped her as she reached for the doorknob. When she turned, he placed a brief, hard kiss on her lips, and then nudged her aside.

“I’ll go first, make a sweep of the parking lot and toss our trash in the Dumpster. Then I’ll check the office, and signal from there if it’s all clear.”

She sighed, but nodded agreement. As he made his way around the motel lot, she watched for any sign of trouble. She’d guarded the backs of other agents in the past, but never one that meant so much to her. She barely breathed until she saw him waving an all-clear from the doorway of the office. Quickly donning a pair of sunglasses, she joined him on the main sidewalk, where he put himself between her and the busy street.

The midday sun was hot, and their walk brisk. The street was lined with cars parked in front of various small shops. Two lanes of traffic moved steadily along, but no one seemed to pay them any undue attention. None of the passing vehicles held familiar faces or any sort of threat to them.

By the time they reached the restaurant, they were ready for the air-conditioning. Kyle settled into a corner booth with a clear view of the entrance and parking lot, while she made use of the pay phone just inside the front door.

She heard a series of clicks as Donald’s home answering system forwarded her call. He picked up within a few seconds and didn’t bother with polite greetings.

“Where are you?”

“We’re in Lexington, and we want to fly back, but I wanted to make one last check with you before leaving here. What’s happening?”

“Haroldson is still behind bars, but his lawyer is pulling out all the stops to get him freed. I convinced the police down there to keep Rudy until we can make a prisoner transfer.”

“Good. How about Tabone and the others?”

“I’m trying to verify their whereabouts, but they’re still wild cards. Our best guess is they won’t do anything too stupid or too public.”

“So you think it’s safe for us to fly?”

“I don’t advise it,” he said. “I don’t have enough manpower to patrol the airports and there are too many of Haroldson’s men unaccounted for. If you keep driving, you’ll be one step ahead of them and leave a cold trail.”

Rianna didn’t know how Kyle would take the news of more hours on the road, but she had to agree. She didn’t like the odds of a busy airport. If they flew, they wouldn’t have the authority to carry their weapons, so they’d be especially vulnerable.

Donald barely paused. “You know the drill. Make sure you aren’t being tailed, and head for the cabin. It’s as secure as any safe house and you know the alarm codes. I should be there ahead of you, or as soon as I can get there.”

“It’ll take us another eight or ten hours.”

Something in her tone had alerted him to her mood. “Tremont giving you trouble?”

“No.”

“Your neck all right? You’re not hurting?”

“No, I’m fine, really. I’m just ready to be home.”

“Soon,” he reassured her. “It’s been the longest six months of my life, but I’ll have you home soon. Then I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

The fierceness of his tone made Rianna chuckle. “Yes, sir,” she teased. “Suits me just fine.”

His voice dropped to a low murmur. “You know I love you.”

“I know,” she whispered. His unfaltering devotion had sustained her through some rough times. “I love you, too.”

They said goodbye, and she returned to the booth. Kyle stared at her for a minute, his expression unexpectedly grim, and then he turned his attention to a menu.

She frowned, wondering what had caused his mood to darken, but she didn’t ask. Instead, she studied her own menu. Once the waitress had taken their order and they were alone again, she outlined Donald’s plan.

“I forgot we’d have to ditch our guns if we flew,” he admitted, his brow furrowing. “Does Sullivan think Tabone and the others are still tailing us?”

“He can’t be sure. They’re unaccounted for, at this point. Damon’s a wild card, too. I didn’t have any concrete evidence against him, so he’s not in custody. There’s a warrant for Tabone if Donald finds him before he finds us.”

“Let’s hope he went into hiding when he heard about the other arrests.”

“He’s more of a lackey than a thinker, so he and the others might have given up the chase. With Gregory and Rudy in jail, there’s no one left to organize the troops. At least, not for a while.”

“I’m sure Haroldson has someone on payroll who’s doing his bidding and seeing that his orders are obeyed.”

“That would be Sanderson, his lawyer and flunky. He’ll be the go-between for a while, but Donald is trying to freeze Gregory’s assets. In that case, nobody gets paid.”

“And a good crook’s loyalty has to be bought.”

“Right. If we spend another day on the road, all the rats will be abandoning ship.”

Kyle gave her a strange look but didn’t comment. Their meal arrived, so they were quiet while they ate. Despite being hungry, the food didn’t sit well on Rianna’s stomach.

Her thoughts churned while she considered the best way to handle the rest of the trip. She knew she needed to give him the opportunity of opting out of the mission, yet she hated to broach the subject. He’d be relieved or offended by her suggestion, and either option made her sick at heart.

When she’d eaten as much as she could manage, she studied Kyle for a minute, until the intensity of her scrutiny caught his attention.

“What’s worrying you now?”

Rianna wasn’t sure she liked having him read her mind or be so aware of her mood swings. She’d never had a truly intimate, sharing sort of relationship with a man who could sense her thoughts and feelings.

Avoiding the problem wouldn’t solve it, so she explained. “I’m thinking it might be safer to go our separate ways now. If Gregory’s men are still searching for us, they’ll be looking for Tony and Samantha, not a lone woman who doesn’t look very glamorous anymore.”

Kyle’s expression went stone cold. His lips thinned and his eyes glittered. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and she knew she’d really ticked him off. Part of her exalted in the knowledge while part of her cringed.

“Trying to give me my walking papers, Rianna?”

His tone rivaled the air-conditioning for chill factor. She fidgeted with her napkin. Then, annoyed with her uncharacteristic restlessness, she tossed it down and looked him directly in the eyes.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to drive all the way back to D.C. with me. I know you put your own life on hold to help Donald, but you’ve already done more than you bargained for. I think I’ll be safe from here on out.”

His expression went blank, his tone bland. “You think?”

She clenched her jaw, wishing she knew what he really wanted. “I’m a highly trained professional, remember?”

“Even the best professional needs backup sometimes.” He watched her with unerring intensity. “What about the promise you just made? We have a lot of unfinished business between us.”

“I’m not denying that,” she said, lowering her lashes to hide how deeply his words touched her. “I’m just suggesting that it might have to wait until this whole case is settled.”

“You don’t think we make good traveling partners?”

She forced herself to look up at him again. “I’m more like a liability you haven’t been able to shake. Not to mention you’re risking your own life.”

“If this is all about me, then why don’t you let me decide if and when I want to be cut free?”

Relief rushed through her. She desperately wanted him to want to stay with her, but not out of some misguided sense of duty and honor. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.

“You think we can manage to stay one step ahead of the bad guys without risking life or limb?”

The tension in Kyle’s expression eased at her attempt to dispel the dark mood, but his steady gaze didn’t waver from her face. His tone was terse when he spoke again, his expression accusing.

“Was that a test, Special Agent Phantom?”

She blinked, disconcerted again by the way he read her thoughts and intentions. When she locked gazes with him again, hers was clear and steady. “Maybe a little one, but please don’t be offended. I really want to do what’s best for you at this point. You’ve put your own life on hold for a long time now.”

He lifted a brow in arrogant disagreement. “How long have you been working the case?”

Rianna stared at him. She’d been undercover for a good part of the year, but she’d been working the case half her life. She shook her head, unwilling to voice the whole truth.

They were quiet for a minute, and then Kyle broke the silence with a new suggestion. “I think what’s best for both of us is a little moving excursion.”

She didn’t follow his line of thinking. “What do you mean?”

He nodded toward the window facing the intersection. She followed his gaze, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“What?”

“A truck rental company,” he explained, pointing across the street. “Nobody’s likely to be looking for us in a moving van. What do you say to renting one of those for the trip back east?”

She offered him a genuine grin. “Sounds like a winner. I still have one more phony ID to use.”

His eyes darkened and his tone dropped an octave. “In your security pouch?”

She laughed out loud and then rose from the table. “In my jeans pocket, Tremont. My jeans pocket.”

His answering grin warmed her heart.

Chapter 10

They rented a small panel van and Kyle took the first shift of driving. Rianna couldn’t believe how exhausted she still felt. She dozed during the next few hours, interspersing her sleep with long conversations about his home in Texas and his woodcraft business.

She learned that after retiring from the agency, he’d worked as a security guard for a fast-growing company. His investment in the company’s stock allowed him the financial freedom to work for himself. He’d developed a longtime love of woodworking into a small business that was just starting to earn a profit.

The more she learned about Kyle, the more her admiration for him grew. He knew who he was and what he wanted from life. He had a real home and a plan for his future. In comparison, hers seemed really bleak. She’d never allowed herself to dream of any life beyond her obsessive need to see Gregory Haroldson punished.

Once she’d accomplished that objective, she had no idea what she’d be doing. The future loomed big and empty, all her insecurities threatening to rear their ugly heads. Despite her confidence in her ability to do her job, she had little else to be confident about these days. She had no close friends, no relationship skills or long-term goals.

In other words, not much to offer any man. That depressing thought had alarm bells ringing in her head. She was getting in way over her head with the renegade retiree. He’d never mentioned anything about permanency or long-term commitments. They had only known each other a few days, even though it seemed so much longer.

They stopped for dinner in Charleston, West Virginia, and then Rianna took the wheel so that Kyle could get some rest. The freeway driving was monotonous, but uneventful, as they swapped places every couple of hours. The steady speed allowed them to make good time, and they reached Maryland a little before midnight. It took another hour to get to Donald’s cabin.

The natural wood, A-frame house nestled atop a small hill in a copse of evergreen trees. It sat about a hundred yards from the road and was surrounded by aesthetically appealing, high-security fencing. Lights blazed, illuminating the house from several directions.

Rianna’s heart skipped a beat as they approached the iron entrance gates. The cabin had become her second home over the past few years, and the thrill of being close delighted her beyond words. She gave Kyle the code, and the heavy gates silently slid apart for them to pass.

As soon as they pulled to a stop near the house, the front door opened. Donald stepped onto the porch, a tall, distinguished man with thick, graying hair and a smile that lit his craggy, aristocratic features with happiness. Rianna threw open her door, hopping out of the van before Kyle turned off the engine.

In the next instant, she and Donald had narrowed the distance between them, and she threw herself into his waiting arms. He hugged her fiercely, and she returned the embrace with all her strength. Her chest tightened, her throat constricting at the feel of his solid strength. She’d missed him badly.

“Welcome home, baby,” he whispered near her ear, tenderly rocking her back and forth.

“You can’t imagine how great it is to be here!” she insisted, blinking back tears and fighting a landslide of emotion. It rolled over her with an intensity that had her trembling in his arms.

“It’s been too long,” he added gruffly, reassuring her. “It’s okay now. You’re home and you’re safe. I can do all the worrying from here on out. You just relax.”

“I’ll be happy to,” she said, easing a little space between them so she could study his familiar, ageless features. “I’m ready to be done with it.”

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Kyle’s terse greeting to Donald. “Sullivan.”

His cold, hard tone had them slowly pulling apart and turning toward him. He stood in the shadows, but the bright porch light shone on his dark, angry expression. His stance was combative, his hand folded around the Glock. Rianna was taken aback by his belligerent attitude. He looked like an gunfighter itching for a fight.

“Kyle?” Her tone was questioning, but he ignored her and continued to glare at Donald.

“Tremont.” Donald returned the greeting. The arm around her waist tightened protectively.

“Rianna’s too exposed out here.” Kyle ground the words out roughly.

The two men continued to scowl at each other for a few seconds, and then Donald agreed. “You’re right.” He nudged her toward the doorway. “Let’s get inside.” To Rianna, he added, “Somebody else is a little anxious to see you.”

She shrieked with excitement. “Sophie’s here?”

“Against my better judgment, but you know she never listens to anything I say.”

They’d barely stepped into the house and closed the door before Rianna was being wrapped tightly in another pair of arms. The women shared cries of joy at seeing each other again. Donald’s wife added her enthusiastic welcome with motherly hugs and kisses.

When they’d quieted, Donald made introductions.

“Tremont, this is my wife, Sophie,” he said with an amused lift of his brow. “Sophie, this is Kyle Tremont. You’ve heard me mention him in the past. He used to be one of my agents, but I don’t think the two of you ever met.”

The slim, attractive redhead freed one hand and reached it to him. He grasped it briefly and nodded in greeting.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for bringing Mary safely back to us,” she insisted.

The Sullivans had always used the abbreviated form of Marianna for security purposes. They’d wanted her to retain part of her identity without putting her at risk, so she’d been Mary to them. Just another of her many names.

“She’s the daughter of our hearts, and we’ve been worried sick about her for months,” Sophie explained.

Kyle’s thunderous expression lightened, and Rianna belatedly realized he’d been jealous of Donald. Her eyes widened at his misconception. Did he think her that dense and insensitive?

She frowned, flashing him a chastising look.

He returned her glance with an arrogant arch of a brow and without apology.

Donald cleared his throat, and Sophie chuckled softly at the byplay. “Boys,” she scolded. “None of that macho posturing. We’re all adults here.”

Rianna just shook her head in disbelief. She actually felt flattered by Kyle’s possessive attitude, and she’d never have believed it possible. Maybe she was getting soft in the head.

Or the heart.

That errant thought made her frown. She’d never aspired to be softheaded or softhearted.

“How’s your neck?” asked Donald. “Let me see.”

Rianna slid her hand up to touch the tiny row of stitches.

“What’s wrong with your neck?” Sophie asked in alarm. “Did somebody try to strangle you?”

“No, no,” Rianna insisted, glancing at Donald for guidance. He gave her a subtle shake of his head. She didn’t like lying to Sophie, so she kept her explanation to a minimal. “I got hurt and had to have a couple of stitches, but it’s fine now.”

Sophie frowned, glancing from one of them to the other. Noting their closed expressions, she made a clucking sound of disgust. “Okay, don’t tell me. I’m sure it’s classified. Just show me and let me decide if it’s all right or not.”

Rianna turned her back, lifted her hair and tugged the Band-Aid off her neck. Sophie and Donald both shifted closer, studying the sutures. Sophie ran a gentle finger near the slightly raised flesh. Then they both conceded that the wound was healing nicely.

“Does it still hurt?” asked Donald.

“It never hurt very much, but it’s starting to itch.”

“That’s just part of the healing process,” chimed Sophie. “Did you need a tetanus shot? Your last one is probably outdated. Are you on antibiotics?”

“The doctor gave me a tetanus booster and a few days’ worth of antibiotics,” Rianna lied, intent on calming her concern. Sophie worried too much over the small things because she knew she had no control over the life-threatening ones.

“But it’s never felt like it might be infected,” she added. “It’s really just a scratch.”

Sophie cleared her throat. “Of course it is. Absolutely nothing to worry about. I promise I’m not going to waste time clucking over you like a mother hen.” She quickly changed the subject. “Are you hungry? Donald insists that I can only stay a couple of hours. Safety first and all that, but we have time to share a meal.”

“Something smells delicious,” said Rianna.

“Your favorite, of course.” Sophie hugged her close again. They led the way down the hall to the kitchen with the men following. “Pot roast with new potatoes and baby carrots. I even outdid myself with dessert. Coconut cream pie with lots of tall, fluffy meringue.”

Rianna moaned in delight. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, but I’m glad you did. My mouth’s watering already.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Donald teased. “My stomach’s been growling loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but Sophie wouldn’t give me a scrap of food until you got home.”

“My poor darling,” Sophie cooed, wrinkling her nose at her husband. “You do have it rough, don’t you.”

Their good-natured teasing set the tone for the next hour. Everyone seemed determined to enjoy the meal without letting reality intrude. There was no mention of the ongoing case or anything serious until they’d finished eating.

Over coffee, Donald caught them up on the Haroldson matter. The overwhelming evidence against the man prevented him from using his money or power to influence the courts. None of his wealthy associates was willing to risk supporting him at this point. He was still being held without bond, and his lawyer was starting to discuss the possibility of cutting a deal.

“The district attorney has assured me that the state won’t accept a plea bargain. Not unless it’s from Rudy Barrick. If he wants to turn state’s evidence against Haroldson, then they might bargain for reduced sentences, but nobody is walking in this case.”

“Is there any way Mary can avoid testifying?” asked Sophie.

“As the agent assigned to the case, her testimony is crucial,” Donald explained. “I wish we could get by with a formal deposition, but her eyewitness accounts need to be heard by the judge and jury. We probably have enough evidence to lock Haroldson away for a few years, but her testimony can keep him behind bars with no chance of parole.”

“Couldn’t she do one of those video testimonies?” asked Sophie. “Aren’t they sometimes used to protect an agent’s identity or safety?”

“The judge might allow it,” he replied, his tone noncommittal. “But it’s not nearly as effective as putting her in the courtroom.”

“There could be years of appeals,” said Kyle.

“I understood all that from the beginning,” Rianna insisted, her tone firm. “I’m totally committed to seeing the process to an end, however long it takes. I will not let him win this battle.”

Quiet settled over the room as they all accepted the reiteration of her decision. Then Kyle changed the subject. “What have you learned about Blaine? How long’s he been dirty?”

Before Donald could respond, Rianna added another question. “Was he the mole who kept selling my family’s whereabouts to Gregory?” She’d vowed to learn who was responsible for the breach in security that had compromised her family’s location every few years.

“I don’t see how Blaine could have had access to that kind of high-level information,” said Kyle.

“He didn’t,” explained Donald. “When we searched Blaine’s apartment, we found a ledger that belonged to my predecessor, Bob Mullet. Apparently Bob had been selling information to Haroldson for years.”

“Didn’t Mullet die a few months after Margie?” asked Kyle.

“Yeah, supposedly of natural causes, but we’re checking into that a little closer now, too. From what we can determine, Blaine learned about Mullet’s involvement though Margie’s death and started blackmailing him. When Mullet died, Blaine offered himself as Haroldson’s new mole.”

“And now they’re both gone.”

Rianna’s comment brought silence to the room. The new information went a long way toward answering some unresolved issues regarding her family.

“I’m sure Haroldson is actively recruiting new informants,” said Donald. “All we can hope for is to stay one step ahead of him.”

“And we still don’t know who actually killed my parents and brother.”

“Mullet’s records might give us another lead on that, too,” added Donald. “There’s a mention of a hired gun. We think it relates to an international hit man, but that’s all we have to work with. No name or country of origin.”

“So he could be dead or alive?”

“Anything’s possible, but that was a long time ago and it’s not a very safe profession. Chances are he’s dead or serving time for another murder. Haroldson isn’t likely to cough up that kind of information, so we might never know for certain.”

Rianna wished they could be sure. She desperately wanted to put all the questions, all the worrying and wondering behind her. She wanted to be able to remember her family without the pain, guilt and heartache. Thinking about them led to another question.

“Did you get the video I asked you to keep for me? The personal one?” she asked.

Donald smiled, his eyes lighting with pleasure. “It’s in the living room. We noticed the date on the label, and I can see why it’s so important to you.”

She gave him a big smile. “Thanks a bunch.”

To Kyle, she explained. “When I was searching through Gregory’s tapes, I found a series of videos from his annual staff parties. My parents, brother and I are on one of them.”

She cleared the thickness from her voice, wondering if she’d ever be able to speak of them without getting weepy. She’d lost everything in that fire, every personal item, photo and small memento of their family life.

“I couldn’t risk watching it too much, so I hid it with the evidence tapes.”

Their gazes met and held. His reassuring expression eased the tightness in her chest. For so many years, she’d been unable to mention her family to anyone but Donald and Sophie. Discussing them more openly now brought her an unexpected sense of comfort.

“You’ll have to introduce me to them later,” Kyle told her in quiet understanding.

His sensitivity brought a lump to her throat. She dropped her gaze to her coffee cup, and then took one last sip. Sophie had finished cleaning the kitchen while they talked. Donald shifted back into his deputy director mode.

“Can you stay a while longer, Tremont? At least until I get Sophie back to the city?”

Kyle nodded, and Donald continued. “I’ll take the rented truck and follow her back to our apartment. My car’s in the garage in case of emergency, along with the pickup truck, but you should be perfectly safe here. I’ve got several guards posted on the property. The fence is electrified and the house is heavily armored. I can have more men and equipment brought out at the slightest hint of trouble.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Rianna. “I know this place is a fortress. I helped plan the security, remember?”

Donald chuckled, but Sophie added motherly instructions. “I want you to relax, get some rest and remember to eat. You’re a little too thin and you’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”

Rianna grinned. “I have a good start on a tan, though.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about your adventure when we can visit longer,” she said. “I know Donald’s version is always heavily edited. It’s nearly impossible to pry information out of him. He’s the most closemouthed man I’ve ever met.”

Donald rose from the table, interrupting before she could get started on one of her favorite lectures. “Why don’t the two of you get showered and settled a little before we leave,” he suggested, deftly changing subjects. “I’ll show Tremont around the house, introduce him to the agents and find him a change of clothes.”

Rianna rose and stretched. She didn’t have to be coaxed. She was feeling stuffed with Sophie’s wonderful meal, and getting tired again. After excusing herself, she headed to her own room, stripped and climbed in the shower. A fresh Band-Aid protected her stitches while she allowed the water to pelt her with cleansing strength.

By the time she was dressed again, she felt squeaky clean for the first time in months. The soft, yellow cotton nightgown was nearly transparent, but comfortable. It fell to her knees and clung to her damp body. The matching robe buttoned up the front and wasn’t much heavier, but she decided it added a respectable layer of clothing.

Within half an hour, she rejoined the others in the living room. She gave goodbye hugs to Donald and Sophie, saw them to the door, and then watched as they pulled out of the driveway.

“Wonder why Sullivan was in such a hurry to leave?” Kyle reset the security system and followed her back to the living room. “I would have thought it’d be safer to wait until daylight.”

“He’s pretty fanatic about not letting Sophie get involved in agency business. I’m guessing she promised him she’d leave as soon as she knew I was okay.”

“Has he ever used this place for a safe house before?”

“Never. He’s always been adamant about security, but also about keeping this little family hideaway private. I’m sorry he’s compromising the location now, but I’m sure glad to be here.”

“They seem devoted to you.”

“They’re the best. I don’t know what I would have done without them when my folks were killed. They could never legally adopt me since I’d been declared dead, so they had to create a whole new identity for me. They gave me their name along with their unconditional love and support.”

“Not to mention risking his career if anyone learned what he’d done.”

“That, too,” she said.

Kyle moved to the fireplace and leaned an arm across the mantel. “Have you spent a lot of time here with them?”

Rianna perched on the arm of the sofa, near him, yet not touching. “Donald calls it our ‘summer place,’ but we sometimes spent the holidays here, too.”

“They don’t have any children of their own?”

“No, Sophie says they were always too wrapped up in their careers to take the time. She’s a university professor and they had decided against having children, until I got dumped on their doorstep. I was a confused, traumatized teenager, so it took more than the usual parenting skills to straighten me out. They’re pretty special people.”

“They obviously love you.”

Rianna nodded, but wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss that particular emotion. “I can’t believe you were jealous.” She dared to tease, grinning at him. “Did you really think I’d have one lover deliver me into the arms of another?”

Kyle held her gaze. “I wasn’t thinking with my head,” he admitted, giving her a look so hot that it seared her.

She wanted to know if he’d been thinking with his heart or his hormones, but she didn’t have the courage to ask. Instead, she rose and moved closer to him. He’d showered, shaved and dressed in a borrowed white T-shirt and black sweatpants.

Donald had never looked so good in either.

The shirt molded to Kyle’s well-toned chest and hugged his lean, ridged stomach. The pants hung low on his hips, tightening over his strong, muscled thighs. Just the sight of him excited her, making her body tingle with anticipation.

As she drew closer, his arm snaked out and wrapped around her waist, drawing her against him. She flattened her hands on his chest, and then flexed her fingers, kneading him as a cat would do through the thin cloth.

“I’m starving for a kiss,” he drawled, his gaze meeting with hers as his head slowly lowered. “Everybody’s been getting them except me.” His tongue flicked out, bathing her lips with warmth and eliciting mewing encouragement from Rianna.

“Poor guy,” she murmured, her breath mingling with his. He smelled of rich, dark coffee. “I’ll have to see what I can do about that.”

Next he nibbled at the corner of her mouth, and she slid her arms around his waist, rocking closer. Then his tongue bridged the barrier of her teeth. She moaned, leaning into his strength as her tongue slid against the hot length of his.

He plundered her mouth, making her weak with need. She felt the evidence of his arousal against her stomach and arched into its hard strength. Kyle made a husky noise of approval, so she continued to rub against him with rhythmic, coaxing pressure.

He raked his hands through her hair, clutching her head and tilting her mouth to fit more tightly against his own. Then he kissed her with steadily escalating passion. Deep, wet, drugging kisses that made her bones melt and her body turn liquid with desire. Primitive hunger erupted between them, so hot and fierce that they had to break apart to level some control.

“Damn, all I have to do is kiss you, and I start spiraling out of control,” Kyle grumbled against her mouth, his breath coming in harsh pants.

“No complaints from me,” she whispered, licking his lips with the tip of her tongue.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “I want to take my time with you tonight.”

“I thought we did that last night.”

“No,” he argued. “You had your way with me last night. Tonight, I plan to have my way with you.”

“Mmm…sounds fascinating,” she said, bringing her hands up to cup his face. Their gazes locked, and she thrilled at the desire swirling in his eyes. “Couldn’t we do both?”

“Both what?”

He seemed momentarily distracted by the curve of her cheek, planting a row of kisses along her jaw until she captured his wandering lips with her own. She couldn’t get enough of him. She’d thought the need would abate once they’d become lovers, but it just kept sharpening.

“Couldn’t we have it both ways?” she murmured against his mouth. “Hard and fast, then slow and easy?”

Her bold query had Kyle groaning and clutching her tighter. “Careful, beautiful, or you’ll throw a monkey wrench into my well thought-out plans,” he accused.

Rianna kissed him until they were both breathing faster. Kyle’s hands convulsively stroked her back, and then slid to her hips. He grasped her buttocks, gathering handfuls of her gown and pulling her closer.

When they drew apart to gasp for air, he speared her with a dark, turbulent gaze. “Are you wearing anything under this gown?”

“Not a thing,” she confessed, clinging to his shoulders. Her breasts were achy, so she rubbed them against his chest while arching her hips against his groin.

Kyle’s big hands slid to her thighs, and he lifted her. Rianna wrapped her legs around his waist, straining for closer contact with the part of him that would make them one again.

“Easy.” His command was rough with desire. He rocked his hips against the cradle of her body, and then swallowed her moan of pleasure.

Rianna gasped at the exquisite pleasure of being so close to him, his strength and heat. She took his tongue deeply into her mouth and continued to rub herself against him. He was carrying her to her room, but she didn’t want to wait. She wanted him right now.

“Hard and fast,” she said on her next gasp of air.

“Slow and easy.” His mouth found the pulse at her neck. He sucked deeply, making her blood run even hotter.

“I can’t stand it,” she whimpered, arching her head back as his kisses poured over her neck and chest.

Kyle didn’t respond. His mouth was too busy burrowing under the neckline of her robe and gown, suckling and seeking like a baby. Rianna brought one hand to her robe and started unfastening buttons. She wanted his mouth on her breasts.

“Stop,” he insisted gruffly. They’d made it to her room where she’d left the bedside lamp burning. Kyle kicked the door shut, and then slowly lowered her to the bed.

She tried to pull him over her, but he resisted.

“I’ll take care of these,” he said, reaching for the tiny pearl buttons. Then, one by one, he slid them out of the holes.

Rianna decided that there was no sense trying to hurry him. She went still except for the heaving of her chest, and watched, fascinated, as he slowly undid her robe. He pushed the sides open and then watched as her breasts swelled against the thin fabric of the gown.

Her breathing grew more ragged as his eyes dilated with hot desire. Her nipples tightened wantonly, and a low groan rumbled from his chest. He reached out to cup both breasts in his hands, using his thumbs to stimulate them even more. Rianna cried out as tension coiled from her breasts to her womb.

When he leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth, she arched against him in demand. His caress dampened the thin fabric and heightened her pleasure. Then he grew impatient with the barrier and slowly stripped off her robe and gown. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction when she lay naked before him. The brush of his gaze over her body made her flesh tingle and her pulse race even more.

Rianna reached out and beckoned him back into her arms. He leaned over her, but wouldn’t be hurried. Taking one nipple into his mouth, he lapped it with his tongue while fondling the other breast with his palm.

She sunk her fingers into the thickness of his hair and held him close as pleasure coursed through her body. Impatient, she began to writhe against him and coax him with hungry little sounds that expressed her growing need.

“Slow and easy,” he mumbled, sliding down her body to press wet kisses across her ribs, then her stomach.

Rianna clung to his hair, her body growing increasingly tense as his caresses dipped lower. Then he was sliding back over her and taking her mouth with a new surge of passion. She held his face in her hands while they shared more long, breathless kisses.

Kyle continued to stroke his hands down her sides to her legs. When one hand strayed to the apex of her thighs, she gasped and stiffened. He drew back slightly and gazed into her eyes.

“Let me love you,” he begged huskily.

Rianna could barely nod, but when he touched her again, she felt the caress from head to toe. She began to tremble.

“Kyle!” Her cry was an urgent plea of surprised need. His fingers were hard and hot, probing sensitive flesh no man had ever touched.

“Feel good?” he whispered, locking gazes with her and demanding a response.

Feeling raw and exposed, she closed her eyes to keep him from seeing the vulnerability, but she nodded.

Then his mouth fell to her breast again. The combined caresses had her quivering so badly that she craved release. When his loving pushed her higher, she reached out frantically to strip off his shirt. She wanted him as naked and needy as she.

Chapter 11

Kyle halted the sensual assault long enough to move off the bed, quickly shed his clothes and grab a condom. Rianna opened her eyes and watched him bare his broad chest, then his lower body, exposing a jutting arousal that made her gasp.

She reached for him, but he grabbed her hands and pressed them to the bed on either side of her head. He stole another long kiss and began his loving all over again. All she could do was clutch his head as he alternately licked each of her nipples.

A tremor shot through her when he kissed her stomach, and then he was sliding lower in the bed, moving his hot kisses to even more sensitive areas. At the first touch of his mouth, she cried out again, arching her hips off the bed and pressing herself against his face.

Kyle grasped her thighs and held her close while he slowly explored her most sensitive flesh. The intimacy of his caresses stole her breath and shot fire through her body. A tremor shook her, followed by another and then another, coming harder and faster than she could draw in air and prepare for them.

She cried his name, her fingers digging into his hair in an attempt to stop the onslaught. She wanted him over her and in her, but he would not be hurried. When the climax finally hit her, she screamed his name in a long, low wail as heated pleasure swept her body.

Then it was all she could do to draw in a breath. Her lungs were on fire, her chest rising and falling with the effort to drag in air. Her toes were tightly curled and the rest of her body depleted. She felt limp and washed out, but still Kyle didn’t stop his ardent loving.

He began kissing his way back up her body, over her quivering stomach, to each of her breasts, to her throat and finally to her mouth. When he’d moved above her again, she latched on to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and holding him close as she silently, but passionately, thanked him for his loving with hard kisses.

She felt his arousal pressing against her hip and savored a renewed rush of desire. Sliding her hands down his body, she cupped his buttocks in her hands and massaged the tight flesh until he was moaning into her mouth. Then she wiggled beneath him until their bodies were once again aligned.

She could feel him pressing against her and shifted her legs wider to accommodate him. Then she pulled in a breath as he completed the union with one strong, sure stroke. Her body came alive with excitement and renewed desire.

Rianna shifted slightly to accept him more fully, then cupped his face in her hands. She stroked his cheeks, her gaze adoring. They stared into each other’s eyes as he began the slow, steady dance of love in an ancient rhythm that would bring them ultimate satisfaction.

Soon they were scaling the heights together, each lost in the other as they shuddered to a climax that went beyond physical satisfaction to something much more intense and soul rending. Their hoarse cries of completion echoed in the silence of the room as Kyle’s full weight collapsed on her.

Even though Rianna was struggling for each puff of air, she welcomed his weight, wrapping her arms tightly around him and holding him close. She relished the aftermath of their loving as their chests heaved, their bodies still intimately entangled.

In another minute, Kyle took his weight on his forearms and lifted his chest from hers, allowing them both a little freer breathing. He looked into her eyes again, delving into her soul. She wasn’t sure what he hoped to see there.

I could fall desperately in love with you!

The words reverberated in her head, but she didn’t say them out loud. The thought was still too new and too incredibly frightening. She perversely wanted Kyle to say the words to her, yet feared saying them to him. She waited, wondering if he expected her to proclaim her feelings.

When they could breathe again, she finally broke the silence with a gentle taunt. “If that was slow and easy, why am I sweating?”

His husky male laughter filled the room. Rolling onto his side, he pulled her across his chest. Then he smoothed her damp hair behind her ears, continuing to study her features with his warm gaze.

“You’re incredible,” he insisted, his voice thick. “And you make me feel incredible. Sweat and all.”

“You’re the one who’s incredible,” she teased, stroking his face with gentle fingers. “All I did was enjoy.”

Laughter rumbled from his chest again, and she loved the feel of it against her breasts.

“Glad to be of service, ma’am,” he replied, brushing a soft kiss across her lips, then pulling her head down to his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to exhaust you. I planned to do all the work, but I got a little carried away.”

“Okay by me,” she mumbled against his damp skin.

“You’ve had a rough few days, and I haven’t been letting you recuperate. Didn’t that ER doctor advise against too much strenuous exercise?”

“Hmm…” Rianna practically purred as she snuggled against him. “What’s he know? I’ve never felt better in my life.”

She felt the flexing of his chest muscles again, and delighted in the fact that she’d made him feel good, too. Heaven help her, but she was in way over her head. She loved everything about him.

“Are we going to sleep?” he asked once they’d both quieted.

“We’re just resting our eyes,” she mumbled, her whole body limp and lethargic. She couldn’t even lift her lashes.

“Does that mean we can make love again in a little while?” he teased, nibbling on her ear.

“Sure.” The word was slurred.

He continued to stroke her hair with one hand while caressing her back with the other. “Good, ’cause I really like making love to you.”

Rianna heard him, but couldn’t find the strength to respond. She drifted to sleep, feeling more safe and contented than she could ever remember.

He woke her near dawn, his hands and mouth at her breasts, his teeth and tongue plucking at her nipples. Desire flowed through her like lava, thick and aflame, stirring her senses to a red-hot frenzy of need. He drove her to new heights before they sated themselves once again. Depleted, they fell into a deep, passion-drugged sleep.

The sun had neared its zenith by the time Rianna woke again. Kyle had rolled to one side of the bed. She watched him sleep for a long time, just savoring the sight of him. She felt tempted to wake him the way he’d done her, but decided he needed the rest. He’d had a busy night, and she had to go to the bathroom.

He was still sleeping soundly after she’d showered. She pulled on an old, faded blue T-shirt and matching gym shorts before leaving her room and heading for the kitchen. After making a pot of coffee, she waited for it to perk, and then carried a cupful into the living room.

The room was bathed in sunlight. She pulled back the drapes and opened the window a crack. It had rained sometime during the night, making the air clean and clear. Inhaling deeply, she took a minute to watch the birds at Sophie’s feeder and enjoy the uncomplicated normalcy.

Everything seemed quiet, but Rianna knew there was nothing uncomplicated or normal about her life, however much she’d like to wish for it. She needed to talk to Donald and see what was happening in D.C.

Perching on the edge of the sofa, she picked up the phone and dialed his number. He picked up after the second ring.

“Good morning, Mr. Deputy Director,” she teased him, using her private nickname.

“Good morning, Special Agent,” he teased back.

Rianna smiled. “Everything all right with you and Sophie?”

“Just fine. She nagged me all the way to the apartment last night, but I stayed tough. I refused to turn around and head back to the cabin, even though she came up with some pretty good reasons why we should.”

“She’s a woman of many skills.”

“You can say that again. After nearly twenty years of marriage, she’s pretty adept at using them on me.”

“And you love it.”

“Damn right.”

The deep satisfaction in his voice widened her smile.

“You sound pretty chipper this morning,” said Donald. “Get a good night’s sleep?”

Rianna was glad he couldn’t see the blush that warmed her cheeks. She tried to keep her tone casual. “It was great to be home in my own bed.”

“I imagine it was. Kyle up and about yet?”

“He’s not up yet, but I just brewed coffee, so the smell will probably lure him out soon.”

“I hate to dampen your mood, but I’m afraid I have some disturbing news for him.”

Rianna hated it, too, more than he could know. She didn’t want the ugliness of law enforcement intruding on her world today. Her heart grew heavy at the thought of Kyle becoming more deeply enmeshed in her problems.

Anytime she dared to take a risk on happiness, something always happened to burst her bubble and threaten those she loved. Hands shaking, she set the cup down in the saucer and tried to mentally prepare herself for the worst.

“What’s wrong?”

“Haroldson’s lawyer is trying to convince a judge that he’s a law-abiding citizen who’s been victimized by a con artist. He’s claiming Kyle kidnapped you and assaulted his employees.”

She swallowed hard, but kept her tone calm. “Is he threatening to file counter charges?”

“I told the assistant U.S. attorney that you’d gone with him of your own free will. I doubt his lawyers will press it any further.”

Rianna’s chest grew tighter. Kyle could face charges, however flimsy, for coming to her aid. To a man with his deep respect for the law, it would be the ultimate insult. His reputation was being sullied, yet there was nothing he could do. He didn’t deserve the grief or the injustice after years of service to his country.

Rianna’s feelings of guilt just kept escalating. “I don’t want him to face charges because of me.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, it’s just an unexpected glitch and some extra red tape.”

“Gregory is famous for causing glitches,” she growled. “I’ll tell Kyle you’re working to get it straightened out.”

“There’s more.” Donald prefaced his next announcement with a gentle tone he reserved for really bad news.

She tensed, her fingers fisting. “What else?”

“I figured Haroldson’s mole in the agency identified Tremont, so I sent some agents to keep an eye on his house. We guessed Haroldson would do the same once he knew the two of you were traveling together.”

Nausea rose in her throat. Why hadn’t she considered that angle? Gregory always sought retribution against anyone who crossed him.

She remembered the pride in Kyle’s voice when he’d described his home and dreaded hearing the details. “I’m not going to like it, am I.”

“’Fraid not,” Donald said on a sigh. “The agents did a check on his place just in time to keep it from going up in flames. Someone had trashed the house and set the shop on fire. Most of his workshop was destroyed. The house had some smoke damage, but it’s still structurally sound and can be remodeled. I’ve already hired a team to clean and do the interior work.”

Rianna closed her eyes and sank back against the sofa cushions. Her stomach churned, her thoughts filled with anger and shame. Kyle’s grandfather’s shop had been destroyed, and it was all her fault.

If he hadn’t helped her, he wouldn’t be involved with the kind of conscienceless people who wreaked havoc for a living. He’d chosen to leave that world, but he’d been tossed back into it on her account. She hated being the cause of so much destruction. She was a jinx to anyone who dared get too close.

“Mary?” Donald interrupted her black thoughts.

“I’m still here. It makes me sick,” she said, giving a sad sigh. Then her tone grew stronger and took on a low snarl. “I want him to pay, Donald. He has so much death and destruction to pay for.”

“He’s going to pay dearly,” he swore. “We’re making sure of that. I can’t imagine anything worse for a fastidious control freak that being incarcerated for life. The AUSA will petition for the death penalty, but a lifetime in prison will be Haroldson’s ultimate punishment.”

Rianna supposed he was right. She just wanted guarantees, but she knew there were none.

“I think I hear Kyle in the shower now. As soon as he comes out, I’ll tell him what’s been happening. I just hate it that he’s not free to go home and take care of everything himself.”

“Hopefully soon. I’m staying in the city today to try to stay abreast of things.”

“Thanks.” She tried to sound more upbeat, not wanting to add to his worries. “Give Sophie a hug for me.”

“You bet.”

Rianna held the phone to her ear for a while after she heard the click of his disconnection and the hum of the dial tone. Then she slowly lowered the receiver back to its base. Her thoughts were whirling and none of them were pleasant.

She’d caused Kyle nothing but trouble, yet she was helpless to halt the chain of events at this point. There had to be a way to make things right. She’d think of something, and soon.

Her legs were a little unsteady when she rose from the sofa, but she mentally scolded herself. She didn’t like feeling weak and fearful at the thought of Gregory going after Kyle. The emotional involvement scared her even more than did the threat of violence. She could handle his vengeance if it was directed at her, but not at those she loved.

Kyle joined her shortly after she started cooking breakfast. Freshly shaved and showered, he set her pulse skittering. He looked rested, yet predatory, like a contented, sexy tiger on the prowl. The gleam in his eyes sent heat through her veins.

His hair, on head and chest, glistened with moisture, coiling into tight curls and tempting her to touch. All he wore was a pair of Donald’s too-large jeans, with the waist sliding low on his hips. She had a hunch he wasn’t wearing anything under them, and that thought made her tingle with anticipation.

He greeted her with a kiss that sent her senses swirling and temporarily blocked all thought from her mind. He tasted of mint and hungry man. She clung to him, savoring his solid warmth and uninhibited loving.

“Good morning,” she finally whispered against his lips.

“It’s okay now,” he told her as he nibbled at her mouth. “But it wasn’t so good when I woke up in a cold, empty bed.”

Rianna laughed softly. “That is terrible,” she teased, running her hands over his shoulders, loving the satin-smooth feel of his skin. “I couldn’t stay. Nature called, so I decided I might as well get up and find us something to eat.”

Kyle’s stomach chose to growl at that very minute, making them both laugh. By mutual agreement, they dished up the scrambled eggs she’d cooked and made some toast. Rianna poured them both some juice, then sat across from him at the table.

They ate in silence because she didn’t want to discuss what was on her mind. Kyle gave her a few searching looks, but she couldn’t think of anything cheery and casual to say. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk. She was busy trying to find a way to tell him what she’d learned this morning.

When they’d finished, Kyle carried their dishes to the sink and ran some water over them. He poured them each a cup of coffee. Rianna watched his every movement while shredding her paper napkin in nervousness. Her legendary control seemed nonexistent when it came to this man.

She thanked him when he placed the cup in front of her, sipped at her coffee, and stalled for more time.

“Looks like a nice day,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “Sullivan said there’s a stream out back where we can do some fishing.”

She nodded and glanced toward the window. Sunlight streamed through the pane, bathing the room with early afternoon light. She, too, had thought the day perfect, until she’d called Donald.

“It does look like a perfect summer day. I know where he keeps his fishing tackle. Maybe we can catch tonight’s dinner.”

“Fishing sounds good. What else is on the agenda?”

“Nothing much, I guess. I want to watch the video Donald confiscated from Gregory’s estate.”

“We’ll do that first,” he said, taking a long swallow of coffee. Rianna watched his throat work, and hers grew tight.

When he set down the cup, he reached out and grasped her hand. She gave him a wary glance, but didn’t resist when he tugged harder. Rising from her chair, she moved close enough for him to wrap his hands around her waist. Then he lifted her until she straddled his lap.

Her bare legs slid over his jeans-covered thighs, the friction sending a sizzle of sensation over her sensitized skin. She splayed her hands on his chest and felt more heat coursing through her.

“Wanna tell me what’s worrying you so much this morning?” he asked gently, his gaze locking with hers.

Rianna dropped her lashes. Emotion clogged her throat, making her reluctant to speak in case she embarrassed herself.

Kyle lifted her chin, stared into her eyes. His voice went low and intimate. “You’re not upset about last night, are you? Did I move too fast? Do something that made you uncomfortable? Cross some invisible boundary?”

“No!” She cupped his face in her hands, wanting him to know that her mood had nothing to do with the physical side of their relationship. “Absolutely not. I loved every touch and kiss and caress. I swear it on my life. Last night was incredible,” she whispered softly.

Some of the tension drained from his features. Before he could comment, Rianna pressed her lips to his. She slid her tongue into his mouth, trying to communicate without words. Trying to show him the emotion she couldn’t describe.

The kiss was long and deep and sweet. Kyle’s hands slid down her body, pulling her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the taste and feel of him. One kiss led to another and another.

Then guilt had her pulling back. She couldn’t keep stalling or pretending everything was all right. He might not even want to touch her when he learned the whole truth. A tremor shook her at the dark thought.

He drew in a deep breath and then sighed heavily. His hands tightened at her hips, fingers massaging.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

She dropped her gaze again. “I talked to Donald this morning. He had some bad news and some worse news.”

She felt Kyle stiffen. He lifted her chin again and forced her to look at him. His eyes darkened stormily.

“Haroldson’s been freed on bond?” he asked tightly.

“No!” Rianna shook her head vigorously. “At least, not yet, but his attorney is trying to sway a judge.”

“That’s no surprise.” Kyle visibly relaxed. “Then, what’s the latest development? Let’s start with the bad news.”

She stroked his face, smoothing his brows, the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his cheek. She loved touching him, and showed it in the tenderness of her caresses.

“Gregory’s trying to make you out to be the bad guy.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed. After a brief hesitation, he said, “We already assumed that. What’s different?”

“He’s claiming you assaulted his staff and threatening to file charges. Donald’s sure they won’t stick, but you should stay put until he gets things straightened out.”

He seemed to relax a little more. “That’s not so bad,” he teased, sliding his hands to the small of her back and rubbing her through the soft fabric. “I like the idea of staying holed up with you for days or maybe even weeks.”

Rianna didn’t share his smile. “That’s not the worst of it,” she warned.

“So, what’s the worst?”

“Gregory had some men vandalize your house. They destroyed a lot of your personal possessions and set it on fire.” Rianna paused, swallowing the tears clogging her throat. “The house can be repaired, but your woodshop burned to the ground.”

Kyle went rigid. For a second, he looked so fierce and angry that her breathing faltered. She would have slid off his lap, but his hands tightened at her hips. She wouldn’t blame him if he hated her and rued the day he’d met her, yet the thought of him harboring such feelings brought more tears to her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hating her own shaky voice and emotional upheaval. “I’m so sorry that helping me means losing everything you’ve worked for, for so long.”

“Don’t!” he commanded, his voice rough. “Don’t start blaming yourself for something totally out of your control.”

“I can’t help it,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. She blinked rapidly. “You shouldn’t be punished for doing what’s right. It just isn’t fair.”

“It’ll be okay,” he insisted, visibly forcing himself to relax. “Everything’s insured. I don’t own anything that can’t be replaced. Nothing.”

“What about the things that belong to your customers or your grandfather? You said you refinish valuable antiques.”

“I cleared all that stuff out of the shop before I left. The rest is just…stuff. Nothing special. Just things.”

She gave him a dubious stare.

His features reflected a myriad of emotions, and then his expression went blank. She could tell that he’d deliberately blocked his own feelings to soothe hers. When she continued to stare at him in silence, he rationalized.

“In fact, Haroldson might have done me a favor. I have replacement insurance. I can get all those old, secondhand tools replaced with brand-new ones.”

His attempt to make her feel better brought another rush of tears to her eyes. Try as she might, she couldn’t keep a couple from spilling down her cheek.

Kyle groaned in protest, then flicked out his tongue to capture a teardrop. “Don’t,” he mumbled against her skin, licking and kissing his way down her cheek. “Don’t cry. I can’t stand it. All the bad news isn’t worth one of your tears.”

Rianna smothered a soft sob against his mouth. He returned her kiss gently at first, but she didn’t want gentle. Badly needing reassurance, she kissed him with a force and hunger that quickly wiped everything but him from her mind. He pulled her tighter against his chest while they devoured each other with lips and tongues and teeth.

She strained to get closer, pressing her breasts against the solid wall of his chest and tightening her grip on his neck. Her thighs clenched around his and their bodies rocked against each other in rhythmic demand.

When they finally drew apart long enough to catch their breath, Kyle nuzzled her neck. He pressed hot kisses on the pulse frantically beating there.

Rianna sighed, wondering at his ability to make her forget everything but the taste and feel of his body. Then the guilt crept back into her thoughts.

“I still wish there was something I could do to make it better,” she murmured against his cheek.

He deliberately misinterpreted her words. “There is something,” he suggested, his breath warm on her ear.

“What?”

“You could take off your shirt.”

Surprised, Rianna leaned back in his arms and stared at him. The gleam in his eyes was totally wicked and just as totally irresistible. It offered not only acceptance, but also the promise of the same sweet satisfaction she always found in his arms. The thought dried her tears, but she smacked him on the arm.

“You’re so bad.”

“Because you’re so good.”

Her laugh held a note of surprise, and warmth invaded her cheeks. He was bold and audacious and so impossibly sexy. She wanted to be bold and sexy, but didn’t know how to go about it. Then Kyle took hold of her shirttail and slowly pulled it over her head.

She hadn’t bothered with a bra.

The sudden darkening of his eyes as he stared at her made her breasts ache for attention.

“So beautiful,” he murmured.

She felt the damp heat of his breath an instant before he took her into his mouth. A shiver raced over her as fire spiked from breast to womb. Her muscles clenched in passionate anticipation.

Burying her fingers in his hair, Rianna arched her back to give him better access. His body responded, his arousal swelling and pressing against her.

“There’s another way you can make it up to me,” he said, while shifting his mouth from one breast to the other.

“How’s that?”

“Unsnap these damn jeans.”

Rianna laughed softly, thrilled by his impatience and eager to do his bidding. In a matter of minutes, he’d coerced her from guilt ridden to highly aroused. Being with Kyle offered a roller coaster of emotions—one that she wanted to ride as long as possible.

Once they’d sated each other, they took a long, leisurely shower together. They didn’t make love again, but they explored each other with an intimate thoroughness that kept their bodies singing with sexual tension.

After dressing, they spent what was left of the afternoon wandering around the grounds. They rechecked the security system and touched base with the agents posted at the front entrance and back property line.

The protection team worked eight-hour shifts, changing at eight a.m., four p.m. and midnight. Rianna didn’t know them, but she recognized a couple of names. She asked that her personal thanks be passed on to all the team members.

By early evening, they were ready to eat again, and finished off the leftover pot roast and pie. Then they settled in the living room to watch the eighteen-year-old video Donald had confiscated from the Haroldson estate.

Her family had been caught in the camera’s eye at intervals during one of Gregory’s early staff parties. First they’d been gathered around the buffet table, then their own table and finally near the dance floor.

Rianna wept quietly as the film progressed.

She’d been about ten at the time, with pigtails, missing front teeth, and a frilly party dress. Jimmy had worn new clothes, too, but she remembered him complaining about them being tight and uncomfortable. He’d been so small that he’d begged their dad to lift him so he could see everything.

Her mother looked wonderfully alive and heartbreakingly dear in those years before the lines of strain marked her lovely skin. Her father had been so young and handsome and confident, his features free of the constant worry she’d seen in the years after he’d left Gregory’s employ.

For just an instant in time, Rianna had them back again and felt whole. Even though the video was of poor quality, she’d treasure it always. It held a rare glimpse of her family when they’d still been normal and happy.

Her heart ached for the decent people she knew them to be and the price they’d paid for their integrity. It pleased her to know she’d brought Gregory a few steps closer to justice. She silently renewed her vow to see him punished.

“You look like your mother,” said Kyle, gathering her in his arms and offering comfort, “but you have your dad’s nose and you’re built more like him.”

“Thank you,” she said, sniffling but making an effort to control the flow of tears.

Her mother had always cursed her short, round body, while her dad had been on the thin side. Rianna loved knowing she carried physical traits from each of them.

She paused the tape, rewound it, and then hit replay. Kyle never complained, watching the same few minutes of film over and over again.

His sensitivity and compassion touched her more deeply than she’d have thought possible. He just kept giving of himself, and she kept taking. She was so incredibly needy. Their relationship seemed too one-sided to be healthy, but she tried not to dwell on the negative.

When Rianna finally found the strength to shut off the VCR, she turned into Kyle’s arms and pressed her mouth to his, trying to convey all the complexity of her feelings in one long, lingering kiss.

He responded, as always, with a need that matched hers. She wanted the sight and scent and feel of him indelibly printed in her memories, so she relished every touch and kiss.

Kyle accepted the intensity of her loving and responded in kind, equally intent on making memories.

Chapter 12

Later, they cuddled in front of the TV, fed each other popcorn and watched a romantic comedy. Kyle said it gave him naughty ideas. Rianna laughed and agreed that they’d have to experiment a little, but maybe tomorrow.

“Are you telling me you don’t want to make love again tonight?” he teased.

“Are you telling me you do?” she asked.

He took his time responding. “The spirit’s willing but the flesh is weak,” he explained, grinning.

The expression on his face made her laugh harder. “There’s nothing weak about your flesh,” she chided, knowing he was more worried about her being tender. “I’m willing to vouch for the strength of your body parts any time you like.”

That brought back the wicked grin she loved so much.

“I’ll remember that.”

When they finally went to bed, they held each other close, mingling soft whispers with even softer kisses and caresses. It was another unique and wonderful experience for Rianna. One she knew she’d treasure the rest of her life.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, but her dreams were anything but peaceful. She dreamed of a house on fire, a raging inferno with black, billowing smoke and out-of-control flames licking at a midnight sky. Silent screams tore at her throat as she watched, terrified and helpless, while her family’s home burned.

The dream had plagued her in the early years after she’d been orphaned, but now it took on a new and sinister twist. As she watched the house burning, she saw Kyle’s face at a window. He stared at her, his expression accusing and filled with hate as the flames engulfed him.

Rianna fought her way out of the nightmare. Tremors shook her body until she could force the terror of her dream out of her mind. Soaked in sweat but chilled to the bone, she felt locked in a time warp. Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she tried to rationalize the horror her mind had conjured, but it didn’t help.

Then Kyle’s arms enfolded her, drawing her close to his side. He sensed her trauma and mumbled soft, reassuring words of comfort. His hands gently stroked her back and shoulders until some of the tension began to subside.

She finally relaxed, snuggling closer and basking in his tenderness. Her renegade was so incredibly special. She loved him beyond words and reason. She wanted to block out all the ugliness and take comfort in his arms, but she knew she wouldn’t get another minute’s rest.

When he’d drifted back to sleep, she stayed in his arms until his grip relaxed. Then she carefully slid from his side and climbed out of bed. Dawn was nearing, so she knew it wouldn’t be too early to call Donald. She tiptoed into the living room and phoned his apartment.

He answered and they exchanged greetings, but he immediately sensed her tension. “What’s wrong?”

“I think it’s time for us to get Kyle out of this situation,” she told him, her tone clipped and decisive.

There was a pause, and then Donald’s response. “I agree, but I got the impression there’s something special going on between the two of you.”

“There is, but there’s no way we can pursue it right now. Kyle’s already given up too much. He deserves to have his life back,” she insisted. “Have charges been filed against him?”

“No. I took care of it. The AUSA told Haroldson’s lawyers the charges wouldn’t stick.”

“Then there’s no reason Kyle can’t go home.”

“It’s for the best. You don’t need any distractions right now.”

The thought of him leaving made her heart ache, so she suggested a way to make it easier. “I’m not going to give him a choice.”

“Maybe you’d better tell me exactly what you are planning.”

She could almost hear his frown, but that didn’t deter her. “I’m going to be the one who leaves. I’ll go on up the coast a ways.” Rianna didn’t mention her destination over the phone, but Donald would know.

Margaret Wilding had been her foster mother for a short time before the Sullivans had taken her in. Margaret had no blood relatives, but she was a surrogate aunt to many. Her house had always been considered an alternative safe house, since she had no traceable connection to anyone in the agency.

“You’re going to drive my car?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“No problem. Take Special Agent Payne with you. He’s young and won’t mind being gone a few days. He’s also smart and totally trustworthy. I’ll let him know about the change of plans.”

Now that the decision had his stamp of approval, she felt all sad and weepy again. She wouldn’t cry. She was supposed to be a professional and this was a professional decision.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Thanks, Donald. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“You just take care of yourself and call when you’re settled. Don’t take any chances, and don’t worry about Tremont. I’ll deal with him when he calls to raise hell.”

“I’m sorry to dump it on you, but I’d rather leave without him knowing. He’ll try to talk me out of it and make things even more complicated.”

She didn’t want to waste time arguing with Kyle. It would be hard enough to leave him. He’d be hurt, angry and probably hate her for taking matters into her own hands, but she could live with that as long as she knew he was safe. He needed time to rebuild his home and his life.

“Leave him a note so he doesn’t freak out when he realizes you’re gone. I’ll explain when I get there.”

“He’ll be furious.”

They both knew that was a gross understatement.

“Yeah. Can’t say I blame him, but I’ve been a casualty of his wrath before and survived. It’s part of the job description.”

Rianna thanked him again, and then hung up the phone. The weight of her decision lay heavily on her heart, but she knew it was the right thing to do. It was the only solution at this point.

He’d be so disappointed in her, and that saddened her most of all. She’d lose his trust and respect, but he’d be free of the baggage she brought to the relationship. She didn’t want him embroiled in months, possibly years, of legal battles to bring Gregory and his men to justice.

She wanted him to have a choice. It was the only thing she could give him, and it was important to her own emotional well-being. She couldn’t live in fear of losing him the way she’d lost her family.

After quietly packing a suitcase, she took one precious minute to study his sleeping form. Her heart ached as she slipped out of the house into the darkness.

Kyle woke when sunshine poured into the bedroom. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked at the invading light, dragging himself from the deepest sleep he’d had in months. He stretched, enjoying the pull of his muscles as he worked out the stiffness.

His morning arousal throbbed into life, garnering his full attention. A deep, anticipatory smile creased his face and a deeper yearning settled into his gut at the thought of burying himself in the sweet, passionate woman at the side.

Then he reached for Rianna.

She wasn’t in bed, which dampened his spirits considerably. He wanted a kiss and a snuggle and some special loving to start their day. He’d gotten really fond of having her in his arms.

Tossing back the sheet, he climbed from bed and headed for the bathroom, hoping to find his ladylove close by. He didn’t hear the shower running, but she could be naked and need some help getting dry. His smile returned at the thought.

But the bathroom was empty with no evidence that Rianna had recently showered. After brushing his teeth and splashing some water on his face he went back to the bedroom and pulled on a pair of gym shorts. Then he followed the smell of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen, thinking she must be cooking some breakfast for them.

But the kitchen was empty, too, and the coffeepot had a timer. There was no beautiful woman waiting for him.

Suddenly, all the hair on his body stood on end. He tensed, his body going rigid as he realized how unnaturally quiet the place seemed. There was no sound indicating the presence of anyone else in the house.

“Rianna!”

Fear surged through him as he yelled and tore through the house searching for her.

“Rianna!”

How stupid could he be? He should have realized she wasn’t here the instant he woke alone. He continued to yell her name as he did a room by room search, checking closets, the basement and attic until he grew hoarse and there was nowhere else to check.

Retracing his steps, he looked out windows, checking the grounds, trying to convince himself that she’d just slipped outside for a minute. He opened the kitchen door and yelled for her again.

She didn’t answer, and the silence caused a new upheaval of panic. Had Haroldson’s men gotten past the other agents? Could they have snatched her from the house without him knowing? How could he have been so stupid? He’d relaxed his guard too soon, too much, and had slept like the dead.

He’d failed her again, and his chest constricted at the thought of her being alone or at the mercy of Haroldson’s goons. He had to find her.

“Rianna!”

Fear and pain mingled in the frantic repetition of her name. What if the agents outside were unconscious or dead? He reached for the phone, quickly punching in the beeper number for one of the guards. Then he held the receiver to his ear and waited for a response, hoping there would be one.

When the phone rang, he growled his relief at the caller. “This is Tremont. Where the hell is Agent Sullivan?”

The reply came hesitantly. “Would that be the deputy director you’re looking for, sir, or Special Agent Sullivan?”

Kyle ground his teeth in frustration at the man’s calm question. “Special Agent Sullivan. You’re supposed to be guarding her, remember?”

“No, sir,” the agent replied quietly. “Special Agent Sullivan left a couple of hours ago with Special Agent Payne.”

“What do you mean, left?” he shouted, body shuddering as his temper shot upward. “Where the hell did they go? The grocery store? She’s not supposed to leave the house without armed guards. Why the hell would they risk going anywhere?”

“That I don’t know, sir. My orders are to stay here and make sure nobody gets close to the house. You’ll have to call the deputy director if you want details.”

Kyle swore viciously as he jammed the receiver down and then lifted it again for a dial tone. He punched in Sullivan’s private number, then waited the interminable time it took for the other man to answer.

“Sullivan.”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Where the hell is Rianna? I can’t believe you let her leave this house. Have you lost your mind!” he exploded.

“You’re always so cheerful in the morning, Tremont.”

Sullivan’s attempt at lightness didn’t impress him. “Your man outside said she left with Payne. What the hell is going on?” he snapped.

“We decided it was time for her to move to another safe house.”

“You what?” Kyle knew he was losing it. He was yelling at the top of his lungs because he could barely draw air into them. A suffocating tightness had settled there.

“You moved her without clearing it with me? You let her sneak out of here in the dead of night with one young, inexperienced agent? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“We decided it was best,” Sullivan explained patiently.

Kyle heard the sympathy in his voice, and it chilled him to the bone. “Are you saying Rianna agreed without an argument or a word of goodbye?”

“She said she’d leave a note.”

That didn’t reassure him in the least. “I want to know where she went.” His tone went cold and implacable.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t?” Kyle’s response was feral, but he knew he was wasting his time. He slammed down the phone and starting prowling the house again, looking for the note Rianna was supposed to have left him.

He found it on the telephone stand in the living room. A plain white envelope bearing his name was propped against a flower vase. Hand trembling, he reached for it and tore the envelope to get to the scrap of paper inside.

Dear Kyle,

I’m sorry to leave so abruptly, but it was time for me to move to another safe house.

Please go home and take care of your house and business. I promise I’ll have Donald keep you apprised of the agency’s case against Gregory.

Thank you so much for keeping me safe. I’ll be forever grateful that you were the one who helped me escape and begin to heal.

Yours, Rianna

Yours, Rianna? Kyle raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head in rejection of that. She wasn’t his and never had been, except maybe in his mind. If she really cared about him, why wasn’t she here?

Why had she slipped away in secret to escape him? Had he gotten too close to her heart or had she just feared he was beginning to care more than she could ever reciprocate?

Gone. He couldn’t believe she’d been coldhearted enough to leave with nothing more than a few pathetic words on a slip of paper, to leave knowing there was no way he could follow to her newest hiding place.

Impotent fury raged through him, followed by a pain so excruciating that he began to tremble. He couldn’t move, couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

Then a sound near the door snapped his head in that direction. He wasn’t sure he could trust his eyes. Rianna had entered the house and slowly moved toward him. Her gaze settled on his face. Then she spoke quietly, hesitantly.

“I was hoping I could make it back before you woke up and found that,” she said.

Her voice sounded as shaky as he felt. Kyle soaked up the sweetness of it, his eyes feasting on her. She looked so good, so precious, so sweetly repentant. His throat tightened and his body hardened. The violent, involuntary reactions had him grinding his teeth.

He crushed the note in his fist, then wadded it into a tight ball and threw it as hard as he could. It didn’t go far, but the action offered minimal relief to the crippling tension of his body.

He turned and headed to the bedroom without a word. Once there, he stripped off his shorts, and pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. His movements were fast and furious, but no amount of activity could calm his seething anger—an anger directed at himself more than Rianna. He should know by now that caring too much always led to heartache and regrets.

He’d just sat on the bed to put on socks, when Rianna appeared in the doorway.

“You’d better keep your distance,” he warned as he fought to control his temper. She’d wounded him with her rejection and mistrust. When he hurt, he got angry.

“I don’t blame you for being furious—” she started.

“Don’t you?” he snapped. “That’s generous.”

She flinched at his tone, but Kyle was beyond caring. She’d made it clear she wanted him out of her life as painlessly as possible. So be it. He’d leave and never look back. He didn’t need the humiliation of being dumped. Didn’t need the pain and anger and gnawing need.

“I wish you’d let me explain,” she begged.

“Explain!” he shouted, surging to his feet and glaring at her. “Forget the explanations. Actions speak a whole helluva lot louder than words.”

“I’m sorry—”

He cut her off with another sharp exclamation, too angry to listen to reason. “Save the sorries. You made your point, and you’re right. It’s time we parted ways.”

“You’re going?”

“That’s right. I’m going home and wiping my hands of this whole mess.”

She flinched and went pale. His chest tightened, and he cursed himself for caring, then funneled the emotion into more anger.

“I’m tired of being jerked around to suit your needs. I’m tired of playing puppet with you and Sullivan controlling the strings. I thought we had something special between us, but that must have been just another attempt to keep me in line so that you could jerk me around some more. Well, I’m not interested in explanations or apologies.”

When he’d finished, they stared at each other for a pregnant moment. She waited to make sure he’d finished his tirade. Then she looked him straight in the eyes.

“I hadn’t been gone an hour before I realized I had to come back.” Her voice quivered, and she swallowed hard. When he didn’t interrupt or start yelling again, she continued.

“I’ve never thought of myself as a coward, but leaving here without a word was a spineless way to handle the situation. I rationalized the decision in all the usual ways, but the truth finally hit me. I was running away again. The same way I’ve done most of my life, and I’m tired of running.”

Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. She shifted her gaze so that she wasn’t looking directly at him anymore, but Kyle couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked so fragile and weary, so unsure and unlike the lover he knew.

He needed to stroke his anger and pretend he didn’t care, yet he couldn’t bear seeing her so shaken.

“I got scared, really, truly scared, and I hate being scared,” she confessed raggedly.

When her lips quivered, his gut tightened. Her admission cracked through some of his newly polished armor. A good part of his remaining anger stemmed from the scare she’d given him, but they needed to hash this out.

“I thought you were fearless,” he taunted.

“I thought so, too,” she said, searching his face with eyes that made his skin prickle with awareness. “After my family was murdered, I couldn’t shake the guilt of surviving. No amount of counseling can completely wipe that out of a person’s system. Donald accused me of having a death wish, and maybe he was right.”

“You have a death wish?” The question seemed ripped from his soul.

“Not anymore,” she swore. “That’s what frightens me so much. I didn’t used to care if I lived or died. I only cared about vengeance and seeing Gregory brought to justice. Nothing and nobody ever tempted me to veer from a path of self-destruction.”

Kyle finally realized what she was telling him. “Until me,” he injected gruffly.

“Until you,” she answered softly, her gaze locking again with his. “You made me care again. You made me start thinking of a future and the possibility of a real, normal life. You made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. It…scares me.”

Her honesty and vulnerability stole the rest of the anger from Kyle, leaving him just as vulnerable. He unclenched his fists and took the steps that brought her within reach. Then he cupped her head in his hands, tilting it upward and forcing her to lock gazes with him.

“Do you care? Really care about more than the great sex?” he asked, his thumbs stroking the softness of her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered softly.

He closed his eyes, and then reopened them. He wasn’t ready to proclaim his everlasting love, nor was he ready to let her go. “I think we’ve got something special going, and we should give it a chance.”

Rianna’s expression went from vulnerable to incredibly sad. “I don’t see how,” she insisted. “I’ve been on this crusade to punish Gregory for too long to let it go now. My life can never be my own. Even if he’s found guilty and put behind bars, there will be years and years of appeals.”

He could feel her pain and disillusionment as she continued to bare her heart.

“He’ll still want me dead, and he’ll still have the wealth and power to have me hunted. I’ll never be completely safe, and I’d never ask anyone I care about to live that kind of life. I saw what it did to my parents. I couldn’t bear having it happen all over again.”

Kyle finally cut off the flow of words with a kiss. He hadn’t planned to kiss her, but he didn’t know any other way to stop the outpouring of worry and fear. He understood her concerns now, but they’d find a way.

“If we let him destroy our relationship, then he wins,” he told her, nibbling on her lips. He felt her sharp intake of breath and knew she understood. “He’s been controlling your life for too long,” he added. “It stops here. You’re not the only one who wants him to pay for his crimes. It’s us against him.”

With that, he dipped his head.

Rianna wrapped her arms around him and leaned into his kiss. Their mouths locked, tongues searching, soothing, and then demanding. In a matter of seconds, heat exploded between them, but she suddenly pulled away.

“There’s something else.”

Kyle knew by her tone and expression that he wasn’t going to like it.

“I was wrong to run today, but I’m right about you going home. You need to take care of things in Texas, or Gregory will have succeeded in destroying that, too.”

“The insurance company can handle the details,” he argued, not voicing his own concerns.

“We need some distance between us for a while.”

He wanted to argue, but she pressed a finger against his lips. “Please,” she coaxed.

Kyle nodded, and she continued.

“The psychologists warned me about becoming too dependent on anyone who helped me escape the undercover work. I know what we have is much stronger than that, but I’ll never be sure unless we give it some time and distance.”

“That’s bull,” he grumbled. “How we met isn’t what counts. It’s how we feel now.”

“I know, but I’m going to be trapped in a safe house with round-the-clock guards for the next few weeks. I don’t want you to be forced to live that way.”

“You think I’ll resent having to spend time with you? That makes me pretty shallow, doesn’t it? Sounds like you just want to be rid of me while you reevaluate our relationship.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said on a sigh. “It’s just not practical for you to go into hiding when you could be taking care of things at home. The agency will give you protection if you want, but Donald doesn’t want me that far from D.C.”

“You’ve talked to him and he’s suggesting we don’t see each other again until after Haroldson’s trial?”

“He thinks it’s the safest thing to do at this point.”

Her lips found the pulse at his throat. When she sucked at his flesh, he drew in a breath and his body started to sing with anticipation. A rush of possessiveness nearly brought him to his knees. No other woman had ever given him so much or claimed so much of his soul. Her virginal innocence combined with her innate sensuality made him feel humble and needy.

“Maybe we can manage to rendezvous every once in a while, providing you’re interested,” she whispered.

Interested? He’d have to be dead not to be interested, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to happen.

Swinging her into his arms, he carried her to the bed, and then fell on it with her. He locked his arms around her and moaned with delight as she held on just as tightly. Everything else could wait until he’d found a physical release for all the pent-up emotion.

Then they could talk logistics.

Chapter 13

Paris, France

Steven studied his image in the mirror. Short, thin, balding and nondescript. That was the real Steven Partoll’s reflection, but he never left France without a disguise. In all the years he’d traveled the world, he’d always presented a different, unmemorable facade. Interpol had a photo of him on file, as did the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation, but those images were just two of the many faces he’d used and discarded.

They called him Le Ferret, but he despised the appellation. It sounded more like a rodent than the powerful beast of prey he epitomized. He’d privately called himself Le Parisian, a proud, suitable nickname for a national treasure, he thought, his laughter echoing through the spartan apartment.

This would be his last job, and he’d decided to be himself. The idea was so ingenious that he laughed out loud. Who would ever suspect a mild-mannered, smalltime tabloid editor of being a hired murderer? Who’d ever guess he topped Interpol’s list of most wanted international hit men?

He planned to retire on the five million Haroldson had promised. The first million had already been deposited in his Swiss account. The rest would be transferred once the hit had been confirmed.

He’d considered taking the million and disappearing. Haroldson was in no position to come after him, he thought smugly, but even professional criminals had reputations to uphold. He planned to retire in a blaze of glory that no one would ever duplicate.

Besides, this would be the ultimate test, a challenge unlike any other. The hit would go down in a U.S. federal courthouse, with metal detectors, armed guards and FBI’s finest agents. The job would be his swan song, his pièce de résistance. Others might view it as a suicide mission, but they didn’t have his skill and daring.

He was the best, and this job would prove it. He intended to live a long and pampered life with the earnings from this final paycheck. He already had his sights set on a lush plantation in South America. He planned a complete physical transformation with the best plastic surgery money could buy. He’d grow a little opium for pleasure, buy the favors of some beautiful mademoiselles, and thumb his nose at international extradition treaties.

The woman.

He should have killed her years ago outside her family’s burning home. He’d recognized her among the horrified bystanders, but it had been too late. He hadn’t dared to draw attention to himself at that point, so he’d let her live.

It had been his first job, and he’d done it for a mere pittance. His brow creased at the memory. Haroldson had put a price on each family member’s head, so he’d lied and sworn they were all dead.

She’d been a dent in his pride for years, but he’d been given a chance to restore his self-image. This job would prove, once and for all, that no man could match him in courage and cunning.

Viva le Parisian.

Chapter 14

Margaret Wilding owned an elegant old Victorian home along the craggy shoreline of northern Maine. At seventy years old, she was as weathered as the rocks along the waterfront, but still as strong and sure as the tides. She welcomed Rianna and Special Agent Payne with open arms and a minimum of questions.

After Rianna introduced her bodyguard and briefly outlined the situation, the older woman made them comfortable in her home and treated them like long-lost relatives.

For the next few weeks, the bodyguards came and went in a regular rotation, while the women developed even deeper bonds. Margaret’s old house was in serious need of repair that she couldn’t afford on her social security income. Rianna sold the jewelry she’d mailed from Somerset to fund a renovation. Then she threw herself into the project, desperate to fill the long hours of waiting and isolation.

When she wasn’t working on the house, she spent a lot of time watching the water beat against the rocks and wondering about the purpose of life. She risked an occasional call to Kyle, but their conversations were brief and strained.

Tabone had never been apprehended, so her security was too tight to allow for a romantic rendezvous. She wondered if Kyle had some other less-complicated woman who was willing to warm his bed, but she couldn’t find the courage to ask him.

While alone at Margaret’s, she kept asking herself what she wanted from life. The answer remained the same.

Kyle Tremont.

She loved him, missed him unbearably, and badly wanted a chance for a normal relationship.

The blistering heat of the Texas sun had faded a bit as autumn progressed, but it still beat down on Kyle’s head as he hammered another nail into the roofing shingle. His muscles strained and sweat glistened over his bare torso, but the hot, physically taxing work gave him a satisfaction that little else had these past few weeks.

It had taken a while to get all the insurance claims settled and even longer to get his house back to normal. He’d decided to rebuild it himself, and now the wood shop was nearing completion.

He’d thought the hours of backbreaking work would help keep his mind off Rianna, but he’d been wrong. Images of her filled his thoughts daily, sometimes hourly—her sweet, tantalizing smile, her sexy confidence and her iron determination to see justice served.

His isolated lifestyle no longer appealed. He ate because he needed strength, but he didn’t enjoy much of anything. His sleep was restless, at best. His body yearned for its mate. The occasional phone calls just intensified his need for a more permanent arrangement.

The damage to his personal property hadn’t been that devastating. Things just weren’t important. He couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for his business, though he’d tried to bully himself into caring.

He missed her more than he’d ever thought possible. He loved her, and it was his first experience with the deathless, aching kind of love he suffered. He’d cared deeply for Margie, but even those emotions seemed mild compared to the depth of feeling he had for Rianna.

He wasn’t coping very well, and he wondered how she was dealing with the situation. Had she decided they had something worth fighting for or that he was just a means to an end? Now that her quest for justice would soon be complete, would she want independence more than commitment?

After weeks of slow, painstaking construction, he should be excited about the progress of his new workshop, but he couldn’t think much beyond the progress of Haroldson’s legal case. It was nearing time for the case to go to trial.

He still hadn’t told her how much he loved her. Kyle asked himself why, as he lay in bed and ached for her. He’d been slow to recognize the emotion, slow to put a name to the feelings he experienced every time she smiled or spoke or made love to her.

He was in regular contact with the assistant U.S. attorney in charge of the case, availing himself for interviews and volunteering to back up Rianna’s testimony. He’d submitted a detailed case report and undergone a lie-detector test.

She might not want him involved, but he was already in, heart-and-soul deep. He didn’t trust Uncle Sam’s best to protect her once she appeared in court. Her identity and location would be compromised by then, her every move monitored.

Kyle planned to do some monitoring of his own.

National and international news had been slow, so the media created a circus around the Haroldson case. Reporters for every major news operation had probed for details on the affluent banker and the undercover operative who’d posed as his fiancée. Rumors were rampant, though most remained unsubstantiated.

It was the stuff of TV movies and best-selling novels, so everyone and his brother wanted a piece of the action. Sullivan managed to get background checks on each reporter and photographer that was granted access to the courtroom. Security was especially tight, but Kyle had no trouble getting preferential clearance.

As the courtroom started filling for the first day of the trial, Kyle, Sullivan and a team of other agents watched each attendee as he or she passed through the door. They made sure every face was recorded on camera and mentally cataloged every man and woman who entered the room.

When the judge took his seat behind the bench, Kyle took his a row behind the railing that separated the galley from the prosecution table.

Rianna wasn’t let into the room until everyone else had been seated. She’d reverted to her undercover disguise with platinum blond hair and blue eyes. She wore a demure blue suit with a plain white blouse, and looked like one classy lady.

Kyle feasted on the sight of her, absorbing every nuance of her voice and re-exploring every beloved feature. She only allowed her gaze to meet his once, albeit briefly, but the awareness of each other’s presence throbbed strongly between them. It was an emotional connection that he couldn’t have described if his life depended on it.

His presence symbolized his support. He wanted her to be one hundred percent sure of him. He nearly burst with pride as she took the stand, and then answered hour after hour of questions in a calm, professional manner.

Her voice remained clear and firm as she related the personal tragedy she’d experienced and then the aspects of the case she’d been professionally assigned. For every accusation she made, the AUSA presented evidence to back it up. There were computer files, ledgers, videos and tape-recorded conversations between Haroldson and his staff. There were bank records, and evidence of money laundering in a six-state radius.

It didn’t take a genius to realize she had the jury in the palm of her hand by the end of the morning session. A couple of jurors blinked tears from their eyes, while other expressions ranged from shock to outright horror. The looks they sent Haroldson were telling.

As much as he preferred to keep his attention on the government’s primary witness, Kyle couldn’t afford to watch her for very long. He listened intently, but kept his gaze roaming the room, searching each face and then searching his memory for any connection with Haroldson.

Despite Sullivan’s efforts to minimize the risks, there were still too many strangers in the courtroom with too many cameras and too much high-tech equipment.

During the break for lunch, he and Sullivan compared notes. “Are you having the courtroom checked?” he asked Sullivan when the two of them met in the outer hallway.

“We’re running metal detectors over every inch of it, every time we get the chance.”

“Someone could use a plastic explosive.”

“Which would kill Haroldson, too, and have a whole host of law enforcement agencies out for vengeance. Not to mention the media.”

“You don’t think Haroldson has associates who’d like to see him dead?” asked Kyle, his gaze perusing the throngs milling in the hallway.

“I’m sure there are plenty, but probably none stupid enough to pull off a hit in a federal courtroom. Still, we have dogs searching for anything out of the ordinary.”

“Good,” said Kyle. Then he changed the subject. “How’s Rianna?”

“You mean our Mary?” asked Sullivan.

“I mean your star witness,” came his terse reply. “I want to talk to her.”

Sullivan raised his brows and stared at him for a minute. “I’ll see what I can do, but only if she agrees.”

“After court today?”

The deputy director hedged. “That might not be a good idea. Everybody who makes contact with her increases the danger. You know that.”

Kyle would protect her with his life. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her, but he needed to see her and get close to her. Then he’d know if her feelings had changed.

“How long do you expect the trial to last?”

“At first, Haroldson’s lawyers were in a big rush to go to trial in hopes of having the charges dropped or the case dismissed. Our case is too airtight for that. Next, they’ll try to discredit Rianna. Failing that, my guess is they’ll try to lay the blame on one of Haroldson’s other employees.”

Another agent poked his head out the door and gave them the all-clear to return to the courtroom. They had repeated their scrutiny of everybody that entered with each new session.

“By the way,” Sullivan mumbled to him. “The code word is dive. If you see anything out of the ordinary, yell the word dive and Rianna knows to duck for cover.”

“Will do.”

“Tremont wants to see you,” Donald told Rianna later that evening.

She’d moved from Maine to a safe house in D.C. for the duration of the trial, and he shared dinner with her.

Her breath faltered at the mention of Kyle’s name. Seeing him in the courtroom had stirred a longing in her that wouldn’t be appeased. Just one look at him had nearly been her undoing. She ached to talk to him, touch him and feel his arms around her. It had been weeks since they’d been together, but it felt like an eternity.

“I was a little surprised to see him there. He never told me he planned to attend.”

She felt Donald’s gaze on her face, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Her emotions were too raw where Kyle was concerned, so she continued to pick at her food.

“He’s not the sort of man you can easily dismiss. Nor is he one to wimp out of a difficult situation. He cares a great deal for you.”

She hoped so. Dear heaven, she hoped he cared enough to wait for her and accept whatever lifestyle she might be forced to endure. His presence in the courtroom had given her spirits a much-needed lift. His silent offer of support had boosted her courage. She desperately wanted him in her future, but he’d never mentioned marriage. Maybe he wasn’t sure enough of his feelings for her. The idea scared her almost as badly as did loving him.

“Did he say how long he was staying? Where? Or how he thought the trial went today?”

“He’s staying as long as it takes, and I think he’s bunking down at Special Agent Payne’s apartment. The two of them have gotten chummy since they met at the cabin.”

Rianna smiled faintly. The young agent had probably kept him apprised of the activity at Margaret’s house. Payne wouldn’t have given away any secrets, but he still could have shared information.

“I told him he could come here for a few minutes when Payne goes off duty.”

Her heart raced at the suggestion, but she quickly controlled the excitement. As badly as she wanted to see him, she couldn’t risk having her concentration shattered right now. She didn’t dare give Gregory and his high-priced vultures an edge. His defense team would be after blood.

Their discussion was interrupted when the doorbell rang, followed by a knock. Donald told her to sit tight while he coordinated the changing of guard shifts. She heard the door opening and the hum of male conversation.

Restless and on edge, she cleared the table and filled the dishwasher. With her back turned to the kitchen door, she felt him before she saw him. The fine hairs on her neck tingled with awareness.

“Rianna.”

Kyle’s deep voice washed over her like the warmest of caresses. She closed her eyes and let the pleasure seep into her body. Nothing would please her more than to succumb to the comfort she knew she could find in his arms, but she forced herself to stay calm and controlled.

Turning, she gave him a smile, but she didn’t cross the room to greet him or throw herself into his arms the way she wanted to do. A table and chairs, plus a whole lot of insecurity separated them.

“It’s good to see you, Tremont.”

His eyes narrowed and his jaw went taut. Rianna knew her lack of enthusiasm probably confused him, but she couldn’t let her personal emotions distract her right now.

“Seems our relationship has seriously deteriorated if I’m back to being Tremont,” he said.

“Do we still have a relationship?” she asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but we’ve been apart a long time.” She nervously twisted a dishcloth in her hands. “I thought you might have someone else in your life now.”

“There’s no one else in my life or my bed, if that’s what you really want to know. I’m not that superficial, and we have unfinished business between us.”

Relief rushed through Rianna. She’d secretly feared he would tell her he wasn’t interested anymore.

“We need privacy and some uninterrupted time to work things out. I just want to keep our relationship totally separate from all the ugliness of the trial. Does that make any sense?”

She watched some of the tension drain from Kyle. He nodded in acceptance. “We’ve waited a long time to put an end to Haroldson’s reign of terror. It’ll be over soon, and then we can discuss the future.”

Neither his expression nor his tone gave her a hint at what he was feeling, but she was content to know he didn’t plan to disappear once Haroldson had been convicted.

“Sullivan says we can get you out of the courtroom as soon as you’re done testifying.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to miss any of it. I need to hear what the other witnesses have to say.”

“You can always read the court transcripts. I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be there unless you’re testifying.”

“What can possibly go wrong in a federal courthouse?” she asked. “I know you and Donald are doing everything humanly possible to keep it safe, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have on my side. I’m not afraid.” Her tone was more dismissive than she intended.

“Good.” Kyle studied her for another long moment and then turned to go. “I’ll see you in court.”

It was hard to watch him leave, but Rianna knew it was for the best. At least, for now.

Kyle’s skin crawled the next day as the judge pounded the gavel on his bench and started the proceedings. He had that prickly feeling he always got when something was dangerously wrong. Adrenaline surged through him as he scoured the courtroom for anything or anyone that seemed out of place.

He hadn’t slept much last night. Seeing Rianna, yet not being able to touch her had kept him too keyed up to rest. She hadn’t given him much of a clue about her feelings, but at least she hadn’t sent him packing. That meant there was hope. He just had to be patient until this damnable trial was over.

Most of the faces in the courtroom were the same as yesterday with a few variations of paparazzi. He knew Sullivan had checked and rechecked every person, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was present today.

Rianna took the stand again in the morning session for the cross-examination. Today, she wore a simple black dress that made her look cool and elegant. Coupled with the blond hair, she looked fragile, yet she continued to impress him and everyone else with her professionalism.

Haroldson’s high-priced legal team was good, but they couldn’t shake her unfaltering conviction that he was guilty on all charges. The only time her control wavered was when the lead defense attorney, Robert Fenton, started to badger her about her family.

“You were very young when your father worked for Mr. Haroldson, isn’t that correct?”

“I was ten when my dad went to work for Haroldson, and he worked for him nearly two years.”

Fenton, a distinguished, silver-haired man of sixty, continued in a pleasant, noncombative tone. “How would you describe your life during those two years? Pleasant? Your family prosperous?”

A small frown creased Rianna’s brow. Kyle knew she was wondering where the questioning might lead. So was everyone else in the courtroom.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied. “I always thought we were a normal family. My father went to work on weekdays. My mother worked part-time at a grocery store. My brother and I went to school.”

“Would you say that your quality of life continually improved while your father was in Mr. Haroldson’s employ?”

“Improved how?” asked Rianna.

“Isn’t it true that you moved into a nice new home, that your dad bought a new car, you got to buy a lot of pretty new clothes, and your family was generally more prosperous?”

“I think my dad was pleased with his salary, if that’s what you mean.”

“What I mean is that your dad was spending more money than could be justified by his salary,” said Fenton.

The AUSA protested. “Objection, Your Honor. I don’t see the relevance.”

The judge looked pointedly at Fenton.

“We intend to prove that Ms. Sullivan’s testimony is tainted by her personal vendetta against my client.”

“That’s a lie!” insisted Rianna.

Fenton didn’t hesitate, but turned his attention to the jurors. “In order to defend my client, I have to prove that Ms. Sullivan’s testimony is prejudiced. My client terminated her father’s employment rather than file criminal charges against him, but she was too young to understand.”

“Objection, Your Honor!” said the AUSA. “Mr. Winthrop is not on trial here.”

“That’s a twisted pack of lies.” Rianna’s heated accusation had the courtroom stirring with whispers and the judge pounding his gavel for quiet.

Kyle wanted to rip Fenton’s throat out for deliberately baiting Rianna, jabbing at her tender recollections of her family, and attacking her where she was most vulnerable. He didn’t like seeing her upset, and he wanted to strangle the arrogant defense lawyer. He willed her strength, and noticed that her spine stiffened and her chin hiked higher.

The ploy to rattle her backfired. When he glanced at the jury, he noticed that most of the jurors were glaring angrily at Fenton. Chalk one up for the good guys. If the legal eagles were smart, they’d get her off the stand instead of trying to discredit her.

Fenton and the AUSA spent a minute arguing with the judge, but then Fenton was allowed to continue.

He spoke directly to the jurors, his tone sympathetic. “Ms. Sullivan was only a youngster at the time. She can’t be faulted for seeing Mr. Haroldson as the villain.”

“The authorities brought charges against him,” Rianna interjected in a tight voice.

Fenton turned back to her. “They were dropped as soon as another employee confessed.”

“Which would have cleared my father, as well.”

“We have no way of proving his innocence. This court, on the other hand, has the trusted word of an honorable man and a highly respected citizen.”

Kyle glanced at Haroldson. His demeanor throughout the trial had remained cool and confident, but his eyes narrowed slightly when Rianna turned to stare at him. It was the first time she’d made eye contact with anyone other than the attorneys, so all eyes were on her. No man is his right mind could misunderstand the warning glint. She was getting more furious by the minute, so much so that Haroldson actually frowned.

“I wouldn’t rely too heavily on your client’s honor,” she insisted, her voice holding a veiled threat. “There was more than financial misconduct that sent my dad to the authorities.”

“Don’t believe a word she says!” shouted Haroldson. He shocked the courtroom by jumping to his feet and waving a threatening hand toward Rianna. “She’ll do or say anything to protect her father’s name.”

The judge pounded his gavel again, quieting the stir of sensation caused by the unexpected outburst. Fenton moved swiftly to his client’s side and urged him to sit down. They exchanged fierce whispers, and Fenton requested an extra few minutes to confer with his client.

Kyle had never seen Haroldson sweat, but he was sweating now. His expression was tight, his demeanor visibly agitated as he exchanged heated whispers with his attorney.

What did Rianna know that could shatter his smooth, practiced calm? It had to be something deeply personal, something that would permanently mar his public image, something that Haroldson feared even worse than the criminal charges against him.

While the defense team huddled around their client, Kyle took another slow look around the courtroom. The faces were mostly the same as yesterday, with a couple of exceptions. Sullivan had identified one of the new faces as Haroldson’s sister. She sat on the defense side of the aisle. He knew she’d been subpoenaed to testify.

Another unfamiliar face was that of a tabloid editor from France. He was seated a couple of rows behind the defense table. As Kyle watched, the pale, thin man took a camera out of his case and began fiddling with the dials on it.

Something about the way the man handled the camera made Kyle tense. He watched as a small zoom lens began to protrude from the casing. The shape reminded him too much of a gun barrel.

At first, the editor had the lens pointed straight at Haroldson, but then he slowly angled it above his head and directed it toward the witness seat. All the fine hairs on Kyle’s body stood on end.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that. Fenton declared his cross-examination finished, shocking everyone in the courtroom. The judge excused Rianna, but she was still bent on vengeance.

“What’s the matter, Gregory?” she taunted. “Are you afraid I might mention the main reason my dad left your employ? That he caught you trying to molest his daughter?”

“You lying bitch!” Haroldson yelled, charging to his feet again.

Kyle watched in shock as Haroldson’s head seemed to explode and his body crumpled.

“Dive!” he shouted, leaping to his feet and over the railing. He saw a second bullet shatter the wood of the witness seat, missing Rianna’s head by inches as she dropped to the floor. Panic that he couldn’t reach her in time had his heart pounding riotously.

All hell broke loose as he dove to cover her body with his own. He draped his arms over her head and buried his face in her hair, shielding her as much as possible as he dragged her under the prosecution table.

The courtroom erupted into pandemonium. Screams split the air along with loud shouts and a roar of mass confusion. Bodies were thudding against bodies in the rush to get out of the way. Kyle knew the guards at the door would be no match for the stampeding mob.

People fell to the floor all around them, some crouching under the same table. He stayed put, reassured by the feel of Rianna beneath him. Her heart pounded against his, the warmth of her permeating his clothes.

“Clear the room, but nobody leaves the building!” Sullivan’s voice rose above the din. “I want all exits locked and guarded. Find a short bald guy with a dark gray suit.”

Good, thought Kyle. They had an ID on the shooter. He’d made his getaway, but he’d never get out of the building. Sullivan’s team had planned for every eventuality, and men were posted throughout the courthouse.

“Get the paramedics in here, and a forensic team.” Sullivan continued to issue orders, and they could hear men scrambling to obey them.

Kyle listened, his heart racing, his body folded around Rianna’s, until some sounds of normalcy returned. He didn’t start to relax until the AUSA and his assistant rose from the floor. Once the room had been cleared, he finally moved his arms and spoke softly to Rianna.

“You okay?”

Her voice came in a puff of breathlessness. “You’re squishing me.”

Relief rolled over him like an avalanche, making his limbs tremble. Her gentle complaint was music to his ears. He propped his weight on his forearms, and slid lower until they were face to face, nose to nose. Then he just stared at her for a minute, savoring every feature.

“Sorry.” He hadn’t meant to crush her.

“No,” Rianna said swiftly. She wiggled until she freed her hands, and brought them up to his face. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this ugly mess.”

Her touch sent heat coursing through him. Her words brought an ache to his chest. She shouldn’t be apologizing for circumstances she had no way of controlling.

Right now there were more important personal things to deal with. He had so much emotion to express. There was so much to say, there were so many things crowding his mind. Things he should have said, but hadn’t. Important things, life-altering things, all cluttering his thinking, quivering through his limbs and clogging his throat.

“I love you” was the only part of the turmoil he could verbalize.

He watched her beautiful eyes fill with tears, but the moisture didn’t blur the love shining through. He felt it to the depth of his soul. Her response was little more than a whisper.

“I love you more.”

“Impossible,” he insisted huskily. “Kiss me.” He needed the contact, the reassurance and the intimacy.

Their mouths met in a slow, sweet coupling that expressed hearts full of yearning. Kyle didn’t want it to end. He wanted to keep her locked to him for all time, to feel her warmth and femininity, her generous heart beating against his own.

But they were rudely interrupted. “Hey, you two okay?”

They broke off the kiss and turned toward the voice. Sullivan had crouched beside the table. His grim expression softened a little when he saw them.

“We’re fine.” Rianna’s reply was soft but sure.

Kyle cleared his throat. “I guess it’s safe to surface?”

“Yeah, but it’s not pretty.”

The deputy director shifted out of sight again. Kyle reluctantly rolled off Rianna, then helped her crawl from beneath the table and stand. As soon as he saw what was left of Haroldson, he took her in his arms and pressed her face to his chest.

“What the hell happened?” he asked Sullivan.

“Apparently it was a hired hit man, and a damn good one. I don’t know how the hell he got a gun in here, but I plan to get some answers if I have to personally beat ’em out of that lowlife.”

“I saw the Frenchman pull out a camera. The gun must have been modified to fit in the casing.”

“Well, it didn’t impair the accuracy. If Haroldson hadn’t lunged to his feet, the first bullet would have taken out Mary. Your warning and her quick reflexes saved her from the second one.”

Rianna made a soft sound, and Kyle tightened his arms around her, folding her closer.

“Did you get the shooter?”

“Yeah, I just got word that he’s in custody. He ditched the camera, but we’ll find it.”

“You need help?”

“We’ll be fine. Why don’t you two head to my apartment? I’ll be there as soon as I have some answers.”

Chapter 15

As soon as Kyle and Rianna closed the apartment door behind them, he ordered her to stay put and began a thorough check of the premises.

By the time he returned to the dimly lit foyer, she’d kicked off her shoes and tossed aside the blond wig. Her own hair felt limp. She fluffed it with her fingers, and then reached for the buttons of her dress.

Kyle approached slowly, his gaze raking her from head to toe, his expression going so dark and hungry that it made her heart pound. She loved him so much that she ached with it.

“Oh, no you don’t, beautiful,” he scolded, grabbing her hands to halt her stripping. He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them gently. “We’re not rushing. As bad as I need you, we’re not making love here. I want you naked in bed, where I can feel every inch of you against every inch of me.”

Rianna had her own ideas about which of them should be in control. The look in his eyes made her shiver with excitement. The touch of his lips spread warmth throughout her body. She wanted him, here and now.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew him close. Then she looped a nylon-clad leg around his thigh and pulled him even closer. Their bodies pressed together in one slow, fluid move, every male angle burrowing into every feminine curve. Her blood heated at the feel of his hard, hot body.

Kyle slapped his hands against the door on either side of her head and leaned down to steal a kiss. But one was never enough between them. Each long, searching kiss slipped into another, and another, until they were moaning and writhing against each other.

“Bed,” he insisted, dragging his mouth from hers. He crushed her against the door while his hands cupped her face. His eyes were turbulent with emotion—love, desire, and a need so fierce that it wiped all thought of resistance from Rianna’s mind.

“My room’s the one on the other side of the kitchen,” she whispered, nibbling on the strong line of his jaw.

He swept her into his arms. “I know,” he admitted gruffly. “I smelled you there.”

Rianna trembled and held him tighter. She could never get enough of him. She loved his sensitivity, the sound of his voice, the strength and feel of his body, even his macho protectiveness. She loved the intensity of his desire for her. In that, they were well matched. She needed him just as desperately.

Kyle laid her on the bed and followed her down, pressing his body against hers while he cradled her head in his palms. His kiss was slow and deep and sweet. Rianna understood his need for reassurance. As badly as they wanted to make love, they didn’t want to be parted long enough to rid themselves of clothes. They’d already spent too much time in forced separation.

When he finally ended the kiss, he leaned back far enough for their gazes to meet. The naked vulnerability in his eyes made her muscles turn to mush.

“Say the words again,” he coaxed gruffly.

She knew what he wanted to hear. “I love you,” she whispered, her throat going tight as she saw the way her admission affected him. He closed his eyes, but not before she saw the depth of his response.

“I love you,” she repeated, feathering kisses over his face. “Now and forever. More than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. More than I thought I had the courage to give.”

“I love you that way, too,” he declared in a voice rough with emotion. “I want you to be my wife. I want a lifetime to explore this love. What do you think?”

“Marriage—” Rianna faltered over the word. As much as she loved him, she hadn’t dared to dream about marriage. He’d never so much as hinted at that type of permanency.

“When? Where? How? What about the case? Even though Gregory is dead, Donald will still need me to testify against the others.”

“We can be married whenever and wherever you want. I’d rather it be soon, but we can work around the trials. Your life shouldn’t be in jeopardy, so you don’t have to be a slave to the system. Marry me,” he reiterated.

Rianna badly wanted to believe. “You’re sure? I don’t know anything about sustaining long-term relationships. What if I’m a terrible failure at it?”

Kyle’s slow smile helped to ease her small spurt of panic. The confidence in his expression boosted hers.

“I don’t have any experience, either,” he confessed, sliding his hands down her throat to the open neck of her dress. He caressed the tender flesh, but his gaze stayed riveted to hers. “My folks were far from role models when it came to marriage, and I never put much effort into other relationships. But if you love me half as much as I love you, we can make it work. Nothing is impossible if we’re together.”

Rianna went limp under his caressing hands. “We’re a helluva team, aren’t we?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears of joy.

“Perfect partners,” he murmured as he slid down her body and began to re-acquaint himself with much-adored territory. “How about it? Willing to trust me with your future?”

“With my life,” she returned softly. “My life, my heart, my soul.”

“Your body?” Kyle teased, nuzzling her breasts.

Rianna laughed, tugged at his hair, and then set about convincing him just how much she trusted him.

Six hours and a lot of loving later, they were cuddled on the Sullivans’ living room sofa. Donald had just stunned them with the news that the state had accepted Rudy’s plea bargain. Tabone had been arrested and was expected to plea, as well.

The hit man refused to say anything, but the evidence against him was damning.

“You took a huge risk with that accusation you hurled at Haroldson,” chided Donald.

“I know, but he made me furious. I would have kept his dirty little secret if he hadn’t tried to save himself by tarnishing my dad’s name.”

“Apparently, Haroldson didn’t care that the world might think him a murderer and a thief, but he couldn’t bear the thought of being considered a sexual pervert,” said Kyle.

“In his twisted mind, murder and fraud were all a part of a successful man’s rise to power,” said Donald. “Anything was acceptable when it came to prestige, but he knew that a child molester is considered the lowest form of life, even in prison. Whatever his psychological hang-ups, I’m glad the man’s gone. All his army of thugs will run like rats.”

“It’s finally over,” whispered Rianna. A chill raced down her spine, but the warmth of Kyle’s embrace swiftly comforted her.

“For the most part,” Donald agreed. “You may still be called to testify, but your safety shouldn’t be an issue.”

“It’s time to put it behind me and get on with my life.”

“Amen,” said Donald. “Have any idea what that means in terms of your job?”

“She’ll be moving to Texas,” said Kyle.

Donald frowned. “What do you mean, moving?”

Rianna laughed softly. “He’s not suggesting anything immoral,” she teased. “He’s asked me to be his wife, and I’ve agreed. I’ll need someone to give me away and some help organizing a small wedding.”

“A small wedding that can be organized in a couple of weeks,” added Kyle.

“Sophie’ll have heart failure,” said Donald, grinning widely. “She’ll want the whole shebang with bridesmaids and tuxedos and towering wedding cakes. I think she’s already made some plans.”

Rianna and Kyle both shook their heads, then looked into each other’s eyes for a minute that stretched into two and then longer.

Donald finally cleared his throat to regain their attention. “I’ll let you work out the details. If you want to get married right away, we can pull it off somehow.”

“Do you think you could check about getting me a position in the El Paso field office?”

“I think that can probably be arranged, but it might take some time.”

“Good,” said Kyle. “We’re thinking about a very long honeymoon.”

Donald chuckled and bade them a good night.

Rianna turned into Kyle’s arms and snuggled closer. She loved the warm, solid feel of him. She couldn’t get enough of him. He seemed to feel the same way, and she couldn’t remember ever being happier.

It had taken her more than a decade, but she’d finally accomplished two very important objectives in life. She’d revealed Gregory Haroldson for the murderous criminal she knew him to be, finishing the job her dad had started. And as a bonus, she’d found Kyle, her protector, lover and soul mate.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Kyle. “You’ve gotten awful quiet.”

He used his nose to stroke the sensitive underside of her chin, and Rianna arched her neck, granting him better access.

“I was just thinking about how lucky I am,” she said. Then she murmured her approval of his caresses. Goose bumps shivered down her back as he nibbled at her throat. All he had to do was touch her, and she quivered with need.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” he argued. “Years of hard work and dedication are what got the job done.”

Rianna smiled and slid her mouth over his jaw. “I wasn’t talking about Gregory. He’s out of my life forever. He’s part of my past, and I refuse to allow him to clutter my thoughts anymore.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, his tongue flicking out to bathe her lips. “I wouldn’t care if I never heard his name again, either. He’s history.”

“Right,” she mumbled, all thoughts of anyone but Kyle sliding from her mind.

She wanted more kisses. He tasted so good, and felt so hot. Her endless need for him would have been worrisome if it weren’t being totally reciprocated. She no longer harbored any doubts about that fact. What Kyle couldn’t put into words, he’d expressed with his touch. She’d never felt so loved.

He shifted until he lay flat on the sofa with her on top of him. His hands roamed slowly along her back and thighs. Their bodies were perfectly aligned, perfectly attuned.

“So why are you feeling lucky?” he asked.

“You,” she murmured against his mouth. “Just you.”

A Single Demand

By Margaret Allison

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

One

Cassie Edwards sank her feet into the sand and sipped her piña colada as she watched the man pouring drinks behind the bar. He reminded her of the prince from Cinderella—tall, almost regal looking, with dark-brown hair, and eyes framed by crinkly laugh lines. He had the physique of an athlete and was wearing a soft linen shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans.

Although she had not spoken a word to him, she felt a connection, a magnetism that made it difficult to look away. She couldn’t help but fantasize what it would be like to be with such a man. How it would feel to touch him. To kiss him. To belong to him.

What had gotten into her?

Cassie glanced around the restaurant. It was situated directly on the beach, an open-air saloon framed in little white lights, complete with a tiki bar and waiters and waitresses wearing Hawaiian shirts. It seemed to be a mecca for romance. Couples were everywhere, holding hands, kissing, cuddling together. It was enough to make even the die-hard cynic a little sentimental.

Cassie felt the sting of loneliness. The Bahamas, she thought, was not the place to mend a broken heart.

But she couldn’t think about her ex-fiancé right now. Nor could she allow herself a harmless flirtation. She had not come here in search of love.

She had come to meet with Hunter Axon, one of the most ruthless corporate raiders in the world.

It was a strange assignment for a woman with no business expertise, a woman who was employed as a weaver in an old historical mill.

“Can I bring you another piña colada?”

Cassie glanced up. A tingle ran down her spine as she recognized the bartender she had been admiring. As she stared into his deep, brown eyes, she felt the rest of the world fade away. What was he doing at her table? He wasn’t her waiter. Cassie shook her head. “No. No, thank you.”

The man hesitated a moment. Then he nodded toward her camera. “Have you taken many pictures?”

He was flirting with her.

Unfortunately, Cassie didn’t really know how to flirt. She had never had much of an opportunity. Cassie’s and Oliver’s families had chosen them for each other ever since they were born two days apart at the same hospital. Growing up, all of the boys back in Shanville, New York, knew she was Oliver Demion’s girl. She was off-limits.

Cassie felt a rush of nerves. How did people do this? “No,” she mumbled. What? “I mean yes.”

The man smiled. “Have you been down to the reefs?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t had time. I’ve just taken pictures of the beach. I prefer abstract photos, the kind that capture the essence not the reality. Do you know what I mean? The radiance but not necessarily the, um…” The what? Why was she talking like the nutty professor?

“You’re a serious photographer.”

She laughed. “No. At least, not anymore. I went to school to study the arts but I dropped out before I graduated.” Because my grandma got sick and I had to return home to help her. So I went to work in the mill my fiancé owned and then he dumped me right before he sold the company that everyone in town worked for. Aren’t you glad you asked?

Fortunately she kept those details to herself. “It’s just a hobby now.”

He paused for a moment, looking at her. She felt as if he was studying her, almost undressing her with his eyes. Dear God, he was handsome! She swallowed and shifted her eyes.

“Let me know if there’s anything else.”

“Right,” she said meekly. Was she supposed to say something else? Invite him to sit down? But she couldn’t. Or could she?

After all, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time that day, she was not engaged anymore.

But she still felt guilty. And it had nothing to do with her past relationship. It had to do with the reason she had come to this exotic locale in the first place.

She glanced back toward the bartender. How could she have fun when she knew the devastation her friends were about to face? How could she relax when she knew she would have to return to Shanville and disappoint everyone?

How had she ended up in this predicament?

Until a few months ago, she’d thought she’d known exactly who she was and where she was headed. She was engaged to be married. She had a job she loved, a community and town she adored. But life had thrown her a curve ball. In the blink of an eye, everything changed.

In retrospect Cassie should not have been surprised that Oliver broke off their engagement. After all, their relationship had been riddled with problems ever since he took control of the mill. She would’ve broken off their engagement years ago if she hadn’t been afraid of upsetting her fragile grandmother. But it had been her grandmother’s wish that she marry Oliver. Her grandmother had claimed that their engagement was the one thing that brightened her days.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. She had grown up with him. They’d gone to school together and spent their summers working side by side at the mill. But when Oliver took over the helm of the mill, he changed. He became obsessed with money. It became obvious to Cassie that Oliver had big dreams—dreams that did not involve owning a small mill.

In hindsight the writing had been on the wall. Oliver may have talked a good game, but as her grandmother always said, actions speak louder than words. Oliver’s actions ultimately proved that he did not want to marry a small-town girl who worked as a weaver in his family’s textile mill. And he would never be happy living in Shanville. Oliver was destined to seek love and fortune elsewhere.

But as obvious as Oliver’s feelings toward her might have been, Cassie never guessed how deeply he disdained Shanville. She had also never guessed that Shanville would one day be destroyed by one of its own.

But that was exactly what had happened. Oliver had mismanaged the mill so badly he had brought it to the brink of financial ruin. Then, just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, he betrayed Shanville and the people who loved him. He announced he was selling the mill—the pillar of their community, the employer of generations of Shanville residents—to Hunter Axon.

Hunter Axon. A corporate raider who had made a fortune taking advantage of others’ misfortunes. He was famous for taking over small businesses, firing the workers and closing the factories, moving production overseas.

The sale had caught everyone unaware, even Cassie. How had Oliver arranged this? How had he convinced Hunter Axon to buy a small textile mill that hadn’t seen a profit in years?

It took some research, but she finally found her answer. Bodyguard.

Oliver had stumbled upon a patent the mill owned for Bodyguard, a soft, absorbent material. A material, he realized, that would be perfect for athletic wear. And instead of using the patent to turn the mill’s fortunes around and make amends, Oliver had gotten greedy.

She had tried to convince Oliver to keep the mill and just sell the patent, but he refused. The mill was as good as sold; the deal done.

So Cassie had no choice but to try to meet with Hunter Axon himself. She was convinced that the mill’s fortunes could be turned around if it was allowed to produce the patented fabric.

Cassie had cashed out her meager bank account and flown to the Bahamas to try to talk to him. But her mission hadn’t been as simple as it sounded. Hunter’s receptionist had refused her an audience with her boss. Desperate, Cassie had even gone to his house, but was once again refused entry. In the two days she’d been in the Bahamas, she had not so much as caught a glimpse of the elusive man.

Now, on the eve of her departure, she was forced to face the truth: she had failed. Demion Mills was doomed to become just another deserted warehouse, its beautiful old looms designated to museums or scrapped for parts.

Cassie picked up her bill. Twenty-four dollars. Twenty more than she should have spent. After all, she only had thirty left, and she needed cab fare for tomorrow morning. She knew she shouldn’t have splurged on eight-dollar piña coladas, but she couldn’t help herself. She glanced back toward the aquamarine water and set the bill back down. A warm breeze swayed the graceful palm trees that flanked the beach. Perhaps, she thought, she could afford to stay just a few more minutes.

She picked up her empty glass and popped a half-melted ice cube into her mouth. Sinking back down in her chair, she stared at the fiery red sun sinking into the Atlantic.

“Can I buy you a drink?” asked a husky voice.

Cassie almost jumped out of her chair. But it was not her hunky bartender. It was a blond-haired, portly gentleman sporting a sunburn that outlined the shape of sunglasses, making him look like a red raccoon.

“No, thank you,” she said. She swallowed the cube. “I was just leaving.”

“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing all alone?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a crime, that’s what it is. But I have good news. You’re not going to be alone any longer.” He flashed a thumbs-up sign to some men sitting at the bar. They were snickering and laughing, giving him the thumbs-up back in encouragement.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I have to get going.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Let us buy you another drink.”

“No, but thank you.”

She opened up her wallet, and before she could stop him, he had reached over and pulled out her license. “Miss Edwards of 345 Hickamore Street. Shanville, New York.”

“Give that back to me, please.”

“You’re a long way from home, Miss Edwards.”

“I asked for that back.” She stood up and glanced around. The music had picked up, and although there were quite a few tables around her, the patrons seemed too busy with each other to notice.

He raised the license above his head. He glanced at his friends at the bar. They snickered and laughed, encouraging him. “For a kiss,” he said. Before Cassie could move away, he had grabbed her by the waist. “One kiss.”

“Is there a problem?” said a voice from behind.

The man dropped his hands. Cassie turned around and found herself staring into the deep, brown eyes of her bartender.

“No problem,” the blond man said.

The bartender’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his muscular arms against his chest. He was an intimidating figure with an inherent air of authority.

“The lady here just dropped her license. That’s all,” the man said, flicking Cassie’s license toward the table. His eyes darted nervously toward his friends. They were still at the bar but were staring down at their drinks, pretending not to notice the drama unfolding only feet away.

The bartender’s eyes blazed. It was obvious he didn’t like being lied to. He took another step toward the man and said in a lethal voice, “I want you out of here now. I prefer to avoid a scene. However,” he said, unfolding his arms, “if it’s necessary—”

Before he could finish, the man swung a punch. But the bartender was too fast. Like a trained fighter, he spun around and grabbed the man by the lapels, lifting him off the ground. “I’m not going to ask you nicely again.”

“Okay,” the man said, raising his hands in surrender. “I give.”

The bartender set him back down. The man glanced toward the bar. His friends had disappeared. “Some vacation,” he mumbled, stumbling away.

Cassie could feel the bartender’s eyes on her once again. “Are you all right?” he asked gently.

“Fine,” she said. Her camera was sitting on top of the table, its lens cap off. She glanced back at the bartender. Despite her scuffle, all she could think about was his deep, brown eyes. She didn’t think she had ever seen eyes so intense.

“You’re welcome to use the house phone if you’d like to call someone.”

“Call someone?”

“Someone to pick you up. Drive you home.”

“No,” she said.

“All right, then,” he said. “I’ll call you a cab.”

She remembered the lack of cash. “No, I’m staying close. I’ll just walk.”

Actually, it was not close at all. After her unsuccessful attempts at meeting with Axon, she had gone back to the motel, a sorry-looking building blocks from the beach. But she couldn’t see spending her last night in the Bahamas cooped up in a small, dark room, so she had walked the beach, stopping to photograph anything and everything that caught her fancy: a woman braiding hair, an old man selling shell necklaces, a young child splashing in the waves.

How far away was that hotel, anyway? A half hour? An hour?

She was distracted by a loud holler from down the beach. In the distance she could see her perpetrator. He had rejoined his friends and they were jumping up and down and hollering, making lewd gestures at a group of women.

“I’ll see you home,” the bartender said. She turned back toward him. He was watching the men. “Where are you staying?”

She hesitated. She suddenly realized she could not tell him where she was staying. Nor did she want him to see her to her hotel. She didn’t know him. And although only minutes earlier she had been dreaming about a seduction, the truth of the matter was she was still Cassie Edwards, the town Goody Two-shoes. The twenty-three-year-old virgin. The fiancée of Oliver Demion.

Make that ex-fiancée.

“Thank you for your help, but I’ll be fine.” No, she could not have him see her home. But there was one thing she desired of him.

He was staring at her, not saying a word.

She picked up her camera. “Would you mind if…” She hesitated.

“If what?”

“If I took your picture?”

He looked at her as if it was the first time anyone had ever asked for such a thing.

“I’ll be quick,” she said.

“Sure,” he said. He stood still, not moving.

She looked through the lens and focused. He stared directly at the camera, looking at her with an intense, yet almost amused expression.

She snapped the photo and smiled. “Great. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

She wondered if he was just going to stand there until she left. She opened her purse and took out the money. She set it on the table. “Like I said, I’m a photography buff,” she began. “Ever since I got my first camera I—”

But she was talking to the wind. He was gone.

She glanced around the bar. There was no sign of him. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air. She sighed. She had a chance and she blew it. What had she been thinking?

With one last glance toward the bar, she turned to leave. Suddenly she stopped. Her bartender was less than fifty feet away. He was leaning against a palm tree, his hands tucked in his pockets as he stared at the water.

She found herself suffering from yet another case of nerves. Should she hurry by as if she hadn’t noticed him? Or should she try and strike up a conversation?

He turned around. He smiled, almost as if he had been waiting for her. “Which way are you headed?” he asked.

There was something about his sweet, crooked smile that made her mind turn to mush and her heart beat faster. “That way,” she said, nodding toward her left.

He said, “Me, too. Do you mind if I walk with you a bit?”

She laughed nervously. “Sure.”

He stopped. “You do mind, or you don’t?”

“I don’t mind,” she said quickly. He grinned. They began walking again.

She wasn’t sure if his being there was a coincidence or not. She almost hoped it wasn’t. She stole a peek at him out of the corner of her eye, and when she saw him looking at her, she blushed and glanced away. She realized they did not even know each others’ names. But for some reason, it didn’t seem to matter. She was content to escape her life and identity, if only for a while.

“Are you in the Bahamas for business or pleasure?” he asked.

“Business,” she said.

“What do you do?”

She hesitated. “I’m a…” She paused. She did not want to talk about the mill. Not tonight. Not in this magical, beautiful place. Tonight she was Cinderella at the ball.

He said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I’m in town for a meeting.”

“A meeting? Sounds mysterious.”

“I assure you it’s not.” She smiled at him. “So,” she said, quickly changing the subject, “I noticed you working the bar. How long have you lived here?”

“About ten years,” he said.

“What a nice place to live.”

“It can be.” He stopped at a small marina and said, “I have to check on a boat. If you’re not in a hurry, perhaps you’d like to come with me?”

Once again she found herself hesitating. Part of her would have liked nothing better than to spend as much time with him as possible, but the other part was telling her she should leave while she still had her wits about her.

He said, “I should admit that I lied to you. I’m not going to let you walk home by yourself. It’s not safe for a woman to walk this beach by herself after sunset.”

She glanced down the beach. She could hear some male voices. Did they belong to the raccoon man and his friends?

It would be ridiculous to take a chance walking the beach by herself. But then again, wasn’t it equally ridiculous to accept a stranger’s invitation to his boat?

But was she ready to say goodbye? Besides, as he said, she didn’t have much choice. She was not getting rid of him in either case. Not that she wanted to. Not by a long shot. “Thank you,” she said.

She followed him down the dock. The boats seemed to increase in size as they walked. He stopped at the last and largest yacht. “There she is.”

When he climbed aboard and held out his hand, she accepted his help. She jumped onboard and looked around. “Wow,” was all she could say.

It was not only the size that was impressive. The boat looked brand-new. Everything seemed to sparkle with polish—the floors, the doors. It exuded wealth, from the rich mahogany of the hull to the beautiful cushioned deck chairs.

It was the type of boat that looked as if a tuxedoed butler might appear at any moment. The type of boat that was bought and sold with a crew. “Does somebody actually own this thing?”

He nodded and smiled. “Somebody actually does.”

“Do you crew on this?”

He hesitated. “When needed.”

“I bet that’s a nice job.”

He laughed. It was the first smile she had seen since they’d left the bar. “It beats sitting at a desk.”

“Where is everybody?”

“There’s only one crew member that actually lives onboard, and he’s visiting his mother in Ohio this week.”

“And the owner doesn’t live onboard, I take it.”

“No,” he said. Once again he flashed his crooked smile.

“Mind if I take a look around?” she asked.

“I’ll give you the guided tour.”

She followed him through a pair of mahogany doors and into a galley. The cabins looked as if they were out of the pages of Architectural Digest, each grander than the previous one. At a bedroom door she stopped. She went over to the drapes and felt the material. “Jacquard silk lampas,” she said, not realizing she was speaking out loud.

“What?”

“This material is woven by hand,” she said. “It’s very expensive.”

“How do you know that?”

She blushed. How did she know that? Because she spent her days at a loom, making that exact material. “I’ve photographed it.” She ran her hands over the sleek, heavy silk. “It has a wonderful texture.”

“You really are a serious photographer.”

She shook her head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?”

“When I was growing up, I thought I wanted to be a photographer. I took pictures of everyone and everything.”

“Sounds interesting.”

She nodded. “I was an arts major in college.”

“But?”

“But life intervened. My grandmother got sick.”

“And you never went back?”

“No. She needed me. And then when she didn’t…Well, things had changed.”

“That’s too bad.”

“No,” she said. “I’m happy with my life and the path I’ve taken. It may not have been the path I thought I would choose, but I have no regrets.” She looked at him and smiled. “I don’t believe in them, anyway, do you?”

“Regrets?” He shook his head. “Not tonight, at least.” He grinned.

Not tonight? She pondered the meaning as she followed him back out the galley and onto the deck. “That’s it,” he said, turning around to face her.

“No swimming pool?” she teased. “No grand ballroom?”

“I’m afraid not.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess it’s okay.”

His smile faded. For a second she thought she had offended him. He did know she was being sarcastic, right?

“Are you in a hurry?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He nodded toward the lounge chair. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get us something to drink. What would you like?”

“Are you sure it’s all right?”

Once again he smiled. “Yes. Do you like champagne?”

She nodded.

He came back carrying a bottle and two glasses. He opened it up and poured some into a flute. “Cheers,” he said, handing it to her.

She took a sip as she leaned back in her chair and breathed in the warm, salty air. “This is nice,” she said. “I almost wish I didn’t have to go home tomorrow.”

“Where’s home?”

“New York,” she said.

“Is that where your family lives?”

“Lived,” she said. “My parents died when I was young. I was raised by my grandparents. My grandfather died about ten years ago and my grandmother…” She hesitated. “A few months ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. There was a tenderness in his eyes that made her feel like crying. “That must be hard for you.”

“Yes,” she said. She was suddenly tempted to tell him her whole sad story, but she stopped herself. She did not want to tell him about Oliver, nor did she want to tell him about the mill and the horrible Hunter Axon. She wanted to forget about all that, at least for tonight. She stopped talking and focused on drinking.

“You’re not married.”

She took another sip and said, “I almost was.”

“Almost?” he repeated, refilling her glass.

Oh geesh, she just couldn’t help herself. Why would she bring up her broken engagement? Didn’t she have anything happy to say? Anything fun? “I was engaged but it didn’t work out.”

“So that’s another reason why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you looked so sad tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I was watching you.”

He had been watching her. Was he…interested in her? “You were watching me?”

He nodded. “You looked like you were ready to cry.”

No, he was not interested. He was a nice guy who was feeling sorry for her. Pity was not often a precursor to lust. She shook her head. “I might have been thinking about my grandmother, but I wasn’t thinking about him—at least, not like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No more ‘I’m sorrys,’” she begged. “Please. I’m beginning to feel like a pity case. Anyway, I’m over him. I am. I think everything happens for a reason.”

“I agree,” he said, nodding. “But it’s still never easy saying goodbye to someone you cared about.”

She sighed. “True. But sometimes exes can do things that make it a little easier.”

“Like?”

“Like leaving you for another woman.” Oh damn. There she went again. Couldn’t she keep it buttoned up for two seconds?

No. It was not only the alcohol but the anonymity that was getting to her. The ability to talk to someone she would never see again. Someone who did not know her or Oliver, or their situation.

He was staring at her. “He left you for another woman?”

Her name was Willa Forchee. She was about ten years older than Oliver and worked as a vice president for Axon Enterprises. Cassie had met her several times and thought she seemed just as mean and vindictive as her boss was reported to be. In any case, Oliver admitted they had been involved for months. He claimed to be in love for the first time in his life.

Ouch.

But Cassie had not spent much time wallowing in the self-pity of a jilted lover. Every ounce of energy was used up in anger over the mill and herself for not stopping Oliver sooner.

“I’m sorr—” he began.

She put a finger to his lips to silence him. “No more ‘I’m sorrys.’ Please.”

He took her finger away. But he did not let go. He began stroking it. Softly and gently. Even though it was a simple, tender act, it took her breath away. It was far more sensual than a kiss. And so intimate. What was happening? They didn’t even know each other.

“What about you?” she asked as casually as she could manage. “Are you married? Have a girlfriend?”

He shook his head. “Neither. I work too much.”

His gaze was as soft as a caress. He was still stroking her finger, as if stoking a gently burning fire. She swallowed and said, “You must meet tons of women at the bar. It seemed like the place was really hopping.”

“I don’t typically date women I meet at the bar.”

“Typically?”

“There’s an exception to every rule.”

He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. She, apparently, was the exception. It was enough to make her smile inwardly and out. He let go of her finger. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “You didn’t eat anything at the bar.”

Right. She had spent her dinner money on cocktails. And she didn’t regret her decision. Not one bit. After all, she reasoned, a girl had to have priorities. “A little.”

“Let’s see what’s in the kitchen.”

She followed him into a large and sparkling galley kitchen. Every appliance was top of the line. “Nice dishwasher,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said, with mock sincerity. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

“My dishwasher just died,” she said. “So I’m particularly sensitive right now.” Her dishwasher had joined a long list of dead appliances—her toaster oven, her cooktop and her washing machine. She looked around the kitchen. “The people who own this nice dishwasher, where are they?”

He looked at her and hesitated. “Standing in front of you.”

“What?”

“I own this boat.”

She started laughing. So he was funny, too. Smart and funny. A nice combination. “So you probably cook a lot in this kitchen.”

“No,” he said. “Usually my chef cooks for me.”

She laughed again. When was the last time she had had this much fun? She couldn’t remember. It had been a long time since she and Oliver had enjoyed each other’s company. But it wasn’t always that way. They had grown up the best of friends, enjoying the beautiful town they lived in. In the winter they went ice skating and in the summer they fished and swam in the creek.

Oliver had proposed while they were still in high school and she had accepted. But after Oliver started college, he changed. It was subtle at first. He was no longer satisfied to make a quiet dinner and stay in. Only an expensive restaurant would suffice. And that was not the only change. The boy who had grown up in jeans and a T-shirt began wearing designer clothes and getting manicures. His conversation always returned to money: who had received what job offer with what benefits, who was driving what new car.

Her grandmother had defended him. “He’s growing up,” she’d said. “Every man goes through it.”

But it was more than that, Cassie realized now. They had been growing apart. And the distance had not been entirely due to Oliver.

She still cared about him, of course. She always would. But her love for him was that of a sister toward a brother. She had been more than happy to accept his distance, more than happy to date like a couple from the eighteen hundreds. Social calls that consisted of a glass of iced tea or two in the backyard.

At one point she questioned their youthful decision to marry. But Oliver had been adamant. He persuaded her they were destined to be together, that their decision to marry was still sound.

In retrospect, his were the words of someone who was desperately trying to convince himself. But at the time, she agreed to go ahead with their plans. After all, her grandmother was counting on it. Perhaps, Cassie thought, things between Oliver and her would improve after their marriage. But she was wrong. When Oliver had canceled their engagement, he had done her a favor, however brutal it had been.

“Hey,” the bartender said. “Sad again?” And then he touched her.

It was an intimate touch, a hand to her cheek. A lover’s touch.

She glanced at him, trying to read his eyes. Still looking at her, he let his fingers trail down her cheek. It had been a long time since a man had touched her like that, and the intimacy was enough to cause her emotions to flood to the surface. No, she thought. She could not cry. Not now.

“He was a fool,” he said, obviously assuming she was lamenting the loss of her fiancé. “You deserve better.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I’m here with you right now,” he said. “And that’s all that matters.” He removed his hand but continued to stare at her tenderly.

How could she be sad when her Prince Charming was standing before her? She only had one night before she turned back into a pumpkin. “So,” she said brightly, “what does your chef usually cook in your kitchen?”

He shrugged and opened the fridge. Inside were ready-made bowls of pasta, some delicious-looking London broil and twice-baked potatoes. “Something I can heat up quite easily.”

“You’re getting into this ownership bit,” she said. “Are you sure the owners won’t mind if we eat their food?”

When he turned and glanced at her, she added, “I just don’t want you to get into trouble.”

He leaned forward. “I guarantee it.”

“Guarantee you will get into trouble or you won’t?”

He tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear. His touch sent another tingle down her spine. “Are we talking about dinner?”

She swallowed.

He smiled and winked, then turned back toward the food and finished heating up the dishes.

When it was ready, he prepared the plates and lined them on his arms like a professional waiter.

“You’ve obviously had experience,” she said, nodding to the way he was carrying the plates.

“Years,” he said with a smile.

She grabbed the dinner plates and silverware and followed him to the table, which faced the sea. He lit the candles.

She sat, glancing back to shore. The docks were empty and the beach had emptied out, too. It was as if they were alone in the world. “Where is everyone?”

“It’s a private marina.”

She took a bite. The food was delicious. She suddenly realized how ravenous she was. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Distracted by the dinner, she didn’t even realize her host was barely eating, until she glanced up. He was leaning back in his chair, smiling at her. There was something regal about him, as if he really were a prince.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“My manners. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

“You have perfect manners.” He picked up the champagne and refilled her glass.

“Where are you from originally?” she thought to say.

“I was born in Maryland. But when I was ten my father lost his job and we moved to a little island not too far from here.”

“It seems like paradise.”

“It can be. But it wasn’t quite paradise when I was growing up. It’s hard to make a living as a fisherman—especially when you have no experience.”

She nodded. “You’re an only child?”

“Yes. My mother died when I was young. It was just my dad, my grandmother and me.”

“Your grandmother?”

He nodded. “My dad thought I needed a mother figure, so he moved her here from France. She never learned to speak a word of English.” He smiled as he remembered her. “I can still hear her now, yelling, ‘Ne t’assois pas sur le canapé avec ton maillot de bain mouillé.’”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t sit on the couch in your wet suit.” He smiled at her. He took a sip of his champagne and said, “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m an only child, as well.” But growing up she had never felt alone. Shanville was a small town filled with quaint Victorian houses, the occasional country store and a small Main Street that seemed to have most everything a person could desire. Nearly everyone who didn’t work on Main Street worked for Demion Mills. Cassie still lived in the house where she had grown up, several streets away from Main Street and a short trip through the woods to the mill. She felt as if her co-workers and neighbors were her family. People who had known her since she was born. People who had supported her through the good times and bad. People who, like her, worked at the mill.

They tended the old looms with care and love, producing fabrics that sold for up to $1,000 a yard. They were proud of their work, proud to have covered not one, but three presidential chairs in Demion fabrics. But it wasn’t only presidents who had benefited from their expertise. Their fabrics had draped the homes of the rich and famous, the kings and queens around the world. And even, Cassie thought, a millionaire’s yacht in the Bahamas.

“Are you done?” he asked quietly.

She suddenly realized she had once again been staring morosely at her plate. He was probably anxious to get rid of her. Cheer up, she commanded herself once again. Stop thinking about the mill. “Yes,” she said.

He held out his hand. “Follow me. It’s time for dessert.”

Two

Cassie accepted his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. But he did not let go. He led her off the boat and back down the dock.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to give you a truly tropical experience.” When he reached the end of the dock he said, “Take off your shoes.”

“What?”

“Trust me.”

She wasn’t sure why she needed to take off her shoes, but she kicked them off and followed him onto the beach. He walked over to a palm tree and shook it. “What are you doing?” she asked as a coconut fell to the beach.

He picked it up and said, “I know how much you like piña coladas.” He knocked the coconut against the side of the tree, revealing the nut inside. Taking out his tool knife, he used the corkscrew to make a hole in the end and offered it to her. “Take a sip.”

She put the brown, hairy shell to her lips and drank some of the sweet, clear liquid.

“Do you like it?”

She nodded and handed the coconut back to him.

“You can finish it if you like.”

“No,” she said. It was good, but it would taste even better with pineapple juice and rum.

He accepted the coconut and drank the rest of the liquid. Then he cracked it and used his knife to carve out a piece of the meat. “Dessert,” he said, holding it to her lips as if he were feeding her candy.

She smiled and bit off a small piece. The whole experience was so sensual that she almost forgot to taste it.

“Well,” he said, taking a step toward her. They were so close she could feel his breath on her forehead.

She glanced up at him. “It’s wonderful. But why did I take off my shoes?”

He took her hand once again and led her along the water’s edge. The warm, sandy water slid in between her toes.

“So you could feel that,” he said, nodding toward her toes.

She laughed. She took the coconut out of his hands and held it up to the moonlight.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I think this would make a great picture. The coconut blocking out the moon. The light radiating behind it.”

“Do you want me to get your camera?”

“No,” she replied. For once she did not want to see life from behind the sanctity of her lens.

He set the coconut on the beach, then took her hand and said, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Absolutely nowhere.”

They moved together as one, their arms wrapped around each other. Every now and then they would pass another couple and smile. It was easy to believe, she thought, that they were like them. Husband and wife, honeymooners, lovers.

“My hotel is just up here,” she said.

“But your shoes and your camera are back at the dock.”

She smiled. “Right.”

He stopped walking and she turned back toward him. “Ready to turn around?”

But he didn’t answer her. He was staring at her intently, his eyes full of fire. He said, “My God, you’re beautiful.”

She felt the color rush to her cheeks as she swallowed hard.

He took a step toward her. He towered over her, still staring into her eyes. She couldn’t look away. She stood there, hypnotized, completely under his spell.

“May I kiss you?” he asked softly.

She nodded and tilted her head toward him. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. He pulled away and hesitated, as if waiting.

She responded instinctively, reaching her hand around his neck and steering him back toward her lips. He responded with a kiss that took her breath away. His tongue was inside her mouth, exploring the recesses. Deep and sensual, it was unlike any kiss she had ever received.

Only when she thought she might faint from lack of oxygen did he pull away. He stood there for a moment, resting his forehead against hers.

Finally, in a raspy voice, he said, “Let’s head back.”

He pulled her close to his side, resting his hand on her hip.

It was an intimate gesture, one that intimated ownership. She was his…for the moment. She reciprocated, looping a finger around his belt loop.

What was she doing? She barely knew this man. This…interlude was a fantasy, nothing more. Where could it possibly lead?

But she couldn’t think about that right now. She wanted to just close her eyes and enjoy the feeling of a handsome man holding her close, the feeling of being desired.

Before she knew it, they were back at the dock. She sighed, sad that their time together was at an end.

She picked up her shoes. “I need to get my camera before I leave.”

“Okay,” he said. He almost sounded disappointed as well.

They walked down the dock without touching. He climbed aboard and once again held out his hand. She accepted it and jumped on. But this time he didn’t let go.

She knew it was time to go home. Their night together was over. But before she could speak, he had taken a finger and delicately trailed it around her face. “Don’t go back,” he breathed, as if desperate for her to stay. Without even questioning her response, she leaned forward and kissed him.

He responded slowly and softly, as if he had been waiting for her an eternity. As if they had kissed a million times before. His hand slid around her waist as he pulled her in closer.

She felt as if the world was spinning away. All that mattered was the energy they alone were creating.

She pulled back and took several deep breaths. Another kiss like that and she would be physically incapable of going anywhere. She needed to leave. Now. “I…I have an early flight. I really should be—”

But she didn’t have a chance to finish. He kissed her again, harder this time. All her senses spun to life. She wanted him to touch her, to hold her all night. She wanted to feel his lips on hers for the rest of her life.

Finally he stopped and said, “At least finish your champagne.”

She glanced toward the table. The champagne bottle sat in a bucket of half-melted ice. “It seems a shame to waste such good champagne,” she said finally. She would have a drink, and that was all. She would go home with her virginity intact.

Smiling, he led her back toward the table. Once she was seated, he dragged his chair closer to her and sat down. He took the champagne out of the ice bucket and refilled their glasses.

They sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Finally Cassie said, “If this was my boat, I don’t think I’d ever leave.”

“No?”

“No. I can’t imagine a place more beautiful than this.”

“Especially tonight,” he said. He took her hand and held it. “I’m not often by myself on this boat but when I am, I love to sit out here at night and look at the stars.”

She said, “I once tried to photograph the night sky.”

“But?”

“I decided some things in life are just too perfect to capture.”

He touched her cheek, directing her face back toward him. He kissed her and said, “Stay with me tonight.”

She asked the first question that popped into her mind. “Where?” After all, this was not his boat. Was he even allowed to sleep here? She needed all the facts before she made her decision.

“Right here, on the boat. No one else will be here.”

It was tempting, but…

“Nothing has to happen,” he said, brushing a tendril of hair away from her face. “I’m just…I’m not ready to say goodbye,” he said.

Neither was she. “Okay,” she heard herself reply.

He picked up her hand and kissed it. “Thank you.” Standing up, he offered her his hand.

As she stared at his hand, panic welled up in her throat. She knew that by accepting it, she was embarking on a journey unlike any other.

She glanced at him, hesitating. His eyes glowed with a savage inner fire.

As if hypnotized, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. As she followed the bartender toward what she assumed was the ultimate destination, a bedroom, she couldn’t help but remember two previous scary moments. As a child, she had once watched a frightening movie her grandmother had forbidden her to see. That night she had lain in her bed, certain that every creak was a ghost with an ax. She had been so terrified she had awakened her grandmother and confessed her sin.

The other time was when Oliver asked her to marry him. She’d had a sudden sick feeling that had taken away her voice, as though a golf ball was being jammed in the back of her throat. Her heart had begun to beat fast and her stomach had tied in knots.

But, she reminded herself, both those times she had recovered. And she hadn’t been harmed. Not physically, at least.

Not that she was worried about being harmed. She looked at him once again. He seemed so kind, so gentle.

And she had no doubt he was experienced. He had probably done this a million times before.

Done what? What was she worried about? Hadn’t he said that nothing had to happen?

The problem, she realized, was that she wanted something to happen.

She swallowed.

No wonder she was terrified. It had nothing to do with him. She was worried about herself. Worried that she might be just a little too anxious to unload herself of the twenty-three-year-old sexual albatross hanging around her neck.

“Hey,” he said softly, stopping outside a bedroom. “Are you all right?”

It was now or never. Her last chance to turn back. “Sure.”

“Look,” he said, brushing the hair away from her eyes. “If you’d prefer that we go back on deck…”

After all, shouldn’t she be proud to be a twenty-three-year-old virgin? And in June, on her birthday, she’d be a twenty-four-year-old virgin. Next year she’d be a twenty-five-year-old virgin, then twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight…. Hallelujah! She might even be eligible for the Guinness Book of World Records.

“I want to be with you,” she said.

He picked up her hand and kissed it. He led her into a bedroom that had a king-size bed with a velvet coverlet. “Are you sure this is okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“I just want to lie with you for a while. To feel you next to me.”

She smiled, trying to hide her nervousness. They were still standing in the small, narrow hallway. He took a step toward her. She instinctively backed away, up against the wall.

Their eyes locked. For a moment she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he swept her up in his arms. He was strong, stronger than she had guessed. Her heart raced as she leaned back against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he placed her gently on the bed. Without removing a stitch of clothing, he slid down next to her and wrapped his arms around her.

He gently massaged her arms as he kissed her. It was a tease, just enough to encourage her to turn toward him for more. He slowly raised her arms above her head. Pinning them down with one hand, he kissed her softly.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, his tongue slipping inside her mouth, probing and exploring ever so gently.

He seemed to be waiting for her silent okay before progressing to the next step. Only when she sighed with desire did he begin to explore her body. He ran his hands over her sundress, slipping his fingers underneath her spaghetti straps. In a practiced move, he pulled down the straps, exposing her bare breasts. His fingers ran over her nipples, followed closely by his tongue.

As he took her in his mouth she felt a warmth spread up from her legs. This was what she had read about. This was what making love was supposed to be.

He reached inside her panties and pulled them off in one smooth motion.

She was no longer thinking with reason. She had gone too far to stop. She needed him inside her.

She pulled at his shirt, clawing him like an animal. Within a second it was off. His pants and shorts followed suit. He was above her, all naked muscle, shining in the moonlight. Once again she was reminded of the powerful fighter she had seen at the bar. But she was not intimidated by his power. She felt safe and protected. Desired.

She took him in her hands and directed him toward her.

It was all the encouragement he needed. With a single thrust, he entered her.

Thick and heavy, he ripped through the last vestige of her virginity. As a searing pain tore through her, she dug her nails into his back and cried out.

He stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said as he began to pull out. “I didn’t know….”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please.”

He hesitated, as if unsure what to do. She raised her hips and brought him deeper inside her. She saw him close his eyes, saw the anticipation tighten his face. He was no more capable of stopping now than she was. She moved her hips once again.

He opened his eyes and began to move, gently and slowly. He stared straight at her, his eyes searing into her soul. They were as connected as two people could possibly be.

The pain gave way to pleasure. Intense and primitive, it took control of her body. They moved together, both dependent upon the other. As she moved her body up against him, the momentum built within her, taking control of her mind and body. When release finally came, however, she was not prepared for the intensity. She held on to him for dear life as the dam of sensual pleasure burst, sending her body into spasms of relief. Only then did she feel his body shudder as a slight groan passed his lips.

He kissed her cheek and ran a finger around her lips. “Are you all right?”

She smiled. “Better than all right.”

“You’re a virgin.”

“Not anymore.”

He picked up her hand and kissed it, pulling out slowly. “Definitely not anymore.” He swallowed. “Had I known…well, I never would have suggested you stay.”

“So, I’m glad I didn’t tell you.”

He smiled, but it was not a happy smile. He looked sad, almost guilty.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m a big girl.”

“You were waiting to make love on your wedding night, weren’t you?”

She nodded.

He sighed and glanced away. “Did you think this would mend your broken heart?”

“My heart,” she said, “is definitely not broken.” At least not yet. But she had a feeling things might change tomorrow. He pulled her close and lay there, his arms wrapped around her.

Cassie awoke to the rocking of the boat. She glanced beside her. He was laying there, his roughly hewn body totally visible on top of the covers. She turned away, embarrassed.

But how could she be embarrassed to look at him when they had been so intimate? Not once, but twice?

She couldn’t help but blush as she remembered what had transpired the night before. Making love to him had been everything she had dreamed of. As she looked at him sleeping, she could feel herself melt. His thick hair had fallen over one eye, his arms were spread around the pillow. She would like nothing better than to snuggle up to him and—

He sighed and turned over.

She froze.

She needed to get out of there, before he awoke. After all, what would she say? She could not bear to hear him promise to call and stay in touch. It would ruin everything. Right now it still seemed to be a dream.

And that was exactly the way she wanted it.

She tiptoed out of bed and slipped on her clothes and left without making a sound. She had less than an hour to get to the airport.

Three

Cassie stared at her cold cup of coffee. It was difficult to believe that only a day ago she had been in the Bahamas. Twelve hours earlier she had been making love to a man whose name she did not know.

And now, here she was sitting in a boardroom across from her ex-fiancé. To make matters worse, the cool, impeccably dressed blonde sitting next to him was his girlfriend, Willa, otherwise known as Hunter Axon’s henchman.

But if Oliver was bothered by having his ex-fiancée in such close quarters with the woman he had left her for, he didn’t show it. He thumbed through a manila envelope and set it back down. “Willa told me what you did.”

She perked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Axon’s receptionist told Willa about your little trip to the Bahamas.”

So that was why he had wanted to see her. When she’d arrived at the mill late this morning, she had been told that Oliver wanted to talk to her the minute she arrived. “It’s no secret,” she said. “I wanted to see Hunter Axon.”

He nodded. “I knew it! You think you’re so sly. I know everything that goes on around here.”

“Not everything,” she said, thinking about her bartender once again. She hadn’t told a single soul about her romantic night. It was her secret, one that she would carry to her grave.

“How can you do this to me?” Oliver asked. “You know how important this deal is.”

Was he kidding? Was he really narcissistic enough to think she was on a personal vendetta? “This has nothing to do with you, Oliver,” she said.

“What, then?”

“This has to do with preserving a way of life, a tradition that has been passed down from generation to generation.”

“Oh, please, Cassie. You’re talking like a history professor. This is a business. A weak one at that. It hasn’t been profitable in years.”

She raised an eyebrow as her eyes narrowed. “And whose fault is that?”

But he waved her off, oblivious. “Do you know how lucky I am that I could even sell it? That a company of Axon Enterprises’ stature would even be interested?” He was turning red in the face, each word seemingly making him more frustrated.

How could she ever have thought of marrying him? He was not her friend. The man sitting in front of her had become a complete and total stranger. “Well,” Cassie said, “you’ll be happy to know that I didn’t meet with him. I tried, but he wouldn’t see me.”

“We already know that,” Willa said. She reached out a manicured hand and patted Oliver’s arm. It was the kind of touch one would bestow on a loyal pet. “Let me speak to Cassie alone.” She turned toward Cassie and flashed her a smile that threw daggers. “Privately.”

Oliver glanced at Willa. His blue eyes grew large, and he smiled softly, as if melting at the mere sight of his beloved. So, Cassie thought, he really did love her. She knew for a fact that he had never looked at her that way. But she was not jealous. In fact, she had begun to despair of Oliver’s humanity and was relieved to learn he was still capable of human emotion.

He nodded and reluctantly walked out, shutting the door behind him.

“Look, Cass,” Willa said, in the most patronizing tone Cassie had ever heard.

“Cassie,” she corrected her.

“Cassie. I know what’s going on with you. I really do.”

Cassie looked at her. “What’s going on with me?”

“Revenge. Pure and simple.”

“Revenge?” Cassie felt as if she’d been slapped. This woman was as bad as Oliver. Did they really believe that Cassie would be so self-centered? Hundreds of jobs and the town’s future were dependent on this mill. “This has nothing to do with revenge.”

“Well then, what?”

“This town can’t afford to lose the mill.”

Willa sighed dramatically, as if the conversation was exhausting her. “Cass…Cassie, I want to make a deal with you. I’ve spoken with Hunter and he’s assured me that not everyone will be laid off. I’m in a position to guarantee you a job—but I have a condition.”

“And that is?”

“Help us make this transition as smooth as possible.”

“What transition?”

“The sale. Hunter Axon is coming here to firm up the deal. I want you to promise you won’t…interfere.”

Cassie was unmoved. She was not afraid of Willa. She was angry. She suddenly realized why she had been unable to see Hunter Axon. His assistants had been warned by Willa to keep her away from him. “Did you tell your people to prevent me from seeing Mr. Axon?”

“I work for him. It’s my job to put out the fires.”

“Put out the fires?”

“So to speak.” Willa sighed. “Look, Cassie, I’m sorry about Oliver. I really am. But I suggest you take the deal I’m offering you. For if you think I’m tough—well, I guarantee you I’m a sweetheart compared to Mr. Axon.”

Willa had offered severance pay of one week for each year of employment. On paper it was a decent amount. But did it make up for the loss of the mill? The mill was the largest employer in Shanville. It supported the town’s economy. What kind of job would the people who had spent their lives working as artisans be suited for? And where would they find these jobs? “I’m willing to take my chances.”

“You don’t know with whom you’re dealing. You think Mr. Axon will be inspired by your little sob story? You think he’s going to give a damn about you or your little community? He cares about one thing—making money.” She smiled. But it was not a kind smile. It was a smile that caused flowers to wilt and water to freeze. She said, “I’ve known him for years, even before I came to work for him. He is, quite simply, the best in the business. And he does not look kindly on those who stand in the way of his getting what he wants.”

“I just want to talk to him.”

“If you cause him trouble, bringing this case to the media and what have you, I guarantee he’s going to squash you like a bug. Do you understand me?”

Cassie’s hand instinctively went to the necklace she had worn since childhood, a gold heart her mother had received as an engagement present from her father. But it was not there to reassure her. Cassie had lost it in the Bahamas.

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“Then you’re even more of a fool than I suspected.”

Cassie glanced away. As much as she hated to admit it, she had a feeling Willa was right. How could she be so foolish as to think she could actually make a difference?

“Let me be clear,” Willa said, putting an icy hand on Cassie’s. “If you continue to interfere, I’m going to pull the severance package we’ve offered.”

“I don’t care about your lousy severance.”

“I’m sure you don’t. But what about…” She picked up a file from her desk and squinted her eyes as she read, “Luanne Anderson? I believe her daughter has some problems, doesn’t she? It would be a shame if she found herself out of work with no severance.”

“Are you threatening to punish me by taking away Luanne’s severance package?”

“Not just Luanne’s.” Willa glanced down at the file once again. “But Mabel’s…Larry’s…Well,” she said, putting the list down, “let’s just make it a clean sweep, shall we? I mean it’s not really fair to give it to some and not others.”

“You can’t do that,” Cassie breathed.

“I can’t. But Hunter Axon can.”

Cassie swallowed.

“He’s done it before, in fact. Several times. He usually gives the workers a choice. They can either be poor losers and get everyone all stirred up, or they can be good sports and concede graciously. Take the money and run, so to speak.”

Cassie glanced away.

“In this particular situation I’m going to save Hunter some trouble. If you attempt in any way to contact him when he arrives, I will personally cancel the severance package.” Willa smiled once again. She leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Oliver told me about some of your recent travails. I’ve arranged for a severance package that is more than fair. Why don’t you take the money and go back to school. Get that arts degree you wanted.”

Cassie could feel her cheeks burn. Oliver had clearly spoken about her to this woman. She could just imagine the conversation, just imagine Oliver telling Willa about the simple, small-town girlfriend he was about to dump.

Cassie was tempted to defend her job and her life. But what was the point? Willa would never believe her. To her, Demion Mills was just an old textile factory. As far as Willa was concerned, Cassie should be grateful to her for rescuing her from despair.

“Do we have an understanding?” Willa asked.

“Understanding? This is not about me or you or Oliver. This is about all the people who are losing their only means of support. All the people who have to move away from the only homes they’ve ever known.”

“You’re wasting my time,” Willa said. “I’ve offered you a deal.”

“Stand by quietly and watch you destroy our town—or try to save it and risk financial ruin for my friends?”

“That’s a little dramatic, but basically, yes.”

Cassie stood. “Are you finished?”

“Of course.” Willa stood and held out her hand. “I admire your spunk, however misdirected it may be. I really hope that your past history with Oliver won’t prevent us from being friends.”

Cassie left without shaking her hand.

Hunter checked his watch. His plane was late, due to a violent and unexpected thunderstorm. No matter. He was in no rush to reach his destination.

In fact, for once he hated to leave the Bahamas. He hated to think that there was even the slightest chance he was leaving her behind.

“You’ll never find her,” said the investigator he’d hired. “It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. How can we find a woman with no name?”

But Hunter wouldn’t admit it was hopeless. He couldn’t. Ever since he had first laid eyes on her he thought of little else.

Hunter felt in his pocket for the only thing that had provided solace in the days since, a heart-shaped necklace.

He had found it on her pillow, its clasp broken. As he clutched it in his hands he felt the conviction surge once again. He would find her. But where? He had searched everywhere. Damn. Why hadn’t he gotten her name?

To make matters worse, she didn’t know his, either. What if she returned home and had a change of heart? How would she contact him?

He hadn’t intended for this to happen. The bar happened to be one of the many properties he owned on the island. He’d stopped in, not for a romantic interlude, but to speak with his employees. But it had been so busy he’d pitched in, helping to tend bar. When he’d seen Cassie sitting by herself, he’d been intrigued. She possessed an almost ethereal beauty with her creamy white skin and deep green eyes. A cloud of long, curly, reddish-brown hair ran down her back. She had the figure of a ballerina, petite with long, slender legs.

But it was not just her beauty that had mesmerized him. She had seemed oblivious to the activity surrounding her. She had stared at the water as if lost in her own sad world.

He didn’t usually find himself tongue-tied among women, but when he’d attempted to speak with her, he’d stumbled over his words like a child.

Afterward he realized she’d thought him a bartender, and although he did admit he owned the boat, it had been clear she did not believe him. He had let the mistaken identity slide. After all, he’d thought at the time, what difference did it make? For once it was nice to be with a woman who was not interested in his fortune or his name.

As the evening progressed it became obvious she was lonely, the victim of a broken heart. She needed solace and comfort. He was more than happy to provide it.

But he had misjudged her and the situation. She had not escaped to the Bahamas to lose herself in the arms of another man. She was not looking for a companion with whom to share a bed and some physical comfort.

She was a virgin.

Had he known, he never would have slept with her.

Or would he?

Knowing the pleasure he’d experienced, the incredible connection they had shared, he did not regret a moment. But did she?

Was that why she’d left without saying goodbye?

Had she chosen him out of loneliness? Despair?

It didn’t matter. Much to his surprise, he awoke with an overwhelming desire to see her again. When he awoke to find her gone, he was filled with despair. He knew right then and there that he had to find her again.

It had been years since a woman had made such an impression.

He’d been with a lot of women since the demise of his engagement. But he’d kept them all at arm’s length. “She permanently scarred you,” one woman had said of his ex-fiancée. And until he met his mysterious, auburn-haired stranger, he’d thought she might be right. After all, he had been young and naive when he’d fallen in love with Lisa. She was a fellow college student and together they’d planned their future. When he received an internship at a prestigious New York equity firm, he had asked her to marry him. But shortly afterward he had come home early to find Lisa in bed with another man. To make matters worse, it was his boss at the firm. She married his boss, but not before telling Hunter why. Years later he could still hear her words. I could never marry a poor man.

Her rejection had only fueled his desire to become wealthy and powerful. And he had discovered what Lisa had no doubt realized by now, as well. Money did not guarantee happiness.

He glanced back out the window as the plane began its descent. He was surprising himself. He did not consider himself a sentimental type, but he was a man obsessed, consumed by a sweet, brief memory. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed the simple pleasures in life like a stroll on the beach, a drink from a coconut.

The plane lurched as it touched the ground. He looked out the window. It was snowing in Shanville.

Four

“Are you still going to try to talk to Mr. Axon?”

Cassie glanced at her friend, whom she’d known her entire life. She hated to disappoint Frances. Sixty-five years old, Frances Wells—like most of the people in Shanville—lived paycheck to paycheck. If she lost her job at the mill, she would not be able to find employment elsewhere.

Unfortunately, Frances was not alone. The community was aging, and most of the workers were fifty or older. Cassie might be able to move on, but they would not. Still, she couldn’t risk losing their severance packages. “I can’t gamble with everyone’s future. It’s a long shot, anyway.”

“But it’s Oliver. He loves you.”

“No,” Cassie said quickly. “According to him, he never did. But even if I did have some pull with him, he no longer has any control. He’s already given over the reins to Axon Enterprises.”

“I don’t know how Oliver can stand by and let this happen. If I had known what a devil he would become, I would’ve swatted his behind while I still had the chance.”

“So would I, if I’d thought it would’ve made any difference.”

Frances smiled. “Well, at least I’m happy for you.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie asked.

“The severance is just what you need. You’ll have the money to move away and return to school.” The older woman smiled sadly and patted her hand. “You don’t belong in a mill, Cassie. You never did. You belong behind that camera of yours, taking pictures. Working for National Geographic or someplace where you can make your dream come true.”

“Oh, Frances,” Cassie said. Once again, she felt as if she might cry. “I would be more than happy to never take another picture again if it meant you would all be able to keep your jobs.” Cassie glanced around her. “And I’m not so sure that’s my dream anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Ever since you were a little girl you loved that camera.”

Cassie shrugged. “All I know is that I can’t stand the thought of losing this mill.”

Frances glanced at the old stone building in front of them and shrugged. “I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. We all knew that things haven’t been right around here for years. It was foolish to think young Oliver could handle it, just because he had a fancy education.”

“I think he could’ve saved it if he wanted to,” Cassie said. “He chose not to.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d seen what he was intending. Perhaps I could’ve talked some sense into him while there was still a chance.”

“Nonsense,” Frances said. “You know as well as me, Oliver always had a mind of his own.” She put an arm around Cassie and squeezed. “At least I can sleep easier knowing that you’re going to be okay.”

“Okay?” Cassie asked.

“Your grandmother and I never thought Oliver was right for you.”

“What?” The news astounded her. “I thought Grandma loved Oliver.”

“She loved him like one loves a wayward child. She knew you two had been friends your entire lives, but she had grave concerns about your future together. ‘He makes Cassie happy,’ she used to say. ‘And that is all that matters.’”

Could this be true? Had there just been a colossal misunderstanding? Had both she and her grandmother tried to convince themselves Oliver was Mr. Right because they’d assumed it to be what the other wanted?

But what did it matter? Her grandmother was gone, and Oliver was engaged to someone else. And she, well, she had moved on, too. With a little help from her Bahamian bartender.

It was days since they were together, but Cassie couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was as if he was seared into her consciousness. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of him. Everything she did made her long for him.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

It was a one-night stand with a stranger. Intimacy without commitment. Lust without love. She didn’t even know his name.

So why couldn’t she forget about him?

She felt nothing but irritation when she saw her ex-fiancé, but when she looked at the picture she had taken of her bartender on the beach, she felt like crying. She couldn’t help but hope that one day she would see him again.

But would he even remember her?

Probably not. His experience with women was obvious. She had little doubt that he had found someone else to share his bed.

She followed Frances into the cafeteria. Employees were packed inside like cattle. At the front of the room were three chairs. Oliver and Willa sat on either side of an empty chair as if waiting for the king. Oliver stood up and said, “Mr. Axon was delayed. But he called a while ago and said he should be here shortly.” His face brightened as he nodded behind her. “There he is now.”

Cassie turned. There, walking toward her, was none other than her bartender.

Hunter walked through the crowded auditorium, trying not to make eye contact. He had been in this situation many times before. He knew what the questions would be. These people would not be receiving the answers they wanted to hear.

He would be closing the mill within six months. All employees, however, would receive a generous severance package. According to Willa, who had done a thorough study of the area surrounding Shanville, it was more than enough to give them time to find another job.

He looked at Oliver. Oliver jumped to his feet and began applauding.

Applauding? It was overkill, but Oliver couldn’t seem to help himself. Oliver reminded Hunter of the rich kid in prep school, the one who was always complimenting the teacher and making fun of the unpopular kids. “Stop please,” Hunter said, annoyed. Oliver was kidding himself if he thought these people would welcome him. Willa had said that she had already informed everyone of his intentions.

Oliver’s face fell, and he dropped back in his chair. “Sorry, Mr. Axon,” Oliver said. “Did you have a nice flight?”

“No,” Hunter said. He couldn’t help himself. Oliver just annoyed him for some reason. Once again he reminded himself to be civil.

He turned back toward the crowd. “I apologize for the wait. My flight was delayed due to inclement weather. Now, I know you all have a lot of questions. I promise you I will do my best to answer every single one of them.” He scanned the crowd. This would not be easy. Most of the workers were older than he had expected. Younger workers typically welcomed the severance package as it was intended, a means to a better way of life. But these people would have a difficult time finding employment elsewhere. “Why don’t I begin by telling you a little about my company—”

He stopped. She was standing toward the back of the room, staring at him as if he were a ghost.

She was there.

Run.

Cassie turned and made her way through the crowd, back toward the exit. It was an instinctive reaction, an urge for self-preservation. She hurried as if her very life depended upon it.

Cassie flung open the door and escaped outside. She paused for a moment to catch her breath. She was winded, not from the rush, but from the shock.

She had slept with Hunter Axon.

The realization was enough to give her another surge of energy. She rushed toward the stairwell as her head continued to pound. She had lost her virginity to Public Enemy Number One. The man who was closing the mill and putting her friends out of work.

How could this have happened?

But it had. There was no denying it.

Why had he lied to her? Why had he pretended to be someone he wasn’t?

Cassie threw open the stairwell door and began rushing down the steps. She needed to get back to her loom. She needed the comfort of something familiar. A quiet place where she could recover from brain overload.

“Wait!”

The sound of his voice made her stop. But not for long. In a flash she was back on track, moving as fast as she possibly could.

But it was not fast enough. “Wait,” he said again, practically jumping down the steps. He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

Looking at him, at the tortured expression on his face, she almost believed him. Almost.

“Hunter Axon?” she said.

He smiled and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. And you are…?”

As she stared into his brown eyes, her confusion faded. What difference did it make who he was? What mattered was that she had found him again. What mattered was that he had not forgotten her. That he had been looking for her. She took his hand and said, “Cassie Edwards.”

“Cassie,” he said gently, as if he had been reading the tenderness in her eyes. He held on to her hand firmly, as if he had no intention of letting go. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” she said, abruptly dropping his hand. She had to forget about their past history. She had to ignore whatever feelings were choking her. This man was not the man she had thought. He was Hunter Axon. And he was destroying the life she had known.

The smile faded from his face. “I don’t understand.”

“I went to the Bahamas to meet with you.”

“What?” he said, the muscles tightening in his jaw. It was obvious that his surprise was genuine. He had not been told of her visit, despite his assistant’s assurance to the contrary. “Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your intention for the mill. I tried for two days to get in to see you. I went to your office as well as your home.”

He hesitated. “So, when you saw me in the bar…?”

“I didn’t know who you were. I never would’ve…” She swallowed.

“A coincidence,” he said, taking a step back. It was as if she had thrown a bucket of cold water over his head. All earlier signs of intimacy were gone.

“Yes,” she repeated quietly.

The door opened and the sound of high heels echoed through the stairwell. “Hunter? Hunter?” It was Willa.

Immediately Cassie was reminded of Willa’s threat. Let’s just make it a clean sweep, shall we? I mean it’s not really fair to give it to some and not others. If Willa saw her talking to Hunter, would she retract the severance packages, as threatened?

It was not something Cassie wanted to find out. “I have to go,” she said, turning and heading back down the stairs.

“Cassie!” Willa yelled, stopping her. Willa was peeking over the railing. “Wait!”

Hunter closed his eyes briefly and sighed, as if frustrated by Willa’s intrusion.

“What’s going on here?” Willa asked, making her way down the stairs.

Hunter replied, “We were just—”

“Mr. Axon was looking for the men’s room,” Cassie said. She turned back toward Hunter and said, “And I’m afraid you passed it. It’s upstairs, right outside the doors.”

Hunter was looking at her strangely.

“Is this true?” Willa asked him.

He glanced at his associate. “How the hell would I know? I’ve never been in this building before.”

Cassie suppressed a smile.

“I’m relieved that you’re all right,” Willa said to Hunter, flashing a fake smile. “I was concerned when you dashed out of the auditorium in midsentence.”

“I was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to…” He glanced at Cassie. “Use the men’s room.”

“Like I said,” Cassie repeated, “upstairs to the left. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” He turned to Willa. “Please give the workers my apologies and explain the situation. I’ll be back momentarily.”

“Certainly,” Willa said.

Hunter ran up the stairs. Cassie heard the swing of the doors. She glanced at Willa and shrugged, then turned and began walking back down the steps.

“I thought you said you didn’t meet Hunter when you were in the Bahamas.”

Cassie felt her heart jump into her throat. Perhaps their charade was not as convincing as she thought. Cassie swallowed as she met Willa’s eyes. “Are you accusing me of lying?”

Willa walked down the steps, approaching Cassie slowly. “It’s just a bit confusing. He suddenly bolts out of a conference and I find you huddled together in a stairwell. Quite a coincidence.”

“I didn’t discuss the mill, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Why would I be worried? After all, we have an agreement, right?”

Cassie glanced away.

“It would be dreadful to see so many nice people put out of work, with no money to see them through the long, hot summer.”

“Yes,” Cassie said. “It would.”

Willa hesitated, as if thinking. “Cassie,” she said, “I’m glad we had this little talk. I want you to know that I do trust you. And I’m sorry that we’ve gotten off to such a rough start. I’d like to make it up to you.”

Make it up to her? Cassie felt a chill run down her spine. This woman was creepy. She almost radiated evil. “Oliver and I are hosting a little party for Hunter tonight at Oliver’s estate.”

Estate? Cassie couldn’t help but smile. The Demion house sat on top of a hill overlooking all of Shanville. Although it was the closest thing the town had to a mansion, it was hardly an estate. It had been built by a wealthy family in the mid eighteen hundreds. It consisted of twenty-two spacious rooms and ten working fireplaces. Oliver had moved in several years ago, when his parents had officially gone to Florida and given him the reins of his family business. His house was large, Cassie would give him that. But an estate—in Shanville? Hardly.

“Why don’t you come.”

Cassie looked at her. What was she up to? Was she trying to encourage her to talk to Hunter, just so she could pull the plug on the severance packages?

But could she really do such a horrible thing? And would Hunter allow it…or even encourage it? Or had Willa been bluffing?

Cassie needed to decide whether her hunch about Hunter was right. Would he hear her out? Would he actually listen to what she had to say?

If she was wrong, her friends could lose their severance. But if she was right…maybe they had a chance after all.

“It should be quite the event,” Willa continued. “I just got word today that the governor is coming.”

The governor? Would he be able to help Demion Mills? It was worth finding out. Willa may have forbidden her from talking to Hunter Axon, but she could not forbid her from talking to the governor.

“Thank you,” Cassie said. “I’d love to attend.”

“Good,” said Willa. “Oh, and, Cassie, it’s a formal event so dress is…”

“Formal,” said Cassie.

“Exactly,” said Willa, flashing her the same, creepy Cheshire Cat grin once again.

Five

Cassie took a step and stopped. It was not too late to turn back.

She glanced up at the Demion “estate.” The granite Victorian, never a cheery place, looked almost haunted in the moonlight. Through the windows Cassie could see bits and pieces of the elaborate party inside, a woman’s bejeweled wrist and hand, part of a man’s tuxedo.

Who were these people?

And why had they come to Shanville?

For an opportunity to meet the great and ruthless Hunter Axon?

It had taken Cassie much of the day to recover from the shock of discovering that the man who had inspired her dreams had also been the one to cause her nightmares.

A coincidence, he had said.

An unbelievable twist of fate. One that could have been avoided by asking the most obvious of questions: What is your name?

That was what she wished had happened, wasn’t it? That she had learned of his identity? That the whole evening had been avoided, and that she had returned home with her virginity intact?

No.

As much as she hated to admit it, that was not the case. She did not regret their time together, even though she knew she should.

After all, she had slept with Hunter Axon. So why didn’t she regret it?

Because it had been the most perfect night of her entire life.

She sighed deeply. How could this be? How could her tender, sweet lover, the man who had whisked her off her feet both literally and figuratively, be Hunter Axon? Hunter Axon should be a glib, burly man, as grotesque looking and acting as his actions would merit.

He should not look and act like a prince.

But apparently she was not the only one who was susceptible to his charm. Why else would the governor be coming to a party in his honor? One would think the mere sound of Hunter Axon’s name would inspire trepidation. After all, his projects typically left a trail of devastation. Joblessness and homelessness were two of the more common side effects.

But as Cassie marched bravely to the door, the governor was not on her mind. All she could think about was Hunter and the fact that within minutes, she would be seeing him once again.

Before ringing the doorbell she paused and glanced down at her dress. Her grandmother had made the material herself, working after hours at the mill. Ruby had sewn the gown. Luanne had added the trimmings. Years ago Cassie had thought it to be the most beautiful dress she had ever seen, and she still felt that way.

Regardless of the dress, Cassie still felt awkward. But why should she? She had been to Oliver’s house many times before.

But back then she had come as Oliver’s friend. Not as the guest of his girlfriend. She took a deep breath and rang the bell.

Willa answered. “Hello, Cassie.” She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and gave her a quick nod. “Please come in.”

Cassie entered. She winced as she noticed what Willa was wearing. And Willa was not alone. Everyone was dressed in their work attire. The only people dressed for a ball were the tuxedoed waiters.

And Oliver. Although he was wearing casual pants and shirt, he had attempted to make his outfit more festive by tying an ascot around his neck. Cassie couldn’t help but think he was taking this owner-of-an-estate thing a little too far. She felt like sending him back to his room to change. But then, her outfit was not much more appropriate.

His eyes opened wide as he saw her. He came marching over, a martini glass in his hand. “Cassie?” He looked at her, confused. “What are you doing here?” She saw him glance at her dress with an expression that was somewhere between curiosity and horror.

“Willa invited me,” Cassie said weakly.

“Yes,” Willa said. “I was in a jam. Cassie was kind enough to help me out.”

“I don’t follow,” Oliver said, still holding his martini glass. “Why are you wearing your prom dress?”

Cassie stood still. She glanced at her dress, wishing she could close her eyes and transport herself back to her house. Normally she would be in her sweats getting ready to curl up with a good book.

But she did not have to worry about answering. Willa took care of that for her. “One of the servers fell ill. Cassie is going to be taking her place tonight.”

Cassie blinked as the words sunk in. It was worse than she thought. Willa had not invited her there as a guest but as a servant. She had walked enthusiastically into a trap.

“Really?” Oliver said, confused. “I thought—”

“You thought what? She’s obviously dressed to work.” Willa winked at Cassie and said, “You were smart to wear your old clothes, dear. You’ll be serving pasta.”

Cassie glanced past Oliver, searching the room for Hunter. Was he there? What would he think when he saw her?

But what did she care? It did not matter what she was wearing; what mattered was what she had to say.

No, she thought, she would not allow Willa to interfere with her plans. The governor would be there tonight, and she needed to talk to him. She had a job to do.

“Cassie?” said Willa. “Are you all right? Oh, dear. I do hope there wasn’t a miscommunication. You did realize I had asked you here to work.”

“Of course,” Cassie said quickly. She would not allow Willa, Oliver or Hunter, for that matter, to get the best of her. Though she worked as a weaver and struggled to pay her bills, she was every bit as good as the rest of them. She took off her coat and began to roll up her sleeves. She met Willa’s gaze directly. “I’m ready.”

“Hello,” said a familiar voice behind her. Cassie felt a flutter in her belly. Although she was doing her best to forget him, her body still craved his touch.

“You can start by taking Mr. Axon’s coat,” Willa said to Cassie before turning her attention to Hunter. “Welcome to Oliver’s humble home.”

Cassie turned to face him. He was wearing a black designer suit, a bright-blue silk tie and a starched white shirt. It was an outfit that radiated money, power and prestige. His brown hair was slicked back, and his brown eyes were focused on her as if to say, What are you doing here? Willa helped him off with his coat and handed it to Cassie.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Willa asked him.

“Just water for now,” he replied, still looking at Cassie.

She had to say something. But what? “Hello, Mr. Axon,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“And you,” he replied, staring at her intently.

No. It was not nice to see him again. It was terrible. Awful. Every time she looked at him she wanted to kiss him.

“You heard Mr. Axon,” Willa said to Cassie. “He’ll take a glass of water.” She handed Cassie her empty glass. “And I’d like some more champagne.”

What was going on?

Hunter watched Cassie walk away.

He glanced angrily at Willa. Why was she treating Cassie like a servant?

He was tempted to run after Cassie but he knew better. For whatever reason, it was clear that Cassie did not want Willa to know about their previous relationship.

“What do you know about that woman?” he asked Willa.

“What woman?” she replied, as if she had no idea whom he was talking about.

“The one who’s getting our drinks.”

“Cassie? The one you were talking to in the stairwell this morning?”

So, he thought, Willa was suspicious. “Ah,” Hunter said. “That’s why she looked familiar.”

Willa smiled. “I think she works the loom, but I’m not certain.”

“The loom?”

“She’s a factory worker. She’s actually been a bit of a troublemaker, as well. She’s threatened to start a rebellion of sorts if we don’t acquiesce to her demands.”

“Really?”

“I’m afraid so. She even went to the Bahamas to try to meet with you.” Willa smiled. “But I took care of it for you. And I’ve informed her that she’s to go through me in the future. You’re much too busy to be bothered by details.”

Details? Was Cassie a detail?

Hunter felt his blood boil. He did not want Cassie dealt with by Willa or anyone else for that matter. He would take care of her himself. But how could he tell Willa that without making her suspicious? After all, he was usually more than happy to have Willa take care of the personnel matters.

Willa smiled. “That’s what you pay me for. To handle problems.”

“You seem to have handled her well,” he said. He was not liking this, not at all. Willa was an excellent employee, one who had given him years of dedicated service. In her difficult and prestigious position in his company, she was responsible for researching potential properties and companies and determining which ones Axon would attempt to purchase. Many of these were hostile, and Willa had become adept at dealing with difficult employees. Although her methods were sometimes coldhearted and cruel, she was successful. Most of the times he appreciated Willa’s skills. But not in this situation. He couldn’t help but wonder how Cassie, after threatening to start a rebellion, had fared with Willa’s wrath.

Her smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s here, isn’t she? She must have come to terms with the situation.”

“One can only hope,” Willa said. Her grip on his arm tightened.

“I wouldn’t worry, Willa,” he said, searching the room for another glimpse of Cassie. “I can handle myself.”

Willa said, “Of course you can.” She squeezed his arm again before letting go. “Anyway, we have more important things to think about at the moment.” She glanced around. “Like where the governor disappeared to.”

Cassie tightened her apron. Her face burned with embarrassment as she thought about the way Willa had ordered her to get Hunter’s drink. The woman had succeeded in making her feel uncomfortable, embarrassed her in front of everyone.

But she had not succeeded in distracting Cassie from her mission. If anything, she was more determined than ever to talk to the governor.

Still, she could not help but wonder what Hunter thought when he saw her standing there dressed as if attending a ball. Did he feel sorry for her? Or perhaps instead of pity, he felt something even worse—antipathy. After all, she was certain Willa had wasted little time explaining that she worked the loom in Demion Mills. She had no doubt that Hunter was even more snobby than her ex-fiancé. Hunter Axon, like Oliver, would never be happy with a factory worker.

But what did it matter? She had to forget about Hunter, forget about their night together. For that was all they were destined to have. A memory of a beautiful night.

She walked through the hall, carrying Hunter’s and Willa’s drinks on a tiny silver tray. Fortunately, Oliver’s caterers had a wide selection of aprons. Cassie was able to find one long enough to almost cover her formal attire. But from the guests’ reaction she had worried unnecessarily about what she wore. Her apron was a signal that she was part of the catering staff, a servant. In this crowd of snobbish people, that meant one thing: she was all but invisible.

Cassie walked back out to the hall, but Hunter and Willa were no longer there. She peeked in the dining room and stopped. The governor of New York was standing not three feet away, glancing at the lavish spread.

She set the tray down on an antique table and took off her apron. She was determined to act before Willa intervened.

As she made her way toward the governor, she went over the key details of her plea. She would emphasize the importance of the mill to the community, then segue into Hunter’s plans to move production overseas. She would ask the governor for his help in preventing the purchase of Demion Mills by Axon Enterprises.

“Excuse me, Governor,” she said. “Can I please have a word with you?”

“What?” he asked, turning around to face her. The woman standing next to him stiffened. Cassie suddenly noticed the earpiece in the woman’s ear. Like Cassie, she was not a guest. The woman was his security detail.

Would the security woman ask her to leave? It didn’t matter. Cassie had bigger problems. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Willa and Hunter making their way toward her.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Governor,” she said. “But I need to talk to you. I work at Demion Mills. I think you should know that the people of Shanville are not happy about Axon Enterprises buying Demion Mills.”

The governor looked startled for a moment, as if surprised by her intrusion. “Well, Miss…” He hesitated.

“Cassie Edwards.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Edwards.” His voice, however, was anything but. Bored maybe. Or tired. But not sorry.

He helped himself to a generous portion of roast beef.

“He’s going to close the plant,” she said.

He shook his head as he speared a tomato with a toothpick. “I was under the impression that he was saving it from bankruptcy.”

“That’s not true,” Cassie said. “All we need is a change in management.”

“I’m afraid that’s not what I’ve understood—”

“Please,” Cassie said, interrupting him. “Isn’t there something you can do to stop this sale? Hunter Axon has the ability to ruin this community. Shanville can’t survive the loss of the mill.”

But she had already lost his attention. “Hunter,” he said with a smile, looking over her shoulder.

She could feel Hunter beside her, standing so close their arms were touching. “This woman,” the governor continued, “has some concerns about Demion Mills.”

“Really,” Hunter said. He glanced down at her. Cassie could see the fire burning behind his icy eyes. So, she thought, he was not happy with her for talking to the governor. Too bad.

“Well,” he said, “I’d welcome an opportunity to address them.”

To undress them? Her ears were playing tricks on her.

Willa stepped forward and tucked her arm into the governor’s as she grabbed his plate. “Axon Enterprises has an excellent community outreach program,” she said, steering the governor into the other room and away from Cassie. “Why don’t I tell you about it over dinner?”

Cassie watched the governor walk away. That was it. She had lost her chance. To make matters worse, she was quite certain her actions would have unpleasant repercussions. She glanced toward Hunter, readying herself for a fight.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“I was curious as to whether or not the governor knew about your plans to close down the mill when—and if—you buy the mill.”

“And did you satisfy…your curiosity?”

“No,” she said.

He gazed at her, studying her carefully. The hardness in his eyes disappeared, replaced by kindness. “You didn’t come here tonight to serve food, did you?” he asked, touching her arm.

The feel of his hand was enough to make her quiver. But she could not allow herself to be distracted. She pulled her arm away. “I came here to talk to the governor. To stop you from buying Demion Mills.”

The coldness in his eyes had returned. “Then I have bad news for you.”

She stopped.

“I’ve already bought the mill, Cassie.”

Cassie felt winded, as if the news had knocked the last bit of breath from her. “What?”

“I signed the papers this afternoon.” He took a step toward her. “I’m your new boss.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said weakly.

“Why?”

She backed away.

“How can I be happy when a business that has been in operation for generations is being shut down? When hundreds of friends will be losing their jobs?”

“This is not the time for this discussion,” he said, eyeing the group of people that was quickly approaching.

When she saw Willa making her way over, she knew she was in for yet another confrontation. And she was in no hurry to cause the loss of her friends’ severance. Especially when she wasn’t getting anywhere. She looked Hunter straight in the eye and said, “I wish you had told me who you were.”

At the mention of the Bahamas, he glanced away. “You left before I had a chance,” he said.

“If you knew I was there, if your assistant told you a weaver from the mill had come all the way from Shanville, would you have met with me?”

He paused.

It was all the answer she needed. No. Hunter Axon would never have wasted his time with a mere factory worker. And she had little doubt that he would not have been willing to share his bed with one, either.

“Yes,” he said finally.

She glanced away. What was the point? It was hopeless. Hunter Axon had bought the mill. She was soon to be an out-of-work weaver, an unemployed factory worker, plain and simple. She was not in Hunter Axon’s league personally or professionally.

How could she ever have thought that he would listen to her? He couldn’t care less about preserving a time-honored tradition or saving the jobs and way of life for hundreds of families. He was interested in one thing: money.

“Hunter?” said Willa. “Is everything all right?”

Cassie did not care to hear Hunter’s response. Before he had a chance to answer, she left.

As Cassie pulled into her driveway, she glanced up at the house. The porch light had burned out months ago, and she had not yet changed the bulb. She sighed, making a mental note to add it to the list.

She knew her grandmother would not approve of the way she was keeping house. Her grandmother would’ve been in the midst of spring cleaning, scrubbing the floors and airing out the carpets. Outside she would’ve been busy as well, bundling up all the sticks that had fallen during the long, hard winter and stacking them neatly next to the woodpile. She would’ve raked and tilled her gardens in preparation for her bulbs.

But Cassie had not done any of that. She had meant to, truly, but the last few weeks had been spent in meetings with her co-workers, plotting strategies.

At least, that was her excuse. Although a hard worker, Cassie did not have a natural knack for homemaking.

“You need to pay attention,” her grandmother had once said in exasperation. And so Cassie tried. But it didn’t seem to help much. When her grandmother would mention that the watering can Cassie left in the backyard was turning rusty, Cassie would grab her camera to photograph it. When her grandmother had mentioned that a mouse had gotten into the cupboards, Cassie stayed awake all night with her camera, ready to snap.

Finally her grandmother had given up. Cassie, it seemed, was forever doomed to make bread that did not rise, sour spaghetti sauce and hard-as-rock cookies. But despite her lack of homemaking skills, she knew her grandmother was proud of her.

She had worked hours of overtime to buy Cassie her camera. She’d filled the house with Cassie’s photos, hanging them on the wall as if they were great works of art. When Cassie received a scholarship to college, her grandmother had told her that Cassie had made her the happiest woman in the world.

She had been devastated when Cassie dropped out to return home to care for her. “I’m fine,” she had protested. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Cassie knew otherwise. The women at the mill had told Cassie of her grandmother’s fainting spells and terrible headaches. They told her that they feared her time was limited.

And so, Cassie returned. This time, however, things were different. Cassie was the caretaker. For nearly two years she took care of her grandmother and the house as well as she could. But she had enjoyed every minute. She had loved her grandmother more than anyone in the world, and her death had left her feeling sad and alone. It was a loss from which she doubted she would ever recover.

Cassie reached back inside the car and pulled out the carton of ice cream she had bought at the convenience store. She planned on handling her sorrows her own special way. The past week called for a pint of chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow pass under the eaves of the house. She paused. Although Shanville was so safe that most people didn’t bother locking their doors, there were exceptions.

Cassie moved back toward her car and put her hand on the handle. “Who is it?” she asked. “Who’s there?”

A tall, dark figure stepped into the moonlight. “We need to talk.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Hunter Axon. She felt paralyzed, unable to move.

He stepped closer. “That was the second time you walked out on me.”

He was standing in front of her, so close they were almost touching.

She forced herself to shift her eyes, breaking the spell. “What are you doing here?” she asked, making her way toward the house.

He grabbed her back. “Don’t walk away, Cassie. You went to a lot of trouble to talk to me. I’m here now. I suggest you take advantage,” he said, his eyes hardening.

She paused, looking him over. Would it make any difference? Doubtful. Still, she owed it to her friends to try. But would it help them? Or would it hurt them?

“I would like to talk to you,” she said. “But I can’t.”

“I don’t understand. You felt so strongly you traveled all the way to the Bahamas to meet with me.”

“That was before…” Her voice drifted off.

“Before our night together?”

“No,” she said, meeting his gaze directly. “Before I found out that talking to you could cost everyone their severance pay.”

She could see the surprise in his eyes. “What?” he said.

“Willa told me that if I even try and talk to you, she would cancel the severance packages. She said I would never convince you, and we, meaning everyone who works at the mill, would be left with nothing.”

He held her gaze. “There are situations where we have been forced to cancel a severance package. But it’s not something I enjoy.”

Was that supposed to comfort her?

He said, “I give you my word that anything said between us tonight is off the record. I will not hold it against you or the workers of Demion Mills.”

He was staring at her intently. His eyes, although cold, were honest.

“Please,” he said. “I would like the chance to talk to you.”

He had just handed her a pass to get out of jail free. “Okay,” she heard herself say finally.

He followed her inside the house. She turned on the light in the hall and said, “I think you know what I’m going to say.”

“Is there a place where we can sit down?” he asked.

She straightened. Sit down. Good idea. She nodded toward the living room. “In there.” She moved a pile of newspapers off the couch and made room for him to sit.

She hurried to the kitchen and put her ice cream in the freezer. When she returned, he was looking at a series of photos of a blossoming flower.

“Did you do these?” he asked.

She nodded. “A long time ago.”

“And this?” he asked, moving over to the next. It was a picture of a sunflower.

“My grandmother wanted flower photos in this room.”

“You’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“Really good. You could be a professional.”

“But I’m not,” she said curtly. She was not about to give in to flattery. As much as she appreciated the compliment, she didn’t trust it. From what she was learning, Hunter Axon was capable of great charm when necessary.

“Your grandmother was not happy about your decision to drop out of school, was she?”

She looked at him.

“I did some research on you today,” he said.

Research? He had been curious about her?

“Discreetly, of course,” he added.

Of course. Hunter might be a lot of things but she had the feeling he was very discreet when it came to his women. All of his women. Hundreds and hundreds of women…

What was she doing? What did it matter how many women Hunter Axon had slept with?

“Why don’t you sit down,” she suggested again, motioning toward the couch she had cleared off.

He sat on the edge of the couch and glanced around. “Nice room.”

Was he making fun of her? The room was nothing fancy, but Cassie thought it cozy. The furniture was old but comfortable.

“My grandmother decorated it forty years ago and I don’t think it’s ever been changed.”

He was looking at her. She had seen that look before, in the Bahamas. It was a tender look, one normally reserved for sweethearts and lovers. He said, “It must be hard for you, living here without her.”

Intellectually, she wasn’t sure if he was sincere or not, but emotionally, it didn’t seem to matter. She could feel the ice around her heart begin to thaw. “It is,” she said.

Get a grip, she warned herself. This was no friendly conversation. She had to stay objective. “But I’m glad that she’s not here to witness what you’re doing to the community she loved so much.”

Hunter glanced away and sighed. “Cassie,” he said quietly, “you’ve made it clear what you think about my intentions for the mill. But you haven’t talked about what happened in the Bahamas.”

Cassie straightened. Did he really want to talk about that? What was he worried about—that since she knew who he was, she might stalk him or something? Or maybe pretend she was pregnant with his child? “What’s to talk about? It was a weird case of mistaken identity. A bizarre twist of fate.”

He sighed. “I never meant for any of this to happen. Had I known who you were…” His voice trailed off. But he didn’t need to finish. If he had come all the way out here to tell her that he would not have slept with her if he had known that she was not just a factory worker, but his factory worker, he had wasted his time.

“Obviously,” she said coldly. “If we had known the other’s true identity, this would not have happened.”

“I didn’t say that,” he responded. “I said I never intended for this to happen. I didn’t say that I had any regrets or that if I had known who you were and why you were in the Bahamas I would have done anything different.”

She paused. Now, that she was not expecting.

He stepped forward, taking her hand in his. “I’ve looked everywhere for you. I’ve had people calling hotels, searching their records.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to…” He hesitated, glancing down at her hand. “I needed to see you again.”

“You…you wanted to see me again?”

“And I found you,” he said. “In the last place I expected.”

She could feel the world fade away. They were once again back in the Bahamas. He was not Hunter Axon but her prince.

Unfortunately, it was a fantasy. And like all fantasies, the sooner this one came to an end the better. She let go of his hand. “You should go.”

He looked at her. Finally he said, “I had hoped that perhaps we might…”

“Might what?” She shook her head. “Even if you weren’t buying this company you’d still be Hunter Axon. And I’d still be a factory worker. But because you are Hunter—”

“Why does that change anything?” he interrupted.

“It changes everything. Because of you I’ll soon be an unemployed factory worker.”

“With the severance, you don’t have to be a factory worker anymore. You can go back to school. You can study photography.”

“I don’t want to go back to school,” she said. She shook her head. How could she expect him to understand? “I grew up at the mill, watching my mother and grandmother work.”

Her eyes grew distant as she traveled back through time. “I remember looking at the way their fingers seemed to fly over the looms. They worked together, tying the threads and hanging them over the loom. They turned those pieces of thread into masterpieces.”

She shook her head as she continued. “There was a time when I wanted to leave. I took up photography and went off to school. But then…” Her voice faded. “I came back.” She glanced at Hunter. “And I’ve never regretted my decision. I love being a part of history, carrying on the family tradition of weaving. I’m not ashamed of what I do. I’m proud of it.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be proud of the work you do…the work you’ve done. I’m just saying that perhaps you could look at this a little differently. Perhaps this is not as bad as it may seem. It will give you a chance to reevaluate.”

“I don’t want to reevaluate. I want to stay here at the mill.”

“But the mill can’t afford to stay open. I’ve seen the financials. It has not turned a profit in years.”

“It could’ve. If Oliver had done something with the patent to Bodyguard.”

“Not necessarily. I’m not sure the mill could handle the production for that patent. And I know it couldn’t handle the marketing. That patent is a gamble. And the mill has no money to put behind it.”

Cassie turned away. He had a point. But she was not ready to concede defeat. There had to be some way of saving the mill.

“Cassie,” he said quietly, “surely you knew the mill was having financial problems.”

She turned back to face him. “The mill was mismanaged. Oliver Demion single-handedly ran a once-profitable institution into the ground. He paid himself an enormous salary and offended some of our biggest clients. He’s also never done any marketing or advertising. I know that, under the right management, this mill could be profitable once again.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”

“So that’s it,” she said. “Your mind is made up. You’re going to close Demion Mills?”

“It will be another several months before we will be able to transfer production to our plant overseas, at which point you will all receive a generous severance.”

She shook her head and glanced away. “Please go.”

He sighed, his vexation obvious. “All right,” he said resolutely. “But before I go…” He moved toward her. For a moment she thought he was planning on giving her one last kiss. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out her necklace.

“You found it,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “It was my mother’s. I never take it off. The clasp broke a while ago and I jerry-rigged it but—” She stopped. A brand-new clasp sparkled in the light. “You fixed it.”

She looked at him and said, “Thank you.”

It was a moment of tenderness. She glanced away and fumbled with the necklace, attempting to put it around her neck once more. “Let me help you,” he said. Before she could object, he was behind her. His fingers brushed against her neck, causing a tingle that ran down her spine and into her toes. She closed her eyes, her willpower fading. Maybe they still had a chance. Maybe she could still talk some sense into him.

“You can’t close this mill,” she said, turning to face him.

“What?”

“It’s going to kill the town. I don’t expect you to care about that, but the people…Almost all of them have worked at the mill their entire lives. It’s all they know.”

“Which is probably why they’ve stayed. I’m not cutting them loose without anything. With the mill staying open for a while and the severance package, they will have more than enough to give them time to find another—”

“Even if you’re right, and they can find another job, what makes you think they want to?”

Hunter looked at her. She could see his gaze harden. Unfortunately, it only made him look more handsome.

“This is what I do, Cassie. And if it wasn’t me, Oliver Demion would sell to someone else. Someone not so generous.”

She could feel his gaze sweep over her. He stepped forward and touched her cheek.

She froze. She didn’t want to speak any longer. She wanted to touch him. To kiss him.

It was enough to give him one more chance. She took a breath and said, “What about the people who can’t find another job?”

“What do you mean?”

“People like Ruby Myers, who’s worked for the mill for the last forty years. If the mill closes, how will she make a living?”

He was in front of her. He raised her chin toward him with his index finger. “She will have social security and a handsome severance.”

Cassie took a step back, moving away from him. “That’s not good enough. Frances Wells can’t leave town, either. She’s caring for a sick husband. Xavier Scott can’t leave, neither can Miranda Peters or Richard Smith.”

“Perhaps we can work out a different severance. Perhaps we can give them more money.”

“That’s very generous of you, but I’m not interested in negotiating a severance.”

“What exactly were you suggesting, then?”

She straightened. “Sell us back the mill.”

“Are you prepared to make me an offer?”

Cassie glanced away. She had spoken with many banks since she found out Oliver was trying to sell the mill. But none had been willing to finance a loan.

“Cassie,” Hunter said, and once again the warmth was gone from his voice. From the cold way in which he regarded her, she thought for a moment she might have gone too far. That perhaps he would renege and cancel the severance package. “I’m not in the business of giving away properties. And I’m not about to finance an operation that has not turned a profit for years.”

She nodded. It was hopeless. He would not change his mind. “Goodbye, Mr. Axon.”

He sighed. “Just ask yourself this, Cassie. What will you and all your friends do if I sold you the mill and you were forced to declare bankruptcy? Just imagine. No severance package, no last pay period. Just gone.”

“We won’t have the opportunity to find out, will we?”

He gave her one last glance before turning away. As he walked toward the door, he stopped.

Suddenly Cassie realized what he was looking at. The photo she had taken of Hunter on the beach was sitting on top of the table. She had printed it out as soon as she returned home, a reminder of the mysterious and kind man to whom she had given her heart.

He glanced back at her and looked, for a moment, as if he might speak. Instead he turned back toward the door and left. Cassie ran to the door and leaned outside.

“Hunter,” she said, her voice stopping him. “Thank you for returning my heart.”

And with that she slammed the door.

Six

Cassie looked at the white posterboard. She picked up a red marker and wrote: Workers on Strike.

“Here you go, Mabel,” she said, handing it to the grey-haired woman in front of her. “You can go join the others.”

It was a cold, drizzly day, typical of early spring. The winds whipped in from the mountains, swirling around town and chilling even the sturdiest of souls. But no one noticed the biting rain or the invincible wind. They had more important things on their minds. Like the strike.

After Hunter had left, Cassie had called everyone and anyone she could think of. Her message was the same: Hunter Axon would not listen. Urgent action was needed.

But what?

Christine Humblegot, who worked as Oliver’s secretary, said she had overheard Willa tell Oliver that because the plant in China would not be up and running for another three months, she was counting on the workers at Demion Mills to begin producing Bodyguard samples so that they could deliver on time.

In other words, Hunter needed them. At least temporarily.

It was their only bargaining chip.

A strike might make him more willing to negotiate. Of course, a man like Hunter would be able to find a way to work around the strike—but it would cause him some headaches.

“This is so exciting,” Mabel said. “I’ve never done anything like this in all my sixty-three years.” Mabel held the poster proudly above her head and stopped. “Do you think the police will arrest us?”

“I doubt it,” Cassie said. “Herb has his hands full.” Cassie nodded toward Herb Blansfield, Shanville’s sheriff. He was standing by the entrance to the mill, waving a sign that said Keep Jobs In Shanville. Although it had been years since he last worked in the mill, his wife and daughter were employed as weavers.

Cassie smiled as she looked over the crowd. She had explained the risks to each and every one of them. But that seemed to only firm their resolve. Despite the risk, every single member of the mill had enthusiastically joined the strike. They were courageous and determined. No one was willing to see the mill disappear into the hands of a company who had only one intention: to destroy it.

So the whole community had turned out to show its resolve. Luanne was there with her six daughters, all mill employees. Christine was there with her grandparents.

If Hunter Axon thought they would just roll over and hand him the keys to their beloved mill, he was wrong.

Hunter left Cassie’s with one agenda: he wanted to kiss her.

Not that a simple kiss would quench his thirst. His need for her had taken on a life of its own, growing stronger by the day. The thought of never seeing her again had brought him to the brink of despair.

To have found her was a miracle.

But their reunion had fallen quite short of his anticipation. Instead of falling into his arms, she had been ready to run him out of town on a rail.

Once again he found himself thinking about what had transpired the previous evening. Instead of making love they’d argued about Cassie’s desire to save a broken-down mill.

How could she expect him to fund a business that had not shown a profit for years, a business that was on the verge of bankruptcy?

Yet Cassie’s reaction was not unique. In his years of business he had encountered many workers who, like Cassie, made him desperate offers to save their businesses. He had been vilified as a devil, an unfeeling corporate raider who took advantage of other people’s misfortune.

Some of them had given him pause. A few had made him wonder if he had done the right thing.

But of course he had. After all, he did not buy successful businesses. Their misfortune was brought on by the same reasons that were responsible for the demise of Demion Mills—a greedy heir who had no business expertise and workers who were paid more than the company could afford. Sometimes the product needed to be redefined; sometimes the whole concept of the business needed to be simplified.

He would figure out the solution and roll the company into Axon Enterprises where it would become part of a profitable, money-making organization.

It was the only way. And, most of the time at least, the workers eventually realized that they had no choice but to accept their fate.

Sooner or later Cassie would realize that, too. In the meantime he needed to win her back. He needed to make her forget about the mill.

But how? She had made it clear the night before where she stood. She was not interested in him unless he reconsidered his plans for the mill.

But that was not an option.

He needed to persuade her that his buying the mill was the best scenario in a long list of awful ones. And then they would pick up where they left off in the Bahamas. Once again he remembered how she felt next to him, her warm silky body resting beside him.

Flowers, he thought. He would start with flowers. A dozen roses each day and—

As he pulled into the parking lot he was suddenly distracted by the people waving signs in front of the mill. He stepped out of his car and discovered Willa and Oliver standing side by side, looking at the strikers.

“I can’t believe it,” he heard Oliver say.

“What’s going on?” asked Hunter.

“They’re striking,” said Willa.

“What do we care?” Oliver said. “We’re moving the operations to China, anyway.” He smiled at Willa. But she did not smile back.

“We do care,” she said. “We need to keep this mill operational until China is set up and ready to go.”

“So,” Oliver said, the smile fading from his lips, “what do we do?”

Hunter glanced at Willa. “Find out who the organizer is.”

“And?”

“Bring them to me,” he said in a voice that inspired fear in even the strongest of men. With that he brushed past Oliver and headed toward the mill.

If these people thought he could be taken down by a simple strike, they were mistaken. If they wanted a fight, they were going to get it. He was done being Mr. Nice Guy.

Cassie sipped her steaming hot chocolate. She had seen Hunter from a distance, and the unhappy look on his face was enough to bring a smile to her lips. He was learning that the artisans at the mill were a bit tougher and more well organized than he thought.

“Look who’s coming,” Ruby said, motioning behind Cassie. Cassie turned around. Willa was walking toward her, her lips taut in a half smirk, half smile. As she walked, the crowd became silent and parted, staring as she passed. She did not acknowledge them but kept her eyes focused on Cassie.

Cassie stood up straight and inhaled, as if bracing for a fight.

Willa stopped in front of her. “Cassie,” she said, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

Cassie nodded. She handed the remainder of her hot chocolate to Ruby, who accepted it with a comforting nod. Then Cassie turned and followed Willa back into the empty building. They walked in silence to the cafeteria. Once inside the cavernous room, Willa turned to face her. She said, “I believe you owe me an apology.”

“We had no choice but to strike,” Cassie explained. “I tried to speak with you—”

“I’m not talking about the strike,” Willa said in a tone so sweet it was bitter. “I was talking about last night.”

Cassie suddenly remembered that she had left the party shortly after her confrontation with Hunter.

“Honestly, Cassie,” Willa said, hands on her hips. “I have a mind to fire you right now. How dare you harass the governor.”

Cassie did not look away. She was not afraid of Willa, nor was she intimidated by her threats.

Willa raised an eyebrow. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that your…relationship with Hunter will protect you.”

Cassie swallowed. Had Hunter confided in Willa? “I don’t have a relationship with Mr. Axon.” And she wasn’t lying. A one-night stand hardly qualified as a relationship.

“You’re a fool,” Willa said. “Whatever it is you’re doing to him or with him, it’s not going to make any difference in the long run. Do you understand me?”

“No,” Cassie said. “I don’t.”

“Hunter Axon is a kiss-and-don’t-call type of guy. He may be intrigued by you, but it’ll fade as soon as you start interfering with business. If you’re interested in landing more than a job, I’d suggest you stop interfering with Hunter’s plans.”

“You’re wrong about my interest in Hunter. I want to save this mill. I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen.”

“Even if it means giving Hunter your virginity?”

“What?” Cassie said, startled. How could she know about that? How could Hunter have confided such an intimate detail?

“Don’t think Oliver didn’t tell me about how you’ve held on to it for all these long years.”

Oliver. Oliver had told her she was a virgin. Hunter had kept his silence.

“Is that what you’ve offered Hunter?” Willa asked. “A night with a virgin?”

“I’ve had enough,” Cassie said. She turned to leave.

But Willa stopped her with her words. “Do your friends know of your feelings for the man who’s destroying their company?”

“I told you, Willa, you’re wrong.” Once again Cassie reminded herself that the man who had captured her heart was fictitious, a figment of her imagination. He bore no resemblance to the man known as Hunter Axon.

Willa looked her over carefully. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I doubt it. I’m never wrong.”

Cassie glanced away. She wanted to say something, but what?

“He’ll never care about you,” Willa said. “Other women have tried, just like you, to get his attention. They only succeeded in irritating him. Hunter does not like to be distracted from his mission.”

Once again Cassie faced Willa. “And what is that?”

Willa smiled. “Making money, of course.”

Hunter had made a decision. He would cancel one week of severance for every hour of the strike. A person who had worked there for eight years would erase his entire severance in one day.

It was a drastic measure, but necessary. He had little patience for games.

Willa entered without knocking and crossed her arms.

Hunter snapped his phone shut. “What are their demands?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves as if readying for a fight.

Willa smiled smugly. “I’ve found the organizer. I think she should tell you herself.” With a dramatic sweep of her arm, Willa stepped aside.

Cassie.

She stood still, her arms crossed in front of her and her eyes defiant. A bandanna was tied around her head, holding back her beautiful reddish-brown hair. She was wearing a loose-fitting flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves and an old pair of jeans.

As far as Hunter was concerned, he had never been presented with a more worthy foe. Nor had he ever seen anyone so beautiful.

“You?” he heard himself say.

Willa said, “She’s the one behind this ridiculous strike. She was working the phones all night, organizing the workers. According to Oliver, they’ve never done anything like this before.”

He continued to look at Cassie. “Why?”

Cassie stood up straight and said, “We’re not going to let you take this mill away from us. Not without a fight.”

“I didn’t take this mill away from you,” he said. “The Demions did.”

“You are the owner,” she said, narrowing her fiery green eyes. “Correct?”

As he stared at the woman in front of him, he could feel his resolve melt. How could he tell her that he was canceling her severance? How could he hurt her?

He had to admit he admired her spirit. But what could she possibly hope to gain by such a ruse? The mill would be closing in a few months. He could bring in other workers in the meantime. Or could he? This was not a typical factory. Loom weaving was a dying skill. Machines had taken over for people. And in the rare cases where human skills were needed, production had been moved, as he intended, to China. Where would he find skilled artisans who were familiar with the antiquated looms?

He stopped himself. Was he just trying to make a case for Cassie? Were his personal feelings affecting his business decisions?

Hell, yes. Anyone else would have already received an ultimatum and been shown the door.

“This is ridiculous,” Willa said. “You are wasting Mr. Axon’s time.”

He held up a hand to silence her. “What are your demands?” he asked Cassie.

“Give up the plant in China. Keep the jobs here.”

He shook his head. He might be amenable to a demand for more severance, but did she really think he would abandon his intention so easily? “That’s impossible.”

Willa said, “The cost benefit will not—”

“So sell us the mill,” Cassie said, interrupting her.

“What?” Willa asked.

Hunter looked at her intently and said, “Have you found a bank to finance the sale?”

She swallowed and glanced away. “We will.”

Willa laughed. It was a shrill, almost piercing sound. “Axon Enterprises is not a bank.”

“This isn’t right,” Cassie said, staring at him with burning, reproachful eyes. “You have no interest in running a mill, nor do you have any appreciation for the work that we do.”

“Whether I appreciate it or not is beside the point,” Hunter said calmly. “I bought it. And I own it.”

“All you want is the Bodyguard patent. So take it. But give us back the mill.”

He was silent for a moment. “Sell you the mill, but keep the patent?”

“That’s right. You can go produce the patent in China. And we’ll stay right here, making beautiful fabrics.”

He sighed. He felt for her. He did. And he wanted to help her. But even well-meaning workers would not be able to keep this mill afloat. It had been hemorrhaging money for years. “What will that do? You’ll still have a mill on the verge of bankruptcy.”

“We’ll take that chance.”

“Cassie,” Oliver said, appearing in the doorway. He looked shocked to see her there. “What are you doing?”

“I’m talking to your new boss,” she said simply.

He took her by the arm. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Hunter’s blood boiled at the sight of another man touching Cassie. Get your hands off her, he ached to say. Instead he said in a voice that commanded attention, “Let her speak.”

Cassie shrugged her arm away from Oliver’s grasp.

“We’re not going down without a fight,” she said, looking directly at Hunter. “We will not go back to work until you agree to our demands.”

He did not like being threatened. “I can bring in others to do your jobs,” he said.

“It will take time. Time which, we understand, you don’t have.”

Under any other circumstance, he would have been furious. He did not negotiate with soon-to-be-obsolete factory workers. But the frustration he felt toward the situation only seemed to fuel his desire for Cassie.

She crossed her arms, defiant. “We’re not going to stop at the strike, either. We’ll call the news media, we’ll write letters to politicians….”

“The news media?” Willa said. “What news media?”

“The Albany stations.”

Willa scoffed. “As if they care about a local-yokel mill an hour away.”

“I’m not going to give up until you listen to me,” Cassie said to Hunter. “I may not succeed but I can make this very, very difficult for you.”

Willa took a step toward Cassie. “How dare you threaten Mr. Axon like that.” She turned back toward Hunter and said, “I apologize for this insolence. I suggest you let me deal with this little insurgence.”

Still looking at Cassie, Hunter said to Willa, “Will you give me a minute alone with Cassie, please?”

Willa said, “I think this is setting a poor example. If you kowtow to these ridiculous demands, any of them, it will hinder our efforts in other communities.”

“I’ll deal with Cassie,” Hunter repeated through clenched jaws.

“Oh,” Willa said, as if he had been communicating in code. “Alone. Right, I got it.” Willa shot Cassie a nasty smile. “Of course, Hunter,” she said. “Come along, Oliver.”

When Oliver and Willa had left, Hunter took a step toward Cassie and said, “Sit down.”

“No, thanks,” she said.

He took another step toward her. “I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you.”

“Thanks for the explanation, but I wasn’t confused.”

“Yes,” he said, “I think you are. This is not personal, Cassie. Whether you like it or not, I’m your boss. And you are costing me money.”

“So fire me,” she said.

“If I thought that would solve anything, I would. But I’m not about to give up the one degree of control I have.”

This time it was Cassie’s turn to step toward him. She looked up at him with anger smoldering in her eyes. “I don’t care who you are. I’m not afraid of you. You can’t control me.”

It was a dare, plain and simple. But as he stared into Cassie’s cool green eyes, his anger once again gave way to passion. She was wrong. He may not be able to control her mind but he damn well could control her body. He had done it before and was desperate to do it again. He wanted to take her in his arms, to make her sigh with pleasure and burn with desire.

“I see,” he said. He swallowed and forced himself to turn away. “What are you offering?”

“What?”

“You’re the mediator,” he said. He glanced back at her. “You want to buy this mill. Tell your people to give me an offer.”

“You’ll consider it?”

He paused. “I’ll consider just about anything.”

She took a step backward and glanced away. But she was not quick enough. Hunter had seen the surprise in her eyes. She had not expected him to negotiate. So why was she doing this?

“I have to discuss this with my co-workers,” she said.

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours. You can present your proposal to my board.”

“Tomorrow?”

Hunter thought he could detect a hint of panic. “Correct.”

“Your board is coming here?”

“No,” he said. “You’re going to them.”

“Where?”

“The Bahamas.”

She paled, revealing a hint of despair. Normally he would enjoy watching an antagonizer squirm. But not this time. He wanted to comfort her. To tell her everything would be all right.

“Be at the airport at noon tomorrow,” he said. “My plane will be waiting.”

She cleared her throat and asked, “Are we going together?”

“No,” he said. “I’m leaving momentarily. After all, there’s no reason for me to stay. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you want me to.”

He let his eyes gaze over her, drinking in her beauty.

She swallowed and touched the top button of her shirt as if making sure it was still closed. “No.”

“So be it.” He walked over to the door and opened it. “Until tomorrow.”

She stood up and walked past him, accidentally brushing up against his arm as she passed. After she had left he shut the door and smiled. At that moment he would’ve been willing to sell her the mill for another night of passion.

Seven

By the time Cassie landed in Nassau it was nearly six. The attendant directed her out of the plane and toward the waiting limousine.

As she walked across the tarmac, she found herself shaking her head. It seemed unbelievable that she, Cassie Edwards, would be flying in a private plane and driving around in a limousine. After all, she was the girl who had to stick a hairbrush in her choke to start her car, the girl whose car engine leaked oil so badly she was forced to carry a case of oil and a can opener so she could add more at each destination.

She wondered what it would be like to be as rich as Hunter Axon. She knew that some people assumed there was no such thing as having too much money, but she disagreed. To some unfortunate souls, money was like a drug, intoxicating and overwhelming. The more they had, the more they wanted.

Like Oliver. He had been the richest man in Shanville, living a life that most just dreamed of. But it was not enough. And his quest for more cost him his company, his town and the people who loved him. She was certain that Oliver would one day discover that wealth could not buy him what he wanted most: happiness.

She couldn’t help but compare Oliver to Hunter Axon. Hunter was intense, serious and ambitious. Not to mention one of the richest men in the country. But was he happy? He did not have a wife or children. But he had his pick of women, which, in and of itself, would probably be enough to make most men happy.

Cassie nervously licked her lips. She had to stop thinking of Hunter in such personal terms. He was her employer, her boss. End of subject. It did not matter if he was happy or unhappy.

She stepped inside the limousine and introduced herself to the driver. She then opened up her proposal and went over her notes one last time. After a grueling seven-hour meeting, the employees of Demion Mills had agreed on an offer. They would not try to buy back the patent. They couldn’t afford it. But they would give Hunter more than a fair price for the mill. The deal, however, was dependent on his cooperation. They would make payments to him, forcing him to act as a bank.

She knew that the offer was not strong enough. But they had little choice. No bank would give them a loan. Their homes were their only collateral, and if the mill failed, their homes and land would be worthless.

So why would Axon Enterprises agree to such a scheme?

Once again she questioned their decision to go forward. Had Hunter been right? Would they have been better off just quietly accepting the severance?

Perhaps. But Cassie couldn’t shake the feeling that they still had a chance of saving their company. For, despite what she had heard about Hunter Axon’s ruthlessness, she had seen other qualities in him as well. She was almost certain that beneath the veneer of invulnerability was the man she had seen the first night they met: sensitive, protective and caring.

But were her personal feelings affecting her perception?

As much as she hated to admit it, she still felt a connection to him. She was certain she always would. After all, he was the first man with whom she had made love. And nothing would ever change that.

The driver slowed down. Cassie suddenly realized they were not at an office, but a home. As they approached, the iron gates at the end of the driveway swung open.

They drove down the long, curving drive. The house, invisible from the road, loomed ahead. It was exactly what she had imagined—a rambling Spanish-style mansion that, with its manicured grounds, resembled a country club.

She half expected to see the flurry of activity that was typical of great estates: gardeners, maids and butlers rushing around. But there was none of that. In fact, it seemed serenely quiet and deserted. Cassie stepped out of the limousine as the front door opened. Instead of a uniformed butler, a plain-faced, middle-aged woman in jeans and a T-shirt stood at the doorway and smiled. “Come on in,” she said. “Mr. Axon is out back.”

Cassie paused inside the cavernous entrance. Huge oil paintings, two stories high, filled the foyer. A large sweeping staircase straight from Tara wrapped its way toward the sky.

Cassie followed the woman through the French doors at the far end of the hall and out to the patio.

It was a view out of a magazine. Lush green acres rolling down to a white sandy beach and the green water of the Atlantic. Off to the right, stone lions guarded an infinity swimming pool.

Hunter was sitting at a table on the veranda, his back toward her.

He glanced up as Cassie approached.

“Hello, Mr. Axon,” she said.

The term “Mr. Axon” brought a slight smile to his face. He stood up and held out his hand. He didn’t look as if he was dressed for a business meeting. The brown hair that had been slicked back in Shanville was curly and natural. He was wearing an outfit similar to the one he had worn their first night together, a soft linen shirt tucked into linen pants. “Miss Edwards.”

She took his hand. Once again he held it as though he wasn’t about to let go. And part of her wished he wouldn’t. She gave herself a mental slap. Focus. She pulled away. “Where is everyone?”

“You mean the board?”

She nodded.

“We have to go to them.” Still looking at her, he asked, “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “I hope so.”

“Good.” He nodded toward the setting sun. “I had hoped to do it today, but because of the delay in your arrival, I bumped it to tomorrow morning.”

Which left…the night. And she had not made hotel reservations. As if reading her mind, he said, “I took the liberty of making reservations for you at a hotel around the corner. I think you’ll find it has all the amenities you need.”

And she had no doubt it cost a fortune, as well. She had investigated all the hotels on her last visit. Nothing was as inexpensive as the Barter Hotel.

“Thank you,” she said, “But I prefer the hotel I stayed in the last time.”

“Ah,” he said. “The Barter Hotel by any chance?”

She nodded. How did he know that?

“It’s closed temporarily.”

“But I was just there.”

“They’re renovating.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed.

“Of course, you’re welcome to stay here. I have several guest rooms.”

She shook her head. “No. No, thank you.”

He nodded. She could see a twinkle in his eyes. Was he teasing her?

“In that case,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I’ll see you to the car.”

“I’m leaving?”

When he paused, she glanced away. What was wrong with her? She had sounded disappointed, as if she had wanted to stay with him. For good reason. As much as she hated to admit it, she was disappointed.

“I’m afraid I have dinner plans this evening.”

His news took her breath away. Dinner plans? With whom?

She tried to ignore the jealousy ripping through her heart. What did she expect? She was not dating him. She had merely slept with him. But if he had dinner plans, why would he invite her to spend the night?

Was he willing to go out to dinner with another woman and return home to sleep with her?

“Unfortunately it’s an engagement I cannot cancel,” he said, turning away as if dismissing her.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said coldly. Hmph! What did she care if he had a date? He was free to see whomever he liked.

Right? Right!

The thin veneer of anger could not hide the deep well of despair.

But she was not allowed to feel despair. Nor was she allowed to feel territorial. She barely knew Hunter.

She swallowed her emotions as he led her through the house and back to the limo, where the driver stood outside her door, waiting. Hunter said, “I hope you enjoy your stay at the hotel. Everything is taken care of, so feel free to order anything you like from the room service menu.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “I have my own money.”

“My company has a suite of rooms at the hotel, permanently reserved for visitors,” he said. “We have never charged a guest.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well then, thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, slamming her door.

Hours later Hunter was once again staring out over the water. He shook his head as he remembered the expression on his comptroller’s face at dinner when he had informed him that he was thinking about selling the mill to its employees. “Are you crazy?” the man had asked.

Hunter had not seen the offer, but he knew it would not be titillating enough to convince his staff. After all, the risk was so significant no bank would finance the loan. There was no way the workers could afford to offer him enough to make it worth his while.

“So why?” the comptroller had asked. “Why would you even consider this?”

Hunter had not answered his question. After all, what could he say? That he was smitten with one of the women who wanted to buy it? It seemed ridiculous. He barely knew Cassie.

But the mere thought of her was enough to bring a smile to his lips. He remembered the way she had walked into his office, her arms crossed, her beautiful face turned up in defiance. She had been wearing her work attire as if to remind him of who she was: Cassie Edwards, factory worker. What she didn’t realize was that he didn’t care whether she was a photographer or a factory worker. He was not impressed by fancy titles and clothes. Even external beauty rarely moved him. His attraction to Cassie was based on something else, something he couldn’t define. A quality or qualities that, when put together, made her the most intriguing woman he had ever met.

But was that reason enough to give her what she wanted?

No. Intellectually he knew that selling the workers back the mill would be a mistake. But he had to consider it. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Cassie, a woman he barely knew. But was she worth the risk?

He needed another opinion. So tomorrow he would take Cassie to his board. And if his board approved, well then, so be it. Regardless of his future with Cassie, he would give her what she wanted.

Eight

Cassie brushed the bread crumbs off her skirt as she stared out the limousine window. She usually skipped breakfast, but today she had made an exception. She was presenting her offer to Hunter’s board and she certainly didn’t want her stomach growling in the middle of the presentation.

But her stomach was tied in such knots that she found it almost impossible to eat the large breakfast that had appeared at her door that morning, “Compliments of Mr. Axon.” She had choked down a piece of toast and swallowed a few sips of coffee before heading out the door.

She tapped her fingers nervously on her legs. She had hardly slept the night before and she was certain she looked as tired as she felt. She had stayed up, tossing and turning, her mind going a million miles a minute.

She had every reason to be nervous. After all, she had never given a business presentation before. She did not know what to expect.

As much as she wished that that alone was responsible for her insomnia, the truth of the matter lay elsewhere. She didn’t want to admit it, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Hunter. How could he have invited her to spend the night at his house when he had a dinner date with someone else?

Was he trying to make her jealous? She doubted it. If he felt anything for her at all, it was lust, plain and simple.

But what did she care? So their one-night stand had turned into just that. That was what she had intended, right?

But she had not expected to see him again. She had expected to return home with a beautiful memory of a kind and gentle man. And now that she knew who he was…well, the beautiful memory had turned into an embarrassment. Instead of feeling grateful for the time they shared, she felt guilty. It was as if she had done something wrong. Something illicit. And she had. Instead of protecting her friends from Hunter Axon, she had slept with him.

And for some terrible reason, she wanted to do it again.

Ugh. What was wrong with her? How could she even think such a thing?

The limousine stopped at a red light. Cassie glanced out the window. They were approaching Hunter’s estate. She swallowed and stared at the beautiful palm trees lining both sides of the street. Suddenly something caught her eye. It was a brightly colored bird, unlike any she had ever seen before.

She instinctively reached for her camera, but for the first time she could remember, her camera was not there. She had purposely not brought it. She was pretending to be a corporate executive, and an executive would not walk into a meeting with a camera slung around her neck.

Cassie’s stomach growled. She patted it and sighed. It was hopeless.

As they approached the entrance to Hunter’s estate, the iron gates swung open once again and the limousine drove down the long, narrow driveway. The driver stopped in front of Hunter’s house and hurried out to open her door.

Cassie stepped out of the limousine and, after thanking her driver, clutched her folder against her chest and strode up the steps. Just as she was raising her hand to knock, the door opened.

The woman who had answered the door the day before appeared in front of her. She greeted Cassie pleasantly and once again led her through the house and out the back. Hunter was outside, talking on the phone.

He was not dressed as she might have expected. He was wearing the most casual outfit he had worn so far: khaki Bermuda shorts and a short-sleeved linen shirt.

What was going on? “Is the meeting canceled?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Perhaps it did not matter what he wore. After all, he was the boss. And maybe the dress code for professionals in the Bahamas was different from in the States.

If that was the case, then once again she was dressed inappropriately. She was wearing a vintage suit she had found at a flea market—a simple cotton skirt and a sleeveless silk blouse topped by a tight-fitting cotton blazer.

As the heat crept up her cheeks, Hunter smiled sweetly, putting her fears to rest. “You look nice.”

She couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture. “Thanks,” she said.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.” With that, he turned and began to walk toward the water.

“Isn’t the car that way?” she asked, motioning behind her.

“Yes,” he said, continuing to walk.

She hurried to catch up with him. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re traveling by boat,” he said, nodding toward the cigarette boat in front of them.

“A boat?” Now she really was confused. “I just assumed we were going to your office.”

“We’re meeting at an island offshore,” he said, jumping aboard. Like his yacht, the boat looked brand-new. Hunter said, “You might want to take those shoes off. And, uh, the stockings as well.”

She just looked at him. The stockings?

As if reading her mind, he shrugged and said, “You’re welcome to keep them on if you like but this deck is slick. I know you wouldn’t want to end up in the water before your presentation.”

She glanced down. How in the world would she get her panty hose off? Was it possible to do it and somehow keep her dignity? No. She’d just have to take her chances.

“It’s all right,” she said. She held on to the rail and hopped on. The minute her feet hit the deck of the boat she felt them give way. In that split second she knew that Hunter had been right. It was no time for a swim.

But before she hit the water, he grabbed her. He swung her around as if she were no heavier than a feather. He held her close. Looking in her eyes he said, “You might want to reconsider your decision.”

“My decision?” she murmured. What decision was he referring to? Her decision to spend the night alone in a hotel room when she could’ve been snuggled up next to him?

He leaned forward, and for a split second she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he righted her and, glancing at her panty hose, said, “You can take them off below if you prefer.”

She nodded. He slowly removed his hands. As he turned the key in the ignition, she went below, where she took off her panty hose, rolled them up and stuck them in her purse.

She took off her jacket and walked back up, barefoot and sleeveless. She sat down next to him.

He was idling the boat in the water. “Ready?”

She nodded.

“Hold on,” he said. He revved the engine, and with a start, they took off across the water.

“Isn’t this a little unorthodox?’” she asked over the din of the engine.

“What do you mean?”

“Taking a boat to a board meeting.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t like doing things by the book.”

The boat seemed to glide across the water. They were headed straight into the Atlantic. Up to the left, Cassie could see a school of dolphins. “Look,” she said, excited. She pointed them out to Hunter.

He slowed the boat down. When she glanced at him, she saw that he was looking not at the dolphins but at her. “Was the hotel suitable?” he asked.

She nodded and turned back toward the dolphins. “Great,” she said. “Thanks for breakfast.”

She glanced sideways at him. Once again she found herself wondering about his evening. Whom had he spent it with? “What about you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I remember you said you had dinner plans.”

He nodded. “Oh, yes.” He glanced back at her. “It was a long night.”

A long night. She got it. He wanted her to know that he’d slept with her. Whoever she was.

How dare he? How could he be so narcissistic as to assume that she would even care—

The boat hit a wave straight on. Water splashed against her silk blouse, making it cling to her skin. Her bra was clearly visible. Not exactly the kind of outfit you wanted to wear on a boat, beside a man with whom you had just slept, a man who was now sleeping with someone else. But that was the least of her worries.

“Sorry,” Hunter said. “It’s choppier than I thought.” She saw his eyes glance toward her chest. He nodded toward the back. “There’s a towel back there.”

She grabbed the towel and wrapped it around her. When she sat back down, he pointed toward the island they were approaching. “That’s where we’re going.”

“But…it looks almost deserted.”

“It is. Almost.”

He drove up to an old dock. He turned off the boat and began securing it to the dock.

“Where are we meeting your board?”

“Right there,” he said, pointing to an old rambling shack on the beach.

“There?” she asked, more surprised than horrified. “In that hut?”

He grinned.

“What is this, Hunter?” she asked. “What’s going on?” This had to be some sort of joke. Where was the fancy marina? Where were the hotels? Where were the conference rooms? “You promised me—”

“I promised you an opportunity to meet my board. My board consists of one person—the only person whose advice I trust. My father. This is where he lives.” He held out his hand. “That man there,” he said, nodding behind him, “is the man who will decide your future.”

She glanced toward the shore. The man approaching them was wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt with blue-jean shorts. His gray, bushy hair was partially covered by a baseball cap. He waved and smiled.

“Don’t let his sweet-old-man demeanor fool you,” Hunter said. “He’s every bit as mean and tough as I am.”

“Your father?”

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Does it matter?” he asked. “If you had asked me who was on my board I would’ve been happy to tell you.” He nodded toward her purse and her folder. “Now, why don’t you hand those down to me so you can meet him.”

Cassie glanced at her belongings. It seemed ridiculous to bring a purse on the beach. She pulled out her shoes and handed her folder to Hunter.

“Morning,” Hunter’s father said. He held out his hand to Cassie, helping her off the boat. “You must be Cassie. Hunter’s told me all about you.”

Cassie glanced at Hunter. “Really?”

“Yep,” his father said. “You’re every bit as pretty as he claimed.”

She saw Hunter wince. “Let’s keep it professional, Dad. Remember, this isn’t a social visit.”

Hunter had described her as pretty? She couldn’t help but feel pleased.

“Whatever you say,” his father replied with a big grin.

Cassie smiled in return. As she glanced at the older man’s friendly smile, she could feel her apprehension fade. He seemed to radiate sincerity. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Axon.”

“Phil. Call me Phil.”

“Hey, Phil,” said Hunter. He nodded toward the cottage. “Are we meeting at the house?”

“Inside?” he asked. “On such a beautiful day?”

It was beautiful. Cassie glanced at the sky. Eighty degrees and sunny, with not a drop of humidity.

“I was hoping,” Phil continued, “that we might be able to discuss things over a pole.”

“Excuse me?” Cassie asked.

“I don’t think Cassie is interested in fishing, Dad.”

“Actually,” Cassie said, “I would love to.” She still wasn’t sure if Hunter had been telling her the truth when he said the future of the mill rested in the hands of his board—his father. But if her fate really did rest in the hands of this seemingly kind and simple man, then so be it. Perhaps she still had a chance of saving the mill after all.

Phil smiled and held out his arm. Cassie looped her hand through it and together they walked toward an embankment at the top of which were four chairs.

It didn’t take Cassie long to start talking about Shanville and Demion Mills. She told Hunter’s father the story of how the mill began and described how it had become the anchor of the town. She told him about the looms and explained how they hand wove the material. She talked about the people who worked there and explained why their futures were dependent on the mill.

Hunter’s father listened patiently. When she was finished, Phil asked her the same question Hunter had asked. “What makes you think you can save it?”

She looked at Hunter. “I’m not sure I can. But I know I have to try.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.” He glanced at Hunter. “How much of a hit will you take?”

“He’s keeping the patent,” Cassie said defensively, before Hunter could answer. “We’re just asking him to finance the buy-back.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows. “The mill has not made a profit in five years.”

Phil maintained eye contact with his son. “So this is not a business decision, is it?”

Cassie swallowed. Perhaps she had been wrong about Phil Axon’s understanding nature. She said, “We’ll pay him back regardless. Even if we have to sell our homes to do it.”

Hunter said to his father, “You and I can talk about this later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“What?” both Hunter and Cassie asked simultaneously.

Phil glanced at his son. “I think she’s a woman of her word. If she says she’ll pay you back, then she’ll pay you back.”

“With interest,” Cassie said.

Hunter glanced away, obviously surprised by his father’s proclamation. Before he had a chance to respond, however, his phone rang. He flipped it open and turned away as he spoke in a low voice.

Cassie looked at Phil and smiled. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re more than welcome. But I think you should know it’s ultimately Hunter’s decision.”

“Then,” she said wistfully, “I doubt we stand a chance.”

“I disagree.”

She gave him a puzzled look.

“I understand why you might say that. I know his reputation. The corporate robber baron. And I’m not saying it’s not deserved. But I know a different side.”

She glanced away.

“You know,” his father said, “life hasn’t been easy for Hunter. Not easy at all. After his mother died, I went through a hard time. Things just got worse when I lost my job. I came here to figure things out. My mother—Hunter’s grandmother—was worried about us living out here alone. She didn’t have much faith in my ability to bring up a child. And I suppose she was right. I could barely take care of myself.

“We never had much money,” he continued. “I did my best, but I was dependent on the sea. Sometimes the fish were plentiful, sometimes they weren’t. We never had any extra money for books, clothes, medicine, the stuff most kids take for granted.”

Hunter’s father was a nice man who obviously loved his son. But how could he excuse Hunter’s behavior? Lots of children grew up poor. They didn’t turn into money-hungry tycoons.

“One year Hunter’s grandma got sick. She’d never been in good shape. Well, we put her in the boat and got her over to the mainland. But we waited and waited for them to check her into the hospital. In the meantime, we kept watching all these other people just walk right in and get service. See, it didn’t matter if she was dying. We were poor. They took the ones with money or insurance first. By the time we finally got in, it was too late. She died. They tried to save her, but they couldn’t. Hunter was convinced if we’d had money, things would’ve turned out differently.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“His goals were commendable. He was driven not by greed but by compassion.”

She didn’t answer. She did not want to be the one to tell him that honorable intentions did not necessarily make an honorable man. But still, she couldn’t help but be touched by Hunter’s history. If her grandmother had suffered the same fate, who knew what impression that might have made on her?

“How did he end up at Yale?”

“After his grandma died, Hunter applied to a boarding school. He got in, and when he graduated he applied to the best of schools, determined to work his way through college.” He smiled. “He’s done it all by himself, every step of the way.”

She understood why he would be proud. It was an impressive feat—a boy of simple means turning himself into one of the richest men in the country.

Phil shrugged. “I know I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” she said with a smile.

He looked back at the water. “I must say, when Hunter told me he was bringing a lady out here I just assumed it was a date. He doesn’t often bring his associates.”

She glanced at Hunter. He was still talking on the phone, his back to them, oblivious to the conversation occurring behind him. She felt a pang of jealousy. Did he bring dates often? How many women had he brought to meet his father?

As if reading her mind, Phil said, “Although I don’t know why I’d think it was anything but a business associate, I can’t remember the last time he brought a girlfriend out here.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. But what did she care? She was not dating him. Phil said, “He’s a good man, my Hunter.”

She glanced down. A good man? He was a powerful man, a man who had made millions. But he was not exactly known for his philanthropic nature. Then again, from what Phil had just told her, she could understand why he might think such a thing. “I’ve always felt the one thing my son needed was a good woman.”

“I don’t think your son has any trouble finding women.”

“Just not the right one.” He shook his head. “He thought he found her once.”

“What do you mean?” Cassie asked, stabbed by a momentary pang of jealousy.

“He was going to marry her. Darn near broke his heart, she did. I tried to warn him. Saw it coming a mile away.” He shrugged. “But he’s always had a mind of his own.”

“Well,” Hunter said, appearing behind him, “what did I miss?” Cassie glanced up at him. Hunter had suffered a broken heart? She found it difficult to imagine. She had just assumed him to be the heartbreaker, not the other way around.

“Oh, we’re just getting to know each other. Right, Cassie?” Phil asked with a wink.

She nodded.

“Cassie,” Phil said, “it seems a shame to go back to the mainland so soon. Would you like to see the island?”

She glanced at Hunter, who looked at his watch. She picked up on his cue and said, “I’m not sure we have time.”

“Come on now, Hunter,” Phil said. “She’s come a long way. And it’s lunchtime.”

“All right,” Hunter reluctantly agreed.

Phil smiled. “You should take her to the fishmonger.” He shrugged. “The island only has one decent restaurant and it’s not much.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Cassie asked hesitantly. The only reason she had been amenable to staying was that she thought he was inviting her.

“Me?” he asked, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I’ve got too much work to do. But you two go on.”

“Too much work?” Hunter asked, surprised.

“You got it,” Phil said. “Now go on.”

Hunter rolled his eyes.

Cassie stood up. “I’m not exactly dressed for an island tour.”

“Leave your shoes here. Besides that, you’re fine.”

“My shoes?” Cassie repeated.

Hunter shrugged. “People rarely wear shoes on the island.”

“I’ll hold on to them for you,” Phil said. “Don’t you worry.”

As they walked away, Hunter whispered, “Don’t let my dad pressure you. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can take you back.”

She glanced around. The sweet smell of jasmine filled the air. She could feel her resolve weaken. After all, how often did she travel to an island paradise? “No,” she said. “I would like to stay. If, of course, it’s okay with you.”

“My schedule is clear for the day.”

She nodded. Once again she found herself wondering why Hunter had brought her there. “I like your dad,” she said. “He seems like a nice man.”

“He is.”

She stopped walking. “Does his opinion really make a difference?”

“Not typically,” he said, without looking away.

Any optimism she might have felt disappeared with his words. She swallowed hard, trying not to reveal her frustration. “So, why am I here?”

“Because,” he said, “this is not a typical situation.”

“So you’re honestly considering my proposal?” she said, as hope once again filled her heart.

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” His expression stilled and grew serious. He looked as if he was waiting for her to speak. But what did he want her to say?

He glanced away and nodded toward a small motorbike next to the house. “This is our transportation.”

“That?” she said, looking at the bike. There was barely room for one person, not to mention two.

He jumped on. “Climb on,” he said, turning the key to the ignition.

Cassie hesitated. Hunter met her eyes, as if daring her. He said, “You wanted to see the island. This is how people travel here.”

She hiked up her skirt and sat behind him. Her bare legs rested against his.

“Hold on,” he said.

As the bike jolted forward, she instinctively grabbed on to Hunter’s waist. Through his shirt she could feel his taut muscles. Once again she saw his naked body, towering above her as he penetrated deep inside her. At the memory she stiffened slightly and leaned back.

They were traveling down a narrow dirt road carved out of a jungle. She could see glimpses of island life—brightly colored birds, the deep blue Atlantic. Finally they came out into a clearing. It was as if she had stepped back in time. Vendors of exotic fruit and fish crowded the streets. Although there was a small marina, it was wooden and rickety.

“This is the island that time has forgotten,” Hunter said, stopping the bike in front of a small building.

“I’m surprised that some big resort hasn’t gobbled this up yet.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not going to happen, either.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure.” She glanced at him. But she could tell by the expression on his face that he was not making an educated guess. He knew for a fact this island was safe from development. “You own this island, don’t you?”

He held back a grin. “Let’s eat.”

So he owned an island, too. “I’m surprised you haven’t sold it off to a developer. I bet you could make some money.”

He stopped. “Believe it or not, I’m not all about money.”

“Prove it.”

“If I was all about money, you wouldn’t be here right now.” He was towering above her. His voice was low and his eyes were cold.

He held her gaze for a moment before turning and opening the door. The bright sunlight disappeared. They were in a small, dark room with a long bar behind which a man was grilling fish.

Hunter nodded toward a stool. “Have a seat.”

“Hunter!” the man said, beaming when he saw him. “This is a surprise.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Hunter said.

“I talked to your father,” the man said. “He tells me you’re very busy these days.” The man looked at Cassie and smiled again. “I can see why.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you’re wrong.” He glanced at Cassie. “She thinks I’m an arrogant bastard.”

The man looked at Cassie and frowned.

Embarrassed, she said, “I never said—”

“I didn’t say you did. I said you thought it.” She could see the mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Freddy, I’d like you to meet Cassie Edwards, a business associate.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Edwards,” Freddy said with a smile. He grasped her hand warmly. “But you’re wrong about this man here. He’s the most decent man I’ve ever met.”

“I think you give me a little too much credit, Freddy. But thank you.”

Freddy chuckled. “I’ll give you two the specials. It will fix you right up.”

She glanced at Hunter. He was obviously still tickled by his own joke. “I enjoyed talking to your father. He’s not what I would’ve expected,” she said, as Freddy chopped a head off a fish. She looked away.

“How so?”

Who would think the father of a corporate giant would be so down to earth and nice? “He seems so…perceptive.”

“He can be,” Hunter said.

As they ate their meal, Hunter glanced at the woman beside him. He had enjoyed introducing her to his family and friends and the island he still referred to as home. Hunter turned back toward Freddy. He had known him his whole life. The two had grown up together, attended the local school, graduated in the same class. Although Hunter had never told another soul, it was he who had bought Freddy this restaurant. He had offered to set him up anyplace in the world he desired but Freddy had not wanted to move. He confessed his dream had always been to have a little restaurant right there on the beach. And so, that was exactly what Hunter had given him. But it was his friend who had made the restaurant a success.

“What about dessert?” Freddy asked when they were finished.

Cassie shook her head. “No thanks. That was delicious, though.”

Freddy smiled and flashed Hunter the thumbs-up. Hunter could see Cassie turn red with embarrassment. “I like her!” Freddy said.

“Don’t get too excited there,” Hunter said. “Like I said, she’s a business associate.”

Freddy winked. “Well, maybe your business associate would like to see Blind Man’s Peak.”

“I don’t think so,” Hunter said, looking at her. “She needs to get back to the mainland.”

“What’s Blind Man’s Peak?” she asked.

“We used to go there as kids. It’s on top of an old volcano. It’s got a view of all the islands around here.”

“Sounds interesting.”

What did that mean? Did she want to go? “It’s a little bit of a hike. The path is too steep for the bike.”

She put her napkin on her plate. “I can handle it.”

“You can’t go in bare feet.”

“So let’s go get my shoes.”

“You can’t wear high heels, Cassie. You could break something.”

“Shoes? Does someone need shoes?” asked Freddy.

“Freddy…” began Hunter.

“What size?”

She smiled at Freddy. “Nine.”

“Big feet,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t tell me he’s gone out to find a pair of shoes for me.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“They sell shoes?”

He nodded. “Freddy has a big family. Most of them work in the vendor stands you saw out front. You could purchase a whole new wardrobe, if you like.”

Freddy burst back in the front door. He ran over to the grill and flipped some more fish. Then he turned back toward Cassie and said, “Try these.”

He handed her a pair of flip-flops on which someone had painstakingly glued shells. She said, “They’re much too beautiful to wear.”

“That’s what they’re for,” Freddy argued.

She slipped them on. “They’re wonderful. Thank you.”

“Anything for a friend of Hunter’s.”

Hunter smiled appreciatively. “Thanks, Freddy.”

Freddy winked and handed Hunter a pair of plain flip-flops. “I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

“I owe you one, my friend,” Hunter said with a grin.

Hunter turned back toward Cassie. “Whenever you’re ready…”

“I’m ready.” She stood up. “Thank you for this delicious lunch,” she said to Freddy. “And,” she said, pointing to her feet, “for the shoes.”

Hunter led Cassie out. They were almost to the door when Freddy once again flashed him a thumbs-up. Hunter was not surprised by his friend’s opinion of Cassie. Nor was he surprised by his father’s. It only cemented what he had suspected.

Cassie was not like Lisa.

He had taken Lisa to the island only once. Despite her kind words and pleasant smile, she had been all too anxious to escape back to the mainland and the comforts of an expensive hotel.

He got on the bike. Cassie jumped on behind him. She slid back as far as possible, but she could not stop her breasts from pushing up against him. She held her hands stiff, barely touching his waist.

He drove off the road, heading toward a familiar path. After a while they came out at another clearing. Hunter parked his bike. “We have to walk from here.”

It had been years since Hunter had walked along this narrow dirt path. He had once made the trip at least once a day, but after he left the island, his trips were limited to an annual visit at best.

“Are you okay?” he asked Cassie, glancing at her flip-flops.

“Fine,” she said.

He smiled to himself. He was impressed. Most women would never have agreed to such an adventure. Especially when dressed in a fancy skirt and blouse. But Cassie did not seem to care what she was wearing. She seemed completely at ease, as if taking a walk to the edge of a volcano was a typical outing.

“It’s right up here,” Hunter said.

Cassie passed him, climbing up the peak. The crater had long since filled in, leaving just a grassy, narrow knoll. “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking at the blue-green Atlantic and the islands dotting the sea.

He nodded as he stood beside her. “I used to come here a lot.”

“Did you grow up on this island?”

He nodded. “I grew up in that ‘hut,’ as I believe you described it.”

Cassie swallowed as the color drained out of her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I thought it was a cute house. I should’ve said bungalow.”

The look on her face made Hunter regret he had even mentioned it. Cassie was not a snob. It was his own clumsy way of proving that he wasn’t, either. “I know,” he said.

She nodded, seemingly relieved.

“You think it looks small now,” he said. “You should’ve seen it when my grandmother was alive.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her smile.

“Your grandmother lived there, too?”

“Yes. She took the bedroom and my father the couch, and I had a mattress on the floor.”

“You’re kidding?”

He shook his head. “No. We didn’t have much money. But my grandmother kept it together. You’d be surprised how far she could stretch one fish.”

“My grandmother was the same way,” she said. “She could stretch one pot roast a week.” She smiled.

“What about you?”

“Me?” She shook her head. “I can’t cook. I never felt the urge to try.”

“You’d rather be out taking pictures.”

She grinned. “I guess.” They walked in silence for a while. Hunter couldn’t help but think about her interest in photography. If Cassie did not have the mill, would she pursue a career behind the camera?

“What happened to your mother?” she asked.

“She died soon after I was born. My dad couldn’t cope, so my grandmother came out from France to help. She raised me.”

“Right,” she said, flashing him a bright smile. “I remember now.”

“What?”

“Say something in French.”

He hesitated. “Tu es la femme la plus belle que j’ai jamais vu,” he said quietly. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” He paused and glanced up at the sky. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

She nodded as if she didn’t quite believe him. He shrugged and glanced away.

“Do you still have relatives in France?”

“Distant. My grandmother wanted to be buried back there, so I met some of them at her funeral.”

“That must have been interesting.”

“It was deafening.”

“What?”

“We’re a very loud family.”

She laughed, and he felt his spirits soar.

She glanced back toward the water. “This is so beautiful. It feels like we’re on the top of the world.”

“That’s why I loved it here. I could spend the day working and get home exhausted. But when I came up here I forgot everything. I felt as if I could take over the world.”

She paused a minute. “Why are you telling me all this?” she asked quietly, a slight hesitation in her voice.

Why was he? He was getting personal. He couldn’t seem to help himself. He wanted to open up to her, to prove to her he was not the bastard she thought he was. But there was only one way to do that.

“Hunter?” she said, still waiting for an answer.

“Cassie, I have to tell you, selling the mill to you does not make sense.”

He could see her stiffen.

“But I’m going to accept your offer.”

Her eyes opened wide in astonishment. “You are?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“So the mill will stay open?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

Why? Wasn’t it obvious? Because he couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing her.

Instead he said, “I didn’t realize that there was going to be such an insurgence from the locals. That’s not the way I do business.”

She stood still, almost as if she was afraid to breathe. “And you’ll still produce the Bodyguard cloth in China?”

Why had she brought up the patent? Was she insinuating that she wanted the patent, too? A mill that size could never handle the production of a mass-market product.

“That was the deal.” He could feel his defenses rise. He was angry. Didn’t she understand that this was a financial risk that he would never have assumed in any other circumstance? He was not a bank that reached out to nonprofit clients. He bought companies. He didn’t save them. “There will be some conditions of the sale, however,” he said, taking a step back. “After all, I need to know that my investment will be returned.”

“Of course,” she said. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. She was looking everywhere but at him. What had happened? Shouldn’t she be happy? After all, he just gave her back the mill.

In any case, it was clear the cliff had lost its magic.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Cassie barely said a word when they returned to his father’s bungalow and retrieved her shoes, jacket and folder. She was polite and kind, but distant. Neither mentioned to his father that Hunter had agreed to sell the mill.

She was equally silent on the boat ride back. As they neared the dock, she finally said, “I’d like to return home as soon as possible.”

Hunter glanced at her. “Okay.”

“I have to get back and tell everyone the good news.”

And Hunter had to deal with Willa. He knew she would not be pleased. She was already talking to museums about which items would be donated, looking forward to the large tax credit. And she had already taken several companies through who were interested in purchasing the space. She would immediately recognize that his selling the mill back to the workers was based on emotion rather than reason.

But he didn’t care what Willa might think. At the moment all he could think about was Cassie.

He had half hoped that their rendezvous might suddenly turn romantic. But it hadn’t. Even before he brought up the mill, Cassie had maintained her distance. It was as if she was purposely keeping him at arm’s length. What had happened to the spontaneous woman he had met on the beach?

“I’ll arrange your flight back,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. “Will you be returning with me?”

“No.” It was obvious that Cassie was only interested in a business relationship. Unfortunately, he was not willing or able to accept a platonic relationship. He could not be near her without wanting to touch her, without being tempted to kiss her.

Therefore, it was best if he stayed away from her. He would not return to Shanville. The lawyers would handle it from there.

“Tomorrow, then?” she asked.

He shook his head. “There’s no reason to wait till tomorrow.” He glanced at her. She was staring at him. “Is there?” he asked. Give me a reason, he pleaded silently. Please.

She shook her head. “I guess not.”

His heart sank. He pulled up to the dock and stopped the boat. He stepped out and turned to offer her his hand. When she was safely on the dock, he let go.

He said, “I’ll drive you to your hotel so you can gather your things. I’ll let my office know that you’ll be ready to leave in an hour.”

“Wait,” she said, stopping him.

He turned back toward her.

“I…I wanted to thank you.”

“Sure,” he said. “It’s business, right?”

“No, it’s not just business. You have been so kind. More than kind. I will always be grateful.”

Her soft silk blouse fluttered in the wind. Her long auburn hair, tousled by the wind and water, was a mass of wild and sexy curls.

“Hunter,” she said. Her emerald green eyes sparkled. “I think my first impression of you was correct.”

“What was that?”

“That you were a kind and gentle man.”

He smiled sadly. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be enough. He turned and began walking toward the house.

“I don’t want it to end like this,” she said.

He stopped.

“I want to stay here tonight,” she continued. “With you.”

Nine

She said it. The words that had been floating in her head just came spilling out. And it was too late to take them back.

Not that she wanted to. In fact, she had meant every word.

She had been surprised by the turn of events. She had expected a stiff, informal board meeting, not a visit to his childhood home to meet his family and friends. She had been given a rare glimpse at the person behind the facade. Instead of a corporate jerk, she had found a man who still had a close relationship with his father and childhood friends, a man who had saved the island on which he had grown up.

He had a heart.

And up there on that cliff it had seemed as if he might have wanted to share it with her. In front of her eyes, he had metamorphosed back into the man she had originally met on the beach, the one who had split a coconut with his hands. The one with whom she had shared the most intimate of experiences.

But when he told her he was giving her back the mill, she could think of only one thing: returning to Shanville.

Why?

Because she had been frightened.

She was more terrified of Hunter, the man, than she had ever been of Hunter Axon, ruthless business tycoon.

It had taken a while to digest the information, taken a while to pump up her confidence. But ultimately she remembered that she had never run away from a challenge in her life. She was not about to start now.

And so she had offered to stay.

More than stay.

She had offered herself.

And from his reaction she could tell it was an offer he was not prepared to accept.

Hunter stood there, looking at her as if deciding what to do with her.

Perhaps, she thought, as her heart dropped, he had changed his mind. Perhaps she had misread the cues, the subtle signs of his interest. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps he didn’t want her anymore.

The deal was done, the offer accepted. He was ready for her to go home.

He nodded, still looking at her. “Good,” he said. Then he turned and began walking back toward the house.

Good? What did that mean?

As she hurried to catch up, Hunter swung open his phone. She could hear him arrange to have her things brought over from the hotel. That was that. He was about as excited as if she had offered him a bowl of soup.

“If it’s not convenient for you, I can stay at the hotel,” she said, still hurrying to keep up with him.

He stopped so short she almost ran into him.

“I don’t like games,” he said.

They were standing nose to nose, eye to eye. “Neither do I,” she said.

“Then why are you playing them? If you want to stay here tonight, you’re more than welcome. If not, I’ll see to your return to Shanville.”

Why was he being so cold and indifferent? Didn’t he want her to stay? “If you don’t want me here, I’ll—” She stopped talking. His gaze had softened and he was looking at her tenderly.

He touched her cheek. His fingers trailed downward, outlining her chin. He gently lifted her head toward him and kissed her. It was deep and sensual, filled with a passion that belied his outward calm. Her senses reeled and her knees grew weak. Finally he said, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since I saw you in that auditorium.”

He took her hand, walking more slowly now. “Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to. But it shouldn’t take me long.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “Is there a place where I can freshen up?”

He touched her hair. “You look beautiful,” he said, practically caressing her with his eyes.

“Thanks,” she said. “But I would love a shower.”

He nodded. “We can arrange that.” They entered through the back. He led her through his grand rooms and up the sweeping staircase. As she walked up the stairs, she admired the paintings hanging on the wall. Most were by contemporary artists she had studied in school. “Is this a Kandinsky?” she asked, stopping in front of a painting with brightly colored cubes.

He nodded. “Do you like modern art?”

“Sometimes,” she replied honestly.

He smiled.

“But I can’t imagine having art like this in my house. I’d be so worried.”

“Worried?”

“What if there’s a hurricane…what if there’s a leak…?” She shrugged.

“It is a responsibility,” he said. “I’ll eventually donate most of these to a museum. In the meantime, I have a vault downstairs where I can put the paintings in case of a hurricane or leak.”

He stood there, looking at her as he continued to hold her hand. He started to walk again, but more slowly. He took her into a room that looked like an expensive hotel suite. A king-size bed faced French doors that overlooked the pool and the Atlantic beyond. Off to the side were two comfortable-looking lounge chairs.

Like the rest of the house, it looked brand-new. “Please make yourself at home. In the bathroom there are toiletries, robes, towels…anything you might need. I’ll see that you receive your things as soon as they arrive.” He held her hand to his lips and kissed it. It was a chivalrous, gallant act that had the desired effect. It left her wanting more.

He turned and left, closing the door behind him. She closed her eyes, fighting off a sudden case of nerves. Was she sure about this?

Could she handle another night with Hunter? After all, she still hadn’t quite recovered from the last one.

But she had little choice. In the argument between mind and body, her body was pulling rank.

One night. One more night.

And then she would be on a plane back to Shanville. She would be so busy she would forget all about her elusive lover. Right?

She walked into the bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was grand, elegant and looked brand-new. White marble was everywhere, the countertop, the floor, the shower. Everything appeared to have been designed with women in mind—right down to the little basket of lilac-scented toiletries and the woman’s robe.

She suddenly realized that this was not just any old guest room. This was exactly what it looked like: a suite reserved for his female guests.

But why would he give them a separate room? Why not have them use his private quarters?

She wondered how many women had used this room to “freshen up.” Had the woman he’d gone out with the previous night used it, as well?

She glanced around the brightly colored walls. So what if she had? Cassie reminded herself that she could not think about the future or the past. She was there now, and that was all that mattered.

She scrubbed off the salt and sand, relaxing in the steamy heat of the shower. Afterward she wrapped herself in the fluffy robe and brushed her hair.

She stepped out of the bathroom. On the table between the lounge chairs was an open bottle of champagne and a crystal glass. Someone had delivered it to her room while she had been in the shower.

She helped herself to a glass of champagne and walked out on the balcony.

She wondered whether she should dress in the same clothes she had worn to the island. After all, who knew when her clothes might arrive?

Then again, she thought, admiring the view, who cared? She was perfectly content to take a while to admire her beautiful surroundings and rehash the day’s events.

But she didn’t have long to wait. Within moments there was a knock on her door. When she opened it, Hunter himself was standing in front of her, carrying her suitcase.

She said, “I’m surprised you brought that up yourself.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d have one of your…” Servants? Helpers? “One of the people who work for you.”

“The only person who works here is Gehta,” he said, walking past her and setting the suitcase on the bed. He had showered as well, and his wet hair was slicked back. He had changed out of the clothes he had worn that day and was wearing a linen shirt and pants.

“And she’s gone for the day,” he continued. “I’d never ask her to carry it up those steps, anyway.”

So they were alone. He was the one who had brought in the champagne.

“Are you enjoying the champagne?” he asked softly. She saw him swallow as his eyes slowly grazed down her body.

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

He took another step toward her, staring into her eyes. He touched her cheek.

It was just a touch, but it was enough to cause her body to react. Maybe the champagne, the shower, the beautiful and warm evening were all to blame.

Still looking into her eyes, he undid the tie to her robe. He paused, as if waiting for her to stop him. But she didn’t. All of her concerns faded away. All she could think about was how much she wanted him to touch her, to hold her. How much she wanted to feel him inside her.

He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed off her robe. It fell to the ground, leaving her naked and exposed.

He had not taken his eyes off hers. Usually she was modest and reserved, but there was something about Hunter that made her throw caution to the wind. She felt bold and passionate. Adventurous. She straightened her back, not afraid to display her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said again, gently touching her shoulders. His breathing became ragged and harsh, as if an electrical current ran through the air. She half expected him to pounce on her, to toss her down on the bed and take her hard and rough. He moved slowly, teasing her with time. One hand slid down her back and cupped her rear end. The other worked its way down her front, massaging her breasts before sliding down toward her belly. She breathed in his warm, musky scent as a current ran through her.

As he moved behind her, he placed a hand over her breast, gently encouraging her to relax against him. They were in front of the open window. “Look at the sun,” he said as his right hand continued to explore. She forced herself to look outside. She felt the warm breeze against her bare body, felt the crispness of his linen shirt pressed against her back and his warm breath against her neck.

He caressed her gently, his fingers working their way down her belly. She inhaled sharply as he touched the delicate skin inside her thighs, making his way toward her most sensitive spot. Her thoughts fragmented as his fingers ran up the delicate arch and back down through the soft folds, giving her the most intimate of massages.

She raised her arms and wrapped them around the back of his head as she reveled in the pleasure that came from being rubbed and touched so sensuously.

Finally, she had no choice but to surrender. He held her tight as her body released, causing her to shudder in his arms. When she finished he turned her toward him and touched her hair. “Cassie,” he said softly.

But she did not want him to speak. Not yet.

She began unbuttoning his shirt. She wanted to do for him what he had done for her. After his shirt she concentrated on his pants. She reached for him, taking him in her hands before bringing him to her lips.

She heard him moan slightly and felt his fingers run through her hair as if encouraging her to continue.

When she paused, he took the opportunity to lift her off her feet and carry her to the bed. As he stared into her eyes, she felt as if he were looking into her soul.

Their lovemaking was passionate, almost desperate. He held her hands as he moved deeper and deeper.

As the pleasure once again began to build, she arched her hips, bringing him deeper. She closed her eyes only when she felt her body begin to release. Hunter let go at the same time, joining her in a deep climax.

Afterward he pulled her to him, holding her close.

They lay there, their naked bodies wrapped around each other, quietly watching the sun sink into the sea.

When just a fringe of orange appeared above the water, he touched her hair. “You’re warm.”

“A little.”

“Do you want to go for a swim?”

“I didn’t bring a suit.” It hadn’t occurred to her. After all, technically she was here on business, not pleasure. But Demion Mills seemed worlds away.

“You don’t need a suit,” he said. “There’s no one around.”

He stood up and handed her a towel. It was a dare. And she accepted. But the brazenness she had experienced only moments earlier was gone. She felt vulnerable from their emotionally charged intimacy. She was too modest to walk around the house naked, people or no people. She wrapped the towel around her. “All right.” He laughed, following suit and tying a towel around his waist.

He led her back down the grand staircase and through the open French doors. She paused before walking outside.

“No one will know,” he said, kissing her shoulder. “We’re alone.”

He led her to the pool. Once again she felt as though she were at an exotic resort. The only light came from the moon, the blue-and-gold spotlights framing the palm trees and the lit, black-bottomed pool. Flashing her a mischievous grin, he dropped his towel and dove in. She watched him glide underwater, his form that of an experienced swimmer.

She dropped her towel as well and stood there for a moment, enjoying the tropical breeze. He reached the end of the pool and glanced back toward her, motioning for her to join him.

She held her nose and jumped. But she didn’t hit bottom. In the flash of a second he was there. He caught her in the water and swung her up in his arms. “Do you do this often?” she asked as he lifted her above the water.

“Do what?”

“Skinny-dipping.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever even been in this pool.”

“What? How long have you lived here?”

“Years. But I’m fairly certain I’ve never used the pool.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m always working.”

“I know you have time to date,” she said. “Even the women of Shanville know that.”

“Really?” he said. “Well, I’m flattered the women of Shanville care so much about my personal life.”

“So none of your women ever wanted to go swimming?”

“My women?”

“You know what I mean.”

“None of them was invited.”

She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but it didn’t matter. She was there with him right then, and he made her feel as if she was the only one.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“For making me feel special.”

“You are special.” He kissed her again. And then he tossed her into the water.

They splashed around the pool like children. After a while, he pulled himself out and grabbed a towel. “I’m going to order dinner,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

She floated on her back, staring up at the stars. She felt as if she was having a dream, a beautiful hazy dream. When he came back outside he was wearing swim trunks and carrying a robe.

“Is the pizza already here?” she asked.

He grinned and shook his head. “I would be surprised if it arrived at all. I didn’t order pizza. But if that’s what you’d like…”

“No,” she said, resting her arms on the side of the pool. “Whatever you ordered is fine. I like everything. Chinese…”

“How about lobster?”

“What’s that dish called again?” she asked. “That one with the lobster sauce.”

“No, no. I meant cooked lobsters.”

“Lobster? For carryout?”

“The Four Seasons is delivering.”

“The Four Seasons?” When she had been in the Bahamas before, she had wandered into the hotel, impressed by the spectacular view and surroundings. But she had nearly passed out when she saw the menu. A simple cocktail had been fifteen dollars.

She nodded toward his swim trunks and said, “Is that why you’re so dressed up?”

“Exactly.” He knelt close to her and said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

She smiled back up at him. “I am, too.”

She kicked back from the edge of the pool and floated toward the middle. When she glanced back toward him, she realized that he hadn’t moved. He was still kneeling at the edge of the pool, staring at her. He smiled. She swam back toward him. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Not funny,” he said. “I’m enjoying watching a beautiful mermaid swim naked in my pool.”

She grinned. “If the people of Shanville could see me now, they’d never believe it.”

“I’m having a hard enough time believing it myself,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her.

They were interrupted by the doorbell. She gasped in horror and started to pull herself out of the pool. She had no desire to have anyone but Hunter see her naked. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Take your time. I’ll have them set it up on the veranda.”

As Hunter disappeared inside the house, Cassie wrapped the robe around her. She ran her fingers through her hair and sat down on the edge of a cushioned lounge chair. A few minutes later Hunter appeared at the door. He held out his hand to her and said, “It’s ready.”

The veranda was on the highest part of the property, with a sweeping view of the Atlantic. In the distance she could see the tour boats docked in the harbor, twinkling with lights.

He pulled out her chair and she sat down. He handed her a glass of champagne.

“To you,” he said, sitting down and raising his glass. She took a sip.

The lobster had been cracked open, but still Cassie was unsure of how to eat it.

Hunter must have noticed because he leaned forward and stabbed a piece from the tail. He dipped it in butter and held it to her lips. She took a bite. “This is wonderful,” she said, tasting the delicious, tender white meat.

They ate in silence, content to be together. It was comfortable and relaxed, as if they had been a couple for years. She felt herself wishing that they could prolong the night forever. That she would never have to leave Hunter’s side.

But it was ridiculous. After all, she barely knew him. And chances were slim that their evening together would ever be repeated. A relationship was out of the question. After all, according to Hunter’s father, only one woman had ever captured his heart. Cassie couldn’t help but feel another twinge of jealousy as she thought of her. What had she been like? What kind of special qualities had she possessed? Before she could stop herself she said, “Your father mentioned a woman in your past.”

“Sounds mysterious,” he said. “What woman?”

“Your…” She hesitated. She knew she was getting into sensitive territory, and she knew it was none of her business. But she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know more about this mysterious woman. “Your fiancée,” she said. She continued to chew as if she had asked him nothing more significant than the time.

“My fiancée?”

She nodded and swallowed. “Your father said you were engaged.”

He shook his head. “No. I may have thought for a time that I wanted to marry her, but it was never official.”

“Why not?”

He put down his fork.

She said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said. “I met her when I was in college, struggling to pay the bills. We both had similar backgrounds, wanted similar things.”

“You fell in love.” There. She said it.

He looked at her. “I thought so.”

“So what happened?”

He sighed.

“Let me guess. You became rich and famous. You changed. And she couldn’t handle it.”

“No. As a matter of fact, she’s married to an extremely wealthy man. A man who was at one time my boss.”

She glanced at him. His fiancée had married his boss?

“She broke up with me so that she could be with him,” he said.

It was her turn to put down her fork.

He continued. “She told me that she could never marry a poor man.”

Hunter’s old girlfriend had broken his heart? “So that explains it.”

“What?”

“Your drive and ambition.”

“I’m not following,” he said.

“Revenge.”

He shook his head. “I’ve always been driven. And she had little effect on my ambition. But unfortunately, she did affect my relationships.”

“How so?”

He shrugged. “I learned that it’s impossible to really know someone.”

She had to ask one more question. “What does that mean?”

“It means that for me, relationships have been at best a distraction.”

He could not have inflicted more pain if he had slapped her. She was a distraction. But what did she think? Did she honestly think she would leave the Bahamas with a husband in tow? What made her think she would be any different from the rest of the women he’d slept with?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, focusing on her empty plate. “I should thank you for your honesty. I mean, most men would lead a woman on, telling her all sorts of things she wanted to hear.”

“You misunderstood.” He shook his head. “I was speaking in the past tense. I thought you were looking for an explanation as to why I’ve never married.”

She glanced up.

He stood, walked over to her and held out his hand. She accepted it, standing to face him. He said, “You’re much more than a simple distraction.” He cupped her face. “What about you? What happened to your marriage plans?”

She pulled away. “I don’t really want to discuss that.”

“Why not?”

She did not want to talk about Oliver. Not now or ever. “Because I prefer to discuss you.”

“But how can I get to know you if you don’t tell me more about yourself?”

She looked away. He was saying and doing all the right things. It was enough to make her believe in the future, believe that there might be a chance of a future. But how could there be?

“What’s wrong?” he said. “I lost you again.”

“No.” She smiled sadly. “I’m just enjoying our time together.”

“I am, too,” he said, touching her cheek. “I am, too.”

Ten

Cassie opened her eyes. Sunlight flooded the room. She was in Hunter’s bedroom, a huge room with massive doors that opened to a deck.

She lay in bed as her mind replayed the wonderful scenes from the previous evening.

After dinner she and Hunter had gone back to the pool, where they had sat and held hands for what seemed like hours. Neither wanted the evening to end. Finally she had fallen asleep resting her head against Hunter’s shoulder.

She awoke to him carrying her up the stairs and gently setting her down on his bed. Though half-asleep, she was still happy to realize that Hunter had brought her into his very own bedroom, his private sanctuary. He had crawled in beside her and wrapped his arms around her. They had fallen asleep with their bodies melded together.

She stretched lazily, glancing around the room for a sign of Hunter. She could hear him talking in the other room. With a burst of energy, she pulled the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her. She followed the sound of his voice to a room down the hall. Unlike the bright, tropical tones of the other rooms, this room was done in deep, rich colors. The walls were lined with books.

Hunter stood with his back toward her. He was naked with the exception of his drawstring pajama bottoms. “Dammit!” she heard him say. She could see his back muscles flex with tension.

“I understand, Willa. But that doesn’t change my mind. Had I known there was going to be a groundswell of activity, we never would’ve gone in there, anyway.”

He turned around and smiled when he saw Cassie. His voice and appearance seemed to soften at the sight of her. “I have to go,” he said into the receiver. He snapped the phone shut without saying goodbye.

He went over to Cassie and kissed her smack on the lips. “How did you sleep?”

“Great,” she said. She glanced toward his phone and said, “I overheard you talking to Willa.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Not a very pleasant way to wake up.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No,” he said. “No problem.”

He nodded toward the tray beside her. “Breakfast?” There were croissants, bagels, cream cheese and butter.

“Wow,” she said. “The royal treatment.”

He grasped her shoulders and said, “I was thinking…”

“What?”

“I have to attend a fund-raiser this afternoon.”

Of course, she thought, her heart stopping. He wanted her to leave. Their night of passion was over. He was once again Hunter Axon, womanizer extraordinaire.

This was what she had expected, right? She should be grateful for their evening together and leave with as much dignity as possible. “That’s okay,” she said. “I should get going anyway….”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I’d like you to come with me.”

He wanted her to stay? With him?

She found herself suddenly hesitating.

The heart that had been so wounded only seconds before suddenly filled with fear. She was already more attached than she would like. Could she handle another day…and night with him? Or would that be enough to cause her to fall hopelessly in love? “I should get back,” she said quickly. “Everyone is going to be wondering what happened.”

“Call them and tell them it’s taking longer than you thought.”

What difference could one more day make? After all, hadn’t she already passed the point of no return? No matter how hard she tried, she would never forget Hunter. The damage had already been done. “Okay,” she said.

He smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She kissed him and said, “Do I need a special outfit, because all I have is what you saw yesterday.”

She suddenly realized that he was looking at her like a hungry lion watching its prey. “I like what you’re wearing today much better,” he said, moving toward her.

She pulled the sheet up around her neck as she smiled and backed up, moving toward his bedroom. “I think it’s too…summery.”

“Hmm,” he said. He ran his hands down her sides. “I see what you mean.”

“What kind of fund-raiser is this?” She was almost in the bedroom.

“A typical one. Politicians looking for rich people. Rich people looking for politicians.”

“Is it supposed to benefit anyone beside rich people and politicians?”

“Children in need.”

“Where is it?” Her foot hit the bed.

“It’s at the racetrack,” he said, gently pushing her back on the bed.

“What racetrack?”

He began unpeeling the sheet from her body. “The horse racetrack.”

“The outfit I had on yesterday is dirty.”

He slid his hand inside the sheet, caressing her breasts. The feeling was intoxicating. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

Focus. “I don’t want a new one. Is there a dry cleaners on the island?” He kissed her neck.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I don’t usually deal with laundry.”

“Of course,” she said sarcastically. She playfully pushed him away.

“You don’t have to get hostile,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. Within a second she was flat on her back.

“Like I said,” he repeated, completely removing the sheet. He took his time, his eyes seemingly drinking in every detail of her naked form. “I think the suit you have on looks just fine.”

He kissed her and let go of her arms, allowing her to wrap them around his neck and hold him close.

She said, “I just can’t believe that…”

“That what?”

“That I’m with you. You’re so different from my expectation.”

“Different good?” he asked, kissing her. “Or different bad?”

They were interrupted by his cell phone. He pushed himself up and glanced at the number. “It’s my office.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

He sighed and swung open his phone. “Yes?”

He glanced at her. “No,” he said finally. He turned away. “She spoke out of turn. Don’t start yet.” He closed the phone and turned back toward her. But something in his demeanor had changed.

“Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” he said simply.

But she had the feeling she was not being told the whole truth. “There’s not a problem, is there? A problem with Demion Mills?”

“You tell me,” he said. He held a hand to her cheek. “Are you sure about this?”

She nodded.

He said, “This buy-out is going to tie you to New York…to the mill for a long, long time.”

She felt her blood run cold. She knew instinctively something was wrong. Why was he trying to talk her out of her decision? “What are you getting at, Hunter?” she asked, wrapping the sheet back around her.

“I can help you, Cassie. I can help you live the life you dreamed. You could go back to school. You could pursue a career in photography.”

“But I don’t want a career in photography.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You’re saying that you’re happy to spend the rest of your life just working in a factory—”

“Just?” She sat up straight. She felt as if she had been slapped.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I’m proud of what I do. And I’m happy. Is it what I dreamed about as a child? No. But dreams change. So do people.” She shook her head. “This may be difficult for someone like you to understand, but I’m content to be who I am. Cassie Edwards, weaver. I don’t need money to make me happy.”

He glanced away. “I understand that. Unfortunately, in business, money and profitability are the bottom line. It’s going to take a lot more than positive thinking to turn this mill around. This would be a difficult project for the most experienced of marketing people.”

“We had a deal,” she said softly.

“We still do.” He crossed his arms and said, “I just want you to be aware of what’s in store for you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt.”

He walked back toward the bed and took a seat beside her. “Look. I feel like we have a future here. I’m not sure what’s happening to us but I think it might be something. I’d like for us to give it a chance.”

“So would I.”

“Well, that’s going to be difficult when I’m the one who’s going to have to go in there and foreclose on your home if need be. I’m afraid this stay of execution I’ve given you is only temporary.”

“Don’t ask me to choose between you and the mill.”

“I would never do that,” he said. He shook his head. “Why do you think I’m willing to do this, Cassie? I care about you more than…well, more than I’ve cared for anyone in a long, long time. I want to help you.” He stood up and walked toward the balcony. At the French doors he stared silently at the Atlantic.

The anger that was building inside Cassie suddenly dissipated. He was talking to her like a…like a friend. She walked up to him and slipped her arm around his waist.

When he turned toward her, she could see the pain in his eyes.

“I have to do this, Hunter. I will never be happy if I let my friends down.”

“But you may still,” he said. “The Demions couldn’t make this mill work with or without the patent.”

“We’re not going to make the same mistakes.”

“You have no experience running a company. Neither does anyone else.”

“I’ll learn. We’ll all learn.” So he thought she would fail. It was one thing to question her decision, but to insult her intelligence was another.

After all, he was wrong. Wasn’t he?

Or was he?

Perhaps she was just being foolish. Perhaps the Demions had been right to sell the mill. Perhaps, even with the patent, the mill was doomed. Machines could do it faster and more accurately. So why would people be willing to pay the higher price for hand-woven garments?

But how could she stand by and do nothing?

She couldn’t. For one thing was certain: the mill was worth saving.

She turned away. “I guess I’ll go get ready.”

He grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. He looked sad, almost tortured. “I want you to be happy.”

She had no doubt he meant it. And that single statement touched her more than all the sweet nothings she had ever heard.

She reached up and kissed him. He pulled her toward him, crushing her lips with his. Suddenly he stopped. He cradled her head in his hands, staring into her eyes. Then, as if overtaken by passion, he kissed her once again.

They came together with the desperation of a drowning man in search of air. They made love as if the connection between them was vital to their very being. It had moved beyond desire. It was now a need.

Afterward he murmured, “What have you done to me?”

She laughed and pulled herself up. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve gone from virgin to…I don’t know.”

He kissed her.

She glanced at the clock. “What time are we supposed to leave?”

He shrugged. “An hour or so.”

An hour or so? “But my clothes!”

He glanced at the heap on the floor. He opened up the bottom of his nightstand and pulled out a phonebook. He opened it up and seconds later said, “There’s a one-hour dry cleaner near here.” He shut the phonebook and said, “I’ll take them.”

“Thank you,” she said, relieved. He threw on jeans and a T-shirt. He looked years younger than his age, more like a muscular surfer than a businessman.

“I’ll be back,” he said, holding up her clothes.

He was gone less than an hour. When he returned, she had showered and was finishing drying her hair. “Thanks again,” she said, turning off the dryer and giving him a kiss. “How much time?”

He looked at his watch. “Well, considering the limousine is already here…five minutes?”

She let out a yelp, grabbed her clothes and slammed the door.

A few minutes later he was showered and changed and she was wearing the identical outfit she had worn the day before. “You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek. “But you saw this outfit yesterday.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” he said, keeping his hands around her waist. He kissed her neck and smiled.

Then he grabbed her hand and led her out of the house.

She said, “I’ve never been to the horse races before.”

He opened the limousine door and stopped. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”

She knew for a fact she would not be. How could she be disappointed as long as she was with him?

He slid in beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled against him. She was overcome by emotion. For the first time in her life she felt as if she belonged to someone. She felt loved.

He did not tell the limousine driver where he was going. Apparently the driver already knew. She turned toward Hunter and smiled. “Do you ever drive yourself?”

He laughed. “Anyplace but here.”

“Why not here?”

Suddenly the limousine driver spoke. “Because I need a job.” The man turned around and flashed Cassie a smile from ear to ear.

Hunter shrugged. “There you have it,” he said mischievously.

Cassie laughed.

He glanced at her purse. “Got your camera?”

She smiled and patted her purse. “Naturally.”

The limousine pulled into the airport. “What are we doing here?” she asked.

“We’re flying to the track.”

He obviously liked surprising her with transportation. A boat to a board meeting, a motorbike to lunch, a plane to the racetrack…What was next?

But if Hunter thought she was impressed by such extravagance he was wrong. She would’ve been just as happy traveling by foot.

He led her into a private hangar. They were greeted by an employee and led out to the tarmac where a helicopter was waiting. Hunter opened the door and assisted her inside.

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

“I already told you. The—”

“Racetrack. Right. I guess I should’ve been more specific. Where is the racetrack located?”

“It’s in Florida,” he said. “Outside of Miami.”

The helicopter lifted off the ground, and as the vehicle surged past the Nassau skyline, she held his hand. Twenty minutes later she was looking at the coastline of Miami.

She let go of Hunter’s hand and pulled out her camera. She snapped her photos as the helicopter flew past towering glass buildings. At times they were so close she could see the occupants inside.

“That’s where we’re going,” Hunter said, pointing out the window.

She held her breath as the helicopter landed on top of a narrow building. The door suddenly opened and she was being helped out.

Hunter grabbed her hand and together they walked down the flight of stairs leading into the hotel.

“Welcome, Mr. Axon,” said a man in a uniform.

They followed the man out of the hotel and into another waiting limousine. The driver nodded as they entered, but once again he did not ask them where they were going. He already knew.

They drove for another half hour to the outskirts of Miami. He pulled into a large parking lot and drove up to the entrance of the building.

Hunter took her hand. “Show time.”

She followed him through the gate and over to the betting booths. She could hear the din of the crowd cheering outside in the grandstand.

Hunter picked up a betting card and glanced over it. He headed toward a booth and placed his bets. All were for one hundred dollars.

When she looked at the card, one name stood out. “Hunter,” she said. She pulled out her checkbook. “I want one hundred on Hunter.”

“What?” he said, fumbling for the card. He grabbed the card and shook his head. “There’s a horse named Hunter?”

“Yes,” said Cassie, smiling. “What are the chances of that? I think it’s a sign from the heavens. That’s our winning horse.”

“He’s a long shot,” said Hunter.

“Really?” she asked.

An impeccably dressed older gentleman standing nearby joined them. “That’s what they say.” He shook his head. “But I’m not so sure. The more distance for this horse, the better. He’s definitely a horse that gets rolling late.”

“So you think he can win?” Cassie asked the man.

He shrugged his linen-encased shoulders. “As much as any other horse. You just need luck and an animal that can handle the distance.”

She turned to Hunter, who looked unconvinced. “What’s wrong, Hunter?” she teased. “Don’t think your namesake can handle the distance?”

He shrugged. “We’ll see.” He reached for his wallet and told the woman in the booth, “The lady would like one hundred on Hunter.”

“No way,” Cassie said. “This is my bet. Don’t think you’re going to crash it.” She nudged him out of the way. “To whom do I make the check out?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hunter said, putting his hand over her checkbook. “I’m paying for this.”

“I have a hunch,” she said.

She made out the check. But before she could hand it to the woman, he stopped her. “If you put your check away,” he said, “I’ll wager one thousand dollars.”

She smiled. “Now that’s a risky bet.”

“I have a hunch,” he said with a grin. “Besides, didn’t you just remind me this was for a good cause?”

She reluctantly put her check back in her purse, and he put down his credit card. The woman in the booth handed him a ticket, which he gave to Cassie.

They walked out to the track to see a group of horses finishing a race. “Are you hungry?” he asked Cassie. “There’s a clubhouse above us.” He nodded toward the glass windows overlooking the track.

She shook her head. “No,” she said. He smiled and led her toward the seats near the track.

Hunter scanned the crowd and said, “I think we’re sitting down there.”

All of a sudden they were interrupted by a busty brunette. “Hunter? Oh, my God!”

Hunter turned. Cassie could feel him stiffen.

“I heard you were going to be here today.” The woman looked at Cassie and said, “Hi.”

Hunter introduced her. “Cassie Edwards, this is a friend of mine.”

“Val Forbes,” the woman said, giving Cassie a quick, mechanical nod. Before Cassie had a chance to respond, Val said to Hunter, “I tried to call you but your office said you were out of town.”

“Yes,” Hunter said. “I’ve been traveling.”

“You look good,” the woman said, her breasts heaving. “Really good.” Cassie raised an eyebrow as she let go of Hunter’s hand. This was no ordinary old friend. It was obvious that they had just run into one of Hunter’s warm-blooded women—one whose name he hadn’t recalled. Cassie could feel the warmth seep up her back. She looked the woman over carefully. Had Hunter shared his bed with her? Would he share his bed with her again?

The thought was enough to make her ill. Or at least in need of some sweets.

“Why don’t you two catch up?” Cassie said. “I’ll meet you at the seats.”

If he wanted to talk to this beautiful woman, then let him. After all, Cassie had no claims on him. She had made a promise to herself: no commitments. Despite their intimacy, she had to force herself to keep their relationship in perspective.

She marched up to the snack booth and said, “I’d like a chocolate ice cream cone, please.” She hesitated. Drastic times called for drastic measures. “Make that a double.”

The man gave her the ice cream cone and Cassie began to devour it like a woman deprived.

The voice from behind her almost made her jump. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

Cassie wiped off her chin and said, “I thought you said she was a friend.”

“She is.”

“Hmm. We should all have friends like that,” she said, taking another lick of her ice cream.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her head began to pound. Cassie touched her forehead, willing the pain away.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Brain freeze,” she said.

“Brain freeze?”

“Too much, too fast. Ice cream, that is.” She held it out to him. “I’m done.”

“Thanks,” he said sarcastically as he accepted the half-melted cone and dumped it in the trash. “Bend over,” he said.

“What?”

“I used to get brain freezes all the time when I was a kid. Bend over. I don’t know how, but it works.”

He massaged the back of her neck. She didn’t know if it was the massage or the bend, but he was right. Her headache disappeared.

She flipped her head back up. “Much better.”

He smiled. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s go sit down.”

She followed him toward their seats. She wanted to ask him more questions about Val but she knew she couldn’t. After all, it was none of her business. “So how do you know that woman?” she heard herself ask.

He glanced at her and said, “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“Jealous?” The mere thought was laughable. She and Hunter hardly had a commitment. Besides, she knew the score.

So why was her heart burning? “Why should I be jealous?” she said as coolly as she could manage.

“No reason at all.”

“I couldn’t care less,” she added for good measure.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, leading her toward the two empty front-row seats. “Because it looks like we’re sitting next to her.”

Cassie glanced where he was pointing. There was the busty brunette, sitting next to an even more beautiful blonde. The women had not noticed them yet. They were huddled together, as if deep in conversation. “Talk about luck!” Cassie said as enthusiastically as she could manage.

As soon as all the introductions were made once again, Cassie slid in next to the brunette. She couldn’t help but notice that Hunter had let go of her hand. Was it because he didn’t want to appear affectionate in front of Val?

Once they were seated, Val and the blonde continued their tête-à-tête. Cassie tried not to listen, but she was helpless to do otherwise. In only five minutes she learned more about Val than she cared to know: she just received $300 highlights, the dress she was wearing cost $800, her shoes were by Manolo Blahnik, her dinner the previous evening cost $200. The most traumatic news, the one that received an onslaught of sympathy from the blonde, was that despite having just received a $100 manicure, the nail polish on her left pinkie was already chipped.

Finally Val turned to Cassie and said, “You look familiar. Have I met you before?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Just minutes ago…”

“No, no,” the woman laughed. “Before today.”

Cassie shook her head. “I doubt it.”

“At the MS benefit?”

“No.”

“Was it the Governor’s ball in Washington?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” she said. “I know I’ll remember sooner or later….” She tapped her pink, slightly chipped nail on Cassie’s leg. “Wait. You work for that state senator…what’s his name…?”

“I work in a factory,” Cassie said. Normally she did not describe the mill as a factory, but what the heck. It made a better story.

The woman laughed. “Aptly put. The state senate is a madhouse.”

“No,” Cassie said. “I don’t work in the state senate. I’m a factory worker.”

“What?” said Val, leaning forward as if she didn’t hear correctly.

“I work in a factory in upstate New York.”

The news had the intended effect. The women glanced at each other, stunned. Cassie could almost read what they were thinking. Hunter Axon is dating a factory worker?

For a moment she wondered what Hunter would feel about her revelation. Would he be embarrassed by her proclamation? That she was, as he himself had described it, just a factory worker?

But her doubts were put to rest when she felt Hunter’s arm slide around her shoulders, giving her a proud squeeze.

“I don’t follow,” piped the blonde, leaning in. “So how did you two meet?”

“Hunter bought the factory where I work.”

“Technically, honey,” interrupted Hunter, “we didn’t know that when we met.”

Val said, “How interesting. I’ve never actually met a…well, someone who works in a factory before.”

“Me, neither,” said the blonde. “Is it as boring as it looks in the movies?”

Cassie’s blood began to boil. Could these women be any more pretentious?

But she didn’t have time to continue their discussion, because at that very moment, a new batch of horses took to the track.

“That’s your horse,” said Hunter, nodding toward the long, lean chestnut-colored one.

A shot sounded and the horses broke from the gate. Hunter the horse ripped out of the gate and rounded the first turn. “I think you have a chance,” she whispered.

Hunter the horse shook off the rest of the pack one by one as he barreled into the backstretch. Cassie forgot all about the women sitting next to her. She stood up in her seat and began to holler at the top of her lungs as Hunter took the lead, flying under the wire.

Her horse had won.

Cassie screamed and threw her arms around Hunter.

He picked her up and swung her around.

“You won?” Val asked.

Cassie nodded.

“Too bad it’s for charity,” the blonde said. “You would’ve made a lot of money.”

Cassie’s elation turned to disdain. She turned around, facing the blonde. Was she joking? Must everything be defined by money?

“Let’s go,” Hunter said, pulling her out of the row before she had a chance to speak her mind. As they walked up the steps, Hunter took her arm. “Were you having fun back there, Norma Rae?”

Cassie smiled. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said as innocently as she could.

“I thought you forgave me for my idiotic comment earlier today.”

“Which idiotic comment might that be?”

“Touché,” he said with a grin. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it faded. “I was referring to the comment I made about you being a factory worker.”

“I believe you said just a factory worker.”

He pulled her to a stop. “Please forgive me,” he said. His eyes looked dark and pained with guilt.

“I already have,” she said, touching his cheek. But had she really? Of one thing she was sure: she had not forgotten.

As if reading her mind, he said, “I don’t care what you do for a living, Cassie.”

“Your friends certainly do.”

“Those women aren’t my friends,” he said. “I’m not like them. You’ve met my father. You’ve seen where I grew up.”

“I’ve also seen where you live.”

He hesitated and said, “The plane, the boats, the big house…I could walk away from everything tomorrow. Those things don’t define me.”

“How do you define yourself?”

“As a fisherman. And not a very good one, either.”

She had no doubt that Hunter was speaking in earnest. But could he really walk away from all of his expensive toys? From his jet-setting life? From the adoring women? She doubted it.

One thing seemed certain: her opinion mattered. He wanted her to like him. And for some reason, that realization thrilled her more than she cared to admit. “You’re a lousy fisherman?”

He grinned. It was an irresistibly sexy smile that sent her pulse racing. “Worse than lousy. That’s why I applied to boarding school. I knew the only chance I had to survive was to get off that island.”

They turned in their winning ticket. Cassie got back a receipt that read “Thank you for your donation of one hundred thousand dollars.”

One hundred thousand dollars, all to charity.

It was enough to make her want to kiss him. Without hesitating, she threw her arms around his neck and did exactly what she desired. At the moment their lips touched, a crack of thunder sounded through the stadium, followed by an announcement stating that all races were postponed.

Hunter took Cassie’s hand and led her outside as the first fat raindrops began to fall. He kissed her again, harder this time. She was mildly aware of the hubbub around them. The racetrack was closing. People were closing out their bets and leaving.

He slid his hand around her waist. The wind picked up and the palm trees swayed.

The rain fell more steadily, drenching the crowd outside the track. But they did not move. They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, aware only of each other.

Eleven

Hunter awoke early the next morning. He lay in bed, quietly watching Cassie sleep. Most mornings he began his day with a start, jumping out of bed and hurrying off to work. But not today. When he’d woken up and felt Cassie in his arms, it was as if time had stopped. It was a feeling unlike any he had ever experienced. For the first time in his life he did not wish he were somewhere else.

Or with someone else.

But then again he had known Cassie was special from the moment they met. With each passing day, he only grew more impressed.

Like the way she had handled herself the previous day. He knew how intimidating it could be to be thrown into a crowd of snobby, wealthy socialites. But Cassie had more than held her own.

In fact, she had put those offensive women in their place. But they weren’t the only ones. She had done the same with him.

Just a factory worker…

He knew how it had sounded. He didn’t blame Cassie for being angry. After all, he had criticized her livelihood.

But as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him assumed she could do better. That an intelligent, gifted woman such as she could not be happy working for minimum wage and making fabric.

There was no way around it. Cassie was right. He was behaving like an elitist.

And she was right to be offended. After all, what was wrong with working in a factory? Or, in this case, an old mill? Maybe it was not as lucrative as a corporate job, but then again, it didn’t have the headaches, either. Cassie made a decent living at an honorable profession.

More important, Cassie worked with people she loved and trusted. And at the end of the day, she went home with the knowledge that she had helped to create something beautiful.

How many people could say that about their jobs?

Certainly not him.

Axon Enterprises was a profit-making machine, a corporate behemoth that cared little for humanity. Money was the bottom line, the definition of success. And ethics were nonexistent.

He would be the first to admit that the path he had chosen was a difficult one. With the exception of his father and a handful of others he had known from childhood, he trusted no one. He had learned firsthand that money did not buy happiness. He had a house he barely lived in, a boat he never used. He had grown accustomed to a life devoid of meaning.

But he had never been aware of it as much as he was right then and there.

He had wanted to prove to Cassie that he was not the cold, ruthless man she imagined. But perhaps she was right. After all, what kind of man was willing to make a living off other people’s failures? What kind of man could displace workers who had worked at a factory for generations?

He shook off the covers and swung his feet to the floor.

He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. What was he doing? Why was he suddenly so anxious to prove the morality of what he did?

Cassie.

He sat up straight and looked at her once again. She had not moved. Her beauty was intense, almost ethereal. She had the face of an angel, thick, black lashes, dusty-rose cheeks and a smooth, ivory complexion.

What was she doing to him?

Being with Cassie had forced him to deal with all the issues he had denied for too long.

Her power over him was as strong as it was undeniable. Cassie inspired him to be a better man.

But how could that be? He barely knew her.

But it didn’t seem to matter. He had to help her.

He knew that in spite of her protestations, she did not fully realize how difficult it would be to increase the mill’s revenues. Demion Mills produced only two to twenty yards of fabric a day. Computerized looms made twenty to one hundred yards a day.

And the machines in the mill were old; most original. The newer machines did the work of six iron-and-wood looms. He knew the Demions had borrowed heavily against the mill just to make payroll. Most of the mills like Demion had shut down, moving operations to the Far East, or replacing people with computers.

But what if Demion Mills was the sole producer of Bodyguard?

He had not agreed to sell them the patent, but was the mill worth anything without it?

And could the patent alone save the mill?

Probably not. Oliver Demion had realized this. When he found that the material his family had been producing for use in lawn chairs was suitable as an absorbent undergarment for athletes, he had done the most intelligent thing he could think of: sell it along with the mill. Oliver knew the patent was worth a small fortune, and the mill, even if it was capable of producing it, had no money to commit to marketing efforts.

But the mill needed that patent. Without it Cassie and her friends could never hope to stay in business. Within a year the mill would be hemorrhaging money. In two years it would be closed.

But the introduction of Bodyguard would require a substantial sum of money. An amount Demion Mills did not have.

So what should he do? What could he do?

“What are you thinking about?” Cassie asked, blinking her eyes sleepily. Her beautiful auburn hair was splayed over the white pillowcase.

“You,” he said.

She reached out her hand and touched his cheek, smiled. She nodded toward his watch. “What time is it?”

“Nearly nine.”

She sat up straight. “I should get back to Shanville.”

He nodded. “I’m going with you.”

“To Shanville?”

“Yes. I want to talk to some of the artisans and get a feel for your production capabilities.”

“Oh. Okay. Why?”

“Because…” He stumbled. He did not want to tell her he was considering giving her back the patent until he was sure the mill could handle the production. “There are some things I need to take care of to get ready for the transfer.”

She removed her hand. “You’re not having second thoughts again, are you?” she asked.

Second thoughts? Was it possible that she still did not trust him? He pushed himself up on one arm. “No. I’m selling you the mill. But it’s still complicated.” He leaned over her. “I don’t want you to fail.”

“You don’t need to worry,” she said. “We’re using our homes as leverage, remember?”

“So I should be content with the knowledge that I will be foreclosing on everyone’s homes? That I would essentially own a town?”

She hesitated. He saw a flicker of apprehension cross her face. “You would rather have your money,” she said, as if stating a fact. He saw the disappointment in her eyes.

She was wrong. It was not about money. At least, not this time. But he did not tell her that. He needed to prove that he could behave honorably. He needed her to trust him.

He kissed her shoulder. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “We have work to do.”

Cassie stood on the factory floor. She looked around her. It had been a three-hour flight back to Shanville, yet she felt as if she were worlds away. The sleek glamour of Hunter’s Bahamian world was nowhere to be seen. Instead it was as if she had been transported back through time. Heavy, Victorian-era machinery was packed into the large room. She closed her eyes and listened to the familiar thwack of silk threads being beaten back by wood battens, a sound so musical her grandmother had written a poem about it as a child.

All around her were friends, women she had known her entire life. They worked the clattering looms, nimble fingers flying over the taut ropes, cast-iron flywheels.

Cassie had told her co-workers that their offer had been accepted. But instead of joy and jubilation, it was a quiet peace. Everyone knew that they may have won the battle, but that did not mean they were going to win the war.

“Cassie.” She felt a warm pat on her arm. Luanne said, “You did good. And we’re all grateful.” Luanne handed Cassie a small card to tuck into the loom. Cardboard cards, each punched with holes to determine the ornate patterns in the weave, were kept on long strings looped over the looms. A complex pattern might require as many as 20,000 cards. The system was developed in the eighteenth century and still used.

“Luanne’s right,” Ruby said. “You saved our mill all by yourself. Your grandma would be proud.”

Luanne shook her head. “And she’d be happy that you’re through with Oliver after what he did to us all.”

“We have the mill back again. The past is the past,” Cassie said.

“But we don’t have the patent,” Luanne said.

“No,” Cassie admitted. And they never would. Hunter might finance a loan for the mill, but the patent was too valuable. He would never agree to sell it for what they could offer.

Luanne sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess Oliver did what he had to do. Can’t blame a man for wanting to make money.”

“Why not?” said Priscilla. She, too, had worked in the mill all her adult life. “Why can’t you blame him?”

Cassie understood their anger. But she no longer felt anything toward Oliver one way or the other. Her mind had been taken over by Hunter. All she could think about was Hunter—what he had said, what he had done. How he had touched her. How they had kissed.

She felt as if he possessed not only her body but her soul as well.

And that troubled her.

In a way, she wished she’d never seen the man behind the image. That she’d never heard about the poor boy who had learned early on that money was a ticket to survival. That she had never heard about his grandmother’s death and the brutal loss of the woman he loved.

But learning how he had come to be a corporate raider was not the same as accepting it. Money was his crutch, his way of self-protection. But his motives could not be glorified. Nor could they be excused.

She knew it was useless to think that perhaps she had a chance to convince him otherwise.

Or could she?

After all, it was obvious that he wanted to help her. Didn’t he? And that was commendable.

The truth of the matter was she wanted to give him a chance. The man she had spent time with was capable of extreme caring and kindness. She was sure of it.

Wasn’t she?

Could the man who had held her in his arms and stared into her eyes while making love to her take her house out from under her?

Yet hadn’t he threatened to do just that? So I should be content with the knowledge that I will be foreclosing on everyone’s homes?

The problem was, she realized, that she was already confusing business with pleasure. And she doubted Hunter would make the same mistake.

After all, he had seemed so cold and distant on the flight back. He had barely spoken with her, choosing instead to work on his computer. She had felt self-conscious and awkward. With nothing to do, she had busied herself by fiddling with her camera and taking the occasional picture.

“I don’t understand why he’s still here,” Priscilla continued.

“Who?”

“Hunter Axon.”

Cassie blushed at the mention of her lover’s name. She still had not told anyone of their affair. “He wanted to talk to some of us about production,” she said.

“But,” Priscilla continued, “why should it matter, if he’s selling us the mill?”

“Because he’s financing it,” Luanne said.

“He doesn’t want to sell us back the mill only to see it fail,” Cassie said. “If we don’t succeed, he’s not going to get any money.”

“Is that it? Or does he have a more personal investment in our success?”

Cassie could not answer her old friend. How could she explain that she had fallen in love with the man they considered an enemy?

Priscilla put a hand on hers, stopping the loom.

Cassie looked at her, her eyes full of torment.

Priscilla smiled kindly and said, “Is he worried that you’ll end up getting hurt?”

“He’s a decent man…he is. I know you’ve all seen a side to him that’s…well, less than flattering but…”

“We all know that, Cassie. He’s giving us back our mill.”

Luanne grinned and said, “I couldn’t be happier for you. After Oliver, I was hoping that you might meet someone else soon. And who could you possibly meet around here?” She rolled her eyes in emphasis.

Cassie glanced around the room. The women were all nodding their heads supportively. Cassie smiled in appreciation and said, somewhat meekly, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Cassie slid in another card. “I doubt this…whatever it is between Hunter and me, will turn into anything.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t complicated things. I never should’ve gotten involved with him in the first place.”

“He’s back here, isn’t he?” Luanne said. “He obviously cares.”

Cassie hesitated. More than anything, she wanted to believe that Hunter cared about her.

“If I were you, I’d give him a chance. He’s an important, busy man. And he’s trying to help us. That’s something.”

Luanne was right. He had come back.

There was hope. There was definitely hope.

“You’re not serious.” Willa fixed her gaze on Hunter as she tapped her long, manicured nails on the wooden table in her makeshift office.

Hunter had just finished telling Willa of his plans. “I am.”

“Do you have any idea how many hours I’ve spent on this project? How much time I’ve spent securing this deal?”

“You will be compensated, Willa. As usual.”

“This is not a typical deal for me.”

“I understand that.”

“Oliver was counting on us moving production to the Far East.”

“Oliver will receive the compensation he was promised.”

“Don’t be foolish, Hunter. You could lose millions.”

Hunter appreciated Willa’s concern, but she was not telling him anything he did not already know. He had little choice. He could not leave Cassie in Shanville with a mill that was headed for bankruptcy. “You’re forgetting that with the deal I have in mind, I would still retain a percentage of the fees gained from the patent.”

“That patent is worthless unless they know how to market it.”

“So we will help them.”

“Why not just do it ourselves? Why share the rights?” She shook her head.

“There’s more at stake than money. These people…well, they’ve invested their entire lives in this mill.”

“So what?” She shrugged. “That’s never stopped you before.”

What could he say? Willa was right. He’d never really cared before. But he did now. The people of Shanville were no longer anonymous small-town workers. How could he tell himself that taking over the mill was in their best interests, when he knew otherwise? He continued, “Instead of the Far East you will return to the Bahamas.”

“Hunter, please. This is all that factory worker’s doing.”

He did not need to ask to whom she was referring. He felt a sting of tension in the back of his neck. How dare Willa refer to Cassie with that snobbish tone? “She’s not a factory worker,” he said. “She’s a weaver who’s trying to save her mill.”

“This has nothing to do with saving a mill. This is about revenge. Plain and simple.”

“Revenge?”

Willa was silent for a moment. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Cassie and Oliver were engaged.”

Hunter hesitated. It wasn’t possible. Cassie and…Oliver? The man from whom he bought the mill? The man who followed Willa around like a devoted puppy? “Oliver Demion?” he heard himself say.

“Apparently she had been in love with him since she was a child. But he never really loved her. He got engaged because he felt obligated. They had been together since they were kids.”

Hunter was silent. Why hadn’t Cassie told him that Oliver had been her fiancé?

“But once he met me, he knew he had to break things off with Cassie. She was devastated.” Willa shook her head and sighed. “Poor Oliver. He felt so guilty.” She shrugged. “In any case, he felt guilty until Cassie swore revenge.”

Hunter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It couldn’t be true. Cassie was interested in revenge?

“Oliver predicted she would set her sights on you. But I give her credit. I never thought you’d actually fall for it. And I certainly never thought she’d be able to persuade you to sell the company.”

That was it. Hunter had heard enough.

“I don’t have time for idle gossip, Willa, and neither do you.”

With that he left the room. He walked down the hall toward his office. Had he misjudged Cassie? Had she been playing him all along just to get what she wanted?

Had he missed the cues? Was he just a pawn?

After all, it had happened before. He’d thought he’d known Lisa. Apparently he hadn’t known her at all. Everyone had seen her for who she really was but him. He had been blinded by love.

He’d sworn it would never happen again. After all, he had been a boy when he was with Lisa. He had been with many women since. He thought he could tell the good from the bad. He thought he could recognize the diamond from the rhinestones.

But perhaps he had given himself too much credit. Perhaps Willa was right. Perhaps Cassie was only using him to win back an old love.

Did it matter?

Hell, yes.

He could feel himself close up, feel his heart freeze once again. He had given too much too soon. And he had no choice but to pay the price.

But what could he do?

He cared about her too much to walk away and leave her with an old mill destined for failure.

No.

He would do the honorable thing. He would give Cassie the mill and the patent.

But then he was through. His relationship with Cassie would be defined solely through business.

If it was revenge she was after, she would have to obtain it alone.

Twelve

Cassie stared at the phone. It was nearly nine o’clock at night, well past the dinner hour. Hunter hadn’t called. And it was becoming more and more obvious that he had no intention of calling.

So what did that mean? Was he just busy? Or, she thought, her heart sinking, had he reached a decision regarding the mill that he knew she would not like?

What decision might that be, however? He had told her he would sell her the mill. She believed him. He would not renege.

So what was it, then? Why hadn’t he called her?

She had heard he was leaving the next day and was spending the night at a hotel in town. She’d assumed he had booked the hotel room for the sake of appearances. It had never occurred to her he actually planned on sleeping there. Alone.

She swallowed. Perhaps his reason for not calling was a more personal one.

Cassie stood up and walked toward the window. A cold and bitter wind rattled the panes, seeping through the cracks. Despite her wool cardigan, Cassie shivered. She crossed her arms in an attempt to ward off the chill.

It was hard to believe that only the night before she had slept naked, enjoying the warm breeze from the open French doors. It was equally hard to believe that the man with whom she had shared a bed, the man who had made some passionate and tender love, was no longer interested in her.

But it was a scenario she had to consider.

In rapid progression, she imagined the worst. Perhaps he thought their differences too numerous. Perhaps he had grown tired of her. Perhaps he never really cared. Perhaps…their relationship was over.

If it was over, she should not be surprised. After all, they had become intimate very early in their relationship. She had known it was risky. She had known she was setting herself up for rejection, known that their relationship would end eventually. Hadn’t she?

Maybe. But a part of her had hoped for a miracle. A part of her had actually believed that Hunter cared. That their lovemaking was every bit as special to him as it was to her.

Was she wrong?

It seemed difficult to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart. Yet from the moment they left the Bahamas she had sensed a difference. It was subtle, but still noticeable. A slight stiffening. A pulling away.

But would he leave town without so much as a goodbye?

Cassie turned away from the window. What was wrong with her? Why was she analyzing everything like the soon-to-be-jilted lover? Perhaps the reason he hadn’t called was something less dramatic. Perhaps he was just distracted by work.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps he had no intention of calling her now or ever again.

She glanced once again at the phone. She checked her watch. She knew where he was staying. And if he had tired of her or was ready to break up with her, she wanted to hear it in person.

Hunter took off his watch and set it on the night table. He undid his cuff links and began unbuttoning his shirt. His mind, as it had been all day, was focused on Cassie.

He had spent the afternoon and evening holed up in an empty office, busying himself with work in an attempt to distract himself from the pain in his heart. But it had been in vain.

Damn!

How could he have been so naive?

He didn’t want to believe that their relationship was based on revenge, yet the facts proved otherwise. Why else had she not told him the truth about who her fiancé was? Why was she so willing to give up her dream of a career in photography just to save the mill? Why did she lose her virginity to a stranger?

She had been motivated by love.

A love not for him, but for someone else.

He was interrupted from his reverie by a knock on the door. He was in no mood for distractions nor company. “Come in,” he barked.

Cassie opened the door.

The mere sight of her was enough to take his breath away. But he could not give in to his body. He needed to control his feelings. He needed to focus. To concentrate. He turned away and continued unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you doing here?”

He could hear her shut the door.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“The way you just greeted me. Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

“I’m tired, Cassie. It’s not every day I give a company back.”

“Is that it?” she asked, shutting the door. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“Would it matter?” he asked.

She glanced down.

“No,” he said. “I didn’t think so.”

“So this is about money?”

“Why don’t you tell me,” Hunter said, facing her.

“What are you talking about?”

“As I mentioned to you before, everything usually boils down to money,” he said, taking a step toward her.

She lifted her head, defiant. “Maybe with you.”

“But not with you?” he said. He stood in front of her. He could see the outline of her firm breasts underneath her snug jacket. Her jeans seemed to wrap around her slender hips.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think money is all that important in the scheme of things.”

He could feel himself weaken. Damn, she was beautiful. “Tell me,” he said, “if money doesn’t motivate you, what does?”

“What do you mean?”

He took a step toward her. “Why are you so desperate to keep the mill?”

“I told you. This mill is in our blood. It’s who we are. Some of the people who work here have worked here their whole lives. They can’t just pick up and move on.”

“But you could. Right?”

“We’ve been over this,” she said impatiently. “This is not about me.”

“So there’s no…personal reason for wanting the mill back.”

“Of course. I love the mill, I love making fabric.”

“And Oliver? Do you love him, as well?”

She swallowed.

He could see a change come over Cassie at the reference to Oliver. A flash of grief tore through him. So it was true. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She said, “I wasn’t trying to keep Oliver’s identity a secret. I would’ve told you about him if I thought it important. But he didn’t have anything to do with us or what I wanted.”

“You and Oliver were childhood sweethearts?”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “Everyone just assumed that we would get married, including me.”

He felt as if his heart was twisted in two. He hated this feeling of insecurity. Of uncertainty. “The breakup must have been painful for you,” he said stiffly.

“Not for the reasons you might think. It was more difficult to find out that the person I thought I had loved no longer existed. I missed who he used to be, the friendship we once shared. But even still, I knew that he had done us both a favor. There was no passion in our relationship.”

No passion? Was it true? Was her virginity due to a lack of physical chemistry?

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to think that the reason she gave him such a precious gift was because of their connection—the spark between them. Not because she was trying to erase another man’s touch.

Cassie had not expected to be greeted by a barrage of questions regarding Oliver.

What was happening? Why was he so upset about her not telling him the name of her fiancé?

Hunter turned away from her and continued to unbutton his shirt.

She said, “Hunter…I’m sorry. Is that what’s bothering you? The fact that I was engaged to Oliver?”

He turned back toward her. His eyes were dark and dangerous. “Of course not. Why would I care about your past romantic history?”

If he meant to injure her, he had succeeded. Why would he care? Because she wanted him to care. She wanted him to love her.

“My concerns are business related,” he said coldly. “I don’t want Axon Enterprises to get involved in a simple domestic dispute.”

A domestic dispute? “Do you think I’m trying to buy the mill back just to spite Oliver?”

“Are you?”

She paused for a moment, speechless. How could he even think her capable of such a spiteful act? Did he really think that she would have risked losing her friends’ severance just so she could exact revenge?

Yes.

She could tell from the way he was acting that he not only thought that, he was convinced. He had made up his mind. And nothing she said would make any difference. To argue otherwise would only make her appear defensive.

Her heart sank.

Why hadn’t she told him about Oliver sooner? Didn’t she realize that he would find out sooner or later the name of her ex-fiancé?

“Hunter,” she said, making a move toward him.

He stepped away from her. It was a slight change, a shift in weight. But the message was clear. He did not want her near him.

What could she do to change his mind? What could she say?

Nothing. The damage was done.

She glanced away and reached for the doorknob. “I made a mistake coming here. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Before she could leave, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. He stared into her eyes as if searching for something. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you buying the mill out of spite?”

“No.” She looked into his eyes. They were dark and angry, devoid of feeling.

She had spent the past few days loving him. But it was over. The realization was like an arrow through her heart.

“Why did you come here tonight?” he asked.

“I came here to see you,” she said. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you still being in town and not being with me.”

Hunter let go of her and turned away. But not fast enough. She had seen something in his eyes. A softening. A glimmer of hope.

Suddenly it hit her like a bolt from the blue. He was jealous of Oliver.

Was it possible?

How could he be jealous of a man she never truly desired? Although she hadn’t mentioned Oliver by name, she had spoken about the lack of passion in their relationship. Wasn’t her virginity proof? She said, “I was never in love with Oliver. Never. I cared about him as a sister cares about a brother.”

He turned back to face her. “Yet you were willing to marry him.”

She sighed. “We got engaged while still in high school. He was different then. When we were growing up he was my best friend. I never thought he would end up being so deceitful. So motivated by money.” She sighed. “In retrospect, I should’ve broken it off a long time ago, but—” she shrugged “—I don’t think I would actually have gone through with it.”

She stepped toward him again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him,” she said. “But the time with you was so special to me…so magical.” She hesitated. “I didn’t want to tarnish it by talking about Oliver.”

He was looking at her as if deciding what to do with her. She glanced away and asked, “Do you want me to leave?”

She held her breath as she waited for the response.

He shook his head. “No,” he said. She turned back toward him. His eyes lightened before her, becoming tender and kind once again.

She touched his bare chest as she breathed in the deep, musky scent of his aftershave. She would prove to him how she felt. How much she cared.

He did not touch her. Instead he turned his head ever so slightly and said hoarsely, “What are you doing to me?”

She was not ready to give up. She leaned forward and kissed him. It was like throwing a match on an oil spill. Flames ignited as he pulled her to him, kissing her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks. She reached inside his shirt, running her fingers down his bare torso.

He inhaled sharply as she made her way to the edge of his pants, tucking her fingers inside.

He pulled her hands away, and she looked at him. Why was he stopping her?

He met her gaze and said, “I want to see you.”

“What?” she asked.

“I want to see you. All of you.”

“You want me to take my clothes off?” She glanced toward the bathroom and said, “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head as he pulled her back toward him. “Here.” He was speaking matter-of-factly, as if giving instructions to an employee. “I want to watch you.”

He wanted to…watch?

She felt a flutter of nerves. Like a striptease?

The thought was enough to bring a blush to her cheeks.

But why should she be embarrassed? After all, he had seen her naked before.

He was watching her carefully. Was this some sort of test? Whatever it was, she was up for it. Without answering him, she kicked off her shoes and socks. She stood before him and met his gaze directly, silently accepting his dare. Slowly she unzipped her pants, taking her time wiggling out of them.

His eyes darkened and his breath grew ragged as she pulled her turtleneck over her head and dropped it to the floor. Left with nothing but her bra and panties, she paused. She stood before him, teasing him with time. She unhooked her bra and tossed it on the bed. She stuck her thumbs into her panties and slowly pulled them off.

She knew he half expected her to get naked and jump under the covers, but she was emboldened by the heightened sense of passion. She could see the effect she was having on him. After a day of waiting for him to contact her, she was back in control.

And she was not ready to hand over the reins. She stood there, staring at him as his breath grew ragged. “What next?” she asked.

He held out his hand. When she took it, he yanked her on the bed, on top of him. Suddenly he was inside her, moving deeper and deeper.

They made love staring into each other’s eyes, not even looking away when tension became unbearable and release necessary.

When he pulled her close to him afterward and tucked her inside the covers, she wrapped her arms around him. “I wish we could stay like this always,” she said.

But Hunter did not answer. Instead, feigning sleep, he removed his arm and turned away from her.

Hours later Cassie was still awake.

Why hadn’t he answered her? Why had he turned away?

She knew the answer without asking. It was as simple as it was undeniable: Hunter did not share her sentiment.

How could she have thought that Hunter was jealous of Oliver? The truth of the matter was that Hunter had been distant from the moment they set foot on the plane to return to Shanville, before he found out about Oliver. Oliver had just been a convenient excuse for him to escape.

She guessed that the real reason for Hunter’s emotional distance was that their relationship had progressed too far too fast. And her coming to his hotel room had not helped matters.

But if he wasn’t interested in her, how could he have made love to her?

Because he was a man. Sex and love were completely different things.

She felt like a fool. Why couldn’t she just play it cool? Why did she have to act so…so desperate?

The truth of the matter was their relationship had been doomed from the night they met, the night they first made love. Her grandmother had warned her that making love changes things between a man and a woman. It was, she had said, the most intimate of connections, a connection that for some women, could never be undone.

Cassie had commended herself on refraining from premarital sex, but as she had admitted to Hunter, the wait had not been difficult. She had not been possessed by the instinctual, overwhelming desire she felt for Hunter.

And now that she had experienced such passion, her life was forever changed. For the rest of her life she would feel a bond with Hunter. And what kind of bond, if any, would he feel for her?

None. She would become another notch on his belt. Just another nameless woman with whom he had shared his bed.

She gingerly pushed the covers away and slipped out of bed. Moving in the dark, she found her clothes and put them back on. She stopped and paused, looking at him. It was time to say goodbye.

But as she turned away, he caught her in an iron grip. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she said, startled.

“Why?” he asked.

“I just…well, I should be getting back,” she said. Play it cool. “I have to get up early tomorrow and I don’t have my clothes here.”

He let go of her arm and pushed himself up in bed. If she had been expecting a protest, she would’ve been disappointed. “Okay,” he said.

All right, then. They were in agreement. She just needed to pick up her purse and walk out. Before she started crying.

“Wait,” he said. He threw back the covers and turned on the light. “I’ll see you home.”

As he jumped out of bed, she watched his sinewy body tug on his boxers.

“No,” she said quickly. “Go back to sleep. It’s late.”

“Did you drive here?” he asked, ignoring her protest.

“Really,” she said, grabbing her coat. “I’ll just be on my way. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She realized with horror that she sounded as if she was expecting him to call. “Or, um, whenever.”

She opened the door but he was too quick. He shut it with his foot as he put on his coat. “Did you drive?” he repeated.

She gave up. He was too stubborn to be talked out of this. Even though it made no sense, no sense at all.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “What are you going to do? Follow me in your car?”

“My rental’s already been returned. I’ll drop you off and drive your car back. I’ll see that it gets back to you.”

Meaning he was not planning on spending the remainder of the night with her. In fact, he was willing to go to a lot of trouble to ensure that he did not have to sleep with her again.

He had his hand on the door when she touched his arm, stopping him. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not about to let you go home by yourself in the middle of the night.”

“It’s Shanville. It’s perfectly safe.”

He opened the door. “Let’s go.”

Thirteen

This was not the first time he had seen a date home after making love. He preferred it to spending the whole night together. He found the act of physically sleeping with someone even more intimate than intercourse.

But usually he didn’t end up in this predicament. He rarely invited a woman into his own bed. He liked being able to leave when he wanted to.

It was just one of the ways he had managed to keep things simple. He had avoided heartbreaks by avoiding the pitfalls that encouraged a relationship.

But it was never much of a problem. Typically he was attracted to the very women who would welcome a casual liaison. Women who had little desire for a more permanent relationship. If, for some reason, things changed, he was quick to recognize the signs. Usually when a woman wanted him to meet her family he had one foot out the door already. For he had a simple rule—any mention of family meant he had taken the relationship one step too far. He did not want to meet the mother who “would absolutely love him” or the grandfather who “would never believe his granddaughter was dating a millionaire.” Family only complicated things.

He always tried to be honest. He never promised a connection, a special relationship. Until now. And look what he had done. He had almost made a mistake. Or had he?

Cassie had claimed that she no longer felt anything for Oliver. That her need for the mill, her need for him, was not based on revenge.

But he was having a difficult time believing her. Not that he didn’t want to. After all, he had hoped things might be different with Cassie. He wanted them to get to know each other. His usual rules regarding relationships and commitment had not applied.

He had made an exception and it had almost cost him.

As they walked outside, they were hit with a blast of cold air. The wind had died down and the night was eerily silent. Their footsteps echoed through the deserted parking lot as they made their way toward an old green Ford LTD.

“This is it,” Cassie said, nodding toward the car. “The official grandparent mobile. Complete with a box of tissues in the back window.”

“I’ll drive,” he said.

Cassie tossed him the keys. He caught them in his gloved hand and unlocked the door. Once they were settled, Hunter turned the ignition and…nothing.

She said, “Sometimes you have to turn it a couple of times. I think it might need a checkup.”

Finally the engine roared to life. As usual, the car began to rattle and shake.

“I’m not an expert on cars,” Hunter said, “but I think this one definitely needs some engine work.”

She said, “The nearest car repair is a half hour away. And it’s expensive.”

“I’ll take care of it for you.”

“No,” she said, mortified. Why had she said the part about it being expensive? And why, when it was obvious he wanted nothing more to do with her, would he volunteer to fix her car? “I don’t want you to take care of it for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she said. “I can take care of it myself.”

They drove for a while. A heavy, awkward silence filled the car. Cassie was overwhelmed by a feeling of loss. How had this happened? How could they be so intimate yet so distant?

He pulled into the driveway and stopped. Once again it was time for goodbye. “Thank you,” she said.

It was her eyes. They looked almost luminous in the moonlight. Open and trusting…and hurt. He could not go back to the hotel. Not without her.

He turned off the car and offered her the keys. “Aren’t you leaving?” she asked.

“That’s up to you.”

“Hunter, I don’t want you to stay because you feel pressured or something.”

“Pressured?”

“I know you’re trying to be honorable, but I didn’t intend for this to be an all-nighter.”

Had he misread her? Had his narcissistic mind been so busy focusing on his own reticence that he hadn’t noticed that perhaps she wanted nothing more from him? Perhaps Willa had been wrong. Perhaps Cassie was not looking for revenge. Perhaps she was looking for some fun, a connection with another man. Perhaps loneliness had been her only motivation. “You were looking for sex?”

He could see her recoil at his harsh words. Right away, he cursed himself for insulting her. What was wrong with him? “I’m sorry. I just meant—”

“Is that what you’re looking for?” she interrupted. “Sex?”

Something about the way she said it melted his heart. “No,” he said. He pushed a tendril of hair away from her face. “No,” he repeated, even more adamantly.

She glanced away.

He knew then why Cassie had insisted on going home. She had wanted to leave the warm comfort of his hotel room simply because she felt it was what he wanted.

He had heard her, of course, when she’d said she wished they could remain in each other’s arms. But as much as he longed for the very same thing, he had been unable to respond. The news about Oliver had thrown him. He wanted to believe that Cassie was not using him, but he couldn’t ignore the facts. Still, he didn’t like to think that he’d somehow made Cassie uncomfortable. “Je suis desolé,” he murmured.

“What does that mean?”

He suddenly realized he had spoken to her in French. As a child he would lapse into French in moments of duress, usually when speaking to his grandmother. “It means I’m sorry.”

She hesitated, allowing his words to sink in. Finally she said, “What did you say to me that day on the cliff?”

He said, “Tu es la femme la plus belle que j’ai jamais vu. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“I had a feeling it didn’t have to do with the weather.” She smiled. “Thank you.” She blushed slightly and glanced out the window. He had made her nervous. She tapped her hands against her knees and said, “Did you know the founder of the mill was French? William Demion?”

Hunter shook his head.

“He emigrated from France in the early nineteen hundreds. He headed toward Shanville because he’d heard that there was plenty of work mining slate. But when he arrived, he saw a truckload of looms headed for the dump and offered the driver ten dollars for the lot.”

“I take it he never mined slate.”

She shook her head. “The driver of the truck turned out to be the weaver. He hired him, and Demion Mills was born.”

He glanced away. He did not want to discuss Demion Mills. Nor did he want to discuss her ex-fiancé’s ancestor.

“Do you feel like going for a walk?” she asked.

“A walk? It’s almost midnight.”

“There’s something I want to show you.”

“Sure,” he said. After all, he was leaving for France the next day. And as much as he wanted to see Cassie again, would he?

When they stepped outside, she held out her hand. “Come on,” she said.

He followed her through the cold, moonlit night. Scattered remnants of the winter’s hard snow crunched under their feet as they headed toward the woods. The full moon lit the path. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, just two nights ago we were swimming in the buff. And here we are tromping through the snow.”

As they walked out of the clearing, she paused. They were standing at the top of a hill. “This is my view at the top of the world.”

The town of Shanville was lit below them. They could see the railroad tracks and the factory. He could even see his hotel.

She continued, “I started coming here right after my parents passed away. I figured it was the highest spot around, so it made me closer to heaven.”

He pulled her close. “What happened to them?”

“They were in a car accident when I was five. My grandparents raised me.”

“Did your parents both work at Demion Mills?”

“Yep. They met in college. When they graduated, my mother wanted to move back to Shanville. The mill was the only place they could find work.”

He touched her cheek, as if brushing away an invisible tear. “What college did they go to?”

“Michigan State.” She turned toward him. “I went to the same school myself…until my grandmother got sick.”

“That’s where you studied photography?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed. As much as he hated to admit it, he wanted to ask about Oliver. “It must have been difficult being so far away from Oliver.”

“No,” she said without hesitation. She met his eyes and said, “I guess that should have been a clue that things were not right, but I just assumed it was because we were so secure in our relationship.”

She hesitated and said, “I can’t really explain why Oliver and I stayed together so long. All I can think was that, since I’d known him my whole life, our relationship was all I knew.” She sighed. “But now that I’ve met you, I’m not so sure that I ever loved Oliver. Maybe it was just friendship. I know one thing for certain. I don’t love who he has become. I never thought he could do this.”

“Do this?”

“Destroy the mill. Then sell what was left to someone who…well…” She hesitated.

“Planned to close it down.”

“It’s in his blood, just like the rest of us. He grew up here.”

“I wouldn’t demonize him for his choice, Cassie. From what I can see, turning the mill’s fortunes around at this point is not easy.” What was he doing? Defending her ex-fiancé?

“It was his responsibility,” she said, without hesitation.

Hunter could tell by the tone of her voice that Cassie felt betrayed and angry at Oliver’s decision to sell the mill. But was there more to it than that? Would she still be angry if they were together? If Oliver had not left her for another woman?

She took his hand and held it. They stood there for a while, neither speaking as they stared back over the town. Finally she tugged on his hand and said, “Come on.”

But she did not lead him back to the house. Instead they went down the ravine, walking in the opposite direction.

He knew where Cassie was taking him next. “Are we going to the mill?”

She nodded. “I want to show you something.”

“Do you have a key on you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “We don’t need a key.”

They made their way through the ravine and back up the other side. He followed her down a moonlit path that led to the street. The mill was directly across from them.

Cassie said, “Wait here.”

“I’m not going to let you walk around in the dark by yourself,” he said.

“Why not? I’ve done this a million times. Besides, I don’t want to give away my secret.”

“What secret?” he asked.

She laughed as she led him around the side of the mill to the old cellar entrance. She yanked on the rusty lock.

“Breaking and entering?” he asked.

She smiled as the lock popped open. “Call the police.”

He helped her open the door and followed her down the musty old steps. “Do many people know about your secret entrance?”

“Just me.” She turned on a light. They were in an old, brick-lined basement. They were surrounded by stacks and stacks of old newspapers.

“These belonged to the original owner,” she said, pointing to the papers. “He kept all the papers that had anything to do with the mill. Just piled them up in the basement. No one’s ever moved them.”

He followed her up a flight of rickety stairs that led to the main floor. She flicked on the lights. In front of her was the unofficial photo gallery, a series of framed pictures detailing the mill’s history and its proudest achievements.

Hunter had walked past these pictures many times, but he had never really looked at them.

“That was the official presidential chair used in the Carter administration,” Cassie said. He moved closer for a better look at the picture to which Cassie pointed. Two women stood behind a beautiful chair, smiling proudly.

She continued, “The young woman standing directly behind the chair is my mother. My grandmother is standing to her right. They made that material. Tuscan Vine Demion silk lampas. One thousand dollars a yard.”

The women, like Cassie, had auburn hair and sharp green eyes. They looked more like sisters than mother and daughter. “I see a strong family resemblance.”

She smiled softly. “My grandmother was very proud that day. She had just been promoted to master weaver.”

“Is that difficult to achieve?”

“She studied for ten years, working as an apprentice for minimum wage. She was the first woman to ever achieve such an honor. Until then it had been only men.”

Cassie moved to the next photo. “And this material,” she said, “was used in the coronation gown of Queen Elizabeth.” Like a docent in a museum, she walked him down the wall of pictures, patiently explaining each and every one.

When she was finished, she looked at him and smiled.

“Impressive,” he said.

“Now close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them.” She took his hand. He heard a door opening and knew immediately that she had taken him into the heart of the factory. “Smell,” she said.

He did as she asked, inhaling a distinct, sweet smell. “I noticed it on my first day here,” he said. “What is it?”

“The smell of history. Old machinery and fresh silk.”

He opened his eyes. She led him over to an old loom. “See those,” she said, pointing to the threads gathered on the loom. “By the end of tomorrow those threads will be part of an intricately patterned piece of fabric.”

He nodded toward a machine in the corner. It looked like something one might see in a museum. “What is that?”

“It’s a device for twisting cords for tassels. It was invented by Leonardo da Vinci. It hasn’t been changed much since.”

She took his hand and ran it over the fabric on the loom. “Does this feel familiar?”

Despite the intricate pattern and the number of threads that had been used, the weave was so tight it felt like a single piece of sleek silk. “Should it?” he asked.

“This is the same material that’s hanging in your bedroom in your boat. The material you don’t even recognize took two people one whole week to make.”

“I’ll be sure to appreciate it when I get back.”

She sighed. “Can you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged, not wanting to answer. But she didn’t have to. He knew what she had been implying—perhaps he wasn’t capable of recognizing beauty.

But she was wrong, he thought, as he admired her delicate, rosebud lips. He could not only recognize magnificence, he could appreciate it. “Just because I didn’t recognize my drapes doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them.”

“It’s not a matter of appreciation. It’s a matter of noticing. I think if you had noticed you would have appreciated them. But you were too busy making the money needed to buy such luxuries.” She shook her head. “I think a lot of people are like that. Life is something they endure. They’re so busy surviving that they don’t really live. So busy making money that it somehow loses its value.” She looked around her. “That’s why I’m so fond of this place. It reminds me of a simpler time. A time when making a living with your hands was nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It’s still not.”

“Everything is equated with money. If it doesn’t make money, it’s not appreciated.”

“That’s true in a sense,” he admitted. “But, Cassie, you can’t stop progress. And you can’t turn back the clock.”

She hesitated and then nodded sadly. “Unfortunately.”

Hunter knew right then and there that Willa was wrong. It was not revenge that motivated Cassie, but love.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time they returned to Cassie’s house. Despite the late hour, neither was ready to end the evening. They built a roaring fire and settled next to each other on the couch with steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

Cassie leaned her head against Hunter’s shoulder. Once again she was tempted to speak her thoughts out loud and tell him that she wished the night would never end.

But she had learned her lesson before. She would stay quiet, no matter how difficult that might be.

“This is nice,” he said, brushing her cheek. “I almost wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

“Are you returning to the Bahamas?” she asked as coolly as she could manage.

He shook his head. “Paris.”

“Oh,” she said, obviously disappointed. “How long will you be gone?”

He hesitated. After a pause he said, “Look, Cassie…”

She knew what was coming next. And she was to blame. There had been desperation in her voice. And now she would get the speech. I never meant to lead you on. I never meant to imply that things were more serious than they seemed. We barely know each other….

And she had no doubt he meant it. But she had seen tenderness in his eyes and felt passion in his arms. She didn’t want to think that the feelings he had brought to life inside her would be silenced once more.

But there was no choice. She had no more power over the fate of their relationship than she had over the fate of her beloved mill.

She held a finger to his lips. She couldn’t bear to hear it. “Hunter, I didn’t mean it to sound the way it did. Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”

But the mood was ruined. She straightened slightly, pulling away. Hunter cupped her chin and directed her back toward him. “Cassie,” he said. “I need to talk to you about the mill.”

So she had been right about the speech. But she was wrong about the subject matter.

Had he changed his mind about selling her the mill? Is that why he seemed so distracted? Was he feeling guilty?

“I’ve decided to give you the patent.”

She sat so still, she held her breath. “The patent for Bodyguard?” she said finally.

“That’s right.”

“But we can only afford our original offer—”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head. “But I do care about you. And I can’t sit back and watch you walk into a situation that I know is destined for failure. Which is why I’m going to provide the financial backing for the release of Bodyguard. I’ve assigned a marketing team to help you with the rollout.”

It was better than she could have hoped. She hugged him. “Thank you.”

But he did not respond. He pulled back and flashed her a sad smile. “You’re still going to need a lot of luck, Cassie.”

And suddenly all she could think about was him. She did not want to say goodbye. Not then. Not ever.

He said, “I do, however, have one demand.”

There was a catch? “What?”

“Come with me to Paris.”

“Paris?” She had dreamed of visiting Paris since she was a child.

“I have some work in a neighboring town, but it won’t take me long.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll come.” He paused. “It’s just a week. One week and you’ll be back.”

It was not Paris that enticed her so much, but the idea of spending an entire week with Hunter.

“Well?” he asked.

She looked into his kind and gentle eyes. They were not the eyes of a corporate baron. They were the eyes of a man who was willing to listen when others wouldn’t. A man who was willing to give her a chance. They were the eyes of the man she loved.

There was no guarantee their relationship would last. Nor was there any guarantee she would not return from Paris with a broken heart. But it didn’t seem to matter. “What time do we leave?”

Fourteen

Cassie’s skilled fingers flew over the loom. She glanced around her. The floor where people normally worked in quiet or hushed tones was a flurry of activity. It had been a long time since Cassie had seen everyone so happy. It was as if the dark cloud had lifted.

So why wasn’t she jumping for joy? After all, she had every reason to be ecstatic. The mill was saved, the patent returned. She had woken up in the arms of the man with whom she was desperately in love. They were leaving that night for Paris.

Luanne leaned forward and said, “When are you returning?”

“In a week.”

“Take your time,” said Ruby.

“You deserve it,” said Luanne.

Cassie attempted to smile. What was wrong with her?

Why did she feel so vulnerable? As if the floor was about to give way underneath her?

Because Hunter had not said the words I love you?

Why would he? After all, they had only known each other for a short time.

Unfortunately it was not that simple. She suspected her affection would never be returned.

For, despite his humble origins, Hunter was a man who prized material wealth above all else. He was a product of the society he helped support, the fast-paced corporate world where emotional connections took a second place to business contacts.

Cassie was suddenly aware that the din in the room had silenced.

Suddenly she heard a voice that sent chills down her spine. “Cassie?”

She turned. Willa was standing behind her.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“She’s busy,” Luanne said.

“It’s all right,” Cassie said. She smiled affectionately at her friends. She knew they were being protective, but she could handle herself.

She followed Willa into the empty hall.

Willa shut the door behind them and turned to face Cassie. “I’m going to be leaving soon. I wanted to congratulate you before I left.”

Cassie couldn’t help but think this was some sort of trick. What was Willa up to? “Thank you,” she said.

“I hope there are no hard feelings.”

“None.”

“Excellent,” Willa said. She nodded toward the picture behind Cassie. It was a black-and-white close-up of threads gathered in a ponytail on a Jacquard loom. “You took that photo, didn’t you?”

Cassie glanced behind her. She had taken the picture while still in high school. Her grandmother had shown it to the manager of the mill, who had insisted on framing it and hanging it on the wall. “Yes,” she said.

“You’re really quite good. It’s a shame you never had a chance to pursue your photography.”

“I’m happy working here,” Cassie said.

“So you say. Still, it’s a shame your talent will never go anywhere. I mean, with your new responsibilities and all. You’re hardly going to have time to brush your teeth, much less explore the arts.”

“Is there a point to this, Willa? I need to get going.”

“That’s right,” Willa said. “You have a plane to catch, don’t you?”

Cassie glared at her.

“I wanted to congratulate you on that, as well. Scoring a trip with Hunter Axon. My, my. Very impressive. An affair with a man like him…well, that’s quite a notch in your belt.”

“Goodbye, Willa,” Cassie said, her hand on the door.

“Of course, that’s all it will ever be,” Willa said. “An affair.”

Had Cassie not been having the same thoughts, she might have been able to keep walking. But because Willa seemed to be reading her mind, because she was saying exactly what, deep down, Cassie had been thinking, she hesitated.

Willa took a step toward her and said, “Do you know why he’s going to France?”

“He has business.”

“He’s buying a wine-making factory. It’s in a small village outside of Paris. Families from the town have worked there for generations. We’re getting it for quite a steal. See, they don’t want to sell, but they have no choice. They’re in debt. So Hunter’s going to shut it down and produce the label in California.”

Cassie was silent.

“All those families that have depended on this factory for hundreds of years are going to be displaced.”

Cassie looked away. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m pointing out the obvious. I’ve known Hunter for years.”

Cassie had heard all she could bear. She opened the door.

“It will never work,” Willa said. “And you know that. You’re just postponing the inevitable. And quite frankly, you have too much work to do to be so distracted. From one woman to another, the last thing you need is another heartbreak.”

“I said goodbye.”

“Oh, before I go…If you do get lonely, you might want to call Oliver. I’ve broken it off with him, and the poor dear isn’t handling it very well.”

“Too bad,” Cassie said. “You seemed so well suited for each other.” She slipped inside, shutting the door behind her.

As she made her way back to the loom, she was aware that work had stopped and every eye was on her.

“Honey?” Luanne said. “Are you all right?”

No, she wasn’t. In one split second her world had spun out of control, her hope for the future dashed.

Hunter was going to France to shut down another plant. To wreak havoc on more lives.

And for what? Money? Didn’t he have enough of that?

But what did she think? That he had changed? That her short time with him had made him see the error of his ways?

“Why don’t you sit down,” Mabel said, touching her arm.

But Cassie barely heard her. How could Hunter do that? It was hard to understand how someone who could be so kind and caring one moment could be so unfeeling the next.

And as much as she cared about Hunter, could she really be with someone who could inflict so much pain on others?

But her question was, in all probability, moot.

Actions Speak Louder Than Words. And Hunter’s actions were sending her a message. Nothing had changed. He was still the same man who had threatened their community. The man who worshipped money.

The man who would never love her.

And Willa, as much as she hated to admit it, was right. Cassie was too busy to let herself be distracted by a fling. Even if it came with a mill, a trip to Paris and a marketing plan.

Hunter finished reading the contract. It detailed the transfer of Demion Mills to the workers, emphasizing that his team would help with the marketing of Bodyguard.

It was the first time he had given back a property. Yet he had no regrets. It felt good to be helping the community. To have people thanking him instead of cursing his name.

In fact, he was, for the first time in years, happy.

Was it possible?

It was such a strange feeling for him that he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

Of course, his happiness was due to more than just the mill. The reason for his newfound bliss could be summed up in one word: Cassie.

From the moment he met her he realized this was no ordinary affair. He was entirely bewitched. It was difficult to believe that a woman who could be so enticing, give him the most sexual pleasure he had ever experienced, could also be so innocent.

But his attraction was based on more than just sex. She was the most honest, dedicated and loyal person he had ever met. Seemingly unimpressed by monetary wealth, she valued those things that Hunter had almost forgotten existed, the little everyday occurrences that made life special. Whether to admire a sunset or to feel soft fabric, she encouraged him to slow down, to stop and notice things that he had taken for granted.

His decision to invite Cassie to Paris had been spontaneous yet inevitable. Usually he did not enjoy having women with him on business trips. They were distractions at a time when he preferred to be focused. But Cassie was different. With Cassie, it was the business that was the distraction. He would’ve preferred to spend all of his time with her. He did not want to be apart from her. Not now or ever.

Hunter was distracted by a knock on the door. He glanced up and smiled as he saw Cassie.

“I was just about to come and see you,” he said. “I spoke to the travel agent. She’s booked us in an old inn in Loiret. The vineyard I’m buying isn’t far away. You’ll have a couple of days to sightsee but I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He stood up and walked over toward her, put his hands around her waist. “After which, I’m going to take you to Paris. I’m going to show you whatever you want to see.”

She stepped backward, away from him. She bit her lower lip, and her eyes, usually bright and full of life, looked glazed with despair.

Alarmed, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

She met his gaze directly. “I can’t go to Paris.”

“Why not?”

“I have responsibilities here, responsibilities that can’t wait.”

“Cassie,” he said patiently. “It’s two weeks before the mill is officially transferred. And my marketing team isn’t arriving until next week. You’ll be back in plenty of time.”

She glanced away. “My reason for not going has nothing to do with the mill.”

An icy fear cloaked his heart. “What, then?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Paris to take over a company?”

He felt a stab of guilt. But why should he feel guilty? He was not ashamed of what he did. Was he? “I didn’t think it would make a difference.”

She shook her head. “It’s not right. Buying companies and putting people out of work.”

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “I’ve built three brand-new factories in China employing hundreds of workers, people who were desperate to earn money.”

“That’s commendable, but it’s not as if you’re running a nonprofit organization. What happens to all those people whose jobs you’ve taken away?”

“Not everyone lives in Shanville, Cassie. In some situations workers are more than happy to be offered a severance package.” He argued mechanically, presenting her with the same defenses he used to ease his guilty conscience. “These are companies close to bankruptcy.”

“You’re putting people out of work. You’re closing up mom-and-pop businesses that have been in families for years. You’re making money off other people’s misfortunes.”

His eyes hardened as he was overcome by a raw and primitive grief. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m some sort of…monster?”

She stood up. “No. That’s not the person I see. But…” Her voice faded.

“These businesses,” he said, taking a step toward her, “these mom-and-pops that I take over, are destined for failure. I save whatever is left and turn them into profit-making ventures.”

“For whom? Not for the families who have given them their life.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Hunter. But I think it’s commendable only if you prize money above all else.”

So this was it? She was breaking off their relationship because she did not like his job?

He had the feeling it went deeper than that. And as much as it pained him, he needed to know.

He said, “Don’t use my job as an excuse to stay away from me. If you have a problem with me or something I’ve done, I would hope you try and talk to me about it before you reach a decision.”

“Talking about it won’t change anything. You are who you are.”

You are who you are.

It was personal.

“I see,” he managed. “And your mind is made up?”

She nodded and turned to leave.

“Cassie,” said Hunter, stopping her. But what could he say? How could he stop her from walking out the door when she was right? He did not deserve her. He never had.

He held up the papers on his desk. “Your contract.”

She walked back toward him. As he handed her the contract, their hands touched. Hunter was once again overcome by the desire to say something, anything to change her mind. But what?

Instead she spoke. “I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

He let go of her hand. “Good luck, Cassie,” he said.

That was it. It was over. It would have happened sooner or later, wouldn’t it? So, better to get it out of the way. Better not to wait. She was right, he told himself.

When she glanced up at him, he could see her eyes were filled with tears. She reached around her neck and unclasped the necklace.

“I want you to have this,” she said, offering it to him.

“No,” he said. “I can’t accept that.”

“It’s not worth anything but it means a lot to me.” She put the necklace on the desk. She shook her head and turned away. “I will never forget you,” she said softly.

Fifteen

Cassie stood behind her loom as the last of the workers left.

She was alone.

It was getting late and she knew that she should leave, as well. But she was not looking forward to returning home, back to the same place where, just that morning, she and Hunter had made love. She knew the minute she walked in the door she would be overcome by all the emotion she had struggled to hold at bay.

She closed her eyes. Once again she asked herself the question that had haunted her all day: Had she done the right thing?

Or had she just made the biggest mistake of her life?

She knew without a doubt she had passed up the chance of a lifetime. Hunter was unlike any man she had ever met before, any man she would ever meet again.

When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his touch. He had made her feel special. Desired.

She walked to the window and looked up at the stars. Hunter was miles away by now, his plane heading toward France. Did he regret the end of their relationship? Or was he looking forward to a new beginning?

She would never know. She doubted she would ever speak to Hunter again.

Hunter had been sitting in the airport for nearly two hours. Normally he would have been agitated, eager to get to his next destination.

But not tonight. In fact, he welcomed the delay. He was in no rush to leave Shanville.

To leave Cassie.

It had been hours since he last saw her, but it already felt like a lifetime. He had racked his brain trying to think of a solution. According to Cassie, however, the only solution would be for him to give up his company, to devote himself toward a more humanitarian profession.

He pulled out her necklace once again. It’s not worth much…

How could she say that? It had been her mother’s necklace. Cassie wore it every day. He knew how much it meant to her.

He had not felt right accepting such a gift.

He knew he would eventually return it to Cassie. But not yet. He could not bear to part with the only reminder he had of her.

“I just spoke to Jack,” Willa said. “We should be leaving momentarily.” She sat down next to Hunter and said, “I can’t say I’m sorry to be leaving. The sooner I forget about Oliver the better.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not. I guess you could say he lost his appeal.”

“Coincidentally at the same time he lost his job.”

She smiled. “Oh, well. Win some, lose some.”

“You know,” he said, “you haven’t asked where Cassie is.”

“Oh, Cassie. That’s right. She was supposed to join you, wasn’t she?”

Hunter looked at her, his eyes narrowing. He had suspected that Willa might have had something to do with Cassie’s sudden change of heart. Her reaction just confirmed his suspicions.

“Oh, dear,” Willa said. She sighed sympathetically. “Are you two having some problems?”

“You might say so,” he said calmly.

“Well,” she said, shrugging, “it’s probably better this way. Cassie belongs here with her own kind.”

His face paled with anger. “Own kind?”

Oblivious to his reaction, she smiled again. “You know what I mean. Her own class of people.”

“I see,” Hunter said, his voice heavy with contempt.

Willa checked her watch. “It’s time for me to leave,” she said, brushing off her skirt, “perhaps we should go.”

“What did you say to her?” His voice was quiet, his tone cold and lashing.

“What?”

“What did you say to Cassie?”

Willa crossed her arms in front of her. “Nothing I wouldn’t say to you—respectfully, of course.”

“Like?”

“What does it matter?” She shook her head. “I think it was honorable of you to give her the mill, I really do. However, that said, what are you going to have to do to continue to please her? Every time she raises an objection about some poor people being displaced, what will you do? I mean, let’s face it, you’re not exactly a philanthropist.”

No. No, he wasn’t. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be.

Suddenly he thought about the expressions on the workers’ faces when he informed them he would be shutting down their plant. That the only job they had ever known would be gone forever. Sure there were instances when they welcomed the change, but more times than not there were tears, devastation, even hopelessness. He had done his best to ignore it, to push it out of his mind. He had told himself over and over again that he was actually doing them a favor, but who was he kidding?

He thought about his own father. He had grown up hearing stories about how his father had lost his job. Had his father been grateful to the man who had bought the company where he had worked? Hardly. He had lost the only life he had ever known.

How had this happened? Hunter looked down at his hands. When did he turn into one of the very people he’d grown up hating?

“We are who we are, Hunter. And I happen to think you’re pretty terrific.” Willa put her arm in his. “Shall we go?”

He was repulsed by Willa’s touch. He suddenly saw her for who she was: a mean, vindictive, small-minded woman. He shook off her arm and asked her, “What do you think their chances are?”

“Their?”

“Cassie and the rest of the people trying to turn the mill around.”

“The marketing team will help, that’s for certain. But quite frankly, I think it’s still a waste of your money. After all, they’re going to have to price themselves out of the market. The wages they pay their workers are so high they’ll never be able to make a product that people can actually afford. I don’t care how good it is.” She shook her head. “They were fools, each and every one of them. And they’re about to pay the price.”

Once again Hunter felt inside his pocket, desperately clutching the necklace that Cassie gave him.

Suddenly he had an idea. What if he were to provide financial backing until Demion Mills began turning a profit? What if, he thought, his pulse racing, he offered that service to other companies, as well?

Suddenly he felt as if the clouds had cleared. He saw his future as it could be. Instead of buying out the companies struggling for survival, he could use his expertise to turn their fortunes around.

But it would require a huge commitment. It would require walking away from the company he had built from scratch.

Only one thing was clear.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore but Cassie.

He stood. He took his briefcase and started toward the door.

“Hunter,” Willa said. “Where are you going? The tarmac is that way.”

He walked back toward Willa and stopped. “Do you think the severance package that we offered the Demion Mill workers was fair?”

“Yes, of course. I drew it up myself.”

“Good. That’s exactly what you’ll receive. I’ll direct the office to cut you a check. In the meantime, the plane will be happy to take you wherever you might want to go.”

Willa stepped away, stunned. “You’re firing me?”

“Just like you told the workers at Demion Mills: ‘Don’t view this as a negative. View it as a chance to start over.’” He nodded. “Goodbye, Willa.”

Sixteen

Cassie closed her eyes and took her fingers off the loom, taking a momentary break. It was nearly midnight. Despite her fatigue, she had been unable to bring herself to leave the mill.

“Cassie?”

She opened her eyes. Hunter was standing in the doorway.

Cassie just stared, too astonished to speak.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked.

He looked exhausted. He was still wearing his suit, but his tie was loose, his rumpled shirt open at the neck. His hair was tousled, and he had circles under his eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you went to France.”

“I’m not going.”

“What…why?”

He walked toward her. “You were right this afternoon. I am what I am. And my job is such that it doesn’t allow for a lot of philanthropy.”

“I’m sorry I said that.”

“No,” he said. “I didn’t come here for apologies.” He swallowed. “At least, not from you. I wanted to explain to you that my company is not what I had originally intended. I’ve always liked a challenge. I was attracted to the idea that I could go into businesses that were struggling and fix them. At least, that’s what I told myself I was doing. I liked the idea of turning a business around—textiles, steel, wine, it didn’t matter. I tried to ignore the fact that people were losing their jobs, that whole economies were ruined. I told myself that the businesses were struggling and if I didn’t take them over, those people would lose their jobs anyway.”

“That’s probably true.”

“But that doesn’t make what I do right. And it doesn’t excuse what I did, either.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I think it’s time for a career change.”

“A career change?”

“Instead of specializing in takeovers, I’m thinking that perhaps I should reconsider. Turn my energy toward helping those struggling companies survive.”

Was she hearing him correctly? “Just like you’re helping Demion Mills?”

“That’s right.”

He stopped at the loom. He ran his fingers over the threads she had just woven.

“That’s what you came back to tell me?” she asked quietly.

He took another step toward her. He was standing so close their lips were practically touching. “That’s not all,” he said. His eyes blazed and glowed as he took her hands in his. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

He had fallen in love.

He loved her.

Cassie closed her eyes as the shock of his words hit her full force.

“If you give me a chance, I’m willing to try and be a better man.”

She was certain she was dreaming. She had fallen asleep at her loom and would wake up alone in a cold, dark, empty room.

“Give me an opportunity to prove that I’m worthy of your love.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him, unable to speak. He let go of her hands and pulled her necklace out of his pocket.

His fingers brushed her nape as he fastened it around her neck.

“Do I have a chance?” he whispered in her ear.

She twisted around to face him. She once again remembered what her grandmother said. Actions Speak Louder Than Words.

And with that, she kissed him.

Epilogue

It was the opening of the Shanville Gallery, a nonprofit center that featured the work of local artists. And from the crowd that had gathered in the small, renovated building in the center of town, it was a success.

Thanks to her husband’s connections, the gathering included local and not-so-local stars. The governor of New York was there along with various politicians and personalities. All had turned out to show their support for Shanville, which was becoming known as a mecca for the arts.

But like Shanville itself, there was no pretension here. All the invitees were dressed casually, supping on a buffet that included dishes the local diner was famous for: meat loaf and macaroni and cheese.

Cassie spotted her husband across the room. They had been married for three years, but the sight of him still caused her heart to skip a beat. He stood in the doorway, a grin spreading across his lips as their eyes met.

Their wedding had been a fairy-tale ending to a not-so-traditional courtship—an affair that she felt certain would have restored her grandmother’s pride and her belief in the power of sex.

Afterward, Hunter moved into Cassie’s home, and together he and his new bride launched a foundation specifically designed to help family businesses in need.

In the three years that had passed since their wedding, Hunter had become a vital part of Shanville and Demion Mills. He seemed to have no problem leaving his corporate image and expensive toys behind, easily adapting to the down-to-earth lifestyle of small-town living.

It was a change, he claimed, that he had been anticipating a long time. All he needed was the right woman to make it all come true.

They walked toward each other, drawn together like magnets. He took her in his arms and kissed her on the lips. “I’m so proud of you,” he said.

“Why?”

“You worked hard for this opening.”

“We,” she said. “We worked hard.”

For the past few months Cassie and Hunter had met at the gallery after work, doing much of the refurbishing themselves. Hunter had long ago proven himself surprisingly adept with a hammer and nails. Some of Cassie’s friends had been amazed that a man worth millions was willing to perform physical labor. But not Cassie. Hunter enjoyed working with his hands. He had become an excellent craftsman, capable of replicating the intricate wood carvings that were found on so many old homes.

“Cassie?”

Cassie turned. Her old friend Luanne was there behind her. “You have some visitors.” She pointed to the door.

Willa and Oliver stood side by side.

“What are they doing here?” Ruby whispered, hurrying over.

But Cassie was not surprised to see them. After all, they had been invited.

Soon after she and Hunter married, Hunter had encouraged her to renew her friendship with Oliver. He had been her oldest and dearest friend, Hunter had argued. It was a relationship worth preserving. She took her husband’s advice and she and Oliver redefined their relationship as two old friends. Oliver soon confided that he had never recovered from the demise of his relationship with Willa. Cassie counseled him to reconcile, and one morning Oliver announced that not only had he and Willa reconciled, they had married.

Unfortunately for Oliver, however, it soon became clear that being the mistress of the “Demion estate” did not seem to satisfy Willa. Opinionated and haughty, Willa was every bit as abrasive as she had been at the mill. Still, Willa had become such a colorful personality in Shanville that it was hard to imagine the town without her. But most of the town residents were still cool to her, never having forgiven her for her previous offenses.

They seemed to delight in knocking Willa off her throne. And this, apparently, was another one of those times.

Cassie shook her head. Both Willa and Oliver were dressed in formal attire, as if attending a ball. Willa looked resplendent in a draping red dress. Oliver was wearing a white tuxedo.

Cassie saw Willa’s eyes open wide in horror as she looked at the casually dressed guests. She gave Oliver a nasty look and swatted him across the stomach.

Cassie heard Luanne snicker. She looked at her friend suspiciously. “Luanne, is there a reason they might have thought this event was formal?”

Luanne shrugged and averted her gaze. “Maybe.”

Cassie rolled her eyes. Hunter tried to hide his smile by pretending to cough.

She and Hunter went over to welcome their guests. Afterward, as they watched Willa and Oliver head toward the buffet, Hunter said, “You really are amazing. Only you could’ve made them feel so comfortable. That was very gracious of you.”

She smiled and said, “I have every reason to be gracious. After all, as of today, all my wishes have come true.”

He glanced at her. “Revenge on Willa?”

“No,” she said, laughing.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Saving Demion Mills was wish number one….”

“No,” she said. “You were number one. Demion Mills was number two.”

“And the art gallery was number three?”

“I wanted the gallery, but it wasn’t a wish.”

“Willa and Oliver come dressed to serve?”

She laughed and said, “Nope.”

“You’ve been promoted to master weaver?”

“Not yet,” she said.

Suddenly his eyes opened wide as she touched her stomach. He smiled.

Wish number three. They were soon to be family.

With a holler, Hunter picked her up and spun her around.

“But,” she said, “I do have a single demand.”

“Anything,” he said. “As you know I’ve never been able to resist you.”

“Just love me.”

“That’s a request I’ll never deny,” he said, settling the deal with a kiss.

The Virgin’s Seduction

By Anne Mather

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

ELLIE came to find her as Eve was shovelling manure out of Storm’s stall. The work should have been done that morning, but Mick hadn’t turned in today and Eve had offered to help out.

Nevertheless, Eve felt a little self-conscious when the old lady raised her handkerchief to her nose before saying, ‘Come outside. I want to talk to you.’

Eve didn’t argue. You didn’t argue with her grandmother, and the old lady’s cane tap-tapped its way back along the aisle between the row of empty stalls. Meanwhile, Eve jammed the fork she was using into her wheelbarrow and, after checking to see that she had no dirt on her hands, followed Ellie out into the crisp evening air.

It was November, and the scent of woodsmoke banished the smell of the stables. Already there was a tracing of frost on the trees in the copse, and the lights that surrounded the stable yard had a sparkling brilliance.

‘Cassie’s coming tomorrow.’

The old lady waited only long enough for Eve to emerge from the doorway before making her blunt announcement, and her granddaughter’s stomach tightened. But she knew better than to show any obvious reaction, and with a shrug of her thin shoulders she said, ‘Don’t you mean Cassandra?’

‘No, I mean Cassie,’ retorted the old lady shortly, wrapping the woollen pashmina she was wearing over her tweed jacket tighter about her ample form. ‘I christened my daughter Cassie, not Cassandra. If she wants to call herself by that damn fool name, I don’t have to follow suit.’

Eve acknowledged this with a wry arching of her dark brows, but she thought it was significant that Ellie was wearing the wrap Cassie had given her several years ago. Was this a sign that she’d forgiven her daughter at last? That the rapidly approaching demands of old age had reminded her that her time was slipping away?

‘How long is she coming for?’ asked Eve casually, aware that, whatever Ellie said, this was not going to be an easy time for any of them. She and Cassandra could never be friends, and it might be easier all round if she simply moved into a hotel for a couple of weeks.

‘She didn’t say.’ Ellie’s tone was grumpy. ‘As usual, I’m supposed to accommodate myself to her needs. Oh, and by the way, she’s bringing some man with her. I don’t know who he is, but knowing Cassie he’s probably someone who can help her with her career.’

‘Oh, well…’ Eve tried to sound philosophical. ‘If she’s bringing a boyfriend I doubt if she’ll be staying long. He must have commitments; a business, maybe.’ She tugged her lower lip between her teeth. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Ellie’s eyes, which were extraordinarily like her granddaughter’s, narrowed in surprise. ‘Why should I want you to do anything?’ She gave a shiver as the wind, which had a decidedly northerly bite to it, whistled across the stable yard. ‘I just thought I ought to—to—’

‘Warn me?’

‘To tell you,’ she insisted tersely. ‘If I could put her off, I would.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Eve’s tone was dry. She wasn’t taken in by her grandmother’s last remark. ‘You’re really delighted she’s coming to see you, even if she is using this place as her own private hotel. As usual.’

‘Eve—’

‘Look, I understand where you’re coming from, Ellie. I do. So—would you like me to find somewhere else to stay while she’s here? I’m sure Harry—’

‘We’ll leave the Reverend Murray’s name out of this.’ The old lady looked scandalised at her suggestion. ‘You can’t stay with him. It wouldn’t be seemly. In any case, this is your home. I don’t want you to move out.’

‘Okay.’

Eve was dismissive, but the old lady wasn’t finished. ‘This is Northumberland,’ she said, with a quaver to her voice. ‘Not north London. You’re not living in some smelly squat now.’

That was a low blow, but it was a sign that her grandmother wasn’t as blasé about Cassie’s visit as she pretended. Ellie seldom if ever mentioned where Eve had been living when Ellie had arrived to rescue her, and she could see from the old lady’s expression that she already regretted speaking so bluntly. But Ellie must remember that the last time Cassie was here she and Eve had barely said a word to one another.

As if needing some reassurance, she added, ‘Are you saying you don’t want to be here while Cassie’s staying?’ All the ambivalence she was feeling about the visit showed in her lined, anxious face. ‘Because if you are—’

‘I just thought it might be easier all round if I left you to it,’ Eve muttered unwillingly. She didn’t want to hurt the woman who was her closest relative and her friend.

‘Well, it isn’t,’ declared her grandmother, pushing the hand that wasn’t holding her cane into her pocket for warmth. ‘So we’ll say no more about Henry Murray. And it’s too cold to stand here gossiping, anyway. We’ll talk about this again later. Over supper, perhaps.’

But they wouldn’t, Eve knew. Her grandmother had spoken, and in her own way she was just as selfish as Cassie. Oh, she would never have abandoned her child at birth, or ignored its existence for the first fifteen years of its life. But she liked her own way, and Eve rarely felt strongly enough about anything to argue with her.

‘You’ll be in soon, won’t you?’ Ellie asked now, and Eve nodded.

‘As soon as I’ve got Storm back in his stall,’ she promised.

‘Good.’

Her grandmother looked as if she would have liked to say something more, but thought better of it. With a farewell lift of her cane, she trudged away towards the lights of the house.

The hired Aston Martin ate up the miles between London and the north of England. Jake liked motorway driving, mostly because the journey—this journey—would be over that much quicker. He hadn’t wanted to come, and the sooner this trip was over the better he’d like it.

‘Shall we stop and have some lunch?’

Cassandra was being determinedly cheerful, but for once he didn’t respond to her lively chatter. This was wrong, he thought. He shouldn’t be here. Bringing him to meet her mother smacked of a relationship they simply didn’t have.

Oh, they’d been spending time together, off and on, for the past six months, but it wasn’t serious. Well, in his case it wasn’t, anyway. He had no intention of marrying again. Or of setting up home with someone like Cassandra, he conceded ruefully. He liked her company now and then, but he knew that living with her would drive him up the wall.

‘Did you hear what I said, darling?’

Cassandra was determined to have an answer, and Jake turned his head to give her a fleeting look. ‘I heard,’ he said. ‘But there’s nowhere to eat around here.’

‘There’s a service area coming up,’ protested his companion. ‘There, you see: it’s only another five miles.’

‘I’m not in the mood for soggy fries and burgers,’ Jake told her drily. He glanced at the thin gold watch circling his wrist. ‘It’s only a quarter of one. We should be there in less than an hour.’

‘I doubt it.’

Cassandra was sulky, and once again Jake permitted himself a glance in her direction. ‘You did say it was only a couple hundred miles,’ he reminded her. ‘As I see it, we’ve covered at least three-quarters of the journey already.’

Cassandra gave a careless shrug. ‘I may have underestimated a little.’

Jake’s fingers tightened on the wheel. ‘Did you?’

‘Well, yes.’ Cassandra turned towards him now, all eager for his forgiveness. ‘But I knew you’d never agree if I told you it was over three hundred miles from London.’

Her fingers slipped over the sleeve of his sweater, seeking the point where the fine black wool gave way to lean, darkly tanned flesh. The tips of her fingers feathered over the dark hairs that escaped the cuff of his sweater, but he didn’t respond to the intimacy of her touch. Three hundred miles, he was thinking. That meant they had at least a couple of hours to go. It also meant they would have to stop somewhere for Cassandra to toy with a salad and sip a skinny latte. Although she rarely ate a proper meal, she insisted on drinking numerous cups of coffee every chance she got.

‘You do forgive me, don’t you, darling?’ She had nestled closer now and, in spite of the obstacle the centre console presented, she laid her head on his shoulder. ‘So—can we stop soon? I’m dying for the loo.’

Faced with that request, Jake knew he didn’t have any option, and although he didn’t say anything he indicated left and pulled off the motorway into the service area she’d pointed out. It was busy. Even in November, people were always going somewhere, and Jake had to park at the far side of the ground. He just hoped the car would still be there when they came back.

‘This is fun, isn’t it?’ Cassandra said, after they had served themselves and occupied a table for two by the window. As usual, she’d helped herself to a salad, carefully avoiding all the mayonnaise-covered options and sticking to lettuce, tomato and peppers. She sipped at the bottled water she’d had to choose when no skinny latte was available. ‘It gives us a bit more time on our own.’

‘We could have spent time alone if we’d stayed in town,’ Jake reminded her flatly. He parted the two slices of his sandwich to discover the almost transparent piece of ham covering the bread. When would the British learn that a ham sandwich needed a proper filling? he wondered gloomily, as a wave of nostalgia for his homeland swept over him. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the Caribbean right now.

‘I know,’ Cassandra said, reaching across the table to cover his hand with hers. Long scarlet nails dug into the skin of his wrist. ‘But we’ll have some fun, I promise.’

Jake doubted that. From what Cassandra had told him, her mother was already well into her seventies. Cassandra had been a late baby, she’d explained, and her brother, her only sibling, was at least fifteen years older than she was.

Jake wasn’t absolutely sure how old Cassandra was. In her late thirties, he imagined, which made her half a dozen years older than he was, though that had never been a problem. Besides, in television or theatre age was always a moot point. Actresses were as old as they appeared, and some of them got ingénue roles well into their forties.

‘So, tell me about Watersmeet,’ he said, trying to be positive. ‘Who lives there besides your mother? You said it’s quite a large property. I imagine she has people who work for her, doesn’t she?’

‘Oh…’ Cassandra drew her full lips together. ‘Well, there’s Mrs Blackwood. She’s Mummy’s housekeeper. And old Bill Trivett. He looks after the garden and grounds. We used to have several stable hands when Mummy bred horses, but now all the animals have been sold, so I imagine they’re not needed any more.’

Jake frowned. ‘Don’t you know?’

Cassandra’s pale, delicate features took on a little colour. ‘It—it has been some time since I’ve been home,’ she said defensively. Then, seeing his expression, she hurried on, ‘I have been busy, darling. And, as you’re finding out, Northumberland is not the easiest place to get to.’

‘There are planes,’ Jake commented, taking a bite out of his sandwich, relieved to find that at least the bread was fresh.

‘Air fares are expensive,’ insisted Cassandra, not altogether truthfully. ‘And I wouldn’t like to scrounge from my mother.’

‘If you say so.’

Jake wasn’t prepared to argue with her, particularly about something that wasn’t his problem. If she chose to neglect her mother, that was her affair.

‘Doesn’t Mrs Wilkes have a companion?’ he asked now, his mind running on the old lady’s apparent isolation, and once again he saw the colour come and go in Cassandra’s face.

‘Well, there’s Eve,’ she said reluctantly, without elaborating. ‘And my mother’s surname is Robertson, not Wilkes.’

‘Really?’

Jake regarded her enquiringly, and with evident unwillingness she was obliged to explain. ‘I changed my name when I moved to London,’ she said tersely. ‘Lots of actors do the same.’

‘Mmm.’ Jake accepted this. But then, because he was intrigued by her apparent reticence, he added, ‘And what about Eve? Is she some elderly contemporary of your mother’s?’ Faint amusement touched the corners of his thin mouth. ‘Doesn’t she approve of you, or what?’

‘Heavens, no!’ Cassandra spoke irritably now, and he wondered what he’d said to arouse this reaction. ‘Eve is—a distant relative, that’s all. Mummy brought her to live with her—oh, perhaps ten years ago.’

‘As a companion?’

‘Partly.’ Cassandra huffed. ‘She actually works as an infant teacher at the village school.’

Jake made no response to this, but he absorbed both what she’d told him and what she hadn’t. It seemed from his observations that Cassandra resented this woman’s presence in her home. Perhaps she was jealous of the relationship she had with Cassandra’s mother. Possibly the woman was younger, too, though that was less certain. Whatever, Jake would welcome her existence. At least there would be someone else to dilute the ambivalence of his own situation.

They reached the village of Falconbridge in the late afternoon. The traffic on the Newcastle by-pass had been horrendous, due to an accident between a car and a wagon. Luckily it appeared that no one had been hurt, but it had reduced the carriageway to one lane in their direction.

The last few miles of the journey had been through the rolling countryside of Redesdale, with the Cheviot Hills in the distance turning a dusky purple in the fading light. Despite his misgivings about the trip, Jake had to admit the place had a certain mystery about it, and he could quite believe Roman legions still stalked these hills after dark.

A latent interest in his surroundings was sparked, and he felt a twinge of impatience when Cassandra shivered and hugged herself as if she was cold. ‘This place,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want to stay here. Give me bright lights and civilised living every time.’

‘I think it’s beautiful,’ said Jake, slowing to negotiate one of the blind summits that were a frequent hazard of the road. ‘I know a lot of people who live in London who would love to leave the rat race and come here. Only not everyone has the luxury of such an escape.’

Cassandra cast him a disbelieving look. ‘You’re not trying to tell me that you’d prefer to live here instead of San Felipe?’

‘No.’ Jake was honest. Much as he liked to travel, there was nowhere quite as appealing as his island home. ‘But I was talking about London,’ he reminded her. ‘You have to admit, there are too many people in too small a space.’

‘Well, I like it.’ Cassandra wasn’t persuaded. ‘When you work in the media, as I do, you need to be at the heart of things.’

‘Yeah.’

Jake conceded the point, but in the six months since he’d known her Cassandra had only had one acting role that he knew of. And then it had only been an advertisement for some new face cream, though she’d told him that advertising work certainly helped to pay the bills.

They approached the village over an old stone structure spanning a rushing stream. The original Falcon Bridge, he concluded, glad they hadn’t encountered another vehicle on its narrow pass. Beyond, a row of grey stone cottages edged the village street, lights glinting from windows, smoke curling from chimneys into the crisp evening air.

‘My mother’s house is on the outskirts of the village,’ Cassandra said, realising she would have to give him directions. ‘Just follow the road through and you’ll see it. It’s set back, behind some trees.’

‘Set back’ was something of an understatement, Jake found. Turning between stone gateposts, they drove over a quarter of a mile before reaching the house itself. Banks of glossy rhododendrons reared at one side of the drive, while tall poplars, bare and skeletal in the half-light, lined the other.

Watersmeet looked solid and substantial. Like the cottages in the village, it was built of stone, with three floors and gables at every corner. There were tall windows on the ground floor, flanking a centre doorway, uncurtained at present and spilling golden light onto the gravelled forecourt.

‘Well, we’re here,’ said Cassandra unnecessarily, making no attempt to get out of the car. She gathered the sides of her fake fur jacket, wrapping it closely about her. ‘I wonder if they know we’re here?’

‘There’s one way to find out,’ remarked Jake, pushing open his door and swinging his long legs over the sill. He instantly felt the cold, and reached into the back to rescue his leather jacket. Then, pushing his arms into the sleeves, he got to his feet.

The front door opened as he buttoned the jacket, and a woman appeared, silhouetted by the glowing light from the hall behind her. She was tall and slim, that much he could see, with what appeared to be a rope of dark hair hanging over one shoulder.

Obviously not Cassandra’s mother, he realised, even as he heard Cassandra utter an impatient oath. The distant relative? he wondered. Surely she wasn’t old enough to be the housekeeper Cassandra had mentioned?

The protesting sound as the car door was thrust back on its hinges distracted him. Turning his head, he saw Cassandra pulling herself to her feet and, unlike the other woman’s, her face was clearly visible.

‘Eve,’ she said, unknowingly answering his question, her thin smile and tightly controlled features an indication that he hadn’t been mistaken about her hostility towards this woman. ‘Where’s my mother? I thought she’d have come to meet us.’

The girl—for he could see now that she was little more—came down the three shallow steps towards them. And as she moved into the light cast by the uncurtained windows Jake saw her pale olive-skinned features were much like his own. He guessed her eyes would be dark, too, though he couldn’t see them. She barely looked at him, however, her whole attention focussed on Cassandra, but he saw she had a warm, exotic kind of beauty, and he wondered why she was content to apparently spend her days looking after an old woman, distant relative or not.

Her mouth compressed for a moment before she spoke. Was it his imagination or was she as unenthusiastic to see Cassandra as she was to see her? ‘I’m afraid Ellie’s in bed,’ she said, without offering a greeting. ‘She had a fall yesterday evening and Dr McGuire thinks she might have broken one of the bones in her ankle.’

‘Might have?’ Cassandra fastened onto the words. ‘Why is there any doubt about it? Shouldn’t she have had her ankle X-rayed or something?’

‘She should,’ agreed Eve, and Jake noticed that she didn’t let Cassandra’s agitation get to her. ‘But she wanted to be here when you arrived, and if she’d had to go to the hospital in Newcastle…’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve arranged for an ambulance to take her in tomorrow—’

‘An ambulance!’ Cassandra snorted. ‘Why couldn’t you take her?’

Eve’s face was a cool mask. ‘I have a job to do,’ she replied flatly. And now she looked at Jake fully for the first time. ‘Would you—both—like to come in?’

CHAPTER TWO

AN HOUR later, Eve was able to escape to her room to change for supper.

She’d spent the time between the guests’ arrival and now escorting Cassie to see her mother, showing Jacob Romero to his room—Ellie had been adamant that Cassie shouldn’t sleep with her lover under her roof—and arranging with Mrs Blackwood for refreshments to be provided in the library.

Eve, herself, had done her best to keep out of Cassie’s way after she’d delivered her to her mother. Out of Jacob Romero’s way, too, with his deepset eyes and dark, attractive features. She didn’t know what she’d expected Cassie’s escort to be like. She only knew she couldn’t call him her boyfriend. There was nothing remotely boyish about Jacob Romero, and from the moment she’d seen him standing beside his car in the courtyard she’d felt a curious sense of foreboding that she couldn’t quite place.

She supposed she’d been expecting someone older. Cassie was forty-six, after all. But Romero was obviously much younger. Tall—he was easily six feet and more—with a well-muscled chest and a flat stomach tapering to narrow hips, he looked strong and virile. An impression increased by his hair, which was cut very close to his head.

He looked—dangerous, she thought. Dangerously attractive, at least. And sexy—a description that in his case wasn’t exaggerated. It was easy to understand what Cassie saw in him. What troubled Eve most was that she could see it, too.

She pulled a face at her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table. Then, shedding her shirt and jeans onto the floor, she went to take her shower. She was being fanciful, she thought. Ten years ago, feeling a man’s eyes upon her wouldn’t have bothered her so much. But she’d been harder then, wary and streetwise. In the years since she’d come to live with her grandmother she’d become softer. She’d let down the guard she’d had since she was old enough to understand.

Drying her hair later, she mentally ran through the contents of her wardrobe. Nothing very exciting there, she acknowledged. Skirts and blouses or sweaters for school; jeans and sweaters for home. For the rare occasions when she went out her grandmother had bought her a little black velvet dress, with long sleeves, a scoop neckline, and a skirt that skimmed her kneecaps. But this was not that kind of occasion, and she had no intention of attracting Cassie’s curiosity by wearing something totally unsuitable for the evening meal.

She was tempted to leave her hair loose, something she often did in the evenings after she’d washed it. But once again she decided against drawing attention to herself. She plaited the glossy black strands into the usual single braid, securing it with a narrow band of elasticated ribbon.

After far too much deliberation, she put on a V-necked top made of elasticised cotton. Bands of ivory ribbon hid the shaping both around her arms and above and below her breasts, contrasting with the rest of the garment, whose jade-green colour complemented her pale skin.

She almost took it off again when she saw how well it suited her. She’d bought the top on one of her infrequent trips to Newcastle, and had pushed it away in a drawer because she’d thought it was unsuitable for school. Now, looking at it again, she saw she’d been right. It was more in keeping with the teenage girl her grandmother had found subsisting in a draughty squat.

But it was too late to be having second thoughts now. Besides, she doubted she’d be eating with her grandmother’s guests. She had no intention of leaving the old lady to eat alone, or of playing gooseberry to Cassie’s tête-à-tête.

Zipping on a pair of black cords, she paused only long enough to stroke her lids with a dark brown shadow and run a peachy gloss over her mouth. Then, slipping her feet into heelless mules, she left her room before she could change her mind.

Watersmeet was a fairly large house, but over the years Eve had got used to it, and now she hardly noticed its high-ceilinged rooms and wide corridors. Some years before she’d come to live here central heating had been installed, but the boiler struggled to keep the place at an ambient temperature. Consequently, at this time of year, fires were lit in all the downstairs rooms that were used.

Eve went first to the kitchen, to see how Mrs Blackwood was coping. The elderly housekeeper wasn’t used to having guests, but very little fazed her. At present, she was rolling curls of homemade cream cheese in slices of ham, and an avocado dressing waited to be served in tiny ramekins to accompany each plate.

‘Her Ladyship won’t eat any of the dressing,’ Mrs Blackwood explained, when Eve commented on the arrangement. The woman meant Cassie, she knew. Her grandmother didn’t watch the calories these days. ‘Just hope she approves of the sea bass,’ she continued. ‘I asked Mr Goddard to deliver it specially. I know how fussy she is about eating meat.’

Eve smiled. ‘I’m sure it will be a delicious meal,’ she said warmly. ‘What have we got for dessert?’

‘Bread and butter pudding and ice cream,’ said Mrs Blackwood at once. ‘I know it’s fattening, but it is Mrs Robertson’s favourite. I thought she deserved something really nice, after having that fall and all.’

‘Mmm.’ Eve nodded appreciatively. Mrs Blackwood’s bread and butter pudding, which she made with brioche and peaches, was famous in the village. She usually contributed individual puddings whenever the church had a coffee morning, and it always sold out at summer bakes and Christmas fairs.

‘You think your grandmother will approve, then?’

‘I think she’ll be delighted,’ Eve assured her. ‘Which reminds me, I’d better go and see how she is. I hope nothing’s been said to upset her.’

‘I shouldn’t worry.’ Mrs Blackwood looked up from her task as she made for the door. ‘Your grandmother’s a tough old bird, Eve. She’s had to be, if you get my meaning. I’m not saying she doesn’t love her daughter. Of course she does. But she’s known her too long to be upset by anything Cassie says.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

Eve let herself out of the door and headed for the stairs. The large entrance hall of the building struck her as chilly, after the cosy warmth of the kitchen, and she wondered if she ought to fetch a sweater while she was upstairs. But then, as she put her foot on the bottom stair, she realised someone was coming down. Looking up, she saw Jacob Romero descending towards her, and that thought went out of her head.

He’d changed his clothes, too, she noticed, though she quickly dropped her gaze and stood back to let him pass before starting up. Evidently Cassie had warned him that they didn’t dress formally for supper, but his fine wool camel-coloured sweater and black moleskin pants would have looked good in any company.

She supposed it was because they were expensive. Everything about him breathed money, which was par for the course as far as Cassie was concerned. Not that his dark good looks wouldn’t have played a part. Eve had seen from the way the other woman looked at him that she very much coveted his body as well.

She’d expected him to perhaps offer a smile and go on, but he didn’t. Instead, he stopped beside her, and she was instantly aware of his height. A tall girl herself she found she was usually on eye-level terms with the men she met, but Jacob Romero was several inches above her.

He was also much closer than she could have wished, and she had to steel herself not to step back from him. Was there a trace of cruel humour in the dark eyes? Was he as aware as she was of the effect he had upon her?

‘I just wanted to thank you for having me here,’ he said, the faint trace of some accent evident in his husky voice. Was he an American? If so, the intonation was very soft. Whatever, it only added to the sensual appeal of the man, and Eve couldn’t prevent a shiver of apprehension from sliding down her spine.

‘It’s not my house,’ she said quickly, aware that her tone had been much sharper than his. But, dammit, he disconcerted her, and she was pretty sure he knew it.

‘You live here,’ he murmured simply. ‘Cassandra says you teach in the village. Is that an interesting occupation?’

‘It’s a job,’ Eve responded, putting a hand firmly on the banister, making it fairly clear that as far as she was concerned the conversation was over.

He didn’t take the hint. ‘So—do you like living here?’ he asked. ‘It seems very—remote.’

‘Far from civilisation, you mean?’ she countered, aware that she was being unnecessarily blunt, but unable to help herself. He probably thought she was graceless as well as ignorant, she reflected. It wasn’t his fault that Cassie was such a bitch.

‘I meant it can’t be easy having only an elderly lady as a companion,’ he amended drily. Then, with a glint of humour tugging at his thin mouth, he added, ‘Who am I kidding? You obviously don’t want us here.’

‘I never said that.’ Eve was appalled that she’d betrayed her feelings so candidly. ‘Naturally, Cassie’s always welcome. This is her home.’

‘Yeah, right.’ He grinned at her discomfort, white teeth contrasting sharply with the dark tan of his skin. ‘But it’s not my home. I know.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Eve had been staring at him, but now she dropped her gaze. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me,’ she said, concentrating her gaze some way below the shadow of beard already showing on his jawline. But the tight-fitting pants were just as disturbing to her present frame of mind, the velvet-soft fabric clinging lovingly to every line and angle of the bulge between his legs.

Dear God!

‘I’m trying not to,’ he said then, and his husky drawl scraped like raw silk across her sensitised flesh. He was much too close, much too male, and it was an effort to remember where she’d been going before this encounter.

‘I—I have to go,’ she declared hurriedly, attempting to move past him. ‘Um—Mrs Robertson will be wondering where I am.’

‘The old lady?’ As her breasts came up against the arm he’d put out to stop her, she recoiled in panic. But all he said was, ‘She’s not in her room. Cassandra said she insisted on coming downstairs to eat with us.’

Eve gathered her wits about her. The knowledge that Cassie had persuaded her mother to leave her bed, when she really needed her rest, just to join her and her paramour for supper was bad enough. But what had just happened had added a tension she really didn’t need.

Yet what had happened? she chided herself. It had obviously meant less than nothing to him. And was she so afraid of male attention that having her boobs accidentally crushed against his arm turned into a major event?

Once, she wouldn’t have considered it. Once, she would have fought off any attempt to get close to her, and any man who’d tried would have been nursing an aching groin for his trouble.

She was getting soft, she thought, aware that he was watching her with a strangely speculative look on his dark face. But, dammit, her nipples were still taut and tingling, and the unexpected contact with his body had caused a disturbing explosion of heat inside her.

Shaking her head, as if the simple action would clear her confusion, she said stiffly, ‘Where is she? My—Mrs Robertson, I mean.’

‘Your Mrs Robertson is in the library,’ Jacob Romero told her consideringly, and she guessed her slip of the tongue had not gone unnoticed. His brows drew together above his straight, almost aquiline nose. ‘Are you all right?’

Eve did step back then. This had gone far enough. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she exclaimed, managing to sound surprised at the question. She smoothed her palms, which were unusually damp, down the seams of her cords. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if she needs anything.’

If she’d thought to escape him, she was disappointed. He accompanied her across the circular Persian carpet that occupied a prominent position in the centre of the floor. Double doors opposite opened into the library, which had been her grandfather’s study while he was alive, but now served as both estate office and sitting room.

It was a cosy room, the books lining the walls scenting the air with the smell of old leather. A fire was burning in the large grate and Eve’s grandmother was seated in her armchair beside it. A footstool supported her injured ankle, and although Eve thought she looked tired, she was defiantly holding a glass of red wine in her hand.

Cassie was there, too, occupying the chair opposite. In thin silk trousers and a matching sapphire-blue tunic, she looked blonde and elegant. Someone had dragged her grandfather’s old captain’s chair over from behind the desk in the corner, and it was pulled strategically close to Cassie’s; obviously with Jacob Romero in mind, thought Eve cynically. Which meant she was obliged to sit on the ladder-backed dining chair that Mr Trivett used when he came to discuss estate matters.

‘Help yourself to some wine, my dear,’ Ellie suggested when Eve made to sit down, but Jacob Romero intervened. ‘I’ll get it for you,’ he said, indicating the chair beside Cassie. ‘And sit here. My bones are more liberally covered than yours.’

Eve doubted that. There wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his body. And although she wanted to demur, it would have seemed uncharitable to do so. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and ignoring the irritation she could feel emanating from the woman beside her, she turned to Ellie. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m feeling much better this evening,’ Ellie declared, despite the fact that her usually ruddy cheeks were pale. ‘Don’t look so disapproving, Eve. I didn’t struggle down the stairs on my own. Mr Romero carried me.’

Eve only just stopped herself from giving him an admiring look. Her grandmother was no lightweight, and he had to be fit if he’d carried the old lady down from her room.

‘Um—that was good of—of you,’ she murmured lamely, accepting the glass of wine he’d brought her, but she was aware that Cassie was now preening herself in his reflected glory.

‘Jake’s immensely strong,’ she said, her smile towards him warm and intimate. Her tongue circled her upper lip in a deliberately sensual gesture as he seated himself beside Ellie. ‘I suppose it’s because he gets plenty of exercise.’

The double entendre was unmistakable, but the object of her insinuation didn’t respond in kind. ‘My family owns a charter company in San Felipe,’ he offered smoothly, leaning forward, his arms along his thighs. His thumbs circled the glass he’d brought for himself. ‘I’ve been hauling masts and rigging sails since I was a kid, so lifting a lightweight like you, Mrs Robertson, was no problem.’

Ellie looked pleased. ‘San Felipe?’ she murmured, echoing the name as Eve absorbed the fact that he wasn’t an American after all. ‘Is that in Spain?’

‘It’s an island in the Caribbean, ma’am,’ he said, and Eve had an immediate image of white sands, blue seas and palm trees. No wonder he was so darkly tanned. She guessed he must be brown all over.

Now, where had that come from?

‘Jake’s family own the island, Mummy,’ Cassie put in smugly. ‘His father’s retired, of course, and Jake runs the company himself.’

‘How nice.’ Eve was pleased to see her grandmother wasn’t overawed by this intimation of unlimited wealth. ‘So what are you doing in England, Mr Romero? I’d have thought this was the time of year when most people visit the Caribbean.’

‘It is, of course.’ He sounded regretful. ‘However, I’m obliged to spend at least part of the year in Europe.’

‘Jake has business interests all over the world.’ Cassie was evidently determined to impress her mother. ‘We met last year at the Paris Boat Show—didn’t we, darling?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought sailing boats would interest you, Cassie,’ remarked Ellie drily. ‘You were always seasick whenever your father and I took you out on the water.’

‘That was years ago—’ began Cassie snappishly, but before she could say any more Romero explained.

‘Cassandra was one of the hostesses at the show,’ he said, smiling at her hostile expression. ‘She was very good at it, too.’

‘It was just a fill-in between parts,’ protested Cassie resentfully. ‘I don’t usually do that sort of thing.’

‘Don’t you?’ Her mother seemed to perceive that she suddenly had the upper hand. ‘Remind me, Cassie: what was the last part you played?’

Eve now found herself in the unlikely position of feeling sorry for her and, with unexpected compassion she said, ‘You had a role in the remake of Pride and Prejudice, didn’t you, Cassie? I think you played one of the Bennett sisters.’

‘You know I didn’t play one of the Bennett sisters,’ hissed Cassie, giving Eve a filthy look, but her mother only smiled.

‘Mrs Bennett, perhaps?’ she suggested, enjoying the moment. ‘You’d be unlikely to be cast as an ingénue, if that’s the term they use these days.’

‘So, did you and Mr Romero spend much time in Paris, Cassie?’ Eve asked quickly, realising her grandmother wasn’t about to back off, and this time Cassie seemed grateful for her intervention.

‘Just a few days,’ she said. ‘But Jake promised to look me up the next time he was in London,’ she added, giving him a forgiving look. ‘And that was six months ago, wasn’t it, darling?’

‘Something like that.’ Eve noticed that Romero didn’t respond to Cassie’s frequent endearments. But she was taken aback when he turned to her. ‘And my name’s Jake. Or Jacob, if you prefer.’

‘Yes.’ Aware that all eyes were on her now, Eve was forced to be polite. ‘Yes, right.’ Then, dragging her gaze away from his disturbing face, she managed to smile at her grandmother. ‘Um—I’ll go and see how Mrs Blackwood is getting on. Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Yes, you can get me another drink,’ said Cassie at once, holding out her glass as Eve got to her feet. ‘I’ll have whisky, if there is any.’ She glanced at her mother. ‘Your choice of wine isn’t to my taste.’

‘Nor are your manners to mine, Cassie,’ retorted Ellie, and Eve wished now that she hadn’t offered to go and see how the housekeeper was coping. There was an ominous atmosphere building in the room, and she dreaded what her grandmother might say next.

‘I’m not a child, Mother.’ Everyone must have noticed that the honeyed ‘Mummy’ had given way to the chillier term. ‘And I don’t like red wine, as it happens. But you knew that.’

‘I’d forgotten,’ declared her mother blandly. ‘Your visits here are so infrequent, Cassie. I can’t be expected to remember everything.’

Cassie’s lips tightened, and Eve guessed she was biting her tongue. She must know better than anyone that it would be unwise to antagonise her mother when there was a guest in the house. Particularly when that guest was someone she wanted to impress.

In the hope of avoiding any further argument, Eve set Cassie’s empty glass on the tray. Then, keeping her back to the room, she managed to sneak the whisky bottle off the tray and into the cupboard below. Swinging round on her heels, she said, somewhat breathlessly, ‘I’m sorry. There doesn’t appear to be any whisky here, Cassie. I expect there’s a new bottle in the kitchen. Why don’t you come and get it?’

The face Cassie turned to her was hardly friendly. Eve was sure the words, Why don’t you get it? were hovering on her lips. But politeness—or common sense—won out, and with a muttered, ‘Excuse me,’ to Romero, she pushed herself to her feet and flounced across the room to join Eve at the door.

She waited until the door was firmly closed behind them and they’d put the width of the hall between them and the library before speaking again. But when she did, her words were hard and accusatory.

‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ she demanded. ‘I saw the bottle of whisky on the tray when Mrs Blackwood was pouring us all a glass of the poor excuse for claret my mother insists on serving. Don’t think I didn’t see you spirit it away into the cabinet. I’d be surprised if anybody missed it.’

Eve’s lips twisted. ‘I should have known that nothing I did would please you,’ she said flatly. ‘And here I was thinking I was saving your sorry ass!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you for real?’ Eve stared at her. ‘Don’t you realise your mother is just waiting for a chance to explode this myth you’ve created about yourself? You’re a fool if you think she’s forgotten—anything.’

‘With your connivance, no doubt.’

Eve shrugged. ‘If you want to think that, I can’t stop you.’

‘Well, what else am I supposed to think?’ Cassie balled one fist and pressed it into the palm of her other hand. Then, less aggressively, she said, ‘She wouldn’t say anything.’ A beat. ‘Would she?’

‘If you persist in baiting her, I don’t know what she might say,’ replied Eve honestly.

‘But she’s baiting me!’ Cassie made a sound of frustration. ‘Am I expected to take whatever she wants to give without defending myself at all?’

Eve moved towards the passage leading to the kitchen. ‘I can’t answer that. I suppose it rather depends on how much you want your—guest—to know about you.’

Cassie’s mouth tightened. ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘No!’ The look Eve cast over her shoulder was incredulous. ‘Why should I threaten you? I don’t care what you do, do I? How you conduct your life means nothing to me.’

Cassie scoffed. ‘Little Miss Prim,’ she said contemptuously. ‘I wonder if my mother has any idea of the kind of life you were living before she arrived like a fairy godmother to whisk you away.’

‘She knows,’ said Eve, and without waiting to see if Cassie was going to follow her she pushed open the door into the reassuring light and warmth of the kitchen.

‘Does she?’ Cassie came after her, evidently deciding that if she couldn’t torment her mother, she would torment Eve instead. ‘Well, don’t talk to me as if you’re Goody Two Shoes! We both know you’d do anything to get a man like Jake to support you.’

Eve gasped. She was used to Cassie speaking as if Mrs Blackwood was just a cipher, but this time she’d gone too far. ‘You’re wrong,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve never prostituted myself to get any man, Cassie. And unless you’re prepared for me to expose all your dirty washing, I suggest you back off!’

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS still dark—and cold—when Jake got out of bed. The heating hadn’t kicked in yet, and he padded across to the windows to look out on a grey world, with only the silvery trace of a rime frost to soften the outline of the trees in the paddock.

He’d slept alone, much to Cassandra’s annoyance. He knew one of the reasons she’d invited him here was because she wanted their relationship to advance to another stage. But he wasn’t interested in that, and the fact that her mother had arranged for them to have separate bedrooms showed that she didn’t approve of them conducting any illicit dealings under her roof.

She’d even phoned him on his mobile, evidently deciding it was too cold to brave the chilly corridors of the house when she couldn’t be sure how he’d respond. Cassandra didn’t like taking no for an answer.

A flicker of light in the yard below caught his attention. His room overlooked the back of the house, and as he watched he saw a figure detach itself from the building and head off towards the cluster of barns and outbuildings that were just visible in the gloom.

Eve.

Her tall, slim figure was unmistakable. Dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater, the thick braid of dark hair swinging over her shoulder, she moved with an unconscious grace that stirred an unwilling awareness inside him. Which was crazy. She wasn’t beautiful in the way Cassandra was beautiful. Her features were too irregular, her mouth too wide, her nose too long. Yet she possessed an almost exotic allure that pointed to a Latin ancestry, and there was a wealth of knowledge in her smoky grey eyes. He’d found himself wanting to bring a smile to those full, sultry lips, to feel her warmth enveloping him instead of that argumentative old woman she worked for.

He hadn’t succeeded. Not yet, at least. For some reason she’d taken an instant dislike to him, and try as he might he couldn’t get her to relax. She’d been forced to be polite to him during the rather tense supper Cassandra and her mother had created, but he’d been conscious of her disapproval all through the meal.

He pulled a wry face. He would have to do better, he thought, without really understanding why he should want to. Nevertheless, he turned swiftly from the window and went into the adjoining bathroom. Leaving his shower until later, he had a quick wash, cleaned his teeth, and ran his damp hands over his hair. That would have to do for now, he decided, and with a grimace at his reflection he returned to the bedroom.

Pulling on his oldest pair of jeans, he shivered a little as the cold fabric encased his warm skin. Then, grabbing the cashmere sweater he’d worn the night before, he thrust his arms into the sleeves and jerked it over his head.

He left his room a couple of minutes later. He’d hooked his leather jacket over one shoulder, and his trainers made little sound as he strode along the upper landing. Downstairs, he hesitated in the chilly hallway, not absolutely sure which way to go. But then he remembered the direction Eve had been coming from the night before and, taking a chance, he headed along the corridor that he hoped might lead to the back of the house.

He was right. Or at least partly so. When he opened the door at the end of the corridor, he found himself in the kitchen. The housekeeper, who had just been about to take a tray of freshly baked rolls from the oven, looked round in surprise, and Jake guessed he was the last person she’d expected to see.

‘Mr Romero!’ she exclaimed, pausing uncertainly. But then, realising she had to complete her task, she hurriedly set the tray of rolls on the scrubbed pine table and closed the oven door. ‘Can I help you?’

Jake gave her a rueful grin. He hadn’t expected to encounter anyone else either. ‘I—er—I was going to take a walk,’ he said a little lamely. ‘I wanted to get out back of the house.’

‘Ah.’ Mrs Blackwood pushed the rolls a little further onto the table. ‘Well, you can come through here, Mr Romero.’ She gestured towards another door. ‘That leads to the bootroom. You’ll see another door through there that leads outside.’ She paused. ‘But are you sure you want to go out so early? It’s very cold.’

Jake could believe it. He was glad he’d brought his jacket with him. ‘I’ll be okay,’ he assured her. He nodded at the rolls. ‘New bread! I can’t wait for breakfast.’

‘You can take one with you, if you like,’ offered Mrs Blackwood shyly, and, although Jake was impatient to get going, he couldn’t refuse her.

‘Great,’ he said, selecting one with a golden crust. Then, after taking a bite, almost burning his mouth in the process, he grinned again and made for the door.

Outside, he discovered that she hadn’t been joking. It wasn’t just cold, it was freezing, and ramming the rapidly cooling roll between his teeth, he swiftly shouldered into his jacket. Then, after fastening the buttons, he removed the roll again and set off in the direction he’d seen Eve heading.

It didn’t take long to reach the stable yard. Low buildings occupied two sides of a cobbled courtyard, with the black bulk of a barn dominating the other. And it was from the barn that he could see light emanating. It filtered out, a golden finger penetrating the half open door. If he’d been further way he wouldn’t have seen it, the light swiftly swallowed by the lowering shadows.

He doubted she’d be pleased to see him, but he crossed the yard anyway, still munching on the crusty roll as he rounded the door.

Eve was in the process of forking clean straw onto a handcart. She’d pushed the sleeves of her chunky sweater up to her elbows, and as she bent towards the bales stored against the wall of the barn the back of her jeans exposed a delectable wedge of skin at her waist. But she didn’t seem to feel the cold. Obviously what she was doing was keeping her warm, but he couldn’t help wincing when she jabbed the fork particularly viciously into the stack.

‘Ouch,’ he said softly, and had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing her reaction. He’d startled her, there was no doubt about that, and a becoming wave of colour invaded her pale cheeks.

She straightened automatically. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, and once again he could hear the barely suppressed impatience in her voice.

‘I thought I’d take a look around,’ he replied easily, finishing the roll and dusting the crumbs from his hands. ‘What are you doing? I thought Cassandra said her mother had sold all the horses.’

‘All but one,’ said Eve shortly. And then, because she resented his impression that he could ask her anything he liked and she’d meekly answer him, she countered, ‘Where’s Cassie?’

Jake shrugged, propping his shoulder against the wall of the barn and putting most of his weight on one leg. ‘In bed, I guess,’ he responded, unbuttoning his jacket and warming his fingertips beneath his arms.

Eve’s fingers tightened round the shaft of the fork. She couldn’t help noticing that by opening his jacket he’d exposed the fact that his tight-fitting jeans were worn in all the most intimate places. The fabric clung lovingly to his shape, soft and textured, and she wondered why a man who apparently had an unlimited income would want to wear something so old.

She’d hardly been aware of how she was appraising him until her eyes returned to his face and encountered his. He’d been watching her, and in an effort to show that he hadn’t fazed her she muttered, ‘Don’t you know?’

Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t I know what?’ he queried innocently, and her momentary spurt of defiance faltered.

‘Don’t you know where—where Cassie is?’ she said, lifting her shoulders in a dismissive gesture. ‘I’d have thought you would.’

‘What you mean is, you thought we’d be sleeping together, right?’ he suggested mildly, evidently enjoying her confusion. ‘Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I slept alone.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Very well, as it happens.’ Which wasn’t entirely true.

‘Oh.’ Eve swallowed. ‘Well—good.’ She turned back to her task and attacked the straw with renewed vigour. ‘I have to get on.’

He straightened. ‘Let me help you.’

Eve’s lips parted and she stared at him with disbelieving eyes. ‘I—don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you—’ She moistened her lips before continuing awkwardly, ‘This is a dirty job.’

‘So?’

‘So—I’m sure you don’t want to get all hot and sweaty.’

‘I get hot and sweaty all the time,’ he told her drily. And then, because he could see what she was thinking, he added, ‘I meant working on boats, of course.’

‘I know that.’ Eve’s face felt as if it would never be cool again.

‘Okay.’ His grin said he didn’t believe her. ‘I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.’

Eve pursed her lips. ‘I think that’s exactly what you did want me to do,’ she muttered, barely audibly. She sighed. ‘Look, why don’t you go for a walk and let me finish this?’

‘Because I want to see this horse you’re doing all this work for,’ replied Jake, taking off his jacket and flinging it over a rusting oil drum. He came towards her and took the fork from her unresisting fingers. ‘See, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

Eve took a deep breath and stepped somewhat reluctantly aside. ‘Cassie’s not going to like it,’ she warned, and Jake turned to give her a knowing look.

‘Do you care?’ he said, beginning to fork straw onto the cart with surprising energy. ‘You know, I’m gonna enjoy this. I’ve been sitting on my butt for far too long.’

Eve thought about voicing another protest, but then what he’d said distracted her. ‘I thought you were used to manual labour.’

‘I am.’ Jake loaded the fork and tossed its contents onto the growing pile on the cart. ‘But for the past six weeks I’ve been trailing around Europe checking on orders, arranging contracts, and generally pushing a pen for most of the day.’

Eve hesitated. She badly wanted to know if Cassie had been with him, though why that should be of any interest to her she couldn’t say.

‘Don’t you have an assistant who could handle the grunt work for you?’ she asked, and Jake straightened, flexing his back muscles as he gave her a narrow-eyed stare.

‘Why don’t you ask right out whether Cassandra accompanied me?’ he said, massaging his spine with a grateful hand. ‘That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Has Cassandra’s mother given you the job of finding out what my intentions are?’

‘No!’ Eve was indignant. ‘And whether or not Cassie went with you is nothing to do with me.’

‘Okay.’ His hand moved from the small of his back to rub the flat muscles of his stomach, and Eve’s breath hitched when he accidentally pulled up the front of his sweater and a cloud of night-dark hair spilled into the gap. The pull of an attraction that was as unwelcome as it was primitive swept over her, and she had turned hurriedly away when he said, ‘Well, for your information, then, Cassandra stayed in London.’

‘Whatever.’ Eve didn’t look back. Squaring her shoulders, she said, ‘In any case, that’s enough straw. If you want to see Storm, it’s this way.’

She slipped out of the door and Jake pulled on his jacket, feeling vaguely irritated that she was treating him so offhandedly. What had he said—or done, come to that—to warrant the cold shoulder she was presently giving him? No, scrub that, he amended shortly. She’d been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he’d got here, and he didn’t like it.

Deciding that if she wanted the handcart, she could fetch it herself, he buttoned his jacket and followed her outside. The skies were lighter now, but it was just as cold, and he pushed his hands into his jacket pockets as he trudged across the cobbled yard in her wake.

The stables were amazingly warm. Considering only one animal was in residence, he’d expected it to be only marginally less frigid than the barn, but it wasn’t. Unless the company had something to do with it, he thought caustically. Obviously Eve preferred the horse to him.

Storm was stabled at the end of the row. He’d evidently heard them coming and was neighing a welcome as they reached his stall. A solid-looking chestnut, the animal had a distinctive flash of white between his eyes. Intelligent eyes, too, Jake noticed, as it nuzzled Eve’s pockets for sugar or some other treat.

Eve pulled out a small apple and let Storm take it from her hand. He crunched away happily, showing surprisingly good teeth for his age. In Jake’s opinion he wasn’t a young animal, but he looked strong and well-muscled.

‘How old is he?’ Jake asked, when Eve said nothing, and she gave him a scornful look.

‘He’s a she,’ she said, unlatching the gate and attaching a halter. ‘Storm Dancer. And she’s twenty-eight. My—Mrs Robertson used to breed from her when she was younger.’

Jake stepped back to allow her to bring the horse out, and Storm took the opportunity to nip his ear. She didn’t bite him. She was amazingly gentle, actually, and he saw Eve watching her with some surprise.

‘She seems to like me, anyway,’ he said, finding a reluctant humour in the situation. ‘Sorry.’

‘I imagine females usually do,’ retorted Eve hotly, and then turned scarlet when she realised what she’d said.

‘You don’t,’ remarked Jake drily, following her and Storm Dancer along the row of empty stalls, but Eve didn’t look back.

‘I neither like nor dislike you, Mr Romero,’ she said, the words drifting back over her shoulder, but Jake could tell she wasn’t half as indifferent as she was trying to sound.

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said, as they emerged into the morning air again. He held her gaze when she darted a glance towards him. ‘That gives me some hope.’

Eve swallowed. ‘Hope—for what?’

‘That you might come to like me.’ He glanced about him, allowing her to return to her task. ‘Where are we going now?’

‘I’m going to take Storm into the paddock,’ she told him, concentrating on controlling the mare to avoid another visual confrontation. ‘I think you ought to go back to the house. Cassie will be wondering where you are.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘At ten after seven in the morning?’ He grimaced. ‘I doubt it.’

Eve tugged on the halter, causing Storm Dancer to toss her head in protest. ‘You’d know, of course.’

‘Because I’ve slept with her?’ suggested Jake flatly, and once again he saw that he’d disconcerted her.

But he also saw the way she tried to disguise it. ‘Well, you have, haven’t you?’ she demanded fiercely, and instead of feeling angry he knew an almost irresistible urge to take her face between his cold palms and kiss her.

Her mouth looked soft and vulnerable, despite her desperate bid for control, and he wondered how she would taste. He already knew what she smelled like. She probably hadn’t showered before coming to attend to the mare, and the clean scent of her woman’s body was overlaid with the faintest trace of perspiration. He found it an incredible turn-on, incredibly sexy, but it wasn’t a good feeling. Dammit, he’d come here with one woman and now he was lusting after another. What kind of an animal was he when he got a hard-on just being with Eve? What the hell was the matter with him?

The fact that he hadn’t wanted to come here was some comfort, but Cassandra would spit blood if she even suspected he was attracted to her mother’s companion. She’d been trying for more than six months to get him to commit to a relationship, and it was only because he’d had the excuse of business meetings in various parts of Europe that he’d been able to avoid any serious entanglement.

He liked her well enough. She was good company when she wasn’t continually trying to get into his pants. And he’d been glad of her company at many of the parties and social gatherings he’d been invited to while he was in London. But this…This didn’t bear thinking about, and, abandoning any idea of helping Eve to clean out the mare’s stall and spread the fresh straw, he jammed his hands deep into the back pockets of his jeans.

‘Does it matter?’ he asked dispassionately. Then, deliberately emptying his face of any expression, he added, ‘But I guess I’d better go and let her know I haven’t forgotten about her.’

As if that was likely, thought Eve painfully as he strode out of the stable yard. She had the feeling that, however he felt about her, Cassie would make sure she was not easy to forget.

She wished she hadn’t taunted him now. Although she knew she was asking for trouble, something about Jake Romero got under her skin. And, despite her determination not to let him get to her, she’d enjoyed their verbal baiting. Enjoyed being with him, she thought, tugging rather viciously at Storm’s halter again.

And how sick was that?

CHAPTER FOUR

JAKE went up to his room, showered, and changed into navy chinos and a long-sleeved purple polo shirt. He was downstairs again, having breakfast in the morning room, when Cassandra finally made her appearance.

Of Eve there was no sign, but as it was already after nine o’clock he guessed she’d probably left for work. Mrs Robertson was still in her room, of course, resting her ankle. Which was a shame, he reflected, because he would have welcomed the chance to avoid a teˆte-a`-teˆte with her daughter.

Cassandra trailed into the room, still wearing her dressing gown. A red silk kimono that she’d told him some admirer had brought her from Hong Kong, Jake doubted it was warm enough for Watersmeet in November. But he knew she liked the garment. She thought it flattered her fair colouring. And, as she didn’t appear to be wearing anything under it, Jake guessed where this was going.

‘Darling,’ she exclaimed petulantly, ‘where have you been? I came to your room earlier but you weren’t there, and I was worried. Now, here you are, scarfing down bacon and eggs as if you didn’t have a care in the world.’

‘I don’t.’ Jake had got up at her entrance, but now he subsided into his seat again. He didn’t usually eat a big breakfast, but Mrs Blackwood seemed to think he needed fattening up, and he hadn’t the heart to refuse her. ‘This is good.’

‘It’s also very bad for your arteries,’ said Cassandra irritably. ‘So—where were you?’

‘When?’

Jake was being deliberately obtuse, but Cassandra was like a dog with a bone. ‘Earlier on. When I came to your room,’ she said, running the cord of her robe through her fingers. ‘And don’t tell me you were in the shower, because I looked.’

Jake finished the last morsel of sausage and put his knife and fork aside. ‘I went out,’ he said, relieved at having avoided another confrontation about their sleeping arrangements. Then, in the hope of diverting her, ‘Why don’t you get dressed and go and see how your mother is this morning?’

‘Do I care?’ Cassandra was bitter. ‘She obviously doesn’t give a damn about me. Did you hear her making fun of me—of my acting career last night? Just because I had more sense than to be satisfied with life in this provincial backwater, she takes every opportunity to make me feel small.’

Jake shrugged. He couldn’t deny that Mrs Robertson had been provoking. But he didn’t know the family history, so it was difficult for him to have an opinion. Eve was the one he felt sorry for—caught in the middle of two women who seemed determined to rub one another up the wrong way. Yet Eve had defended Cassandra to her employer, despite the way she’d spoken about her this morning.

‘Anyway, it’s early yet.’ Clearly Cassandra had other matters on her mind. Coming round the table to where he was sitting, she loosened the kimono. It fell open, revealing that his initial suspicions had been right. ‘Why don’t we go back upstairs?’

Jake pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Then he grasped the two sides of the kimono in his hands. But, although he knew she expected him to pull her closer, he jerked the two sides together instead. ‘Go take a cold shower, Cassandra,’ he told her flatly. ‘I want to go out and see something of the countryside around here. If you want to come with me, say so. I’ll give you forty minutes to get dressed.’

He suspected she swore then, but he couldn’t be sure of it. Whatever, she wrapped the kimono about her and marched towards the door. ‘I’ll need at least an hour,’ she said, glancing back at him. ‘Do you think you can entertain yourself for that long?’

It was not a good day. Fridays usually were, but today Eve found it almost impossible to concentrate on her work. The children knew it, and consequently played her up more than usual, and she was forced to use her strictest voice to bring order to the class.

The day didn’t get any better when she was summoned to a staff meeting when lessons were over for the day. They never had staff meetings on Friday afternoons. Most of the teachers who were employed at the small primary school were eager to get home to their families at the end of the working week. But the head teacher’s face was grave when she joined them in the staff room, and Eve had the uneasy premonition that whatever they were about to hear was not going to be good.

She was right. It appeared that Mrs Portman had heard, just that afternoon, that Falconbridge was to be merged with a larger school at East Ridsdale. The local education authority had decided that their school had simply not enough pupils to warrant the expense of keeping it open, and although every effort would be made to find the teachers new posts, by the end of next term Falconbridge Primary would be closed.

There was a stunned silence after Mrs Portman had finished speaking. The women who worked at Falconbridge—and they were exclusively female—considered themselves almost family, and the idea of being split up and sent to different schools was almost as bad for them as it was going to be for the children.

‘But can they do this?’ asked Jennie Salter worriedly. Jennie was a mother herself, and her children were still young enough to come to school with her. ‘I thought I read somewhere that parents were fighting these closures.’

‘Well, they are,’ agreed Mrs Portman ruefully. ‘But I doubt if the parents whose children attend this school will be prepared to fight our education authority—particularly if it means their council tax is going to go up. There simply aren’t enough of them to make a difference.’

‘So the school closes at Easter,’ said Eve, her heart sinking at the thought of having to look for another job.

‘Officially,’ agreed Mrs Portman. ‘But naturally I don’t expect you all to wait until then to look for other posts. Besides, as soon as the news gets out parents will start looking for alternative schools. Not all of them will want their children to travel to East Ridsdale every day—not when there’s a private school in the vicinity.’

‘That’s okay if you can afford it,’ muttered Jennie gloomily, and Eve put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

‘It’s months away yet,’ she said, trying to be optimistic. ‘You never know—you may get a job at Ridsdale and then you could continue taking the children to school yourself.’

‘Fat chance!’

Jennie refused to look on the bright side, and Eve couldn’t really blame her. It was hard enough to find work in this area as it was, without a dozen other people doing the same.

In consequence, she was in a rather downhearted frame of mind when she walked home later that afternoon, and she was in no mood to respond favourably when the Aston Martin swept through the gates ahead of her. Romero was at the wheel, of course, and Cassie was sitting proudly beside him, lifting a languid hand—almost as if she was royalty and Eve was just a paid retainer.

She wasn’t jealous, Eve assured herself fiercely. She’d never had anything from Cassie in the past and she didn’t want anything now. But just occasionally she wished the woman would acknowledge her responsibilities.

The squeal of brakes brought her out of her reverie. The Aston Martin had stopped and was now reversing back towards her. Oh, God, they were going to offer her a lift, she realised sickly. And she could guess whose idea that was.

A window was lowered and Romero looked out. ‘Get in,’ he said. ‘We’ll give you a ride up to the house.’

‘That’s not necessary,’ said Eve stiffly, and Cassandra gave a protracted yawn.

‘I told you she’d say no,’ she declared in a bored tone. ‘Come on, darling. Close the window, can’t you? I’m getting cold.’

Jake’s jaw compressed. Having spent most of the day humouring Cassandra, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to her griping now. But, dammit, Eve wasn’t making it easy for him either, and he was tempted to make some excuse and hightail it back to London before he did something he would surely regret.

Eve looked cold, he thought. Her exotic features were unnaturally pale in the light of the lamps that lit the driveway, and, although she was wearing a navy duffel, the coat didn’t look substantial enough to keep her warm. He forced himself to suppress the irritation he felt at her evident unwillingness to allow him to help her, and, ignoring Cassandra’s protests, he thrust open his door and got out of the car.

‘It’s a good half-mile walk to the house,’ he said, aware that Eve had taken an involuntary step backwards when he approached her.

Her dark brows arched. ‘So?’

‘So it’s cold, and you look tired.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘You know what I mean.’ His eyes darkened impatiently. ‘I guess it’s been a long day at the chalkface.’

Had it ever? Eve pressed her lips together, wondering why she was so reluctant to get into the car. It wasn’t just because of Cassie, though she knew the other woman was watching her with coldly narrowed eyes. She just knew she wouldn’t be doing herself any favours by allowing this man to get close to her.

‘I need a walk,’ she said at last, meeting his challenging gaze with more defiance than honesty. ‘You go ahead.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘But—thanks, anyway.’

‘I wish I thought you meant that,’ he muttered, but short of picking her up and bundling her into the car, there was nothing he could do.

Then he remembered something, and, opening the car door again, he leant into the back and extracted the long black woollen scarf he’d bought at one of the mill shops they’d visited. He’d been glad of its warmth when he’d climbed the hill to the ruined Roman fort at Housesteads—Cassandra staying in the car, nursing the headache she’d complained about ever since they’d left the house—but he didn’t need it now.

‘Here,’ he said, going back to where Eve was waiting and thrusting the scarf at her. ‘Do yourself a favour and wear it.’ And when she didn’t say anything he added, ‘We’ll see you later, right?’

Eve nodded, but she waited until the Aston Martin’s taillights were some distance away before unfolding the scarf and winding it about her neck. He was right. She did feel cold. But it was an inner cold as much as an outer one. Even so, the scarf was luxuriously thick and soft. Unfortunately, it also had his scent on it, an equally luxurious mix of expensive shaving lotion and clean male heat. But, despite her earlier misgivings, she buried her nose in its warmth and, after repositioning her backpack, thrust her gloved hands into her pockets and marched up the drive towards the lights of the house.

Thankfully her grandmother was alone in the library when Eve went to find her. Mrs Blackwood had volunteered the information that Mrs Robertson had insisted on phoning the hospital in Newcastle and cancelling the ambulance Eve had arranged.

‘She said her ankle was feeling much better this morning,’ went on the housekeeper ruefully. ‘Then the next thing I know she’s downstairs, pulling photograph albums out of the cupboard. When I asked her what she was doing, she said she was trying to remember what Miss Cassie looked like at your age.’

Eve stifled a groan. ‘Did—did she say why?’

‘No.’ Mrs Blackwood shook her head. ‘I expect she was just feeling sentimental, that’s all. What with Miss Cassie being here and all. But she oughtn’t to be doing so much at her age. I told her that.’

‘No.’

Eve had acknowledged that fact, but now, when she let herself into the library and found her grandmother staring idly into space, apprehension stirred again. The old lady had something on her mind, and Eve hoped it was nothing to do with her.

‘Hi,’ she said, her own problems fading into insignificance when faced with a greater threat. ‘I hear you refused to go and have your ankle X-rayed, after all. So how are you feeling now?’

Mrs Robertson blinked, and then stared at her granddaughter as if she was seeing her for the first time. ‘I’m all right,’ she said. And then, more gently, ‘Have you just got home, my dear?’

‘A few minutes ago,’ agreed Eve, without mentioning the fact that she’d already been up to her room and put the scarf Jake Romero had loaned her into her wardrobe. She would have to give it back, but maybe not immediately. ‘Um—Mrs Blackwood says you’ve been downstairs all day. If you insist on ignoring the doctor’s advice, you should at least rest.’

‘Because I didn’t have that handsome young man to help me?’ queried the old lady tartly. ‘I managed.’ She picked up the walking stick beside her chair and waved it meaningfully. ‘I’m not helpless, you know.’

‘All the same…’

‘All the same, nothing.’ Mrs Robertson sounded weary now. ‘Stop grumbling at me, Eve.’ She paused. ‘Did I hear a car earlier?’

Which meant Cassie hadn’t bothered to check on her mother, thought Eve unhappily. Didn’t she care about her at all? Or, more importantly, didn’t she realise she was playing with fire? For some reason, maybe because she was getting old, Mrs Robertson didn’t seem to care what she said, and the previous evening’s unpleasantness could be just the tip of the iceberg.

‘Oh, I expect it was Mr Romero’s car,’ she said, striving for a bright smile. ‘It—-passed me on the drive.’

‘So Cassie’s back?’

‘I imagine so.’ Eve didn’t want to get into a discussion about her own encounter with them. She glanced about her. ‘Have you had tea?’

‘I didn’t want any,’ replied the old lady moodily, pushing the box at her feet out of the way and stretching her injured ankle. ‘Where is she now?’

‘Cassie?’

‘Who else?’

Eve sighed. ‘I expect she’s gone upstairs to take off her coat,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘She’ll be down in a minute.’ At least she hoped so. And without the disturbing company of her guest, if she had any sense.

‘And has he gone upstairs, too?’ asked Mrs Robertson evenly, although Eve knew she must know the answer to that as well as she did.

‘Mr Romero?’

‘Stop being obtuse, Eve. You know exactly who I’m talking about.’ She paused, eyeing her granddaughter with shrewd grey eyes. ‘What do you think of him?’

Eve swallowed, giving herself time to think. ‘I—he seems—all right.’

‘All right? What kind of an answer is that?’ Her grandmother clicked her tongue. ‘Don’t you think he’s too young for Cassie? She is forty-seven, you know.’

‘Forty-six,’ corrected Eve, before she could stop herself, and the old lady gave her a beetling look.

‘Stop splitting hairs. Is she too old for him or what?’

Eve caught her breath. ‘I—lots of women marry younger men.’ She sought for an example. ‘Look at Joan Collins!’

‘Cassie is no Joan Collins,’ retorted Mrs Robertson scathingly. ‘And I don’t believe I mentioned marriage. Why would he marry her when he can get what he wants without even buying her a ring?’

Eve felt her stomach tighten at the images her grandmother was unknowingly creating, and hurried into speech. ‘So long as they’re happy together,’ she mumbled, wishing this conversation had never started. ‘Um—would you like me to put these boxes away?’

‘You know what’s in them, of course?’ The old lady arched an enquiring brow. ‘I’ve shown you them before. Photographs. Some of them loose, some in albums. Your grandfather was very keen on photography. He said pictures are an incontrovertible record of the past. I thought I might show some of them to Mr Romero.’

‘No!’ Eve was horrified. ‘You can’t, Ellie. That would be malicious, and you know it!’

‘Why?’ Her grandmother was defiant. ‘What’s malicious about a few photographs? He might be interested to see pictures of what Cassie was like when she was a young girl.’

‘You can’t do that.’ Bending, Eve gathered a couple of the boxes into her arms and carried them across the room to stow them in the bottom of the cupboard where they were usually kept. Then, straightening, she said, ‘Anyway, I have something to tell you.’

‘About Cassie? Or Mr Romero?’

‘Neither,’ said Eve tersely, hoping the sudden colour in her cheeks would be put down to her exertions. She gathered up another couple of boxes and stowed them as she spoke. ‘According to Mrs Portman, the school is due to close next Easter.’

‘No.’ Her grandmother was shocked, and Eve hoped it would serve to distract her from thoughts of embarrassing her daughter. ‘Why?’

‘Oh, it’s all part of the government’s plans to make schools more efficient,’ said Eve, stowing the last box with some relief. ‘We’ve known for some time that Falconbridge is attracting fewer and fewer pupils, and those we have are to be transferred to East Ridsdale, which is bigger and more economically viable.’

‘Since when has education needed to be “economically viable”?’ The old lady made a frustrated sound. ‘We’re dealing with children here, not robots.’

‘I know.’ Eve came to stand beside her grandmother’s chair. ‘Looks like I’ll be needing another job.’

‘Just when you’d settled down,’ exclaimed the old lady bitterly. Then, with a look of anxiety in her eyes, ‘You won’t move away, will you?’

Eve squeezed her grandmother’s shoulder. ‘As if,’ she said softly. ‘No, you’re stuck with me now. This is my home.’

‘You’re a good girl.’ Mrs Robertson reached up to cover her hand with her own. ‘A better granddaughter to me than either Cassie or I deserve.’

‘That’s not true,’ protested Eve, not wanting to get into Cassie’s shortcomings again, but before the old lady could reply the phone rang.

There was an extension in the library and Eve went to answer it, not without some relief. Saved by the bell, she thought, picking up the receiver. ‘Hello? Watersmeet Hall.’

‘Could I speak to Miss Wilkes, please?’

‘Miss Wilkes?’ The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, and for a moment Eve’s mind felt blank. But then she remembered that Wilkes was the name Cassie used professionally. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, making a quelling gesture to her grandmother. ‘I’ll get her for you.’

‘Who is it?’ the old lady asked as Eve made for the door, and she paused to whisper that it was some woman wanting to speak to Miss Wilkes. ‘Cassie!’ Her grandmother made no attempt to lower her voice. ‘What does she want Cassie for?’

Eve shook her head helplessly, but she didn’t have time to answer her now. Going out into the hall, she considered merely shouting Cassie’s name up the stairs. But it was a big house, and it would be just like Cassie to pretend she hadn’t heard her even if she had.

Instead, she ran up the stairs and hurried down the corridor to Cassie’s room. A knock aroused no response, and with some trepidation she tried the door. Cassie could be in the bathroom and not have heard her, she reasoned defensively, but in any event the room and its adjoining bathroom were empty.

Sighing, she closed the door again, aware that there was only one place Cassie could be. In Jake Romero’s room. And approaching that was an entirely different matter.

Even so, it had to be done, and, taking a deep breath, she walked back along the corridor to the room Mrs Blackwood had assigned to their other visitor. She knew it was on her grandmother’s orders that the two rooms were some distance from one another, but, as both Cassie and her lover were young and agile enough to cover the distance without any problem, it was obviously a wasted effort.

Her first knock elicited a shrill protest, and her heart sank at the prospect of what she would find when the door was opened. But, to her surprise, it was jerked open almost immediately and Jake Romero confronted her—still fully clothed, she noticed a little breathlessly.

‘Um—there’s a call—for Miss Wilkes,’ she stammered, feeling stupid—particularly when Cassie appeared behind him, draping a possessive hand over his shoulder. The older woman’s sweater had been discarded, and her shirt was partly unbuttoned, revealing a tantalising amount of cleavage.

‘A call? For me?’ Cassie’s brows drew together in some confusion. ‘Are you sure?’

‘You’re the only Miss Wilkes here,’ replied Eve shortly, recovering some composure. She started towards the stairs again, adding over her shoulder, ‘You can take it in the hall, if you want some privacy. Your mother’s in the library.’

‘Privacy? In the hall?’ Cassie snorted, forced to remove her arm from Jake’s shoulder and button her shirt again with obviously irritated fingers. ‘I mean, can you believe it?’ she asked, turning to him for support. ‘A house of this size and no phone upstairs. It’s ludicrous!’

‘I’m sure your mother doesn’t find it a problem,’ Jake retorted drily, aware that Eve’s reaction to finding them together irritated him quite a bit, too. ‘Go ahead. I need to take a shower anyway.’

‘Oh, but we were—’

‘You were about to go back to your own room,’ said Jake flatly. He waited until she was outside, and then closed the door behind her with rather more force than was necessary.

CHAPTER FIVE

JAKE took the precaution of locking his door before going to take a shower. He didn’t trust Cassandra not to come back after she’d taken her call, and the last thing he needed right now was for her to try and break the rules her mother had so subtly engineered. He didn’t know why, exactly. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t say no. And since leaving London their relationship had definitely faltered, and he no longer had any desire to prolong it.

Perhaps it was seeing the way she treated her family, he mused, tipping his head to allow the hot water to rain down upon his shoulders. Cassandra certainly gave her mother little consideration, and if there was an argument that said the old woman deserved it, he was unaware of it.

As for Eve…Well, her situation was strangely ambiguous. She evidently worked for her living, and helped out around the estate when she could, yet there was an odd connection between her and the old lady that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was affection there, and a gentle understanding. The kind of relationship, in fact, that he would have expected Cassandra to have with her mother.

But she didn’t.

Had Eve caused the rift between them as he’d suspected on the journey here? She didn’t appear to be devious in any way, but who was he to judge? He hardly knew the girl. But he did know, from experience, that appearances could be very different than they seemed.

Not least his own reaction to her, he admitted dourly, lifting his face to the spray. If she’d told him to his face, she couldn’t have made her dislike of him any clearer. So why did he have this persistent need to show her he wasn’t the bastard she apparently thought he was? Why, when she consistently provoked him, was he aware of her in a way that heated his blood and disrupted his sleep?

Crazy! Disgusted with himself, and with where his thoughts were leading, Jake swiftly soaped his chest and abdomen, suppressing a groan when he saw he was already half aroused. Dammit, what was wrong with him? Since when had he acquired this insane desire for a woman who had no interest in him?

He was drying himself when he thought he heard someone knocking at his bedroom door, but he ignored it. If it was Cassandra, he would be doing her no favours by opening the door. And if it wasn’t…?

But he didn’t go there. There was no chance that Eve would come to his door a second time. She’d made her opinion of what she’d found earlier clear enough, and, if he was honest, he would admit that that was what had initiated the soul-searching he’d indulged in during his shower. He resented it; resented her attitude. And he decided there and then that he’d had it with trying to humour her.

He dressed in narrow-legged woollen pants and a burgundy silk shirt. It was cold, but he’d found that Cassandra’s mother tended to overheat the main apartments of the house. And, although it was chilly in the hall, and as he descended the staircase, he guessed the library would be almost uncomfortably hot.

He hesitated outside, not sure whether he ought to knock and announce his presence. But there was no light visible under the door, and he assumed he was the first to arrive. Without ceremony, he turned the handle and opened the door, and surprised a startled Eve sitting cross-legged beside the log fire burning in the huge hearth.

She sprang to her feet at once, reaching for the nearest lamp and flooding the room with light as he closed the door behind him. And Jake realised that any preconceived notions he’d had about her were just so much hot air. He couldn’t ignore her; didn’t want to ignore her. He’d been a fool to think he could.

She was wearing the same black cords she’d been wearing the evening before, but now they were teamed with a V-necked black sweater whose lace-trimmed neckline and bloused waist only hinted at the pert breasts he knew were beneath. Lamplight gave those smoky grey eyes an opacity he longed to penetrate, but perhaps penetration—of any kind—was not something he ought to be thinking about right now.

Nevertheless, just looking at her, at her pale exotic features and night-dark hair, he was arrested by the instinctive urge to know what it would be like to bury his hard swollen flesh in her softness…

Enough!

He almost growled the word aloud as she gazed at him across the back of the armchair she’d been using as a backrest, tugging a scarf of some kind from her neck. Evidently she’d been cold, even sitting in front of the fire, he thought, hoping he wouldn’t regret not wearing a sweater. But then she held the woollen item out to him and he realised what it was.

His scarf!

‘I tried to return this earlier,’ she said, stepping forward to push it into his hands. She tossed the heavy braid of her hair over her shoulder. ‘You didn’t hear me.’

Once again he had to suppress the expletive that came so readily to his tongue. If he’d known, he thought. If he’d only known it was Eve who had been knocking at his door…

But it was just as well he hadn’t. ‘I was probably in the shower,’ he said, and saw the way her lips twisted at his words. She didn’t believe him, he realised indignantly. She obviously thought he and Cassandra had resumed where they’d left off.

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that it was because he hadn’t wanted another argument with Cassandra that he hadn’t opened his door. But he didn’t. Instead, he moved towards her, dropping the scarf onto the desk as he did so, saying, ‘How is Mrs Robertson this evening?’ As if talking about someone else could cool his resentment. Dammit, she had no right to judge him. If he and Cassandra had chosen to make out on the front lawn of the house it would have been nothing to do with her, for God’s sake. He glanced about him. ‘I thought she’d be here.’

‘No.’ Eve didn’t know what to do with her hands now that she didn’t have the scarf to occupy them, and after an awkward moment she pushed them into her pockets. ‘I expect she’ll be down later.’

‘Would she like me to—?’

‘Carry her downstairs?’ Eve interrupted him. ‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary.’

‘Do you make all her decisions for her?’

His dark eyes were far too intent, and Eve moved a little uncomfortably under their regard. ‘Of course not,’ she said tersely. Then, moving purposefully forward, ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if she—’

‘And if I won’t?’

Eve caught her breath. ‘If you won’t what?’

‘If I won’t excuse you,’ he said softly. Then, his eyes darkening, ‘Come on, Eve, would it hurt you to keep me company for a few minutes? It’s not as if I’m threatening to jump your bones.’

‘You couldn’t,’ she asserted, hoping like hell that he wouldn’t put her to the test, and his lips thinned.

‘Don’t be too sure,’ he murmured drily, but Eve thought she could see reluctant amusement lurking at the corner of his mouth. ‘You might do well to humour me.’

Eve shook her head. ‘Why should you want me to?’

‘Oh…’ He considered for a moment. ‘Perhaps I just want to know more about you. No harm in that, is there?’

Eve shivered in spite of the fire at her back. ‘Cass—Cassandra will be down soon. She—she can tell you all you need to know.’

‘I doubt that.’ He gestured towards the chair behind her. ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me yourself?’

‘Perhaps I don’t want to.’

‘I’d gathered that.’ His brows drew together. ‘I wonder why?’

Eve expelled a nervous breath, but short of pushing him out of the way she was trapped. In more ways than one. With a sound she hoped he identified as frustration she stepped back and subsided into the chair he’d indicated with obvious ill grace. Then, when he made no attempt to seat himself opposite, but stood over her like some dark predator, she forced herself to look up at him. ‘Well?’

Jake was intrigued in spite of her evident irritation. She was so aloof, so defensive, almost, and his earlier interest deepened into an attraction that had little to do with sex. Well, not a lot, he conceded honestly, aware that he was still sexually aroused by her cool, remote allure and, yes—why not?—her obvious reluctance to let him get close to her.

Why he should want to was not something he chose to go into right now, and, realising he couldn’t conduct a conversation from this angle—however advantageous it might be—he stepped across the hearth and took the chair opposite.

‘So?’ he said, when she made no attempt to speak to him. ‘Tell me about yourself. Have you always lived in the north of England?’

Her shoulders seemed to sag at this question. But, ‘No,’ she responded shortly, leaving him with no choice but to ask another.

‘Your parents lived in another part of the country?’

‘I don’t have any parents,’ she replied. ‘Is that all?’

‘No, it’s not all,’ he exclaimed, annoyed in spite of his determination not to let her rile him. This was her way of avoiding any further conversation, and he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. ‘Everyone has parents, Eve. Or do you still believe babies are found under a gooseberry bush?’

Faint colour tinted the olive skin of her throat at this, and although he could defend his actions to himself, her sudden vulnerability wrenched his gut. ‘I know where babies come from, Mr Romero,’ she declared stiffly. ‘Though maybe not as well as you do, I’ll admit.’

Jake caught his breath. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

Eve looked a little nervous now, and he suspected she’d spoken without considering the possible consequences. But she had no choice but to go on. ‘I—don’t have children, Mr Romero,’ she said primly. ‘Perhaps you do.’

He was fairly sure that that wasn’t what she’d meant when she’d made that earlier observation, but he didn’t contradict her. ‘No,’ he told her, his eyes enjoying her confusion. ‘I don’t have any children. None that I know of, anyway.’

If anything, her colour deepened, but she wasn’t about to back down. ‘Not everyone cares one way or the other,’ she said, surprisingly, though her gaze flickered away from his as she did so. ‘In any case, for your information, I never knew my parents. My biological parents, that is.’

Jake frowned. ‘You were adopted?’

Eve sighed. ‘Of what possible interest is this to you?’

‘Take my word: I’m interested.’

She was silent for a long moment, but then she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. ‘For a time,’ she agreed. ‘I ran away when I was twelve years old.’

Twelve? He couldn’t conceive of it. At twelve she’d have been—what? A girl with pigtails in her hair? A rebellious pre-teen who didn’t know when she was well off?

‘I didn’t get away with it, of course,’ she went on. Her gaze was riveted on her hands, which were twisted together in her lap now, and he wondered if she was aware of what she was saying. ‘I was found and sent back. Twice, actually. But I only ran away again, until the authorities decided it would be easier to let Social Services take the strain.’

Jake shook his head. ‘But you were so young.’

‘I was old enough.’ Her lips pressed together, as if to silence any further confidences. Then, with a gesture of dismissal, she added, ‘It all happened a long time ago. I’d forgotten about it.’

But she hadn’t. He could tell. And he badly wanted to ask her how it was that she was living in the north-east of England now, with an old lady who didn’t seem like anyone’s idea of a social worker.

Then he remembered something Cassandra had told him. ‘You’re related to the Robertsons, aren’t you?’ he said impulsively, and was then taken aback when her face, which had been filled with becoming colour, paled to an almost luminous opalescence.

‘Who told you that?’ she demanded tensely, and Jake shrugged.

‘Cassandra.’ He was wary. ‘Isn’t it true?’

Any answer she might have made was prevented by the sudden opening of the door. Immediately the main light was switched on, further illuminating their erstwhile intimacy, and Cassandra stood in the doorway, regarding them with a look of unconcealed fury on her face.

She was wearing a filmy cocktail dress this evening, which clung to her shapely figure, and although it had obviously been made by an expert hand, it was totally unsuitable for a family supper at home. She had evidently decided to use any means at her disposal to get him to change his mind, thought Jake wryly, despising himself for his arrogance. And he wasn’t entirely surprised to discover her seductive efforts left him totally unmoved.

‘What’s going on?’ Cassandra demanded, staring at each of them in turn, and Eve felt as if they’d been caught out in some illicit assignation. Which was ridiculous. They’d only been talking, for heaven’s sake. Though she was fairly sure she looked as guilty as hell.

Jake got to his feet without concern. ‘Well, let me see,’ he said drily. ‘Eve returned the scarf I lent her this afternoon, and I asked her how Mrs Robertson was this evening. I offered to carry your mother downstairs again, but Eve thought that wouldn’t be necessary. Then we spoke about—’

‘I don’t want to hear all your conversation,’ snapped Cassandra shortly, and Jake arched enquiring brows.

‘No?’ he said blandly. ‘But I thought that was what you did want. You asked what was going on.’

Cassandra glared at him. ‘And you knew exactly what I meant,’ she retorted, making no attempt to mince her words. Then, as if realising they had an audience, she sucked in a frustrated breath before continuing, ‘How long have you been keeping Eve company?’

Jake shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’

Cassandra pursed her lips. ‘You didn’t think to let me know you were going downstairs?’

‘I’m sorry.’ There was an edge to Jake’s voice now that even Eve could hear. ‘I didn’t realise I had to post my whereabouts. I gather you’ve been looking for me. That is why you’re so—put out—isn’t it?’

Cassandra’s teeth ground together, but short of accusing him of conspiracy, there was little she could say in her own defence. ‘I thought—I thought you might have wanted to know who rang,’ she said at last, turning to close the door, exposing the fact that the gown had virtually no back to speak of. Then, turning again, she posed against the dark panels. ‘You usually do.’

He could have argued with her. He could have said that the only occasion he’d wanted to know who rang was when she’d answered the phone in his hotel in London. But it wasn’t worth the pleasure it would give her to put him on the defensive.

Nevertheless, he saw how her words had affected Eve. He wasn’t surprised, therefore, when she got to her feet and said she would go and see if Mrs Blackwood needed any help.

When they were alone, Cassandra covered the space between them with flattering haste. ‘Thank goodness she’s gone,’ she exclaimed, her tone much warmer now than it had been before. She rested her hand on the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt, her fingers touching his naked skin. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened.’

Jake lifted his hand and used the pretext of taking her hand in his to remove it from his chest. ‘So tell me,’ he said lightly. He glanced across the room. ‘But shall we have a drink first?’

Cassandra sighed. ‘You don’t understand. This is important.’

‘Okay.’ Jake released her hand and stepped back to hook a hip over the corner of the desk. He folded his arms. ‘Go on.’

Cassandra moistened her lips. ‘I’ve been offered a part in Evermore.’ Her eyes were alight with excitement. ‘Isn’t that amazing?’

‘And Evermore would be?’

‘Oh, Jake! You must have heard of Evermore! It’s one of the most successful soaps on television at the moment.’

Jake refrained from pointing out that, as an infrequent visitor to these shores, he seldom found time to watch the news on television, let alone a soap opera, however successful it might be.

But he couldn’t steal her thunder, so instead he said, ‘Way to go, girl! You must be excited.’

‘I am.’ Cassandra wrapped her arms about herself with evident satisfaction. ‘So’s Amy.’ Jake knew Amy Lassiter was her agent. ‘That was her on the phone, of course. I attended the auditions weeks ago, and I’d given up hope of hearing anything positive, but apparently the—er—the actress they initially chose has pulled out, so—’

‘They chose you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And is it a big part?’

‘Well, it’s only for three episodes to begin with,’ explained Cassandra equably. ‘That’s how they do these things. They introduce a new character, and if he or she goes down well with the viewing public, they expand the role.’

‘Ah.’ Jake nodded. ‘So I imagine you’ll be wanting to get back to London as soon as possible?’

Which would and wouldn’t suit him. But it wasn’t his call.

‘Amy’s asked me to go back tomorrow,’ admitted Cassandra, biting her lip. ‘There are so many things to arrange—contracts to sign, script conferences to attend, rehearsals and so on.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘You’re going to be very busy,’ agreed Jake, aware that any feeling of relief he had at being let off the hook was tempered by the knowledge that he was unlikely to see Eve again. But then the door crashed open and Cassandra’s mother, leaning heavily on her cane, came unceremoniously into the room.

‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘Lost my balance as I reached for the handle.’ She pulled a wry face at Jake. ‘So—what was that you were saying about being busy?’

Jake had to smile at Cassandra’s expression. She’d been put in the same position as she’d put Eve in earlier. ‘Your daughter’s landed a part in something called Evermore,’ he told her smoothly. ‘Here, let me help you to your chair.’

Mrs Robertson took his arm with evident relief, and their progress across the room was necessarily slow. But, after she’d subsided into the chair, she regarded her daughter with shrewd, if faded blue eyes, and said, ‘Evermore, eh? Well, well, who’d have thought it?’

‘Not you, apparently,’ declared Cassandra shortly. She seemed undecided what to do next, and finally settled on taking the chair opposite her mother. ‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me? This is exactly the sort of part I’ve been waiting for.’

Her mother moved her shoulders in a dismissive gesture. ‘I suppose this means we’ll be seeing even less of you in future.’

‘Do you care?’ Cassandra was bitter.

‘Some of us might,’ retorted her mother drily. ‘But if it’s what you want…’

‘It is.’

‘Then there’s nothing more to be said. I wish you luck with it. Goodness knows, you’ve been out of work long enough.’

‘I’ve been resting,’ snapped Cassandra angrily. ‘Honestly, Mother, I’m an actress, not a—a schoolteacher, for God’s sake!’

Jake stifled a groan. He guessed it had been unwise of her to bring Eve’s occupation into the argument, and he wasn’t surprised when Mrs Robertson took exception to it. ‘Eve has brains, Cassie,’ she said scornfully. ‘Which is something no one could ever accuse you of.’

‘How dare you?’

‘What? You think learning a few lines and repeating them parrot fashion in front of a camera requires intelligence?’

‘I think you know nothing about it.’

‘I think I wouldn’t want to.’

‘Can I get anyone a drink?’ Jake knew he had to put a stop to this before they both said something they’d regret. ‘Mrs Robertson? Some wine, perhaps? Cassandra?’

His words caused a pregnant silence that was almost as hostile in its way as what had gone before. But after a few moments Cassandra’s mother seemed to remember her manners, and in clipped tones she said, ‘Yes, a glass of wine would be very nice. Thank you, Mr Romero.’

‘No problem.’ Jake blew out a relieved breath. ‘Cassandra?’

‘Scotch. With ice, if there is any,’ she said, barely glancing in his direction, and Jake moved towards the tray of drinks with real enthusiasm.

He gave the women theirs, and then poured a stiff Scotch for himself. The single malt was smooth and sleek, and he welcomed the heat it brought to his stomach. It helped to banish the memory of the unpleasantness he’d just witnessed. He stifled another moan when Mrs Robertson spoke again. What now?

‘I suppose you’ll be leaving in the morning, Cassie?’ she said, and despite the coolness of her voice Jake was sure she was trying to be polite.

Cassandra didn’t immediately respond, and he hoped she wasn’t about to rekindle the argument. But eventually she said, civilly enough, ‘Yes. I have to be back in London tomorrow.’

‘Ah.’ The old lady absorbed this with unexpected interest. ‘So you’ll be fairly tied up for the next few days? What with rehearsals and such?’

Cassandra was regarding her mother warily now, and Jake didn’t altogether blame her. ‘I expect so, yes.’

‘Hmm.’ The old lady was thoughtful. ‘Well, as you pointed out earlier, I know nothing about these matters, Cassie, but I’d have thought that in the circumstances you’re going to have little time to entertain Mr Romero.’

Cassandra’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered herself. Then, her gaze moving from her mother to Jake and back again, she said tensely, ‘Why should that matter to you?’

‘Oh…’ Mrs Robertson shrugged. ‘Well, it’s just that I wouldn’t like Mr Romero to feel he’s not welcome to stay on here if he’d like to.’

Cassandra gasped. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘Why not? I understand he’s quite interested in the area, and unless he has some pressing business of his own in London there’s no reason why he shouldn’t stay and finish his holiday.’

‘No!’ Cassandra was on her feet now. ‘I don’t—Of course Jake is coming back to London with me.’

Her mother arched a provocative brow. ‘Isn’t it up to Mr Romero to make that decision for himself?’

‘He can’t. We—we drove up in his car.’

‘He can always take you to Newcastle Airport. I believe there are frequent flights to London, and from your point of view it would be quicker.’

‘You old witch!’ Cassandra was trembling with fury. ‘You think that by asking Jake to stay you’ll ruin whatever happiness I have in accepting this part!’

‘And your happiness is always the most important thing, isn’t it?’ demanded her mother coldly. ‘It doesn’t matter who you hurt, who suffers because of your—your selfishness, so long as you’re happy! It doesn’t even occur to you that Jacob might prefer to stay here. What are you afraid of, Cassie? That Eve might steal him from under your very nose?’

Jake didn’t know what Cassandra might have done then if he hadn’t stepped between them. She looked mad enough to scratch the old lady’s eyes out, and, however much her mother might deserve it, he couldn’t let that happen.

‘Look, it’s a moot point, anyway,’ he said flatly. ‘I can’t stay on—much as I appreciate your invitation,’ he added politely. ‘Thanks, but I do have to get back to London myself.’ He managed a rueful smile. ‘Sorry.’

CHAPTER SIX

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, however, it soon became apparent that Jake wasn’t fit to go anywhere.

Eve encountered him on the first-floor landing as she was about to go downstairs for breakfast, and one look at his grey face and streaming eyes was enough for her to advise him to go back to bed.

‘I think you’ve got flu,’ she said, not altogether easy in the position of surrogate doctor. ‘How do you feel? You look—dreadful.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ Despite the humour in his tone, his voice was thick with congestion. ‘But I’ll be okay.’ He paused before adding, ‘Cassandra has to get back to town today.’

Eve knew that. Although it hadn’t been mentioned during supper, her grandmother had confided Cassie’s news to her when Eve had helped her up to bed.

‘And do you think you’re well enough to drive over three hundred miles?’ she found herself asking, even though it was really nothing to do with her. Indeed, she would feel happier when he and Cassie had gone. But he was shivering violently, in spite of the several layers of sweaters he was wearing, and she went on doggedly, ‘I could always drive Cassie to the airport. She can easily get a flight to London. It only takes a little over an hour.’

Jake pulled a wry face. Remembering Cassandra’s reaction when her mother had made a similar suggestion the night before, he doubted she’d agree. But the truth was, he did feel bloody rotten. He could think of nothing more appealing at this moment than crawling back into his bed.

‘Let’s ask her, shall we?’ he said, wondering how he could be sweating when he felt so cold. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Eve was looking at him without any animosity at last. But he wasn’t going to go there. He was in enough trouble as it was.

‘Let’s not,’ said Eve suddenly, apparently taking the initiative. ‘You go back to bed and I’ll speak to Cassie myself. I’m sure she’ll understand.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Jake raked damp fingers through his hair. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

Eve pressed her lips together for a moment. Then she shook her head. ‘Go back to bed, Mr Romero. I don’t think you’re in any state to argue.’

Leaving him to do as she’d asked, or not, Eve hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. ‘Mr Romero won’t be leaving this morning after all,’ she told a surprised Mrs Blackwood. ‘He appears to have flu. Do we have any hot water bottles? He can’t seem to stop shivering.’

‘I think you’ll find a couple in the cupboard there,’ directed the housekeeper, checking the bacon she had sizzling under the grill. ‘So, will Miss Cassie be staying on, too?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Eve, filling the kettle and switching it on. ‘I told you what Mrs Robertson said about Cassie landing this part in a television series, didn’t I? I don’t think she’ll risk losing that.’

‘But if Mr Romero’s ill…’

‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Eve, wondering if she was being too cynical. After all, from the way she behaved Cassie obviously cared about him. But roles like this were few and far between—even if it might mean leaving Jake to the care of virtual strangers.

And she still had to persuade Cassie that taking a plane back to London was the best option, Eve reminded herself. It was going to be no easy task, she knew. Of course Cassie might refuse to go, and confound them all. And from Eve’s point of view that could be the safest option of all.

Leaving Mrs Blackwood to fill the hot water bottles and take them up to Jake’s room, Eve ran upstairs again to find Cassie. She hadn’t been in the dining room, and unless she’d made an early-morning call on Jake—which Eve didn’t even want to think about—she was probably still in her room, packing.

When she knocked, however, she didn’t get quite the response she’d expected. ‘Come on in, darling,’ drawled Cassie, evidently mistaking her for Jake. ‘I knew you couldn’t wait until we got back to town.’

It was too embarrassing to open the door after that, and Eve waited outside, hoping Cassie would realise her mistake. But when the door opened the woman was standing there in nothing but a silk kimono, and that was barely fastened across her naked form.

Her reaction was predictably explosive. ‘What are you doing here?’ Cassie demanded. ‘If you’ve come to try and persuade me to apologise to that old bitch, forget it! She’s seen the last of me this time. I won’t be coming here again.’

‘Unless you’re broke,’ said Eve drily. She had heard Cassie say much the same thing before. ‘In any case, I haven’t come to speak to you about your mother.’ She paused, and then went on forcefully, ‘Mr Romero’s ill. He won’t be able to drive you back to London today.’

Cassie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Jake?’ she said disbelievingly. Then, with hardly more sympathy, ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘I think he has flu,’ said Eve, noticing the way Cassie’s eyes narrowed at her words. ‘He has—He looks—’ She strove for a suitable word. ‘Sick.’

‘Are you sure this isn’t some clever ploy of my mother’s to keep him here?’ Cassie was sceptical.

‘Why should Ellie want to do that?’ Eve was confused.

‘Didn’t she tell you she suggested he should stay on here for a few more days?’

‘No.’ Eve frowned. ‘No, she didn’t.’

‘Well, she did.’ Cassie was truculent. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her to have spiked his drink or something. Anything to put one over on me.’

Eve sighed. ‘You can’t spike someone’s drink with flu,’ she said impatiently.

‘How do you know he’s ill anyway?’ exclaimed Cassie suddenly. ‘Have you been knocking at his door again?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Eve was indignant. ‘I met him on the landing as I was going down for breakfast. His eyes were all red and streaming, and he could hardly speak. Go and see him if you don’t believe me.’

‘Oh, I can’t do that.’ Cassie recoiled as she spoke, as if Eve was going to grab her and drag her forcibly along the corridor. She shook her head. ‘I daren’t risk it. I mean, I can’t afford to get ill now, can I? What with getting this part and everything. If I were to get flu goodness knows what they’d do. They might even give the part to someone else.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Eve flatly. ‘And people can’t help getting ill. I’m sure they’re insured against things like this.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want to take the chance,’ said Cassie firmly. ‘I’m sorry, of course I am, but if Jake is ill then I think I’m going to have to find some other way to get back to London.’

Eve was appalled. ‘Without seeing him?’

Cassie shrugged. ‘He’ll understand,’ she said carelessly. ‘I’ll phone him on his mobile when I get back to town.’ Then, with a lightning change of mood, ‘You’ll take me to the airport, won’t you, darling? Mummy said there are regular flights to London from Newcastle.’

‘Don’t—don’t call me darling,’ said Eve harshly. But she couldn’t argue with her. She’d already told Romero that she’d take Cassie to the airport if she was willing to go. ‘You’d better ring and find out when you can get a flight.’

‘Oh, God!’ Cassie’s expression changed again. ‘A flight!’ She gnawed on her lower lip. ‘How much do you think that will be?’

Eve shook her head. ‘About a hundred, I suppose,’ she said tightly, not really wanting to continue this conversation. But she didn’t have much choice.

‘A hundred pounds!’ Cassie gasped. ‘My God, I don’t have a hundred pounds, and my credit cards are maxed out.’

Eve half turned away. ‘Not my problem,’ she said, just wanting to get away from her, but Cassie wouldn’t let her go.

‘Couldn’t you lend me the money, sweetie?’ she asked wheedlingly, stepping out onto the landing. ‘I’d pay you back. As soon as I get paid. You know I’m good for it.’

‘Do I?’ Eve was sardonic. ‘How many times have I heard you tell Ellie the same?’

‘Forget Ellie,’ said Cassie irritably. ‘This is between you and me, Eve. Come on. Don’t you owe me?’

Eve could hardly speak. ‘You—you dare to ask me that?’ she choked, but Cassie just looked bored.

‘Haven’t you got over it yet?’ she protested. ‘You’ve got a cushy number here, haven’t you? You wouldn’t have had that if it wasn’t for me.’

‘I’m here in spite of you,’ Eve told her bitterly. But even as she said the words she knew she was wasting her time. There was no point in expecting Cassie to understand. She’d never cared about anyone but herself, and she wasn’t going to change now. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll lend you the money for the fare and I’ll take you to Newcastle Airport. But only because I don’t want you bumming off Ellie again.’

‘You’re a pal.’

Cassie would have closed the door then, but Eve put out a hand to stop her. ‘You’ll have to get an afternoon flight,’ she said. ‘I’ve promised to help Mr Trivett this morning, but I’ll be free this afternoon.’

‘Lunchtime, then,’ said Cassie resignedly. ‘Try not to be late.’

There was to be an autumn fair in the church hall the next week, and Eve had promised Harry that she would go to the rectory on Sunday evening and help him sort everything out. The fair was in aid of the St Mary’s restoration fund, the church where Harry was minister, and in the ordinary way Eve would have enjoyed the visit.

She and Harry had become good friends in recent months—ever since he’d taken up the appointment, actually—and she knew he was hoping their friendship might deepen into something warmer.

Eve wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t convinced she wanted to have that kind of relationship with anybody. Ever. And it didn’t help matters to know that this evening she would have preferred to stay at Watersmeet—just in case she was needed.

Not that she would be, she supposed, as she walked to the rectory after evening service. So far Jake Romero hadn’t left his bed, and since delivering Cassie to the airport the day before her involvement in his recovery had been negligible. Mrs Blackwood had supplied him with tissues and aspirin and plenty of fluids, and according to her he’d slept most of the day.

‘The man’s exhausted,’ she’d remarked the previous evening, setting a dish of steak and kidney pie on the table. ‘And sleep’s the best medicine of all, as my old mother used to say. You’ll see—he’ll be right as rain in a couple of days.’

Eve didn’t doubt it. Romero was a powerful man. He wouldn’t like being laid low by a simple virus. Besides, he’d told Ellie that he wanted to be back in London by the end of the week.

Her grandmother had spent most of the previous day in bed, too. Despite the feisty way she’d spoken to her daughter, having Cassie there had tired her, and Eve was glad she was being sensible for once. She had joined her granddaughter for supper that evening, but Eve suspected she was glad Eve was going out. It gave her an excuse to have another early night.

Harry Murray opened the door himself when she reached the rectory. A tall, angular man, with long, lean limbs and a receding hairline, he nevertheless had the kind of genteel good-looking features that invited confidences. Despite his age—he was only thirty-two—he was a popular figure around the village, and the congregation at his church had increased considerably since he took over.

‘Hi,’ he said warmly, stepping back to allow her into the hall of the building. ‘You look rosy. Is it cold?’

Eve grinned. ‘I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not,’ she said, shedding her duffel into his waiting arms. ‘But, yes, it is cold. According to the forecast, it could snow later.’

Harry’s expression grew anxious. ‘I hope not,’ he said, hanging her coat on the Victorian hatstand and leading the way into his study. ‘It would certainly limit the numbers coming to the fair. People are more inclined to stay at home in bad weather.’

‘Well, the forecasters have been wrong before,’ said Eve cheerfully, unwinding her scarf and looking round the large room with incredulous eyes. ‘My Go—Goodness! You’ve certainly collected a lot of stuff.’

‘Haven’t I?’ Harry looked pleased. ‘That’s why I’m so grateful to you for coming to help me.’

‘I’m sure you know there are any number of volunteers waiting for an invitation to help you,’ declared Eve drily. ‘Not least all the ladies.’ She pulled a face. ‘You’re considered the local heartthrob, you know.’

Harry flushed. ‘You’re embarrassing me,’ he said, but she noticed he didn’t deny it. ‘Anyway, would you like me to get Mrs Watson to bring us some refreshments first?’

‘Oh, no.’ Eve shook her head. ‘I’ve just had supper,” she added, running a rueful hand over her stomach. ‘Let’s do some work first, and then we can think about refreshments.’

He agreed, and for the next hour they were absorbed in sorting out clothes and bric-a-brac and all the many magazines and books that the parishioners had donated. Eve enjoyed looking through the books. There was always something interesting to find, and she had to be firm with herself and not give in to the urge to browse.

Eventually Harry got to his feet and brushed his dusty fingers against his worn cords. ‘I think that will do for tonight,’ he said, looking round at all the boxes they’d dealt with. ‘Yes, I’m sure I can manage the rest of it myself.’

Eve, who had been stowing tins of fruit and vegetables into a cardboard box, looked up at him enquiringly. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I am.’ Harry put out his hand and helped her to her feet. ‘I don’t want to spend the whole evening working.’

‘Okay.’ Eve extricated her hand and looked down at her own dusty fingers. ‘But if you don’t mind I’d like to wash off this dust first.’

‘Of course.’ Harry went to open the door for her. ‘You know where the bathroom is. I’ll ask Mrs Watson to bring us some—what? Tea or coffee?’

‘You choose.’

‘Tea it is, then,’ he said apologetically. ‘I’m afraid I’m not a coffee-lover.’

The word ‘lover’ sounded incongruous on his lips, despite its innocent application, and Eve was uneasily reminded of Jake Romero. That was what her grandmother had said he was: Cassie’s lover. Eve shivered as she hurried along the hall to the downstairs bathroom. It was not a description she cared for—in any sense of the word.

She took her time, washing her hands thoroughly and brushing wisps of dark hair from her smooth temple. She needed time to compose herself, to put Jake Romero out of her mind. But it wasn’t easy.

It annoyed her that this should be so, but she acknowledged that he had got under her skin on more than one occasion. The truth was, she’d never known anyone quite like him before, and she told herself she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t found him attractive.

Though only physically, she assured herself. Nevertheless, it wasn’t pleasant to feel that he had some kind of hold on her thoughts. She didn’t need the kind of complication he presented, and she wished he’d just gone back to London with Cassie—then she could have forgotten all about him.

Pressing her lips together, she regarded her tense reflection with impatient eyes. What was she doing, wasting her time worrying about Romero? After all, aside from the obvious barrier his relationship with Cassie created, what man was going to look at her dark skin and hair when he was used to Cassie’s porcelain-skinned, blonde-haired beauty?

Folding the handtowel back onto its rail with taut, controlled movements, Eve turned to the door. Harry would be wondering what she was doing, and she could just imagine his reaction if she told him she was wondering what it would be like to have an affair with a man like Jake Romero. Dear God, he would think she was mad. And who could blame him? She thought she was a little mad herself.

Mrs Watson, his housekeeper, had already brought a tray of tea and biscuits, and when Eve returned to the study Harry was pacing agitatedly about the floor.

He stopped when he saw her, however, and his eyes took on an expression of concern. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Of course.’ Eve did her best to control her colour. ‘I told you I wanted to wash my hands.’

‘You’ve been almost fifteen minutes,’ exclaimed Harry, gesturing her towards one of the squashy armchairs that were set beside a low occasional table. ‘Sit down. The tea’s going to be cold.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Despite the fact that she’d expected such a reaction, Eve found herself irritated now. ‘I didn’t realise you were timing me.’

Harry clicked his tongue. ‘I wasn’t timing you,’ he said unhappily. ‘I was just—’

‘Impatient for your tea. I know,’ said Eve, managing a faint smile. ‘Well, I’m here now. Do you want me to pour?’

‘If you would.’ Relieved, Harry took the chair beside her and stretched his long legs out towards the fire smouldering in the grate. ‘You’ll have to forgive me. I tend to be rather possessive where you’re concerned.’

‘Possessive?’ Eve echoed the word rather uneasily. She didn’t want Harry to feel possessive of her. They didn’t have that kind of a relationship. Not yet, at any rate.

‘Yes, possessive.’ Harry put down the cup of tea she’d just handed him and leant towards her. ‘Eve, don’t you think it’s about time we put our association on a more—formal footing?’

‘Oh, Harry—’

‘No. Hear me out.’ Harry was determined to continue. ‘You must know how I feel about you. I’ve made it plain enough. And—well—when I hear that you’ve got some strange man living in your house, I can’t deny I get jealous.’

‘Jealous?’ Eve was appalled. She wouldn’t have attributed such feelings to Harry. He’d always seemed so placid, so easygoing. And as for making his feelings plain…Well, the only physical contact they’d had was a fairly chaste kiss when they said goodbye.

‘Do you blame me?’ he demanded now. ‘I’ve been expecting you to mention him all evening, but you haven’t.’

‘But—Mr Romero was Cassie’s guest, not mine,’ protested Eve, amazed that he should feel he had the right to question her like this.

‘Yet Mrs Robertson’s daughter has gone back to London, hasn’t she?’ Harry persisted, and Eve expelled an indignant breath.

‘Yes,’ she agreed tersely. ‘Mr Romero has only stayed on because he’s not well.’ She endeavoured to calm herself. ‘May I have a biscuit?’

‘Of course—of course.’

Harry immediately reached for the plate, but in his haste he succeeded only in spilling its contents onto the floor. Red-faced, he bent to rescue the scattered biscuits, just as Eve did the same, and they banged heads.

‘Oh, dear!’ Harry was contrite. ‘I’m such a clumsy oaf!’ He caught her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘Not much.’ Eve tried to make light of it, but she was intensely conscious of the weight of Harry’s hands upon her shoulders, and the quickness of his breathing as he stared into her eyes.

She knew she should have anticipated that he might try to kiss her, but she hadn’t. She glimpsed his intentions only seconds before he bent towards her, and although she turned her head, he still managed to press his wet lips to the corner of her mouth.

‘Oh, Eve,’ he said, when she recoiled with a muffled squeak of protest, and, misinterpreting her reaction, he buried his hot face against her neck. ‘You must know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

Eve couldn’t get away quickly enough. His heavy hands and coarse breathing reminded her all too vividly of another man’s sordid attempts to touch her. Scrambling backwards off her chair, she managed to put the width of the occasional table between them before saying unevenly, ‘I have to go.’

‘Eve!’ Harry got to his feet, his face flushed now with a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. ‘You can’t leave yet.’ He glanced down at the table. ‘You haven’t drunk your tea.’

‘I don’t want any more.’ Eve realised she had to say something to normalise the situation, or run the risk of Harry suspecting there was something wrong with her. There was, of course, but that was nobody’s business but her own. ‘I’ve just remembered: I promised Mrs Robertson I’d be back by nine o’clock, and it’s almost that now.’

Harry frowned. ‘You didn’t say anything about this before.’

‘I forgot.’ Eve managed to offer an apologetic smile. ‘What a memory, eh?’

Harry still looked doubtful. ‘This isn’t because I kissed you, is it?’ he asked.

‘No—’

‘Because if it is, I want you to know that my intentions are strictly honourable.’

‘Oh, Harry!’ Eve pressed her lips together with a genuine feeling of remorse. ‘I—I didn’t expect this, that’s all.’

Harry shook his head in obvious bemusement. ‘But I thought we were friends—’

‘We are friends.’

‘—that we understood one another—one another’s feelings.’ He paused. ‘Don’t you care about me at all?’

Eve sighed. She had hoped to avoid this conversation. Feeling her way, she said, ‘I’ve just told you. I consider you a friend. A dear friend,’ she appended, when her words failed to produce any lightening of his expression. ‘But—well, it’s too soon to—to consider anything else.’

‘Too soon?’ Harry sounded bitter. ‘We’ve known one another for almost a year, Eve.’

‘I know.’ She was uncomfortable now, and she desperately wanted to end this awful post-mortem of something that should never have happened. ‘I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m just not ready to—to think of you in that way.’

‘It’s this man, isn’t it?’ he exclaimed, with a sudden change of attitude. ‘This—what was it you called him?—Romeo or something?’

‘It’s Mr Romero.’

‘Romero?’ Harry repeated the word scornfully. ‘What kind of name is that?’

‘He comes from an island in the Caribbean, and it’s a Spanish name, actually,’ said Eve, resenting his implication. ‘And you couldn’t be more wrong.’

‘Oh, I’m not wrong.’ Harry was unpleasant. ‘A man like that is just the kind of man you’d be attracted to. Is he sexy, Eve? Does he make your pulses race? I should have known it wouldn’t take much for someone with your background to be seduced.’

Eve’s lips parted in dismay and she clapped a hand to her mouth to silence the cry of protest that sprang to her lips. That Harry, of all people, should say something like that, she thought sickly. My God, did he also know she had Hispanic blood?

CHAPTER SEVEN

HARRY realised his mistake at once—realised that he had said something completely unforgivable—and his face crumpled. His cry of anguish was still ringing in her ears as she wrenched open the door of the rectory and ran for home.

But Eve never faltered. Snatching her coat from the stand, she rushed out into the cold night air, not stopping to put it on until she was far enough from the scene of her humiliation for it not to matter. Then, shouldering her way into the duffel’s reassuring folds, she wrapped the sides closely about her.

But she was still trembling, and she wondered if she’d ever feel warm again. That Harry, of all people, should show such prejudice made her feel sick, and she couldn’t believe he actually thought she might be holding him off because of Jake Romero. What did he truly think she was?

The question didn’t bear examination. Shaking her head, she reached the foot of her grandmother’s drive more through good luck than management. In the first few minutes after leaving the rectory she’d hardly been aware of where she was going, and she realised it was a measure of the security the old lady offered her that had brought her unerringly back to Watersmeet.

She was chilled to the bone when she reached the house and, letting herself into the hall, she headed straight for the library. With a bit more luck Mrs Blackwood might have left a decent fire going in there, and she couldn’t wait to toast her freezing toes in front of its warmth.

She’d expected the room to be in darkness apart from the firelight. As her grandmother hadn’t got up for supper, and Jake Romero was still confined to his bed, she was surprised when she opened the door and found a lamp burning. To her dismay, she found their remaining house guest stretched out in her grandmother’s armchair, a discarded magazine resting across his flat stomach. He had obviously been reading, but now he appeared to be gazing into the flames.

He had heard her come in, of course. The room was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop, and the magazine fell heedlessly to the floor as he got to his feet.

‘Eve,’ he said, his voice still a little hoarse, but not as congested as it had been a couple of days before. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t hear a car.’

‘I walked,’ said Eve flatly, and although the idea of warming herself in front of the fire had lost its appeal, she felt too cold to leave the door open.

‘You walked?’ Jake was surprised. ‘I thought Mrs Blackwood said that the Reverend Murray would be bringing you home.’

Eve didn’t know what concern he thought it was of his, but she managed a swift shake of her head. ‘I preferred to walk,’ she said again. And then, because it was expected, ‘How are you?’

Jake shrugged. ‘I’ll survive.’

Eve frowned. ‘Does Ellie know you’re up?’

‘Ellie? Oh, you mean Mrs Robertson.’ He shook his head. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Then—’

‘I’m sorry, but I was going stir-crazy in that room,’ he said ruefully. ‘Mrs Blackwood told me you’d be out for the evening, so I flung on some clothes and came down here.’

Eve was sure he hadn’t ‘flung on’ the chunky cream cashmere turtleneck, or the soft navy drawstring pants that clung to his hips and moulded the strong muscles of his thighs. As usual, he looked powerfully male, and sexy as hell—another first for her, she thought bitterly.

‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’

His question had caught her unawares. He could tell that. Watching her, huddled back against the door as she was, he guessed he was the last person she’d wanted to see tonight. No change there then, he acknowledged drily, yet he had the distinct impression that she was pale beneath the hectic colour the cold had painted on her cheeks. And her eyes were wide and unnaturally bright. Almost as if she was on the verge of tears.

Dammit, what had happened? What had that old clergyman said to her? If he’d made a pass at her, if he’d touched her, he’d—

Yeah, right. Jake arrested his fertile imagination at that point. This was nothing to do with him. Even if the old man had raped her—which was taking his suspicions to unbelievable lengths—what could he do about it? She wasn’t his responsibility, and he doubted she’d welcome any interference he might make in her affairs.

‘Um—Mrs Blackwood said you were spending the evening sorting donations for some fair that’s to be held at the church, is that right?’ he persisted, when she didn’t answer him, and Eve expelled a tremulous breath.

‘The autumn fair,’ she agreed in a low voice.

Jake nodded. ‘Well, you look cold,’ he said, when she didn’t elaborate. ‘Come and sit down. It’s much warmer by the fire.’

‘Oh, I—I might just go up to bed,’ she said, declining his invitation. ‘I am rather tired.’ She turned towards the door. ‘G—goodnight.’

Despite the urgent voice inside him that was warning him not to get involved, Jake couldn’t let her go like this. Moving with more speed than he’d have believed himself capable of in his present condition, he strode across the room before she could get the door fully open, and slammed his palm against the dark panels.

The door thudded shut again, trapping her inside, and she turned to look at him with wide—fearful?—eyes. ‘What—what do you think you’re doing?’ she got out, her voice betraying the panic she was feeling. ‘If you touch me—’

‘I’m not going to touch you!’ he exclaimed, annoyed to find himself in the position of having to offer a defence. ‘I’m concerned about you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think something’s happened to upset you. Did someone lay his hands on you? Is that why you’re jumping like a cat just because I stopped you from opening the door?’

Eve turned, but she did so without putting any space between her and the wooden panels behind her. She was obviously making every effort to keep as far away from him as possible, and, despite dismissing his worst fears earlier, he was now firmly convinced that—what was it Mrs Blackwood had called him? Reverend Murray?—Murray had assaulted her in some way.

‘No—no one’s upset me except you,’ she said, but he could hear the tremor in her voice. ‘I wanted to leave and you stopped me. What am I supposed to think?’

Jake blew out an aggravated breath. ‘Well, you’ve nothing to fear from me,’ he said shortly, straightening up and putting a significant distance between them. ‘I merely wanted to help.’

‘To help?’ There was a note of hysteria in her voice now. ‘You can’t help me.’ She swallowed. ‘Nobody can.’

It was a strange response, but Jake didn’t have the energy to pursue it right now. ‘If you say so,’ he said wearily, and she tilted her chin.

‘May I go?’

‘Well, I won’t stop you again.’

‘Good.’

There was defiance in her tone, and, wrapping her coat closer about herself, she turned towards the door.

But she didn’t open it. Instead, despite taking hold of the handle, she remained motionless for several tense seconds, apparently staring at the wall. Then, to his amazement, she slumped against the door, sliding down until she was huddled at his feet.

Jake moved then. Although he still couldn’t be sure she’d welcome his assistance, he had to do something. Dropping down onto his haunches, he put out his hand and tried to turn her to face him.

She resisted at first, flinching away as if he’d attempted to assault her, and his anger towards Murray escalated to even greater heights. He was sure now that the man was responsible for her distress, and he wanted to wring his scrawny neck.

Eventually he succeeded in drawing her away from the door, and when he saw the tears streaming down her face he couldn’t stifle a savage oath. ‘I’ll kill that bastard,’ he muttered, hauling her into his arms, and although there was still some resistance, ultimately she subsided against him with a shaky sigh of defeat.

She was trembling, he could feel it. And she felt so cold, despite the heavy overcoat she had clutched about her. Her wet face was pressed against his sweater, and as she breathed soft strands of silky dark hair brushed his chin.

Almost involuntarily, it seemed, he turned his mouth against her hair, tasting its lemony essence, inhaling its fragrance deep into his lungs. His hand was at the nape of her neck, and the temptation to tip her face up to his and taste her mouth, too, was almost overwhelming.

He scowled. Was he no better than Murray? he asked himself disgustedly. He wasn’t thinking of her feelings any more. He was just thinking about himself. Just because the knowledge that she was cradled between his spread thighs was giving him a hard-on of painful proportions was no excuse for this depravity. He was only in the house because Cassandra had invited him, for God’s sake, and he could just imagine her reaction if she could see him now.

He needed to get Eve to the fire, he reminded himself grimly. Not just because she was physically cold, but because she seemed chilled both inside and out. She needed heat, and brandy, not necessarily in that order. And he could do with a shot of Scotch himself.

In the ordinary way, lifting her slim, athletic form would have been easy for him. She was at least forty pounds lighter than the old lady, and infinitely less cumbersome. But his arms shook as he lifted her off the floor, and he cursed the fact that two days in bed had left him as weak as a baby.

Still, in spite of her opposition, he managed to carry her across the room and deposit her in the armchair he’d been occupying when she came in. Then, trusting her not to try and run out on him again, he walked across to the drinks cabinet on slightly uncertain legs.

Eve watched him from beneath lowered lids, scrubbing her cheeks with a tissue she’d found in her pocket. She didn’t want to consider what a pathetic fool she’d made of herself, and, no matter how understanding Romero had been, she’d allowed him to get way too close to her. After what had happened with Harry she ought to have had more sense.

But she hadn’t known how she was going to react when he’d guessed that Harry had upset her. His immediate anger with the other man, his instinctive belief that whatever had happened wasn’t her fault, had broken down the guard she’d kept around her emotions all these years. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried like that, and although she could make excuses for it, it still didn’t alter the fact that Jake had exposed a vulnerability she’d tried so hard to erase.

He came back with two of her grandmother’s crystal tumblers and held one out to her. ‘It’s only Scotch, I’m afraid,’ he said, his hand not entirely steady. ‘I couldn’t find any brandy.’

Eve was compelled to take the glass from him, though she hated even the smell of whisky. She guessed lifting her had robbed him of what little strength he’d had left, and she couldn’t turn him down.

‘Thanks.’

He nodded, bringing his own glass to his lips and taking a steady gulp. ‘God, I need this.’

Eve glanced up at him. ‘I’m not sure that drinking whisky is wise in your present condition,’ she said, dipping her finger into her glass and tasting the raw spirit. She grimaced, only just managing to hold back a moan of distaste. It was no better in small doses. ‘You’re supposed to be recuperating.’

Jake looked down at her with a laconic gaze. ‘Yeah, well, this stuff will do me more good than all the hot cocoa in the world,’ he replied drily. ‘You, too. Drink it up.’

‘Me?’ Eve shuddered. ‘I can’t drink this. It tastes horrible!’

‘Pretend it’s medicine,’ advised Jake, not taking no for an answer. ‘It’ll warm you up.’

‘I am warm now.’

Eve proved it by pushing the duffel off her shoulders, and for a moment he was transfixed by the pure curve of her nape rising above the round neck of her tee shirt. The shirt was long-sleeved, and a dusty pink in colour, and blended well with the tight jeans whose waistband dipped below her navel. But he hardly noticed what she was wearing. Once again he’d been treated to a glimpse of her delectably smooth bare skin, and the arousal he’d felt earlier manifested itself again with record speed.

Thankfully she was too busy pulling her tee shirt down over her midriff to notice the sudden bulge in his pants, and, putting his empty glass aside, he took her glass from her and swallowed its contents in one gulp. Then, squatting down beside her to hide his embarrassment, he said, ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’

She seemed startled by his question. Perhaps she’d hoped the Scotch would divert him—or her amateur attempt to focus his attention on his health. Either way, it hadn’t worked. If he managed to put thoughts of her naked out of his mind, he was instantly reminded of her dipping a finger into her glass. God, did she have any idea how provocative that action was? Somehow he doubted it, yet there was an odd look of wary perception in her eyes.

‘What happened when?’ she countered now, and Jake guessed she was still hoping to avoid a confrontation. She grimaced. ‘I must have got really chilled. I don’t usually fall apart like that.’

‘Eve!’ Ignoring her immediate withdrawal, he put out his hand and captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Your falling apart, as you put it, had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the Reverend Murray. Just tell me what the old fool did, for God’s sake. Did he hurt you?’

Eve tried to jerk her chin away from his hand, and when that didn’t work she adopted a disdainful stare. ‘Harry isn’t old,’ was all she said, in a scornful voice. ‘He’s probably younger than you are.’

Jake let her go then, surging to his feet in angry disbelief. What the hell was she saying? That while he’d been picturing her at the mercy of some perverted old lecher, she’d actually spent the evening with a man who might conceivably have expected a different response to his advances?

‘So what really happed?’ he demanded, looking down at her coldly, unable to hide the resentment in his gaze. ‘A lovers’ fight? A disagreement? Or has he dumped you for someone else?’

Eve winced as if he’d struck her, and all the earlier empathy he’d felt on her behalf came flooding back with renewed strength. Dammit, he hadn’t been mistaken. Something had happened, something bad, and he’d only made it worse with his crass accusations.

‘Eve—’ he began, but she was already getting to her feet, gathering her coat against her, looking anywhere but at him. God, he thought, how could he have been so stupid? It would have taken more than a quarrel with her boyfriend to destroy the cool self-possession she always exhibited towards him.

‘Eve, I’m sorry,’ he started again, but she wasn’t listening, moving past him with her eye on the door and the evident intention of putting as much space between them as possible.

He expelled a harsh breath. He couldn’t let her go like this. He had to make her see that he’d felt betrayed when she’d told him that Murray was a young man, that his amateurish attempt at chivalry had been blunted by the realisation that she was—might be—involved with someone.

The ramifications of that statement were too complicated to consider now. Nor did he choose to remember that Eve’s affairs—her well-being—had nothing to do with him. Or what he was admitting by feeling as he did. He just knew that if he allowed her to walk out of this room without accepting his apology he’d never forgive himself.

Gritting his teeth against the anticipation of failure, he reached out and snagged a corner of her coat sleeve as she brushed past him. ‘Wait!’

She yanked at the sleeve, and when she couldn’t get him to release it, she simply dropped the coat on the floor and stumbled over it. Swearing, he stepped over the coat and managed to catch her wrist instead. ‘Eve, please,’ he said imploringly, forcing her to a standstill. ‘You’ve got to give me a chance to explain.’

‘What’s to explain?’ He could only marvel at the strength of will that forced her to lift her head and meet his gaze. ‘I assume you think it’s all right for a man to maul a woman he’s supposed to have some respect for?’

‘No!’ Jake was appalled. ‘Is that what he did?’ He sought for a suitable way to describe it that didn’t involve mentioning sex while he entertained methods of revenge all over again. ‘I guess he—took advantage of you, right?’

Eve looked as if she didn’t want to answer him. But then she blurted out painfully, ‘He kissed me!’

She knew what he would think as soon as she said it. After all, what was a simple kiss between friends? How could she explain the outrage she’d felt when Harry had grabbed her and pressed his wet lips against hers without sounding paranoid? Jake knew nothing of her history. And she certainly had no intention of telling him now.

‘He kissed you?’ he echoed, and although he was trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice she knew it was there, just beneath the surface.

‘Yes, he kissed me,’ she said, trying to stare him out and not succeeding. ‘I suppose you think that makes me some kind of a screwball, getting het-up over something so—so unimportant.’

Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘But it wasn’t unimportant to you,’ he said, with more shrewdness than she’d given him credit for. ‘Was it?’

Eve put up a nervous hand and tugged on a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid. ‘It wasn’t the kiss,’ she admitted at last. ‘It was what came after.’ She didn’t want to go on, but he had been kind and he deserved some kind of an explanation. ‘He—Because I objected, he accused me of preferring someone else.’

Jake stared at her warily. Dammit, he’d been imagining she had few friends, holed up here with an argumentative old woman, but now it appeared that not only did she have an admirer, she apparently had more than one. It shouldn’t, but it irritated the hell out of him.

‘I see,’ he said at last, and, realising he still had her wrist in a death grip, relaxed his hold. ‘And do you? Prefer someone else?’

Eve’s face flamed. ‘No.’

‘So you just—what? Don’t like men in general?’

‘No!’ Eve snatched her wrist out of his grasp and rubbed it vigorously, as if to remove any trace of his scent from her skin. ‘I just don’t like being—touched.’

‘I can see that.’ Jake’s voice was harsh to his ears, and he wondered if it was the unaccustomed amount of Scotch he’d consumed in a short time that was constricting his vocal cords. ‘So, is this how you reacted when Murray touched you? Because I have to say it’s damn demeaning to have someone behave as if you had some lethal infection.’

‘I didn’t.’ Despite her efforts to maintain a semblance of composure, the accusation caught her on the raw. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘So make me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Or won’t.’

She shook her head. ‘Why should you care about me?’

‘Damned if I know, but I do.’

The atmosphere was suddenly electric. Jake didn’t know if he was imagining it, or whether some chemical reaction had been activated by his words. Whatever—and with a lack of restraint he deplored later—he moved until there was barely an inch of space between them. Then, looking down into her startled face, he said thickly, ‘Touch me. I promise I won’t bite.’

Eve shook her head, but she didn’t move away. ‘This is crazy.’

‘Agreed.’ His eyes travelled lower, to the tantalising glimpse of olive skin exposed again above her navel. ‘But just do it, eh?’ He grimaced. ‘To save my feelings if nothing else.’

Eve’s breath came out in a rush. ‘I don’t believe anything I’ve done has hurt your feelings,’ she said, the tip of her tongue appearing to moisten her lower lip. ‘But if it has, I’m sorry.’

‘Prove it.’

‘How?’

How indeed? Jake hoped he wasn’t being too ambitions in thinking he could cure something that had obviously been some years in the making. He had no real experience of phobias or psychological problems. He just sensed that whatever major hang-ups she had, they weren’t going to go away by simply ignoring them.

‘Come closer,’ he said, hoping he wasn’t being too optimistic in thinking he could control the situation.

Just standing close to her like this, inhaling the womanly scents of her body, was amazingly erotic. Images of the hot, steamy sex they could have shared if the circumstances had been different were enough to make him dizzy. And it was becoming increasingly hard to remember exactly who she was and why he was here.

‘I think I should leave now,’ she said abruptly, and Jake wondered if she’d read his mind. ‘Thank you for—for listening to me. And you’re right. I probably overreacted. In his defence, I have to say that Harry’s never done anything to upset me before.’

To hell with Harry! Jake only just stopped himself from saying it out loud. He’d be happy if he never heard the man’s name again.

‘I don’t recall saying you’d overreacted,’ he said instead, his hands balling into fists at his sides. ‘And I don’t know what the bastard said, because you won’t tell me me.’

‘It wasn’t important,’ she insisted, taking a significant step back from him. Jake’s hands rose almost automatically to prevent her from moving away.

‘It was important enough to make you cry,’ he reminded her savagely, and before he could prevent it his hands had settled on the bared skin at her waist.

He didn’t know who was the most shocked—herself or him. He hadn’t intended to touch her; dammit, she’d just spent the last fifteen minutes explaining that she didn’t like to be touched. But as soon as his fingers met skin that was soft and warm and unbelievably smooth, any doubts he’d had about the sanity of what he was about to do went out of the window.

‘Don’t,’ she said, the word torn from her lips, and he thought how pointless the protest was. In her agitation to avoid him her chest was heaving, and the hard peaks of her breasts were clearly visible beneath her tee shirt. She was irresistible, he thought. Irresistible and available. And, abandoning any attempt at playing the hero, he bent his head and covered her lips with his.

She tasted like heaven. That was his first thought. Her mouth was hot and deliciously vulnerable. Her breathing was uneven, short gasps that he inhaled deep into his lungs. She didn’t touch him, even though he must have caught her off balance, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that her breasts were crushed against his chest and her thighs were moving restlessly against his.

It wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. He had to admit he’d expected her to fight him all the way. But, apart from feeling a little stiff, she acquiesced to his hungry kiss without obvious resistance. And he came to what he later realised was an arrogant conclusion that it wasn’t being touched that bugged her, it was being touched by the wrong man.

The idea was exhilarating—the possibilities endless. Growing bolder, he slipped his tongue between her teeth and deepened the kiss. But his head swam with sudden dizziness as he explored her mouth, and he realised at once how weak he still was. He was swaying on his feet now, and he thanked God she hadn’t tried to fight him off. If she had, he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

His humiliation came swiftly and devastatingly. When he thought about it later he knew he should have guessed that nothing was ever that easy. Eve hadn’t been acquiescent; she’d just been biding her time. The moment he showed his vulnerability, she was ready to strike.

He was shaking, his legs trembling with the effort of supporting his weight. He lifted his head, blinking in an effort to focus his swimming senses, and Eve immediately tried to take her revenge.

And she would have succeeded, too, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to drag himself away from her. Bending forward, he was struggling to get his breath at the same moment that she brought her knee up between his legs. As it was, the crippling blow merely brushed its objective, but it was enough to send him staggering back against the desk.

He groaned, he remembered later, more because of his heaving lungs than her success. Nevertheless, she seemed to think she’d achieved what she’d wanted, and, snatching up her coat, she wrenched open the door and ran out of the room.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LIGHT filtering through a crack in the curtains got Eve out of bed. Dear God, she wondered, what time was it? It was usually still dark when she woke up.

Fumbling for her watch, she stumbled across to the windows and drew the curtain aside. Brilliant sunlight spilled into the room and a glance at her watch showed her that it was almost ten o’clock.

Ten o’clock! She was horrified. She’d overslept. Or rather, she hadn’t. Remembering that she hadn’t fallen asleep until well into the early hours, it was no wonder that she’d slept in.

Still, that didn’t alter the fact that this was a working day—and, bearing in mind that Falconbridge Primary was due to close, she was hardly doing herself any favours by missing lessons. What kind of a report was that to put in her reference?

Downstairs, after a swift shower, Eve told the startled housekeeper that she wouldn’t have time for breakfast. ‘Oh, but Mr Romero said to let you sleep on,’ Mrs Blackwood protested, and Eve felt an uneasy pang. What else had ‘Mr Romero’ told her? she wondered. And, in God’s name, how was she supposed to face him after what had happened the night before?

‘Where—where is Mr Romero?’ she asked faintly, hoping she wouldn’t have to see him before she left for school. Maybe almost twenty-four hours would be enough to blunt the memory of what she’d done.

What she’d done?

‘Er—don’t you know?’ Mrs Blackwood was speaking again, and Eve tried to concentrate. ‘I thought you must have said your goodbyes last evening. He left—’ she glanced at the kitchen clock ‘—it must have been about half-past eight.’

‘He left?’ Eve was confused. ‘What—you mean he’s gone out?’

‘He’s gone back to London,’ Mrs Blackwood informed her regretfully. ‘I said I didn’t think he was well enough to drive all that way, but he insisted he had to go. He must have had a call or something. On his mobile phone, you know. Maybe it was from Miss Cassie. Whatever—it was none of my business.’

‘No.’ Eve felt a sudden wave of depression sweep over her. ‘Well, I’d better go and tell Ellie he’s gone.’

‘Oh, she knows,’ said Mrs Blackwood airily. ‘Mr Romero had a word with her before he left.’ She pulled a face. ‘Madam didn’t approve, any more than I did, but what could she do? He was determined to go.’

Eve’s shoulders sagged. ‘I see.’

‘Are you all right?’ The housekeeper was looking at her anxiously now. ‘You’re very pale. Are you sure you’re not coming down with the same complaint Mr Romero had?’

‘You mean flu?’ Eve could hear the irony in her voice. ‘No, I’m all right. Just tired, that’s all.’

‘Well, you look after yourself,’ advised Mrs Blackwood severely. ‘And going without breakfast is a silly thing to do in the circumstances.’

‘I’ll get a coffee at school,’ Eve assured her, hoping she wouldn’t be too late for morning break. ‘See you later.’

Despite the sunshine, it was still cold, and Eve walked briskly down the drive. She could have used her grandmother’s Wolseley, but the old car was so cumbersome to handle that she usually preferred to walk. Besides, her mind was busy with other things, and she wouldn’t have trusted herself behind the wheel of such a lethal weapon.

Depressingly, it didn’t help to know that by leaving Romero had removed any embarrassment she might have felt at seeing him again. Despite what she’d thought earlier, deep inside she’d wanted to speak to him, to assure herself that she hadn’t caused him any permanent damage by her reckless actions. Silly, perhaps, after the way he’d behaved, but she feared her punishment had been out of all proportion to his offence.

She caught her breath suddenly. Yet how could she feel that way? Compared to Jake Romero’s, Harry’s behaviour seemed almost innocent—his desire to prove his love for her the complete opposite of the other man’s intentions.

So why did she care if she’d hurt him? If she’d really been revolted when Jake touched her, it shouldn’t matter that she was never going to see him again.

But, unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. In her heart of hearts she knew that for the first time in her life she’d felt feelings stir inside her that she’d hardly known existed. And the truth was, if he hadn’t shown how weak he was, how easy it would be for her to hurt him, she actually might have given in.

But to what? After all these years of keeping men at arm’s length, did she really know? Oh, she knew about sex, about what a man wanted and how far he was prepared to go to get it, but even she could see that what had happened the night before had been nothing like that.

She really knew nothing about consensual sex, about consensual relationships—the kind Cassie had with her many conquests, for example. The kind she’d had—was still having—with Jake Romero.

Eve shivered. If nothing else, that should convince her that she’d made the right decision. Whatever Romero had wanted, it was not something she could supply, and she ought to be glad that he’d left before she did something she’d regret.

All the same, that didn’t stop her from thinking about him during the endless day that followed.

Mrs Portman was unexpectedly understanding when Eve explained, truthfully, that she’d slept badly and that that was why she was late. But Eve could have wished that she’d ranted and raved and given her something else to worry about instead of what might have been.

The memory of how she’d felt when Jake kissed her followed her into her sleep for that night and many nights to come. And no matter how rational she could be in daylight hours, her subconscious persisted in relieving the sensuous brush of his aroused body against hers and the consuming hunger of his mouth.

Jake went home for Christmas. Alone.

Since his return to London at the end of November he’d succeeded in avoiding any intimate meetings with Cassandra. And, although she expressed her irritation in frequent phone calls, usually late at night after she’d finished at the television studios, thankfully the producers of the tri-weekly soap were pleased with her, and that had mollified her complaints.

For his part, Jake had no sensible explanation for his sudden aversion to her company. Oh, sure, he hadn’t liked the way she treated her mother, but he’d never before considered familial loyalties a prerequisite in a girlfriend. His abortive first marriage had taught him that families could be both a blessing and a curse, and since then he’d avoided all attempts to introduce that kind of complication to a relationship.

So why had he agreed to go to Northumberland with Cassandra? A less cynical observer than himself might contend that the visit had been preordained, that it was the only way he could have met Eve, but he wasn’t prepared to accept that theory. For God’s sake, the girl had hated him on sight, and after the way she’d reacted to his lovemaking there was no earthly reason why he should want to see her again.

But he did.

Which was one of the reasons why he went back to San Felipe for Christmas. Not the main reason, he assured himself. That had to do with still feeling hungover from his dose of flu and needing some well-deserved sunshine after too many weeks spent in Europe in winter.

Even so, he hadn’t intended to go. The British Boat Show was held at the beginning of January, and it would have been far more sensible to wait until it was over before returning home. As it was, he condemned himself to two long-haul flights in less than two weeks, and aroused Cassandra’s fury for not thinking about her at all.

Not that her feelings had been high on his agenda of things to consider when he’d been planning his trip. On the contrary, his thoughts had been filled with images of another young woman, spending the holiday season in a cold and inhospitable climate with only two elderly women for company.

And Harry Murray, he reminded himself savagely. After the way he’d behaved, she’d probably revised her opinion of the sainted vicar of St Mary’s.

He arrived back from his short holiday to find a handful of messages from Cassandra waiting for him at his hotel. Evidently she’d been calling him for the past three days. He stuffed the slips the receptionist gave him into his pocket, deciding he’d read them when he wasn’t depressed and jet-lagged. Right now, all he wanted was a shower, a stiff drink and his bed, in that order, and anything Cassandra had to say could surely wait until the following morning.

Despite the fact that it was only the middle of the morning, Jake took a shower, drew his curtains, poured himself a half-tumbler of Scotch from the bottle the Room Service waiter had left on the table, and tumbled into bed.

He fell asleep immediately for once, and he wasn’t best pleased when less than an hour later the phone beside his bed shrilled its strident tone.

‘Dammit!’ he muttered, trying to reach the receiver without lifting his head from the pillow. But all he succeeded in doing was knocking it to the floor, and, swearing again, he hauled himself up and down. ‘Yeah?’ he said, when he got the handset to his ear. ‘This had better be good.’

‘Jake? Darling? Is that you?’

Cassandra! Jake scowled and flung himself back on his pillows. He might have known. He should have told the receptionist to hold all calls until the following day. As it was, short of lying to her, he could hardly deny he was there.

‘Cassandra,’ he said, hoping she would hear the censure in his voice. ‘I was going to ring you later.’ Liar! ‘When I got up.’

‘Oh.’ She seemed nonplussed for a moment. ‘You’re in bed? But it’s eleven-thirty in the morning.’

‘It’s only five-thirty in San Felipe,’ he said, holding onto his temper with an effort. ‘I just got back.’

‘Oh, yes. I know. The receptionist at the hotel told me you were expected back today.’

‘Really?’ Jake would have a word with the receptionist concerned when he had the chance.

‘Yes, really.’ Cassandra didn’t seem to notice the edge in his tone. ‘I suppose she felt sorry for me. I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I thought you said you’d be back on the second?’

‘It’s only the fifth,’ said Jake tersely. ‘I got a later flight.’

‘Yes.’ Cassandra hesitated a moment. ‘So—you’re in bed at this minute?’

‘I think I just said so.’

‘Well, would you like me to come round, then? I could give you a massage. Did I tell you? One of the girls in the soap is really into shiatsu, and she’s been teaching me all the moves. She says I have great potential—’

‘Cassandra.’ Jake interrupted her. ‘Why did you ring? I can’t believe you woke me up to tell me how good you are at some freakin’ Japanese massage crap! For God’s sake, you left enough messages. I thought there must have been a minor disaster, or something. Instead of which—’

‘Mummy’s had a stroke,’ Cassandra broke in before he could finish, and suddenly every nerve in Jake’s body was on high alert. ‘It happened on Christmas Eve—can you believe it? I would have told you sooner, but you were away and your mobile was switched off.’

Deliberately, thought Jake grimly. But he was stunned at the news. He could hardly believe that the feisty old lady had suffered a serious attack. She’d seemed so tough, so indomitable. And Eve…How must Eve be feeling? He’d sensed she had real affection for her employer.

‘How is she?’ he demanded, fully awake now, swinging his bare feet to the floor. ‘I assume you’ve seen her?’

There was silence for a long moment, and Jake was on the verge of telling her to get a move on when she said, ‘Actually, I haven’t.’

‘You haven’t seen her?’

‘No,’ said Cassandra hurriedly. ‘I would have made the trip, you know I would, but she’ll be all right. It’s not left her paralysed or anything. Eve said she had a bit of, you know, numbness to begin with, but that soon wore off. And it hasn’t stopped her from talking—’

Jake blew out a breath. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t been to see her,’ he said, aghast. ‘Dammit, Cassandra, strokes can be fatal.’

‘I know that.’ She was defensive now.

‘And you didn’t think you had a duty to go and see how she was for yourself?’ Jake was appalled. ‘Cassandra, people need their family around them at a time like this.’

‘I know.’ Cassandra was sulky. ‘But she’s got Eve, hasn’t she?’

‘Eve!’ Jake snorted. ‘Yeah, that’s another story. You didn’t think she might appreciate a bit of support, too?’

‘Eve doesn’t need my support.’

‘You mean she’s never been offered it.’

Cassandra gasped. ‘What do you mean by that? What’s she been telling you?’

‘Eve hasn’t told me anything,’ retorted Jake shortly, aware that he had his own faults where Eve was concerned. ‘I just think it’s a lot to expect of a girl barely out of her teens. Particularly someone whose relationship to your mother is tenuous, to say the least.’

‘Oh!’ Was that relief in Cassandra’s voice? ‘Well, you could be right.’ She paused. ‘But she’s not as young as you think, you know. She’s twenty-five.’

‘She’s still a girl,’ said Jake flatly. Then, deciding he was in danger of arousing her suspicions again, he said, ‘Is Mrs Robertson in Newcastle Hospital?’

‘Oh, she’s not in hospital,’ exclaimed Cassandra at once, as if that somehow exonerated her of much of the blame. ‘She’s at home.’

‘At Watersmeet?’

‘Where else?’

‘So who’s looking after her?’

Cassandra expelled a resentful sigh. ‘Well—Eve and Mrs Blackwood, I expect. Eve has been on holiday since it happened.’

‘From school, you mean?’

‘Of course. You didn’t think she’d gone dashing off to some exotic destination as you did?’

‘I went home,’ Jake reminded her. ‘And why shouldn’t Eve go on holiday if she wants to? She’s entitled to a break, just like anybody else.’

‘Not when Mummy’s ill,’ protested Cassandra brusquely, and then seemed to realise she’d condemned herself out of her own mouth. ‘Oh—well, she wouldn’t anyway. Eve doesn’t do things like that.’

‘No.’ Jake conceded the point. He had the feeling there were a lot of things Eve didn’t do, and he badly wanted to know why.

‘Anyway—’ Cassandra seemed to think it would be all right to change the subject now ‘—when am I going to see you?’

You’re kidding, right?

For one awful moment Jake thought he’d said the words out loud, but it soon became obvious from Cassandra’s anticipation that he hadn’t. ‘I—’ He sought for an answer. ‘Let me get back to you on that. Right now I’ve just got back from San Felipe and I’m pretty tied up.’

‘Oh.’ Cassandra’s response was predictably terse. ‘So you don’t want to hear my news, then?’

Jake stifled a sigh. ‘I thought I just did.’

‘No.’ Cassandra sniffed. ‘I mean my news. About my part in Evermore.’ She paused, evidently waiting for him to respond, and when he didn’t she went on resentfully, ‘Honestly, I thought you’d be pleased to hear that the preliminary showings—you know, to the press and the executives and so on—have all been positive, and I’ve been offered a three-month extension of my contract.’

‘Great.’ Jake wondered how she could consider that more important than her mother’s health. ‘So you’ll be working in London for the foreseeable future?’

‘Yes. Marvellous, isn’t it? Whenever you’re in town, I’ll be available.’

I’ll just bet you will, thought Jake sourly, not really understanding why her callous attitude should matter so much to him. Okay, so he’d really liked her mother, but so what? He couldn’t make himself responsible for Cassandra’s shortcomings.

No, the truth was, it was Eve he was concerned about. Eve—who’d been expected to bear the whole weight of the old lady’s illness. And it was because of Eve that he was considering how soon he could ditch his schedule and take a flight up to Northumberland.

CHAPTER NINE

IT WAS late when Jake reached Watersmeet. He’d managed to get an afternoon flight, but what with it being an hour late, and the complications of renting a hire car, it was after six when he reached Falconbridge.

There were lights, as before, in the downstairs windows of the house, though this time the curtains were drawn. The arrival of his Ford, which had been all that was on offer, had apparently gone unnoticed, and Jake got out and locked the car before approaching the door.

Once again it was bitterly cold, but this time he was prepared for it. He’d bought himself a cashmere overcoat at Heathrow before boarding the plane, and although he hadn’t bothered to fasten it, it was still incredibly warm.

A strange man opened the door to his knock, and Jake gazed at him with wary eyes. Who the hell was this? It couldn’t be the Reverend Murray, could it? Had the bastard wheedled his way back into Eve’s good graces while Mrs Robertson had been ill? He hoped to God he wasn’t here because the old lady had taken a turn for the worse.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’

There was such confidence in the man’s tone that Jake revised his opinion. Besides, Eve had said Murray was a young man, whereas this guy had to be fifty if he was a day. The doctor, perhaps?

‘Er—my name’s Romero.’ Dammit, this was awkward. He hadn’t prepared for this eventuality. ‘I’m a friend of—’ He could hardly say the family so he compromised. ‘Of Mrs Robertson’s daughter.’

‘Yeah? Cass.’ The man didn’t sound impressed. ‘Well, she’s not here.’

‘I know that—’

‘Who is it, Adam?’

Jake heard Eve’s voice before he saw her, and he was amazed at the sudden clenching he felt in his gut at the sound. God, he was actually apprehensive of seeing her again, apprehensive of how she’d react when she saw him.

The man—Adam?—half turned at her approach, and because her attention was on him Jake had a moment to absorb her appearance before she noticed him.

She looked tired, he thought at once, the smoky eyes rimmed with dark circles. It was obvious that she hadn’t been sleeping well; worried about the old lady, no doubt, unlike Cassandra. Even her hair wasn’t neatly plaited, as it had been before. Instead, it was drawn back with a simple ribbon that allowed strands of silky dark hair to stray over the shoulders of the baggy beige cardigan she was wearing.

It made her look younger, he thought, feeling the pull of an attraction that was as insistent as it was out of place. Unlike the cardigan, which had to be a cast-off of the old lady’s. It successfully covered her from shoulder to hip, its bulky folds hiding the womanly shape he knew was beneath.

‘Jake—Mr Romero!’ She’d seen him now, and her eyes had widened in disbelief. ‘What are you doing here? Is—?’ She looked beyond him. ‘Is Cassie with you?’

‘No—’

It wasn’t the welcome he could have wished for, but it wasn’t unexpected. However, before he could explain, the other man intervened. ‘You know him?’ he asked in some surprise. ‘I was just telling him Cassie’s not here.’ ‘I knew that.’ Jake had a struggle to keep the edge out of his voice, but he had no intention of letting this guy screw up his reasons for being here. ‘May I come in?’

Eve glanced at the man beside her and then stepped back. ‘I expect so,’ she said, though there was little enthusiasm in her voice. ‘I gather you’re on your own. Did Cassie send you?’

‘No, she—didn’t,’ he said, biting back a choice epithet with an effort. He stepped over the threshold, ignoring Adam’s grudging stare, and breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind him. ‘So—how is the old lady?’

Eve looked surprised. ‘You know she’s been ill?’

Jake sighed. ‘Obviously.’

‘So Cassie did send you?’

‘No!’

‘But she knows you’re here?’

Jake shook his head. ‘No to that, too.’

‘Then how did you—?’

‘I’ve spoken to Cassandra,’ Jake put in levelly. ‘That’s all.’

Eve looked as if she was having some trouble in taking this in, and Adam seemed to decide that he deserved to know what was going on.

‘Who is this chap, Eve?’ he asked, giving Jake a suspicious look. ‘I thought he said he was a friend of Cassie’s?’

‘He is.’

Eve couldn’t blame him for being confused. She was having a struggle dealing with Jake’s arrival herself, and it was difficult to be objective when just seeing him again had thrown all her carefully won indifference into chaos.

He looked so good, she thought, unconsciously pressing a hand to the suddenly hollow place beneath her ribs. In a long camel-coloured overcoat, open over black jeans and a matching sweater, and low-heeled black boots on his feet, he looked even better than she remembered, and she desperately wanted to tell him how glad she was to see him.

But of course she couldn’t do that. Apart from the fact that Adam was standing watching him, with a look of wary speculation on his face, Jake was still Cassie’s property, not hers.

‘So if he’s Cassie’s—friend—’ Jake didn’t miss the deliberate emphasis Adam laid on that word ‘—and he says he knew Cass wasn’t here, why the hell has he come?’

‘You could start by asking me,’ Jake observed pleasantly, even though he itched to make his own contribution to the aggression in the atmosphere. Forcing himself to concentrate on Eve instead, he said, ‘How is Mrs Robertson. You didn’t say.’

‘My mother’s fairly fit, considering,’ Adam answered for her, and the relief he felt at discovering that Adam wasn’t some unknown admirer but Cassandra’s brother made Jake feel ridiculously euphoric. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘Adam, you don’t understand—’

‘I stayed here for a few days last November,’ Jake informed him smoothly, overriding Eve’s protest. ‘With your sister, as it happens. I got to know your mother then. I liked her, and when Cassandra said—’

‘Who?’

‘Cassandra.’ Jake was patient. He’d already realised that her family never used her formal name. ‘When she told me her mother had had a stroke, I was concerned.’

‘Unlike Cassie,’ said Adam tersely. ‘That’s her real name, by the way. Cassandra’s just an affectation she uses when she’s acting.’

‘Adam—’

Once again Eve tried to intervene, but Adam wasn’t having any. ‘I still don’t get it,’ he persisted, glancing sideways at her. ‘Is there something going on here that I should know about?’

‘No!’ Eve’s denial was heartfelt, and Jake, who had had no intention of discussing his actions with Adam, guessed that a less arrogant man than himself would have taken that as his cue to get out of there. But he didn’t. Giving him a covert look from beneath her lashes, she added, ‘Look, why don’t we all go into the library? It’ll be warmer in there, and we can at least offer Mr Romero a drink, Adam.’

Adam shrugged his bulky shoulders. In appearance he was a lot more like his mother than his sister was, and it was obvious he resented the intrusion of a man he considered little more than Cassandra’s—Cassie’s—latest admirer. But he didn’t argue, which impressed Jake. Evidently Eve’s opinion carried more weight in this household than he’d imagined.

And it was infinitely warmer in the library. Looking about him, Jake was amazed at how much he remembered of this room, at how familiar it was. And memorable, he thought ruefully. He’d been standing right there when he’d done the unforgivable and kissed Eve. Poor fool that he was, he’d thought he could comfort her. That as soon as he laid his hands on her she’d realise what she’d been missing all along. Yeah, right.

Instead of that she’d stamped on his manhood and his self-respect, and he’d only just got away with saving his dignity.

‘Would you like Scotch?’

Eve had moved to the drinks cabinet and was looking at him, and Jake gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. ‘Great,’ he said. Then, remembering he was driving, ‘Just a small one, please. Over ice, if you have it.’

Adam snorted. He’d made his way across to the hearth and was now standing warming his back in front of the blazing fire. ‘Waste of good whisky, if you ask me,’ he muttered. ‘Who ruins a good drop of Scotch with ice?’

‘I do,’ said Jake, determined not to let the other man rile him. ‘Do you live in the village, Mr Robertson?’

‘No.’ Adam’s bushy brows drew together above a bulbous nose as he spoke. ‘I’ve got a farm further up the valley. Didn’t Cass tell you?’

In actual fact, Cassandra—Cass—had told him very little about her family. Which had suited him very well. But after introducing him to her mother, she might have mentioned that she had a brother in the area, too.

‘Did you drive up from London today?’

Eve was speaking, evidently realising that Adam was bent on being objectionable and trying to keep the peace.

‘No. I took a flight to Newcastle,’ Jake answered easily. ‘I rented a car at the airport.’

‘To come here?’ said Adam unpleasantly. ‘How sweet.’

Jake wondered if the man had a death wish. Right now he was having a hard time keeping his temper with the evidence of Eve’s exhaustion there in front of his eyes. Did this guy have any conception that she appeared to be bearing the whole burden of the old lady’s illness? What contribution had he made, apart from behaving like the ignorant lout he was?

‘Ellie will be pleased to see you,’ said Eve hurriedly, once again trying to lighten the mood. ‘She’s been virtually confined to her room since her illness. She’ll be delighted to see a fresh face.’

‘And such a pretty face,’ said Adam sarcastically, clearly under the impression that Jake wouldn’t—or couldn’t—retaliate.

But this time Jake had had enough. ‘Have you got a problem with me being here?’ he demanded, ignoring Eve’s automatic attempt to come between them. ‘Stay out of this,’ he advised her, keeping his attention focussed on the other man. ‘Well? Have you?’

Adam blustered. ‘That’s not the point.’

‘Then what is?’ Jake was intimidating in this mood, and Eve realised her uncle had definitely underestimated him. ‘As I understand it, you don’t own this house. So you don’t have any say over who comes or goes, right?’

Adam was clearly agitated, but he stood his ground. ‘Well, she doesn’t,’ he snorted, gesturing towards Eve. ‘It’s not her house, either.’

Which was a perfectly pointless thing to say, in Jake’s opinion. Dammit, he knew it wasn’t Eve’s house. She only worked here. Despite what Cassandra had said about her being a distant relative, she was obviously treated more like a housemaid than a member of the family.

‘He knows that, Adam,’ Eve protested, putting a glass into Jake’s hand now, as if that would prevent him from shoving his fist in the other man’s fleshy face. ‘For goodness’ sake, what’s wrong with you? Mr Romero’s a guest, not an intruder. And, whether you like it or not, Ellie likes him.’

Adam grunted. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so.’ Eve gave him a glass, too. ‘Now, drink your drink and stop behaving like an idiot.’

‘Who are you calling an idiot?’ Adam was indignant, but Jake was amazed to see a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He gave a Jake a grudging look and then added gruffly, ‘Sorry. But Cass’s admirers usually rub me up the wrong way.’

Jake was taken aback. He’d never expected the man to apologise, and he supposed he should feel grateful to Eve for rescuing the situation. But he didn’t. He was put out now, and he badly wanted to take his frustration out on someone.

Speaking between his teeth, he said, ‘I guess this has been a rough time for both of you. Eve certainly looks as if she’s borne the brunt of it.’

‘Jake!’

Eve used his name without thinking, but he barely had time to register his approval before Adam said, ‘I’ve got a farm to run, Mr Romero. A hundred and fifty acres and two hundred head of cattle that need milking twice a day. Doesn’t leave me much time for anything else.’

‘Then perhaps you ought to have thought of employing an agency nurse to look after your mother?’ retorted Jake, swallowing half his Scotch in one gulp. ‘Eve’s not a servant, you know.’

‘I know that.’ Adam’s voice rose an octave, but then he seemed to think better of tangling with the younger man. ‘Anyway, what’s it to you? Eve’s big enough to make her own complaints if she wants to.’

‘For goodness’ sake!’ It was Eve who spoke. ‘Will you two stop behaving as if I wasn’t here? I was quite happy to look after Ellie, Mr Romero. And Adam would have hired a nurse if I’d asked him to. As it is, he’s going to take her to recuperate at the farm for a couple of weeks, so I can have a rest. Okay?’

Jake’s jaw compressed. ‘Is that true?’

‘What? That Ellie’s going to the farm for a couple of weeks?’ Eve sighed. ‘Yes, it is, as it happens. Adam’s wife used to be a nurse, so she’s quite capable of looking after her. Satisfied?’

He blew out a breath. ‘I guess so.’

‘Good.’

Eve sipped at the diet cola she’d poured for herself and hoped her words had defused the situation. Her earlier excitement at seeing Jake again had been dissipated by the atmosphere he and Adam had created, but that was probably just as well. Nevertheless, she was left with the uneasy awareness that she had let her feelings blind her to the real dangers here. She didn’t honestly know why Jake had come. She could only take his words about her grandmother at face value. But she knew that whatever he said, whatever he wanted of her, she couldn’t allow a momentary madness to develop into something even more destructive.

‘Look, I’m going up to say goodbye to my mother before I leave,’ Adam said suddenly, crossing the room to deposit his empty glass on the tray. He turned to Jake. ‘Why don’t you come up and see her? As Eve says, she’ll probably be glad to have someone different to talk to.’

Jake only hesitated a moment. Despite the fact that he’d been waiting for Adam to leave so that he could speak to Eve alone, he couldn’t ignore the olive branch the other man was extending.

‘Thanks,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’d like that.’

When they’d gone, Eve breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there she’d thought Jake was going to refuse—and how could she have explained that to her uncle? As it was, she just hoped their armistice would last as long as it took to visit Ellie and convince her that Jake’s only reason for coming here had been to assure himself that she’d suffered no ill effects from the attack.

And it was probably true, Eve thought, gathering the dirty glasses onto a tray and carrying it to the door. After all, it was hardly flattering to know that the main thing he’d noticed about her was how tired she looked. As compared to Cassie, she assumed, her lips tightening with sudden pain. So what was new?

Jake hadn’t come down when she returned to the library, and, unwilling to sit there waiting for him, Eve decided to go out to the stables. She knew Storm Dancer would already be safe in her stall. Mick, the man Mr Trivett employed to do all the odd jobs around the estate, would have seen to that. But she always gained a certain amount of comfort from the mare’s company, and hopefully Jake would get the message and leave before she got back.

Storm Dancer was munching happily from her feed bag when Eve rested her folded arms along the rails of her stall. The mare looked up, but she didn’t come to greet her, and Eve guessed that even the promise of an apple wouldn’t distract her from her food.

‘Your loss, old girl,’ Eve said, and with a rueful smile she glanced behind her. There was a neat stack of straw bales piled against the wall opposite, and she pulled a couple down to make a seat.

Watching the mare was almost as soothing to her ruffled nerves as grooming her would be, and, propping her elbows on her knees, Eve cupped her chin in her hands.

She guessed she must have been sitting there for fifteen minutes when she became aware that she was no longer alone. Jake was leaning with folded arms against the empty stall next to Storm Dancer’s. His booted feet were crossed at the ankle and there was a disturbingly intent look on his lean, dark face.

The fact that he’d entered the stables without her hearing him caused her no small measure of unease. Her thoughts had obviously been miles away, and anyone could have come into the isolated building and surprised her.

‘Hi,’ he said, when she looked up and saw him, and a quiver of awareness stirred in her belly. But when she would have got to her feet, he waved her back. ‘Stay where you are,’ he said, straightening from the rail and coming towards her. ‘I’ll join you. This is as good a place as any to talk.’

Eve shifted a little uncertainly. ‘I ought to be getting back.’

‘Why?’

Why indeed?

‘I’m cold,’ she said, the facile excuse the first that occurred to her. ‘I’ve been sitting here too long.’

‘Don’t I know it?’ Jake seated himself on the bale beside her and took off his coat, draping its soft folds about her shoulders. It was still warm from his body, still smelled of his distinctive scent. The beautiful garment trailed carelessly on the stable floor, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come back.’

Eve shivered, but not with the cold. ‘How did you know where I was?’

‘Mrs Blackwood said I’d probably find you here,’ he replied, his breath warm against her cheek. ‘She gave me strict instructions on how to find you.’ His eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘I didn’t like to tell her I already knew.’

Eve’s breathing quickened. ‘I thought you’d leave as soon as you’d spoken to Ellie. After the way Adam treated you, I’d have expected you’d want to get as far from here as possible.’

‘You wish?’ he murmured, his voice low and vaguely suggestive, awakening all those unfamiliar feelings inside her again. ‘Is that why you’ve been sitting out here? Because you were hoping to avoid seeing me again.’

Yes!

‘No.’ Eve thought she sounded at least half convincing. ‘Why should you think that?’

His mouth compressed. ‘You know why.’ He paused. ‘I suppose I should apologise. I had no right to try and kiss you.’

Eve’s throat felt tight with suppressed emotion. ‘I shouldn’t have reacted as I did,’ she said. Then, with a nervous sideways glance, ‘Did I hurt you?’

His mouth twitched. ‘If I said you did, what would you do about it? Kiss it better?’

Eve’s face flamed, but when she would have got to her feet Jake’s hand on her knee prevented her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said ruefully. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. Will you forgive me?’

He could feel her knee trembling beneath his hand, and he cursed himself for a fool. He’d already guessed that at some time some man had hurt her badly, and if he wanted to see her again he had to stop crowding her.

‘Look,’ he said, resisting the urge to slide his hand further up her thigh, ‘can’t we put the past behind us and start again?’

Eve’s lips parted. ‘There’s nothing to start again, Mr Romero!’ she exclaimed, and Jake thought he could willingly drown in the limpid beauty of her eyes. ‘I think you’re getting me mixed up with Cassandra.’

‘No, I’m not.’ Jake disliked the sound of that woman’s name on her lips. ‘I’ve thought of little else but you ever since I left here.’

Eve tensed. ‘You’re joking, right?’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘Oh, right.’ She was sceptical. ‘So I’m supposed to believe that all the time you were making love to Cassandra you were really thinking of me? How sick is that?’

‘I haven’t had sex with Cassandra,’ he snapped, resenting her sarcasm. He made an impatient gesture. ‘What kind of a creep do you think I am?’

‘I don’t have an opinion, Mr Romero,’ she replied primly, irritating him anew with her refusal to use his given name. ‘I hardly know you.’

‘We could remedy that.’ Despite his intention to move slowly, Jake allowed his fingers to stroke the inner curve of her knee. A nerve jumped against his hand and he felt the immediate quiver of apprehension that rippled over her at his touch. ‘I want to.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ said Eve, but her mouth was dry and she knew it wasn’t quite the truth. His nearness was having a totally unprecedented effect on her senses, and although she wanted to dislodge his hand from her knee, curiosity—and an undeniable temptation—kept her from doing it.

‘Don’t you?’ He leant closer and she felt his tongue stroke her ear. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Jake!’ His name was a cry of protest, but when she turned her head to avoid his tongue she found his face only inches from hers.

And something shifted deep inside her—something that kept her staring at him when she knew she shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be as close as this to any man, and particularly not this man.

His eyes were dark, and dilated to such an extent that she could hardly see any whiteness at all. And, although she was sure he must have shaved that morning, already there was a shadow of stubble on his jawline.

He had such a beautiful face, she thought, which was a crazy thought to have about someone who was so essentially male. But his was a hard beauty, his eyes deep, his mouth thin yet so sinfully sensual that any woman would be entranced.

A fine tremor ran though her which must have communicated itself to him, because he lifted his hand and allowed his knuckles to graze her cheek.

The tremor became an earthquake, and Eve felt her resistance ebbing as the shaking in her shoulders spread to the rest of her body. Her breathing was shallow, yet she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She was transfixed. Yet how could that be when inside she felt as if a series of electrical explosions was tearing her apart?

His thumb moved to brush roughly across her lips and her tongue went instinctively to meet it. He tasted as good as he looked, she thought, and, as if sensing her submission, he pressed harder, causing her lips to part. And, God forgive her, she curled her tongue around him and sucked his thumb into her mouth.

She heard the catch of his breathing, the quickening of the pulse that beat against her tongue. He was watching her with a heavy-lidded intensity that even she knew was different than before, and the feelings inside her expanded to consume every part of her being.

She needed to touch him, and her hands rose almost jerkily to grasp the soft fabric of his sweater, as if by holding on to him she could control this madness inside. Beneath the wool, the heat of his skin rose to meet her clutching fingers, and she desperately wanted to burrow beneath his sweater and press herself against the hard flesh of his body.

‘God, I want you,’ he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady, and Eve could only gaze up at him, unconsciously inviting him to go on.

His hand settled at the back of her neck, under the soft mane of her hair, his touch warm and heavy, angling her head to his. His kiss when it came was different, too, hard and deliberate, taking as well as giving, as if he was afraid she was going to run out on him again before it was over.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. The fire of that kiss had burned away any resistance, igniting a path clear down to her groin so that her legs fell helplessly apart.

She didn’t realise that Storm Dancer had finished feeding and was now standing watching them with soft, uncritical eyes. She was barely conscious of anything but Jake’s needs, Jake’s heat, the hungry pressure of his tongue forcing its way into her mouth.

He kissed her many times, over and over, until she was weak and clinging to him. He urged her back against the straw bales behind her and her breasts ached with the pressure he was putting on them, but she didn’t care. He’d wedged one thigh between hers, so that there was no way she could avoid feeling his arousal. His shaft throbbed against her leg and she shuddered with the awareness of how big he was, how hard and male and virile—and dangerously out of control.

‘Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?’ he demanded thickly, releasing her mouth only to nip her earlobe, to bite the yielding flesh of her throat. ‘I knew you’d be beautiful and you are.’

‘I’m—not—beautiful,’ she protested unsteadily, but he wasn’t listening to her. He’d parted the heavy cardigan to expose the thin vest that was all she was wearing underneath. He seemed entranced by the swollen globes of her breasts and, pushing the vest aside, his cold hands sought and released the catch of her bra.

Eve’s head swam when her breasts spilled into his hands. His thumbs had found the sensitised peaks that had surged against his palms, and she ached now with needs of her own. There was a tingling in her stomach and a throbbing wetness between her legs that she’d definitely never felt before. She felt alive and desirable, and, clutching his face with both hands, she brought his mouth back to hers.

‘Easy, baby,’ he murmured against her lips, and Eve trembled. How could she take it easy when it was all so new, so exciting, so different from anything she’d ever experienced before? His tongue was making sensuous forays into her mouth, aping what he wanted to do to her body, and for the first time she faced the possibility of a man’s lovemaking without fear or disgust.

‘We’ve got all night,’ he whispered, easing her back until she was practically lying on the bales, his hand sliding down to cup her mound through the tight cotton of her jeans. ‘No one’s going to interrupt us.”

No one, mused Eve dizzily. No one—not even Cassie. Cassie…

Eve’s throat constricted. The thought was a chilling one. It reminded her of who Jake was, how she had met him. Dear God, what was she thinking, allowing this to happen? Was she so bemused by her own discovered sexuality that she was prepared to make love to a man who, by his own admission, was still seeing the other woman? A man who, by every law of decency, was forbidden to her?

He had bent his head and was about to take one engorged nipple into his mouth when Eve uttered a strangled denial. ‘No,’ she said, a very real panic giving her voice the edge of hysteria. ‘No. No, you can’t. You don’t understand.’ Wriggling out from under him, she hurriedly pulled the folds of her cardigan together and faced him with wide, agonised eyes. ‘We can’t do this. I can’t do this. It wouldn’t be right.’

Jake stared at her. Despite the fact that he was very obviously aroused, and his expression mirrored the frustration he was feeling, his voice was unnaturally quiet when he said, ‘This is about Cassandra, isn’t it? You think that because Cassandra introduced us—’

‘No. No, it’s not that.’

Eve moved her head frantically from side to side, but Jake’s patience wasn’t infinite. ‘What, then?’ he asked, his voice hardening a little. ‘I’ve told you I’m not interested in Cassandra. Okay, so I know she’s a relative of yours, but that can’t be helped. She’ll get over it.’

‘No! No, she won’t.’

The panic was rising in Eve’s voice now, and Jake seemed to realise there was more than simple anxiety about a distant cousin going on here. ‘What, then?’ he said again, controlling his temper with an obvious effort. ‘Why do we need to concern ourselves with what she thinks? She’s not your keeper, is she?’

‘She’s my mother,’ said Eve, her chest heaving with emotion. ‘Now do you see why I can’t have anything more to do with you? She’s my mother!’

CHAPTER TEN

JAKE drove back to London in the foulest of moods. He left without seeing Eve again, driving through the night, arriving back at his hotel in the early hours of the morning.

He knew he’d have some kind of penalty to pay for bringing the rental car back to London, but financial concerns weren’t of much interest to him in his present state of mind. He was angry—and gutted. He couldn’t believe he’d been crazy enough to fall for Cassandra’s daughter. Cassandra’s daughter, for God’s sake! No wonder there was no love lost between the two of them.

Or between Cassandra and her mother, he appended, remembering the conversation he’d had with the old lady before he left. For pity’s sake, what kind of monster had he been dealing with? What kind of woman abandoned her kid without even telling her own mother that she’d had a child?

He’d got the story from the old lady, of course. Eve hadn’t told him anything. After delivering her bombshell, she hadn’t hung around to answer any questions. Even though he’d insisted that she couldn’t say something like that without making some form of explanation, she’d refused to offer any excuses for her behaviour.

Like why she hadn’t told him she was Cassandra’s daughter before now. Oh, he wasn’t a fool. Not a complete one, he hoped. It was obvious Cassandra had never acknowledged her daughter, and for some reason Eve was prepared to go along with that; to the extent that she’d let him think she was only there through Mrs Robertson’s good graces.

Mrs Robertson! Jake ground his teeth together. Dammit, the woman Eve called Ellie was her grandmother! Whose idea had it been to hide their relationship? Surely not the old lady’s? Without her intervention, Eve—

But he refused to think about that now. Not when there was nothing he could do about it. But as soon as it was light he intended to go and see Cassandra, and have her version of the story. There was no way he could put this to bed without hearing the truth from her.

The words he’d used mocked him. How the hell was he going to ‘put this to bed’, whatever Cassandra said? His feelings for Eve weren’t going to go away that easily, if at all. No matter how often he reminded himself that she’d deceived him just as much as her mother had, he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

He wanted her. No. More than that. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to take her in his arms and finish what they’d started a few hours ago—in the stables, of all places. And the knowledge that she’d spurned him was tearing him apart.

Yet he mustn’t forget she was Cassandra’s daughter. And how could any daughter of that woman ever be anything but trouble? If he had any sense he’d be grateful he’d found out in time, before he’d done something irrevocable. Like making love to her, for example. He had the feeling that if he’d ever possessed her body, if he’d ever found his release with her, there would have been no way for him to escape his demons.

He felt raw, he thought bitterly. Raw and frustrated. Desperate to make someone else suffer as he was suffering now. It was a new experience for him, and one he had no intention of allowing to happen again.

It was still barely three o’clock in the morning, and despite the adrenalin in his system that had enabled him to drive almost three hundred miles without even a break he was exhausted. He had to remember he’d hardly slept the night before, and although the time change between here and San Felipe had given him a little breathing space, his own limitations were catching up with him.

He needed to rest, and, stripping off his clothes, he crawled into bed without even taking a shower. He wanted nothing to refresh him, nothing to get his mind working again. But although he closed his eyes he remained wide awake.

The image of Eve’s face as he’d last seen her drifted between him and the nirvana he sought. He could still taste her on his tongue, still smell her womanly fragrance on his hands, still feel her hands reaching for him, her mouth opening for his hungry invasion…

God! He groaned, rolling over and burying his hot face in the pillow. No matter who she was, no matter how she’d treated him, he still wanted her. The hard-on he had just wasn’t going to go away, and he knew if he was ever going to get any sleep he would have to do something about it himself.

It didn’t work. Not immediately, anyway. He just felt cold, and disgusted with himself for letting it happen. But eventually sleep overwhelmed him, and when he opened his eyes again it was daylight.

He ordered coffee and toast from Room Service, and then took a shower in the time it took for his breakfast to be delivered.

With several doses of caffeine and a couple of slices of toast filling the empty space inside him, he felt a little better. After dressing, he went downstairs and arranged with the concierge for the Ford to be delivered to wherever the rental company wanted, and then left the hotel.

It was still only a little after nine o’clock, and he’d expected Cassandra would be at the studios. However, after ringing her number and ascertaining she was still at her apartment, he summoned a taxi and gave the man her address.

He hadn’t spoken to her. He’d hung up as soon as he’d heard her voice. He wanted to see her face when he confronted her with her duplicity; he wanted to be there when she tried to explain why she’d sold her own daughter to strangers as soon as she was born.

Cassandra lived in Notting Hill. She occupied half the top floor of a converted Victorian terrace house, and although Jake had never been into the place, he’d delivered her home a couple of times so he knew where it was.

His initial ring on the bell that served her apartment elicited no response. But, as luck would have it, one of the other tenants emerged as he was standing there, and he managed to save the door from closing and slip inside.

Postboxes in the hall gave him the number of her apartment, and Jake climbed swiftly to the second floor. He hoped she hadn’t gone out in the time it had taken him to get here. Traffic in London was always hectic, whatever the time of day, and this morning was no exception.

Cassandra opened the door at his third ring. She’d obviously just got out of bed, and Jake recognised the familiar red kimono she’d wrapped about her naked body. He knew she’d be able to tell from his expression that this wasn’t a social call, but he was surprised when she glanced guiltily over her shoulder before edging the door almost closed again.

‘Jake!’ she exclaimed in a low voice. ‘What are you doing here?’

Almost the same words her daughter had used the evening before, thought Jake cynically. Well, it served him right for not warning her he was coming. Particularly as it seemed she wasn’t alone.

‘We need to talk,’ he said flatly. ‘Can I come in?’

Once again there was that nervous peep over her shoulder. ‘We can’t talk now,’ she said, looking back at him. ‘Darling, I didn’t get to bed until after two, and I’m beat. There was a party at the studios, you see, and—’

‘I’m not interested in where you’ve been or who you’ve been with,’ said Jake, pressing one hand against the panels and propelling the door open. ‘We’re going to talk, Cassandra—or should I say Cassie? That is what your daughter calls you, isn’t it?’

Cassandra’s mouth fell open, and for a moment she did nothing to stop his advance into the apartment. But then she seemed to come to her senses and made a futile attempt to obstruct him. ‘You can’t come in here now,’ she said. ‘I—I’m not alone.’

‘Do I look like I care?’ Jake moved her aside with the minimum amount of effort and glanced round what was probably the main room of the apartment. Running from the front to the back of the building, it appeared to be half-kitchen, half-living-cum-dining-area. And, typical of Cassandra, it was grossly untidy, with articles of clothing and magazines strewn haphazardly across the floor.

‘You have no right to force your way in here,’ she exclaimed, bending to pick up what looked like a man’s shirt and stuffing it behind one of the cushions on the sofa. ‘This isn’t funny, Jake. I don’t barge into your hotel suite without an invitation, and you should do the same.’

‘Oh, I’ve been invited here many times,’ said Jake carelessly. ‘So let’s pretend I’m just taking you up on it.’

‘Let’s not.’ Cassandra cast another nervous glance towards what could only be the door into her bedroom. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘Too bad, because you’ve got me.’ Flinging himself onto the sofa, he linked his hands behind his head and crossed his feet at the ankles. ‘Now, isn’t this cosy?’

Cassandra seethed. ‘What do you want, Jake?’

‘Ah, that’s better.’ He was complacent. ‘So, why don’t you sit down and I’ll tell you?’

She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to sit down.’ Another glance at the bedroom. ‘I don’t have time to sit. I have to be at the studios in an hour.’

‘That should be enough time.’ Jake regarded her through his dark lashes. ‘So, tell me about your daughter.’

Cassandra swallowed. ‘I don’t have a daughter.’

‘Liar.’

Cassandra scowled at him. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got this preposterous story from, but—’

‘Try your daughter.’

‘Eve told you?’

Jake’s expression hardened. ‘Did I say her name was Eve?’ he queried coldly, and Cassandra turned away to fuss with a pair of stockings that were draped over the arm of a chair.

‘Well, who else could have told you such a ridiculous story?’ she demanded, purposefully avoiding his eyes as she spoke.

‘How about your mother?’

‘My mother?’ Cassandra did turn then. ‘Oh, Jake, you know what that old witch thinks of me. How can you believe anything she says?’

Jake’s gaze was intent. ‘So it’s not true?’

‘No.’ But her eyes shifted past him as she spoke. ‘No, of course it’s not true. Good heavens, Eve’s—what? Twenty-five? I’d have had to be an adolescent when I had her.’

‘Your mother says you’re forty-six,’ said Jake bluntly. ‘Quite old enough to have a twenty-five-year-old daughter.’

Cassandra gasped. ‘I’m not forty-six!’

‘No?’

‘No.’

Jake sat up then, spreading his legs and resting his forearms along his thighs. ‘So the birth certificate your mother showed me is a forgery?’

Cassandra stared at him. ‘What birth certificate? How can you have seen a birth certificate?’ She paused. ‘Are you telling me you’ve been to Watersmeet? Without asking me?’

‘I didn’t know I needed your permission to visit a sick old lady,’ said Jake harshly, pressing his hands down on his knees and getting to his feet. ‘So? Is it a forgery?’

Cassandra hesitated. ‘Whose—whose birth certificate have you seen?’

Jake shook his head. ‘Well, not yours,’ he said scathingly. ‘But perhaps you could explain how a—let me see—how a thirteen-year-old girl, such as yourself, was pretending to be a twenty-year-old living and working in London at the time Eve was born?’

Cassandra’s shoulders sagged. ‘I don’t see that it’s anything to do with you,’ she said bitterly. ‘I think you’d better go.’

‘Oh, not yet.’ Jake’s eyes were hard. ‘I want to hear the story from your lips. I want to know how you could abandon your daughter to the care of people you knew virtually nothing about?’

‘I didn’t abandon her,’ said Cassandra defensively, clearly deciding there was no point in continuing to lie. ‘The Fultons were very good to me, actually. If it hadn’t been for them I’d have been out on the street.’

‘But you didn’t know them. Not really,’ said Jake harshly. ‘You’d met them in a pub, for God’s sake!’

‘Yes, well…’ Cassandra struggled for words. ‘I could have had an abortion, you know.’

‘But they persuaded you not to?’

‘I was upset. They said they’d help me.’

Jake’s contempt was palpable. ‘Where was the baby’s father?’

‘Oh, he didn’t want to know,’ said Cassandra at once, wrapping the kimono closer about her. ‘After—after I discovered I was pregnant, I never saw him again.’

Jake looked sceptical. ‘Did you ever tell him you were having a baby?’

‘Of course.’ Cassandra huffed. ‘As I say, he didn’t want to know.’

‘According to the enquiries your mother made after she discovered she had a granddaughter, you told the registrar you didn’t know who the child’s father was.’

Cassandra’s face blazed with colour. ‘What else could I do? I had to say something.’

‘Why didn’t you tell your mother you were pregnant?’

‘You’re joking!’ Cassandra stared at him. ‘Can you imagine what would have happened if I had?’

‘She says she would have been quite happy for you to come home and have the baby.’

‘Oh, right.’ Cassandra was contemptuous. ‘I’d spent half my life wanting to get out of Falconbridge. Do you really think I’d have given up everything I’d worked for the past four years to go back there because I’d been stupid enough to get myself pregnant? No, thanks.’

‘You didn’t even tell your mother about the baby!’

‘No.’ Cassandra nodded. ‘How could I? She’d have insisted on me keeping it.’

‘And would that have been so bad?’

‘Are you kidding? We’re not talking about the way things are today, Jake. Twenty-five years ago single mothers had a pretty tough time, socially and financially.’

‘So you sold your baby?’

‘I—I didn’t exactly sell her.’

‘No? What would you call it?’

‘After Eve was born, the Fultons came to the poky bed-sit where I was living and suggested that they could look after her. They’d been trying for years to have a baby of their own, but it just wasn’t happening. They said they’d give her a good home and—and give me a certain sum of money, if I agreed to let them keep her.’

‘So you sold her?’

‘If you insist on being pedantic, all right. I sold her.’

‘To a man who tried to abuse her when she was twelve years old.’

Cassandra sniffed. ‘We only have Eve’s word for that.’

‘She ran away. Three times. She told me that.’

‘So?’ Cassandra turned away. ‘Lots of kids run away from home.’

‘The authorities must have believed her eventually. She was put into care, wasn’t she?’

‘She was uncontrollable.’

Jake wanted to hurt her, badly, but he kept his temper with an effort. ‘Whatever—she spent the next three years with Social Services.’

‘Until she ran away again, with some boy she’d taken up with,’ Cassandra put in spitefully. ‘When my mother found them they were living in a squat in Islington.’

‘So your mother said,’ said Jake, amazed that his voice sounded so unthreatening. ‘I’m interested to know how the old lady came to find out she had a granddaughter.’

‘Didn’t she tell you that, too?’

‘Oh, yes, she told me. I’d just like to hear your take on it. As I understand it, you weren’t averse to returning home when you thought you were dying.’

‘That’s a cruel thing to say.’ Cassandra cast another apprehensive glance towards the bedroom door, almost as if she was more afraid of her visitor finding out that she’d once been diagnosed with a potentially terminal kidney disease than the fact that she’d sold her baby. ‘I—I needed help.’

‘Yeah, you needed help all right.’ Jake spoke contemptuously. ‘You needed a transplant. And because you were afraid your mother’s kidney might not be good enough you had to tell her that you’d once given birth to a child, but that you didn’t know where that child was, right?’

‘Why ask me? You seem to know all the answers.’

‘Yeah.’ Jake felt sick. There was no remorse in Cassandra’s tone at all. ‘But your mother’s kidney was good enough, wasn’t it? You must have been kicking yourself when you found out you’d made your confession for nothing.’ He made a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t know how you live with yourself.’

Cassandra’s lips tightened. ‘So? What are you going to do about it?’

‘What am I going to do about it?’

‘That’s what I said.’ Cassandra’s face mirrored the uncertainty she was feeling. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone else, are you?’

‘Who else?’ Jake was scornful. ‘Who would be interested?’

Cassandra shrugged, but she still looked wary. ‘Nobody, I suppose.’

‘Oh, I get it.’ Jake had caught on. ‘You’re afraid I might give this to the tabloid press, aren’t you? Well, don’t worry, Cassandra. I won’t tell anyone your dirty little secret. You’re not the only person who’s involved here.’

Cassandra stared at him. Then she uttered a scornful sound. ‘Of course. I should have known. It wasn’t concern for my mother that took you up to Northumberland, was it? It was Eve. My sainted daughter.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘My God, you’re no better than me.’

‘Oh, I am. Believe me, I am.’ Jake couldn’t control his anger now, and Cassandra hurriedly put the width of the sofa between them. ‘As far as Eve is concerned, you’re her mother, and that makes any relationship between us taboo.’ He scowled. ‘But you know what? That’s okay. I don’t need another woman like you in my life.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE aircraft began its decent into San Felipe in the late afternoon, local time. She had been flying for hours and hours, first in a huge jet and then in this small turboprop, and Eve, who hadn’t yet set her watch for San Felipe time, saw it was already after nine o’clock back in England. But she wasn’t tired. She was too excited for that. Excited, but apprehensive, too. This was such a big step, and, while her grandmother had urged her to take it, she couldn’t help the uneasy thought that Jake wouldn’t really be glad to see her.

So much had happened in such a short time, and she was still reeling from her grandmother’s decision to sell Watersmeet Hall. But the old lady had decided she was getting too old to stay there with only Mrs Blackwood for company when Eve was at work. And, as it seemed that if Eve wanted to continue teaching she would have to get a job in Newcastle, Ellie had decided to accept Adam’s invitation and live with them.

Mrs Blackwood didn’t mind. She was elderly herself, and had been thinking of retiring for some time. Only Eve presented a problem, and, although Adam had offered her a home too, Eve had decided to get a place of her own.

And that was when the letter from the school authorities in San Felipe had arrived. Apparently, there was a small school on the island, and they needed a teacher. They’d be happy to offer the position to Eve, they’d said, with a two-months probationary period on both sides. If it didn’t work out, Eve would be given a return ticket to England.

She’d known at once that Jake had to be behind the offer. What she couldn’t understand was why he would feel the need to do such a thing. She’d been left in no doubt about his reaction when he’d discovered Cassie was her mother, and she hadn’t been surprised that she hadn’t heard from him since.

Her grandmother hadn’t hesitated in urging her to take the job, however, at least for the probationary period. ‘What have you got to lose?’ she’d demanded, when Eve had expressed her doubts to her. ‘Just because he was foolish enough to get involved with Cassie doesn’t make him a bad person. He obviously liked you, and when I told him you were losing your job at Easter he must have wondered if you’d like a change of scene.’

‘When did you tell him I was losing my job at Easter?’ Eve had asked warily, but for once her grandmother had been unusually vague.

‘Does it matter?’ she’d protested. ‘This is a wonderful opportunity, Eve. You deserve it. And if you don’t like living in the West Indies you can always come home.’

Which was true, Eve thought now, as the misgivings she’d had ever since she’d written and accepted the offer asserted themselves again. She was afraid what she was really doing was just building up more misery for herself in the months to come.

Naturally, Cassie hadn’t approved of the idea. When Ellie had rung her daughter to tell her where Eve was going she had been at pains to remind Eve—via her grandmother—that Jake couldn’t be trusted. He’d apparently visited Cassie again, before he left for San Felipe, and Eve got the impression that their affair was by no means over.

Of course she’d told no one what had happened in the stables the evening Jake had arrived to see her grandmother. Indeed, there’d been times since then when she’d wondered if she’d just imagined the whole thing. But then she’d wake in the morning with her pillow clasped in her arms and drenched with tears, and she’d know that no fantasy could have created such physical despair.

She wondered if Ellie would have been so keen to send her off to San Felipe if she’d known what had happened. If she’d known how Eve really felt about Jake. Eve doubted it. As far as the old lady was concerned this was an unexpected solution to all their problems, and Eve hadn’t had the heart to tell her how she really felt.

Yet how did she really feel? Eve wondered now, as the shape of San Felipe solidified below them. Wasn’t she secretly looking forward to seeing Jake again, whatever happened? You couldn’t care about someone and not care if you never saw them again. However impossible any relationship between them might be, she still wanted to see him, to show him, if nothing else, that she was nothing like her mother.

The plane flew in over white roofs and rich green vegetation, with the white sandy beaches and deep blue waters of the Caribbean framing the exotic picture. There was no airport as such, just a cluster of colour-washed buildings surrounded by a metal fence, with what might have been a barn—or a hangar—at the end of the short runway.

‘This is it, folks.’

The flight attendant, a young man dressed in an open-necked white shirt and black pants, got up from his seat before the plane had taxied to a halt and began dragging hand luggage from a locker set at the front of the plane. Apart from himself and the pilot there were no other attendants, but that was okay. There were only a dozen passengers on the flight.

The plane stopped, the door was opened, and Eve joined her fellow passengers as they got up to disembark. A flight of steps had been pushed up against the door, and although she’d earlier experienced the intense heat of the islands in Grand Cayman, it hit her again as she stepped down onto the hot tarmac.

‘Have a good holiday,’ said the grinning attendant, and Eve didn’t bother to correct him.

‘Thanks,’ she said, her eyes already searching the group of people waiting at the gate. But there was no one there she knew, and she looped her haversack over her shoulder and pushed through into the excuse for a customs hall.

Seconds later she’d had her passport checked, and was waiting to collect her luggage when a hand touched her bare arm. ‘You must be Miss Robertson,’ said a soft, attractive voice, and she turned to find a slim, dark-skinned young woman standing beside her.

‘I—yes,’ she said, dropping the heavy haversack on to the floor with some relief. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello,’ responded the woman, her smile warm and friendly. ‘Jake asked me to meet you. I’m Isabel Rodrigues.’

‘Miss Rodrigues!’ Eve was taken aback. She knew from the letter she’d had from the education authorities in San Felipe that the head teacher at the school was called Rodrigues. But she’d never expected anyone like this—as young as this. A vision of Mrs Portman intruded—middle-aged and portly, with greying hair and horn-rimmed spectacles. Isabel Rodrigues was beautiful, and Eve couldn’t help wondering exactly how well she knew Jake Romero. ‘Um—it was good of you to come and meet me.’

‘No problem.’ Isabel’s voice had a musical quality to it. ‘Did you have a good journey?’

‘A long journey,’ said Eve wryly. ‘But, yes, it was good. Interesting. I’ve never made such a long journey before.’

‘So you’ve never been to the islands before?’

‘No.’ Eve refrained from saying that most teachers didn’t have the funds to holiday in the West Indies. ‘I’ve never been that fortunate.’

‘Hmm.’ Isabel nodded. ‘Well, I’m sure you won’t find it difficult to get used to. The heat may be a problem to begin with, but we start school fairly early in the morning and finish at lunchtime, so you won’t be required to work at the hottest time of the day.’

‘That’s good.’ Eve fanned herself with a nervous hand. ‘It is rather enervating, isn’t it?’

‘Not to me,’ Isabel assured her, as a trolley containing the luggage from the small plane was wheeled into the area. ‘How many cases do you have?’

‘Oh—only one,’ said Eve ruefully, guessing that Isabel Rodrigues would never dream of travelling with only one suitcase. Her slim-fitting slip dress was simple enough, but made of silk, its colours a vibrant blend of orange and yellow that complemented her dark colouring.

Eve, herself, felt out of place in her jeans and tee shirt, despite the fact that she’d shed the leather jacket her grandmother had given her as a going-away present in Grand Cayman. But it had still been a cool March when she’d left London, and nothing could have prepared her for this heat. Even her hair felt like a heavy weight, weighing her head down, and for the first time in years she toyed with the idea of having it cut to a more manageable length.

A few minutes later, with a porter towing Eve’s suitcase, her haversack draped about his neck, they emerged into the sunlight. A handful of taxis waited outside the building, but Isabel led the way to where an open-topped Mazda was waiting for them.

‘This is it,’ she said, with obvious pride, and although Eve had hoped for a saloon, she duly admired the sleek red convertible.

With the luggage stowed in the back, Isabel directed Eve to get into the car. Luckily, she’d spread a light rug over the seats, so that the leather didn’t burn their legs. Then, after sliding behind the wheel, she took off.

Eve realised at once that the car being open to the air was no problem. Isabel drove fast, and the breeze off the ocean was cool and delicious in her face. It enabled her to enjoy the fantastic views of deserted beaches lapped by pale green waters edged with foam. Inland, forested gullies rose towards the centre of the island, the thick vegetation liberally interspersed with blooms of dazzling colour. It was all so different, so exotic, and Eve forgot her apprehension in the sheer delight of being here.

‘The island’s not very big,’ Isabel confided as they passed through a small fishing village, nestled above a glassy cove. ‘Just twenty miles long and eight miles wide. But we like it. And the Romeros haven’t allowed it to become too commercialised.’

The Romeros. Eve wondered if there was any part of the island that didn’t depend on the Romeros’ approbation to survive. She doubted it. What was it Cassie had said? Jake’s family owned the island? Yes, that was it. She wondered again if she wasn’t being all kinds of a fool in coming here.

‘I understand the school where you used to work has closed?’ Isabel said suddenly, making Eve wonder what else might have been said about her.

‘It closes in about a week’s time,’ she agreed, feeling a momentary twinge of homesickness for her grandmother and Watersmeet, and all the people she’d known there. ‘Do—er—do you have many pupils at your school, Miss Rodrigues?’

‘My school?’ Isabel laughed. ‘It’s not my school, Miss Robertson. My mother’s the academic, not me.’

‘Oh.’ Eve was embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t—’

‘You thought because I’m called Rodrigues, I must be the Rodrigues,’ Isabel said, with an amused sideways glance. ‘No. My mother’s the head teacher of San Felipe Primary. And, please, call me Isabel. Miss Rodrigues is so formal—Miss Robertson.’

‘Eve,’ said Eve at once. ‘So you don’t teach—um—Isabel?’

‘Heavens, no.’ Isabel grimaced. ‘I work for Jake. At the boat yard. I handle all the bookings, the correspondence. I suppose you could say I’m his personal assistant.’

Eve nodded, unable to think of anything positive to say to that news. She should have known a man like Jake Romero would surround himself with beautiful people, beautiful women. Like her mother…

They were approaching the suburbs of what appeared to be a small town, and Isabel slowed accordingly. ‘This is San Felipe,’ she said, gesturing towards the rows of houses, the small shopping centre that developed as they approached the centre of town. ‘This is where most people live, but the school is about half a mile beyond the town, nearer the tourist part of the island.’

‘Are there hotels?’ asked Eve, surprised to find the place so sophisticated.

‘Small hotels,’ agreed Isabel, swerving to avoid a bus that was lumbering towards them on the wrong side of the road. ‘But the people who come here are mostly deep-sea fishermen, divers—people like that.’

‘I see.’

Eve tugged her braid over one shoulder to cool her nape, and hoped it wasn’t much further. Tiredness was catching up with her. Long journeys did that to her, and she hadn’t really slept well since she’d accepted the job.

Beyond the outskirts of the small town, Isabel turned onto a narrow track that led down towards the sea. A coast road hugged the rim of dunes that were dotted here and there with wildflowers, and further on a clutch of white-roofed houses were clustered beside a wooden jetty. The bleached stumps of a groyne jutted out into the shallow waters, and on the beach below the village several fishing boats had been drawn up onto the sand.

‘We’re here,’ said Isabel, waving at a handful of children who stopped playing to watch them go by. ‘The school’s just along here, and your house is just a little further on.’

‘My house!’ Eve was startled. ‘I have a house?’

‘Jake thought you’d prefer it,’ Isabel said carelessly, but Eve sensed there was an edge of resentment in her voice now. ‘The previous schoolteacher lodged with us. My Mom and me, that is.’

‘I see.’ Eve didn’t know what to say. ‘It sounds—wonderful. I’ve never had a home of my own before.’

‘No?’ Isabel sounded a little less disapproving as she glanced her way. ‘Well, it’s very small. Just a through living room and kitchen, with a bedroom and bathroom across a hallway. Typical San Felipe design. Simple and practical.’

‘Just what I need,’ said Eve, wondering if Jake hadn’t been a little ambitious on her behalf. What did she really know about looking after herself? And how on earth was she supposed to get supplies?

An hour later most of her questions had been answered. Isabel had taken her first to meet her mother, the headmistress of the school. School being out for the day, Mrs Rodrigues was at home, and Eve soon realised that compared to what Isabel had described the Rodrigueses’ home was considerably more spacious.

Isabel’s mother, reassuringly, was not unlike Mrs Portman, and she was obviously eager to make her new employee feel at home. She suggested Eve should take a couple of days to acclimatise herself to the island, and invited her to have dinner with herself and Isabel the following evening.

‘You’ll find your fridge stocked, and drinking water in the taps,’ she went on. ‘We’re lucky here on San Felipe. We have plenty of water, and it’s perfectly safe to drink.’

Eve also discovered she had an open-topped buggy for her use, sitting to one side of her cottage. ‘There are buses,’ said Isabel, who had driven the few yards from her home with Eve’s luggage, ‘but they’re not very reliable. Besides, you’ll want to see something of the island while you’re here.’

It was those last three words that occupied Eve’s thoughts as she unpacked her belongings. What did they mean? Was it just Isabel’s way of being friendly? Or was she implying that Eve wouldn’t stay too long? And, if so, why? Did Jake have anything to do with it? To do with Isabel?

But that idea was not conducive to a relaxed first evening in her new home. And, after taking a deliciously cool shower to refresh herself, Eve checked the fridge.

She wasn’t particularly hungry. Bearing in mind it was already late in the evening in Falconbridge, she just wanted something to tide her over until the morning. But she also knew that if she went to bed too early she’d be awake again before it was light.

She prepared herself an avocado salad from the makings she’d found in the fridge, and ate it at the Formica-topped kitchen table. Then she poured herself a glass of diet cola and carried it out onto the veranda at the back of the house. A pair of battered canvas chairs were set in the shade of a striped awning, and Eve sank into one, grateful for the comparative coolness of the night air.

It was almost completely dark now, and although she could still hear the sound of the ocean she could no longer see the water creaming into the cove just a few yards away. But in the morning the view would be waiting for her, she thought, hardly able to believe she was really here. She would have to phone her grandmother in the morning, too, but for tonight she was content just to let the peace and tranquillity of her surroundings drift over her.

She thought she might have fallen asleep for a few minutes, because the unusual sound of a car’s engine gave her quite a start. She wasn’t alarmed. Although there had been a little traffic past the cottage since her arrival, there were a few dwellings beyond her own.

But then she realised the car had stopped, and presently she heard the sound of boot heels on the flagged path that ran along the side of the house. She blinked. What time was it, for goodness sake? Eleven! She should have been in bed hours ago.

Her heart quickened instinctively. She had the feeling she knew exactly who her visitor was, but that didn’t stop the panicky wave of excitement that swept over her at the thought of seeing him again. But she would have preferred not see him tonight—not now, when she was feeling so vulnerable. She wished she’d had the sense to turn the lights out before venturing onto the veranda. If there’d been no lights, he wouldn’t have stopped. As it was, with the blinds undrawn, illuminating the area like a beacon, she had no choice but to admit to being awake.

Getting up from her chair, she moved to the veranda rail, deliberately putting herself in shadow. He might have the advantage of surprise, but she’d see his expression before he saw hers.

However, when Jake turned the corner, where a flight of shallow wooden steps led up to where she was standing, her heart almost stopped beating altogether. In a sleeveless cotton tee shirt, with baggy khaki shorts brushing his knees, he was just as disturbing as ever, and she realised that, whatever the circumstances, she had no advantage at all when it came to this man.

‘Hi,’ he said, placing one hand on the stair-rail. ‘Can I come up?’

Eve made a careless movement with her shoulders. ‘It’s your house,’ she said, which wasn’t exactly an invitation, and, moving back to her chair, she sank down again onto her seat.

Jake took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, even though every nerve in his body was telling him he shouldn’t do this. He hadn’t intended to come here. When he’d left his house he’d only intended to drive past the cottage, just to assure himself that all was well. That was his excuse, anyway. But then he’d seen the light, and he hadn’t been able to resist it. He hadn’t realised how much he’d needed to see her again until he’d stopped the car.

‘You’re up late,’ he said, pausing at the top of the steps and resting his back against the post. He wished there was more light, so that he could see her clearly, but what he could see tightened his stomach and quickened his pulse. ‘I thought you’d be asleep by now.’

Eve glanced his way. ‘Is that why you waited until now to come by? Because you thought I’d be asleep?’

‘No.’ Jake shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts, so she wouldn’t see the way they’d convulsed at her words. ‘I was out for a drive and I saw the light.’

‘Isn’t it a little late to be out for a drive?’ She was sardonic.

Jake shrugged. ‘By your standards, maybe. Me—I don’t sleep that well.’

Which was nothing but the truth. Since he’d got back from England he hadn’t had above half a dozen decent nights’ sleep.

Eve looked up at him now. He thought she looked a little concerned, but he couldn’t honestly tell in the half-light that illuminated her face.

‘Perhaps if you went to bed earlier?’ she murmured, raising the glass in her hand to her lips. Then, seeing him watching her, ‘I suppose I should offer you some refreshment, shouldn’t I?’

Jake’s conscience advised him to say no. He had no sense, being here, and he wasn’t going to do himself any favours if he let her offer him a drink, if he went into the house.

But the temptation to see her properly overcame everything else. ‘That would be nice,’ he said, straightening away from the stair-post. ‘Do you have a beer?’

Eve got up from her seat. ‘Don’t you know?’ she threw over her shoulder as she opened the door. A huge moth tried to get in and she batted it away before adding tersely, ‘Come and see.’

It was years since Jake had been inside one of these cottages, and he was immediately struck by how shabby they had become. He made a brief mental note to have a decorator check them out and update where necessary—which looked about everywhere—but his thoughts were summarily put on hold when he looked at Eve again.

She was wearing a short pink skirt that exposed her long legs, and he thought what a waste it had been to hide them with trousers. She had on a matching top, also different for her, with the kind of spaghetti straps he longed to undo. Was she wearing a bra? he wondered. He didn’t think so. She hadn’t been expecting visitors, after all. But that didn’t stop the sudden rush of blood to his groin.

If Eve was aware of his intent regard, she ignored it, reaching into the fridge and extracting an icy-cold can of lager from the rack in the door. ‘Will this do?’

‘Thanks.’

Jake took the can from her, flipped the tab, and drank half its contents in one gulp. God, he’d needed that, he thought. He hadn’t failed to notice how she’d avoided touching him when she handed him the beer. And, despite her latent hospitality, he was fairly sure she couldn’t wait for him to leave.

‘So,’ he said, watching her as she crossed her arms over her midriff and turned to rest her back against the fridge door, ‘you had a good journey?’

A strange look crossed her face at this question, and he wasn’t really surprised when her response was equally oblique. ‘Haven’t you spoken to your spy?’

‘My spy?’ Jake did a double-take. ‘I don’t have a spy.’

‘But you did send Miss Rodrigues to meet me, didn’t you?’ she queried, tucking her fingertips beneath her arms. The action caused her folded arms to press hard against her breasts, and Jake was momentarily diverted by an urgent desire to take their place.

Which he so mustn’t do.

Forcing himself to meet her eyes, he said, ‘I sent Isabel to meet you, yeah. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t want to see my ugly mug the minute you got off the plane.’

‘Oh, please. Only someone who didn’t have an “ugly mug”, as you put it, would say something like that!’ she exclaimed, and he arched a mocking brow.

‘Is that a compliment?’

‘It was an observation,’ she told him flatly. ‘I’m tired, Jake. Why have you really come here?’

Because I couldn’t keep away?

No, that wouldn’t work. ‘I thought I told you,’ he began earnestly. ‘I was—’

‘—passing and you saw the light,’ she finished cynically. ‘Yes, I heard what you said.’ She waited a beat. ‘Do you expect me to thank you for offering me this job?’

Jake expelled a shocked breath. ‘That was a low blow, even for you.’

‘Why even for me?’ Eve’s lips pursed. ‘Because I’m Cassie’s daughter?’ She took a steadying breath. ‘I am nothing like my mother.’

‘D’you think I don’t know that?’ Jake stifled an oath at the realisation they’d got off on the wrong foot again. ‘After what I’ve learned about your mother, I wouldn’t insult you by even implying you were.’

Eve’s brows drew together. ‘After what you’ve learned about my mother?’ she echoed. ‘What do you mean by that? What has she told you?’

‘The truth?’ he suggested drily. ‘As your grandmother set the ball rolling, there wasn’t much else she could do.’

Eve felt sick. ‘So you know about—about the Fultons and—and Andy Johnson?’

‘I know you’ve had a pretty tough time,’ he said harshly, disliking the humiliated look she gave him. ‘Eve, this isn’t about the past, or about your mother. Offering you this job—I just wanted to help you, that’s all.’ He shook his head. ‘There are no strings attached.’

Eve’s smoky gaze slid over his for a moment, then dropped to the floor. For the first time he noticed she was barefoot, and for some reason that was as sexy as hell. But what she was saying sobered him, and forced him to meet her wary gaze. ‘You—you went to see Cassie before you left London?’

Jake was taken aback. He wouldn’t have thought her mother would have advertised that interview. ‘Yes,’ he said evenly. ‘Yes, I did. Does it matter?’

‘Why did you go to see her?’

‘You know why.’ He lifted a hand to massage the sudden ache he’d developed in the back of his neck. ‘You can’t drop a pebble into a still pool without expecting the ripples to spread.’

A tremor ran over her as he spoke. ‘It was nothing to do with you.’

‘Like hell it wasn’t.’ He was trying to keep his temper, but she could hear the anger underlying his harsh words. ‘I wanted to know why she’d abandoned her daughter. Your grandmother had only given me the bare bones of the story. I wanted to hear it from her own lips.’

‘Why? Why should it matter to you?’

‘Just accept that it does, right?’ he said shortly. He thrust the empty can onto the drainer and pushed his balled fist into his palm. ‘Look, it was obviously a mistake to come here tonight—’

‘You couldn’t keep away from her, could you?’

‘What?’

‘Cassie. You slept with her again, didn’t you?’ She shivered suddenly, as if she was cold. ‘When Ellie phoned to tell her I was taking this job, she asked her to warn me not trust you. I didn’t understand what she meant then, but now I do.’ She shook her head. ‘Not that I needed the warning. You—’

She didn’t get to finish what she was saying. He covered the space between them in one stride, grasping her shoulders and hauling her up so that only the tips of her toes touched the floor. Then his mouth was on hers, hard and bruising, plundering her lips with all the power and expertise of which she already knew he was capable.

And despite everything she melted.

Her breath escaped against his lips as they parted, and then his tongue was in her mouth and she was having difficulty hanging onto her sanity, let alone her balance.

‘You knew I’d come, didn’t you?’ he muttered, his mouth hot and demanding, but sensually appealing. ‘You can accuse me of that, yet you knew I’d come.’ His hand slid into the coils of the braid that she’d loosened earlier, his thumb abrading the fine cords in her throat that were drawn as taut as violin strings. He swore again. ‘I am so predictable.’

She was breathing too quickly, her heart thundering in her ears. She could feel herself getting dizzy, but it didn’t matter because this was where she wanted to be and she couldn’t pull away.

‘You’re not predictable at all,’ she mumbled, but she doubted he could hear her. Besides, the heat of his body, the hard pressure of his shaft throbbing against her hip, had a hypnotic quality. She felt as if she was floating several inches above the ground.

His hands stroked the sensitive curve of her spine and she couldn’t help arching against him, inviting God knew what. ‘I couldn’t keep away,’ he said, almost savagely, cupping her bottom and urging her into even closer contact with his aroused body. ‘I had to see you. Pathetic, huh? Particularly as you’re prepared to believe the worst of me whatever I do.’

‘No.’ Eve’s head was swimming and she was hardly aware of what she was saying. She didn’t want to talk; she didn’t even want to think. She just wanted him to go on kissing her and kissing her, drugging her with his mouth and his tongue until her brain joined her senses in a total meltdown. ‘Jake, it doesn’t matter—’

‘It does to me.’

As suddenly as he’d taken hold of her, he uttered an oath and she was free. She stood swaying in front of him, trying to comprehend why he was looking at her with such contempt now when only moments before he had been seducing her with his lips and his hands, but her mind simply couldn’t handle it.

‘Jake—’

‘I did not sleep with Cassandra,’ he informed her harshly. ‘And if you think I did then I’m just wasting my time.’

‘I—I didn’t say that—’

‘Forget it.’ Jake made for the door. ‘I already have.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

JAKE was going over the navigation charts with one of his skippers in the cabin of his latest acquisition when he heard the sound of high-heeled footsteps on the deck above.

For a moment he entertained the crazy notion of how he’d feel if it was Eve invading his space. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Although she was still on the island, working at the school and proving popular with staff and parents by all accounts, she was unlikely to want to see him.

In fact, he hadn’t spoken to her since the night she’d arrived, almost five weeks ago. Granted, he’d been away for part of that time, attending boat shows in Japan and South America, but he was fairly sure she was doing her best to avoid him.

Which wasn’t easy on an island as small as San Felipe. Jake had actually seen her several times, but always from a distance. He didn’t want to admit it, but even after all that had happened she was seldom out of his thoughts, and seeing her, even from fifty yards away, was becoming as necessary to him as breathing.

That was why he’d prevailed upon the good-natured head teacher of the school to offer her the job in the first place. In actual fact there’d been no job as such, although according to Mrs Rodrigues Eve was proving a definite asset. Her arrival had enabled class sizes to be reduced, and, having worked in an English school, she was able to offer the most up-to-date methods of teaching.

‘Jake! Are you there?’

His mother’s voice called from above, and after bestowing an apologetic look in Dan Cassidy’s direction, Jake moved to the foot of the stairs.

‘Yeah, I’m here,’ he said, and, realising she wouldn’t be happy conducting a conversation from this distance, he gripped the rail and started up. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?’ To his relief, she’d taken off her shoes in deference to the white-painted deck and was presently seated in the pilothouse, her legs raised to rest comfortably on the dark blue leather seats. ‘So this is the new addition to the fleet?’

‘It is.’ Jake reached the open doorway, propped a shoulder against the frame and folded his arms. ‘Do you like it?’

His mother shrugged her shoulders in a careless gesture. Despite being brought up in Massachusetts, where sailing was practically a way of life, she’d never been interested in boats. Her trim five-feet-two-inch frame was more at home on the golf course, or at the wheel of her Mercedes coupé, which was why Jake was surprised to see her here, apparently showing some interest in his job.

‘It’s very nice,’ she said, and Jake pulled a wry face at the unenthusiastic description.

‘Damned with faint praise,’ he said drily. ‘Okay. So that’s not why you’re here.’

‘Well, no.’ Lucy Romero swung her legs to the floor and smoothed the skirt of her cream silk suit over her knees. Then she smiled up at him. ‘We haven’t seen you for some time. I was wondering if you were all right, actually.’

Jake managed a forced laugh. ‘You’re kidding, right? I see Dad practically every day.’

‘At the office or here,’ she said dismissively. ‘You haven’t been over for dinner in weeks.’

Jake shrugged. ‘I’ve been busy.’

‘Doing what, exactly? Your father tells me you spend most of your evenings on your own. When was the last time you accepted an invitation to a party? How long is it since you’ve seen your brother and his wife? I’ll tell you—months!’

‘I didn’t realise you were keeping tabs on my movements,’ said Jake a little tersely, straightening from his lounging position and walking towards the bank of instruments at the front of the cabin. ‘I’m not twenty-one any more, Mom.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Think about it. The last time you got involved in my affairs I ended up married to Holly Bernstein.’ He glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Enough said?’

‘Holly was a lovely girl.’

‘But not for me,’ said Jake flatly. ‘No matter how much you and her mother tried to keep us together. Holly was an airhead, Mom. I’ve got no time for women like that.’

‘Haven’t you?’ His mother sounded snappish now. ‘Well, perhaps not recently, no. But from what I hear they used to be the only women you did have time for.’

Jake sighed. ‘Perhaps that’s because they don’t expect more than I’m prepared to give them?’ He shook his head. ‘Leave it, Mom. I’m happy the way I am.’

‘Are you?’ She looked doubtful. Then, her eyes dropping the length of his lean frame, she added, ‘You’ve lost weight.’

Jake groaned. ‘Mom!’

‘Well, all your father and I want is for you to be happy.’

‘Then leave me alone.’

‘I can’t do that.’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Come for dinner tomorrow evening. Please, Jake. I’ll get Rosa to make your favourite meringue dessert.’

He turned to rest against the chart desk. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

‘Would you want me to?’

Jake gave her a wry smile. ‘I guess not.’

‘So you’ll come?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Oh, good.’ His mother got up from the banquette and came to give him a hug. ‘Shall we say—seven o’clock?’

Jake frowned. ‘That rounds awfully formal. This isn’t a dinner party, is it?’

‘Just one or two friends,’ said Lucy innocently. ‘Now, you can’t back out, Jake. You’ve said you’ll come and I’m holding you to it.’

Eve heaved a deep breath and surveyed her appearance in the bathroom mirror without enthusiasm. The little black dress that her grandmother had bought her, which had looked so good back in England, had looked totally out of place here. Which was why she’d been obliged to splash out on an alternative. But now that she had no choice except to wear what she’d bought, she was definitely having misgivings. What did one wear to a dinner party in San Felipe? Particularly one where Jake Romero might be present?

She shivered. She’d gone with the simple ivory silk jersey that the salesgirl in town had assured her was perfect for the occasion, but now she wasn’t so sure. It seemed too low cut, it showed too much of her arms, of her body, and it was definitely too short. The only thing she liked was the gold chain-link belt that circled her hips. It might divert attention from the rounded curve of her bottom, but she doubted it. She should have stuck with the long-sleeved grey sheath she’d chosen to begin with.

She sighed. She wasn’t sure about her hairstyle either. Despite Isabel’s assurances that long hair simply wasn’t practical in this climate, having it cut at all had been a stretch. It was still long enough to put in a ponytail for school, but tonight she’d left it loose, and it was odd having its heavy weight swinging against her cheeks.

Still, Isabel had been enthusiastic, and as she and Mrs Rodrigues’ daughter had become friends in recent weeks Eve hadn’t liked to disappoint her by voicing her doubts. And there was no question that it was cooler this way. She just wished she’d never been offered an invitation to the Romeros’ villa in the first place.

It wasn’t as if Jake had anything to do with it. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since the evening she’d arrived on the island, and from gossip she’d heard around school he’d been keeping a very low profile in recent weeks.

She knew he’d been away for part of the time. She’d heard that from one of the workmen who’d arrived to paint and decorate the cottage. On his orders, apparently. Evidently he hadn’t liked it the way it was.

No, the reason she was attending this dinner party was because of Mrs Rodrigues. The head teacher and her daughter had both been invited, but Mrs Rodrigues had developed a severe cold the day before, and she had prevailed upon Eve to accompany Isabel in her place.

‘I’ve spoken to Lucy Romero—that’s Jake’s mother, you know—and she’s quite happy for you to join them,’ Mrs Rodrigues had explained comfortably. ‘Besides, you’ll enjoy it far more than I would.’

Eve had wanted to say that she wouldn’t enjoy it at all, but she couldn’t do that. It simply wouldn’t be true. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to disappoint Mrs Rodrigues or Isabel, but if she was totally honest with herself she’d admit that she was aching to see Jake again. Which was ridiculous, of course, but it did account for all the soul-searching she was suffering now.

A perfunctory knock, followed by Isabel calling her name, heralded her friend’s arrival. Eve cast one last look at herself before going out to meet her, determined to find some excuse not to go if Isabel showed any doubts about her appearance.

But in fact Isabel looked stunned when she saw her. Her dark eyes widened with amazement as she took in Eve’s appearance, and her, ‘Oh—you look nice,’ was said in the most half-hearted of tones.

Eve blew out a breath. ‘Do you think so?’ she asked anxiously, suddenly realising that, despite what the other girl had said, Isabel’s hair was fairly long. She usually wore it coiled in a chignon at her nape, so Eve hadn’t realised how long it actually was. But this evening it was loose, an ebony cape over one shoulder, threaded with silver beads to match her long gown.

‘Well, you certainly look different,’ Isabel declared now, and Eve wondered if she was only imagining the tartness in her voice. ‘You’re a dark horse, Eve. I’d never have recognised you. Compared to the way you dress for school…’

‘It’s not suitable?’ Despite a sudden wariness about Isabel’s attitude, Eve didn’t have the confidence to trust her own judgement.

‘I didn’t say that.’ There was no mistaking the terseness now. Isabel glanced at the jewelled watch on her wrist and clicked her tongue. ‘In any case, we’ve got to go. I don’t want to be late.’

It wasn’t the most auspicious way to start the evening, and Eve fretted about what she was doing all the way to the Romero house. Fortunately Isabel had agreed to drive them in her sports car—with the hood up this time, to protect them from the breeze—which meant she had to concentrate on the road instead of her companion. Which suited Eve very well.

Although Eve had never been to Jake’s parents’ house, of course, she knew roughly where it was. It occupied a beautiful peninsula of land a couple of miles south of San Felipe. It was set back from the road, behind a hedge of flowering hibiscus, and according to one of the other teachers it was quite a showplace.

The marina, where the Romeros’ charter company had its headquarters, was in town, and Eve had wandered along the quay there, admiring the many beautiful yachts at their moorings. She’d worn dark glasses, of course, just in case she’d seen Jake, but she’d never glimpsed anyone who remotely resembled him.

‘Here we are.’

Isabel was braking hard now, throwing Eve forward as they swept between open wrought-iron gates. A short drive along an avenue of palm trees strung with lights brought them to a forecourt, with an illuminated fountain. One or two cars were already parked to one side of the forecourt, in front of a row of garages, and Isabel parked beside them and pulled her keys out of the ignition.

In other circumstances Eve might have been intimidated, but she was so busy admiring the sprawling two-storey villa that she forgot to be alarmed. A wraparound balcony on the first floor would give a wonderful view of the sea that lapped at both sides of the peninsula, she thought, and the warm sandstone walls were liberally covered with bougainvillaea and other climbing tropical plants.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Although Isabel had barely spoken on the journey, she now seemed to remember her manners. ‘Jake’s grandfather built this place just after the first World War.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Eve, getting out of the car and looking about her. Apprehension was gripping her, however. ‘Um—I suppose you know the Romeros very well?’

‘I’ve known them all my life,’ said Isabel, which wasn’t quite an answer. But then a white-jacketed steward appeared and she grasped Eve’s arm. ‘Come along. We’re expected.’

As they climbed shallow stone steps to the entry, Eve wondered if that was true. Isabel was expected, certainly, but who had Mrs Rodrigues said she was sending in her place?

Whatever, she had no time to worry about that now. Even as her eyes were drawn to a lamplit terrace, where a handful of scarlet-cushioned lounge chairs were set amongst a forest of greenery, a dainty blonde-haired woman came out of the double doors to greet them.

‘Isabel!’ she exclaimed, reaching for the young woman’s hands and drawing her in for an air-kiss beside each cheek. ‘How lovely to see you again. What a pity your mother couldn’t join us, too. I hope she’ll feel better soon.’

‘I’m sure she will, Mrs Romero.’ Isabel was warmly affable now, no trace of her earlier irritation in her beaming face. ‘Oh, and let me introduce you to one of my mother’s teachers, Eve Robertson. She came out from England just a few weeks ago.’

‘Ah, yes. I believe I’ve heard of Miss Robertson.’ Eve was taken aback when Jake’s mother took her hand and gazed up at her with shrewd, assessing eyes. ‘I think my son was instrumental in your being offered the post, Miss Robertson.’ She paused. ‘Am I right in thinking you got to know one another while he was in London?’

‘I—that’s right.’ Eve decided there was no point in complicating matters by describing how they’d really met. ‘It was kind of you to invite me, Mrs Romero.’ She moistened her dry lips. ‘You have a beautiful home.’

‘Thank you. We like it.’ Jake mother seemed genuinely pleased with the compliment. ‘Well, come and meet the rest of the family. Jake’s not here yet, but I’m expecting him to join us very shortly.’

Grateful for small mercies, Eve followed Isabel and their hostess into a large reception hall that was lit by a huge crystal chandelier. Perhaps a dozen other people were standing about in groups, enjoying the Romeros’ hospitality. There was music and laughter, and a buzz of small talk that died down significantly when Jake’s mother appeared with the two young women.

A grey-haired man, who had to be Jake’s father, joined them, and it was he who introduced Eve to Jake’s brother, Michael, and his wife, Julie. Julie was heavily pregnant, but she still looked elegant in a form-fitting satin sheath that skimmed her knees. To Eve’s relief, she saw most of the women were wearing short dresses, the men less formal in casual shirts and trousers.

Julie seemed to take an instant liking to Eve, and when her father-in-law would have moved on, she said, ‘I suppose you find island life a little confining, Miss Robertson?’ She tucked a strand of dark red hair behind her ear as she spoke. ‘I know I did when I first came here.’

‘It’s—different,’ began Eve, but before she could continue Isabel intervened.

‘That’s because you’re not an islander,’ she said dispassionately. ‘And if you don’t like it you can always go back to England.’

Was that a suggestion or a warning? Eve wondered, as Julie rolled her eyes behind the other woman’s back. ‘We all know you love San Felipe, Isabel,’ she remarked, taking a sip of the mineral water she was drinking. ‘But, you know, you’re the one who should consider spreading her wings.’

Isabel’s lips tightened, but Jake’s brother chose to lighten the mood. ‘Do you find teaching a rewarding occupation, Miss Robertson?’ he enquired easily. ‘I can’t imagine having the patience to handle one infant, let alone a handful.’

‘You’d better get used to it,’ declared his wife at once, and everyone laughed.

‘Please, call me Eve.’ Eve could feel herself relaxing. Michael was like his brother in so many ways, but without the sexual edge.

And then, as Jake’s father was handing her the cocktail she’d chosen, she was suddenly aware that someone else had entered the room. She had no reason for the feeling. It wasn’t as if someone had announced his arrival. But long before she heard Michael greeting his brother she knew that Jake was there.

She couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder at him. It seemed a lifetime since she’d seen him, and knowing he was just across the room brought back all the feelings she’d tried to convince herself she could control.

She knew at once that she’d been wasting her time. She wasn’t going to get Jake Romero out of her system by ignoring him, or by pretending that what had been between them meant nothing to her. She was very much afraid it had gone beyond a mere attraction; she was falling in love with him. Even the thought of sharing him with another woman was more bearable than never seeing him, never touching him again.

She caught her breath when their eyes met, and she saw the shock of recognition in his gaze. Obviously his mother hadn’t shared her guest list with him, and she wondered if he resented the fact that she was here, in his parents’ home.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, praying for her palpitating heart to subside. It felt as if a whole river of perspiration was flowing down between her breasts, and her dress was clinging wetly to her spine.

Which was ridiculous, considering the room was air-conditioned, but her body seemed to be reacting independently of her brain. Even behind her lids she could see him, so lean and dark and attractive. And so incredibly male.

She was jolted out of her introspection by hard fingers closing about her upper arm. Opening her eyes, she was hardly surprised to find he’d come to stand beside her, or that his eyes were cool and guarded as they thoroughly appraised her appearance.

‘I suppose this is where I’m supposed to say, What are you doing here?’ he said roughly. ‘Believe it or not, I didn’t know you’d been invited. If I had I’d have made some excuse and stayed away.’

Eve wondered how she was supposed to answer that. It would be easy enough to counter his claim with a similar one of her own. But she couldn’t do it. ‘I didn’t know if you’d be here either,’ she ventured in a low voice, aware that their conversation was being monitored by other members of the party. ‘I—I actually hoped you might be. Do you mind?’

Jake’s fingers dug into her arm for a moment, and when she ventured a look at his face she saw his eyes were glittering with anger. Taking her glass from her unresisting fingers, he dumped it on a table. Then, after offering an apologetic word to those around them, he hustled Eve towards the sliding glass doors that led outside.

She didn’t know what he intended to do. Perhaps this was his way of forcibly ejecting her, she thought, wondering what his parents must be thinking of his behaviour. Certainly there was aggression in the way he slammed open the door and pushed her unceremoniously out onto the patio at the back of the house. Then, with the door closed securely behind them, he virtually frogmarched her towards an unlit portion of the garden.

Eve was wearing high heels, and her ankles were aching when he finally called a halt. With a trellis of night-flowering honeysuckle between them and any prying eyes that might be watching them from the salon, and only the moon for illumination, he swung her round to face him and said savagely, ‘Do you enjoy making a fool of me?’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘I WASN’T. I didn’t.’ Eve blinked. His face was in shadow, but she could feel the anger emanating from him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Like hell you don’t. The last time we were together—’

‘You walked out on me,’ she broke in defensively, and she heard his snort of frustration. ‘Well, you did.’

‘And you know why,’ Jake retorted, and when he lifted his hand to rake back his hair, which had grown longer over the past few weeks, she saw the faint tremor that shook his arm. ‘You accused me of sleeping with your mother. Again.’ He swore. ‘I’ve never slept with your mother, ever. What do you take me for?’

Eve quivered now. ‘That—that’s what she said.’

‘And since when do you believe anything that woman tells you?’ he demanded, resisting the urge to shake her.

‘You went away,’ Eve said helplessly. ‘Wh—what was I supposed to think?’

Jake grabbed her arm, as if he needed to hold onto her for support. Then he said hoarsely, ‘You wanted me to go away. You told me there could never be anything between us because—because of your mother.’

‘I know.’ She took a trembling breath. ‘But—you didn’t argue, did you?’

‘Oh, right.’ Jake’s fingers dug into her wrist. ‘You just deliver the biggest bombshell of my life and I’m not supposed to show any reaction? Get real, Eve. I was mad. Mad as hell. With Cassandra, with you, but most especially with myself.’

‘Because—because you thought I’d made a fool of you?’

‘Do you blame me?’ His thumb caressed the fine network of veins he’d found on the inner side of her arm, the roughness in his voice scraping across her nerves like raw silk. ‘You should have told me who you were,’ he said harshly. ‘How you came to be living with your grandmother. That night in the library, for example. Then I might have understood why you’d gone to pieces because another man had forced his attentions on you.’

‘It was only a kiss,’ said Eve, with a shudder.

‘But it meant more than that to you?’

‘Yes.’ Eve glanced up at him. And then, because she wanted him to understand, she went on, ‘It reminded me of all the nights I’d spent sleeping in the bathroom when I lived with the Fultons.’ Her lips twisted. ‘It was the only room in the house that had a lock on the door.’

Jake groaned. ‘Didn’t you tell anyone?’

‘Yes, I told Emily. This was his wife. But she didn’t believe me.’ She shrugged. ‘Or perhaps she didn’t want to know. Anyway, that’s why I ran away.’

Jake swore. ‘I’m so sorry, baby.’ He bent his head and rested his forehead against hers. ‘God, Cassandra has a lot to answer for.’

Eve’s knees felt weak. ‘To—to be fair, she knew nothing about it,’ she ventured huskily, lifting one hand to cup his cheek, and he turned his mouth against her palm.

‘Do you think that excuses her?’ he exclaimed unsteadily. ‘No wonder you wanted nothing to do with me.’

‘That’s not true.’ Eve couldn’t let him think that. ‘You—you confused me. Until then I’d never been attracted to any man. I firmly believed I never would be. I thought I was quite happy, living with Ellie and doing my job. I—I didn’t want anything else.’

‘And?’

‘And so when you came along I resented you. Resented how you made me feel.’

Jake’s eyes darkened. ‘How did I make you feel?’

‘You know,’ she protested.

‘Perhaps I do.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps I just want to hear it from your lips.’

Eve shook her head. ‘I just knew it was wrong, that’s all. I thought you were with Cassie and I had no right feeling anything where you were concerned.’

‘But you did?’

‘You know I did,’ she said shyly. ‘Even that night in the library, I—Well, I knew then that you weren’t like anyone else I’d ever known.’

Jake covered her hand with one of his. ‘I wish you’d told me.’

‘How could I?’

‘Oh, baby.’ He allowed a long sigh to escape him. ‘Cassandra and I were never an item. I think that was why she invited me to Watersmeet.’

‘So why did you come?’

‘Believe it or not, I was asking myself that question from the moment we left London.’ His tongue brushed her palm for a moment, but then he controlled himself again and continued, ‘I’ve got no excuse. I was bored, I guess, and I thought it might be interesting to see another part of the country. It wasn’t until I met you that I realised that fate must have had a hand in it.’

Eve gazed up at him. ‘You don’t really mean that?’

‘Don’t I?’ He tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear. ‘I thought I did. If you’re talking about what happened after I kissed you in the stables, then I have to admit I don’t take rejection very well.’

Eve could hardly breathe. ‘You know why I said what I did.’

‘I know.’ Jake regarded her intently. ‘So what’s changed?’

‘Everything. Nothing.’ Eve lifted her shoulders in a gesture of defeat. ‘Why are we having this conversation? You offered me a job. Was it, as you said, just because you wanted to help me? Or—or something else?’

Jake’s hands slid along her forearms to her elbows. ‘What else could it be?’ he asked slyly, and her heart did a somersault in her chest.

‘I don’t know.’ She’d go so far, but no further. ‘Are you still angry with me? Is that what you’re saying? Because if you are—’

But Jake couldn’t let her continue. ‘I was teasing,’ he said roughly, drawing her up on her toes and bending his head to bestow a long, lingering kiss on her soft mouth. ‘For pity’s sake, Eve, you surely knew how I felt the night you arrived, when I came to the cottage.’ His lips brushed her ear. ‘God knows, I couldn’t keep away.’

Eve trembled. ‘You mean that, don’t you?’

‘I’ve never meant anything more in my life.’

‘Oh, Jake!’ She wound her arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes disbelievingly. ‘I’m so afraid this is all a dream, and any minute I’m going to open my eyes and wake up.’

‘I’ve had dreams like that, too,’ said Jake fervently. ‘Particularly when I thought you were going to let Cassandra ruin the rest of your life.’

Eve caught her breath. ‘Did you think I would?’

Jake’s eyes darkened. ‘What was I supposed to think?’

She sighed. ‘I suppose. Oh, Jake, weeks ago I realised I didn’t care any more. About you and her, I mean. I just didn’t know how I was going to tell you. Or—or if you’d care.’

‘I care,’ he said roughly, but before he could do more than cradle her head in his hands, and study her expectant face, they heard someone calling his name.

‘Jake! Jake! Where are you? We’re waiting to have dinner.’

‘My mother,’ said Jake drily, although he could see that Eve had already recognised her voice. He hesitated a moment. ‘Are you very hungry?’

Eve gave a soft laugh. ‘I’m not hungry at all.’

‘I am,’ Jake told her fiercely. ‘But not for food.’ He bent and gave her a swift kiss. ‘Wait here.’

He was back a couple of minutes later, and Eve gave him an anxious look. ‘Is she very angry?’

‘My mother?’ Jake laughed. ‘Hell, no. Why should she be? She organised this dinner party to try and take me out of myself. She’ll be delighted she’s succeeded.’

‘Oh, but—’ Eve faltered. ‘She doesn’t know me.’

‘She will soon.’ Jake took her hand, leading the way through tall waving grasses to where low dunes edged a moonlit beach. ‘I think Isabel was her original objective, but if she’d asked me I’d have told her she was wasting her time.’ He glanced down. ‘You might want to take off your shoes. The sand is damp.’

Eve did as he suggested, looking about her in wonder. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, as he took her shoes from her and dangled them from his free hand by their straps. Then, as he helped her down onto the beach, ‘Are we going for a walk?’

‘Initially,’ he said enigmatically, starting along she shore. ‘And before that agile mind of yours starts wondering about my association with Isabel, I should tell you that we’ve never been more than friends.’

Eve glanced up at him. ‘I believe you.’

‘You’d better.’ He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a moist kiss to her palm. ‘The truth is, my mother’s known something was wrong ever since I got back from England. You won’t have noticed, in my haste to get you alone, but I’ve lost weight, I don’t sleep, and God knows I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do next.’

Eve wrapped herself around his arm as they walked. ‘You could have told me.’

‘Yeah. Well, believe it or not, I was considering doing just that. Then I walked into the house tonight and there you were.’ He pressed her close to his side. ‘Can you wonder I reacted as I did?’

Eve leant her head on his shoulder. ‘So what did your mother say when you spoke to her just now? Is she expecting us back?’

‘Not any time soon,’ said Jake drily. He paused, then said huskily, ‘She just said, “Is she the one?” And I said yes.’

Eve could hardly breathe. She was filled with an excitement that was so intense she was amazed she could keep putting one foot in front of the other. She wanted to stop right then, and ask him to say what he’d said all over again. But although he looked down at her for a moment, before stealing another heartstopping kiss, he didn’t slow his pace.

With dazed eyes, she forced herself to look where they were going. The shore was totally deserted, a pearl-white stretch of coral sand that gleamed in the moonlight. There were boulders here and there, rockpools that in daylight would reveal the tiny starfish and sand crabs that made the beach their home. And, although Jake’s arm was reassuringly warm against her breasts, and his hip brushed hers as they walked, Eve still had the feeling that this was some incredible fantasy conjured up by her vivid imagination.

Then, when it looked as if they could go no further without scaling the cliffs that guarded the other end of the cove, Jake pointed to a villa that was set back behind the dunes. Low and sprawling, its creamy walls blended into its surroundings, and only the light spilling out from its windows advertised its existence.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I want to show you where I live.’

Eve’s lips parted. ‘This is your house?’

‘Mmm.’ Jake slipped his arm around her. ‘Come and see.’

Fifteen minutes later they were installed in Jake’s living room. A long, open—plan area, with a huge stone fireplace he promised her he did use from time to time, it was modern without being ultra-trendy. The floors were polished teak, the trio of sofas were a blend of suede and leather, and the low table in front of the fireplace rested on a thick Chinese rug.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Eve, unable to think of any other adjective to use. ‘Do you live here alone?’

‘Apart from Luigi, yeah.’ He had introduced her to his elderly Italian houseman when they arrived. ‘Why? Did you think I kept a mess of women here for my own amusement?’

Eve, who was kneeling on an ivory leather sofa, watching him as he moved somewhat restlessly about the room, heaved a sigh. ‘No,’ she admitted honestly. ‘But you did say you’d been married before.’

‘Oh, yeah. For about six months.’ Jake grimaced. ‘And, for your information, we didn’t live here. I had a condominium in San Felipe in those days.’

‘I’m glad.’ Eve bit her lip. ‘Are you going to come and sit down?’

Jake glanced at the small bar set into the wall. ‘Wouldn’t you like a drink?’

‘Would you?’

‘No, but as I deprived you of the one my father made for you…’

‘I don’t want a drink.’ Eve took a deep breath. ‘I just want you to kiss me.’

Jake pulled a wry face. ‘That’s what I want, too.’

‘So?’

‘So that’s not all I want,’ he said, moving to the back of the sofa and looking down at her with dark intense eyes. ‘And I don’t know if I’ve got the will-power—or the strength—to limit myself to just kissing you.’

‘Did I say I wanted you to?’

‘Eve—’ His hands covered hers where they rested on the soft leather, and she shivered a little in anticipation. ‘We have to talk.’

‘We’ll talk later,’ she promised him, capturing his hands in hers and drawing him around to the front of the sofa. Then she patted the seat beside her. ‘Sit down.’

Jake did so, his weight depressing the cushions beside her so that even if she hadn’t planned it that way she slid towards him. She grabbed him, to save herself, her hand slipping intimately over his thigh, and with a muffled oath he turned towards her, covering her startled lips with his.

His tongue invaded her mouth, hot and demanding, reminding her of his taste and his scent. She desperately wanted this, wanted to prove to him that she wasn’t afraid of anything when she was with him, that he and he alone could erase all the pain and heartache of the past.

When he lifted his head and looked down at her she was devastated by his intensity. His lean face was taut with emotion, with feelings he was trying desperately hard to control. When he bent to her again there was a dangerous hunger in his invasion, a mind-numbing ardour that enveloped her in its thrall.

‘You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,’ he groaned, tipping the straps of her dress aside and laving her shoulder with his tongue. ‘I just don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You’re not hurting me,’ she protested, parting the neckline of his shirt and pressing her face against his hot skin. There was a film of moisture on his chest and she allowed herself to taste it, loving the way his flesh tensed at the intimate brush of her tongue. ‘I couldn’t stand it if you changed your mind now.’

‘Dear God,’ Jake muttered, as her dress slipped away to reveal the skimpy bra she was wearing beneath it. Two half-cups of cream lace barely contained the rounded breasts that were spilling out from them, dusky nipples hinting at the exotic cast of her colouring. ‘I couldn’t stand it either.’

She was all ebony and ivory, he thought, her skin pale, her hair so thick and dark against her cheeks. When he bent his head, to capture her mouth again, her hair swung against him and he felt its silken strands caress his face.

‘Jake…’

His name was a heady sound on her lips. Hearing her use it in that seductive way was like drowning in sensation. His body stiffened automatically, and he thought she had no idea what she was doing to him. The swollen muscle between his legs was becoming a constant ache.

He found the fastener that secured the flimsy bra and dealt with it. Then, urging her back against the cushions, he positioned himself beside her. He didn’t lie over her, although he wanted to. There was no way he could hide his arousal if he gave in to temptation.

Even so, he couldn’t prevent himself from caressing her breasts, from lowering his head and taking one sensitive nipple into his mouth. She moaned softly, her pulse palpitating beneath his fingers, her hands reaching for him in mute acceptance of her own needs.

Her hands probed inside his collar, twining in the hair that grew longer at the nape of his neck. She was eager, too, he realised, wondering how long it was since she’d allowed any man to touch her. The boy she’d run away with—Andy Johnson?—had he been intimate with her? Jake thought he could gladly kill any man who’d touched her against her will.

She moved against him and he was sure she must feel his taut maleness against her hip. Her response, her willingness, was making him want to move faster than he’d intended, and when her legs parted he couldn’t prevent his thigh from pushing urgently between hers.

‘Ah, Eve,’ he groaned, one hand sliding down to cup her bottom, moving beneath the short hem of her dress to find the soft skin at the top of her legs. She arched against his hand, and that almost drove him crazy. He so much wanted to be inside her, to feel her taut muscles urging him on.

Eve’s head was spinning. There was increasing moisture between her legs, which she was sure he must have felt when he touched her there. She almost stopped breathing altogether when his fingers slid partway into her.

Acting purely on impulse, she trailed her hand down his chest to the waistband of his trousers. His shirt was half open anyway, and she completed the task. The buckle on his belt presented the next obstacle, but when she would have loosened it his hand stopped her

‘Wait.’ Jake’s voice was hoarse, and she realised he was no more immune to her explorations than she was to his. ‘I don’t think you know what you’re doing to me. I’m not made of stone, you know.’

‘Nor am I,’ she murmured, kissing his chest, loving the feel of his springing hair against her face. ‘I want you, Jake. I want to make love with you. I don’t want to be an oddball any more.’

‘An oddball?’ Jake gazed down at her with puzzled eyes. ‘You’re not an oddball.’

‘Yes, I am.’ Eve took a deep breath and continued, ‘I’ve never let any man get close to me before.’

Jake shook his head. Cassandra really did have a lot to answer for, he thought again. ‘Come,’ he said softly, once again stopping her when she would have opened his zip to stroke his throbbing erection. ‘I want to show you my bedroom. Besides, we don’t want to risk being interrupted by Luigi asking if we want more ice.’

‘Ice?’ Eve felt a sob of laughter rising in her throat as Jake lifted her up into his arms and strode purposefully across the room.

‘Not such a bad idea, in the circumstances,’ agreed Jake huskily. ‘Maybe some ice is exactly what we need.’

A flight of open-tread stairs gave access to the upper floor of the villa. Double doors stood wide into a huge master bedroom, with long oriel windows giving a magnificent view of the bay.

Jake laid Eve on the wide damask-covered bed. Only one lamp was burning, but beyond the windows the moon could be seen throwing a silver pathway over the sea. Its pale light added to the magical beauty of their surroundings, and when Jake lay down beside her she turned eagerly towards him.

Jake was gentle with her now, even though she sensed the urgency underlying his touch. Her dress had pooled about her waist, and she thought her bra must be somewhere between the bed and the sofa downstairs. But such insignificant considerations went out of her head when he bent to nibble at the creamy fullness of her breasts.

She wasn’t able to stop herself from trembling, and he lifted his head again, to give her a searching look. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said. ‘I like it that you’re not so sophisticated. And that you don’t honestly realise how sexy you are.’

Eve sucked in her breath. ‘No one’s ever called me that before.’

‘Then they must have been blind,’ said Jake thickly, feeling an increasing sense of euphoria at the knowledge that in many ways he was going to be first with her. In every way that mattered at least.

It was a simple matter to slide her dress down her hips, and, releasing one plump nipple, he allowed his tongue to trail a sensuous path from her breast to her navel. She quivered again, as he used his teeth to pull her lacy scrap of underwear away, and fairly bucked against him when he replaced his probing fingers with his tongue.

‘You can’t—You mustn’t—’ she began, but as he caressed her he saw the way her eyes grew dark with desire, and her breathing quickened in concert with her body’s response.

She climaxed moments later, and he stifled her cry of wonder beneath the hungry pressure of his mouth. It pleased him enormously that she was so responsive, and this time when she reached for his buckle he didn’t attempt to stop her.

Even so, it took all his self-control not to lose it completely when she took his thick shaft into her hands. But he wanted to be inside her when he found his own release, and, although she protested, he drew away to tear off his shirt and push his trousers down his legs.

Then he was beside her again, satisfying her impatience and his own by positioning himself above her. Eve knew a moment’s panic when she saw how big he really was, but her legs parted willingly when he straddled her.

‘Did I tell you that you’re beautiful?’ he breathed, and she felt the heat of his erection nudging her wet core.

He entered her in one almost smooth thrust, only briefly balked by the unmistakable barrier he encountered. Eve, who hadn’t been prepared for the pain after the gentleness of his mouth, tried to stifle her moan of anguish against his throat, but it escaped anyway. She hadn’t realised how much her body would rebel at this unfamiliar invasion; hadn’t anticipated that it would hurt so much.

Nevertheless, when he withdrew again she was no less distressed. ‘No,’ she protested, but Jake was staring down at her in stunned disbelief.

‘You were a virgin,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘My God, why didn’t you tell me?’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘I told you I was an oddball,’ Eve whispered, trying to make light of it, but Jake wouldn’t let her go on.

‘You’re not an oddball,’ he exclaimed harshly, but once again Eve intervened.

‘What would you call a twenty-five-year-old virgin?’ she asked mockingly, but he laid a hard palm across her lips.

‘Innocent,’ he said tersely. ‘God, I’m such an idiot. I thought—after what you’d been through—’

‘Because of Graham Fulton?’ Eve’s lips twisted. ‘I told you. I spent all my nights in the bathroom.’ She pushed her lips against his palm for a moment, before drawing his hand away. ‘And Andy Johnson knew how I felt, and he looked out for me.’ She smiled. ‘Until I met you, I couldn’t bear a man to touch me, you see,’ she confessed huskily. ‘Ever since—ever since that man came to my room, I’ve always kept the opposite sex at arm’s length.’

Jake groaned. ‘Oh, baby, I’ve been such a fool.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she protested, bringing his hand to her face and pressing it against her cheek. ‘Not to me.’ She waited a beat and then asked tremulously, ‘You do still want me?’

Jake groaned again. ‘Of course I want you. Now more than ever. But—’

‘No buts,’ said Eve firmly, levering herself up on her elbows and drawing his hands to her breasts. ‘I’ve wanted you for so long. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t feel the same.’

‘Dear God!’ Jake couldn’t prevent himself from crushing her against the soft pillows of his bed. ‘I think I’ve been waiting for you all my life,’ he added shakily. His mouth possessed hers with the utmost tenderness. ‘I just don’t want to hurt you again.’

‘You won’t,’ said Eve, not knowing how she knew this, but she did. ‘Please.’ Her fingers stroked his swollen erection. ‘You can’t stop now.’

Which was nothing less than the truth, thought Jake ruefully. But he wanted her to share his delight in their joining, and, although he still blamed himself for acting so recklessly, he ached to be inside her again.

Gently, he spread her legs and eased into her, using his lips and his tongue to relieve any anxiety she might feel. But, amazingly, she received him easily, her body slick and damp from her exertions.

And Jake was blown away again by her sweetness. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, and the muscles in his gut tightened when they felt her willing response.

For Eve, it was equally as moving. Now that she knew what to expect, she welcomed his heat and the fullness his body created. But she was still unprepared for the feelings that surfaced when he withdrew partway before pushing into her again. They were like the feelings she’d had before, only deeper, stronger, causing a wave of expectation to sweep through her abdomen and up her spine until it felt as if she was tingling all over.

Almost instinctively, it seemed, she lifted her legs and wound them about his hips, holding him inside her. Jake took a steadying breath, trying to control the urge to quicken his pace, but it wasn’t easy when he could feel the rippling wave of her orgasm tightening her muscles around him.

His body throbbed with the need for his own release, but once again he realised he was in danger of making another stupid mistake. The condom he should be using was still lying in the drawer of the table beside his bed. In his eagerness to make love with Eve he’d forgotten all about it, and he still had the sense to know that she wouldn’t have done anything to protect herself.

Dammit, he thought, he couldn’t do this to her. But when he attempted to withdraw she only tightened her long legs about him.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered huskily, her breathing hot and unsteady against his throat, and Jake groaned.

‘You don’t understand—’ he choked, but she only covered his mouth with hers.

‘I do,’ she breathed against his lips, and although he knew what he ought to do, the temptation to let her have her way was irresistible.

Besides, she was making frantic little sounds now that were totally driving him crazy. He was drenched with her scent, with her essence, and, giving in to a force that was stronger than he was, Jake spilled himself inside her.

His orgasm seemed to go and on, and when the shuddering pleasure had ceased he felt absolutely drained. But absolutely replete, too, which was something he’d never experienced before.

He realised suddenly that he was slumped on top of Eve, but when he would have rolled away she stopped him again. ‘I’ve got to be crushing the breath out of you,’ he protested, but she only wound her arms around his neck and gazed up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

‘I don’t care,’ she said huskily. ‘And before you say anything I don’t care if I’m pregnant either.’

‘Eve—’

‘No, I mean it, Jake. And I don’t want you to think it’s your responsibility. You’re an honourable man, I know that, but this was my decision—’

‘Stop! Stop right there!’ Jake silenced her with a hard kiss, and before she could start again he exclaimed, ‘For God’s sake, I love you! I think I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. And if you think I’m going to let you go now, without a fight, you’re very much mistaken.’

Eve’s lips had parted for his kiss, but now, when he lifted his head, she found she needed to suck some much-needed air into her lungs. ‘I—I don’t know what to say.’

‘Well, you could say you liked me just a little bit, too,’ said Jake, trying to make light of his passionate declaration. Taking her arms from around his neck, he rolled onto his back beside her, staring up at the shadows that hid the ceiling. ‘Unless I’ve jumped the gun again—’

‘No!’ Eve scrambled up now, to look down at him with anxious eyes. ‘It’s not that.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘I just—well, it’s like you said: you’ve taken my breath away.’

Jake lifted his hand to touch her cheek. ‘But you knew I cared about you.’

Eve shook her head. ‘My grandmother cares about me,’ she said fiercely. ‘You—you said you loved me.’

‘I do.’

‘But how can you?’

‘How can I not?’ he retorted, a little thickly. ‘You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, all rolled up in one delectable package.’

She quivered. ‘I’m not delectable.’

‘Oh, you are.’ His fingers slipped beneath the soft weight of her hair. ‘Delectable, and sweet, and very, very desirable.’ He pulled her mouth down to his, unable to resist the urge to taste her lips again. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘What am I going to do about it?’ she echoed.

‘Yeah.’ He released her lips and transferred his attentions to the luscious breast that was suspended only inches above his mouth. ‘You could start by telling me how you feel about me.’

‘Oh, God!’ Eve bent over him, cradling his face between her palms. ‘You know I love you,’ she exclaimed fervently. ‘But even now I can’t believe that you want me.’

‘Believe it,’ said Jake huskily, reversing their positions so he could bury his face between her breasts. ‘Ever since you came to the island you’ve been driving me crazy. I knew I had to give you time, but, like I said before, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think about anything but us being together.’

Eve was dazed by his urgency, and not a little shocked by the growing hardness against her hip. ‘You—you want me again?’ she breathed, the exhilaration of knowing she could do this to him sweeping over her.

‘Constantly,’ he said, his hand slipping between them to caress her. ‘Oh, baby, you have no idea how much…’

Hours later, they had a midnight feast of strawberries and champagne. It was only right and proper that they should celebrate their unofficial engagement in such a way, Jake said, climbing back onto the bed with the bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses in his hands, and Eve stared at him in disbelief.

‘Our unofficial engagement?’ she said, blinking, and Jake grinned back at her.

‘Well, you are going to marry me, aren’t you?’ he asked, and for a long while after that the champagne was forgotten.

But eventually Eve wriggled into a cross-legged position beside him. There were things she wanted to tell him, things she had to tell him, before their engagement became official and Jake couldn’t back out.

‘I need to tell you about my father,’ she said, accepting a champagne-dipped strawberry from him and resting it against her lower lip.

‘Your father?’ Jake frowned, fascinated by her unknowing sensuality. ‘I thought your mother didn’t know who your father was?’

‘Oh, she knew. My grandmother forced her to tell the truth when she was searching for me.’ Eve bent her head. ‘He was Cuban, you see, and Cassie hadn’t wanted to tell the Fultons that in case they changed their minds.’

Jake gave a low whistle. ‘No kidding. So—did you get to know him? Afterwards, I mean?’

‘No. Ellie found out he’d been killed in a plane crash in Cuba just weeks after I was conceived. Cassie wasn’t lying about that, at least. He didn’t want to know that he’d fathered a child.’

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Jake pulled her close and pressed a warm kiss to the top of her head. ‘You certainly had a raw deal.’

Eve glanced up at him. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘Why should I mind?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Eve hesitated. ‘Harry seemed to think it was important that I was half Cuban.’

‘Who? That idiot priest back at Falconbridge?’ And, at her nod, ‘Was that what upset you so much that night?’

‘It was the way he said it. And the fact that he thought I was only putting him off because I was attracted to you,’ said Eve honestly.

‘Hey, the guy had a brain after all.’

Eve cuddled close. ‘I do love you, you know.’

‘I know,’ said Jake smugly. ‘That’s why you’re going to marry me and not him.’

Six months later, Eve sat with Julie Romero on the terrace at the back of the villa. It was early evening, and Julie was nursing her four-month-old daughter at her breast. Watching her, Eve wondered what it would be like to feed a baby. Well, she’d know soon enough, when their baby was born.

Not that that was going to happen any time soon. In fact, apart from Jake’s immediate family—and her grandmother—they’d kept the fact that Eve was expecting a baby to themselves. At present it was barely noticeable, although Eve knew her waistline was thickening by the day.

Julie finished feeding the baby and, after adjusting the bodice of her dress, shifted the baby to her shoulder. ‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ she said, with feeling. ‘I didn’t realise a baby’s jaws could be so strong.’

Eve smiled. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Give her to me.’

‘She’s heavy.’

‘Not that heavy,’ said Eve firmly. Then, after settling the baby over her own shoulder, she said, ‘What time is Mike getting back?’

‘Pretty soon, I hope,’ said Julie fervently. And then, realising how that might sound, she added, ‘Not that I haven’t appreciated you and Jake letting me stay here while he’s been away. But I’ve missed him, you know. Even three days can seem like for ever when you’re apart.’

‘I know.’ Eve was sympathetic, but she was also grateful that Jake had unloaded a lot of the overseas travelling onto his younger brother’s shoulders. It meant they spent a lot more time together, and whenever he did travel Eve went with him.

And, as if thinking about him had attracted his attention, Jake chose that moment to come out of the house. ‘Mike’s just rung,’ he said, his eyes going to his wife and the baby. ‘He landed a few minutes ago. He’s coming straight here.’

‘Oh, marvellous!’ Julie beamed, and Jake patted her on the shoulder before going to join his wife and baby Rachel on the glider. Julie got up. ‘I’ll just go and smarten myself up.’

Jake smiled at his sister-in-law as she went into the house, and then at the baby, trailing a caressing finger down Eve’s bare arm. ‘You know, having visitors can be rather limiting,’ he murmured. ‘I haven’t made love with you anywhere except in our bedroom for almost a week.’

Eve dimpled. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘What do you think?’ His lips caressed her shoulder. ‘I prefer having you all to myself.’

‘Well, when our baby’s born—’

‘—he won’t care what his mother and father get up to,’ said Jake firmly. ‘Not for years and years.’

‘And it is six months away,’ agreed Eve consideringly. ‘You might have got tired of making love to me by then.’

‘I’ll never get tired of making love to you,’ asserted Jake fiercely. ‘I feel as though I’ve been sleepwalking for most of my life. Only since I met you have I realised exactly what I was missing. We fit together. Without you I was never totally complete.’

Eve tipped her head onto his shoulder. ‘That’s a nice thing to say.’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘And I’m the luckiest woman in the world.’ She smiled. ‘I’m so glad Ellie phoned you and told you what was going on.’

‘So am I,’ said Jake fervently. ‘Although I didn’t know if you’d agree to take the job at the school. If you hadn’t, I guess I’d have had to find another reason to visit Falconbridge. Though I’d have been devastated if I’d found that your grandmother had sold the house and you weren’t there any more.’

‘Someone would have directed you to Adam’s farm,’ said Eve at once. ‘But I’m glad it didn’t come to that. Ellie so much enjoyed coming here for the wedding. And Adam and his family…I bet they’re still talking about travelling in a private plane.’

Jake looked sheepish. ‘Yeah, I guess Adam and I got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we?’

‘Well, neither of you was exactly friendly towards the other.’

‘You know why?’ Jake grimaced. ‘I thought he was another friend of yours. And poor old Adam thought I was another of Cassie’s hangers-on.’

Eve pulled a face now. ‘She won’t like it when she hears she’s going to be a grandmother.’

‘Like I care what that woman thinks.’

‘Well, she did make an effort and send us a wedding present,’ said Eve charitably. ‘And I’m so happy, Jake. I can’t forget that without her we’d never have met.’

Jake sighed. ‘Okay. But I can’t forget the way she treated you when you were a baby. You can ask me to forgive her, but I’ll never forget.’

Nor would she, thought Eve, as Jake put his arm about her. She probed the small mound at her waist with a gentle hand. Her baby would be loved, not just by her and Jake, but by all his family. The way a baby should be, she thought, burying her face in the warm hollow of Jake’s neck.

Craving Beauty

By Nalini Singh

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

One

“With this bond, I take my life and put it in the keeping of Marc Pierre Bordeaux. Forever and eternity.” Hira’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces as she repeated the ritual words.

Smiling, the elder lifted the trailing edge of the silken red ribbon tied around Hira’s wrist and fed it through the lacy aperture atop the wall dividing the men from the women. The marriage ceremony was almost complete—soon she’d be wife to a man with ghost-gray eyes.

What should’ve been the most wonderful day of her life was instead marking the destruction of her dreams. Dreams of love, dreams of family, dreams of tenderness. Because instead of being wooed and won, Hira Dazirah had been part and parcel of a business agreement.

Her wrist jerked as the ribbon went taut. At the same time, the elder said, “He is bound.”

On the other side of the wall, a single voice rose in the haunting cadences of the blessing chant.

Per the customs of her homeland, Zulheil, in a few more seconds Marc would be her husband. Marc with his slow smile and eyes full of temptation. Marc with his warrior’s face and hunter’s walk. Marc, who’d demanded her father seal their business deal with his daughter’s hand.

She’d thought him different. From the first, his obvious strength had attracted her, as had the way he had of looking at her as though she was precious. Then he’d smiled at her in that slow, sexy way. Unable to resist, she’d softened inside and out, responding to the glittering passion in his eyes.

Believing that their shared smile augured the beginning of something priceless, she’d waited for him to court her. For the first time since Romaz had trampled on her heart, she’d felt the bloom of new hope.

Two days later he’d offered for her hand, without having spoken to her, and her illusions about her American stranger had shattered. Instead of wanting to know the woman, Marc had been entranced by the shell of her body, the beauty of her face. The staggering pain of her bewilderingly intense disappointment had yet to leave her. It sat like a heavy rock on her heart, crushing and unable to be ignored.

“It is done,” her mother, Amira, said. “The blessing chant has been completed. You are married, daughter.”

Hira blinked and nodded, none of her anguish showing on her face. They sat in a sumptuous room filled with the women of the Dazirah family, women whose sharp eyes missed nothing. She would never shame her mother by coming apart at the seams.

Amira stroked her cheek. “I know this is not what you wanted for yourself, but it will be all right. Though your new husband is scarred, he doesn’t appear cruel.”

Not unless cruelty could be defined as inciting hope and then crushing it. “No,” she whispered. “He doesn’t.”

But that told her nothing. Romaz hadn’t appeared cruel, yet he’d ripped out her heart and laughed at her while he’d done it. She’d thought herself in love, so much so that she’d left her home and ran to him, ready to marry him without her father’s consent.

It had been the only time in her life that she’d considered an action that would’ve brought the scorn of society on her proud family. That fateful day, her happiness had been as iridescent as a summer rainbow, joyous and pure.

The minute he’d seen her in the doorway of his humble apartment, Romaz’s dark-lashed eyes had lit up in surprise. “Hira. What are you doing here?” He’d glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting an entourage.

She’d walked in, brushing past him, sure of her welcome. After all, he’d told her that he loved her. “I have come to stay,” she’d said, excited and a little afraid but so glad to be with the man she loved.

He hadn’t embraced her as she’d anticipated. “Your family?” he’d asked, a frown on his handsome face.

She’d thought his reserve sprang from displeasure at her forwardness and had been sure that once he heard what she had to say, he’d forgive her for taking the initiative. “They won’t miss me till dinner. We have time to marry. They cannot stop us after that.”

Some of her nervous joy had started to fade at his continued lack of a response. “Romaz?” She’d glanced at the still-open door, wondering why he didn’t shut it so they could have privacy to make their plans.

He’d given her a strained smile. “Your father will disown you. You must think this through.”

“I have! He’ll never agree to our marriage. Never. Already he seeks other matches for me.” She’d wanted to touch him, but there had been an unfamiliar hardness in his eyes that had stopped her. “We don’t need my father’s money. You work hard and I’ll get work, too. We’ll survive.”

The bitter smirk on his face had confused her. “You? You wouldn’t know honest work if it hit you in the face.”

Shocked, she’d stood there, unable to understand his anger. “Romaz?”

“Do you think I’ll be able to keep you in the style to which you’re accustomed?” He’d glanced dismissively at the bracelets around her wrists and the baubles in her ears.

His response sprang from male pride, she’d thought, relief shooting through her body like cool spring rain, bringing renewed hope. “None of it belongs to me. It is the family’s.” Stupidly she’d thought that that would reassure him. “I don’t need such things if I have your love.” She’d been so earnest in her desire to nurture his self-confidence.

“Well you might not, but I do,” he’d snapped.

Later she’d realized it was the very naiveté of her statements that had caused his charming veneer to crumble. Her attempt at salvaging his pride had instead proved the futility of his courtship. Financially Hira was worth nothing without her family.

“What’s the use of marrying you if I don’t get access to the Dazirah coffers?” He’d raked her body up and down. “You might be beautiful, but in the dark, one female body is the same as another.”

She’d been so badly wounded by that unexpected blow that she’d frozen, her feet rooted to the floor. “You won’t marry me unless I come with my father’s money?”

He’d shrugged. “How else do you expect me to move up in life? Unlike your wealthy family, I have only one asset—my looks.” He’d pointed to a face so handsome it routinely caused women to stop and stare in the streets. “I intend to use them to my advantage. I don’t want to labor all my life like my father.”

His sneer had destroyed her final illusions about him, for his father was a respected and skilled man. His family wasn’t as rich as hers, but they weren’t poor, either. Zulheil looked after its own, but no man could expect to gain wealth without work. Her father, too, spent much time “laboring” in his businesses.

Yet, even after Romaz had said those horrible things, even after she’d seen the truth of his nature, she hadn’t wanted to give up the tattered remains of her dreams. Hadn’t wanted to admit she’d made such a horrible mistake. She’d been so foolishly innocent of the ways of the world, so untutored in deceit. “But…you said you loved me.”

His expression had turned into a leer. “Any man would love a body like yours. Of course, I’ll take that part of you if you’re offering it without charge. Marriage is too high a price to own just you.”

He’d crushed her with that dishonorable proposition. Barely able to function, she’d run from his apartment, wandering the quiet back streets for three hours. Just before darkness fell, she’d returned home by the same secret route she’d used to leave, and no one had ever learned of her attempted elopement. They just knew that suddenly all the fight had gone out of her. In one afternoon Romaz had achieved the outcome her father had been aiming for, for twenty-four years.

Now, almost six months after Romaz had cast her aside because her body alone wasn’t enough, it was the greatest irony that she found herself married to a man who cared nothing for her money and only for her body.

“Daughter?”

She jerked up at the sound of her mother’s voice. “Yes.”

Amira smiled. “Come, it is time for you to wait for your husband.”

Time to allow a stranger to touch her, Hira thought, anger spiking. Fascinated with him from the first, his act in bargaining for her like an object had turned her budding desire into fury. How dare he reduce her to nothing more than the sweetener for a business deal?

As she followed her mother up the stairs, her eyes narrowed. Marc Bordeaux might’ve married her, but he would not have her. Not like this. Not without joy and tenderness. Not until she knew the heart of the man he was.

Marc leaned in the open doorway, his body thrumming with anticipatory tension. “Why the face? It’s your wedding night, not an execution.” He tried to keep his tone light, but it was hard when temptation sat right in front of him.

Hira occupied the middle of a canopied Arabian bed that screamed decadence. Hung with rich velvet curtains in a warm gold and made up with sheets of silken white, it invited sin and seduction. The luxurious hangings whispered softly in the heavy heat of the desert breeze wafting in through the open balcony doors, full of murmurs of welcome.

It was as if Zulheil itself was urging him to indulge his hunger for his wife. To complete the invitation, her slender feet rested on pale-pink rose petals, petals that echoed the delicate pink of her wedding garments.

She should’ve looked like a dream. His dream.

But instead of welcome, there was only cool distance in her eyes. The woman who’d captivated him with a single smile was subsumed under the crystal hardness of icy sophistication.

One aristocratic eyebrow rose. “What did my father promise you in the deal? Tell me and I’ll deliver.” That cultured voice with its exotic accent swept along his bloodstream, inciting him without intent. Her voice flared at the end, a stab of heat that was quickly smothered by the ice, leaving him uncertain that it had ever appeared.

He clenched the fists he’d shoved into the pockets of his tuxedo pants, a feeling of dread infiltrating the joy with which he’d begun this night. “You agreed to this marriage, princess.” What could’ve been an endearment came out as a taunt, her coldness stoking his temper. “I never wanted a wife who wasn’t happy to be mine.”

He’d starved for this moment since he’d first seen her on the balcony of her family home in Abraz, Zulheil’s biggest city. Her face had been upturned to gaze at the stars, a wistful and somehow hungry smile gracing that lovely face.

“Your father refused to let me date you,” he told her. “You must know how old-fashioned he is. It was marriage or nothing, and you were asked your choice.” He’d been startled by Kerim Dazirah’s decree that no man was going to be allowed near his daughter without the ties of marriage, but had made his choice in an instant.

Driven by feelings he barely understood, he’d agreed to a marriage without courtship, chanced forever on the strength of one shared smiled, one instant of pure happiness. No woman had ever made him react with such impetuousness. No woman but Hira.

“Yes,” she said softly, her strange light-brown eyes fixed on a point beyond his shoulder. “I had a choice. As much as any woman does when she has no independent means of income, no way to fight for her freedom, no chance of escape.” Her tone was as emotionless as a doll’s. “You were better than the alternative.” The final line was heavy with disgust.

“Who?” He didn’t like the idea of her with some other man, though he hadn’t known of her existence until barely a week ago. From that moment, she’d become his. Only his.

Her full lips twisted. “You’ve met him. Marir.”

“He’s a relic.” Marc recalled his one encounter with the oily merchant who was a crony of Hira’s father. He’d disliked the man on sight because his eyes had kept straying to Hira, who’d been acting as hostess for Kerim’s banquet. Marc had almost been able to see the old lech fighting the urge to lick his lips.

Simmering with possessive anger he hadn’t then had any right to, he’d barely walked away without punching Marir in his florid face. “Why would your father consider him a suitable match?” In spite of his lack of a beautiful face, Marc knew he was of value to the Dazirah family because of his wealth and business status.

“He has royal blood. Many times removed, but present nonetheless.” Her mouth curved in a humorless smile. “My father always wanted to claim royal connections.”

Another blow against him—he was no more royalty than the lowest bayou rat. “Then why did he accept me?”

“In my father’s eyes, you are American royalty. As well as being a man of considerable wealth, you do business with our sheik and are welcome in his home—close enough to royalty to please him.”

Marc clenched his hands even tighter, frustrated and angry. And hurt. Why did it hurt that this beautiful woman was rejecting him? Why did he feel like something indefinably precious was slipping out of his grasp? “So that was all that was going for me? I wasn’t old and fat?” He didn’t spell out what they both knew. He might not be old and fat, but he was disfigured.

Scars ran in fine white lines down the left side of his face. His body bore far deeper marks. He’d become used to them long ago, his confidence founded on more substantial things, but this beautiful ice princess would surely have noticed. When she’d agreed to his proposal, he’d thought that the scars didn’t matter to her. Now he saw that he’d been deluding himself. There was no welcome in Beauty’s eyes for this particular Beast.

She gave a regal nod and the shimmering light from the tiny, perfectly detailed chandelier caught on the diamonds dripping from her ears. “I do not know you. You are a stranger. My father may have refused to allow a courtship, but you didn’t even try to talk to me once!”

In fact, Marc had asked to speak to her several times before the wedding but had accepted her father’s explanation that such things were not done in Zulheil. Unfamiliar with the marriage rituals of this country, he’d been wary of giving offence and losing his chance to claim Hira. Not that that was any excuse, he thought harshly. He should’ve tried harder.

“Are your feelings going to change as we get to know each other?” Despite everything, he continued to ache for the gift of warmth she’d tantalized him with just once before. But he had no intention of taking something that wasn’t freely given. Not even when desire was digging into him with razor-sharp talons and his body was heavy with passion so hot, it was almost pain.

A sudden shadow dulled the almost-golden brilliance of her eyes. “I once loved a man.” Her long lashes lowered. “And I don’t think I will ever love again.”

Her words formed an arrow aimed at dreams he’d barely acknowledged but now knew were vital to his existence. “Why did you marry me, then? Why make us both miserable?”

She raised her head and he caught a glimpse of red-hot anger in those changeable eyes. “My father said you wouldn’t sign the agreement unless I married you. The deal with you is very important to the clan.”

He swore under his breath. “The central agreement was signed and sealed before I asked for permission to date you. Nothing but the most minor ancillary matters remain.” He wondered if she’d believe him, this beautiful, dusky desert rose. It was his word against her father’s.

To his shock, he thought he saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I thought he cared for me a little…but my worth to him has always been determined by my looks.” The pain in her was so tightly controlled, it wounded him just to hear her. “Now I know he feels nothing for me, if he can so cold-bloodedly manipulate me into marriage with a man he wishes to do business with.”

Marc couldn’t stand to see this proud woman so humbled. This was not how his haughty beauty was meant to sound, lost and alone. Striding to the bed, he sat down beside her. When he reached out to touch her cheek, she froze. “I have no intention of doing anything against your will, so stop looking like a deer caught in the headlights.”

Her head jerked up. “Don’t snap at me like that.”

This was the woman he’d fallen for—this woman of fire not ice. Desire flared again, deep and heavy. Without conscious intent, his fingers trailed down her face to rest on the delicate skin of her neck. She shivered at his touch, and hope blazed inside him. Driven by dreams he’d never thought to experience, he found himself leaning forward to taste her.

Harsh reality intruded when she turned her head away in sharp refusal, giving him her profile.

He dropped his hand and got off the bed. Walking to the door, he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter that she’d rejected him. “Do you even desire me, Hira?” It was a question without subtlety, but he needed the truth, and from the lush look of her and her confession of involvement with another man, he knew she had to be experienced.

He hated the idea of those long, sun-kissed limbs intertwined with another man’s, though he’d never been a man who judged a woman on her sexual history. He was no hypocrite. Except, it appeared, with this woman. Tonight had been full of unwelcome surprises.

Eyes wide, his new wife looked up from her intense perusal of the white-on-white embroidered bedspread, her fingers crushing a single fragile petal. The sweet scent of roses shimmered into the air. “All you know of me is my face and my body—there is nothing more to tie us together. I don’t believe in lying with a man unless there is emotion between us.” Her voice almost trembled at the end.

And she’d said she would never love again. The pain in his chest was nearly overwhelming. “You expect me not to touch you all our married life?” He wanted to be very sure of her meaning, very sure of what he’d surrendered to his inexplicable but raging need to possess the woman he’d glimpsed by the light of a delicate sickle moon.

She continued to crush rose petals in her elegant fingers. “My father had another woman always. Can American men not do the same?”

He rocked back on his heels. “Is keeping a mistress common in Zulheil?” He’d thought that this was a land of honor and integrity, a land where a man could find a woman who’d be loyal as well as beautiful, a woman who could find beauty in the night sky and in a scarred man’s face.

“No.” Hira’s acknowledgment only gave him a moment’s relief. “It’s considered dishonorable, and most of our women will not stand for it. If they cannot fight for their right to be honored as a wife, their clan will fight for them, even if that means dissolving the marriage.” Her eyes met his, fierce in defense of her country.

Yet when she smiled, it was a parody of beauty. “But it’s done in my family. My mother’s clan does not help her because she does not ask. My father has her well under his thumb. He only lay with her long enough to gain heirs—my two brothers. You can do the same.” Ice coated every word.

It was a blow to the most masculine core of him. “You obviously have no desire to be with child.” He ran his eyes down her perfect form, something she’d hate to lose to a belly swollen with his child.

What a fool he’d been. Even after his long-ago emotional mauling at Lydia’s hands, he’d married a beauty thinking that something far more precious, something the lost boy from the bayou had been searching for all his life, was hidden beneath the outer layer. Instead he’d gotten exactly what he deserved. “Don’t worry. I won’t need heirs for a while.”

Turning, he tugged open the door with unnecessary force. He was so disgusted with his own folly that he didn’t trust himself in the same room as her. Or perhaps it wasn’t his anger he was afraid of but the dangerous sliver of hope that continued to dig into his heart, insistent that he fight for his wife. That sliver wouldn’t let him end this marriage, not until he’d discovered the truth about the woman he’d married.

Who was the real Hira? An icy sophisticate or a warm-hearted innocent who’d once looked at him with shy welcome in her eyes?

Hira stared after her husband, her stomach in knots, her uncaring mask threatening to crack at any moment. The instant his footsteps faded, she jumped up and locked the door with trembling fingers, almost blinded by the light reflected off the diamond bracelets around her wrists.

Only when the bolt slid home did she crumple to the floor, stuffing her knuckles into her mouth to muffle her sobs. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t bother to wipe them. Who was there to see if beautiful Hira Dazirah looked less than perfect?

You obviously have no desire to be with child.

Marc’s—her husband’s—disgusted pronouncement ran through her mind over and over. Like every other man before him he’d wanted her for her body and yet he blamed her for it. Even worse, he blamed her for something that was untrue.

She’d once dreamed of having as many children as her body would allow, with a husband she’d love. A husband who’d love her back. Those thoughts had belonged to a young girl full of hope and joy, a girl long since buried under the pain of a heart crushed so completely she wasn’t sure if it would ever heal.

Her experience at Romaz’s hands had left her easy prey for her father’s machinations. Kerim had used her sense of family honor to get her to marry, saying that they couldn’t afford to have Marc renege on the deal. From what her new husband had said, clearly it had been Kerim who’d pushed for marriage, not Marc. Her father no doubt believed that Marc would favor family in matters of business; Hira already knew that the man she’d married would never succumb to such manipulation.

Kerim’s lies had achieved no purpose but to bind her to a man who didn’t want her now that he had her. She wasn’t even to have the comfort of thinking he’d fallen for her with one glance.

So why had Marc acquiesced to her father’s wishes? Only one answer came to her—he wished to own her. It didn’t matter to him what kind of woman she was, whether she had a good heart or mind. He’d seen the outer package and liked it enough to go along with Kerim’s demands.

Her father had sold her to cement an alliance, and Marc had bought her because he liked the look of her. Between them, they’d reduced her worth from woman to chattel. She wasn’t surprised at her father’s actions. No, it was Marc whom she was angry at. Marc who’d betrayed the awakening thing between them by marrying her without courtship or romance. According to all she knew, he hadn’t even tried to get around Kerim’s orders.

There had been more than simple desire between them the night they’d first met, but with his act, Marc had crushed that wild and tender emotion.

Two

Hira woke later than usual, courtesy of slumber riddled with nightmares. Dressing quickly after a hurried shower, she girded herself to go down and face her husband’s temper, for what man wouldn’t hate the woman who’d denied him their marriage bed?

It had been a shameful thing for her to do, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. An emotionless coupling with a man she’d barely spoken to would’ve made a mockery of all her beliefs about the meaning of the most intimate act between a man and a woman.

Even though the man she’d denied made her body heavy with desire so hot and blinding, it rocked the foundations of her understanding about her own heart.

Shivers raced up her spine at that traitorous thought. Blinking furiously, she fought them off, though she knew that this blazing heat wouldn’t disappear so easily. Not when she was wife to the man who was the cause of her confusion.

Expecting a fight, she set her jaw and forced herself to leave her room. But what she found on the lower floor was far more unsettling than an angry husband. Suitcases lined the hallway, several of them hers.

Shaken, she walked into the living room and saw Marc bent over a table, signing something. “We are leaving?”

His dark-brown hair gleamed in the sunlight angling through the windows as he glanced at her before turning back to his papers. “Yes. In an hour.” With strong strokes, he signed his name on another line.

Inordinately crushed by his dismissive attitude, she managed to ask, “Where?”

“My home. Louisiana. Near Lafayette.” His words were curt, holding no welcome.

She thought for a moment. “That state has much water but also pra…prairies and its borders touch the Gulf of Mexico. Lafayette is near Baton Red…No, Baton Rouge. It is sometimes called Cajun Country, is it not?”

The man she was joined to was staring at her. “What, you read encyclopedias in your spare time?”

Since that was exactly what she did, she scowled at his sarcastic tone. “They are very informative.” And she was starved for information.

Her father didn’t believe in higher education for females, but she’d managed to educate herself, first through books and later through clandestine use of the Internet-linked computer in the study. As a teenager, she’d railed against the unfairness of being denied the educational opportunities lavished on her two uninterested brothers, but had soon realized the futility of her pleas.

“What’s your favorite subject?” It was the lack of sarcasm in Marc’s question that startled her out of her dark mood.

“You’re not making fun of me?” She didn’t understand his curiosity. Her husband was not reacting as she’d expected. Instead of nursing his anger over their disastrous wedding night, he appeared to be trying to facilitate a conversation between them.

Those piercing eyes seemed to narrow. “No.”

“Well then. It is economics, theories of management, things such as that.” Aware that it wasn’t a feminine type of subject, she stared right back at him, defiant.

“Sure, princess. I believe you.” He appeared to be fighting a smile.

Suddenly her frustration erupted. “How dare you…what is your word…patronize me? You see only what you think to see. You cannot recognize what is beneath the surface for you are a man who buys only on outward appearance!” She turned on her heel, the wind generated by her dark skirts buzzing angrily around her legs. “I will be ready to leave within the hour.”

His arrogance made her angry, but beneath the anger the broken edges of lost dreams rubbed her raw with pain. Despite everything, she’d dared to dream that her American husband would be a man who’d allow her to spread her wings and fly. That hope was now forever lost.

He was just like her father, intent on caging her in the box he’d set aside for her in his mind. She’d fallen for his slow, seductive smile—so rare on that brutally masculine face…a warrior’s face—forgetting that being akin to a warrior was no guard against male failings.

Marc frowned as he watched his wife storm out of the room, as regal as a true princess. He’d learned long ago that appearances counted for nothing. Had he committed the cardinal sin and judged his wife on her beautiful face rather than what lay within?

It took him only a minute to discard that idea. If she was so damn smart, what was she doing living in her father’s home, on his charity? Zulheil wasn’t a restrictionist culture. Sure, the women were well protected and cherished, but they were allowed the same opportunities as their male counterparts.

If nothing else, Hira could’ve gained the money she needed for study by joining the modeling world. The minute she walked into an agency, the bookers would’ve crawled on their hands and knees to sign her up. One of his best friends had clawed her way out of poverty using her face, and he respected her for it.

Snorting at almost falling for his spoiled new wife’s tricks, he continued to sign papers relating to a minor outstanding matter. He’d have to return to Zulheil in a month or so for a further set of negotiations, but right now he was needed in Louisiana.

Truth to tell, he missed his watery homeland. All this stunning golden desert and too-blue sky could get wearing on a man used to humidity and mosquitoes and the occasional gator.

Hira didn’t speak to Marc again until they were winging their way through the clouds, seated side by side in the first-class cabin of a commercial jetliner. Having never flown before, she was feeling more than a little lost and wished Marc would talk to her instead of working on his documents. He might be stubborn and inclined to snap, but at least she knew him. All these other people were strangers, even the flight attendants who smiled at her so nicely but whose eyes were cold.

They thought her nothing but a pretty face, a rich man’s newest toy. Marc’s dismissive attitude toward her had undoubtedly strengthened that belief. Her anger at the way she was always labeled without being given a chance was a pulsing wound inside her, a wound that grew each time she tried to protect herself by showing a cold face instead of shattering with rage.

Even the times when she’d broken down and cried, she’d done so in the dead of night, in silence. Who could she tell? Who wouldn’t laugh at her and call her a “poor little rich girl,” as if her looks and her father’s wealth meant that she was never to be accorded any real sympathy?

Yet all her life, how she’d envied those plain girls who were adored by their husbands for their laughter and their wit; girls who would never have to worry about being forgotten once their skin wrinkled and their bodies changed. Girls who could joyfully confess to gaining a few pounds, safe in the knowledge that in their husbands’ eyes they’d remain forever beautiful.

Despair and hurt tangled inside her soul, making her want to scream and cry at the same time. But she did neither. She’d been brought up to be the perfect daughter and the perfect wife. Seen, not heard. Never heard.

The blond flight attendant passed by again, giving Marc a subtly interested glance. He didn’t look up. At least he wouldn’t humiliate her by openly flirting with other women, though it was likely that many would throw out lures.

He wasn’t a man who could be described as handsome, but there was something compelling about him. Power and strength, buried passion, depths without end—he had the kind of charisma women found irresistible. She’d been pressured into marrying him, but in the privacy of her mind, she admitted that he was a man who made her blush with impure thoughts.

The first time she’d seen him, he hadn’t been aware of her scrutiny. She’d been standing in a hidden alcove on the upper floor of their home, looking down onto the banquet hall to check that everything was in order. Barely after she’d arrived, her eyes had landed on Marc, drawn by his magnetic presence.

He’d been standing alone in one corner, his determined and ruthless nature stamped on his features. She didn’t fear ruthlessness—all the truly strong males she knew had that element in their makeup. It was part of what made them the powerful men they were.

When he’d moved, she’d imagined him as the most predatory of hunters, all dangerous grace and barely contained power. Her eyes had followed him across the room, unable to drag themselves away. Disturbingly, he’d paused midstep and looked right up at the alcove, as if he’d known she was watching.

Shaking from the impact of those ice-gray eyes, she’d retreated with her hand pressed over the thundering beat of her heart. It had taken her half an hour to calm down enough to finally join the banquet…where Marc had smiled that slow, secret smile at her and turned her whole world inside out.

In short, her husband was a very sexy man.

But even concentrating on Marc’s undeniable sexual allure wasn’t alleviating her fear. Aware that she couldn’t expect sympathy from the man she’d frozen out of their marriage bed, she forced herself to reach for a magazine. Moments later she watched in dismay as the glossy paper slid out from between fingers numbed by the desperate way she’d gripped the armrests.

Without saying a word, Marc put down his pen and picked up the magazine, placing it atop his papers. Eyes wide, she waited. Before she could ask for its return, he reached over and closed one big hand around her trembling fingers. She froze.

“Not a good flier, princess?” There was no mockery in his expression, only concern.

She gave him a watery smile, stunned at his compassion. “It is my first…flying.”

“Your first flight?” His surprise was clear. “I’ve met your father several times in Munich, L.A., even Madrid.”

She knew all the facts and figures for those places, could name streets and landmarks, but never had she seen them in reality. “My father believes in unmarried women remaining at home.” She tightened her grasp on his hand. “But he never took my mother, either, so perhaps he really believes in keeping all women at home.” Expecting to be reprimanded for her disloyalty, she nonetheless gave him an honest response.

For a moment she thought she saw anger flare in the suddenly dark mists of his eyes. “I didn’t think that sort of thing was accepted in Zulheil.”

“We are a people with much history. Some stay with the old ways and we do not judge.” Except sometimes she wished someone would judge.

In fairness to her homeland, Hira knew that if she’d spoken out, she would’ve been accorded education, perhaps even an independent life. The sheiks for the past three generations had passed laws to ensure all women had the right to follow their own path. But if she’d brought such attention to herself, her clan’s honor would’ve been forever besmirched in a land where honor was everything.

The Dazirah name was a proud one, with centuries of integrity behind it. Just because her father imprisoned his women with his old-fashioned beliefs didn’t mean that the rest of the clan had to be tarred with the same brush. Her uncles had never stopped their daughters from reaching their full potential.

Marc gave her a sharp look but didn’t pursue the topic. Instead, surprising her once more, he talked with her of his home. Every word was filled with a smile.

“I’ll take you to see the French Quarter once we’ve settled in. Princess, there are things round there that’ll blow your mind.” He seemed delighted at the prospect, his eyes turning liquid silver. “I might even treat you to a trip through the bayou, if you ask real nice.”

Hira’s heart melted at his teasing words, delivered in that deep voice that was as smooth and tempting as hot honey. It was clear that despite the enmity between them, he was attempting to distract her from her fear. Seduced by the light in his eyes, she couldn’t help but remember the first time they’d met face-to-face. It had happened at the same banquet where she’d become aware of his existence.

Catching her eye from across the room, he’d smiled at her in that way she now knew to be rare for him, and she’d felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Her lips had curved of their own accord and she’d found herself smiling back at him, drawn by the fiery warmth in his gaze. Yet when he’d bridged the distance between them, she’d turned away with a haughty look. It had only made his smile wider.

At the time she’d told herself that her response arose from her dislike of the proprietary gleam in his eye. Now she accepted that it had had a deeper root. The feminine heart of her had known that Marc was dangerous to her in the way that only a strong, sexy male could be to a woman. Even knowing that, she’d agreed to marry him.

She felt ashamed that, motivated by fear and anger, she’d put the whole blame for their marriage on him when in truth, she had had a choice. It wouldn’t have been easy to go against her father, but she could’ve done it—she’d done it before. She hadn’t been a very good wife to him so far, but despite everything, he was trying to help her.

Hope blossomed in her heart. Perhaps, she thought quietly, she’d married a man with whom it might just be worth building a life. Her mother had worried that he was scarred, but the lines on his face did nothing to lesson his raw masculine appeal. If anything, they gave him an even more dangerous male air, enticing the feminine core of her to thoughts that shocked her with their flagrant eroticism.

What did a man’s face matter, anyway? Her father was a truly beautiful man, as were her brothers. Romaz could have been a movie star. She had no use for handsome men.

But for a man with a heart?

For such a man…she might risk everything.

As they climbed up the steps to his old plantation-style house, its edges softened with hints of Spanish architecture, Marc took his first true breath in weeks. The moist richness of the bayou air swept into his lungs, welcoming and accepting.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the line of cypress trees forever trying to sink their roots into the tiny stream that angled past the edge of his property. As he turned, their branches shivered in the soft breeze and he found himself smiling.

Located far from the bustle of New Orleans, southeast of Lafayette, his extensive block of land, bought to nurture a very private dream, hugged the lush green wetlands that sang a song of welcome to him each time he breathed. He was a bayou brat and damn proud of it.

“Your home is lovely.”

Hira’s sultry voice broke into his thoughts, an unwelcome reminder that this homecoming was different. He’d brought a wife with him, an untouchable Beauty who wanted nothing to do with the Beast she’d married. Despite their truce on the plane, a truce that had tormented him with images of what could’ve been, he knew nothing had truly changed.

Fueled by resentment that she was going to turn his solitary haven into a battleground, his response was curt. “Thanks.”

He unlocked the door without glancing back at her and walked through with two of their bags, deliberately keeping his hands full. Hira would hardly appreciate being carried over the threshold, even though some primitive part of him wanted to ritualize her entrance into his territory. When she didn’t immediately follow, he dropped the bags to the floor and turned around.

She was pulling one of her cases from the back of his rugged all-wheel-drive truck, which he’d had parked at the airport. Her manicured fingernails, painted a soft bronze, looked incongruous doing manual labor. The vividly embroidered hem of her wide-legged cotton pants dragged in the dirt, the golden yellow turning brown as her heels sank through the soft earth.

He considered standing back and watching the show, but some idiotic male instinct refused to allow him to let her hurt herself. No matter what, she was his wife. And Marc Bordeaux looked after those who belonged to him.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he called out, “I’ll do it, princess.”

She ignored him and began lugging the case up the steps, using both hands. “I can carry this. It is small.” As she walked, her midnight-and-gold hair moved around her face, looking soft and silky and touchable.

He’d never seen hair like hers, inky black except for the hidden strands of almost pure gold. Somehow he knew the colors were without artifice, her beauty hypnotically real. The ends had curled in the humidity and he wanted to wrap those curls around his fingers and tug her to him. His body was suddenly heavy. Needy.

He’d never needed anyone.

“What’s in it?” he asked, to distract himself. Hadn’t Lydia taught him anything? Beautiful women were mirages—there was nothing beneath the glittering surface. Yet he’d married this lovely creature expecting her to be more. He still did.

He hadn’t begun annulment proceedings because he couldn’t bear to let her go without trying to plumb the depths of the woman behind the sophisticate—the woman he’d barely glimpsed that night when she’d thought herself alone. What he’d felt for her at that moment had been brilliant, and so pure it had shocked him. He wasn’t going to give up on that feeling until all hope was lost.

Her face turned pink as she stepped up to the verandah. “N-nothing. Just clothes.”

Suddenly he knew she was lying. His anger was as cold as a chilling frost. Blocking her entry into the house, he stood as close as the suitcase allowed. “Don’t lie to me. What—did your lover give you a going-away present?”

She blinked at him with those absurdly long lashes and if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was trying very hard not to cry. He fought the protective impulse that urged him to haul her into his arms.

“No. No lover gave me any presents. These are my books.” Her gaze was mutinous, but he could see the faint tremor in her lush lower lip.

Her little dig about getting no presents from him hit the mark. He’d taken one look at her, at the secrets in her tawny mountain-cat eyes, and wanted her. Her father’s scheming had only speeded up his plans. “Why the hell would you lie about books? What’s really in there?”

She glared at him and dumped the case on the wooden planks of the verandah, then knelt down to unlock it. He waited. What did she hope to prove? After the final tumbler clicked into place, she threw him a rebellious look and flung open the lid.

“Books,” she said, smoothing the faded cover of one. “I tell you no lies.” Her voice shook.

Confused by the vulnerability he could hear, he went down on his haunches beside her. “Why did you try to hide them from me?” He was almost jealous of the reverence with which her slender hands touched the cracked spines and dog-eared pages.

She closed the lid as if to conceal them once more and relocked the case. “My father didn’t think that women should have much learning. He threw away my books when he could find them.” She wouldn’t look at him, shielding herself behind a waterfall of shimmering hair.

Well, hell, that was one answer he hadn’t expected. Very carefully, with all the gentleness he had in him, he stroked her hair aside so he could see her face, his hand cupping her cheek. She flinched but didn’t move away. “You don’t have to hide your books from me.”

He felt the shudder that shook her frame. Finally she raised her head, her gaze wary. “Is that true or are you…playing with me?”

The guarded look in those eyes was one he recognized. She expected to be kicked when she was down, to be humiliated and laughed at. That she should expect it of him was infuriating, but he understood that the lessons of a lifetime couldn’t be forgotten in a day.

“I promise you it’s true.” In apology for the way he’d jumped on her, he told her something of himself. “I know the value of books. As a child, I read everything I could find. I’ll never begrudge you knowledge.” He removed his hand. “There’s a library on the first floor. Use it whenever you want.”

Pressing her lips tight, she gave a jerky nod. “Th-thank you…husband.” It was the first time she’d acknowledged his claim over her, and there was no taunt or barb in her voice. Instead he heard a bone-deep vulnerability that threatened all his beliefs about her.

Unsettled, he stood and offered her a hand. After the tiniest hesitation, slender feminine fingers slipped into his. As she rose, his eyes dropped unintentionally to the skin bared above the modest neckline of her sleeveless top. Sheened with sweat, her golden skin glowed. Heat flickered to life within him. No matter what his mind knew, his body couldn’t understand why he was keeping his distance.

He forced his gaze to her face. It didn’t do much good. It was as sensual as the rest of her. Full lips, sharp cheekbones, eyes a strange hypnotic shade of lightest brown that gave her a slightly feline look.

“You are so beautiful,” he found himself saying, unable to believe the reality of her.

She gave him a tight smile and tugged her hand away. “Yes. People always tell me that.”

It should’ve sounded conceited. Instead, her tone held such sorrow that he stopped her from heading inside, putting his arm around her waist when she tried to walk past. The heat from her body passed through her cotton top and over him like a secret caress.

“And you don’t like that?” He frowned.

She looked at him with those amazing eyes. “I am more than a face and a body. I am Hira. But no one wishes to know Hira. Please, I’m tired.”

He released her. Stubbornly clutching her precious case, she moved past him in a wash of soft perfume and an indefinable scent that was uniquely her. As he retrieved the other bags, he wondered if she placed him in the same category as those other people. And, if she did, was she right? He’d brushed aside her claims of interest in economics and thought she wouldn’t know one end of a book from another. He’d been wrong on at least one count and that indicated he might be wrong on the other.

Or his beautiful, spoiled wife was playing games with him, trying to mess with his head.

Of all the possibilities, that seemed the most likely. First she freezes him out of their bed, then she comes across needy and scared on the plane, now he sees this tenderhearted hurting creature. Who was the real Hira? Marc hadn’t yet made up his mind. He hadn’t reached where he had in life by making snap decisions. Then again, he’d asked for her hand before he’d spoken a word to her.

Perhaps, he accepted, there was some truth in her complaint. When he’d seen her on that balcony, had he wanted to know Hira? Had he fallen for the soul of that lovely woman who’d seen magic in the moonlight?

Or had he wanted to own that beautiful creature, wanted to show the world that the upstart Cajun with a patched-up body and face could own something so exquisite, most men would never even dream of it?

It.

His blood chilled. When had he become the kind of man who treated a person as a commodity? When had he become like the rich men he hated, the ones who collected beautiful young women as expendable accessories?

No, he thought. No. He wasn’t like them. If he were, he wouldn’t have experienced such disgust at his momentarily aberrant thoughts. If he had nothing emotional invested in this marriage, the visceral pain he felt at the thought that he might have to dissolve it wouldn’t exist.

Perhaps he could be accused of arrogance, but he’d been treated as a nonperson once. As a thing. He would never do that to another human being.

Not even to his ice queen of a wife.

Three

They’d just finished a largely silent take-out dinner later that evening, when he received a phone call from Nicole, a childhood friend.

“I’ll be awhile,” he told Hira. “Nic needs some advice on a contract.” Used to his help, Nicole had begged him to fly up to New York, but no way was he leaving his new bride to go to another woman’s aid. That would be killing his marriage before it began, and the lost, lonely boy inside him continued to catch tantalizing glimpses of his dreams in Hira’s eyes.

His wife had no way of knowing that Nicole was like a sister to him. From what she’d revealed of her parents’ marriage, he’d bet she’d think he was going to his “other woman.”

No curiosity enlivened her closed expression. “As you wish.” Despite his attempts during dinner, she’d refused to soften in any way. It was almost as if she were willing him to forget the woman he’d glimpsed in that instant’s vulnerability on the verandah.

“You’ve probably seen Nic on the ads for Xanadu Cosmetics.” React, damn it, he wanted to say. Show me you care about this marriage…about your husband.

“She is lovely.”

Cold as ice, Marc thought once again, furious at himself for hoping for something more. “Perhaps I should’ve just married Nic instead,” he muttered under his breath as he left the room, not intending his new wife to hear the wholly facetious comment.

Hira felt his words impact like sharp stones against her heart, wounding and so incredibly hurtful that she couldn’t breathe. She sat there, unable to move for what seemed like forever. Marc had stalked into the spacious living area abutting the kitchen but had left the door open. Though she couldn’t distinguish the words, she could hear the deep rumble of his voice.

And occasionally she could hear a low male chuckle.

Clenching her hands on the arms of the chair, she made herself take deep, calming breaths. The feeling of betrayal persisted. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected that kind of cruelty from the man she’d married. He’d been so gentle, so tender with her feelings on the plane that he’d fooled her completely. And on the verandah…his rough understanding had been her undoing.

So quickly, so suddenly, he’d threatened to win her trust. Terrified of his power over her, she’d retreated behind the only protection she had—an icy facade that was as brittle as summer frost. The whole time that they’d sat across from each other at this table, she’d ached to place her faith in him, but the part of her that had grown up watching her father ambush, then degrade her mother’s pride, had cautioned her to wait before she made an awful mistake. And that bruised part of her had been right. If Marc could cause her such torment now, how much worse would it have been if she’d taken those first halting steps?

Feeling lost and alone, she finally stood, searching for something to occupy her mind and her stupidly trembling hands. How had it happened that she’d become so vulnerable to this man she’d married, when she’d learned to protect herself from cruelty after growing up under Kerim’s rule?

She couldn’t bear to go up to her lonely room and shut herself in. She’d been shut in most of her life. No more, she decided. Her eye fell on their dinner dishes. Glad to have something concrete to do, she gathered them up and took them to the sink. Cool air whispered between her legs from the sway of the ankle-length skirt she’d changed into. Teamed with a white cotton blouse that had an elasticized neckline and little puff sleeves, it made her feel free. She vowed no one would steal that feeling from her.

Midway through the chore, her husband returned, apparently finished with his “Nic.”

Perhaps I should’ve just married Nic instead.

The painful words rocked through her again. She wanted to throw something and ask him why he hadn’t married his precious Nic! Why had he brought her out of the desert if he didn’t want her? But she didn’t speak, too used to having defiance punished by harsh measures.

The punishments hadn’t destroyed her fire, but they’d taught her to be very careful as to whom she trusted with her thoughts and emotions. Sometimes those closest to you promised the least safety.

Marc was taken aback to see his princess of a wife efficiently doing the dishes. When she placed the washed dishes in the drainer, he grabbed a dish towel and started to wipe them, wondering once again if he’d been too hasty. For some reason, Hira made him react with quick-fire temper, when he had a reputation for steely control under pressure.

She sent him a startled glance out of those slanted eyes. “You do women’s work?”

He grinned. “Cher, I used to be a dishwasher in a restaurant when I was a sprat.”

That gave her something to think about, because she didn’t speak until the work was complete. Despite the disaster the evening had been so far, he’d hoped that they might have coffee together, but she started to head upstairs to her bedroom.

“Hey.” He grabbed her arm, careful of his strength on her fragile flesh. “We have to talk.” He didn’t know what he was going to say. He just knew that something had to be said. They couldn’t keep living like this—two strangers who’d said some vows and now found themselves locked in the same cell together.

“Why? Do you wish me to come to your bed?” Arctic frost coated the question. Standing a couple of steps above him, she looked down on him as if he was a lowly slave, her expression as cold as a desert dawn.

He dropped her arm with a sound of disgust, all his newfound warmth lost in the chill emanating from her. “Damn it, I don’t do unwilling women.”

“Then you will never ‘do’ your wife.” Her fists were clenched by her sides, her lips pursed tight. It was the first hint of emotion she’d revealed since those moments on the verandah.

He was too furious to decipher the message blazing in her suddenly dark gaze. “What, my hands too dirty for you, princess? Did you realize that my money isn’t enough to make you forget my roots?” His voice was harsh. What the hell was he doing? He was a man hunted by many women, but for some reason he wanted this one who held him in contempt. Only this one.

She frowned at his hands, as if not understanding the metaphor. “I don’t know anything of that. I only know that you have shown your disregard for me by saying you should’ve married this Nic. I don’t wish to remain here with a man who finds it so easy to hurt me.”

The bluntness of her words rocked him out of his anger, while the shadowy fear she quickly hid made his next words tender. “Aw, hell. I’m sorry.” He raised his hand again and with a gentle grasp on her left hand, tugged her down a step, wondering at the cause of that flash of sheer panic. What scars was Beauty hiding?

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that.” God, he was an idiot. No wonder her back had gone rigid the instant he’d returned to the kitchen. “It was just my temper talking, baby. Nic’s like my kid sister.”

“You give me an apology?” Astonishment rang in every syllable.

Her hand in his was a warm token of trust he hadn’t expected. “I acted badly. You have my humblest apologies, princess.”

“I…That is all right.” She was looking at him as if she couldn’t understand him, her eyes tawny with surprised warmth, no hint of ice in sight. This was the woman who’d smiled at him shyly across a crowded room, lovely and vibrant and everything he’d ever wanted.

“What’s wrong, cher?” The endearment slipped out—her perplexed expression was so very innocent.

Not fighting him when he used his free hand to move a strand of hair off her face, she said, “My father never apologized. He said it was not the husband’s role to take blame.” Her eyes met his, at once confused and daring.

Marc raised a brow. “What if he was wrong?” He shoved his free hand deep into his pocket to keep from reaching out and stroking the curve of her cheek, from luxuriating in the feel of that golden skin stained with softest pink. There was too much wariness in her gaze to chance the intimacy.

“He said he was never wrong.”

“One heck of a way to win an argument.” Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he rubbed the back of his neck instead of her cheek. “Takes the fun out of fighting, doesn’t it?”

“Why would an argument be fun?” She frowned.

He couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips. Leaning close, he deliberately crowded her with his body, the devil in him winning over. “Because then you get to make up, princess.” His breath sent the tiny tendrils at her temples dancing. His lips were a whisper from hers, his senses awash in the sensual woman scent of her. Giving in to temptation, he raised his free hand to cup her face, wondering at being able to touch someone so soft and delicate.

Eyes wide, she jerked her hand from his and turned to run up the stairs so fast he had no time to react. His smiled faded with each step she took. What had he expected? That his scarred face would entice her into his arms? Though he refused to admit it, her rejection hurt in a soul-deep way that left him no room to hide. As another one of his dreams crumbled to ashes, he followed his beauty far more slowly up the stairs.

Always a loner, tonight he found his bed cold.

Hira lay awake late into the night. It was her husband’s fault. He’d done something to her. Every time she thought she might fall asleep, ghost-gray eyes prodded her awake, asking her for something she had no knowledge of.

She knew he desired her. Most men desired her. It wasn’t something she was proud of. It hurt to know that they wanted her only for her body and face. Not one of them would be able to tell her anything of her true self. Had she married just such a man?

He saw her as a “princess,” a woman who had no redeeming qualities or many brains. But he wished to lie with her. It wasn’t flattering to her to be compared to those American bimbos she saw with their rich, old husbands. Sniffling, though she wanted to be haughty and unaffected, she gave up trying to sleep and rose.

After snuggling into a sunny yellow robe adorned with a single red rose on the back, she sneaked downstairs with the intention of making hot chocolate. In the foreign books she’d read, it had been called “comfort food,” and comforting was just what she needed.

She felt alone, adrift. It was as if her mind and body were disconnected. The smart part of her knew that if she allowed herself to feel tenderness for Marc, the hunter in him would seek total surrender. Her first impression of him had been of danger. Every time he came near her, every time he threatened to tear down the walls that had protected her from hurt all her life, that impression was cemented. Yet the sensuous heart of her nature found his masculinity hypnotically compelling. What was she supposed to do with these strange feelings?

And why hadn’t her husband come to her tonight? She’d been terrified that he would, unaware how to cope with the sudden heat flooding her body, but she’d accepted the inevitability. She was his wife. He’d left her alone last night because she’d shown him anger, but tonight he’d wanted her and he had to have guessed that she wouldn’t deny him again. Not when she’d reacted to his touch as if she’d been struck by lightning. Yet he hadn’t come.

He confused her, her big husband who moved like a desert hunter with his lean body and watchful gaze, and who smiled at her as if they shared some secret.

Marc heard Hira leave her room. He wondered what she was doing wandering around the house at this time of night. His heavily aroused body was keeping him awake, but she had no such excuse. From the way she’d run, the woman had no more desire for him than she had for a rabid gator. Grunting, he got out of bed, pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and started downstairs. To hell with caring for her sensibilities. If she couldn’t handle the scars that marked his body, they might as well find that out right now.

He’d never had trouble drawing women, but they’d been tough women, women who prowled for men and knew exactly what they wanted when they got him. And it wasn’t tenderness. Gentle, pretty women like his wife tended to find his patched-up body and face distasteful. If he knew that, why was he putting himself through this? he asked himself bleakly.

Shaking his head, he walked downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, Hira was pulling down the tin of hot chocolate from a high cupboard. Her hair fell thick and straight over her shoulders like a black-and-gold mirror, shimmering against the vibrant yellow of her thin robe. Lord, but she was beautiful. If only if he could figure out whether that beauty was also of the heart, he might yet survive this marriage.

“Hungry?” he asked, walking into the room.

Startled eyes in that strange shade of lightest brown met his. She blinked as if to ensure he was real. “I couldn’t sleep.” It was a grudging admission.

He deliberately crossed his arms across his chest, wanting her to look at him, really look at him. Despite her sophistication, even she wouldn’t be able to hide an instinctive reaction. “Neither could I.”

Her eyes refused to budge from his face. “Do you want some?” She put down the tin and opened the fridge door. “There is no milk!” Clearly frustrated, she glared at him over one shoulder.

He grimaced. “We’ll get some more groceries tomorrow.”

She closed the door and put the tin away, scowling at him. “But I don’t have what I wish now.”

“A little delayed gratification never hurt anyone.” Now, if only his body would understand that, they’d both be far more comfortable.

Pursing her lush lips, she started to walk past him, nose in the air, hips swinging in a way that was utterly natural and sublimely female. The same devil that had got him in trouble before made him reach out and grab her upper arm, warm through the cool material of her robe.

Those almond-shaped eyes, mysterious and layered with secrets, clashed with his. “Let me go.”

“Why?” he asked, encouraged by the slight blush in her cheeks, the fire in her eyes.

“Because I don’t wish to do this and you said you wouldn’t use force.”

Was that fear in those magnificent eyes? No, he thought, gentling his voice nonetheless. “But what about persuasion?” His breath whispered over her lips, his tone husky. He made no effort to hide his honest desire for her. The sexual awareness between them couldn’t be one-sided, not when every breath he took burned with passion.

She reared back. “You wouldn’t be able to persuade me to do something distasteful to me.” Her words were like swords, stabbing into him, adding to the scars on the inside, scars so bad that it was better they lived in darkness. “If you try despite knowing that, it will make you no more than an animal in heat.”

Hurt more than he would’ve believed by that verbal shot, Marc dropped her arm and turned his back to her. At least now he knew that this hasty marriage had no hope of ever surviving. Then why couldn’t he reconcile himself to walking away? “Good night, princess.”

Hira stood there staring at Marc’s rigid back, aware that she’d hurt him. She had never intentionally hurt another human being in her life. Conscience told her to apologize; the part of her that he’d been taunting was smug, but the biggest feeling was confusion. For there was nothing distasteful to her about her husband. Despite trying to keep him at a distance, she’d allowed him close. Romaz had never made her feel this chaos of mingled joy and terror. And she’d thought she’d loved him.

Overwhelmed and unable to understand what was happening to her, she whirled on her heel and escaped to her room. Inside, she paced across the small space over and over, shocked at the heat that had flooded her body at her husband’s proximity. Her mother hadn’t told her of these things. All she’d said was that if her husband was a gentle man, he would be careful of her fears.

Hira herself had learned long ago how things were in the marriage bed. However, she had no practical experience. Even with Romaz, she’d behaved with the utmost decorum. It had been easy to resist his attempts at seduction.

Too easy.

Her mind and heart urged her to accept the truth she’d been avoiding since the moment she’d met Marc—she hadn’t been in love with Romaz, had instead been attracted to the dream of freedom he’d held out. If she’d loved him, it wouldn’t have been so very easy to keep him at arm’s length. If she’d loved him, she would’ve burned for him as she did for Marc, this husband she barely knew.

Faced with a man a hundred times more masculine than her only other would-be lover, a man who she believed would be demanding and impatient with her inexperience, she was lost. Brought up in a cloistered environment, she’d never been allowed to mingle with males such as her husband. Though her family had tried to make a match for her with the sheik, they’d never allowed her to be alone with him.

But tonight she was all alone with a man who wished to exercise his rights as a husband but didn’t believe in forcing his bride. That meant that if she wanted to make this marriage more than words on paper, more than two strangers sharing a house, she would have to get over her cowardice and approach him, for she knew he wouldn’t come near her again. He had too much pride, pride that she’d slashed at tonight with her panicked response.

He’d been so close, so overwhelmingly male, so potent that her entire body had seemed to go up in flames. She’d been almost dizzy with the sudden, shocking desire to place her hands on that magnificent chest and stroke until his control snapped, though she had no idea what she would’ve done with an uncontrollable male on her hands. Even more scandalous was the way she’d ached to rub herself against that steel-hard body.

She’d just wanted like she’d never wanted.

And her own desire had so frightened her that she’d struck out at the cause of her unease, wounding him when he’d done nothing to deserve it, when he’d apologized for hurting her with his earlier burst of temper. He’d been so sincere that she knew he’d told her the truth.

It had been easy to forgive him, for she didn’t mind living with a man who had a flash-fire temper. In fact, she preferred it to her father’s coldly judging silence. But tonight Marc hadn’t shown her temper but such emotionless rigidity that she knew she’d caused serious damage.

With her actions she’d shattered the already fragile support base of their marriage. Now she was the one who’d have to rebuild it. Scared, not knowing how a woman went about seducing a male as strong as her new husband, she curled up in bed, thinking she’d never get to sleep.

She dreamed of silken sheets and a hunter of a male with eyes of liquid mercury. A demanding, hungry and powerful lover who refused to let her keep any part of herself back from him. A man who gave as much as he took and left her drenched in sweat, her body aching for a possession she had no knowledge of.

Four

Midmorning the next day, Hira stood at the kitchen window watching her husband chop wood in the backyard. He’d ignored her since she’d come downstairs. It was likely that he was only outside because she wasn’t. Not that it would do him much good to ignore her if she didn’t wish to be ignored. Her father had often cursed her for being as stubborn as an old camel. She’d taken it as a compliment.

It would be Marc’s own fault if she followed him out. After all, he shouldn’t have dressed only in those blue jeans if he hadn’t wished her to watch him. What woman could resist running her eyes over that muscled form, as lean and dangerous as a wolf in its prime? And she’d found that watching him led to wanting to touch him, just as she’d wanted to stroke him last night when he’d appeared before her only half-dressed.

Her burning hunger for him continued to startle her, for she didn’t think of herself as a passionate woman. Her experience with Romaz had strengthened that belief. She’d never been so intrigued by the sight of a male body that she simply wanted to watch the flow and shift of muscle and tendon. Just watch and savor the idea of all that masculine power belonging to her.

What would it be like to be given the right to explore that unapologetically male body as she wished?

Even more unexpected than that secret craving, was the way her body grew hotter and needier with each moment she spent indulging her desires. Her knowledge of the way things were between a man and his wife in the marriage bed didn’t account for this melting warmth in her navel…or was it lower? she thought, scandalized. And yet it felt so good she didn’t want to fight it.

She wanted to explore it.

Perhaps she’d been sheltered, but she’d never been a coward. Well, at least not until she’d married this man who confused her and made her speak without thinking. Right now her muscular American husband was very angry with her.

Every time he slammed down the ax, chopping the wood to bits, she could feel the power of his anger. But, she thought wonderingly, no matter how angry he was, he never took it out on her the way her father did with her mother, berating and humiliating her. The times that Marc had lost his temper, any hurt she’d felt had been fleeting and she’d given him enough sharp words in return that they were even on that score.

And he was man enough to accept blame and apologize when needed. Unlike Kerim Dazirah, Marc seemed to have no need to crush her under his boot so that he could feel stronger. Last night he’d turned his back to her. Back in Zulheil, he’d given her a cold look and left her to a lonely wedding night.

She’d decided that he didn’t care. Now she saw that he did. His passionate heart was there to see in every driving blow of the ax. Something quietly powerful bloomed deep inside her heart. If he felt this much anger toward her…maybe he could feel just as much affection, tenderness, even love?

Was it possible that she could find a way to make this marriage of hers more than glimmer and shimmer? Make it real? Make it so he saw Hira, saw the woman behind the face and body? To do any of that, first she’d have to reach him. And, she accepted, the easiest way to reach him would be through touch. He reminded her of the desert men of her homeland—while he’d let her close to his body, he’d guard his heart and soul until she’d proven herself.

But if she were brave enough to bury her pain and humiliation at Romaz’s hands and fight to make true the sacred vows she’d spoken, she might one day gain the kind of marriage she’d always dreamed of. It was better than this emotional limbo which would inevitably lead to divorce. Her heart kicked in pain. For some reason she didn’t want to be separated from this dangerously masculine creature she’d married in haste.

Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and straightened from her leaning position against the kitchen sink. The misty skirts of her clothing floated around her ankles. In her home she’d decided to dress the way she’d done in Zulheil, with some modifications that might help her reach her growling male of a husband.

Her snugly fitted top ended just below her breasts, cupping and shaping a part of her that she usually tried to downplay. The rose-colored silk also exposed the length of her arms, the sleeves being mere puffs on her shoulders. Finally, the waistband of her skirt hugged her hips, leaving the curved plane of her midriff scandalously bare. Her father would never have tolerated such an outfit in his home, would have termed it immodest. For once, she would’ve agreed with him. Such dress shouldn’t be worn by maidens, or out in public.

But between a husband and his wife…

When she’d given in to the urgings of the seamstresses who’d worked day and night to ready her clothes for the wedding, she’d never thought she’d be wearing such an overtly sexual outfit so soon. Perhaps she was taking this step too quickly, but with all that lay between them, waiting any longer could irrevocably damage their marriage.

A marriage she couldn’t bear to give up on.

So today she’d dressed to tempt, wanting her husband’s admiration of her body. It was the only thing she had with which to fight for a real marriage, the only part of her that had a hope of reaching Marc. She couldn’t allow herself to think how pathetic that was. It was the simple truth, and she accepted it because she had no desire to be a divorced woman with many husbands. That was never what she’d wanted for herself.

Mouth dry and feet bare, she rubbed her palms on her skirts before walking out of the house and across the lush grass of their backyard. Marc continued to chop wood, though she knew he was aware of her approach. Her husband had the instincts of the great hunting beasts that had once roamed his homeland. Stopping a safe distance away, she called out, “Husband! Marc!”

He kept chopping.

Scowling, she started to walk closer, not heeding the flying chips of wood, trusting his protective instincts. He didn’t disappoint her. Slapping the ax blade down into the stump he’d been using as a stand, he turned to her, all rippling muscle and gleaming flesh.

“What the hell are you up to, princess?” He didn’t bother to hide his fury. “Come to flaunt your body in front of your animal of a husband?” His eyes raked her exposed skin, already sheened with a fine layer of perspiration.

Her lower lip quivered. She caught it with her teeth, aware that she deserved his harsh words, for she’d been very unkind last night. Her fear had made her behave in a manner that shamed her. “I have come to confess that I let you believe an untruth.”

“And what would that be?” He shoved a hand through his sweat-damp hair and gave her a sardonic glance. “That I’d be getting a real wife, not a porcelain doll?”

She winced but forced herself to keep talking. “I was not disgusted by your approach. Neither do I see you as an animal.” He wasn’t behaving as she’d expected. Many men would’ve been satisfied by now, more than happy to take the body she was offering in garb that screamed a sensual invitation. Yet Marc seemed to want far more from her than just her body.

He narrowed his eyes. “What game are you playing now? I know a woman recoiling when I see one.” His voice was a harsh denouncement.

Suddenly it was too much. “I was afraid!” She folded her arms across her chest, goaded into honesty. “I bring shame to the good name of my family.”

“I’m not a violent man,” he snapped, as if she’d insulted him. “Why the hell would you be afraid?”

Perplexed by his lack of understanding, she snapped back, “I am a maiden, husband. My mother said if I had a gentle husband, he would be careful of my fears. You are not gentle! You growl and snipe and are very ungentle!”

Marc felt as if the ax had jumped up and knocked him on the back of his head. He could barely comprehend what Hira was telling him. Lips pouting in accusation, she was standing there looking so sexy in her little pink nothing of an outfit that he wanted to lick her up, and she expected him to believe she was virginal?

And yet, as he’d seen last night when she’d told him why she didn’t want to talk to him, she had the oddest way of telling the absolute truth at the most disconcerting moments…as if she’d never quite learned the art of subtle lies and half-truths.

“What about your boyfriend?” he finally asked, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. No way in hell was he going to touch her unless she asked for it.

“Romaz was not my husband.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t tell another lie.” Her eyes were wide and she was twisting her hands together, but her gaze remained locked with his, determined and so brave that he felt like picking her up and telling her it was all right.

“And the truth?”

“He didn’t make me wish to lie with him as you do.”

“I turn you on?” He was dumbfounded.

She frowned. “I am not an electrical switch.”

“You want to lie with me?” he rephrased. The sun shone bright overhead, but this was the most surreal conversation he’d ever had.

“I have just said that.” Her brow knit. “Why do you make me repeat it? Have you lost your desire for me?”

Couldn’t she see exactly how much desire he felt? Then he caught himself. No. She’d kept her eyes firmly above the waist—shy innocence or a beautiful woman playing with a scarred man’s mind? At the end of his patience, he walked closer. Her cheeks bloomed with a delicate blush at his nearness, but she didn’t back away.

“You don’t want me,” he stated, his voice hard.

He wasn’t going to allow some pampered little princess to make fun of him. Not again. Never again. Memories of being humiliated by Lydia Barnsworthy, daughter of Trevor Barnsworthy III, shoved their way to the surface of his mind. He’d been good enough to clean her car, cut the grass and do other menial chores, and over a summer of flirting, she’d made him believe he was good enough to date her.

When he’d finally asked her out to a school dance, she’d said yes. Using some of his hard-earned cash to rent a tux and buy a corsage, he’d shown up at the doorstep. The maid had informed him that Lydia had gone to the dance with someone else, leaving him only a message. “It was just a bit of fun. I never thought you’d actually think I might go with you. Sorry.”

That was all the apology he’d received, and he’d known it was meaningless. She’d intended to do this from the first. Fuming, he’d gone to the dance and seen her laughing at him from the arm of the school’s star quarterback. In spite of working so many jobs, Marc had managed to be picked for the baseball team. He’d played not because he loved it but because he’d known it would get him through college on a scholarship, allowing him to pursue what he really wanted to do.

But being a sporting hero hadn’t been enough to touch the perfect tennis-toned body of Lydia Barnsworthy; he had to have the money and the pedigree, too. As he’d watched her dance, he’d found a new maturity born out of cold rage. To her clear disappointment, he hadn’t caused a disturbance. What he’d learned that night was that a beautiful woman was worth nothing if her heart was cruel. Unfortunately, the two seemed to go together.

His wife gave him a fiery look, shattering the memories. Lydia was a hag compared to the woman he’d married. Yet, as he’d already discovered, Hira’s beauty wasn’t enough. If she’d remained the ice queen he’d met on his wedding night, he would’ve ignored her and eventually annulled their marriage. He’d had enough coldness and pain in his lifetime. But she’d kept him on the verge of hope with those fleeting moments of vulnerability that teased him with hints of the woman beneath the ice, the woman he’d seen on that moonlit balcony.

“Why should I lie to you?” She put her hands on her hips and moved closer. They were both in bare feet and she had to tip her head back a little to meet his gaze. He wondered if she realized her breasts were pressing against his sweaty chest. “I do not lie…perhaps sometimes I try to lie, but then I always tell the truth!”

What the hell, Marc thought, bracing himself for a blow. The worst she could do was reject him. Perhaps then he’d finally accept that the hope had been a mirage, an illusion sent to torture the vulnerable part of his heart, the part that held the soul of the bayou boy used to surviving unbearable hurt.

He clamped his hands on the exposed skin above her skirt. Smooth and warm under his touch, her body invited him to satiate himself in any way he wished. The hunter in him growled that she was his mate, his to do with as he wished. The civilized man barely managed to keep the instinctive reaction in check.

She shivered under his touch, a smooth whisper of soft skin against callused flesh. “That is odd.”

“Odd?”

Those exotic eyes looked at him in accusation. “Why do your hands make parts of me burn that you don’t touch?”

Marc moved his hands up and down the curve of her waist, still not certain of her desire, trying to scare her off with his nearness and undeniable masculine arousal. Instead of backing off, her lips parted and she put her hands on his shoulders, pressing close.

He wasn’t convinced. Not when she hid her face in the curve of his neck. Calling on every ounce of control he possessed, he ran his hands up her torso and boldly cupped her breasts. She jerked at the accelerated intimacy.

“Husband,” she whispered against his skin. “What…do you do to me?” Her voice shook, but when he went to remove his hands, she moved just the tiniest bit closer, as if not wanting to lose his caress.

“Do you like this?” he asked in her ear, letting her continue to hide her face because he could feel the pebbled hardness of her nipples.

Her hands clenched on his shoulders. “Yes.”

If she really was a virgin, there was no way she could be faking the needy ache in her voice. “How’s this?” His voice was a husky whisper as he released her breasts and moved down to gently squeeze her bottom.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, she pulled away, eyes big and worried. “Husband, these things shouldn’t be done outside.”

“There’s no one to see.” And he wanted to take her under the cerulean-blue sky, because he’d just figured out that she was telling the truth. His bride wanted him. There was a shocked innocence in her eyes that couldn’t be fabricated. He knew that in his desire to test her, he’d touched her far too boldly, but he intended to make up for it by pleasuring her any way, every way she wanted.

She drew her head away. “Please.” For a moment he saw such deep vulnerability in those tawny mountain-cat eyes that he was shocked. Never had he imagined that his sophisticated princess had a heart so very soft. What else was she hiding behind that hauteur of hers?

His interest in her multiplied again. At the same time, an almost painful tenderness took root in his heart, barely a bud but powerful despite it. “All right, cher.”

He kissed her once, lingering at the mysterious taste of her, at the sweetness of her tentative response. When he asked for entrance into her mouth, she hesitated. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispered, his tone gone rough and low, “let me in.”

Her body shivered under his hands as her lips softened, giving him what he sought. Fighting the urge to conquer, he tasted her just enough to have him craving more. When they parted, she was staring up at him, roses blooming on both cheeks. No woman on Earth could’ve counterfeited the passion clouding those magnificent eyes. “Let’s go inside. I need to shower, anyway.”

“I will help bathe you.” Her voice was soft, almost lost on the whispering bayou breeze.

His arousal became excruciating. “What?” Maybe he was still asleep and this was one hell of an erotic dream, because only there would a maiden wife make a suggestion like that.

“In my clan, it’s the oldest of traditions that wives help their husbands bathe.” She was biting her lower lip, her guilt obvious in the way her body had gone tense. “I’ve been shirking my duty because I knew you didn’t know of it.”

And, he guessed, because she was a virgin. How could he have expected an untutored girl to understand the barbarian hunger she’d probably seen in his eyes last night? Tenderness that he hadn’t known he could feel made him move his hands up and down her back, gentling her.

“Would it be such a chore?” he whispered. Despite a lifetime of confidence, he found himself waiting for her response, armoring his heart against pain.

Her cheeks tinted again with that rosy shade that made her golden skin glow. “No.” It was the softest of murmurs. Her lashes drifted down to hide her eyes from him, but he continued to feel her arousal in the way her nipples pressed against his chest. “You make me wish to touch you,” she confessed, mouth almost on the skin of his chest.

“What about the scars?” he asked bluntly. Painful truth was better than a fantasy like the one he’d built around Lydia. The eventual shattering of fantasies tended to wound a man far more than honesty.

She ran a slim finger across one of the ragged scars on his chest. “In Zulheil, desert chieftains participate in a ceremony to show their loyalty to our sheik.” Her fingers floated down to trace the faint lines that ran across his abdomen. “They mark their bodies with pride. You are a hunter like them and these are your scars of battle.” She pressed a kiss to the jagged scar that cut across his collarbone.

He shivered. “I suppose they could be considered battle scars.” His childhood had been a battleground and he’d come up against his father’s belt and his mother’s fist more times than he cared to count. His hand stroked the bare skin of her hip. To his surprise, she cuddled closer. There was a softness to her body that spoke of true welcome.

“They make you…sexy to me.” Her voice was almost indiscernible. “I see the men in your advertising and they are too pretty. Who would wish for a husband who couldn’t protect them?”

Once again, he was reminded that his wife was a woman from another land, a land that for all its sophistication, had a primitive core that lay very close to the surface. “And you think I could?”

She tipped up her head. “Despite your civilized front, you’re a hunter at heart.” Her hand trailed up his chest, the languid stroking fuel to the slow burn of desire within him. “You see me as your property, and you’d never let anything hurt what is yours.”

Her intuition startled him. Whatever the state of their marriage, in saying vows, he’d made her his and he would die protecting her if it came to that. Clenching his fist in her abundant hair, he tilted her head. “How do you like being my property?”

Mountain-cat eyes narrowed. “I am no man’s property. I simply said that that is how you view me.”

His lips quirked. “A subtle distinction.”

“A distinction nonetheless. But, I will accept this—as your wife, I belong to you.” Then she did something totally unexpected. She gripped the curling hairs on his chest with one hand, making him wince. “And, husband, if we lie together, you become mine.”

Well, well, well, Marc thought, at once amused and intrigued by the possessive interest in his wife’s eyes. “The princess doesn’t want to share?”

She pulled at the hairs in her grasp. Hard. “The princess will never share. Decide.”

He untangled her hand, fighting his grin. “My tigress.” He had no intention of cheating. If he couldn’t keep it in his pants, he would’ve never taken a wife. His father might have been an abusive tyrant but even he’d never sunk that low.

Ten minutes later Marc decided he was insane. Why wasn’t he inside his wife’s tight little body right now? Because she was naked, wet and slippery, and slowly soaping his thighs. His arousal was blatant, but she avoided looking at that part of him, the possessive tigress suddenly turning shy. It was the reminder he needed that he was the experienced party. She’d only go so far before halting in confusion.

“Enough. I’m clean. Your turn.” He took the soap from her, desperate enough to be completely unsophisticated.

Her eyes went wide. “That is not custom!”

“It is in America.” He turned her away from him so he could soap her back. “I, too, have been shirking my duty.”

Her body was so lovely that he thought he was dreaming. The slender waist he’d savored outside, flared into womanly hips that would cradle him deliciously when he drove into her. Those long legs of hers could make a man beg for mercy. Thankfully she didn’t appear to like wearing shorts or she’d cause traffic accidents.

“This wasn’t told to me in my lessons on American culture.” She threw him a suspicious glance over one wet shoulder, water-darkened lashes delineating her tawny eyes even more sharply.

He grazed her skin with his teeth, deciding he liked the taste of his wife. Later, after she was more at ease with him, he intended to take his own sweet time tasting all the secret places of her body. “It’s for a husband to teach his wife, not for everyone to know.”

“Oh.” She wouldn’t look at him, but he let her face the glass wall. The hunger in his eyes was likely to scare her.

He’d kept his mouth shut when she’d shyly undressed before following him into the shower, though he’d wanted to swallow his tongue at seeing her naked for the first time. Even after her maddening “help,” he wasn’t going to push her to do something she wasn’t ready for, and it had been obvious that getting into the shower with him had taken every ounce of courage she had.

When he hadn’t forced anything on her, letting her become used to his body and his strength, she’d begun to relax. But she was still far from giving him the welcome he needed if he was going to take her to his bed. As he’d told her, an unwilling woman held no joy for him. However, he had no intention of letting her do all the work in this mutual seduction.

With her hair pinned atop her head, the vulnerable line of her nape was bared. He pressed a kiss to the tender skin, giving her the gentleness she’d accused him of lacking and had the pleasure of feeling her tremble against his hands and lips.

“Will I truly be your only lover?” he whispered close to her ear, his palms flat on the shower walls on either side of her head. She was enclosed but in walls that would break the moment she displayed any resistance. It was his way of teaching her not to fear either his passion-rough voice or his desire-taut body.

“Yes.” Her murmur was as soft as the feel of her skin.

Taking a chance, he slid a hand down the front of her body and cupped one heavy breast. She gasped, her body going taut. He squeezed gently, his mind whirling at the feel of her, the sensual weight of her in his palm. The things he was intending to do to her sweet flesh would probably curl her toes. “Princess, if we do this, no more separate bedrooms.”

Silence.

“What? Don’t like the terms?” He kept his hand on her breast, proprietary as hell. She’d given herself to him. Now she had to take all of him. No playing by arbitrary rules. Either they were husband and wife or they weren’t. “If you don’t, we stop right now. Right here.” Reining in the possessiveness driving him, he gentled his demanding tone. “This is enough for today, if you’re not ready.”

The only urgency lay in the desire that had a stranglehold on his body. And that he could control if Hira was unwilling. She’d shown such courage in coming to him despite his anger that he’d grant her all the time she needed.

“I…My parents never…Is this acceptable?” It was a hesitant question.

The flaring possessiveness within him calmed at the innocent explanation. His wife had led a sheltered life, her only example of marriage being what she’d seen between her parents. It was becoming very clear to him that he’d have to fight those memories to claim her as his own.

Only then did he realize that he’d decided to fight for more than a marriage based on desire and practicality. He wanted the real thing. “I’m your husband and I say it is. Do you doubt me?” Smiling, he kissed the side of her neck.

A short pause. “No.” But she didn’t sound utterly convinced by his dominance in the relationship. He didn’t want her to be. A wife who always agreed with him would be no fun at all. A real marriage included disagreements as much as it did loving, laughter and loyalty.

Grinning against her, he released her breast and soaped up his hands before putting the soap in the holder. A question shimmered into his mind. “Should I get protection, sweetheart?”

He felt her blush heat up her skin. “No. I visited a doctor before our marriage.”

Delighted at not having to halt his exploration, he took a step back and ran his hands from her shoulders to the tops of her thighs. Her buttocks tightened under his touch and he stroked up to rub the soap in circles, blocking the spray with his body so that she remained soapy for his pleasure.

She made a tiny, woman sound. “Am I very dirty?”

He was fascinated by her smooth bottom, very aware of the heat and silky pleasure that awaited him below the curve he was caressing. Voracious and impatient, the rush of need was almost savage, but he controlled it with ruthless force. This time was about teaching his princess that she now belonged to the American she’d married. Without compromise.

“Filthy,” he whispered against her neck. “The front of you is going to need extra attention.”

She shook her head in desperation. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Uh-uh,” he disagreed. “My privilege.”

“Husband, what you make me feel may drive me crazy. You do not wish for a crazy wife.”

Her panicked words made him want to tease her some more. Wrapping his arms around her body, he closed his hands over her breasts and then pressed his body flush against her back. In an effort to escape, she squeezed herself against the glass wall of the shower. He followed. His erection lay between them, hot and throbbing.

“Husband, please.” The husky plea asked for mercy…not for an end to this highly charged game of pleasure but for completion.

“Don’t you like this, cher?” She wiggled her body in response, settling him even more snugly against her.

“Stop that, unless you want me inside you right here, right now.”

“Okay.” She nodded vigorously. “I’m not afraid. You have been very careful of me. I’m ready. Truly, I am.”

He chuckled. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

“Why do you torture me?”

“Maybe I’m taking revenge for all the bad things you’ve done to me.” He nipped at her neck again, aware that she reacted each time he indulged himself that way. She was a quiet lover, but he was a man who’d grown up with the whispers of the bayou. He knew how to listen for the softest of his wife’s sighs, how to read the sweet tension in her feminine muscles, how to smell the scent of her desire. Hira was telling him what she liked, and he was paying damn close attention.

“I have not done such things!” She pushed back in rage but he was far stronger.

Fighting an urge to laugh in delight, he moved his hands until her nipples were between his fingers. At the same time, he nudged one leg between her thighs. She gasped. “Are you wet for me, Hira?” He pinched her nipples gently.

“I…” Her whole body trembled.

“Maybe I should check.” He slid one hand from her breast down her damp stomach to the curls at the juncture of her thighs. Because his thigh was between hers, she couldn’t close her legs even if she’d wanted to. He went slowly, watching for any sign that she wanted him to stop, even going so far as to start to slide his thigh out. She squeezed her legs together, not to halt his hand, but his withdrawal. His mouth dry with anticipation, he thrust his hair-roughened thigh between her smooth ones once more, his hand resting below her navel.

Whimpering, she let his fingers slide through her curls and into the delicate folds between her legs. So unbearably soft that she made him feel incredibly male, she shuddered as he stroked her sensitive flesh in search of heat. When he found it, he gently pushed a single finger inside her, just enough to tantalize, to tempt. She cried out, her slender frame racked by tremors. His own body went taut with desperation.

“Yes, you’re wet.” Voice beyond rough, he removed his hand and her body tried to follow. Chuckling hoarsely, he drew back and turned her in his arms, letting the water wash over her. “Wet all over.”

Eyes almost blind with desire met his. “You must finish,” she ordered.

“In a while.” He had no idea how he was remaining in control. Perhaps it was the fact that despite her natural sultriness, she was an innocent and didn’t know how to push him to the edge.

Then she made a sound of utter frustration and her hands clasped his erection. “Now!”

Pleasure splintered through his body as her hands held him with expertise that belied her claim of virginity. Experience he could accept, lies he despised. Growling, he thrust a hand through her hair, scattering the pins to the floor and sending that black-and-gold waterfall cascading down her back. “Who else have you held in your hands?”

She scowled at him. “No one!” Then to his shock, she leaned forward and bit his lower lip, a sharp little snap that rocked him. “You have made me crazy as I warned.”

It was the edgy remark that calmed the hunter. Perhaps he had pushed her to take this bold step. Hira, he was beginning to learn, was a very strong woman. A woman who went after what she wanted. A woman who acknowledged her mistakes and called on him to explain his own actions.

Reaching down between their bodies, he removed her hands, though she didn’t go quietly. Moving them up above her head, he pinned them against the glass with one hand. She tried to escape, her eyes wild as she watched him soap up his free hand. Dropping the soap to the floor, he began to lather her breasts.

Her body shuddered. “Marc…”

“That’s it, baby, say my name.” He moved enough that the spray washed away the soap on her breasts. Then he leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth.

She bucked and screamed. “Marc! Please! Please!”

He wanted to give in to her, his body aching for release, but he knew the importance of seducing her properly. Once he had her, he’d want to taste her passion again and again, and she had to want him just as much. He released her hands and lifted her by the hips. She wrapped her legs around him, clasping him to her and opening herself to his penetration.

“Not yet, cher.” When she parted her lips to protest, he kissed her.

Because her mouth was already open, it began as a much more carnal kiss than the one they’d shared outside. But despite that, he didn’t ravage her. Instead, he teased her with short strokes and licks of his tongue that barely ventured beyond her lips. Her hands clenched in his hair. For a few moments she didn’t respond, then her tongue shyly stroked his lower lip. He couldn’t stop his body surging into her.

He was inside her before he could breathe, lodged just barely in her heat.

She tried to push forward and impale herself. He clasped her hips and kept her still, though sweat was pouring down his face, mixing with the shower spray. “Kiss me, cher. Kiss me like you want me deep inside you, touching you in a place no one else has ever breached.” It was a sensual demand that pushed at her innocence but he needed her with him all the way, needed her to feel the same raging fire that was scorching him. His hunger would be satisfied with nothing less than her utter and complete participation, followed by her absolute, unflinching surrender.

She gasped, tawny eyes almost swallowed by dark pupils. Then she leaned just a tiny bit forward, held his face in her hands and kissed him. It was the tenderness of her hold that rocked him. Before he could find his feet, she was obeying his order, kissing him with such passion that he felt her desire all the way to his toes, a sizzling heat that made every nerve ending he had fire in rapid sequence.

Her tongue stroked his, shy but determined. “Husband…”

The single trembling word shattered his control. Entwining his fingers with hers, he pressed their joined hands to the glass wall and slid another inch into her. Her whole body shook, but she didn’t break eye contact.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” Sensual determination was stamped in her features, her lips lush and just barely parted.

He rocked against her, giving her time to get used to this absolute intimacy. She shuddered, and the tight sheath of her body gave way. “More?” he whispered, releasing her hands to stroke his over her buttocks while his body held hers pinned to the wall.

It didn’t surprise him that she understood. Her breasts heaving against his chest, she swallowed. “I’m sure, husband…Marc, I want you.” No prevarication, no hesitation, just the truth of her desire.

He read that truth in her exotic gaze. Though her pupils were hugely dilated, she was still with him, riding passion’s currents. She was, he realized, his perfect match in this arena. Fire rippled through him, urging him to surge forward and brand her with his possession.

Gritting his teeth against temptation, he held her wriggling hips still and nudged another tiny bit into her. Despite her open hunger, she was a novice at this—it was his task as her husband to prepare her, soothe her…and then storm her. Another tiny nudge.

He did the same again and again, moving slowly deeper until he hit the feminine barrier he’d known was waiting for him. Some wholly primitive part of him growled in approval. She was his. For always. It was right that he was the one to initiate her into this. The only one. Fighting the grip of the primitive within, he took her lips in a voracious kiss and nudged again, this time with more force. That fine barrier stretched and then broke. Hira’s fingers dug into his shoulders but she didn’t pull away.

Instead she returned his kiss with fierceness that destroyed him. Sure of his welcome, he pushed fully into her almost-shocking heat. The pleasure was indescribable. Lips locked with hers, he moved one hand to her bottom, squeezing and caressing as his other hand moved up to her breast. He could feel her fighting the multiple sensations, trying to control her senses.

“Let go, baby. Let go for me.” His husky demand was whispered into her mouth, almost drowned out by the water.

But she’d heard. When he rolled her nipple in his fingers, her body jerked and then she cried out against his lips. Her surrender was apparent in the way she clung to him as ripples of pleasure tore through her body. In the deepest, most feminine part of her, she clenched around him again and again, an intimate caress that brought him to the edge of insanity. He clung to that edge with every ounce of strength he possessed, determined to hold her safe through her first ride into the firestorm of pleasure.

Almost sobbing with the fury of her ecstasy, her legs locked tight around his hips, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against him, as if she wanted to crawl into his body.

It was the final straw.

He started moving faster, speeding his rhythm in a way designed to stroke her already sensitive inner tissues into shuddering abandon. He felt her shock as her body began to react again, felt her mouth open on the skin of his neck as she kissed him there, touched him, stroked her fingers into his wet hair. But she didn’t back away.

Her lush body accepted the pleasure he lavished on her. It was all he’d wanted, but she gave him more. With her lips and her hands and the way she held him to her, she not only accepted but actively participated, telling him without words that his pleasure mattered to her. It was his last thought before the spiraling void he’d been circling sucked him in.

He took her over the edge with him, took her on another incandescent ride into a realm where pleasure was the only currency. His and hers.

Five

Hira wasn’t sure she was functioning properly. Moving her head with care lest it fall off, she looked beside her to the hunter sharing the bed. Yes, she’d once thought him a civilized man, but that had been a complete delusion. He was about as civilized as a mountain lion. His taking of her—and it had been a taking in the most basic sense—had been domineering, controlling and very, very sexual.

This very uncivilized man thought he owned her even relaxed in sleep. She was pinned down with one heavy arm thrown across her waist and a muscular thigh across her lower legs; now that she’d given herself to him, he wouldn’t allow her to back away from their sexual joining.

But was it making love?

No, she thought with a little pang of loss. It hadn’t been making love. He desired her but he didn’t love her. And as for her? She didn’t know what to make of her own emotions. She’d been so sure she’d loved Romaz, and yet she’d never felt this desire to mate with him that she did for her American husband.

From the first moment she’d seen Marc, her feelings had spun as wildly out of control as a desert storm. Turning, she raised one hand and brushed his dark hair off his face, unable to stop the tender caress of her fingertips across his strong jaw.

He fascinated her, this hunter with his scars and his eyes full of shadows. She’d never seen a more magnificent man, and she came from a culture far more primitive in its beliefs about men and women than her new home. Zulheil’s history had made its men toughened, somewhat wild creatures who had to be coaxed to trust a gentle feminine hand.

Had she misjudged her husband and dealt with him in the worst possible way? If he were like the men of her homeland, then he would have to be treated with the same wary tenderness, for wild creatures didn’t trust so easily as their civilized brethren. She’d thought him an American millionaire but that was merely a mask. He was far more like Zulheil’s desert chieftains, who sometimes took women for the simple reason that they wanted them.

Eyes the shade of aged silver were suddenly looking into hers. “How long have you been awake?” he demanded.

“Hours and hours,” she lied. Like those chieftains, he must never be given all he wanted, or he’d become a total dictator.

His lips curved in that slow sexy smile that never failed to weaken her virtue, and he rolled over to lie on top of her, his arousal nudging at her. Shocked, she felt her eyes widen. “Already?”

“The first two times were mere entrées, baby. I’m working toward the main course.” He pushed into her.

Gently. Oh, so gently.

Surprised by the tenderness she could feel in the care he took with her well-loved body, she was undone. To her further shock, she accepted him easily, without pain or discomfort, feeling only sweet, hot hunger. He was slow this time around, moving with languorous ease that gave her much pleasure. As passion built, she rode the tide with him, clutching the sheets and letting him kiss and suck her breasts as he would, giving herself to her hunter.

Marc watched Hira move sinuously beneath him and could barely believe she’d been a virgin only hours before. He’d been merciless, not letting her recover from that first joining before taking her again, stroking her to incoherent passion as morning turned to afternoon, his appetite for her and her pleasure out of control. But she’d been with him every step, a sensual, gorgeous creature whose body reacted to his touch like dynamite to fire. He’d never had his hands full of fire before. It was an education.

Though he would never tell her, she’d spoiled him for other women. They damn well were going to stay married forever because he had no intention of going without, now that he knew what was possible. In bed she was his perfect mate, honest and giving with just a whisper of wildness. He wanted to coax more of that wildness from her, in the bedroom and out.

Her breath hissed out from between her lips as he touched her deep in her heat, his engorged flesh stretching her swollen tissues. Slowing the tempo of his hips, he stroked and kissed and caressed, giving her the tenderness he’d denied her earlier. “Was I too rough, cher?”

Exotic eyes of lightest brown met his. “Did I complain?”

He grinned. “You said I made you crazy.”

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. Obligingly he moved close enough for her to kiss him. “Yes. I am insane and that is your punishment.”

Chuckling, he inserted a hand between their bodies and caressed her where she was most sensitive. She moved against him, surprising him with her acceptance of the intimacy. To his delight her curious honesty apparently translated into open sensuality in bed. He gave her what she wanted and she returned the favor, locking her long legs around his hips and holding him to her.

Watching her eyes go almost golden as she reached her climax, Marc wondered why this day felt more momentous than their wedding ceremony.

After that incredibly pleasurable day with her husband, Hira decided to truly fight for their marriage. She had taken vows. Though they hadn’t been made with full freedom of choice, they had been made. She had many faults, but she wasn’t a promise breaker.

Her husband didn’t love her, she thought as she walked along a stream that ran near the house. But neither did he treat her with the lack of courtesy that her father always showed her mother. It wasn’t much, but it was better than the life she’d expected on her wedding night.

For the past three weeks, ever since she’d admitted her desire for him, he’d been warm and indulgent. Whenever he could delegate work, he’d been teaching her about his Louisiana. Wide-eyed, she’d visited a voodoo practitioner’s temple, gorged herself at a backwoods crawfish restaurant and ridden through the gator-infested bayou country that Marc loved so much.

It was a lush land, full of surprises and hidden glory that easily enchanted. Attempting to appreciate this vivid, green country was not the hardest thing in her life. Especially when she saw it through her husband’s eyes.

But there was one thing that gave her pause. Every Wednesday night and Sunday afternoon, Marc disappeared. When she’d asked, he’d said that it had to do with some important business. But while he’d been out last week, his secretary had called looking for him, unable to get through to his mobile phone.

Hira had given the woman a plausible excuse, but she couldn’t help wondering where her husband went when he left her each sunny Sunday, and what he did that made him arrive home so very late every Wednesday.

Though it was a painful thing, she accepted that despite the risk she’d taken in giving herself to him, he might have another lover. Romaz hadn’t been satisfied with her—why should she be enough for this far more magnificent man? Clenching her fists, she took a deep breath of the wet air. Everything in this land was wet. Even her eyes.

Rubbing her tears off her face with the backs of her hands, she decided that she wouldn’t suffer in silence. She wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life ignoring her husband’s infidelities the way her mother did. Perhaps it had allowed Amira Dazirah to live with some semblance of happiness, but it would never suit her daughter.

Walking out of the woods surrounding their extensive compound, she strode to the house and made her way to the master bedroom. The sound of the shower in the en suite bathroom only gave her a little peace. She knew she shouldn’t spy on her husband’s affairs but she couldn’t bear to simply ask him, couldn’t bear to tear open her soul that way. If he told her face-to-face that he had a lover, she wouldn’t be able to hide her pain.

She felt ashamed spying, but she would rather feel that than the crushing humiliation that would surely come if she went into a confrontation with no knowledge whatsoever. She needed some shield against Marc, some way to protect herself. As he’d shown her last night, when his hands touched her body, she became his in a way that defied her own mind and soul.

Ears perked to catch the slightest sound, she reached into Marc’s jacket pockets and pulled out everything in them. The wallet and keys went straight back in. She started going through the handful of receipts in one pocket. No matter that this was wrong, she had to know, for the idea of her husband finding succor in some other woman’s arms was unbearable.

“Gas,” she muttered, scanning the receipts. “Groceries. Clothing…from a boys store? Electronic equipment. Flowers.” That was all there was. Brow furrowed, she put the receipts away just as the shower shut off.

Giving a soft gasp, she whirled out of the master bedroom and padded quickly into her own. Though she hadn’t spent a night there since she’d lain with Marc, it was still her room, full of feminine things and her favorite books, a place of retreat when her hunter of a husband became too dominating or overwhelming. However, she’d rarely been pushed to use it in the past weeks.

She’d found herself drifting into the relaxed living room to sit with Marc, without ever consciously planning such a domestic scene. He never asked her to be with him, but if she was away from him for more than an hour, he came looking. Until now she’d thought that implied growing care for her, and her heart had bloomed. But what if it had been nothing more than a proprietary search for the woman he considered his property?

The instant Marc walked out of the bathroom, he knew that someone had been in the bedroom. Barely a second later he knew it had been his wife. Her elusive scent tantalized his nostrils and threatened to arouse him when he had no intention of being made a slave to desire.

As he dressed, he thought over her distant behavior of the past week. He’d wondered if she was trying out her fledgling sensual wings, seeing if she could control him by withholding her full self from their intimacy. If she was, he’d shown her last night that she was a novice in that game.

He frowned. Had he been too demanding of her? He hadn’t let her hold back an inch, asking more and more and still more, not letting her sleep until she’d begged him for rest. Even then a part of him had raged to keep taking her, stamping his mark on her, forcing her to remove the distance he’d glimpsed on her face even in the darkness.

He swore under his breath. Despite her sensual nature, she really was an innocent in that particular arena. His gut twisted at the thought that he might’ve scared her with his intensity, even though she’d ridden every wave with him.

Hira sat in her room, unable to stop thinking about what she’d found. The groceries, clothing and computer equipment hadn’t come to this house. Neither had the flowers, and that hurt most of all. Her husband had never given her flowers, never so much as a tiny trinket to show her that he felt some affection for her. That wasn’t to say he was a stingy husband. No, in some ways he was far too generous.

A racy little sports car had been delivered for her personal use a few days after her arrival in America, and just last week, his secretary had accompanied her on a shopping trip to a number of designer boutiques where Marc had set up accounts for her use. But despite his generosity, he’d never once given her anything that might be interpreted as the least bit romantic. Perhaps he didn’t wish her to get the idea that she meant more to him than a pleasurable face and body.

So where had the flowers gone?

Who had they gone to?

Her heart felt as if it was slowly breaking into a thousand little pieces. Could it be that her husband had become more than just a lover? Could it be that she was the trophy to show off, while his heart belonged to a woman he couldn’t marry for some reason?

It wasn’t such a ridiculous idea. Her father’s longest-serving mistress was a twice-divorced Parisian dancer whom he’d known since before his marriage. She’d once heard him say to her brother, Fariz, that though he couldn’t let the woman go, he’d never considered marrying her—a man of his standing needed a wife with a pristine past.

Pain beat at her temples as, for the first time, she realized that this hunter of an American with his quick mind and compelling eyes meant far more to her than a convenient husband. In her heart she’d claimed him as hers the first time he’d teased her with that slow smile. And that had been back in Zulheil.

She didn’t know if she loved him, but she did know she felt things for him she’d never felt for any other man. He was her husband and she wouldn’t sit aside and let him betray her. She wasn’t a toy he could play with, as he’d played with her last night, and then put back in her box when she became inconvenient.

Gulping, she considered confronting him right then and there. Only a second later she thrust that idea aside. He was half-naked right now and would surely see her entry as an invitation to seduction. No, she couldn’t let him touch her body while he thought of another woman.

The past few days had been torture, last night had been pure humiliation, given that she’d been trying to keep her distance while she decided whether or not he was cheating on her. With hands that caressed and teased, lips that lavished attention on every secret corner and husky whispers that rasped along her skin, he’d made her give up all her precious dignity and taken his pleasure in her shuddering climaxes.

She could accept his lack of loving, but it was unbearable that he might be giving some other woman the very affection he couldn’t find in his soul for her. She had to know the truth. But how?

“Hira.” Marc’s deep voice came through the door.

“Yes?” Startled, she stood and walked over to stand on her side of the wooden barrier, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to open it. Today he’d have no trouble seeing past the ice princess to the very human woman underneath, and she couldn’t bear that, not when he might be in love with another woman—someone whom he adored far more than her beautiful face and sexually enticing body. Marc might pity his jealous wife, and that would be the greatest cruelty. Alone in this new land, her pride was all she had.

“Get dressed, cher. We’ll go grab dinner—I’ll introduce you to the best jambalaya in town.”

Her husband’s voice held infinite gentleness. After the way he’d tamed her last night, he probably felt as if he could be gentle, for what weapons did a woman so capably taken have?

“I do not wish to.” Even to herself she sounded as welcoming as winter frost. It was the only way she knew to protect herself, the only way she’d ever been able to bear her father’s treatment of her mother and dismissal of her own dreams.

Silence from the other side. Then a short, “Suit yourself. Don’t wait up,” he added sardonically.

Ten minutes later when she heard him drive away, she suddenly realized how she could find out the truth. Her husband was always out on a Wednesday and Sunday. Tomorrow was Wednesday and to her knowledge Marc wasn’t planning on going into his city office.

At around four the next afternoon, Hira sat behind the steering wheel of the sleek sports car Marc had given her, wishing it were any color but cherry red. She’d told her husband she was going for a drive, but instead she was hiding behind a curve in the road, her ears straining for the sound of his truck. It was shameful but she was going to follow her husband.

Perhaps if he’d come to her upon returning home, she might have broken down and confronted him. But when he’d come through the front door late last night, he’d stalked into the master suite without pausing. She’d thought that despite his dictate that she share his bed, he hadn’t cared enough to search her out.

Inexplicably hurt, she’d lain awake for hours, missing him and thinking about the other woman who was keeping him satisfied. But if she were to be honest, her pain had been filled with a great amount of anger. It was that anger that had given her the courage to do what she was about to undertake.

Anger and frustration, for her stubborn husband had come to her last night, deep in the darkest hours when her defenses had all been down. He’d aroused her body, had her whimpering even before she’d fully wakened. Then he’d taken her, storming her senses with fierce purpose.

There hadn’t been anger in his touch, but something far more dangerous—a possessive surety that indicated he viewed her as belonging to him, a situation he’d never allow to change. He’d driven her to erotic ecstasy and then he’d started over, giving her another look at the wild male underneath the civilized man. As far as that hunter was concerned, she was his. Full stop. End of story.

By the time he’d finished with her, she’d been so exhausted with pleasure she hadn’t been able to speak. She’d barely registered the fact that he’d carried her to the master suite, hauling her possessively close to his side. This morning he’d wakened her with that same intense hunger, watching her go over the edge, allowing her to hold nothing back.

Though she’d felt the raging desire in him, his steely control hadn’t broken. That control had hurt her already bruised heart—she’d thought them equal in their desire for each other. Yet he’d given her no chance to seduce him, controlling their sensual dance till the end.

A throaty rumble sounded. Mouth suddenly as dry as dust, she started her own engine and crept around the corner. Marc was just turning right. Swallowing, she followed. As the immediate area around their property was trafficless, she had to hang back until his car cleared each tree-lined curve. After more than ten nerve-racking minutes, they entered a comparatively busier area, but given her distinctive car she knew she couldn’t chance getting closer.

Strung taut with nervous tension, she lost track of time as they drove out of their isolated patch of bayou country and north toward Lafayette. For a while they hugged the Vermillion River, but soon even that landmark disappeared, leaving her solely reliant on following Marc.

Relief came as they headed into Lafayette proper. Marc remained on the outskirts of the city, near a large park, but the streets were busy enough to allow her a chance to relax from the constant fear of being spotted. It helped that not a single road in this place seemed to go in a straight line.

The last five minutes of the journey were the most difficult. Because the streets were quiet and contained many turnoffs, she had to stick closer than she liked or lose her line of sight. But at last he turned into the drive of a large house.

She parked her car a few doors down, behind a black van, her eyes drawn to the house. Children’s toys lay here and there in the yard, and a swing set was just visible on the other side. Her hands squeezed the steering wheel and she almost forgot to breathe as it hit her that he might have children. In her pain over the flowers, she’d forgotten the receipt for clothing from a boys store.

When she finally dared to walk down the street to look at the faded sign near the gate, she was startled to see the words Our Lady of Hope Orphanage for Boys.

An orphanage?

Mind in turmoil, she returned to the car. It appeared that her aloof husband wasn’t meeting another woman, but what was his connection with an orphanage? And why had he kept it secret from her? Turning the key, she went to start the car. A big male hand reached inside and jerked it out.

Crying out, she whirled around and looked into the furious face of her husband. “Marc!”

“Get out!” He pulled open the door.

She obeyed, shaken by the visible rage on his face. Once she was standing in front of him, she didn’t speak, waiting for his words. And his punishment. From what she knew of men she didn’t believe he’d let her go this time without trying to humiliate her pride.

“You think I didn’t see you following me?” he demanded, eyes glittering. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“I thought you were meeting another woman,” she admitted, her throat dry. She’d never seen him this openly furious, this out of control.

He seemed to get even angrier. “You want to see what I’m doing? Then come with me. Let’s see what happens when you’re faced with something that’s not so pretty and pampered like the rest of your life, princess.”

She didn’t point out that she was only pampered because he wanted it that way. He’d been the one to set up accounts for her at the most exclusive boutiques, the most expensive stylists, as if she were an accessory that needed to be polished, she thought with a stabbing pain inside her stomach. Well, she’d always known where her worth lay. And she’d walked into this relationship with her eyes wide open. It did no good to rail at fate.

Now instead of arguing she went with him, the full skirt of her sunny-yellow dress whispering around her ankles. He tugged her up the stairs of the orphanage and pulled her inside the run-down building. An old man looked up from a desk in a room just off the entrance…A room that held a huge vase of wildflowers.

“Father Thomas.” Marc’s tone conveyed the deepest respect. “This is my wife, Hira.”

The man smiled and stood. “My dear, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” Father Thomas walked over to the doorway and held out his hands.

Though Zulheil’s ways were ancient and unlike those of her new home, there was such wisdom and peace in this man’s faded-blue eyes, Hira knew he was close to divine grace. Awed, she went to him and bent down so he could kiss her cheeks. The hands that held her own were wrapped in papery-thin skin, but as strong as a young man’s.

“I am honored, elder.” She gave him the honorific of her land, wishing she wasn’t wearing a sundress. In Zulheil, respect would demand formal clothing for such a meeting. Some of the old ways were worth following.

He chuckled. “You are a lovely young woman. A gentle soul.”

The compliment brought tears to her eyes, for despite his ability to pinpoint their location, she could see that he was almost blind. This man saw Hira, not just the face and the body that were her trappings.

“You’ve done well, my son. I suppose you want to show her off to the boys. Off you go, daughter. I expect to see a lot more of you.”

Hira smiled, feeling more warmth from this frail old man than she ever had from her own father. “You will.” She turned and let Marc lead her away, leaving the elder to his ruminations.

The second they were out of earshot, he said in a cutting whisper, “Good performance, babe, but the boys won’t be fooled so easily.” Suddenly he paused. “Damn it, what the hell was I thinking? I shouldn’t have brought you here—they’ve suffered enough.” The bitterness in his tone startled her. “It’s too late now. Don’t hurt them.”

Before she could ask him to explain the deep and uncompromising care she heard in his tone, they walked into a large kitchen. Ten boys of different ages, from a skinny five-year-old to a gangly youth of about fourteen, appeared to be trying to cook. Flour had turned the floor white but it was the childish laughter and the joy on their faces that held her attention. Then they saw her.

And the laughter died.

Six

“Boys, this is my wife, Hira.” Marc’s tone held no hint of anger but she could almost feel his tension.

Immediately Hira was aware of the wariness in the boys’ eyes. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She smiled, but there was no response, not even from the youngest of them all.

She didn’t panic, conscious that they had no reason to trust her, but even so, she was at peace. She adored children and they’d always been her friends when older women had rejected her. Children didn’t judge a person on anything but their heart.

Ignoring the flour that dusted the floor, she knelt down in front of the youngest. “What is your name, laeha?”

His eyes widened at being singled out, but he didn’t look away. “Brian.” It was a whisper.

“And what are you cooking, Brian?” He was so thin, she wanted to put him in her lap and feed him.

“Apple pie…for dessert.”

“I have never eaten apple pie,” she admitted.

Someone gasped. “Never?”

She rose to her full height. “I’m not from America. Your apple pie is not made in my homeland.”

“Where are you from, then?” another boy asked.

She looked across at the dark-haired child. “Zulheil. It is a desert land. I find your, uh, Cajun Country too green. There are growing things everywhere.” It still disconcerted her that flowers bloomed in the grass. She kept trying to avoid stepping on them, for flowers were precious in the desert.

A bespectacled boy gave her a tiny smile. “I read about Zulheil on the Internet. You look like the pictures of the people, but you’re dressed different.”

“I am trying to…Husband, what is the word?” She glanced over her shoulder, wondering who’d hurt her Marc so very much that he couldn’t find it in his heart to trust her with his secrets. Secrets like why these orphans meant so much to him.

“What?” He looked like an immovable wall, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed watchfully.

She smiled at him, treating him with the same gentleness as the children—she was beginning to see that he carried scars on the inside just like these wary babes. “For trying to fit in here?”

His eyes narrowed farther. “Blend.”

“Yes.” A smile broke out in her heart at his warning glare. Teasing her arrogant husband could be fun. “I’ve been trying to blend in. Do you think I will succeed?” she asked the children, once more turning her back on Marc.

Yet she could feel his presence like a physical touch, the tiny hairs on her nape standing to attention at his nearness. Her husband had branded her with his mark and her body knew it. She just had to keep him from finding out. The minute he discovered just how vulnerable she was to him, he’d stalk in and take full advantage. She wasn’t ready to allow that, not while he refused to share the most important pieces of his self with her.

The bespectacled boy shook his head. “You’re too pretty and you talk different.”

She made a face at him, at ease with his honesty about her looks whereas adult comments made her bristle. “I do not wish to be the same as everyone else, anyway. Do you?”

He thought that over. As he did, she saw that though he was small, he appeared to be the leader of this troop. “No,” he finally said. “Only pod people are all the same.”

Confused, she looked to Marc for help. “Pod people?”

But it was the tall boy who answered, “Have you got a lot to learn! We’re watching that movie again tonight because Damian can’t get enough. You can watch, too.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, but I agree to watch this with you.” Hira laughed at the grin that crossed the tall one’s shy face. “So how do you make this apple pie? There must be flour on the floor, yes?”

At that, everyone but her stubborn-male of a husband laughed. When little Brian’s hand slipped into hers, she picked him up and set him on her hip, uncaring of the flour and little-boy dirt on him.

Unable to stifle her concern and unwilling to do so, she asked, “Do you not eat, laeha?”

He wrapped skinny arms around her neck and laid his head down on her shoulder. “I’m sick. What is a laeha?”

Stroking his back, she said, “It means darling child.” The literal translation was darling baby but she had a feeling that none of these boys would appreciate knowing that. Walking over to the bench, she saw the somewhat abused-looking dough. “I will make this apple pie with you. I saw it once on a television show. They had ice cream with it.”

A groan from behind her. “Don’t you go putting ideas in their heads.”

Delighted to have provoked a reaction from Marc, she opened her mouth to respond. The boys beat her to it.

“Too late. Ice cream sounds good,” a voice piped up.

“Yeah, yeah. Who wants to go with me to the store?”

There were two volunteers.

“Husband, can you also bring back almonds?” She thought and then added cinnamon and cardamom to the list. “And also vermicelli.”

He didn’t ask her why she wanted the odd ingredients. “Sure. We’ll be back soon.” His eyes turned flinty and focused on the boys around her. “Don’t eat my wife.”

The drawling warning made Hira scowl. “These lovely children won’t hurt me. You must not say such things.”

He just raised his brow. After the door closed behind him, she turned to the remaining boys. “My husband believes you will behave like wild camels while he is gone. I wish to make him…”

“Eat his words?” said Damian.

“What does that mean?”

“Prove him wrong.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Yes. He’s always right. It’s most annoying. Let us prove him wrong.”

They grinned at her. And she knew the little devils were well aware she liked them. In her arms, Brian wriggled and settled in more firmly. She saw a few of the boys’ eyes go to the littlest boy in hunger. So, she thought, they were not cuddled much.

Her husband likely gave them his strength but wasn’t much of a cuddler. Even in bed he rarely gave the comfort of simply being held. Starved for it herself, she knew how much it meant to be touched in simple affection. Reaching out to the boy closest to her, she ruffled his hair. He didn’t move away as most children his age would have.

His eyes looked into hers, too old in that young face. “You must be okay if Marc married you.”

Ah, she thought, understanding their willingness to trust her. “Or I could be as the dragon in the tale of the ‘Secret Princess.’” Her big, brooding husband might be a most unaccommodating male, but he’d done something good here, given these boys a sense of safety in what was undoubtedly a shifting world.

For that she could forgive him his secrets, give him the time he needed to learn to trust her. Like these children, his guard would only drop when he was certain of her, when he was convinced that she was his…body and soul. Where that certainty came from, she didn’t know.

“Huh?”

She dragged her mind away from Marc. “It is a story of my homeland, of a princess who was also a dragon. I will tell you this if you show me how to make apple pie.”

It took a few more minutes of tantalizing bits from the story, but she soon had them hooked. One boy swept the floor clean, and then they showed her how to make apple pie. Brian fell asleep in her arms sometime during the story. Damian offered to take him from her.

“No, I wish to hold him.” She smiled at him, thanking him for his concern. “He’s so very light, I worry.”

“He’s sick a lot. I think he misses Becky.”

“Becky?”

“His twin. When their ma and pa died, they put Brian here and Becky in some girls orphanage,” Damian explained.

“But that is wrong! In Zulheil, it’s said that two who are born together are each other’s heart. They are not to be torn apart.” No wonder the boy was so frail.

“Marc’s doing something to help him.”

Hira thought to ask her husband about this later. For the moment she’d enjoy the children’s honest company, and try not to think about the depths of tenderness this place revealed about the dark and moody man she’d married and was only now beginning to know.

Marc returned with Larry and Jake, carrying six containers of ice cream. What the boys didn’t eat today would be savored later. He expected to find the kitchen in chaos, his princess overwhelmed by these tough kids who’d known more hurt than humanly bearable and yet had survived.

When he’d realized that she was following him, he’d let his temper drive him into a situation that could mean terrible pain for those who least deserved it. Furious at her lack of trust in him, he’d reacted without thought, a strange experience for a man known in business circles as having a will of iron and a heart of ice.

He hoped he hadn’t damaged the boys’ trust in him by leaving them with a woman who could destroy with one scathing comment. To her credit, she’d never disparaged either his scars or his background as a dirt-grubbing child, but even after he’d loved her this morning, her eyes had looked at him with such distance that he’d felt taunted into trying to tame her.

He’d wanted to rub off some of that aloof sophistication and find out if there really was a living, breathing woman beneath the ice. He didn’t want her to be only a beautiful shell who could shut off her emotions as easily as she’d shut him out of her bedroom last night. But, a part of him whispered, she hadn’t locked the door. And he’d taken full advantage of that lapse.

“Let’s hope for the best,” he muttered to himself, shouldering through the swinging door.

He walked into a kitchen filled with laughter. Little Brian was fast asleep in his wife’s arms, and tall and shy Beau was blushing but trying to tease her about something. The other children were gathered around her.

She had flour on her nose and elbows. There was a streak of dirt on her designer yellow dress from Brian’s shoe, and handprints on her skirts from other little hands. She’d begun the afternoon with her hair pinned on top of her head, but Brian had pulled strands loose. She looked disheveled and messy, and her face was full of such joy that his heart stopped for a minute. Lord, she was beautiful when she was all prettied up; messy and with a child in her arms, she was devastating.

Painful tenderness cramped his heart. His hands froze around the bags he held. This was no ice princess. Despite all the times her facade had cracked, how had he failed to spot the truth about his wife?

“What’s so funny?” One of his ice cream helpers asked.

Damian looked over. “Hira’s been telling us stories.”

“Oh, man! We missed it,” Larry grumbled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell more.”

Marc couldn’t believe the way she had them all in the palm of her hand. As the late afternoon progressed into evening, he expected her to wilt under the emotional demands of the attention-starved boys, but she seemed to glow. Much later, after dinner and the supervised completion of various pieces of homework, they sat down to watch the first hour of a video, a midweek treat the boys only got for good behavior.

However, it quickly became clear that they weren’t enjoying it. Despite the nonchalance they tried to portray, they were very worried about Brian. Once again he’d barely eaten anything. After settling the boys down, Hira went into the kitchen and made something with milk, sugar and the other ingredients she’d asked him to buy. Cuddling Brian into her lap on her return, she lifted a spoonful of the mixture to his mouth, her other arm holding him carefully.

“Come, laeha, you must eat this. I have made it just for you,” she coaxed, her voice holding the exotic music of a faraway land of desert and sunshine.

The sad-faced little boy opened his mouth and let her feed him a spoonful. His eyes widened. When a second spoonful was raised, he made no protest. Carefully, while the other boys ostensibly watched their movie, she managed to get a whole bowl of the rich mixture into Brian.

Drowsy after eating, he snuggled into her body and fell asleep again, his thumb in his mouth. The habit had developed after the traumatic separation from his twin.

Marc took the bowl and spoon from his wife, his chest tight with pride. “Thank you.”

Worried eyes met his. “He is too small.”

“I know, cher,” he whispered. “I’m trying to find his sister.” He touched her hair once and then walked into the kitchen, finding that she’d made more of the sweet treat than had been needed for Brian. Deciding the rest of the boys would like a taste, he took out small servings. “Here, extra dessert thanks to my wife.”

Soon, sighs of repletion sounded around the room. When he looked to see how Hira was taking this, he found her fast asleep, Brian’s head cushioned on her breasts. In sleep, his princess looked as guileless as the child lying trustingly against her body. If he only knew which face—the sophisticate or the innocent—was her true self, he might have a way to understand the woman he’d married.

Hira woke when Marc took Brian from her. “We are leaving?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes.

He nodded. “The others have gone to bed. They said good-night and come back soon.” His eyes looked at her with a gentleness she couldn’t understand.

While he carried the sleeping boy upstairs, she went to the kitchen to tidy up, only to find it sparkling clean. Smiling, she located the shoes she’d kicked off, and stepped into them. When she went to say goodbye to the elder, it was to find the study disappointingly empty.

A big hand came to rest on her hip. “Father Thomas didn’t want to disturb you when he went to bed.”

She turned to look up at her husband, feeling drowsy and happily tired. “He is a nice man.”

Marc pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was so far from his usual passion, so tender that she just stared.

He chuckled at her dazed expression. “You are not driving home. I’ve moved your car to the parking lot behind the orphanage. We’ll get it later.”

Nodding, she let him lead her out to his truck.

The drive home went quickly because she was exhausted. The next time she woke, it was to find Marc carrying her up the stairs to their bedroom. When she blinked and pushed at his shoulders, amused gray eyes looked down at her.

“Did I sleep?”

His grin was bright in the warm light of the small lamps he’d apparently switched on, on his way up. “You dozed off against my shoulder, just like Brian did on you.”

She yawned and then, without thinking about it, snuggled her face against his neck and went back to sleep. She was vaguely aware of him undressing her and laying her down on their bed. He didn’t put her nightgown on her, but she’d expected that. But, though he slipped in naked beside her, he didn’t do more than hold her tight.

“Sleep, princess.” A kiss on the pulse in her neck.

He was cuddling her, she thought, smiling into dreams that were soft and pleasant. It was nice to be cuddled by an American hunter who was pleased with you.

The next day Hira went in search of her husband, feeling confident enough to ask him for something that was important to her. Unless she’d imagined his tenderness of the night before, Marc had changed his mind about her. Her heart bloomed with joy. Perhaps, after seeing her with the children, he no longer thought of her as a spoiled “princess” but a woman with a heart.

Once more she found him the backyard, chopping wood. But this time a slow, seductive smile eased her passage to him. “Good morning.” His eyes ran down her demure mint-green top and skirt, made in the way of her homeland. There was definite male approval in his gaze.

“Good morning.” She felt herself blush with sudden shyness. “Why do you chop wood when a fire does not appear to be required in this area?” she asked, trying to ground herself with mundane matters.

His eyes seemed to brighten. “I prefer it to lifting weights. I give the wood away to the people who need it.” His eyes flicked toward the bayou.

“Oh. I understand.” Her husband was a man with a big heart, she thought, trying to stop twisting her hands in front of her. “I wish to ask you for something.”

He slammed the ax into the tree stump and faced her, hands on hips. The ridged musculature of his abdomen held her spellbound for an instant. She knew exactly what those muscles felt like under her hands. “Shoot.”

Alarm rocketed through her. Did he think she was a violent woman? “Why would I want to?”

She could tell he was biting back a smile. “I didn’t mean literally, princess. It’s a figure of speech. It means, go ahead, speak what’s on your mind.”

“You Americans are very strange.” She looked down at the ground rather than the magnificent expanse of her husband’s chest. “I wish to pursue some studies.”

“You want to take some classes? Pottery or something to occupy your time? That’s fine with me.”

She told herself she’d imagined the patronizing tone of his voice. Surely, after everything, he didn’t still see her as a pretty toy? “I wish to study management theory and economics. There are classes in those subjects taught at the University of Louisiana in Lafayette.

“And since this is my new home, I thought I would also take advantage of the Center for Louisiana Studies and learn about Acadian culture.”

Her husband’s bark of laughter had her jerking her head up. “Sure, princess.”

“Why are you laughing?” She couldn’t bear to be laughed at, especially by this man who was so smart and loyal to the people whom he’d taken under his wing.

His smile faded. “You expect me to take that request seriously?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Honey, I know you’re intelligent. I said I’d never stop you learning and I won’t, but to be honest, I don’t think you’re up to the rigors of intensive study. You were raised to be a pampered wife, not an academic.”

She should have been glad that he wouldn’t stand in the way of her dreams. Instead she found she wanted not only his permission but also his support. “I’m more than just smart. I’m determined,” she insisted. “These things come to me naturally. I helped my older brother many times when he was stuck, but we didn’t tell our father for he would’ve punished Fariz for asking my help.”

“Look, I said it’s fine. Send the bills to me.”

He was already turning away from her, dismissing her. Rage choked her throat, blinded her vision, as years and years of being ground under a male’s boot took its toll.

A small hand pushed at Marc’s chest, forcing his attention back to the woman in front of him. He expected to find her in a feminine sulk because he hadn’t immediately supported her sudden desire to study seriously. If she’d wanted it that much, she could’ve pursued it in Zulheil, which had a world-class university and no restrictions on the entry of female students. There were also any number of scholarships she could’ve applied for if her family hadn’t wanted to finance her.

He didn’t see what he’d expected. Hira was standing there, her hands clenched at her sides. Fury vibrated through her entire body. She was like a high-tension wire strung as taut as it could possibly be and not snap.

“You are a…horrible man! You hurt me and do not even care to say sorry!” Pure anger sparked in those stunning eyes. “You don’t care to get to know me. I’m just some toy to you, like o-one of those windup things that children play with.

“Look,” she said, imitating the voice of an infomercial presenter, her face strained white, “push this button and pretty little Hira will shatter from the pleasure of your touch, then touch this lever and she’ll return to her place as a stupid, polished toy with no more brains than a vegetable!”

He was frozen. This wasn’t the calm, composed princess he was used to seeing. This woman looked as if her heart had broken, and she spoke to him with bluntness that sent him reeling.

Seven

His wife turned on her heel and stumbled. Reaching out, he grabbed the backs of her arms, stunned to find fine tremors shaking her entire body.

“Let me go. Let me go,” she repeated softly. “Just…let me go.” Her voice hitched as she lost the battle with her tears.

Deep inside, where nothing was supposed to reach, a lost part of him found its way to the light. “Don’t cry, Hira. Please, don’t cry.” He pulled her trembling body back against his chest, his chin on her hair, his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry. Hush, cher. Hush.” Emotion brought the boy who’d roamed the bayou back to the surface.

She sniffed, keeping her back to his chest. “What do you always call me? Is it a bad word?”

He found himself smiling. “No. It’s an endearment.” One that he found himself saying more and more, when he’d never been a man who threw the word around, charming women and breaking hearts.

“Why are you being nice?”

The question rocked him. “Am I not nice to you?”

“No.” Bluntness again. “You treat me like…What is the word that Damian used yesterday to Larry?” She raised her hands and he could tell she was furiously wiping her eyes. “Yes, you treat me as if I am a nitwit.” She sounded very proud at remembering that derogatory term.

“You send me shopping so I’ll be out of your way while you do real work, and you get your secretary to make me appointments at these beauty salons where I’m so bored I complete all the crossword puzzles in every one of their silly magazines.”

He winced because she was right. He’d asked his secretary to arrange outings for her so that he could work in peace and quiet at home. The strange thing was, he’d found himself missing her. When she was home, he tended to go searching for her. That realization made him take a hard look at his actions. Was that why he’d sent her out? So he could pretend he wasn’t falling for her?

“You have my most humble apologies if you think I treated you like a nitwit.” He turned her in his arms and she came, though the face that looked up at him was defiant. “I don’t think that of you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps.”

There would be no easy acceptance of his apology from this woman. Marc found he didn’t mind. He didn’t want a wife who hid her emotions the way Hira’s mother did to placate her husband. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

He knew that if he didn’t fix things now, his wife would sublimate her pain and anger just like Amira, and he’d lose a piece of her. Tomorrow she’d be gracious and forgiving, and all the while she’d be living her own life in her thoughts and dreams, a life that he’d never again be invited to share. He didn’t want that. He wanted all of her—spirit and soul, passion and heart.

“Nothing.” She squared her shoulders. “I need nothing from you, husband.”

His temper ignited, overwhelming the remorse. He was suddenly furiously angry at the way she refused to give him any rights over her, as if he weren’t good enough. As if he should beg for her attention. She was treating him like another beautiful woman had a lifetime ago, and he’d had enough, more than enough.

“Except my money, you mean,” he taunted. “If I wasn’t keeping you in the style to which you’re accustomed, you’d be out on the street.”

This time there were no tears. Hira’s face paled under that golden skin and then she whispered, “And you say you are nice to me? I’m alone and without family in this land. You know I have no one and so you can say these things.”

His gut roiled, the burst of anger buried under an avalanche of self-hatred. “Hira…”

She kept talking. “I thought, maybe, you were a good man but you are just like my father.”

He bristled. “I’m nothing like that tyrant.”

“My mother always had to beg him for money.” She damned him with those exotic eyes. “Oh, she was given expensive clothes and jewels. Father made sure they were delivered to her like clockwork. We had to keep up the—what is the word—yes, image…. We had to keep up the image of the rich merchant.”

Marc just stood there, letting her talk in that soft voice that was so unlike the vivid woman he’d come to know, feeling more and more despicable with every word she spoke. Until he’d married, he hadn’t known he had such a volatile temper. No one else had ever made him angry enough to be cruel.

“But she had to ask him for every cent if she ever needed spending money or money to buy her children gifts, or even to go out to have lunch with a friend. Because of their uniqueness, she couldn’t sell the jewels without destroying the reputation of the family, so she was dependant on him.” Her eyes were distant and pain filled, as if she were reliving the humiliation her mother had gone through day after day.

“He’d sit in his study chair like a pasha and have her stand there like a supplicant, with no rights. He’d make her beg for money as if it was not her entitlement as his wife, who worked so hard to make his life agreeable. As if she hadn’t borne him three children, even though she was a fragile woman whom the doctors had advised to stop with only one.” Sadness filled every word, ripping at his heart. “And yet he made her beg. Even the lowliest servant was ensured of his weekly wages but not my mother of her income.” Her chest was heaving, the only sign of the anger she’d subsumed so well.

“Okay,” he said. He’d never been a man who ran from the harsh reality of his own flaws.

“I don’t understand.” Her eyes remained wary, the haunted shade of a wild creature who’d been captured and was waiting for the pain to begin.

Guilt twisted like a knife inside of him. “I agree that I was a complete and utter jerk. There’s no excuse for what I just said.”

She seemed taken aback. “Why do you say this?”

He blew out a breath. “I wish to hell I didn’t have a temper but I do. I’m as mean as the gators that roam the waters around here, and you got bit. But I can tell you that you aren’t ever going to have to beg.” The image of her proud spirit being crushed infuriated him.

The next time he went to Zulheil, he’d ensure that his mother-in-law had a separate account with enough funds in it to allow her to live in peace. He knew Amira wouldn’t take the money from him but she’d accept a gift from Hira. Such a gift would likely rock the foundation of Marc’s relationship with Kerim Dazirah, but he didn’t give a damn.

He put his hands on his hips in an attempt to keep them off his wife. He wasn’t much good at finding the words a woman needed to forgive a man, but when he touched his wife, she became his in the most raw sense of the word. And right now the temptation to make her his was almost unbearable. “An account was set up for you when we married and money transferred into it. Monthly payments will be made into it automatically.”

“What is the money for?” she asked quietly. There was such fragile dignity in her that he knew she still expected to be hurt by him. And the hell of it was, he couldn’t deny that he had hurt her, that she had a right to look so shell-shocked. But, damn it, he wanted to wipe that look off her face. He wasn’t a saint but neither was he a man who enjoyed the suffering of others.

Especially not of his wife.

“It’s yours to do with as you wish. Invest it, use it for your education, blow it in Vegas, whatever you like.” He could tell Hira wasn’t quite sure how to take this revelation.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” she asked.

“I forgot.” The truth was, he’d liked paying the bills for his wife’s purchases, liked the proprietariness of such an act. Liked knowing she needed him for something. “The documents for your bank account are in my office.”

He began to walk to the house. She followed with barely a sound. Once in his study, he found the passbook and charge cards and handed them over.

She gasped when she saw the amount that had already been deposited. “Husband! This is far too much money.” Her eyes were darker than he’d ever before seen.

He shrugged. “I’m very rich.”

Putting the passbook and cards on his desk, she looked straight at him. “You must take it back.”

“What? Why? I thought you’d appreciate the independence.” He scowled.

She didn’t back down. “I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“You’re my wife.” A wife he wanted with more than simple lust. The way she’d held his boys, the way she’d laughed with them, the way she challenged him with her wit and her honesty, wasn’t something he wanted to lose.

“And yet I do nothing that a wife does.” She didn’t break his gaze as she made that confession. “I don’t run this house as it is run very well by the strangers who come in on schedule, do their silent cleaning and leave. I don’t help with your business. I am not the mother of your children.” Her shoulders squared. “My mother isn’t a strong woman, but she does many things to earn her income.”

God, he thought, she was so proud and so very vulnerable because of it. His Hira, his wife, could be hurt by a well-placed barb that would strike her pride before anything else. Taking a deep breath, he made a decision that might either save his marriage or expose the cracks in the foundation to the bright light of day.

“And so will you. Things have been quiet on the business front since we married, but they’re about to heat up.” He frowned, thinking of one particular acquisition. “When negotiations take place in informal settings, such as this house, you’ll act as a second pair of eyes, ears and even hands, for me.

“I’ll expect you to know the finest of fine details and get me any information I request, ASAP. I won’t cut you any slack just because you’re my wife. I’ll be demanding as hell and I won’t tolerate any mistakes. Such negotiations are worth millions. Think you can handle that?”

The offer wasn’t just a sop to her pride. A lot of deals were in fact completed here, away from the often virulent media interest. He’d never allowed anyone but himself to be privy to the final stages of those sensitive deals. Until now.

“You would trust me with this?” Nervous excitement glittered in her eyes, but her words were hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure she could believe his offer.

“I may be a jerk but I’m not stupid. Not only are you too proud to ever betray my confidence, you’re a very intelligent woman.” He knew that, had known it almost from the day they’d married, so why had he hurt her like that outside?

Was he afraid that she’d discover a tempting new world of academic grace and forget her bayou beast of a husband? Despite his wealth, he’d never quite lost the rough edges of his upbringing, but until he’d married Hira, he hadn’t given any thought to them. Yet lately he’d begun to wonder if his lack of refinement was one of the reasons his wife maintained her emotional distance.

Shock that his motivations might be rooted in jealousy and fear made him curse himself in self-disgust. He’d crawled up so far, and yet he was still the boy who’d pressed his nose against the windows of the Barnsworthy house and declared that one day he’d be on the other side of the glass. That boy had believed that once you had something, you clutched at it with all your strength. Setting something free only meant you’d lose it for good.

“You’ll have to prove yourself with your studies,” he continued, fighting the clutching fingers of that abused and lonely boy, “but that’s something every student has to prove. I’ve never seen your work, so I can’t judge how you’ll do. I’m sorry I tried to do that outside.”

Slowly she nodded. “Withholding your judgment is not a terrible thing, for you have no knowledge of my skills. I can see how you would worry that I might not understand these subjects, but I’ll show you otherwise.”

He nodded, belatedly becoming aware of the steel spine beneath that delicate golden skin. Perhaps he could chance trusting her with something far closer to his heart than a business deal. “The orphanage is pretty run-down.”

She adjusted to the change of topic with ease. “Yes. There isn’t much room for growing boys.”

“No.” He perched on the edge of the desk, trying to make himself less threatening to his wife. If he tried, maybe she’d approach him, even after he’d hurt her. It was a bitter pill to swallow for a man who’d never relied on anyone, but he accepted that he needed more than hot sex from his wife. He needed tenderness, the one thing he could never ask for. Especially not after the way he’d let his temper rip into her. “In a few months, this house will be remodeled and made much larger, large enough to fit all of them.”

Her eyes widened, but she remained silent.

“I don’t want the boys institutionalized. I want to create a home for them.” He gave her a wry smile. “But there will be a very large private wing for us. With soundproofing.”

Her responding smile was shaky. “What will happen to other orphan boys?”

“I can’t save every orphan in the world, but I can save these ten. And Becky, too, soon as we find her.” He wanted to ask her what she thought of his plans, his dreams, but kept talking. “The old orphanage is going to close at the end of this year, to be replaced by a modern facility. I’ll be funding that, but Beau, Damian, Brian and all the others are to be mine. The legal process is almost complete.”

As he watched, his wife covered the distance between them in graceful strides and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Hardly believing, he embraced her slender length, luxuriating in the feel of her warmth against the skin of his shoulders and neck. Her exotic scent teased his nostrils and threatened to bring the more primitive side of his nature to the surface.

“So you don’t mind mothering ten boys and one girl?” he asked, breathing in the freshness and sweetness of her. Lord, he needed this woman he kept catching fleeting glimpses of. The feeling of vulnerability rocked him but wasn’t strong enough to make him release her. “I’ll be hiring several full-time helpers, so if you’re not comfortable with the idea, you can—”

Drawing back, she placed a finger on his lips, her smile bright. “I always wished for many children, but my mother had difficulty with birthing, so I thought I’d only have one or two if I was very lucky. Thank you for blessing me with such a great gift, husband.”

Stunned, he remembered his cutting words to her on their wedding night. He’d never thought of her as maternal and then realized what a fool he’d been. What woman who didn’t adore children would’ve won the trust of the boys so quickly? “Will it be dangerous for you to have children?” Keeping one arm wrapped around her back, he placed the palm of the other against her stomach.

Her eyes widened at the openly possessive action. “The doctors my mother took me to after I was old enough to understand the reason for her worry, told me that I should be safe but not to strain my body beyond two children.”

He rotated his hand on her abdomen. He’d barely begun to understand her and already he could imagine her big with his babe. Lifting his head, he found those exotic eyes staring into his. Taking a chance that he’d won some forgiveness for his earlier burst of temper, he leaned in close and when she didn’t move, brushed his lips over hers.

Electricity sizzled between them. On his shoulders, her fingers clenched convulsively. Groaning, he deepened the kiss and tasted the uniqueness that was Hira. She was a mix of sugar and spice, fire and ice, his desert beauty. Before he could prolong the contact, she’d pushed off his chest and was a foot away.

Startled, he looked up into a pink-cheeked face, wondering if he’d misread her, if she hadn’t welcomed his touch. His gut twisted. As he watched helplessly, his wife raised her hands to her face and gave him a look that was a mix of shocked innocence and sheer desire. When he moved, she swirled on her heel and left the room.

Marc began to chuckle, his tenseness retreating. Hira had just discovered that he could turn her on even when she was steamed with him. He whistled. If he had that to work with, he’d eventually get his way. And his way involved long, sultry nights spent cradled in his wife’s body.

He must’ve done something right because that was exactly how he spent the hours of darkness that night.

When he surfaced the next morning, the clock told him it was close to dawn. Hira was lying on her stomach, using one of his arms as a pillow. His leg and other arm were flung over her, as if even in sleep, she captivated him. He watched her sleep, stunned at himself for doing it. It betrayed a commitment beyond anything he’d ever before experienced.

He’d spent most of his childhood as a kid without any loving ties. As an adult he’d kept that cloak of aloneness wrapped around him…until the night he’d seen Hira Dazirah on the balcony of her desert home, smiling up at the moon. Right then and there he’d fallen so hard and fast he’d had to have her. He’d been tied to her with passion’s reins since that first moment, but yesterday something stronger had snapped into place between them, something born out of their willingness to fight rather than withdraw into silence. He was a little bewildered by the gentle strength of this feeling but could find no reason to fight it.

As if she’d been disturbed by his watching her, her eyes blinked open and she yawned. For a while, she lay there and watched him back, sleepy and apparently happy to be in the position she was in. Then one slender hand lifted to stroke his cheek.

“You appear sad, Marc. Husband.” Her lips curved in a soft smile. “May I do something for you to give you joy?”

Her generous offer made his chest tight. No one had ever offered to do something for the simple reason of making him happy. “No, baby. I’m okay.”

When he moved his leg off her, she rose up on one elbow and touched his cheek again. “Husband, tell me something of your childhood.”

He couldn’t help playing with the silken strands of her midnight-and-gold hair. “Why do you want to know?”

“It is said that the child will show you the man.” She kissed his chin, the movement causing the strands in his fingers to slide away. Last night she’d been all woman, pure heat and passion. Later, when he’d tried to move away, she’d held on. He’d understood the silent message. His lover needed more than ecstasy. So he, a man who’d never been accused of tenderness, had spent the night happily holding his wife as she slept.

“You’re a hard man to know so I would learn of you from your childhood.”

“Did you ever learn to lie, cher?” Folding one arm behind his head, he ran the other down the warm curve of her back, lingering on the upward slope of her buttocks. When she didn’t protest, he ran his hand back up and then down again, indulging his sense of touch.

Hira nodded vigorously in response to his question and didn’t sound the least repentant when she said, “I told my father many lies.”

He raised a brow.

“Like when he asked me whether I had told the housekeeper to give away Fariz’s old computer. I told him I had.” She propped herself up on her elbows, face cupped between loose fists.

“But?”

“But I kept it hidden in my room. He never came in there. Rayaz was young and spoiled, but Fariz wasn’t a bad brother. He didn’t ever tell Father my secret. He even used to lend me his software.”

Marc frowned. “Don’t females have the same educational rights as males in Zulheil?”

“Of course. My compulsory schooling was given to me, but after that…my father didn’t believe in wasting college fees on a female who would simply be a pretty thing in her husband’s home.” She shrugged as if it hadn’t mattered, though he knew it must’ve broken her heart.

“Why didn’t you complain?”

“It would’ve shamed my entire clan. The Dazirah family is proud, but we’re part of an even prouder clan. The clan is supposed to protect each member within it. To speak out would’ve been to say that they had failed in their duty.”

“They did fail.” His voice was hard. Protecting the vulnerable was the one thing he’d never compromise on.

“Yes, but they had many successes. Last year they sent several students, male and female, to learn advanced mechanical engineering in Britain. If I had spoken out, their honor would’ve fallen in a land where honor is everything.” She gave him a smile full of maturity. “Those who gave the educational fund assistance would’ve sent their money elsewhere. Now, say to me that a single woman’s unhappiness is worth destroying the dreams of many.”

He could see her point. “Was there no one you could’ve asked for help?” How could someone so bright and beautiful, someone with such a gentle heart, have spent a lifetime alone?

Her smile was tight. “I wasn’t popular at school or with my cousins once I was no longer a child. They didn’t want me near their boyfriends and lovers. The only girls who might’ve been my friends were the beauties who had no interest in study, and I couldn’t bear to pretend to be like them. So there was no one.” She paused, as if debating whether to share something else.

When she spoke, what she said sent spikes of temper arcing through his body. “The boys wished to be friendly with me but even the smart ones could never just be content to be my friends. They all wanted more.”

“Did they—?” he began, his eyes locked on hers.

She shook her head almost immediately. “I stopped building friendships with boys very young, before they were old enough to try and do more than steal a kiss. So the boys liked me too much and the girls not at all.” She was attempting to make a joke out of what must have been some very painful years.

He could imagine that lonely girl learning to become ice to survive the exclusions, the whispers behind her back. “There is someone now. You’ll tell me everything.”

“Yes, husband.” Her voice was meek.

He frowned. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Only a little.” Her eyes lit up.

It was an effort to keep his lips straight—she didn’t need any encouragement. Pulling her head down, he kissed her. “So, princess, you want to know about your bayou brat?” he said, against those luscious lips that made him want to bite. Deciding there was no reason to resist, he gently nibbled on her lower lip.

“Why do you call yourself that?” she asked when he released her, her voice breathless.

“Because it’s true. I grew up in the bayou, living in a shack that barely held together when the waters rose. My parents were both alcoholics who didn’t give a damn about me, so long as they had enough money for booze.”

“And if they didn’t?”

He could still remember the blows, the pain and the darkness. “They amused themselves by knocking me around.”

Hira made a sound of distress.

He soothed her with his hands and his voice. “It was okay. I could run pretty fast so I usually just hid out until they were drunk again.”

Gentle feminine fingers traced a scar on his chest, so tender that the touch felt like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. He should’ve been amused that she thought she might hurt him. Instead, his heart thundered as a hint of some powerful understanding hovered just over the edge of his horizon.

“You didn’t get these because you were a fast runner. They hurt you badly.” Her eyes dared him to explain the scars away. This woman he’d married wouldn’t be soothed so easily when someone she cared for was hurt.

It took him a moment to overcome his astonishment at the realization that both his wife’s words and her careful touch arose from a belief that he was hers. He wanted to force her to tell him how strong Beauty’s care was for her Beast of a husband, but restrained himself, unwilling to destroy the fragility of their new accord.

Instead he contented himself with answering her question, telling her something very few people knew. Her unhidden expression of care deserved to be rewarded with honesty. “Actually, I did get them for being a fast runner.” He made a wry face. “When I was about seven, they were desperate for money. So they sold me.”

Eight

Hira jerked up into a sitting position, holding the sheet to her breast. “People cannot be sold! Not in my country and not in yours.”

He ran a hand up her arm, undone by her distress. “It wasn’t so bad. You can imagine the kinds of things a depraved mind could do to a child.”

She nodded, her face lined with worry. “I know.”

His protective instincts urged him to change that look, to take the pain away from her. “Well, nothing like that happened to me. The reason Muddy offered money for me was that I could run like the wind. Thieves need to be quick on their feet.”

Her eyes were huge and round in the early morning light. “You were sold to a thief?”

“An old thief. He couldn’t pick pockets himself anymore but he took me to New Orleans and trained me to do it. We preyed mainly on tourists who wandered off the beaten path in the French Quarter. I was with him for two years and most of these scars come from that work. Not all. Some are actually courtesy of my parents and Muddy’s fists, but the really bad ones are from running the streets.”

He ran his hand over one ragged line that ran diagonally from his left clavicle to the middle of his ribs on his right side. “I got slashed by a knife once when Muddy sent me into someone else’s patch—territory,” he explained, rubbing his hand along the white lines on his face.

“As for these, a gang took offence at my being in their territory, and I had a bottle broken across my face. Both times I got sliced up pretty bad but the wounds didn’t require stitches, which is why the scars are so ugly. No surgeon to make them pretty.”

She laid her hand over his, lips pressed tight. “They are not ugly. I have told you so.”

He turned his palm up and captured her hand, something primitive in him appeased by her lack of resistance. “Not exactly an honorable warrior’s marks.” His mouth twisted. “But I was a damn good thief.”

Her hand squeezed his, her bones fine but strong in a very feminine way. “They are. How else could you have survived such a life without letting it destroy you, if you didn’t have the soul of a warrior?”

He looked up into that intent, loyal face and found himself believing her. “You’re far too innocent for the likes of me. But I’m keeping you.” That primitive part of him rose to the surface, hotly possessive.

Her smile was pure sunshine, calming the primitive. “You are welcome, husband mine. What happened after two years with the old thief?”

“I was in a really bad street fight. Muddy sent me somewhere he never should have—into drug territory. Anyway, I got opened up pretty bad.” The memories were hazy because of the blood loss he’d suffered. “Muddy disappeared, never to be heard from again. I don’t know if the drug lords got him or he just escaped when I was wheeled into intensive care. A couple of cops found me lying half-dead on the street.”

“But you survived.” Her fingers traced the fine white lines of scars across his abdomen.

“Yes. The doctors did a good job—those scars are the least visible.”

“And yet there are so many. You were not just cut once.” There was such anger in her eyes. “What happened after you recovered?”

“When the cops asked me how I’d ended up in the city, I lied and said I’d run away. So they returned me to my parents, instead of sending me to a foster home.”

Hira frowned. “Why did you wish to return to your parents? They may have tried to sell you again.”

“I knew they wouldn’t, because I’d become their meal ticket.”

“You stole for them?” There was no disapproval in her tone, as if she respected what the boy he’d been had done to survive.

Another sliver of his heart fell into her careful hands without his conscious volition. He just knew it was forever gone. Forever hers.

It was an effort to speak without demanding she give him something to replace what he’d just lost. “No. I stopped stealing as soon as I left Muddy. I got work, any work, and I gave them enough to keep them happy. That’s why I went back. I knew that as long as they were boozed, they wouldn’t care what I was up to, whereas a foster parent might’ve actually made an effort to discipline me.”

Hira lay back down beside him on her side, propping her head up with one arm, her other hand still intertwined with his. “What were you doing that you didn’t wish for discipline?”

“I had plans. I decided in the hospital that I’d never again be anyone’s whipping boy.” Even now he could feel that savagely beaten boy’s grim determination. “That meant I had to have money, and to do that, I needed to work. My parents didn’t care that I was working far too many hours for a kid, working late into the night in factories where the managers ignored my age.

“It took a few more kicks before I got my head screwed on perfectly straight, but once I did, that was it.” One of those kicks had been delivered by Lydia Barnsworthy. “I was young but determined. By the time I’d graduated high school, I’d saved over thirty thousand dollars from working and then investing that money. I went to college on a baseball scholarship. Even though I’d worked on instinct in investing, I knew that some of the men I’d be dealing with in the future would be impressed by a degree.”

Hira began to nod, her midnight-and-gold hair sliding across her bare shoulders. “You started your business with the money you made from your investing.”

“Yes, with a little help from the bank. The first company I bought was a dying little family outfit that produced these unique toys. I busted my gut with it and sold it when I finished college for a profit that was big enough to allow me to buy my next company. Within five years of graduation, I was a multimillionaire.”

“And you did it by saving dying companies, not looting them,” she murmured. “A harder road.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the veiled praise. “It’s the way I like to work.” Not by ripping apart but by slowly, painstakingly, gluing a fractured masterpiece together. He’d spent too many years with people who’d tried to destroy him. He couldn’t do that to anyone or anything else.

“You were a very determined boy.” The admiration in those mountain-cat eyes didn’t dim. “How did you get involved with the orphanage?”

He found himself wanting to tell her, when he’d kept his secrets from everyone else. “I met Father Thomas about a year after I returned to my parents. He gave me a steady job cleaning the church after school. He also gave me…hope.” He’d taken a beat-up, hard-as-nails kid and taught him the value of compassion and integrity.

“Later, when I needed to borrow money from the bank to finance that first business, he guaranteed my loan. I tried to pay him back with shares in my next company, but he said that he wouldn’t take money from one of his sons.” Being called “son” by Father Thomas meant far more to Marc than any biological relationship.

“I begin to see why these boys mean so much to you,” Hira murmured. “You wish to give them a chance in life as Father Thomas gave you. You’re a good man, Marc Bordeaux.” A gentle kiss on his cheek sealed her words.

“I’m a man, same as any other.” His tone was husky, not from lust but from the light in her exotic eyes.

His wife smiled at him like he’d given her the moon, when he suddenly realized he’d never given her a single present that wasn’t big and expensive and meaningless.

“Ah, but you’re my man, Marc. That must mean you are blessed.” Her lips curved in a teasing smile.

Chuckling, he rolled over, pressing her into the mattress. “Is that so, princess?” Nothing had ever felt as right as telling his secrets to this woman with her pride and her curious honesty. Perhaps this Beauty might just be willing to love her Beast.

Less than a week later, Marc found himself standing on the verandah, waiting for his wife to return home. She’d left early that morning for her first class and it was now after five. Despite the way the lost boy inside him had wanted to cage her with protection, despite the primitive in him who’d growled mine, he’d tried to be gentle when she’d left, because the past week had been the most wonderful of his misbegotten life. His wife had opened herself to him, heart and soul, mind and body.

It was the first time in his life that he hadn’t been lonely.

Right then he knew that if there ever came a time when Hira rejected him, it would be because he’d decided to let her go. And quite simply, he never would. He’d fight to the death like some feral thing before he watched her walk away.

Second by second, minute by slow minute, his wife had worn down his defenses and made a place for herself in his heart. The vulnerability was so sudden and ran so tearingly deep he didn’t dare release it to the light of day. He just knew that only Hira could calm the ache within him.

But in spite of the new depth of their commitment to each other, a part of his wife remained out of his reach. The crazy thing was, he knew exactly why she sometimes acted as wary as a wild deer. If he could wring Kerim Dazirah’s neck, he would. Hira’s father had planted that fear of trusting the one you married in her, a fear that even now shadowed her eyes.

An engine sounded, snagging his attention. A second later his wife’s cherry-red sports car came around the corner. Parking in the drive, she exited and ran up to him, leaving her books in the car. Dressed in a long denim skirt and plain white shirt, her hair pulled back in a tight braid, she glittered like a perfectly cut diamond.

Delighted when she ran into his waiting arms, he swept her off her feet and spun her around, her laughter wrapping around them like a silken whisper. When he finally slid her slowly down his body, her sparkling eyes had him leaning down to savor the taste of her lips. She opened for him, warm and welcoming. Her fingers spread on his white T-shirt. “I like the way you welcome me home,” she whispered, her tone husky.

The sight of her well-kissed lips, wet and luscious, made him want to ravage her. “Did you have a good day?” He was trying very hard not to demand her whereabouts for the last few hours, since her lecture had finished long before.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, raising her face for another kiss. Tightening his embrace, he indulged both of them with a slow slide of lips and an even slower stroking of tongues. It was a kiss of lovers, one that left them both breathless.

“My day was interesting but strange.” One hand slipped up to lie against his heart. “I learned many things at their big library, made a friend—” her smile was both surprised and delighted “—and found out that young men today have no morals.”

His whole body tensed at that disapproving sound, the arms around her turning into steel bands. “And how did you learn that?”

“They kept trying to court me when I’m clearly a wife.” She raised the hand with her wedding band on it. The fine gold sparkled in the light of the setting sun. At the same moment, a cool breeze ruffled the fine curls at her temples, causing goose bumps on her arms.

He tugged her inside. “What did you do?” Closing the door, he led her to the living room sofa and sat down. She cuddled up next to him, one hand on his abdomen, while the fingers of her other hand drifted up to play with his hair.

Her look would’ve done justice to a particularly self-satisfied cat. “I told them I was yours and I used your name. They stopped.”

He bit back a grin. “You used my name?” He loved it when she touched him like this.

“Yes. Apparently they are scared of what you might do—it didn’t take me long to find out that you have a reputation, husband.” She scowled, and he knew she’d question him on that reputation later. “Now I’ll have peace. I said that—” her voice dropped a few octaves “—my husband would not be pleased with their attentions.”

He gave up trying to hold in his laughter. “God, you’re amazing!” He tugged her into his arms and kissed her smug little face.

“I am glad you understand that.”

“So what will you do with your degree once you’ve finished?” he asked, hungry to learn her dreams, to be allowed into the secret world of her hopes and wishes.

“Well, I’ve only just started but…I thought I might like to be a teacher like the ones at the university.”

He caught the uncertainty in her tone. “You’d make a wonderful lecturer.”

Her smile bloomed. “Do you really think so? I’d have to do much more studying to become such a teacher. It will take a long time, especially since I want to spend a lot of time with the boys when they are ours, but I think I can do it if I work hard.”

“I have every faith in your stubbornness, cher,” he joked, touched by the way she was embracing his dream. “If you’re not careful, you’ll make us respectable. Can you see me at some faculty dinner, discussing business theory?”

She laughed at his horrified tone. “I shall try very hard not to tame you—it’s fun having a husband with a reputation such as yours.”

He grinned. “Tell me more about your day.”

A frown marred her face. “Well…many people asked me if I was a model, as if a woman with a certain kind of face could be nothing else.”

He moved his hand to her hair and undid her plait, sending that midnight-and-gold glory tumbling over his hands. “I suppose people think that that would be more glamorous than studying.”

“Hmm.”

“Why didn’t you model? Wouldn’t it have been a way out?”

“I thought about it.” She settled herself more comfortably against him. “It will be hard for you to understand, coming as you do from this country of ultimate freedom, but I’m very old-fashioned. I don’t believe in showing my body to anyone but my husband.

“I couldn’t do it, not even to escape my home. It would’ve been a betrayal of myself, a surrender to my father’s attempts to change me from the woman I am. I always thought I would think of something else.”

“I like being the only one who’s seen your body,” he whispered, touched by her confession of her deeply held beliefs, of her determination not to compromise those beliefs, even in an attempt to escape the life she’d hated.

Her fingers undid one of his buttons and touched skin. “I know. Every time you look at me, I know you’re congratulating yourself on acquiring me.”

“Men don’t acquire women. We woo them.” He bristled.

“When did you woo me?” It was only when she met his gaze that he realized his lovely lady of a wife was enjoying herself by teasing him.

Grumbling, he captured her laughing face and proceeded to kiss her until she was whimpering and agreeing to his every demand. Then he teased her.

Things had been going a little too well as far as Marc was concerned. He supposed he should’ve expected it all to come falling down around his ears. He’d been kicked viciously by life too many times to take anything for granted.

“There’s a letter for you in the mail my assistant just dropped off,” he called out, striding into the kitchen the next day. After waking at 4:00 a.m. for an international telephone conference, he’d had no desire to head into his city office. The fact that Hira had had no classes, either, had cinched his decision to telecommute. “It’s from within the States.”

Hira’s face was as curious as his when he handed her the pale-lilac envelope addressed to her, care of his company’s post office box number. “That’s strange. I don’t know many people yet.”

She didn’t object when he walked around to stand beside her, one hand idly stroking over her curvy hip. At that moment he was simply interested in the unexpected letter, with no knowledge of the pain that could result from a single small envelope.

Hira tore open the flap and pulled out a card with the words I Love You emblazoned in red on a white background. Marc felt his whole body tighten in readiness for a fight. Who the hell had dared to send his wife love greetings?

“Perhaps it’s one of the boys—they make me cards sometimes,” Hira muttered, flipping open the cover. Almost immediately she slammed it shut.

“Who is it from?” he insisted, his hand clenching on her hip.

Her face was pale but her answer honest. “Romaz.”

“The man you loved?”

“The man I thought I loved,” she corrected. “He wasn’t who I believed him to be.”

But, Marc thought with a gut-wrenching shaft of pain, she’d cared very deeply for this man at one time and there had been no coercion involved. Not like their marriage.

“What does he want?” His wife was entitled to her privacy and he wanted her to trust him.

“He’s in the country with his new wife, but he wishes to visit me.” She sounded vaguely shocked.

“I see.”

Her head jerked up. “What do you see, husband?” Her voice was soft.

He was furious at the gall of the man in contacting Hira through him. “You had feelings for this man once. Now you’re my wife, so you won’t be seeing him.” It came out sounding like an order.

Her eyes narrowed and he knew he’d made a mistake. “Ah, so you never see the women who have been in your bed?”

He blinked. “That’s very crude coming from you.”

“Perhaps I’ve decided that with you, a lady will only get crushed into the dirt.” She turned to face him fully, those wild eyes of hers furious. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Tit for tat?”

“Do you really think me so shallow?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “No. But I still don’t want you seeing him.”

“Why?”

There was no answer he could give her that wouldn’t betray his snarling possessiveness. Hands fisted, he moved away. “If you’re determined to meet him, I can’t stop you.” His tone was harsh.

Silence, then a quiet, “I’ll write him a short note telling him a visit is not possible. Even he should be given a response.”

She turned and walked away, leaving him shaken by the power of the relief he felt at her decision.

That night as they lay in bed Hira turned to her husband. “I’ve sent Romaz a letter saying that I’m happily married and have no wish to meet with him.” She knew her husband would never ask her what she’d said, having too much pride. A woman who married a hunter of a man like him had to know when to bend, for a hunter’s pride was part of his emotional armor, something no true wife would ever steal away.

He turned to her, arms folded behind his head, ghost-gray eyes glinting silver in the moonlight shooting through their bedroom windows. “Are you happily married?”

It wasn’t a question she’d anticipated. “I suppose I’m happy.”

“That’s not exactly an avowal of joy.”

“No, it’s not.” She sighed. “When I was a girl, I dreamed many dreams about the man I would marry, though I was aware from a very early age that my father saw me as a commodity. I always knew I’d be part of a business deal, so it wasn’t such a shock to marry you.”

“Ouch.” Her husband rose to lean over her, a wry look on his savagely masculine face, a face that made her heart sigh and her stomach tighten in desire, no matter how hard she tried to resist. And when he smiled that slow smile…

“I thought you might’ve fallen for my charm.”

“You tease me, for you know we didn’t speak much before our wedding night.” Marc had seen her one night, and the next day he’d agreed to her father’s desire to seal the deal with her hand.

At that stage she’d met the American stranger who’d offered her a way out of her father’s house exactly twice. And yet he’d seemed by far the better choice. Her womanly instincts had craved him from the first, though the dark intensity in his eyes had scared her.

Her husband brushed his lips across hers. “Thank you for telling me about Romaz.” He paused. “I’m sorry you missed out on the big wedding girls dream of.”

She was surprised at the genuine regret in his tone. “Do not be, husband. I never dreamed of a big wedding. I always hoped it would be a quiet affair, though I accepted that my father’s business instincts meant it would most likely be huge. So you see, you gave me the wedding I wished for.” She stroked his thick, dark hair off his forehead, unwilling to hurt him in any way if she could help it. Her man had known far too much hurt already.

To her confusion, he moved away from her. Reaching behind him to the small bedside table, he picked up something and returned. “Hold out your left hand.”

Curious, she did as asked. Using one hand, he slipped her wedding ring off. She bit her lip and forbore to ask him what he was doing. Her patience was rewarded as the ring was slipped back on, with another below it.

Raising it to the moonlight, she saw a trio of jewels winking back at her. In the dim light, she guessed that the two flanking stones were small square-cut diamonds. Another stone sat in the centre.

“What is this for?” Her heart felt as if it would burst.

He stroked the delicate skin of her inner wrist. “It’s the engagement ring you never received—a little romance to make up for the hurry with which I ‘acquired’ you.”

The teasing reminder of her own words made her want to smile, but then she wondered if he’d had his secretary pick it and she shouldn’t be feeling so cherished. “What’s the stone in the middle?”

“A tigereye prism.” Linking their fingers, he brought her knuckles to his lips in a kiss that was as possessive as it was tender. “Don’t you want to know what the other two are?”

“They appear to be diamonds.” She began to feel hope in her deepest heart. A tigereye prism wasn’t something to be bought off the street. Found only in her homeland, it was almost as prized as its more famous sibling, Zulheil Rose. However, because its structure made it so very difficult to work with, it wasn’t exported. Most jewelers found the investment of their time in creating pieces from the recalcitrant gem uneconomical.

“They’re Zulheil Rose in the palest hue, with the tiniest hint of fire within. I thought they’d pick up the color of the tigereye, the color of your eyes.”

Her thudding heart felt as if it were smashing against her ribs. “You chose this for me?”

“Yes. I contacted a jeweler in Zulheil and described what I wanted. And I put a rush on it.” He ducked his head and kissed her again. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes, husband. Thank you!” Captivated by his attempt at romance, she threw her arms around him in an exuberant hug. “You’re wonderful. I’m so happy.” Joy bubbled up deep inside her. It wasn’t the jewels that made her so delighted, it was the fact that Marc’s act had clearly been motivated by the desire to make her happy. Coming from a man like him, such an action meant far more than words.

“Well then, what I’m going to tell you next will make you delirious.”

“What?”

“I have to return to Zulheil in the next couple of days, for approximately two weeks, to tie up some loose ends and engage in some negotiations with your sheik. Do you think you can play hooky that long?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes!” Then to Marc’s surprise, she frowned. “We will stay with my family?”

He gave her a smile he knew was smug. “I’ve bought us a house, cher.”

“Husband, you are most definitely in need of a reward.” Her smile was sultry in the dark.

He wanted far more than just sex from his wife, but he’d take what he could get. Yet it hurt that she still saw him as such a shallow man, to be “rewarded” with her body, not allowing him to share in that indefinable something that made her such a unique individual. “Yeah?”

“I will sing for you.” She pushed at his chest.

He blinked. “Sing?” He hadn’t known she could sing. “Why haven’t I heard you before?”

“Because I didn’t like you as much as I do now.” Her answer was as honest as always, and for that reason it touched him in a place even the scars couldn’t reach.

“So how much do you like me now?”

She leaned up and kissed his nose in a playful way that startled him. “A whole lot. And not because of the ring but because of the reason behind it.”

“I did good, huh?” He tried to make light of the heavy weight of emotion clogging his throat.

Pushing him off her, she sat up. Then without warning, she sang to him. An exotic, alien song in the language of her homeland; a beautiful language that seemed to sway like the trees and roll like the sea. He had no idea of the meaning of her words, but he knew that whatever it was, it was powerful and utterly beautiful. Her voice was crystal clear, with just a hint of sultriness.

Sexy innocence.

Just like his wife.

He lay there in the moonlight and let the purity of her voice wash over him. His chest filled with the power of her gift. For the first time in their married life, he felt as though she’d truly accepted him as her man.

“Husband, are you asleep?” She sounded offended.

In answer, he hauled her down to his body and captured her lips in a kiss that was far more than a mere fusion of mouths. Unable to say what he felt, he tried to show her how important she was to him, how very, very important. The kiss accelerated, and the next time he came up for air he found her lying below him, her body holding him deep within her. The naked emotion in her eyes almost tore him to pieces.

And he knew.

They’d gone beyond sex, beyond lust, beyond desire, into a realm he’d never before explored. In this place there was joy beyond compare and stunning pleasure that touched the heart before the body.

He couldn’t fight the tumbling of his internal walls, couldn’t fight that strange, wild, unknown emotion that clawed its way into his heart and refused to leave. Barely able to breathe, he stroked her cheek once.

Then, as moonlight washed over her beautiful face, he moved inside her. Her hands closed over his shoulders and her exotic eyes went blind with passion so intense it refused to allow him to separate himself. Somehow he was able to focus his mind for the moment it took to watch her go over the edge. Only when she was crying out did he allow the madness of that inexplicable emotion to overwhelm him.

Nine

They were almost ready to leave for Zulheil two days later, when Marc got a call that changed all their plans.

“Becky’s been found,” he told her.

Heart in her throat, Hira went with him to see the child, who’d been admitted to a hospital in Lafayette. Becky’s new adoptive parents were there as well, out of their mind with worry for their baby girl.

“Mr. and Mrs. Keller?” Marc’s voice was gentle. She could almost see him rethinking his ideas about how to reunite Brian and Becky. The woman sitting there with red eyes looked as if she hadn’t eaten for days, and her husband’s face was haunted.

“Yes?” Mr. Keller looked up, hope lighting up his eyes for a second. “Are you a doctor? Did she wake up?”

“No. But I might be able to help.”

Mrs. Keller’s eyes were bleak. “How could you? I know who you are, Mr. Bordeaux, but your wealth can’t help us. She’s wasting away and no specialist can tell us why. God, my poor baby. She’s so tiny, so fragile.”

Hira moved to sit on a hard plastic chair beside Mrs. Keller and took her hand. “You must not worry. My husband can indeed help. Tell them, Marc.”

He pulled up a chair to face the Kellers, his jaw taut. “This may come as a shock, but when Becky was placed in the orphanage from which you adopted her, she was separated from her twin, a little boy. It was the first time they’d ever been parted from each other.”

Mrs. Keller gasped, the hand in Hira’s suddenly bruisingly strong. “No, no! Dear Lord. She never said a word. Not once.”

“Brian lives in an orphanage that we have a connection to,” Marc continued, voice low and deep. If Hira hadn’t known him, she’d have thought him utterly calm. But because she did know him, she could see the worry weighing down his heart. “And he’s almost as bad as Becky. They need to be together.”

There was no hesitation. “Anything. Do anything,” Mrs. Keller said. “If you have to take her away to live with Brian, you can even do that. Just save my baby.” Her husband nodded. “Please, just save her. Please.”

Hira felt tears prick her eyes. There was no question in her mind that these people loved their child. Looking at Marc, she knew he understood that, too. While she sat with the Kellers, he left the hospital. When he returned, Brian’s thin arms were wrapped trustingly around his neck, that small body cradled in a protective embrace.

The Kellers took one look at that sweet face and love whispered across their expressions.

“They look so alike,” Mrs. Keller whispered. “He’s a bit healthier than her. Someone’s managed to make him eat.”

“I’ll give you recipes for some things he likes,” Hira offered.

“Me?” The woman’s smile trembled. “You’ll let us keep them both?”

“It’s my husband’s decision, but he loves Brian. He won’t do anything to harm him.” Her faith in the goodness of the man she’d married was absolute.

Marc walked straight into the hospital room. He emerged moments later without Brian. “He crawled into the bed, took her hand and started telling her to wake up.”

Mr. and Mrs. Keller went to look through the glass partition into the room, unwilling to disturb the reunited twins, but clearly needing to be nearby.

Once they were out of earshot, Hira found herself in the odd position of having to comfort her aloof husband. He’d sat down on one of the plastic chairs, his strong body in a defeated posture, while she was standing.

“It’s all right, husband.” Hesitantly she dared to touch his bent head in a light caress. “You got to Becky in time.” You saved two children’s hearts, she thought, emotion choking her throat.

Marc didn’t shrug off her hand but stared ahead at the white hospital wall in front of them. “She’s in critical condition.” His voice was flat, without emotion.

Biting her lip, Hira moved to stand right beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “But she’s alive. That’s what you must concentrate on. In my land, the old healers believe that the spirits of the injured can hear the prayers of the living. We must call out and bring her home.”

Marc raised his head. “Do you truly believe that?”

“With all my heart and soul.”

To her surprise, he wrapped one arm around her body and laid his head against her stomach. “Brian will die with her if she doesn’t wake.” His acceptance of her care shook all of her beliefs about their union.

“He believes she’ll live.” Hira stroked his head, praying both for the children and for Marc. Her husband was a good man. He didn’t deserve such suffering.

“He’s a child.”

“Perhaps that is so. But he has a connection with her that we can’t doubt after seeing them. There are those who say twins are not two people but two pieces of the same soul. If that’s true, we must double the strength of our prayers.” The warm weight of him leaning against her gave her the strength to be his hope. For once someone needed her for more than her face and body.

Her husband didn’t say another word but neither did his face settle into those fatalistic lines again. When he walked off to get them coffee, he touched her cheek in a fleeting caress that she couldn’t understand but felt the power of. Her American husband was no ordinary man.

To everyone’s shock, Becky regained consciousness two hours later. The Kellers were incoherent with joy, and Mrs. Keller was cuddling Brian as if she’d never let him go. Though it hurt Hira, she saw that the little boy felt at home in her arms, as if he knew how much they loved Becky and would love him, too.

“They belong to the Kellers,” she said to Marc, when they got home that night.

His face was tight. “Yes. Tomorrow, I’ll begin the process that’ll ease their adoption of him. I’m going for a walk.”

“In the dark?” Worry for him sparked inside of her.

Without answering, he grabbed his jacket from the hall closet. Desperate, she reached in and pulled out hers, too.

“Where the hell are you going?” he growled at her.

She’d never seen him look more forbidding. But she knew he’d never needed her more than he did at this moment. “For a walk.”

He moved closer. “I want to be alone.”

She knew he was deliberately crowding her with his body, trying to intimidate her. But he’d done too good a job of demonstrating that he’d protect her to his last breath. “Okay. I’ll walk in the other direction.”

“Don’t be a fool. You’ll fall into the bayou and give some lucky gator his dinner. It’s dangerous out there.” He grabbed her jacket and threw it back into the closet.

She put her hands on her hips. “Husband, if you leave now, you have no way of stopping me from leaving.”

His jaw squared. “You’ll stay put.”

“You really think I’ll obey?”

His eyes were suddenly bleak. “I need to…”

She pushed his own jacket out of his hands and took his face between her palms. “You need to stay at home and let your wife share your pain. It’s my pain, too.”

Her every heartbeat reverberated with his sense of loss. Marc wasn’t a man who loved easily, but he loved Brian, of that there was no question in her mind. And now he was being asked to give up one of the precious pieces of his soul.

For a moment she thought he’d walk away, unable to accept the tenderness she offered. Then his arms slipped around her body, and he held her so tight she could barely breathe. Uncaring, she wrapped her arms around him and silently promised that they’d get through this together. They weren’t alone anymore, either of them.

Somehow the hurt boy from the bayou and the lonely beauty from the desert had become a unit, a pair, a single beating heart. Her dependence on him should’ve scared her, yet all she felt was the dawning of a hope so exquisitely powerful she was humbled by it.

Only seven days later Marc stood beside Hira in front of the hospital and watched the Kellers drive off with both Brian and Becky, after having been granted temporary guardianship of Brian. Even the bureaucrats had seen that the children needed to be together. His heart felt as if it were being ripped out of him, but he smiled. Not for anything would he spoil the children’s joy.

After they were gone, he turned to Hira and pulled her into an embrace. As he’d known she would, she began to stroke his back. Despite the pain he could feel in her, she was trying to comfort him. Her generosity of spirit kept throwing him, systematically destroying all his old ideas about beautiful women and their icy hearts.

“Home,” he whispered, his voice husky with pain.

She nodded against his chest.

However, home wasn’t the haven he’d expected it to be. Hira disappeared while he was parking the car. Angry at her for teaching him to need her and then not being there when he needed her so desperately, he began to head out to the bayou. It had always held welcome for him.

That was when he heard the muffled sobs coming from the small formal sitting room they used for guests, the one place his wife knew he avoided, much preferring the relaxed parts of the house. The heart he’d protected for so long seemed to shudder at the hurt in her ragged tears.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and entered. It took him a moment to find her. She was sitting curled up against one corner, her arms around her knees, her heavy fall of hair a curtain. She’d come to cry in private.

Perhaps, he thought, it would be better to leave her to her grief. Something in him rebelled against that course of action. This was his wife in distress. He could never leave her, just like she hadn’t let him walk away that night after they’d come home from the hospital. Decision made, he strode over to sit down beside her, tugging her into the vee of his legs before she could stop him.

She jerked in surprise, and a tear-stained face met his. “Wh—Leave!”

“No.” He forced her head back against his chest. “You cry as much as you want, princess, whenever you want. But you cry in my presence.”

She hit his chest with her fist. “I do not u-use tears to get m-my way!”

“No,” he acknowledged, his proud wife would never use tears to sway him. Apparently, neither did she trust him enough to be vulnerable to him. Well, damn it, from today, that was going to change. “I don’t like you crying all alone.”

She didn’t speak again. Instead she lay against him, tears streaming quietly down her face. He held her and stroked her until there were no more tears and the birds outside were settling down to sleep.

“Better?” he asked, wiping her face with consciously gentle fingers. He was aware that he had calluses. He’d crawled out of the bayou but it still called to him. Being behind a desk was alien to him.

She nodded and turned her face a little, giving him permission to complete the job. He did, feeling a dangerous squirt of pleasure at the tiny gesture. It spoke of deep-rooted trust as her lonely tears hadn’t. Perhaps, he thought suddenly, there was more to her crying alone than her acceptance or rejection of his help.

“I had begun to think of him as my own.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Me, too, cher. Me, too.”

Slim arms slipped around him. “They’ll be happy with the Kellers. They’re good people.”

“I had them triple-checked. No problems in the marriage. No indications of violence. They adore children but they’re infertile,” he told her. “Brian and Becky embody their dreams. People cherish their dreams.”

“Yes.” Hira nodded. “Yes. Dreams are to be cherished.”

“Why do you cry alone?” he asked. Why don’t you need me as much as I need you, the wounded boy inside him wanted to ask.

Her silence went on until he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then, “My father often reduced my mother to tears purely for his own amusement. I swore I would never let anyone humiliate me that way.”

“I would never…” He was so blindsided by hurt he couldn’t complete the sentence.

Slender hands cupped his cheeks, and when he glanced down, Hira’s tawny eyes were looking into his, wide and startled. “No, Marc! I didn’t mean…I know,” she whispered. “I know you would never, ever do that to me.”

There was no way he could doubt the honesty of her desperate confession. “Then why?”

She swallowed. “Instinct. I’ve never had anyone to go to before.” It was a simple answer but one that spoke of years of pain. Such habits didn’t develop overnight.

The memory of seeing her eyes sparkling with withheld tears made him ache deep within. “Crying all alone isn’t healthy.” He didn’t like the thought of her hiding away her hurts, or what such actions revealed about her past.

“Do you ever cry?”

He thought of the rock in his heart at the loss of a child he’d thought of as his own. “No.”

“That is not healthy, either.”

He was stumped. “I’m your husband. Aren’t Zulheil wives supposed to follow their husband’s commands?”

“Only the old ways state that. I’ve begun to explore the new ways that my father forbade. They say a wife can disobey her husband if she has good reason.”

“Well, hell.” He found himself smiling. “Are you going to turn into an American woman?”

“Perhaps partly. Would that displease you?”

He chuckled. “I have a feeling that even if it did, it wouldn’t matter to you.”

A pause. “You could make my existence difficult.”

There were so many facets to his wife that she kept surprising him. “Cher, I make your life hell, anyway, so what would change?” He’d meant to make her laugh but she remained silent on his chest. Hugging her, he said, “Hey, come on. I’m not that bad, am I?”

“You’re not cruel,” she said a long while later. “As a husband, you’re more than I could’ve wished for. But I wouldn’t have chosen you for myself if I’d truly been given a choice.”

It was a kick to his gut. “I see. Why?”

“Because you can’t give me what I most desire.”

“And what’s that?”

“Love of a kind that’s rare in this world. Love that will not stop or dampen when I am old and have wrinkles, when I’m no longer the beautiful woman men covet. Love that will cherish me though I may become ill or hurt. That is what I most desire.”

The quiet declaration of lost hope hit him with the strength of a Mack truck doing eighty miles an hour. She’d put into words what he’d wanted but had never been able to articulate. “You’ve experienced such love?”

“It’s the most wonderful thing in the world.”

“Romaz?” he forced himself to ask.

“No.” Her answer gave him some peace at least. “That was my first brush with love. ‘Puppy love’ as they call it here. No, I’ve never experienced that kind of love and perhaps I never will, but I’ve seen it in the love our sheik has for his wife.”

Marc couldn’t disagree. There was something between Tariq and Jasmine that outshone the stars. “Why can’t you imagine me giving you that?”

She snorted. “Husband, you have something against beautiful women. I’m not stupid. I know you married me to show the world that you could own something this beautiful.” There was no trace of boast in her voice, just blunt honesty.

“I will not argue that you cherish me, that you treat me as a human being with thoughts and feelings and the right to live my dreams. But I can’t forget that you selected me as a trophy, as if I were something to own.

“You acceded to my father’s desire to have us wed, though you only knew my face. I’ve tried but I can’t get over the fact that my worth to you is determined by my beauty alone.”

“That’s a big call to make.” Anger vibrated within him. Perhaps he’d started this marriage the wrong way, but never had he thought of Hira as an object. Not even when they’d married. And in the weeks since they’d said their vows, powerful emotions had taken root in him, emotions that defied her summation.

“Can you say that it is untrue?”

“Yes, I damn well can. I don’t see you as a thing. You’re the woman who coaxed Brian to eat and you’re the woman who held me when Becky lay in the hospital bed. You read encyclopedias in your spare time, watch music videos when you think I’m not looking and are addicted enough to strawberry sorbet that I have to make sure there’s a new carton in the freezer every three days.”

Hira’s eyes widened at his recitation. She hadn’t been aware he knew of her craving for that particular ice cream, had just assumed the housekeeper bought it from a standing order. As for the music videos…

“I don’t see you as a thing. I see you as a woman unlike any I’ve ever known.” Marc’s tone dared her to disagree with him.

“But would you have married me if you’d known my love of books and economics?” she persisted. He’d wanted a beautiful wife, not a smart one.

He chuckled. “Cher, I’m damn glad you turned out to be an intelligent woman. At the beginning of our marriage, I thought I might’ve let my hormones tie me to a woman who’d bore me within a week. Whatever else you might do, you’ll never bore me.”

“I see. I may have misjudged you, husband. For that I say sorry.” A spurt of fire warmed her heart. It whispered that she could trust him with her budding emotions, that he’d cherish the love that had crept up on her while she’d been busy arguing with him.

“Don’t.” His voice turned rough. “You were right about some of it. I did want to show the world I could hold someone like you.”

Ice froze the fire. “I see.”

“No. You don’t.” He sighed and dropped his chin onto her hair. “I guess you deserve to know, after everything you’ve had to put up from me. I grew up poor. Coming from Zulheil, you can’t imagine the kind of poverty into which I was born. I scrounged around for food, knowledge, anything. Even before Muddy, sometimes I stole so I could eat.”

Hira hurt for the boy he’d been. His pride was so much a part of who he was that the stain on his honor would’ve hurt him terribly. “It pains me that your mother didn’t hurt for you. I find it a thing I cannot understand.”

“Yeah. Well, she was as mean as he was—most of the scars on my lower back are courtesy of her. When I was too young to get away, she used to beat me until she took the skin off my back.”

“No mother would do such a thing!” Hira rose up on her knees, her gaze on his face. “No, husband. Please…no?”

Marc was stunned at the anguish in her eyes. “It no longer matters—it’s in the past,” he found himself saying.

Her hands rose to cradle his face. “But, outside and inside you have scars from it.”

“I guess.” He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

She frowned but to his pleased surprise, leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss. “I’ll worry if I wish. Tell me why you don’t like beautiful women.”

“Why did I think you’d be accommodating?” He kissed her to forestall comment. “My story isn’t very original. I was a poor boy but a smart, athletic one. I also worked several jobs. One of them was as gardener and car washer to the Barnsworthy family. They were, and still are, one of the richest and oldest families in the area. I fell for Lydia Barnsworthy and asked her on a date. Confidence has never been my problem.” It was a joking comment, an attempt to hide the emotions evoked by the memories.

“A date?”

“A high school dance,” he elaborated. “Lydia said yes, but when the day came, she stood me up and went with someone else. And she made sure everyone knew what she’d done.”

“What did she look like, your Lydia?”

“Slender ice blonde.” To the teenage boy, she’d been everything that was gracious, but now he saw the cruelty beneath the beauty. These days it was Lydia who chased him, much to his amusement and total disinterest.

“I’ve seen a picture of her in one of your American fashion magazines,” Hira startled him by stating. “She’s quite beautiful…if one likes cold women.”

He hid his grin at the catty comment. “That certainly doesn’t apply to you. You’re the hottest woman I know.” It had taken him too long to realize that beneath the armor of self-protective ice, she had so much spirit it burned hot enough to keep him warm for life.

“So you wished to show the Barnsworthy family and others that you could aspire to a woman of beauty.” Her husky tones pulled him back to his story.

“Put like that, it sounds adolescent,” he grumbled. “But it’s part of the truth. The second part is, I saw you and wanted you. Without reason or thought. I just knew that you were mine. So I took you.”

His wife stared at him, as though she didn’t know quite what to make of that. Then she narrowed her eyes. “But you haven’t shown me off to these people. Am I not good enough?”

“I’ve found that I don’t want to show you off. You’re for my eyes only.” His tone was hard.

Her eyes widened. “Husband, you sound very…possessive.”

“Yes.” He was, he realized, very possessive where his wife was concerned. So possessive that he didn’t want to share her with anyone, certainly not with the bitchy crowd that frequented those glamorous parties.

Unfortunately, as if he’d conjured it out of thin air merely by thinking of it, it became impossible to avoid going to one of those very same parties. With their travel plans to Zulheil being rescheduled, they were going to be in town on the date when an illustrious member of the business community was being given an honorary dinner.

“We have to attend,” Marc told Hira the night before the dinner, pulling off his shirt. He’d arrived home only an hour ago after an intense day at the office. To his delight, his wife had waited up to have dinner with him. Such a little thing, but it meant so much, coming from the fiercely independent woman Hira was blooming into. “I respect Artie and it’ll hurt him if we don’t go when he knows we’re still in the city.”

“That’s fine, husband.” Hira closed her textbook and put it on the bedside table. “I don’t mind attending these functions. It’s one of my duties as your wife.”

He gave her an exasperated look, trying not to be seduced by the sight of her in that lacy black slip she’d shimmied into. “Do you do everything because they’re duties?” He wondered if she’d worn the sexy garment to tempt him, and his heartbeat accelerated. A woman who purposefully dressed to pleasure her husband had to have some feeling for him. Some need.

She thought about it. “No. I lie with you because I wish to. We are together too many times for it to be duty.” Then she gave him a slow, sultry smile. “I wouldn’t dress this way for you if it was only duty.” A teasing light in her tawny eyes, she shrugged a slender strap off one honey-skinned shoulder. “Oops.”

He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Hell, I guess I think of these things as duty appearances, too. At least you’ll make it bearable.” Keeping his eyes on her, he peeled off the rest of his clothing.

She held out her arms. “Come to bed, husband mine.”

He walked over, determined to say what he had to before the light of welcome in her eyes reduced him to incoherent passion. “I want to warn you—the crowd at these parties will stab you in the back if they have the slightest indication that you’re vulnerable.”

“Me? Vulnerable?” She gave an exaggerated sniff. “I am ice, husband.”

“I’d forgotten.” He stopped by the bed, waiting for her to shift so he could climb in beside her, and begin doing things to her that would leave her drenched in sweat. Pleasing his wife turned him on like nobody’s business. “You’re so hot.”

Instead of accommodating him, she moved until she was facing his erection. “Hot, hmm?”

His whole body shuddered as she dipped her head and took him to his own private vision of heaven. “Yup, damn hot.” Those were the last words he said for a long, long time, because his desert beauty was in the mood to pleasure her husband.

Slowly.

Ten

The party was as he’d expected. Except for a few men and women he respected, the glittering ballroom was full of debutantes who did lunch and slept with other women’s husbands, and those same husbands. None of them dared to approach Marc because he wasn’t known to be kind to their species, but he noted the way they looked at his wife.

“Stay close,” he warned her.

She gave him an amused look. “I can negotiate these waters. I’m used to being talked about.”

He nodded. “Don’t let them hurt you or I’ll have to get mean.”

“Yes, sir.” Laughter lit her eyes.

Despite her words she did stay close to him for most of the night. Toward the end of the evening she whispered, “I’m going to powder my nose.”

He nodded and watched her walk off. Lord, but she was stunning. The other men had been noticing all night. But, scared off by her ice-queen expression, none of them had had the temerity to approach her. He had to hide a grin. His wife was anything but ice but she could do ice extremely well.

At that, an earlier thought intruded. Underneath her glittering beauty, Hira had been just a little stiff ever since they’d arrived, though on the drive over, she’d been her usual warm self. It was hardly noticeable, but he knew her well enough, had seen her without her shields too many times to be fooled. The second they were alone, he’d find out what was bothering his wife. And then he’d dedicate himself to soothing her. Smiling, he turned his attention back to the party.

He got caught up in a conversation with the guest of honor for the next ten minutes, and when he looked around for Hira, he couldn’t see her. Intuition had him heading out to the hallway, off which the ladies’ powder room was located. His eyes narrowed when he saw Lydia walk out of the white-painted door, a smirk on her face.

Her blue eyes lit up when she saw him. “Darling!” She went to kiss him on the cheek. Behind her back, he saw the door reopen and a familiar figure walk through.

Without any hesitancy, he pushed Lydia aside. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He hated being manipulated. Even worse, he hated being used as an instrument to hurt his wife.

Lydia wobbled in her high heels. “But, Marc, our relationship…”

He’d been trying to be gentlemanly, but when he saw Hira’s eyes darken in pain, he stopped pulling his punches. “Last time I saw you, you were showing me your breasts and asking if I’d like a taste. I believe I refused and told you to get your tail back to that old man you married. Isn’t. That. Right.” He made it a command.

Lydia’s face went white. “You bastard.”

“I may be, but I’m an honest one. Why the hell would you interest me when I’ve married a woman who outshines you by megawatts?” Walking over, he hauled Hira to him. She came without hesitation. “By the way, if I ever again catch you taunting Hira, I’ll ensure that the tape of you propositioning me finds its way into your husband’s hands.”

“You’re lying.” Lydia sounded shaky.

“Do you really think I’d trust you an inch?” He turned and looked down at his wife’s still face. She’d been hurt by Lydia. Without further words he headed for the exit.

Marc flicked on the light in their bedroom and turned to Hira. She hadn’t said a word on the drive home and he hadn’t pushed, though his simmering temper had demanded to know everything. Hauling her inside, he locked the door, shutting her in with him.

“Now, you’ll tell me every lie that bitch spouted.” He crowded her until she was pressed against the wall. Her purse dropped to the floor as he wrapped one hand gently around her nape.

“How do you know they were lies?” Her pulse pounded against his hand, but her tone was defiant, her eyes beginning to burn with inner fire.

“Because Lydia wouldn’t know honesty if it bit her.” He crowded her some more until her soft breasts pressed against the jacket of his tux.

“Stop giving me orders,” she hissed. “And back off.”

“No.” His woman had been hurt and he wanted an explanation as to why she’d let that happen.

She blinked at the uncompromising denial. “You are not behaving as American men are supposed to.”

“How am I behaving?”

“Like one of the desert chieftains. They’re known to be primitive.”

“Is that so, cher? Then you’d better start talking. Us primitive types aren’t known for our patience.” His eyes drifted to the lushness of her lips. Before his civilized side could talk him out of it, he leaned down and kissed her the way he’d been wanting to all night. Pure heat and pure possession.

Her soft lips parted for him, inviting him into her mouth. He took the invitation and claimed her sweetness. His free hand went to her breast but he didn’t like the feel of her sparkly dress against his skin. Without releasing her lips, he pushed the strap down and slipped his hand under the dress to close around one heavy globe.

Hira jerked, but her arms came around his neck in permission that he hadn’t asked for. Rubbing his thumb across her nipple, he broke the kiss only long enough to allow her a breath and then he ravished her again, massaging her breast with a hand that knew exactly what she liked.

“What did she say?” he asked, raising his head.

Her lips were wet, her eyes sleepy looking but her mind sharp. “You’re trying to seduce me to get your way.”

“Yes.” He plucked at her nipple before cupping her breast again. “I’m a bastard of a negotiator.”

“No, you’re merely determined.” Her lips curved in an indulgent smile. “Lydia said much, but it all came down to the fact that you were sorry to have married me and were madly in love with her, that you had begged her to come to your bed despite the fact that she was married.”

Raw rage whipped through him. Leaving her breast, he pushed both hands through her lush fall of hair. “And you believed her?” He was furious with her for thinking so little of him.

Her eyes narrowed. “I told her that you’d never lower yourself to trash such as she was.”

He wasn’t fully mollified. “Then why the hell did she look so happy?”

“I believe she thought to drive a wedge between us by planting seeds of doubt in my mind.”

“Did she succeed?”

“You are a man with much pride. You’d never beg the favors of a woman who had rejected you.”

“You know me.” He pressed impossibly closer. Only her height in heels allowed her to meet his gaze. “But you believed some of it. You looked like hell.”

“No. I was hurt at being reminded that though you say many things which make me think you value me as more than just a pretty face, I’m still a trophy wife to you, like Lydia is to her husband. Most of the couples there tonight were successful men with beautiful young women they treat as ornaments. I fitted right in.”

His control snapped. “Trophy wife?” he asked very softly. He’d been torn up at the sight of her in pain and she considered herself a trophy wife? He was sick of trying to get through to her. Maybe it was time to use nonverbal communication of the kind they were best at. Putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her. “Legs around my waist.”

She obeyed. “What are you doing, husband?”

Good. She sounded wary. But beneath the wariness was trust that soothed the raw edges of his temper. “Teaching you that whatever else you might be, you’re no trophy. Trophies get put up on a shelf and admired. I want you in my hands, to touch and please and own in a far different way.” He reached under her dress and made short work of her fragile panties.

She gasped. “This is…” Her words were lost as his fingers probed her, testing her for readiness. Within a few strokes, he was rewarded with damp heat. The scent of her desire rose in the air.

“Yes, cher,” he said. “That’s it.”

She hit his shoulder with a closed fist. “Do not talk to me as you would to a horse.”

Some of his masculine possessiveness retreated under that sharp-voiced command. Only some. “But, baby, you respond so beautifully to a little coaxing.” He slid a finger deep into her, gentle with her in spite of the desire running rampant through his body.

She cried out and clutched his shoulders. When her eyes opened, they were full of some feminine mystery he couldn’t hope to understand. Clenching around his finger, she pulled his head to hers. He went, his free hand breaking a strap on her dress to give him easy access to her breasts. As one hand closed around her flesh, her teeth scraped his lips.

“Biting, Hira?” He grinned. “Tut, tut.” Another finger deep within her.

Her eyes flashed, even as tiny feminine muscles rippled around him. “I will make you pay for this, Marc.”

He started kissing her neck, wondering if she knew just how rawly sexy she looked with her dress tumbling off to half expose one breast and completely free the other, her hair falling wild and free onto her shoulders and her long, silky legs wrapped around his waist. Suddenly it was too much. She was hot and more than ready.

Removing his hand, he went to work on the fastening of his pants. Holding her gaze, he guided himself to her and then thrust. She gasped and blinked, and it was all he could do to stop with that first deep thrust sunk in the velvet heat of her body.

“Move!” she ordered, breathless.

Since he had no objection to the idea, he moved. Again and again and again until he couldn’t think and there was such erotic pleasure, it felt as if his whole body was going up in flames.

Hira wondered how she had never, in all her researches, come across the mention of how erotic it was to be made love to by a fully clothed man when one was almost naked. Though she couldn’t remember how they had got there, she was now in bed, completely naked. Her forest-green gown was hanging over the back of a chair by the vanity. Beside her, Marc lay sprawled on his back, one arm thrown across his eyes. He remained dressed except for his shoes, which he’d apparently kicked off at some stage.

Very carefully, she sat up and looked down at her husband. Over six feet of long, lean man, he was presently asleep. She was glad. Tonight something fundamental had changed in her thinking about their relationship and she needed time to come to terms with it. Her husband had behaved as an enraged male whose wife had done something that displeased him, rather than as a man annoyed with a woman he’d acquired for her ornamentation value alone.

It was a very sharp distinction. One was a reaction fueled by emotion, the other by logic. Whatever else it had been, their joining had not been logical. It had been decidedly out of control and that was something her husband guarded fiercely against. Tonight, at the party, she’d overheard people discussing his reputation of icy control in the most stressful circumstances.

Except, with her, he’d always been fire and heat.

The bruised bloom in her heart unfurled into full flower at the revelation that her husband was truly not indifferent to her. The hope she’d felt the night she’d realized they’d somehow become a unit, reawakened. She had yet to understand the depth of what Marc felt for her, but it was surely something far more than mere desire.

Perhaps the love in her heart wasn’t doomed.

It had taken her a long time to accept that this wild hunter of a man had found a foothold in her soul, but she was a woman who knew herself. Marc Bordeaux was the one. The only one. In her deepest heart, she must’ve known that when she’d acceded to her father’s demands; she was far too smart a woman not to have found a way out if she’d been desperate. She’d been stalling Kerim for months before Marc came on the scene.

Marc shifted on the bed, throwing his arm wide, and she realized he had to be uncomfortable. Experimentally she reached out, undid his bow tie and slipped it off his neck. He didn’t react. Emboldened, she managed to get his jacket and shirt off him by moving him around when it didn’t seem to wake him. Then, biting her lip, she got rid of his pants and socks, leaving him clad in plain black briefs. Still asleep, he turned over onto his stomach, and she couldn’t help stroking his back, his skin hot and vibrant under her fingertips.

A glance at the clock showed that it was 2:00 a.m., but she was hungry, having eaten nothing but hors d’oeuvres since lunch. Carefully covering Marc with a light blanket, she pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck, slipped into his formal white shirt and went down to the kitchen.

Marc chanced opening his eyes after a minute of silence. Groaning, he turned over in an effort to ease the pressure on his rigid arousal. Growing up as he had, never knowing when a vicious blow would shatter his rest, he slept lightly. He’d woken the moment Hira had but had kept his eyes closed, wondering what she’d do. And had learned that being undressed by a naked woman, whose breasts kept teasing you with every movement, was sheer torture.

He hadn’t been ready to talk to her, uncertain of her reaction to what had happened between them tonight. Whatever else, she couldn’t back away from this inferno. She was no more a trophy wife than he was a prize husband. However, his little deception had had an unexpected side effect.

His chest tightened as he recalled her tender kiss on his nape and the way she’d carefully covered him up. They hadn’t been the acts of an angry woman or even a woman who saw him as a duty. It had been care, pure and simple. He’d already known his wife had a big heart from seeing her with the children, but until now he’d never really felt the power of that heart. She’d done little things for him but they were all very wifely things, and he’d thought she felt duty bound to do them. But, tonight…tonight she’d gone far beyond duty.

Throwing off the blanket, he went in search of Hira, finding that he was greedy for her. He located her at the kitchen counter eating a piece of bread slathered with crunchy peanut butter. Her eyes widened at his entrance but he didn’t stop, walking around to stand beside her. Leaning down, he bit off the other end of her bread.

She swallowed. “You are hungry, too, husband?”

He nodded. “Why did you put on a shirt to come down?”

Taking another bite, she offered him more. He took it, demolishing almost the entire remainder. She waited and fed him that last bit before turning to get another slice from the loaf at her elbow. It was another small example of her inherently generous nature.

“Because it would be immodest to walk around unclothed.” With efficient movements, she spread peanut butter on the bread.

“But it’s only us.” He moved closer, rubbing her cheek with his knuckles, daring to display the affection that had changed his view of himself. “Come on, I dare you to take it off.”

A soft smile on her lips, she raised the hand holding the piece of bread to his mouth. After a bite, he nudged her hand back to her own mouth. She took a small bite and chewed. Then, a smile flirting with her lips, she asked, “Why are you in such a mood?”

“Let’s see, I had amazing sex with my wife a few hours ago and, since she doesn’t appear to be holding my somewhat Neanderthal behavior against me, I’m raring to go again and I was hoping to create some sexy atmosphere. How’s that?” He allowed her to feed him again. “Humor me.”

She smiled and blushed. “But—”

“If we can’t be free with each other, who can we be free with?” Even as he said it, he realized that it applied to more than sexual exploration. He’d never truly trusted anyone and he badly wanted to trust his wife.

She handed him the slice of bread. Then, nibbling at her lush lower lip, she lifted her hands to the buttons of his dress shirt. His eyes were riveted to those elegant fingers. She undid the first button. He took a deep breath. She did the second one. He groaned.

“Faster, cher.” He wanted to reach out and haul her to his chest, but no way was he going to interrupt this very private show.

“What would be the fun in that?” Her question held teasing laughter, and the look in her tawny eyes said she was enjoying herself.

“Did I indicate this was supposed to be fun for you?” He fed her a bite from the remaining bread. “This is sexual gratification for me alone.”

“Is that so?” Another button. The valley between her breasts was a shadowed treasure, the softness of her belly a silky plain for his exploration. “What if I wish for some gratification, too?”

“You can have it later. After I’m done.” Finishing off the bread, he stood there, completely concentrating on her.

She laughed, the sound husky and intimate, and released the last button. The darkness between her thighs was an invitation he gladly took, cupping her gently. Sighing, she leaned closer. With a single lithe movement of her shoulders, the shirt went to the floor.

He ran his hand up from her heat to flatten over her stomach. “Damn, you’re lovely.” Her face fell. “No,” he ordered. “None of that. Sure, your body is hot, but you know what makes you perfect?”

She shook her head slowly, wary eyes holding a vulnerability that made him want to cherish her forever.

“The fact that you adore my body despite my scars, say yes to playing with me at this ridiculous hour even after the stunt I pulled tonight, and have peanut butter stuck to your bottom lip.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide. He pulled the hand off and licked the spot off. “Yum.”

She giggled and stepped back. As he watched, she put her finger in the peanut butter jar and dabbed a spot on her lip again. Surprised, he leaned forward and licked it off. Her hand went to her breasts and each nipple was coated.

“You sure know how to gratify this man.” First, he sucked the finger she held out to him, cleaning it off. Then he made slow work of each morsel, his hands stroking her bottom. When he stood to his full height again, it was to face a woman with a passion-soft face, eyes heavy-lidded and a sweet, sexy smile on her lips. Reaching out a hand, she traced the shape of his mouth.

“Still hungry?” Her voice was a husky whisper.

“A little.” He backed her up until her bottom hit the edge of the counter. Then he lifted, setting her down on the marble. She spread her legs and he stood between them. Reaching to the right, he found the squeezable bottle of honey that was one of her favorite treats. Grinning, he held it up. “Want to play some more?”

Her eyes widened. “Husband, you are bad.” An inviting look appeared on her face. “I love honey.”

“So do I, cher. So do I.” He’d never felt this carefree in his life. Flipping open the lid, he held the bottle upside down and started to draw meandering swirls of honey over her breasts, her stomach, lower.

She sighed when he put down the bottle and started to lick his way down her body, swirling his tongue, using his teeth to scrape, his fingers to smooth. Minutes later she began to tremble. He stroked his hands on her thighs as he bent over to lick her stomach. Her beautiful feminine muscles clenched under his attentions. He kept going, pulling her bottom closer to the edge to facilitate his taste of honey.

Her hands clenched in his hair as he tracked the last possible drop, lapping at her most sensitive flesh. Moans filled the kitchen as his wife climaxed, surrendering to the pleasure he lavished on her. Satisfied by her shudders, he rose and picked her up in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Where are you taking me, husband?”

“Do you care?”

“No. You may take me wherever you wish.”

He narrowed his eyes at that double entendre, unsure whether it was just her grasp of English or deliberate provocation until he caught the hint of mischief in those tawny depths. “I’ll remember that the next time I see you bent over the kitchen table.”

Her laughter filled the night. When he sat down in a chair, with her spread over him, she slid her hand between their bodies and down. “Why is it that you are always clothed when I’m naked?”

“Bad timing?” He groaned as she slipped her hand under the elastic waistband of his briefs. Stroking him gently, she chuckled at his response.

A man could only take so much. Barely ten seconds later, he’d kicked off his only item of clothing and got himself covered in a much more pleasurable fashion. She slid onto him like hot silk. And then she rode him.

Given their newfound joy in each other, the plane trip to Zulheil the next day was markedly different from their first flight together. Marc had brought along papers to look over but didn’t even take them out of his briefcase, too enchanted by his wife.

More at ease on this flight, she teased him to laughter and tangled her fingers with his, her eyes holding a look of pride. “You’re a most magnificent man,” she whispered, halfway through the flight.

He could feel a blush creeping up the back of his neck. “What brought that on?”

She winked at him and pressed a spontaneous kiss to his cheek. “Can a wife not simply compliment her husband?” Putting her head on his shoulder, she settled against him, warm and…loving?

He didn’t dare think that he might’ve found his dreams, but he could almost imagine that he was seeing the real woman, with none of her customary masks. Only one thing gave him pause—the way she still occasionally looked at him after a particularly saucy comment, as if anticipating a rebuke.

He knew that her reaction was rooted in the emotional abuse she’d witnessed in her home, scenes of a wife being humiliated by the very man who should’ve been her champion. He hated it, but he could forgive her that instinctive reaction. Yet so long as that look was in her eyes, he couldn’t expect her full commitment to him as a man, as a husband. Before she took that chance, she’d have to accept that he’d die before turning into a man like her father. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to help her reach that point. In this shatteringly important moment, he was helpless.

“Have you ever been inside the royal palace?” Marc asked Hira on their second night in Zulheil, fiddling with his bow tie and hoping the evening would be cool.

She moved to him and took over the job. “Yes, of course. The royal palace is open to its citizens, aside from the private wings for the family. But you’re one of the very few foreigners who has been allowed access.”

He was aware of the privilege and the duty it carried. Trust in this desert land was given slowly but would hold fast unless he abused it. “Impressive, isn’t it?” His eyes followed Hira as she moved away to pull on a top coat of the finest gossamer silk.

The sheer fabric was an almost metallic silver and was gathered under her breasts with a single tie. The rest of the coat fell to float just above the floor, splitting open over her legs to display an underskirt of thick silver satin. The long-sleeved silver top she wore underneath the gauze overlapped the top of the skirt and was heavily embroidered with tiny white pearls. The material seemed shot with shards of pure crystal.

“I may be a mere male but I like what I see.” Marc was looking at her appreciatively when she turned.

In Hira’s eyes, he was the gorgeous one, big, dark and very masculine. “It’s a Jasmine Zamanat creation.”

His eyes sharpened as he recognized the name of the sheik’s wife, a well-known designer. “Clever little witch. Getting us brownie points with the palace, are you?”

She was pleased by the compliment in his eyes. “It will not hurt, though they won’t be so easily swayed. But I truly like her designs so it’s no hardship.”

“You’re definitely easy on the eyes. Let’s go, princess. The drive from Abraz to Zulheina will take a while. Wouldn’t want to be late for this meeting.”

Though informal, the meeting with the sheik was important. If things went favorably, Marc would be allowed to sign an agreement with Zulheil to export a durable, flexible plastic discovered by its scientists.

“And aside from its other advantages,” Marc said as they got out of their limo in front of the palace, after having been cleared by security, “it crunches down into small packages. So it’s very portable and can be used for tents, et cetera.”

“Which means it can have military applications as well as many other uses.” Hira nodded. “Why hasn’t it already been exported?”

“It hasn’t been a priority for Zulheil with their gemstone business bringing in so much income. But the rest of the world could do with it.”

Just then, a beautiful redhead dressed in a lovely sky-blue top and skirt in the way of Zulheil, walked through the palace doorway. “Welcome.” She smiled and held out her hands to Hira. “I’m so delighted you could finally make it. I hear that you had to reschedule because of the welfare of a child.”

“Jasmine al eha Sheik, it is an honor,” Hira began, a little overcome at the easy welcome from the most powerful woman in the country, though it was well known that neither the sheik nor his wife stood much on pomp and ceremony.

Jasmine waved a hand. “Call me Jasmine. Ah…here he is.” Letting go of Hira’s hands, she looked over her shoulder at the man who’d appeared beside her. Her eyes held such deep and abiding love that the warmth of it was an almost physical touch.

Hira noticed the way Sheik Tariq’s hand immediately settled on his wife’s hip, the way the two shared a secret smile before he spoke.

“Dinner is served and the demon who is pretending to be our son is fast asleep. Welcome to our home.” He shook Marc’s hand and turned to lead them inside.

Almost immediately the men fell back behind the women, already beginning to talk business. Hira was a little irritated at being disregarded so easily.

“You’re annoyed,” said the woman by her side.

Hira glanced at Jasmine. “Lady…”

“Call me Jasmine and don’t worry about it. He annoys me on occasion, too.” Her smile was open.

Hira decided to be honest. “I don’t like being sidelined when serious matters are being discussed.”

“Neither do I. That’s why we’ll be talking about a different idea that I’ve cooked up with Tariq.”

Hira’s eyes widened. “Another proposal?”

“As you know, Zulheil likes to keep to itself. When we find someone we like, we try and squeeze our worth out of them. Tariq trusts your husband’s integrity and acumen.”

“And what about me?” She wasn’t going to be ignored.

“Until this evening, though we’ve had dealings with Marc, you were an unknown commodity. Tariq knows you socially but I’ve only seen you once.”

“I remember. In the gardens after your marriage.” Aware that Jasmine must’ve been informed of the Dazirah family’s attempts to make a match between her and the sheik, Hira had known that this lovely woman wouldn’t appreciate her presence. So she’d tried to stay in the background, despite her parents having urged her to find someone else with royal connections, since many important visitors had been at the gathering.

Jasmine led them into a beautiful formal dining room. “Yes. My husband expects you to earn his respect. It’s the same demand he makes of everyone.”

Hira nodded, accepting the fairness of that.

“But,” Jasmine continued, giving her a shrewd look. “I’ve made my decision. You’re no pretty trophy. That husband of yours wouldn’t look at you the way he does if you were.”

“And how is that?”

“With the deepest pride. If he is as akin to the men of Zulheil as he appears, then that’s a great thing indeed.” Jasmine turned to take a seat beside her husband on the other side of the comfortably small table.

A little shaken by the power of that quiet statement, Hira took the chair Marc held out for her. There were no servants in the dining area tonight, because this was most definitely a meeting, despite the abundance of delicious dishes on the table. He touched her fleetingly on the shoulder before taking his seat.

It made her aware of how he always touched her, and had done so since shortly after she’d learned about the orphanage. A caress, a stolen kiss, a squeeze of the fingers, she’d become so used to being touched by Marc that she’d never questioned what it meant…until she’d seen the sheik touch his wife, and realized that for a strong man to show such open affection implied a great deal of feeling.

Smiling, she turned to him as he sat down and gently put her hand on his thigh, out of sight of the others. He looked startled but then favored her with that slow smile that always proved lethal to her composure. His hand drifted down to hers and their fingers intertwined.

“Let’s begin with a toast.” Tariq held up his glass and they followed. “To a long and happy partnership.”

They all clinked glasses. The dinner took more than four hours, with all of them ending up in a small sitting room talking over several documents. Hira spent considerable time discussing an interesting idea regarding the tigereye prism with Jasmine. Marc didn’t even check up on her once, and his trust that she’d look after their interests cemented her love for him as nothing else could’ve done.

Eleven

“God, I’m exhausted.” Dressed only in his dress pants, Marc fell back onto their bed. Rubbing his eyes with his hand, he smiled, looking very much like a satisfied hunting cat. “But it was worth it.”

She nodded. Having already changed into a short nightdress with thin straps, she crawled onto the bed and knelt facing her husband, combing her hair. “This could build into a long-term business relationship.”

Marc’s eyes followed her strokes. “I intend it to. I like working with Tariq. He’s got integrity as well as the negotiating skills of a shark.”

“That’s why he likes you also.” She put the brush down on the nightstand and moved to undo his belt, using the excuse to stroke his firm abdomen. Under her hands, he was pure male strength, the seduction of his hunter’s body enough to make her ache for his possession.

His smile as he watched her with blatant proprietariness made her stomach tighten in expectation. Marc had a particular look in his eye tonight, a look that said he intended to take his time with her.

She was proved right.

They’d both agreed to spend the next day with her family. Hira wished to see her mother and brothers but didn’t particularly care about her father.

“It’s only one day. You can stand the man for that long,” Marc said when she made a sulky face.

Sighing, she nodded and got out of the car, waiting until Marc was beside her before heading up the steps to the place that had once been her gilded prison.

Her mother was overjoyed to see her. Even her brothers were happy, welcoming her with crushing hugs and small but thoughtful gifts that touched her. Perhaps they’d turn out all right after all. Her father grunted and shook Marc’s hand, smile wide. Hira left him to Marc and went to spend time with her mother, the documents for the account she and Marc had opened in Amira’s name safe in her purse.

Marc watched Hira go off with Amira Dazirah with mixed feelings. On the one hand he was glad she was happy to be in Zulheil, but surrounded by reminders, he couldn’t help but remember the way he’d rushed her into marriage. Her father had provided the impetus, but the choice had been his. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t tried very hard to change Kerim’s mind. He’d wanted Hira, and he’d gone after her with every bit of his considerable will.

It hurt more than he could’ve imagined to know that because of that single rash act, his wife would never view him with the kind of tenderness and love she’d told him she’d dreamed of. How could she possibly understand that when he’d seen her on that balcony, it hadn’t been her beauty that had transfixed him?

No, it had been something far more ephemeral, something that had tugged at his soul, a knowing that she was his, a possessiveness that hadn’t let him sleep until he’d made her his in reality. How could he explain that to her without ripping open his heart? He wasn’t ready for that, not when she sometimes still looked at him with shadows in her brilliant eyes.

His wife had adjusted to him, but he needed far more than simple coexistence from her. He needed her heart and soul, her hope, her everything. He needed her to need him, because all of him, even the lost and lonely bayou boy he’d been, had become enthralled with her. It was an enchantment that demanded his soul. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t go back to his lonely, untrusting existence…couldn’t stop needing her so much that his hunger was a physical ache.

Late the next day Hira tried to talk to her husband about what had turned his gray eyes dark when she hadn’t been looking. In the space of a few hours, he’d gone from teasing and laughing with her to almost complete silence.

“Nothing,” he said, his tone curt.

When she pushed, he kept responding with monosyllabic replies that made her want to hit him over the head with a blunt object. Frustrated by his recalcitrance, she finally left him and went off to indulge herself with a bath, muttering under her breath about males in general and one male in particular.

He found her fifteen minutes later, while she was sitting on the edge of the huge square-shaped bath filled with cool flower-scented water. Because of her perch, the lapping water only covered her up to the thighs. Looking up, she saw familiar desire flare in his eyes as he gazed at her naked form. Ignoring the heat that uncurled luxuriously in her stomach, she stared back, feeling just a bit put-upon by his moodiness.

“What?” she finally said, when he remained silent.

“Nothing. I have to go out.”

“Fine.” She glared at him.

“Don’t you care where I’m going?” His tone was jagged, torn, those eyes of liquid silver gone cloudy.

And she wanted to hit him, not soothe him. She’d had it! Absolutely and utterly! Letting out a stifled scream, she picked up the sponge she was using to smooth water over her body, and threw it at his chest.

He caught the sponge against his body. When he lifted it off, a wet patch marred his vivid blue shirt. Before he could speak, she said, “Why should I worry about a husband who turns cold on me when I’ve done nothing wrong? You and your black mood can both go to hell for all I care!”

That was when he stalked to her, all male arrogance and smoky eyes filled with some emotion she couldn’t read. She sat in place, though it was difficult to be composed while her body was laid out for his perusal.

He was close enough to touch. “You just told me to go to hell.” Holding her gaze, he dropped the sponge into the water, sending ripples chasing across her thighs.

“Why do you sound so surprised? After the way you’ve been acting today, I’m entitled to my temper.”

To her complete and utter shock, he kicked off his shoes and sat down beside her, straddling the bath. One jean-covered leg went in the water, the other remained outside. He didn’t even blink. “You don’t have that look in your eyes anymore,” he murmured. His hand began to play with a strand of her hair that had come undone from the knot on top of her head.

She slapped his hand away. “What look? And don’t try to get back in my good graces. I want to enjoy my bath without my bad-tempered husband.” Turning away, she scooped up water in her hands and let it run over her legs.

If he wanted to watch, that was fine. She refused to be hurried just because her body reacted like wildfire to his. She could control herself, she thought grimly. She would not give in to the urge to rip open his shirt and lick her way up to his lips. She would not! Why was he still sitting there? A woman only had so much self-control, even when she was using anger to fuel it.

“Aren’t you wondering why I’ve been acting like I have?” Marc finally asked, scooping up water in one hand and dripping it over her thighs.

She sniffed to fight off a shiver at the intimate act, pressing her thighs together to still the ache in between her legs. It only intensified. “I don’t know what it is that I did, but clearly, I’ve done something wrong. You’re merely trying to reinstate your rights over me by showing me this coldness.” She made a face at him. “I will not be treated so!”

At that instant her American did something she’d never expected. Putting both hands on her shoulders, he pulled her toward him and planted a hard kiss on her startled lips. “To hell with my rights!” Wild hunger raged in his eyes, but this hunger was deeper than the body, so deep that she thought she could see his soul in the suddenly piercing quality of those always-well-guarded eyes.

“The reason I’ve been acting like a wounded bear is because I worship the ground you walk on. Being here reminds me too much of how we started this marriage, how I killed all hope of love between us with the way I claimed you without courtship. I love you, princess, and I can’t stand it that you’ll never love me back.” He kissed her again, strong and swift. It felt like a brand on her heart.

“Heck, love doesn’t begin to describe what I feel for you—This emotion’s like a fire inside of me that refuses to go out. It’s passion that stuns me when you smile and tenderness I didn’t even know I could feel. It’s not roses and moonlight, it’s lightning and forever.”

Hira was stunned speechless by Marc’s defiant declaration. Her proud, inflexible husband had to know that by acknowledging his love, he was giving her a weapon over him, and surely he’d never give such a weapon to a woman like he’d once believed her to be, a mercenary beauty like that bitch Lydia. He wasn’t finished, either.

“I love your smile and, yes, I love your face. How could I not, when I adore the woman you are? I love the way you talk to the boys and let each of them feel as if he could win your hand if he were old enough. I love the way you’re so generous with your body and your affection.”

His voice was raw; painfully, powerfully intimate. “I love the way you try to love the bayou because I love it. I love you, and I’ve had it with trying to hide what I feel.”

Powerful and passionate, it was her first true glimpse of the intensity of her husband’s feelings. His love would be wild, an inferno that would demand everything from her.

Trembling, she raised her hand to his cheek and leaned close. “Marc, husband, I c-can’t…” Her voice was an emotion-choked whisper.

“Hush. I know.” There was something bleak in his gaze. He’d given her his heart with no expectation that she’d reciprocate. How much strength did that take for a man who’d never been loved? How much courage? How much love?

Her heart felt so big in her chest, Hira didn’t know how it remained inside her body. “Did you know my father has never once told my mother that he needs her? Not once. Yet he relies on her for so many things.”

“I need you more than you’ll ever know.” It was a rough acceptance, another glimpse into his proud heart.

This hunter of hers had far more depths than she would’ve believed when they’d married. Dropping her hand, she moved closer and began to unbutton his shirt. “What about when I’m old? When I have wrinkles? Or lines from bearing children?”

“I want to grow old with you. I want to put laugh lines on your face, and I want the birth of our children to change your body. Imagine a lifetime of change, cher. A lifetime of learning each other anew.” His eyes were liquid silver but shadows still hovered in the background, remnants of the neglected child, the final pieces of the vulnerability he hid so well. “What’s the fun in remaining the same?”

His shirt was open under her hands. She pushed it off his shoulders and to the floor. Her hands went to his belt. A big male hand stopped her.

“No, sweetheart. You don’t have to…give me anything. My love’s free. And it’s for always.”

It was his tenderness that shattered any remaining doubts she might have harbored. He sounded so very careful, so very worried that she might feel obliged to him, so very concerned about her, when he was the one who’d taken the risk of stripping his soul bare.

Swallowing, she raised her head and looked into those ghost-gray eyes. “Marc, husband, I once told you I could tell lies very well.”

“I’d rather have honest affection than a dishonest avowal of love,” he said, mistaking her meaning. There was an intensity in his gaze that challenged her. This man would never settle for gilt when gold was his goal.

She bit her lip. “No, I mean to say that I once told you a lie. I didn’t plan to, it just came out that way.” She’d been panicked and afraid, and it had been the only thing she could think of to keep him at a distance.

His face hardened. “Oh?”

“I said I wouldn’t have picked you if I’d had a real choice. I said that the only reason I married you was because there was no way for me to refuse my father’s commands.”

“Yeah.” Marc had tried to get over that, but it continued to torment the bayou boy inside of him. The one who’d never been chosen for love. The one who was so madly in love with his wife that her lack of feeling for him hurt him with every breath. But he would never let her know that because as he’d said, honest laughter and affection were better than dishonest love.

“Did you know that my father had a marriage offer for me almost every week?” Hira confided softly.

He stared at her, his mind immediately beginning to holler questions.

“Marir was just one of many. I could’ve picked one of the others, because there were several with businesses that would’ve complemented my father’s. And of course they had impeccable family links.” She was talking really fast, as if trying to get something past him.

His mind and heart refused to let her off that easily. “Would Kerim have let you?”

“Oh, yes, for if I was an unwilling wife to you or any other man, it would’ve jeopardized his business. Far better to have me be a willing wife whom he could mold, even if that meant I was married to someone less influential.

“At the time that my father ordered me to marry you, I told myself I didn’t put up a fight because I was hurting from Romaz’s rejection, but that rejection had come many months previously. I’d had over eight offers for my hand since then. One was from a prince in another desert country, another from a British millionaire who is considered a very eligible bachelor.”

Something hungry deep inside Marc, went very, very quiet. “Eight?”

She nodded and gave him a guilty look. “None of which I had trouble rebutting, though my father drove me crazy with his orders for me to agree. He kept threatening to throw me out on the street. Marir was his attempt at scaring me when I refused all the suitors after barely a single meeting. He would never have wasted me on a lecherous old friend. Don’t be angry with me.”

She was fiddling with the button on his jeans, even as she explained. Her lashes hid her eyes but he could tell she was giving him surreptitious peeks to see how he was taking the news.

He narrowed his eyes. “You made me feel like I was the best of a bad lot.” His tone was light, his heart buoyant as he finally understood what his proud princess was confessing.

She’d preferred the scarred bayou beast over every other man who’d asked for her hand.

Looking up, she made a face at him, a smile flirting with her eyes when she saw that he wasn’t angry. “You were. Except for you, every other male was bad. Then I saw you, and suddenly I had no resistance. I could no longer fight my father—all my will was gone, lost the moment you smiled at me. You were just the best. Compared with anyone. So, you see, I wished you for my husband. Only you.”

Her unknowing echo of his thoughts only made her confession more poignant. He felt his throat lock as the power of what she was saying roared through him.

When he didn’t answer straight away, she said, “Do you understand, Marc? You’re the love I waited for all my life, though when you came, it took me a while to recognize you. You see, I didn’t expect you to be so blatantly male.” The teasing light in her eyes made him kiss her.

After he set her free, she continued to speak. “I feel so much for you, I don’t know if I can find the words to tell you. In Zulheil, there is a saying—Ul al eha makhin. Makhin al eha ul. Lael gha al aishann.” Her voice was full of so much passion, he could almost see her love in the air.

“What does it mean?”

“You belong to me. I belong to you. Together we are complete.” Her voice shook.

It was perfect, saying what he’d wanted to but hadn’t been able to. “Princess, I promise you that that will never change. Never.”

“Until I loved you, I didn’t know the whole of the woman I could be.” Her eyes were huge and wet. “That woman’s love will only grow stronger with time.”

Leaning forward, he sealed their pact with a kiss. When she sighed and melted into him, he couldn’t help but stroke that golden skin of hers, now almost dry. “You didn’t finish your bath,” he whispered against her lips.

“Ummmm.” Giving him a sultry smile that was full of a joy he’d never before seen, she slipped out of his arms and into the water, beckoning him with her finger.

Grinning, he stood from his straddling position and went to work on his jeans. There was more than enough room in the huge marble bath for one crazy-in-love ex-thief. He could almost feel the tantalizing coolness of the water; it would be a sensual pleasure on its own after the unrelenting heat of the desert. But the most pleasurable aspect of the pool was currently looking at him with a distinctly feminine proprietariness in her tawny gaze.

Every male instinct in him was aroused and alert. This was his woman, and he was at once proud of her and ravenous. She was so sexy she was a fantasy and yet it was the very human softness of her that he found the most enticing. His ice princess had turned out to be a woman of hot blood, and he couldn’t have been more pleased.

Holding that dark gaze, he undid the buttons on his jeans and stepped out of them and his underwear at the same time. Her throat quivered as she swallowed.

Aware of the ways his wife’s body betrayed her arousal, he looked at her thighs. Beneath the water, they were pressed tight together. Her body was flushed with heat that hadn’t been present a moment before, her lips parted as if waiting for him.

He walked into the bath, conscious that her eyes had dropped to his erection. He was huge with desire for her, and he was proud of his passion. This was something no other man had ever given her and no other man ever would. He reached her as that possessive thought crossed his mind. He could think of a hundred things he could do to his princess and she to him on this slow desert evening, but first he just wanted another kiss. A kiss that was given joyously by the woman who loved him.

“Marc,” she murmured against his lips. “Husband mine.”

He went to kiss her again, but, with a mischievous smile, she slipped away and into the water. He followed, stalking her into a corner. “Princess, come here.”

“Why do you call me that?” she murmured, letting him trap her.

He winced. “At first it was because you made me so mad when you went all icy.”

She chuckled and kissed him, telling him he was forgiven for those early taunts. “And now?”

“Now, I feel like the hero in some fairy tale who got the girl.” His hands began to slide over her body. “I beat the dragon and won the princess.” The timbre of his voice dropped, becoming husky and intimate.

When Hira thought he would pull her into his lap and take her, he put strong hands around her waist and lifted her to the edge of the bathing pool. She gasped as cool marble met her bottom.

In front of her, he spread her legs to position her as it pleased him. Very aroused, she let him stroke her thighs apart, fingering her own hands through his hair. “Husband,” she whispered. “Why do you do this?”

His laugh was hoarse. “Baby, you know I like the taste of you.” Against her sensitive skin, his breath was a hot caress, a lover’s kiss. Moving closer, he put her legs over his shoulders.

She gulped as his hands stroked her flanks, as if leading up to a taste of her. “But you wish to come inside me now. This isn’t what you wish.”

His grin seared her. “Cher, have you got a lot to learn about your husband. But don’t worry, I have a lifetime in which to teach you the finer points.” There was such sheer delight on his face that she found herself laughing with him. “Lesson number one—what I wish is for you to be screaming when I take you.”

That was all the warning she got before he dipped his head. Hira shuddered and tried to keep her control, but it was futile. Before long she was clutching her fingers in his dark hair, moaning her desire and asking him for more. He gave her more, took more, demanded more. And at last she screamed.

When he finally pulled her down, the water lapped over her in a cool caress that soothed her sensitized flesh but did nothing to quench the boiling cauldron inside of her. She wrapped her legs around him and, with a sigh of exquisite relief, welcomed him into her body, even as their eyes locked in an even more intimate dance.

Her American hunter took her and she let herself be taken. It was far too late to fight, because at last she knew that she was conquered territory, marked with the stamp of this one man alone.

Perhaps it might’ve made a weaker woman angry to be considered as such, but Hira wasn’t weak. Belonging to Marc allowed no half measures. But, she thought with a smile as the stars exploded around them, Marc wasn’t a man who loved by half measures. He’d given her all his passion, all his strength, all his heart. If she’d been conquered, then her conqueror had surrendered into her loving arms.

“People treasure their dreams,” Marc whispered into her ear, as they floated down from the pinnacle of pleasure. “Let me treasure you for the rest of my life.”

It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her. Contrary to his own beliefs, her hunter of a man knew exactly what words to give his wife. “We will treasure each other,” she managed to whisper, holding her perfect prince of a man to her.

The Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

By Robyn Donald

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

‘MARK, do you think she’s one of the strippers? Or…’ a significant pause followed by a little laugh ‘…do they parade her now and then as a horrible example of what can happen if you aren’t careful?’

Heat stung Paige Howard’s skin, although she acquitted the speaker of deliberate rudeness; the woman couldn’t know that a trick of acoustics carried every cut-glass syllable from the foyer of the old hotel to the top of the staircase.

And the posters for the club on the upper floor, offering lap dancing and massage, were too blatant to miss. It was an understandable mistake to assume that Paige was one of the women who offered their services to any man with the money to pay for them.

However, she wasn’t going to tell them that she’d never seen the inside of the strip bar! She had more important things to worry about than a momentary humiliation. Frowning, she glanced at the baby in her arms, worried by his increasingly flushed little face.

The woman and her Mark would be tourists on one of the routes that showed off Napier’s stunning collection of Art Deco buildings, built after a devastating earthquake seventy years previously. The small city on the sweep of New Zealand’s Hawke Bay was now a destination for pilgrims who enjoyed both the architecture and the superb wines of the region.

Paige knew she’d never see this couple again, and she didn’t care a five-dollar note what they thought of her.

Although five dollars, she thought grimly, would come in handy right now. She had been made redundant a few weeks previously, and her meagre savings had almost disappeared.

When baby Brodie’s temperature had got to the worrying stage she’d had to break the strip club’s rules and contact his mother, who worked there. Sherry had thrust money for the doctor into her hands, and gone back to dancing with tears in her eyes.

Brows pinching together, Paige smoothed the shawl back from Brodie’s crumpled little face, checking it with real fear building beneath her ribs. Dusky patches darkened the skin around his eyes and he was panting between pale, dry lips.

How could a baby—perfectly normal an hour ago—deteriorate so quickly?

At that moment he jerked in her arms, his face screwing up in pain although he made no noise. Increasing her speed as fast as she dared down the stairs, she pitched her voice to a low soothing murmur.

‘Hush, darling. Shh, little man, we’re on our way to the doctor and you’ll soon feel much, much better…’

She’d almost reached the bottom of the staircase when the couple turned from their admiration of the panelled reception area. Unwillingly she glanced up. Her astounded gaze clashed with brilliant blue eyes in a dark, arrogantly aristocratic face—eyes that blazed with incredulous disbelief across the distance between them.

Not Mark, she thought sickly. Marc.

Marc Corbett.

‘Paige!’

Irrational panic kicking her in the stomach, she missed the last step and pitched forwards. Hampered by the child in her arms, she instinctively twisted to protect him from the marble floor.

Cruelly strong hands bit into her waist, hauling her up against a lean, hard body, supporting her until she could gasp, ‘I’m all right!’

Brodie’s high-pitched wail cut through Marc Corbett’s reply, but she could hear his deep voice reverberate through his chest, and for a moment—a brief, shocked second—she remembered what it had been like to be held in those arms as music swirled around them on the dance floor…

He let her go and demanded harshly, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Brodie stiffened and shrieked again, the sound abruptly cutting off as though someone had clamped a hand across his mouth. His little body jerked, arms and legs thrashing wildly.

‘What’s the matter with that child?’ Marc’s voice cracked liked a whip.

Terror squeezing her heart, Paige scanned Brodie’s unconscious face; his eyes were closed and his lips had turned an ominous purple.

‘Oh, God, he’s so sick,’ she whispered, touching his forehead. The fine, soft skin burned the back of her hand. Terrified, she tightened her arms around him and swivelled, heading as fast as she could for the doors.

The woman with Marc said on a concerned note, ‘I think it’s having a convulsion.’

‘Where’s the nearest doctor?’ Marc gripped Paige by the elbow, ignoring her mute resistance as he steered her up the street. ‘Get into the car.’

He indicated a large BMW a few metres along the pavement, as timelessly elegant as the surrounding buildings. Paige bolted into the front passenger seat and gabbled directions at Marc, barely registering the woman who climbed into the back.

Marc glanced once over his shoulder before forcing his way into the stream of traffic, judging the narrow gap to a nicety. Heart hammering, Paige felt Brodie’s small body relax. Oh, God, she thought feverishly, please, no. Please, no!

Almost sagging with relief, she saw his eyelids twitch; seconds later his lips gained a little healthy colour. He blinked a couple of times before giving a pathetic little wail.

In a voice she didn’t recognise, she said, ‘He looks better,’ and tucked the shawl carefully around the little body.

Marc Corbett didn’t take his eyes from the road. ‘How’s his breathing?’

Unevenly she said, ‘Regular.’ And, indeed, Brodie seemed to have slipped into a deep, natural sleep that was immensely reassuring.

‘His colour?’

‘Normal.’

She sneaked a rapid sideways glance. Bad move.

An ache rasped her throat and she turned her face resolutely to the front. Not fair, she thought fiercely. It simply wasn’t fair that Marc Corbett should turn up when her life seemed to have crumbled into dust around her. It was a wonder he hadn’t arrived in a clap of thunder, with lighting effects and a sinister laugh.

She knew that handsome face—the strong jaw and high cheekbones—as well as her own. Six years hadn’t dimmed the brilliance of his eyes—a blue so intense they blazed with the colour and fire of sapphires. Looking into Marc Corbett’s eyes was like being spun into the heart of an electrical storm.

How many times had she caught a glimpse of a tall dark man and suffered this passionate, shameful excitement? Too many to count…

But until now it had never been the man she’d unconsciously been looking for; just as well, because six years previously he had married her childhood friend Juliette.

And two years ago Juliette had died in a tragic, senseless road accident. Paige’s throat closed as she remembered the girl who’d been a charming substitute older sister to her.

The woman in the back seat leaned forward to say, ‘Poor little boy! What is the matter with him? Do you know?’

She sounded so genuinely worried that Paige almost forgave her the sly comment about her being a horrible example.

Unevenly she answered, ‘He’s feverish and he has a rash; I think he might have chickenpox.’

But she couldn’t banish the terrifying word meningitis from her mind.

She’d expected to have to repeat the directions to the surgery, but Marc Corbett didn’t need his mind refreshed. As the building came into view, she said woodenly, ‘You can stop here—pull left.’

‘I know I am in New Zealand.’ A faint, alien inflection to his intonation betrayed the influence of his French mother.

Without thinking, Paige turned her head. A royal blue gaze seared across her face before returning to the road.

Very appropriate! Royal blue eyes for a man who owned and ruled a commercial empire. Nerves wound tight in unbearable tension, Paige swallowed. Meeting Marc again had been a hideous, meaningless coincidence. He’d drop her off here and disappear from her life.

Which was exactly what she wanted.

The luxurious car drew into a miraculously empty length of kerbside. Anxiously searching Brodie’s face, Paige wondered if Marc had ever had to search for a parking space like ordinary people. Probably not; his combination of ruthless determination and compelling charisma seemed to magic obstacles away.

‘Thanks very much,’ she said awkwardly, releasing herself from the seatbelt to scrabble for the door handle.

‘Wait there.’

But as he strode around the front of the car she fumbled the door open. From the back came the woman’s voice, amused yet chiding.

‘It’s best to do what he says. He’s a very—dominant—man.’

She invested that word dominant with a lingering amusement that made Paige feel sick. If this was Lauren Porter, she was obviously still very much in Marc’s life.

Why not? A man who’d maintained a mistress during the four short years of his marriage wasn’t likely to let his wife’s death break up the relationship.

When he opened the door Paige attempted to scramble out, but worry and shock made her awkward, and after a moment Marc plucked her and Brodie from the car with a leashed violence that destroyed the last pathetic shreds of her composure.

Once he was sure she was steady on her feet, he dropped his hands as though she’d contaminated them. ‘Are you all right?’

His voice was cold and hard as iron, and as smoothly disciplined. Sensation flayed her with a diabolical combination of stimulation and fear—and, stronger than both, a weird, unnerving sensation of relief, as though she’d been lost and was now found again.

Clutching the baby, Paige stepped back and said tonelessly, ‘Fine, thank you,’ before racing into the sanctuary of the surgery.

While the woman at the counter pulled Brodie’s records from the computer she turned her head and watched Marc’s companion—slender, dressed in the signature good taste of a fashionable designer—ease gracefully into the front seat of the car with a flirtatious hint of long, superb legs. As soon as the door closed the vehicle pulled smoothly from the kerb and merged into the flow of traffic, disappearing almost immediately.

No doubt he was as glad to get rid of her as she was to see him go. A sour jab of disillusionment, goaded by that acute, painfully physical awareness, propelled Paige across to the waiting area.

She sat down in a chair apparently chosen for its lack of comfort and rocked a now wakeful—and very fretful—Brodie. Marc’s companion fitted the description Juliette had given of a height to match Marc’s six foot three or so. Even their colouring matched. Her black hair was cut into a style that suited her fine features. And Juliette had admired her eyes—‘Grey as an English dawn,’ she’d said.

The accent fitted too.

‘She is English and clever—an executive in Marc’s organisation. Marc says she is brilliant,’ Juliette had told her, modern technology delivering the catch in her voice perfectly across the twelve thousand miles that had separated her from Paige. ‘At least he doesn’t shame me with his choice of a mistress; she is lovely and wears clothes like a Frenchwoman.’

Paige’s knuckles gleamed white on the receiver. ‘You might be getting it all wrong, you know. Unless—has he admitted it?’

‘Oh, no.’ Juliette sounded shocked. ‘I am not going to ask him—I don’t need to. I have seen them together, and that is enough. They are very discreet, but there is a connection between them that is impossible to miss.’

‘What do you mean? Surely they don’t—?’

‘Flirt?’ Juliette had sighed. ‘Marc would never humiliate me like that. I can’t describe the link between them except to say that it is there, like an invisible chain binding them together.’

And let’s not go there now, Paige thought wearily, rocking the whimpering baby. Just concentrate on getting Brodie to the doctor, and working out how you can make your pathetic savings last until you get another job.

Half an hour later, when she walked out into the bright winter sunshine and heard a deep voice say her name, she wasn’t surprised, although her heart contracted into a tight, hard lump in her chest. She’d known he’d be waiting for her.

‘Did the doctor agree with your diagnosis of chicken pox?’ he asked in a hard voice with a disturbingly abrasive undernote.

Warily she thrust the prescription into her jeans pocket as Brodie snuffled beneath the shawl. Although bright sunlight gilded the city, a sharp wind blustering in from the sea promised a cold night.

Marc was alone, she realised with humiliating relief. Not breaking stride, she returned in a tone as chilly as the air, ‘Yes, she did. I’m sorry, I haven’t time to talk. I need to fill a prescription and then take Brodie home.’

Marc fell in beside her, saying inflexibly, ‘I’ll drive you there.’

To a grotty little flat down an alleyway behind a hamburger joint? Never. She said quickly, ‘It’s all right; it’s not far.’

‘It’s not all right. The child is ill.’

‘The doctor was certain that it’s the first stage of chicken pox, which is not a serious illness.’ She paused, then said with a touch of malice, ‘I hope you’ve had it. Chickenpox is very infectious.’

‘I believe I had all the childhood diseases.’ His hard, handsome face revealed nothing. ‘Have you had it?’

‘Juliette and I had it together,’ she said stonily. ‘I gave it to her, I believe.’

A rapid glance took in the symmetry of angles and planes in the outrageously good-looking face that radiated formidable, uncompromising power. His dead wife’s name brought no flicker of remorse or sorrow.

She dragged her eyes away, but it was too late; he’d seen her survey him and something kindled in the depths of his striking eyes. His voice, however, was all controlled assurance. ‘Nevertheless, I’ll take you home. Give me the prescription form and you can wait in the car with the child.’

No doubt his formidable brain was slotting her involuntary response into a mental file. Marc Corbett hadn’t turned a large family fortune into a stupendous one by the age of thirty-two without an incisive, analytical intelligence backed by relentless determination. He’d used his father’s legacy to become a player on the world stage.

And he knew women.

Masking her jumping nerves with a frozen façade, she said crisply, ‘Thank you, but you don’t need to go to the trouble.’

The door to the pharmacy beckoned; she turned abruptly, feeling him follow her, noiseless and purposeful as a predator.

Which, she reminded herself, was exactly what he was. His father had been called the Robber Baron in the business press; no one dared whisper that about Marc, but she’d read enough to know that his name inspired respect mingled with fear.

Brodie began to cry again, his head turning restlessly inside the shawl. ‘Hush, darling.’ Paige juggled him as she fumbled in her jeans pocket. Her voice softened into a murmur. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart, you’ll feel better once we get some of this stuff inside you.’

‘Give him to me,’ Marc commanded.

Shock whipped her head up; she looked directly into his autocratic face, its bold, chiselled features set in a mask of impatience.

‘He doesn’t like strangers,’ she said raggedly.

One black, ironic brow shot up, and memories squeezed her heart painfully.

Marc said crisply, ‘Then give me the prescription form.’

‘I can manage.’ But Brodie chose that moment to stiffen alarmingly.

Fortunately it didn’t turn into another convulsion—it was only the prelude to a shriek. While she was hushing the baby, Marc gave her a glittering glance in which irritation and concern were blended, and before she had time to object his fingers had invaded her pocket and hauled out the piece of paper.

‘Wait here,’ he commanded, and strode up to the pharmacy counter.

Where, of course, he got instant service. Body throbbing at his unexpected touch, Paige’s gaze followed him as she rocked the baby, trying to soothe him with softly spoken nonsense. Marc’s overwhelming physical presence owed something to wide shoulders and lean hips and long athlete’s legs, but more to an intangible aura of power and effortless authority that had cut a path through the other customers. Sensation twisted inside her, paradoxically sharp and smouldering.

And forbidden.

She noted with a pang of fear that inexplicable feeling of rightness, as though the past six years had been a nightmare and she’d just woken to a new dawn. Don’t be so ridiculous, she told herself staunchly. He’s just like Dad. Marriage vows mean nothing.

Subsiding into whimpers, the baby stuffed a tiny fist into his mouth and sucked noisily until he realised he wasn’t going to get nourishment from there. His desperate roars once more filled the pharmacy when Marc arrived back with the medication in one lean hand.

‘Let’s go before he eats that hand,’ he said, turning with his other hand on her elbow, steering her out onto the footpath.

Paige didn’t fool herself that she had any choices; for some reason Marc Corbett had decided he was going to take her home, and those fingers resting so casually on her arm would clamp if she tried to run. Although she hated to surrender, it meant nothing against the need to get the medicine and some liquid into Brodie immediately—and to ring Sherry, his mother, as soon as she could to reassure her that Brodie only had chickenpox.

Back in the car, with the lingering perfume of his previous passenger floating around her, Paige gave directions in a flat, remote voice. Sexy and modern, the scent breathed money and leisure and privilege, taunting her with its lazy exclusiveness.

She stiffened her shoulders and stared through the windscreen. It was difficult to find a dreary part of Napier, but today she saw her street with fresh eyes—the eyes of a man accustomed to the best. Subdued, out at the elbows, the collection of small shops and houses was only redeemed by bright flowers and shrubs.

‘Number twenty-three,’ she told Marc, the taste of defeat bitter on her tongue.

He turned down the drive between the fast food bar and an electrical goods shop that had seen better days.

‘It’s the second unit,’ Paige said reluctantly.

The car drove down the row of cheaply built units; an elderly, failed motel had been turned into cramped apartments. Parking in the space allotted to her unit, Marc killed the engine.

Without taking his hands from the wheel, he surveyed the red-brick building with its aluminium ranch-slider windows and small concrete terraces separated by flower boxes. Most were desolate except for a few rugged weeds scraping an existence in dusty earth. Only the one outside Paige’s unit radiated colour—brazen marigolds, their gold and lemon and rich mahogany defying the general hopelessness.

‘Thank you,’ she said levelly as Brodie, soothed into sleep by the motion of the car, woke with another weary little whimper. She wanted Marc out of there, safely banished to his world of luxury where the last thing he’d have to worry about was the state of his bank balance.

‘Give the baby to me,’ he ordered.

Startled, she said, ‘I can manage.’

His beautiful mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘It will be easier for you to get out if I have him.’

She hesitated.

‘What are you afraid of?’ he asked softly, blue eyes sardonic. ‘That I’ll kidnap him?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I won’t drop him either.’ His tone mocked her.

Flushing, she handed over the baby and leapt out of the car, only to see Marc emerge too, Brodie held with firm confidence in his arms. No stumbling or hesitation either, she noted; his distinctive ease and power made every movement graceful in a very masculine way.

‘I’ll bring him in,’ he said, when she came towards him. ‘You’ll manage your keys more quickly if you aren’t carrying him.’

Thus neatly forestalling her plans of taking the child and walking away, leaving him with no option but to drive off.

Not that he would have. Seething at her helplessness, Paige swung on her heel and walked across the bare concrete to insert the key with a vicious twist.

When she turned Marc was just behind her, and as she pushed the door back he walked in, dark head a few centimetres below the lintel, with Brodie traitorously silent in his arms.

Marc stopped in the middle of the threadbare carpet in all shades of mud, dwarfing the shabby, nondescript room. Paige burned with futile resentment as his narrowed, bright gaze checked out the elderly sofa, the table with two chairs—its scratched top covered by a sewing machine draped in a swathe of gleaming fabric—and the tiny kitchen overlooking a wall and a clothesline.

In spite of her efforts to cheer it up, she knew the room reeked with defeat. Not even the pots on the sill, fragrant with growing herbs, made any difference.

So what? she thought, stiffening her spine. She wasn’t ashamed of living here.

He looked down at the baby in his arms, just as Brodie turned his head and sputtered a small amount of liquid over his shirt.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Paige said, hoping her tone drowned out any defensive note as she came over and held out her arms for the baby. ‘I’ll take him now.’

‘It’s nothing.’ Marc’s voice was hard and autocratic, but when Brodie forced a small fist into his mouth and began to suck noisily his expression changed, some fugitive emotion softening the dominant features. ‘I don’t know much about children this small, but surely that indicates that he needs food?’

‘He needs changing and medicine first. I’ll heat a bottle,’ she muttered unhappily, racing into the kitchen to grab a cloth and run it under the tap. She held it out to Marc, but he ignored it.

‘I’ll hold him until you’ve prepared it,’ he stated, his pleasant inflection not hiding the steel in the words.

She did not care what he thought of her or the flat—not a bit. In fact, she was probably doing the world a service, showing him how the other half lived!

But the bitterness of rejection scraped across her skin. Stubbornly silent, she yanked open the refrigerator door and took out a sterilised bottle filled with formula. The electric kettle with its frayed cord spat sparks when she plugged it in.

‘Be careful!’ Marc snapped.

A knot somewhere inside her loosened a fraction, only to tighten again when he glanced at her. Above Brodie’s wails, she said, ‘It’s all right; I’m used to it. All it does is spit.’

‘It’s dangerous.’

But not as dangerous as you, she thought angrily. And she couldn’t afford a new one anyway.

A frown knotting his dark brows, Marc looked at the sewing machine on the table, and the swirl of bright fabric beside it. ‘What the hell happened? When last I heard you and your mother were living with a cousin near a village called Bellhaven. You were working for him in his farm office.’

Juliette must have told him, and he’d remembered.

Then he killed the tiny flicker of warmth this had engendered by finishing abrasively, ‘How did you get from there to a slum in Napier?’

Paige’s chin jerked up. She stared at the kettle. ‘This might be a slum to you, but most of the world would consider it basic but perfectly adequate,’ she said politely. ‘As for how I got here, that’s simple. Lloyd, my mother’s cousin, died and his farm was sold.’

He watched her with hooded eyes. ‘When was this?’

‘About a year ago. We moved to Napier because my mother thought it would be a good place to live.’ She swallowed and finished in a flat voice, ‘Unfortunately, for her it was a good place to die.’

‘What happened?’ he asked in an oddly gentle voice.

‘She went for a walk along the beach and got caught by a rogue wave.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘I know how close you were. When was this?’

Something in his tone—a touch of rare gentleness—made her blink ferociously. ‘Five months ago.’

The silence was broken by the sound of the kettle boiling. Paige switched it off and poured the water into a jug.

Marc looked from her to the child in his arms. ‘Where is the child’s father?’

Until then it hadn’t occurred to her that he’d think Brodie was her child. Which just shows what an idiot you are, she told herself wearily. One look at Marc and your mind turns into candyfloss!

Before she could tell him about Sherry and Brodie the baby broke the silence with a wail, and she said swiftly, ‘He isn’t here. I’ll take Brodie now; he needs changing and some lotion on his rash to stop the itching.’

She bore him off through a door without a backward glance. Marc’s mouth curved in a sardonic smile as she closed that door firmly behind her.

Clearly she wanted him in her home as little as he wanted to be there. At any other time he’d be ironically amused at how much she resented the outrageous coincidence of their meeting, and the fact that the baby’s illness meant she’d had to rely on a man she viewed with wary distaste.

But one thought burned holes in his self-control: she didn’t want him there, but every time he came near her she reacted like a cat faced with an unknown threat, spitting defiance and acute awareness.

CHAPTER TWO

A FIERCE, very male smile curling his mouth, Marc looked around the room. It must have been dingy indeed when Paige moved in, yet without spending much she’d made it as welcoming as it could be, given its depressing furnishings. He’d be prepared to bet that she had painted the walls the soft, buttery gold that both warmed and lightened the small room, and the touches of colour were hers too.

The pool of vivid material on the table caught his eye; he walked across to examine it.

It looked like a fancy dress costume, brief and shrieking with colour, but he recognised it for what it was—a costume intended to tease and titillate, designed to reveal its wearer’s breasts and waist and legs.

So, Lauren had been right; as well as being a single mother and a woman down on her luck, Paige was a stripper or a lap dancer—or some such thing. Life hadn’t been easy for her since her mother died; she had already developed the bright, hard shell of a woman who’d been rejected too often to trust any man.

Who the hell was her lover? Marc totted up months and realised that it had to be someone from Bellhaven. Why wasn’t he here for Paige and his son?

Marc’s lip curled with contempt as he thrust hands that bunched into fists in his pockets. He’d like to have the father of her child to himself for a few minutes, he thought with cold, aggressive anger; he’d show him exactly what he thought of a man who got a woman pregnant and then abandoned her.

But beneath the contempt was another, more primitive emotion—anger that some other man had taken the woman he wanted. Facing the admission with a slow burn of fury, he tried to rationalise this degrading infatuation.

It was nothing more than simple, basic lust, and if he gave it free rein it would reduce him to the same level as the men who paid to see her remove the cheap satin bra and scanty, high-cut briefs.

And although he mightn’t be able to evict the mindless hunger from the weak part of him that bred it, he could certainly control it.

A memory leapt into his mind, shiny and precise as though it had been continually polished. They had danced at his wedding, the conventional dance of bridegroom and bridesmaid. He remembered the fresh, faint scent that had been hers alone, the way her slim body had moved against his with natural grace and an innocent seductiveness. She’d been seventeen, overwhelmed and excited, yet she’d glanced up through her lashes with a purely female need.

Desire gripped him, powerful, laden with temptation—and completely despicable.

She’d be a good stripper, he decided cynically. Not only did she move like a houri, but she looked like one—a walking, breathing challenge even now, when grief and pregnancy and sleepless nights with a sick child had leached much of the radiance from her fine, soft skin and ground away her vitality.

Nothing had been able to dim the rich honey glaze of her hair, or the gold lights in her great green eyes, or the full, sensuous contours of her mouth.

And she faced the world with a dogged independence that jutted her jaw and kept her shoulders squared.

In Sherry’s bedroom, Paige fastened a clean napkin and manoeuvred Brodie into new leggings. The lotion she’d smoothed on seemed to have eased the itchy rash; he still wriggled, but without the frantic restlessness of a few minutes ago.

‘Those red cheeks haven’t gone away yet, though,’ she murmured, kissing him as she picked him up. ‘Better get some of that medicine inside you right now.’

But she had to force herself to take the first step towards the living room. No other man sent subtle electrical shocks through her with the accidental, meaningless brush of his skin against hers. Even in the dark she’d know Marc by his touch, she thought dazedly.

And he felt it too. Her spine had tingled when she’d seen the ruthless, swiftly concealed awareness in his eyes.

She wanted him and he wanted her.

Which was why she’d let him go on believing that Brodie was her child. Marc was no lover for a virgin to cut her teeth on.

What was he doing in Napier?

Not, she thought with bitter pragmatism, looking for her—when their eyes had duelled across the hotel foyer he’d been as astonished as she had.

And because that thought hurt much more than was safe, she went through the door and out into the cramped living room.

‘I measured out the dose of medication,’ Marc said, his voice cool and detached.

‘Thank you.’

Brodie hated it; he spluttered and choked, thrusting out his tongue in disgust, but eventually she managed to get the drops into him.

Marc asked curtly, ‘Why doesn’t the baby’s father live here?’

‘He’s in Australia.’ She tested the temperature of the milk on her wrist. Exactly blood heat, so she carried both baby and bottle over to the shabby sofa. Deliberately she shook a swathe of hair across her face to serve as a fragile barrier against Marc’s penetrating eyes.

‘Are you joining him?’ Marc asked, as though he had the right.

‘No.’ Keeping her eyes on the baby’s face, she said neutrally, ‘The rash looks much more like chickenpox now.’

Brodie began to suck with enthusiasm, but the milk didn’t bring its usual satisfaction. After a few seconds he turned his head away and whimpered.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she encouraged him. ‘You’ve got to get some liquid into you; you don’t want to dehydrate.’

Achingly, violently aware of the man who watched her with a shuttered sapphire gaze, she risked a swift glance from beneath the curtain of her hair.

Apart from the hardening of his wide, sculpted mouth, no emotion showed in Marc’s expression. Yet beneath the charismatic combination of tanned skin and brilliant eyes set off by hair as dark as sin she sensed cool speculation. Skin tightening, she shook her hair back and met his eyes.

With a brisk, no-nonsense emphasis, she said, ‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind. Would you mind closing the door when you leave?’

The long, powerful muscles in his thighs flexed as he lowered himself onto the other end of the sofa.

‘Tell me why you’re living like this,’ he said, a purposeful note in his voice making it more than clear that he had no intention of going until he’d got what he wanted.

Fighting back a rapid flare of resentment at his probing, she parried, ‘Compared to the way some people live, this isn’t bad.’

One black brow lifted in cool disbelief, but his voice was perfectly courteous. ‘You’re being evasive. I presume your mother’s death left you badly off financially?’

Her composure began to unravel. ‘Funerals cost money.’

He was silent for a heartbeat. Quietly he said, ‘Why didn’t your cousin provide for you and your mother in his will?’

‘Why should he? He had a son.’ Paige knew her voice sounded flat, but she couldn’t change it. She added, ‘Lloyd was very good to us; he gave us a home for years.’

He didn’t look convinced. ‘Juliette said your mother kept house for him and you organised his books.’

Keeping her eyes on Brodie’s face, Paige said quietly, ‘He paid us.’ Not a living wage, but they’d managed.

‘Keeping you home was selfish of him and your mother,’ Marc observed austerely. ‘They should have sent you to university.’

Paige bit her lip. It seemed like a betrayal to be discussing her mother’s tragic affliction with this man, intimidating in his strength and confidence. ‘Mum needed me. After my father left us she suffered from bouts of depression.’ Sometimes she had lain in bed for weeks at a time, staring into the grey world she’d inhabited.

Marc frowned. ‘There are drugs available.’

‘None of them worked.’ Brodie snuffled a little and jerked his head around. As she coaxed him to drink some more Paige said, ‘Anyway, we were happy here; it mightn’t look much to you, but Mum settled in well. I got a job in an office and everything—everything seemed to be humming along. Then I was made redundant, and Mum died.’

She’d been so thrilled to get that job; her only employable skills were farm bookkeeping, and her previous experience didn’t cut much ice. But she’d been given a chance and she’d been determined to make the most of it.

Then she’d discovered that her boss had a roving eye and hands that followed suit. An even greater blow to her pride followed: when she’d threatened him with a sexual harassment charge he’d let slip that he’d hired her because he’d seen her as an easy mark, a victim.

Well, she’d soon disabused him of that idea; startled by her angry response, he’d left her alone, but a month later she’d been made redundant. Yet another rejection, she thought cynically.

She hadn’t been able to get another position. In summer there’d be plenty of casual work, but summer was several months off. No one wanted a woman with practically no employment history and a reference so subtly noncommittal the only thing a prospective employer could take from it was that she’d been hopeless in the one job she’d had.

Marc looked at the pale, proud profile and swore silently in rapid French, deciding not to push further, although the green glitter in her eyes told him there was more to the story than that.

Had she been raped? The thought made him feel both sick and coldly, furiously angry. He didn’t want to force her confidence; besides, there were other ways of finding out what he wanted to know.

‘How long had your mother suffered from depression?’ he asked casually.

‘Since just after Juliette and her family went back to France.’

When that ironic brow shot up again she elaborated in an offhand voice, ‘My father left us for his secretary. It shattered my mother.’

He frowned, eyes hard and blue as diamond shards. ‘Are you in touch with your father still?’

She said briefly, ‘He’s dead too.’

‘How long did you live next door to Juliette?’ Marc asked with what sounded like idle interest.

Her expression softened. ‘About eight years.’ Juliette’s father had been a diplomat, and in spite of the difference in their ages Juliette had been incredibly kind to her.

Marc leaned onto the painfully uncomfortable back of the sofa. It smelt clean, as did the unit, although a faint lingering taint in the air hinted at too many cigarettes smoked years ago, too much beer spilt on the thin carpet. He hated to see her in such surroundings.

Resisting any impulse to ask himself why, he said, ‘What are your plans now?’

She skewered him with sword-points of green-gold fire. ‘At the moment I have none beyond getting another job,’ she said politely, setting the bottle down on the plywood table beside a small blue vase that held a single marigold, bright and flamboyant as the sun. She lifted Brodie and held him to her shoulder, patting his back until he brought up the last of his wind.

‘Doing what?’ When she didn’t immediately answer he indicated a book on the floor by the sofa, a large tome she’d borrowed from the library written by a famous plantsman about his travels in search of new varieties. She’d been thoroughly enjoying it. ‘I see you’re interested in plants.’

‘I like flowers. I find the whole business of breeding plants fascinating,’ she said in a cool voice, silently mourning a lost dream. At school she’d planned to study botany and biology, and then work in a nursery. That had gone by the board when she’d realised that her mother couldn’t cope without her.

Marc said calmly, ‘Juliette would be upset to see you in such a situation.’

Didn’t he realise that his unfaithfulness had distressed Juliette infinitely more than anything else ever could? Outrage made Paige’s reply brutal. ‘I can manage. And Juliette has been dead for almost two years.’

‘It was such a complete waste.’ His voice was sombre, and when she looked up she saw his eyes close briefly.

But when he opened them again they were cold and clear and unreadable.

‘Utterly,’ Paige agreed unsteadily, deciding that he was an unfeeling, insensitive clod.

He’d rung her to tell her of Juliette’s death; when she’d wept he’d been kind but icily remote.

She’d read more in the newspapers. Her friend had been in the back seat of a limousine inching up a steep mountain road in Italy. A truck with failed brakes had hurtled around a corner and pushed them off the cliff. Juliette, the chauffeur and the truck driver had died.

At least it had been immediate. Beyond one horrified second she’d probably not even known what had happened.

Blinking back tears, Paige coaxed a reluctant Brodie to accept more milk. He wriggled and turned his face sideways, before relenting and sucking again.

‘I’m sorry. You must miss her too,’ Marc said, his deep voice with its fascinating hint of an accent almost gentle. He touched her hand.

Paige’s gaze flew to his face as that secret, blinding charge of electricity jolted her into a fiery oblivion where nothing else mattered but this man.

Before she could do anything stupid—like sighing or leaning towards Marc—Brodie gave a little choking splutter followed by an indignant wail.

Shaken, and intensely grateful to be saved from setting herself up for a rebuff, Paige lifted the baby and patted his back until he settled down. Marc Corbett belonged to a world as distant from hers as it was possible to be—a world of untold wealth, of power and privilege and social position.

He might want her, but the gap between them was impassable. Don’t ever forget that, she told herself silently, tucking the bottle back into Brodie’s mouth. He whimpered, spitting the milk out with disgust, and began to cry softly.

Accepting defeat, Paige got to her feet. ‘He’s ready for bed.’ She looked directly at Marc, and her heart contracted in useless pain. ‘Thank you for bringing us home,’ she said formally.

He had risen when she did; she was tall enough, for a woman, but he towered over her, battering her with the power of his presence and his forceful personality.

‘Can you get a babysitter for him?’ he asked, long thick lashes narrowing his gaze.

She swallowed and banished a craven impulse to lick her lips. ‘Why?’

‘Answer me, Paige.’

She lifted defiant eyes. ‘I don’t have to answer you,’ she said in a low, intense voice. ‘I’m not your employee or someone who wants to curry favour with you. The question of a babysitter doesn’t arise because I won’t leave Brodie.’

Another evasion, but with any luck she’d made him angry enough not to notice. She turned away with the almost sleeping child in her arms and headed for the door that led to two small bedrooms and a minuscule bathroom.

Marc’s voice came from behind, cool and deliberate. ‘In that case, I’ll come along tomorrow morning and bring breakfast for us both.’

Paige froze. ‘No,’ she said tautly.

‘Why not?’

She was shaking her head, knowing only that she didn’t dare see anything more of him. The only way she could think of to counter that inflexible will involved threatening him with harassment, and she couldn’t trust herself to berate him without waking Brodie.

Fuming, she opened the door into the tiny hall. ‘Because I don’t want you here,’ she said between her teeth.

‘Tough,’ he said, just as bluntly. ‘We have things to talk about.’

She swivelled around. ‘What on earth do we have to talk about? Juliette is dead, and she was the only thing we had in common.’

A sardonic brow lifted as he surveyed her with infuriating confidence. ‘Unfortunately, that’s not true. At the moment you’re too concerned about Brodie to concentrate. He’ll almost certainly be feeling much better in the morning and we can discuss things then.’

Paige pressed her lips together as he walked out into the sunshine and closed the door behind him.

Cradling the baby, she watched the sun strike fire from Marc’s head. He seemed a creature from another planet—virile, radiating a potent energy that transformed the tired, drab surroundings and set her thrumming with deep, hidden desires.

Dangerous, frightening desires, doomed to be frustrated. She turned away, sickened by her body’s treachery.

As she tucked the baby into his crib and stood patting his back, she thought of Juliette. It had been only a couple of years after her marriage that she’d rung Paige from New York and recounted her suspicions about Marc and Lauren, her lightly accented voice wry and steady.

Paige, her own life smashed to splinters after her father had walked out on her and her mother, had said immediately, ‘Dump him.’ And wondered why she’d felt so desolate.

But Juliette replied, ‘That would be stupid. This is only a fling.’

Astounded, Paige said, ‘But you’ll never be able to trust him!’

‘I trust him not to abandon me, as your father did your mother,’ Juliette said with complete conviction. ‘Marc won’t betray me like that.’

And when Paige spluttered into silence her friend continued, ‘He and I understand each other. He is not like your father and I am not like your mother, eating out my heart for something I can’t have. We have a very good marriage, and if common sense and practicality sound a little boring, they are not such bad foundations for a union that will last a lifetime.’

‘If that’s the case, why are you upset about this affair?’ Paige asked, honestly bewildered.

‘Oh, it hurts a little.’ Her friend gave a soft sigh. ‘But I’m not all fire and passion, like you, and Marc and I came to an understanding of the sort of marriage we would have before we married. He was very honest.’

‘He told you he’d have affairs?’ Paige asked in shocked astonishment.

Where had Marc acquired such an arrogantly medieval attitude towards loyalty and honour in marriage? Surely Juliette didn’t believe that it was merely a practical arrangement for the propagation of children and advancement of family fortunes?

Juliette laughed with real amusement. ‘Of course not! He said he didn’t seem able to feel the sort of love that poets write about, but that he liked me very much and wished for me to be the mother of his children. And I was glad, because between you and me, Paige, I’m not romantic either. I don’t think I could cope with a grande passion; I’ve seen how they can tear people to bits, and they don’t last. My children won’t worry about their parents divorcing because one or the other falls in love with someone else. Marc and I will always be together, and there for them.’

Even now Paige could remember the shiver down her spine. Such a bloodless union might have suited Juliette, but she’d never accept so little from a man.

Actually, she had no intention of accepting anything from a man. Life without men was much more peaceful. She shuddered, recalling her mother’s years of anguished despair after the break-up of her marriage. Laying yourself open to pain was foolhardy.

Voices from outside jerked her from her memories. With a final pat on Brodie’s back, she hurried across to the window and peered through the curtains to see Sherry hurtle across the concrete, groping for her key as a taxi drew away.

By the time Paige got to the living room Brodie’s mother had managed to unlock the door and was pushing it open, her small, voluptuous body quivering with frantic impatience.

‘How is he?’ she demanded.

Soothingly Paige told her, ‘The doctor’s sure it’s chicken pox. I’ve put the prescription lotion on his rash and it doesn’t seem to be worrying him nearly as much.’

‘His temperature?’ Sherry asked, rushing across to the door into the tiny hall.

‘He’s still flushed, but it hasn’t been long since he took the medication.’

Sherry nodded and disappeared, leaving Paige listening to the low hum of a perfectly tuned engine. Her breath catching in her throat, she glanced through the window and saw the BMW turn back into the car park. Incredulously she watched Marc get out, lift a parcel from the passenger’s seat and walk purposefully towards the flat.

Mindful of Brodie, he knocked quietly. And it was only because she didn’t want the baby to wake that she flew across to open the door. ‘What do you want? I told you—’

He held out the parcel. ‘Here.’

Paige stared at it with wary suspicion. ‘What’s that?’

‘An electric kettle,’ he told her, and strode past her and into the kitchen, where he dumped the parcel on to the counter.

White with temper, she gritted, ‘I don’t want it. Please go.’

‘Not until I’ve collected this.’ He picked up the old electric jug and its dangerously frayed cord. With a hard-edged smile he carried it across to the door.

Keeping her voice low, Paige said vehemently, ‘I don’t want anything from you.’

‘Is it just me?’ His eyes narrowed into steel-blue slivers. Into the heated silence he finished, ‘That’s the second thing you’ve refused to take from me.’

Paige’s lashes flickered down over her eyes. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said in a wooden voice.

‘You didn’t want to accept the locket,’ he said evenly.

She froze, and he smiled and touched her mouth with a long forefinger. Heat sizzled through her, and she clenched her eyes shut.

‘That’s not going to help,’ he said with contempt. ‘It’s lust, Paige. “The expense of spirit in a waste of shame,” as Shakespeare said. We saw each other and we wanted each other, and neither of us can forget it.’ He paused. ‘Because it’s still there.’

Her eyes flew open as the colour drained from her skin, leaving her cold and shivering. The anger and bitterness openly displayed in his face dried the words on her tongue.

His smile was savage. ‘In spite of everything.’

And he kissed her, punishing her—and punishing himself too, she dimly realised as passion roared like a holocaust through her.

It only lasted a moment. He swore against her mouth, chilling words in a language she only dimly recognised to be French, and then let her go as though she disgusted him.

Swaying, Paige clutched the chair and watched him stride noiselessly out of the door.

Almost gibbering with a mindless mixture of rage and cold terror, she dammed the reckless words that threatened to tumble out and watched the car drive away, taking him out of her life.

‘Wow!’ Sherry breathed, easing herself around the door. ‘And double wow. If any guy could make my little heart go pitter-patter again, it would be that one.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Paige said furiously. ‘There’s a woman already in residence. She’s tall and dark and super-elegant, and she suits him perfectly.’ She dragged in a painful breath. ‘Satisfied that Brodie’s getting better?’

Sherry nodded. ‘He’s sound asleep.’ She came across and looked at the parcel. ‘What’s this?’

‘An electric kettle. Your triple wow of a man doesn’t like ours.’ Paige tried to smile.

‘I don’t blame him. Talk about living dangerously! What are you going to do with it?’

‘Well, the original kettle belonged to you, so you choose.’

‘Then I choose to keep it.’

Paige turned away, listening as Sherry unpacked the box. She felt as though her emotions had been flung into the heart of a cyclone and were whirling around in uncontrollable violence, destroying everything in their path.

‘It’s a good one. I’ll christen it with a cup of coffee for us both,’ Sherry said on a sigh. ‘It’s been a bastard of a day and I could do with something to give me some zip.’

Collapsing onto the sofa, Paige decided she could do with some extra zip too. Her mouth stung from Marc’s kiss and she felt like a stalk of overcooked asparagus. This, she decided, must be an adrenaline crash.

CHAPTER THREE

SHERRY looked across the counter. In an elaborately casual voice she asked, ‘Who was the guy?’

‘My best friend’s husband.’

‘The friend who was killed in a car accident?’ At Paige’s nod her eyes widened. ‘The French guy?’

‘His mother is French,’ Paige said scrupulously. ‘His father was a New Zealander; they used to call him the Robber Baron.’

‘This one looks pretty French to me.’ Sherry filled the new kettle. ‘Mediterranean macho to the nth degree. What do they call him? Lord of all he surveys?’

‘It fits,’ Paige told her with an acid smile, ‘but I think they take him too seriously to call him anything but sir.’

‘So what’s he doing here? Did he come looking for you?’

Paige snorted. ‘Why would he do that? It was sheer coincidence that we met in the foyer of the hotel. Don’t worry; we won’t be seeing him again.’

‘You met him coming down from the club?’ Sherry looked unhappily at her. ‘I hope you told him you aren’t a stripper—that you’re just looking after Brodie for me until you get another job?’

‘I didn’t tell him anything because it’s none of his business,’ Paige said firmly. ‘And I’m really sorry I had to visit you at work. I hope your boss wasn’t too angry, but Brodie got sick so quickly. He was fine when I went down to pay the rent, but we were only halfway home when I could see he had a temperature, and I didn’t have enough money to take him to the doctor.’

‘Oh, the boss was a bit snippy, but she’s got kids of her own so she understood. She let me off early without squealing.’ Yawning, Sherry poured water into two mismatched mugs and brought one across to Paige.

Who sighed and asked, ‘Why don’t you give up stripping? You hate it and—’

‘I’ll give it up when I’ve paid off the debts my rat of a husband ran up in my name and when I’ve saved enough money to make a future for Brodie,’ Sherry said firmly. ‘I’m not brainy, like you. All I’ve got to offer is a good body and a sense of rhythm. Where else would I get decent money unless I worked the streets? And I’m not going to do that.’

Paige grimaced. ‘Of course you won’t.’

‘Bloody men,’ Sherry said, lowering herself onto the sofa. ‘I’ll bring Brodie up to think a lot more highly of women than his conman of a father ever did, I can tell you.’ She glanced down at her finger, as though remembering the wedding ring that had once been there. ‘He’s going to be educated. He won’t mortgage the house and gamble it away, then skip to Australia when he’s found out.’

Paige raised her coffee mug. ‘Here’s to responsible men,’ she said mockingly.

‘I’ll drink to that.’

But both women laughed.

Much later, as the sleepless night stretched before her, Paige lay in bed and deliberately let herself recall the first time she’d met Marc Corbett.

Only seventeen, she’d been so giddy with excitement she’d hardly been able to put two coherent thoughts together. With Juliette’s bombshell request to be her bridesmaid had come an invitation to her mother and first-class tickets to Paris. Although her mother had refused to travel, Lloyd had insisted that Paige go, offering to pay her expenses.

She thought now that she’d have been safer staying in her pleasant pastoral sanctuary at Bellhaven.

Yet it had all started so well. After the reunion with Juliette she’d discovered that their friendship still held. And then—oh, Paris! She’d loved the fittings for her gorgeous dress, the art galleries, the museums, the wonderful gardens—especially the gardens! Thoughtful as ever, Juliette had organised visits to several.

Marc had been on a business trip in Asia, not returning until two days before the wedding. They had met at a chic private dinner put on by his even more chic mother in her splendidly opulent apartment.

Introduced by a proud Juliette, Paige had looked into his remote, handsome face with sharp awareness and a terrifying, heated interest. Bewildered by the intensity of her response, she’d been formal and quiet, hoping that no one had noticed.

Restlessly Paige turned over in the bed and opened her eyes. Lights flashed across the window as a car rumbled into the forecourt, its engine kicking oddly before it died. Its door thudded shut, followed by the front door of a unit. Somewhere towards the port a siren sounded, eerily discordant.

In Paris the bridal party had stayed in a hotel, and after Marc had brought them back from his mother’s dinner party Paige had gone to her room, tactfully leaving him with his fiancée.

But about half an hour later he’d knocked on the door.

When she’d opened it her silly heart had looped a wild circle in her chest.

‘I think you should have this tonight,’ he said, holding out a small, exquisitely wrapped parcel. ‘As you are to wear it tomorrow.’

Eyeing it, she said wonderingly, ‘What is it?’

His smile melted her spine. ‘It’s traditional for the bridegroom to give the bridesmaid a gift,’ he told her. And when she didn’t reach for it he said a little impatiently, ‘This is it.’

Almost reluctantly she took the small parcel, flushing because her hand shook when his fingers touched hers. ‘Thank you,’ she half-whispered, mortified by the small betrayal.

She should have closed the door then, and opened the gift in her room, but by then she’d already started fumbling with the bow and the ribbon, so acutely conscious of him watching her that she felt he could see her forbidden excitement.

It was a jeweller’s box. Paige’s breath stopped in her throat. All she could hear was the feverish tattoo of her heart as she flicked it open.

It dazzled her with its beauty—a round gold pendant on a heavy gold chain, the link set with a diamond that flashed and gleamed as blue as his eyes.

‘It’s perfect,’ she said huskily, keeping her head down. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘It’s a locket,’ he told her. ‘For keeping pictures of one’s lovers.’ His voice deepened. ‘Or one particular lover.’

Heat flamed through her. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, because she couldn’t find any other words.

Silence, thick and pulsing with hidden intensity, linked them in a frightening cell of intimacy.

Marc broke it with a quick, harsh question. ‘Are you going to put it on?’

She hesitated, then took the lovely thing from the velvet box and looped it around her neck. Every tiny hair on her body stood upright; her skin, oddly too tight, prickled with sensation as she fumbled the catch.

‘Turn around,’ Marc told her, that note of impatience roughening his voice again.

Mouth dry, she obeyed, and he did it up, his fingers cool on the nape of her neck. Excitement rode her hard with a jolt of pure fusion—fire and ice and a rushing thrill that almost overwhelmed her.

‘There,’ he said, his voice oddly clipped, and stepped back.

Slowly, afraid of what she might see in his face, she turned towards him. He looked at the locket against her skin.

‘Very pretty,’ he said distantly, his voice as steady as his eyes. But in his jaw a muscle flicked once, twice, three times.

‘Thank you,’ she said, a cold unease spreading beneath her ribs. She didn’t know how to close this, so she gave a brief, meaningless smile and stepped back, shutting the door against him and leaning back on it with her stomach lurching.

He had looked at her as she had seen her father look at the woman he’d left her mother for. And, although Paige was a virgin, she’d seen enough of illicit desire to recognise its heavy, ominous throb.

Snatching off the locket, Paige dropped it into the box and snapped it shut, horrified by the sensations rioting through her—an aching sweetness and a reckless urgency that made her breasts tingle and her body throb.

Sick at heart, she despised herself. Tomorrow Marc was going to marry her best friend, but for a moment she’d wanted him with a desire that scared her witless. A few words, a touch, an exchange of glances had been all it took to transmute her innocent awareness into a heated, urgent need.

For the whole of the next day, the locket that Juliette insisted she wear burned like fire against her skin.

A month later, Paige staggered out of bed and struggled into her clothes before tiptoeing past Sherry’s firmly closed door. Brodie’s chickenpox was now a dim memory, and although he’d graduated to sleeping right through the night, she didn’t want to disturb either him or his mother.

Paige glanced at her watch. He usually didn’t stir until the shift worker next door slammed his car door and revved out of the car park. She had a bit more than an hour to do her part-time job and pick up the newspaper so she could scan the situations vacant.

She fought back a clutch of panic; although she wasn’t any closer to finding a job, she could now claim the dole. However, that wouldn’t be enough to pay Sherry back for the last three weeks’ rent, so Paige was now walking two dogs every morning from Monday to Friday.

It helped, but not enough. If she couldn’t get a job, she’d have to leave; Sherry couldn’t afford to keep supporting her, even if she did look after Brodie in return. Her own dreams had been put on hold; she wasn’t going to shatter Sherry’s.

Her charges, a large German Shepherd and a vigorous Jack Russell, welcomed her with their usual seething energy; once in the park she threw a ball for them to scrap over.

When they’d worked off most of their high spirits they set off along the riverbank, the Jack Russell making eager forays into the scrub after rabbits, the gentler German Shepherd bitch at Paige’s heel, except for occasional side trips when a particularly exciting smell seduced her.

Fortunately they kept her busy enough supervising so that her brain couldn’t wander in forbidden directions. As swiftly as he’d appeared Marc had dropped out of her life. A note the day after they’d met had explained that he’d been called overseas on business and he was hers, Marc.

Not that she’d expected to see him again, but she’d been furious with herself for the terrible desolation that had swept over her. He meant nothing to her, and he couldn’t have made it more obvious that she meant nothing to him.

Which was just the way she’d expected things to be.

The wind, cooled by thousands of miles of southern ocean, pounced onto her, flattening the thin material of her jersey against her skin. She firmed her mouth against a shiver. Unfortunately, her recovery from the shock of his arrival wasn’t helped by his appearance every night in her dreams.

The sudden alertness of the bigger dog, followed almost immediately by an aggressive fusillade of barking from the smaller, swivelled her head around. A man was striding towards her from the direction of the road, his long legs covering the ground with rapid efficiency.

Pulses leaping, she faltered, then stopped. Tall, dark and dominant, it could only be Marc. Talk about the devil…!

For one horribly embarrassing moment she found herself wishing she’d worn something better than threadbare jeans and an elderly jersey that matched the colour of her eyes but had long since seen off its better days.

Then embarrassment was banished by a disturbing jolt of energy that jump-started both her heart and her breathing.

So much for getting over it, a small inner voice jeered silently.

‘Sit,’ she said sharply as the dogs danced protectively around her. When they’d obeyed she turned to face the man striding towards her, shoulders squared, jaw jutting at a deliberate angle.

Her stomach contracted as though expecting a blow. He wasn’t smiling, but she sensed a leashed satisfaction behind the impassive mask of his face. It was unfair that the sun should bronze his aquiline features with such besotted accuracy. Goaded, she lifted her head so high her neck muscles began to protest, and directed a carefully cool gaze at him.

He said, ‘Are you all right?’ When she stared blankly at him, he said, ‘Sherry said you’d had the flu. What the hell are you doing walking dogs on these cold mornings?’

Rallying her defences, Paige returned, ‘I’m better now.’

‘You don’t look it,’ he said bluntly, surveying her with a hard blue gaze. ‘You’re pale and you’ve got great dark circles under your eyes.’

When he’d first met her she’d been a glowing, sensuously vibrant girl, her warmth reflected in her skin and dark honey hair, in the green-gold depths of her large, black-lashed eyes. A month ago she’d been tired, but now—now, he thought forcefully, she looked like a woman whose reserves had been plundered too often—fragile, strained and exhausted. An inconvenient protectiveness stirred to life in him, followed by a deep, uncompromising anger.

‘It was a nasty virus, but I’m feeling a hundred per cent better than I did this time last week,’ she said stiffly, and clenched her teeth on another shiver.

‘You shouldn’t be out in this cold wind.’

He stripped off his jacket and, before she realised what he was doing, slung it around her shoulders, turning her to wrap it around her. The body heat still clinging to the leather enveloped her, bringing a rapid lick of fire scorching up through her skin.

‘I don’t—’ she muttered, trying to shrug the jacket from her shoulders.

Hard hands clamped it on. He said in a voice that sent shocks charging through her veins, ‘If you don’t keep it on, I’ll pick you up and carry you back to the car.’

Even if she hadn’t glanced into his unyielding face, she’d have known by the tone of his voice that he meant it. And the jacket was wonderfully warm, faintly scented with a fragrance that was as natural as his warmth.

Awkwardly, she muttered, ‘Thanks. What are you doing here?’ She stopped, the colour fading as she met eyes as cold and blue as polar ice.

He’d met Sherry.

Her gaze slid sideways. Then she rallied. ‘I hope you didn’t wake Sherry and Brodie.’

‘They were already awake,’ he said indifferently. ‘I’m glad to see Brodie is over his chickenpox.’

Baffled, she said, ‘He’s fine. Why did you come back?’

‘I told you last time. We have things to discuss.’ The silky note in his voice tightened her skin.

‘And I told you we have nothing to discuss,’ she returned, her voice cold and remote, her eyes hard. ‘We belong to different worlds.’

‘If you believe that you’re deliberately deluding yourself. But you don’t believe that.’ His words were cool and deliberate, at odds with the formidable aura he projected.

The Jack Russell growled.

Paige said sweetly, ‘Tiger is an attack dog.’

Correctly judging the smaller dog to be the natural pack leader, Marc held out an authoritative hand, letting it and then the German Shepherd sniff his fingers.

To Paige’s irritation it was obvious that they accepted him as an Alpha male. After polite nasal inspections of the hems of his trouser legs, both sat down and panted cheerfully at him, tongues lolling.

He read Paige’s expression correctly. Still in that smooth tone, he said, ‘I like dogs; I have one of my own. Why did you deliberately let me think Brodie was yours?’

Paige shook her head. ‘You didn’t ask,’ she pointed out, hoping her low voice hid the clammy pool of dismay beneath her ribs.

She didn’t want him here, especially not in Napier, but even somewhere in the same country was too close. Why didn’t he go back to the château in France, or the huge New York apartment, or the gracious Georgian house in London—anywhere but New Zealand?

He was too much, and the reactions she’d managed to ignore during the past month had exploded into life again.

‘Why do he and his mother live with you?’ For a moment she considered telling him to mind his own business, but he said satirically, ‘I’m sure that if I offered Sherry a big enough sum of money she’d tell me.’

‘How lucky you are to be overbearingly rich and famous,’ she purred, her wits revitalised by another swift surge of adrenaline.

At this rate she’d overdose on it, but she’d shaken off the lethargy and depression that had followed her bout with the flu. Why had it taken this man, one she despised, to make her feel alive again?

‘It’s one of the perks,’ he agreed without shame. ‘Well?’

Marc decided that the insolent composure with which she met his lifted brows was a challenge in itself—one he was finding it more and more hard to resist.

She said with delicate scorn, ‘Offer Sherry money to tell you, then. She needs it.’

Marc almost smiled. He never knew what she was going to say; the unexpectedness of her reactions was refreshing and intriguing. ‘Why did you let me think that you were a stripper?’

‘Because it was none of your business whether I was a stripper—or even a horrible example,’ she returned crisply.

He frowned, recalling Lauren’s teasing question in the foyer of the hotel. ‘She didn’t know you could hear.’

‘I know. It’s a quirk of acoustics.’ Paige shrugged and called the restless dogs to heel. ‘It doesn’t matter—she’s entitled to her opinion, even though she’s pretty quick to judge.’

True, but he hadn’t come to talk about Lauren. ‘Last time I was here something blew up and I had to leave before I’d planned to. It took longer than I expected, but I always intended to come back. We do need to talk, Paige.’

‘No.’

Marc noted absolute determination in her slender spine, straight and strong as steel reinforcing. This, he thought, with the relish he usually brought to boardroom battles, was going to be a fight—one he’d enjoy winning.

Which meant taking her by surprise. She was braced for battle, so he said, ‘I’m calling this off. You’re not making much of a fist of hiding those shivers.’

He whistled at the dogs. Maddeningly, both frisked towards him as if pulled by invisible strings. Made temporarily witless by such highhanded tactics, Paige even passed over the leashes when he held out a peremptory hand for them, watching with increasing resentment as he hooked on each dog with efficiency and speed.

Determined not to give in so easily, Paige glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time we turned back, anyway,’ she said, knowing it was surrender. Whether she wanted to go back or not, Marc was the one in control here.

White teeth flashed in an ironic smile. ‘I’ll go with you.’

‘The dogs are my responsibility.’ She held out her hand for the leashes.

Nodding, he gave them to her, then set off beside her, his tall, lean, graceful body shielding her from the sharp nip of the wind. Not that much got through his jacket, but his consideration made her melt inside.

It wasn’t personal, she told herself scornfully. He’d do it for any woman.

Her senses seemed to have sharpened; the sun beat more warmly on her skin and the grass glowed iridescently green, while she was sure she hadn’t ever noticed the faint, evocative perfume of some flowering plant before. Even the birds called with a more seductive sweetness.

Stop it! she commanded her traitorous body. Last week had been the second anniversary of Juliette’s death; if he’d thought about her at all he could have found her any time in those two years. He’d have only needed to tell someone, Find this woman, and it would have been done.

But he hadn’t done it. Keep that in mind, she told herself grimly.

After a few steps she asked, ‘Where’s your car?’

Walking beside him was boosting this terrifying, tantalising tension. She needed to stride out briskly and clear her mind of the fumes of desire summoned by the heady chemistry of his smile.

‘Over by the road.’ He nodded at a shape in the distance.

Baffled, she tamped down her anger and decided to make the best of the situation. ‘All right, tell me whatever it is you want to—now.’

‘Very well.’ He sounded amused, but the humour left his voice with his next words. ‘Juliette left you a legacy.’

She stopped abruptly. ‘What?’

Long fingers around her elbow urged her on. ‘In her will she left you a box. I don’t know what it is. She also left you a sum of money.’

‘I see,’ she said colourlessly.

She pulled free of his grip, but she thought she could still feel the imprint of his fingers traced in molten outline on her skin. Oh, yes, right through your jersey and shirt, she scoffed, struggling to keep her equilibrium in a world suddenly tumbled off its axis.

‘It’s very kind of you, but you didn’t have to come all the way here to tell me about Juliette’s legacy,’ she returned with crisp brevity. ‘You can post the box to me. And I don’t want any money. Give it to charity.’

‘Ungracious as well as stubborn,’ he observed in a pleasant tone that barely hid his contempt.

She stiffened. ‘I’m not—I didn’t mean to sound like that.’ He waited in aloof silence until she finished lamely, ‘I assume the box is a memento. I’d like that very much. But not money.’

‘One comes with the other, I’m afraid,’ he said flatly. ‘And there are conditions.’

One simmering glance at his unyielding face told her he wasn’t going to move on this. And that she wasn’t going to like the conditions. ‘What are they?’ she asked, forcing the words out between her gritted teeth.

‘Come to breakfast with me and I’ll tell you.’

‘Why can’t you tell me here?’

He lifted his brows. ‘Because you’re already cold,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re shivering, and your lips are starting to turn blue. And because Juliette’s bequest deserves more than a few words exchanged in a park. I’d have thought you felt the same. Although you didn’t see anything of each other in the last few years of her life, I know she kept in touch; I think in many ways you were her best friend. Is it too much to ask that you give me time to tell you about this?’

She went white. ‘That’s unfair and manipulative,’ she flung back at him.

His broad shoulders lifted. ‘The truth can’t be manipulation,’ he said, without giving an inch.

After a short hesitation she muttered, ‘Oh, all right. I have to drop the dogs off, but I’ll be at the flat in twenty minutes.’

‘I’ll take you and the dogs back,’ he said implacably.

And, in spite of everything she could say, ten minutes saw both dogs transported to their home and Paige back at the flat.

When she emerged from the quickest shower she’d ever had, she could hear conversation in the living room—or rather she heard Sherry laughing over Marc’s deep tones. Biting her lip, she took down a pair of chocolate-brown trousers and topped them with a corduroy shirt in a shade of spicy red that flattered her hair and her skin. Because the shower hadn’t been able to warm her completely, she wore a creamy-white turtleneck beneath the shirt.

Lipstick gave her pale face a bit of warmth, but she still felt like something discovered under a stone—no fit state to have breakfast with Marc Corbett.

And, she thought masochistically, about as far removed from his original companion as anyone could be. In fact, the woman’s scarf had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe was worth.

Not that Paige cared.

Yet she went out with a cake-mixer churning in her stomach and had to force her face into an expression of cool disinterest as she came through the door.

Marc’s vitality hit her like a blow to the solar plexus.

His uncomfortably perceptive eyes blazed and his mouth relaxed into a smile that held more than a hint of mockery. Casual though his clothes were, Paige recognised the superb tailoring that covered broad shoulders and long legs with loving fidelity.

He was—overpowering. The first time she’d met him she’d sensed the heat that smouldered behind the cool restraints of his will power—sensed it and been scared by it.

It was still there, and she was still afraid.

But she was more afraid of the excitement infiltrating her body, heating into a subtle arousal, as they said their goodbyes to Sherry and went out to the car.

CHAPTER FOUR

ONCE in the passenger’s seat, Paige pasted a brittle skin over her turbulent emotions. ‘It’s going to be a glorious day when this wind dies down.’

‘How long is it since you’ve had the flu?’

So much for the cheering effect of a bright shirt and some lipstick. ‘Surely I don’t look that bad?’ she retorted.

And immediately clamped her lips in disbelief. Oh, what an opening! Marc took it, too, examining her from the top of her head to the hands that linked so tensely in her lap.

‘You look as though you haven’t fully recovered,’ he said calmly, twisting the key. The engine purred into life, soft as the sound of luxury—yet, like its driver, it reeked of dangerous, barely curbed power. ‘Sherry told me that you wouldn’t let her call the doctor.’

‘Doctors can’t do anything for viruses,’ she returned, wishing her flatmate had kept her mouth shut.

Efficiently backing the car out, Marc said with a touch of irritation, ‘They can prescribe medication for any complications.’

‘I didn’t have any. It was just plain old ordinary flu—nasty, like flu always is, but I’ve recovered.’

After a stiletto-sharp, disbelieving glance, he commented, ‘It’s good to see little Brodie looking so much better.’

Welcoming a neutral subject, Paige said, ‘The medication worked fast; he didn’t have another convulsion and you guessed right—he was much better the next day.’

The big car moved smoothly out onto the street. A few hundred metres later, Marc said coolly, ‘I gather you’ve been looking after him while Sherry works?’

‘Yes.’

‘What hours?’

‘From the middle of the afternoon to whenever she comes home.’ Her voice was stiff and prickly.

‘Every day?’

She shook her head. ‘She has two days off each week.’

To her relief he didn’t speak again until he’d parked the car outside a house up on the Port Hill.

‘I thought we were going to a restaurant,’ she objected, looking around with suspicion she didn’t try to hide.

‘I’m staying here,’ he said laconically.

With his girlfriend? ‘In a house?’

‘Hotels bore me. I prefer being with friends.’

A cold emptiness expanded under her ribs.

His glance sliced through her. ‘Paige, I’m not planning to murder you and tip you over the cliff,’ he said, each word an exercise in icy precision. ‘If you don’t want to eat here I’ll take you to the nearest restaurant and we can talk about Juliette’s legacy in front of anyone who’s interested.’

Murder had been the last thing on her mind, but she was being stupid; Marc was too worldly—and had far too much self-control—to give in to any wild clamour of the senses.

It was her own responses she was afraid of. However, as she certainly wasn’t going to fling herself into his arms and pant, Take me! she’d be safe enough.

But she continued, ‘What about your friend—the person who owns the house? I haven’t been invited.’

‘They’re not here at the moment.’ His hooded blue glance skimmed her face. ‘They work. They know that you’re coming to breakfast, and if it makes you feel better I’ll take you to meet them on the way home and introduce you.’

He sounded thoroughly fed up. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Paige said uncomfortably, and at last got out.

She could just imagine what his friends would be like—Hawke Bay aristocracy, with children who went to exclusive and expensive boarding schools and a circle of friends as sophisticated as Marc.

Sure enough, the house was luxurious—and superbly decorated. A crawling tension knotted her stomach as he escorted her into a dining room filled with sun and reflected light from the sea below.

‘Sit down,’ he said, indicating a table set with cheerful napkins and china. ‘You look as though you could do with a jolt of caffeine.’

Once she was seated he brought in toast, fruit, porridge and coffee and juice, moving with the confidence of someone who had done this frequently.

Surprised, because she’d understood from Juliette that they had lived in some state—even his New Zealand home in the Bay of Islands had a resident housekeeper—Paige managed to eat a piece of toast and sip orange juice while he demolished a plate of porridge.

With a swift quirk of his lips he said, ‘My father was one of the old school—he firmly believed that a man couldn’t work on anything other than a plate of porridge.’

She smiled. Clearly robber barons had traditional tastes. ‘Mine loved sausages and bacon.’ Her mother had tried to convince him that he’d die of a heart attack. And he had.

But not until he’d been long gone from their lives.

Marc’s sharp scrutiny sent a swift jab of sensation up her spine, but he began to discuss the upcoming election and she relaxed—as much as it was possible when she felt as nervous as though she was perched on the lip of an active volcano.

Eventually he said without preamble, ‘The box Juliette left you is at Arohanui, my home in Northland. In her will she asked that you come to the island and collect it. She wanted you to stay a week there.’

Paige was already shaking her head. ‘No,’ she said huskily. ‘It’s impossible.’

‘Why?’

Impatiently she retorted, ‘I have to look after Brodie.’

He drank from his cup of coffee then set it down. ‘Is that the only reason? Do you have someone who’d object? If so, bring him.’

Paige flushed. ‘There’s no one,’ she said shortly, secretly resenting his indifference at the idea of her with another man. ‘Brodie’s the main reason I can’t come, but I also walk the dogs every morning. You’ll have to post it to me.’

‘It’s not that easy.’

Her voice settled into syrupy sweetness. ‘It’s not too hard to post a parcel, you know. You just wrap it up—possibly the housekeeper could do that for you—and take it to a post office. They’ll do the rest.’

‘Provocation isn’t going to get you anywhere,’ he drawled. ‘The dogs and Brodie can be taken care of.’

Paige looked at him with simmering dislike. ‘I’ve no doubt you can do that, but I need to earn some money until I get a job.’

‘Do you have any interviews scheduled?’

‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Still, I’m not going to find jobs in Napier advertised in the local newspaper in the Bay of Islands!’

‘I can organise that too,’ he said casually. ‘Most of the local papers will be on the Internet; if they’re not, I’ll get someone down here to look at the Sits Vac while you’re away. Juliette wanted you to come up to Arohanui, and I think it’s the least you can do for her.’

Paige bit back caustic words. And your mistress? Will she be there too?

Instead she spread her hands in bewilderment. ‘What made her think of leaving me something? She couldn’t have had any idea that…that she was going to die so tragically.’

‘I insisted she made a will after we were married,’ Marc said evenly. ‘As for leaving you a memento—why not, for a friend she loved dearly? It’s often done.’

She peered up through her lashes, saw his tanned skin tighten over the thrusting bone structure beneath. He looked completely self-assured, but his eyes were sombre beneath their heavy lids.

Reluctantly she accepted that although he might have hurt Juliette, he could miss her and grieve for a life cut so unfairly short.

The taste of coffee bitter in her mouth, Paige said, ‘I didn’t expect anything from her.’

‘I know. And if you’re wondering why you weren’t told of this sooner, she specifically stated that her bequest not be given to you until two years after her death.’

Startled, she glanced at his face, met eyes as coldly crystalline as the blue depths of a glacier.

‘Why?’ she asked blankly. ‘It seems odd to wait for two years, then ask me to go to Arohanui. She wasn’t a person to indulge in whims, and she didn’t even like—’

‘The island? I know.’ He lifted his shoulders in an eloquent shrug. ‘She would have had a reason. Unfortunately, I have no idea what it was. But I intend to see that her wishes are met.’

Paige stared at the lazily swirling surface of her coffee. Some part of her wished violently that Juliette hadn’t remembered her like this. ‘Do you know what it is, whatever she left me?’

One black brow shot up. ‘No. It’s small, so I suspect it’s a piece of jewellery or some keepsake.’

‘I can’t afford to go,’ she said baldly. ‘I mean it; I haven’t got the money to get there or home again.’

‘That isn’t relevant.’

She bristled. ‘I don’t want charity.’

Marc fixed her with another frigid shaft of ice-blue. ‘She wanted to give you this,’ he said, crushing and blunt. ‘Is it too much of a sacrifice? A week of your time to fulfil the last thing she will ever ask of you?’

Paige scrambled to her feet and faced him across the table. ‘You’re a devious, manipulative swine,’ she whispered.

He rose also. ‘But you already knew that,’ he said, his courteous tone a more pointed sword than any insult.

‘I know exactly what you are,’ Paige said between her teeth.

With a contemptuous smile Marc returned, ‘Whatever you think of me, be assured that I have enough self-control not to force myself on women who don’t want me.’

‘I—I don’t think…I mean, I wasn’t thinking of that,’ she said huskily.

But she had been, and he knew it. Humiliation ate into her composure; she was being ridiculous, because although he might find her attractive his self-control was legendary. She was making too much of this fierce awareness; what did she know about sex? Or the relations between the sexes, come to that? Her last boyfriend had been at high school, and she was that rare and exotic creature, a twenty-three-year-old virgin whose experience was confined to a little mild groping and a few enthusiastic but innocent kisses.

Marc was probably laughing at her.

He said calmly, ‘If it makes you feel more confident, I plan to fly to Australia the day after I drop you off at the island.’ He watched her with narrowed, piercing eyes, yet his voice warmed into a reassurance that sapped her will. ‘Paige, please come up to Arohanui. I’ll fly you up, and you can come back any way you choose to travel.’

Marc examined her pale, set face, despising himself because a ruthless need burned beneath the honest desire to do this last thing for Juliette.

A sardonic twist to his lips matched his emotions. He could do this; he could master his hunger.

Even as he monitored Paige’s face for clues to her decision he was wondering what made him want her. Something subtler, more enigmatic than beauty, although his eyes appreciated skin like satin and the fine regular features that weren’t particularly memorable—if you excluded green-gold eyes on a tantalising tilt, and a very determined chin.

Not to mention a lush mouth that beckoned with sultry promise in spite of its tight discipline, and a body that hinted of sensuous delights—slender and lithe and rounded. He tried to ignore the inconvenient stirring in his loins.

She was no push-over, but at the moment her defences were almost breached; she looked exhausted, and he resented the protective feeling that gripped him again.

‘Don’t make a big deal out of it,’ he said, and took her cold hands in his, producing his trump card. ‘I don’t know why Juliette made it a condition that you come up to Arohanui, but as she did I’d like to see that her wishes are carried out.’

She shivered, shadows darkening her eyes to a defeated green as she lowered her lashes and looked away, and he knew he had her.

Pulling her hands free, she walked across to the window, her jerky movements revealing her agitation. When she turned back to face him he couldn’t see her expression against the brilliance of sky and sea outside, but the tension in her shoulders told him she’d made a decision.

‘All right,’ she said, reluctance flattening her voice, ‘but I’ll have to organise things. I’m not going if Sherry can’t get the time off to look after Brodie.’

Marc reined in a surge of satisfaction that eroded his control. ‘I can help there.’

She gave him a slanting, rebellious look, but said with polite dismissal, ‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.’

A realist, and more than a little cynical, Marc knew that even without his wealth he’d be attractive to the opposite sex, so he was accustomed to women who looked at him and saw the promise of security. Or, at the very least, relished the prospect of fattening their bank balance while enjoying sex with him.

It was, he admitted wryly, unusual to have a woman treat him with barely concealed distrust. Was that why she was such a challenge?

No, he wasn’t that cynical—or that shallow. For some reason she intrigued him at a primal, gut level that had the power to overthrow the checks and restraints he’d imposed on his passions.

‘We’ll see,’ he said levelly. ‘Now, I’m going to have bacon and eggs. Would you like to join me?’

Paige was astonished to feel her stomach growl softly in response. ‘I—thank you.’

‘Sit down and I’ll bring some through—or you can come and watch me cook, if you like.’

‘You can cook?’ She didn’t try to hide her astonishment.

When he smiled her body’s demands changed to hunger of a different sort. ‘Of course I can cook,’ he said calmly, opening the door into a room that turned out to be a kitchen.

Not just any old kitchen, either; this one was a chef’s dream. He stood back to let her through, the courtesy so automatic it meant nothing.

‘And I suppose you can climb mountains without oxygen and fight grizzly bears with your bare hands?’ she scoffed, but she went ahead of him.

‘No, I only tackle lions bare-handed. For grizzly bears I carry a knife between my teeth,’ he said cheerfully.

Paige laughed spontaneously. After a swift, heart-shivering smile, he set about grilling bacon. Paige watched his efficient handling of kitchen tools with something like wonder.

She’d become accustomed to thinking of him as the man who sparked her hormones into a sexual frenzy—and as Juliette’s husband. Forbidden fruit, in other words. His relationship with Lauren Porter had reinforced her view of him as a predator whose only interest outside business was sexual intrigue.

The man deftly cooking her breakfast bore no resemblance to the bogeyman she’d manufactured. And that made him more risky, because she could despise a sexual predator.

An hour later Paige got out of the car and said pleasantly, ‘Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious.’

He glanced at the thin gold watch on his tanned wrist. ‘I’ll see you at nine.’

With a scintillating, seething glance she spluttered, ‘That’s ridiculous. I can’t organise everything in such a short time.’

‘In two hours, then,’ he said inexorably, concealing his keen scrutiny with a veil of long lashes.

Used like that, they were weapons. Fighting their effect, she said stiffly, ‘I can’t promise anything.’

He smiled and said, ‘At ten o’clock, Paige. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.’

Watching Marc taking care of everything was an education in raw power.

Standing at the window, Sherry watched his car leave the car park and said in a stunned voice, ‘Whew! Talk about dynamite. I can see how he got to be a zillionaire!’ She looked self-consciously at Paige. ‘I’m sorry you disapprove of him paying for me to stay home with Brodie.’

Paige continued firing clothes into the only case she possessed—a pack Lloyd had given her one Christmas. ‘I don’t disapprove,’ she said lightly. ‘It’s got nothing to do with me. But won’t your boss object?’

Looking slightly smug, and rather too self-conscious, Sherry shook her head. ‘No. I know I shouldn’t have taken Marc’s money, but he’s not going to miss it.’

It wasn’t a question, but Paige answered it. ‘No, of course not.’ She added more clothes and her sponge bag, wishing with futile foolishness that she had some outfit that didn’t proclaim its provenance—a mail-order catalogue. ‘I hate surprises! I wish you hadn’t told him where I was this morning.’

Sherry flushed and patted Brodie’s back. ‘He’s not the sort of man you refuse,’ she said a little guiltily.

‘I know. Don’t take any notice of me—I’m just angry at being more or less railroaded into this.’

‘Are you sure it’s a good idea?’

‘No,’ Paige said on a sigh. ‘But—well, if Juliette wanted me to go to Arohanui to pick up her bequest, I feel I’d be letting her down if I didn’t.’ She tucked a pair of socks into her sandshoes and zipped up the pack. ‘That will have to do.’

In the sitting room, Sherry sat down on the sofa and smiled at her son. He lifted a small arm and waved it around, cooing as his mother kissed his face.

‘How come you were such great friends with his wife?’ she asked. ‘This dude of yours is seriously loaded; that sort marry their own kind. And usually they make friends with their own kind.’

‘He’s not my dude!’ Paige filled the new kettle. Above the sound of running water, she said, ‘Juliette and I lived next door to each other in Wellington. She was five years older, but she adored kids—she used to call me her pretty little sister, although she was the pretty one. When they moved I cried so much that she promised me I could be her bridesmaid. At eleven that’s a big deal.’

Sherry looked intrigued. ‘You’re right. And she followed through?’

‘Yes, with a week in Paris and the most gorgeous dress.’

And Marc’s locket.

Sherry said drily, ‘So Juliette was loaded too?’

‘I never thought of it, but her family must have been. Her father was in the diplomatic service.’

‘She sounds nice.’

‘She was great—kind and fun. She kept in touch even after she was married.’ Heat stung Paige’s cheeks as she poured boiling water into the mugs.

‘And then she got killed,’ Sherry said sympathetically. ‘That’s tough.’

What was tougher was that for Marc the marriage had been a sham, a marriage of convenience entered into because he’d needed a suitable wife.

‘Yes.’ Frowning, Paige looked around. ‘Now, are you sure you’ll be OK?’

‘We’ll be fine,’ Sherry repeated patiently. ‘How did you get on with the dogs?’

‘Mrs Greig grumbled, but the high school boy next door will do them until I come back.’ She carried the two mugs of coffee across and sat down on a chair.

Sherry put Brodie down on the sofa to kick. ‘You can’t get out of this, so you might as well treat it like a mini-holiday,’ she said, looking up from rapt admiration of his chubby legs. ‘Heaven knows, you could do with it. You’ve had a rotten spin in the last year. It’ll be warmer up in the Bay of Islands—see if you can get a little bit of tan.’

Paige looked up as a car drew up outside and Marc got out. ‘Time to go,’ she muttered, her heart jumping.

Sherry picked Brodie up and turned to scrutinise Marc. ‘Oh, boy, he really is something,’ she said softly. ‘You be careful, Paige.’

Skin tightening, Paige went across and opened the door.

‘Ready?’ Marc asked.

‘Yes.’

She stood back to let him in, and Paige wasn’t surprised when Sherry, dazzled out of her usual cynicism where men were concerned, proudly handed the baby over to him.

Marc cradled him with confidence, smiling into the little face. For once the baby didn’t deliver the usual roar he kept for strangers. Solemn-faced, he stared up at Marc, before producing a one-sided smile and clenching his fists in an energetic fashion.

‘I think he knows me,’ Marc said, smiling with immense charm.

Clearly dazzled, Brodie lifted an arm and waved it vaguely above his head while he produced soft gurgles.

Sherry nodded briskly and took the baby back. ‘Looks like it. Before you go, I’d better have an address and a phone number—just in case I need to contact you, Paige.’

‘I’ll give you my card.’ Marc pulled a sleek wallet from his pocket and took out a card, scribbled on the back and handed it to Sherry.

She made no bones about reading it. ‘Arohanui Island. Where’s that?’

While Marc told her, Paige watched the corners of his mouth tuck in as he fought a smile. Of course he knew what Sherry was doing—her implied warning wasn’t very subtle.

Sherry nodded, and, being a loyal daughter of the dry province of Hawke Bay, said, ‘It rains a lot up there, I hear.’

‘Not all the time,’ Marc said with another dizzying smile. He stowed his wallet back in his pocket and looked across at Paige, a silent spectator. ‘We should be going. The plane’s waiting.’

He meant that quite literally. Half an hour later they were heading north in a chartered plane big enough to take ten or so people. Normally Paige would have enjoyed admiring New Zealand’s wild central plateau, with its three snow-covered volcanoes marching southwards from Lake Taupo—its serene blue-grey waters the biggest crater of all—but there was nothing normal about the luxurious little plane or the trip.

She picked up a fashion magazine from the several the steward had presented to her after she’d refused his offer of champagne. The cover featured in loving and explicit detail a stunning red-headed woman clad in a swathe of silk and ostrich feathers; she appeared to be making love to a classical pillar.

Paige put the magazine down.

From the corner of her eye she could see Marc’s hands across the aisle as he sorted papers. They were beautiful—long-fingered and strong, competently shuffling the documents. What would they feel like—?

Don’t go there! Now that she was actually on her way to his island she wondered how on earth she’d made such a decision. He must have bewitched her.

No, she’d let herself be overborne by his stronger will, and by a need to give Juliette whatever she had wanted with this odd request.

Why had she made it? And why ask that Marc wait so long after her death before contacting Paige? It didn’t make sense.

She glanced sideways again, this time lifting her eyes to his face. He was now absorbed in reading one of the documents, his profile an autocratic harmony of lines and angles, but beneath the veneer of smoothly civilised power pulsed a dark arrogance, an uncompromising force of will that made her shiver inside.

He’d be a formidable enemy.

Dragging her eyes free, Paige leaned back and watched cloud shadows chase themselves over the green, green countryside beneath, Sherry’s last words echoing in her mind.

As Marc had carried Paige’s bag out to his car, her flatmate had muttered, ‘Standing directly between you is like walking into a furnace.’ She watched Marc close the boot of the car. ‘I bet he’s good,’ she said, and smiled reminiscently. ‘Be careful, Paige. But why don’t you have some fun for once?’

Fun?

Paige stole another glance at the man reading papers with efficient speed. Her stomach clamped on a spasm of roiling sensation, sweet and strong and potent.

It wouldn’t be fun. He might make love like a dark angel, but she stood to lose her heart if she—

Her mind closed down. She was not falling in love with him. Glaring at the hands in her lap, she forcibly reminded herself that he’d married Juliette for convenience, and the equally convenient Lauren Porter was still in the picture.

OK, so she felt something for him, but it certainly wasn’t love. Lust, Marc had called it, and quoted Shakespeare with such contempt that she still felt cold when she thought of his voice, detached and brutally uncompromising, as he’d let her know exactly what he thought of this disruptive chemistry between them.

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE woke to hands at her waist and a darkly masculine voice forcing its way through compelling, X-rated dreams.

When she forced her lashes up Marc’s tanned face swam into vision—too close, the hard features intent and purposeful. Her heart slammed into her throat as her dazed eyes met the burning blue of his. He was crouched in front of her, broad shoulders blocking out the aircraft cabin.

‘What—?’ she stammered, still fighting sleep and the corroding pleasure of his nearness. ‘What is it? Are we there?’

‘Not quite.’

His voice sounded guttural even to his own ears, and he took in a deep breath, watching her pupils dilate and darkness swamp the green-gold fire in an involuntary signal—one his body recognised and responded to with helpless, instant hunger that consigned caution to the rubbish bin. Every cell reacted with violent appreciation to her provocative, heavy-lidded gaze and the soft lips slightly parted in unconscious seduction.

‘What are you doing?’ Although the words emerged with a crisp bite he noted their husky, sensuous undertone.

‘We’ll be landing soon,’ he said roughly. ‘The seatbelt warning is on. I tried to fasten yours without waking you.’

Yet his hands refused to move, curving almost possessively against her midriff, just below her soft breasts. A feral, sensual heat set fire to his will power.

He knew love was a heartless cardsharp of an emotion, something he neither offered nor promised. Nevertheless he’d always made sure that his lovers—and his wife—understood that he liked and respected them.

And then the night before his wedding he’d looked into Paige’s gold-green eyes and wanted her with a merciless craving. He despised men who used women; it had struck at some hidden vulnerability when he’d discovered that one glance from a girl he’d just met—a girl still at high school!—stripped back his controlled assurance to expose raw arousal.

It was like being taken over by an alien. Resentment couldn’t kill it—didn’t even dampen it. And neither had long years of denial.

When she moved her hands to cover his, and said in a lazy, throaty voice, ‘I’ll do it,’ an odd sideways sensation, as though the world had shifted beneath his feet, catapulted him into unknown territory.

Her eyes trapped him in a smouldering snare and the touch of her hands sent forbidden messages straight to his brain and his loins. He’d never experienced hunger like this before, so intense it rolled over him like lava—dangerous, beautiful, lethally destructive.

In one lethal movement he snapped the ends of her seat belt together and stood up, towering over her in deliberate intimidation.

‘All right?’ he asked, unable to drag his unwilling gaze from the pulse that jumped in her slender throat.

‘Yes.’ She flushed and looked away, straightening her shoulders with obvious effort. ‘Sorry, it always takes me a while to wake up.’

Disgusted by his lack of control, Marc sat down quickly, before his body could betray him further. Fiercely disciplining his hands, he latched his own seatbelt across his flat stomach and fixed his eyes on the scene through the window, watching the panorama of sea and sky tilt below them.

It was no use; the loveliness outside faded as his mind supplied images of how Paige would look in his bed after a night spent making love, and how sensually, exquisitely magical it would be to wake her slowly…

God! If merely touching her could summon erotic fantasies, he should have stayed overseas and let his office organise this trip to Arohanui.

So why hadn’t he?

The embarrassing answer sat beside him, her head turned away so that a dark honey-coloured swathe of hair hid her face. Although they weren’t touching he could feel her closeness, smell the faint natural perfume of her skin, and see her hands from the corner of his eye. They lay loosely clasped in her lap, yet he sensed a tension to match his own.

She had long, competent fingers, and his treacherous mind supplied another sizzling picture of those hands on his skin, pale gold against bronze…

Perhaps, he thought coldly, he should follow this through and see where it took them both. It was nothing more than sexual chemistry, but when he was with her he felt—he felt like a lesser man, he warned himself with merciless honesty. Paige had power over him, power he refused to yield to her, because once she knew she possessed it she might be able to possess him.

In spite of that he wanted her, and he was experienced enough to read desire in a woman. So, why not accept what she unconsciously offered?

Because it was unconscious, and he didn’t take advantage of innocents.

Yet how many women of her age were as inexperienced as she seemed to be? Perhaps it was a ruse…

Dressed properly, pampered and groomed, she’d make a stunning mistress. It would be a partnership of equals—she’d see the world, have some fun, learn a lot, and when he’d got her out of his system he’d make sure she never had to work again if she didn’t want to.

Surely that would be better than the life she was leading now?

‘Where do we land?’ she asked, her voice tight and remote, as composed as the face she turned towards him.

He raked her with a hard gaze, noted the colour rising through her silky golden skin. She swallowed and her tongue stole out to moisten her parted lips. Yes, she wanted him.

Temptation riding him hard, he said, ‘Kerikeri. It’s the nearest commercial airport to the Bay.’

Paige turned back to watching the sea spin beneath the plane, and dragged a juddering breath into painful lungs. Every instinct shrieked a warning—too late. Because in the mindless, temporary no-man’s land between sleep and awakening she’d betrayed herself.

Marc had recognised her response as sexual excitement. She’d seen disgust ice his eyes and freeze his face.

Juliette had told her about the women who chased him, the open lures they’d tossed in his way, the subterfuges they’d used to try and coax him into their beds. And she’d told her about his contempt for them.

Pride stiffened Paige’s shoulders, clenched her jaw. So he assumed she was just like them—sexually available, light-heartedly promiscuous. Her soft lips tightened. He’d probably laugh if he knew she had never made love. Not that he’d ever find out.

From now on she’d be as aloof as he was.

Jaw jutting, she stared blindly through the window, her self-possession evaporating when his voice—too close—sounded above the roar of the engines.

A subtly abrasive note threading each word, he said, ‘We’re turning over the Bay of Islands. You should be able to see Arohanui Island.’ He leaned forward and pointed across her. ‘There.’

Tensely aware that he took great care not to touch her, Paige followed his finger.

Heart-shaped, mysterious, his island lay in a glinting, swirling sea the colour of a blue-green opal. Around it more scraps of land dotted a huge bay, some sombre with native bush, others a bright, sharp green. She blinked at beaches so bright they made her think of diamond dust, and others an elusive shade that reminded her of the champagne she’d drunk at his wedding—pale and soft with a tawny glow.

‘Is it called Arohanui because of its shape? The name means great love, doesn’t it?’ she asked.

Shocked by the sultry, too intimate tone of her voice, she discreetly cleared her throat and kept her eyes fixed on the island.

‘Yes. But its name refers to an old Maori legend about doomed lovers, not its shape,’ he said drily. ‘It was called that long before the first Corbett settled here.’

‘It’s very beautiful.’ She cast around for something else to say, falling back on a banal comment. ‘I’ve seen photographs, of course, but I didn’t realise how many islands there are in the Bay.’

‘Over a hundred and fifty, I’m told. It depends on exactly what you call an island. Haven’t you been here before?’

‘Not that I know of. When I was a kid we used to go to Fiji and the Gold Coast in Australia.’ Her reminiscent smile faded. ‘And when I was eleven my mother took me to Disneyland in California.’

It had been an almost perfect holiday, spoiled only because her father hadn’t gone with them. He hadn’t been at home when they’d arrived back, either; while they’d been away he’d moved in with his secretary, taking holidays and colour and laughter with him.

‘My father was born on the island,’ Marc told her. ‘He loved it. My mother thinks it a little unsophisticated. She prefers her scenic beauty well tamed and controlled.’

Paige remembered his mother well—a worldly woman with the effortless, casual elegance of a daughter of France. She and Juliette had got on well.

His face hardened into cold, bleak bronze. ‘She says she always knew that the island would claim him. He went out to see if he could rescue a boatload of idiots who took off for a day’s fishing without checking the forecast or bothering about life-jackets, radio or flares. They all died.’

Paige made a shocked noise. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘He enjoyed risky enterprises. He’d rather have gone down like that than dwindle into old age.’

Chilled, Paige looked into cold, crystalline eyes. Marc, she realised, didn’t think like that; he was too responsible to indulge in grand gestures for the adrenaline rush.

For some obscure reason this insight comforted her. She turned back and stared resolutely down. Trees crowned the intricate tucks and folds of Arohanui, but from the air she could see the red-brown shape of a roof surrounded by large gardens. It must have rained recently, because the island gleamed like polished greenstone.

‘It looks mysterious, enchanted,’ she said softly. ‘A place removed from time and space where everyday rules might be suspended.’

‘That’s the lure of islands. They offer a hint of the forbidden, the exotic, a dangerous beauty.’

His almost indifferent words echoed in her mind like a challenge.

Don’t even consider it! Paige commanded, quashing a piercing excitement to fix her attention solely on the island that slipped away beneath the aircraft wing, swift and inevitable as the remnants of a lovely dream.

‘I thought you preferred Paris,’ she said.

‘I love Paris. I like London and New York too. But Arohanui has always been my home.’

She had to stop herself from turning to look at him. Juliette had complained of boredom and the lack of sophisticated entertainment on Arohanui, and after the first year of their marriage Marc had visited it alone.

Paige fixed her eyes on the view and concentrated on reminding herself that, like her father, Marc had been unfaithful to his wife.

It didn’t work. She couldn’t think of anything else but the man beside her. Barely discernible, how did his natural scent make such an impact, kicking her heart into a gallop and drying her mouth?

Sex, she told herself robustly. Think pheromones and moths dying dramatically in candle flames. If you give in to it, you’ll be betraying your friendship with Juliette.

And you might fall in love with him…

Not likely, she scoffed. Oh, there must be some men who could love selflessly, but she’d seen precious few of them. Betrayed love had driven her mother into the acute depression that had ruined her life; Sherry’s husband had promised her a love for all eternity, then robbed her and abandoned her when she’d told him of her pregnancy. Even Marc’s mother had been left alone and forlorn after her husband’s gallant, foolhardy death.

Paige jutted her jaw and watched a couple of small seaside towns race beneath the wings; as long as she stayed independent, no one could hurt her.

‘The villages are Paihia and Russell,’ Marc said in a manner that hinted at mockery—and not the pleasantly teasing kind, either. ‘Holiday towns, both of them, although Russell has some interesting old buildings. We’ll be coming in over Kerikeri any minute—you’ll see orchards and vineyards.’

Almost immediately a formal chequerboard landscape divided by hedges began to slip by; kicked by swift panic, Paige closed her eyes and gulped, wondering what the hell she was doing here.

Warmth enclosed her hand as Marc took it. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, his voice deep and calm. ‘Relax, we’re just coming in to land.’

Feeling unutterably stupid, she let her hand lie in the warmth of his, wondering how so comforting a grip could also send charges of excitement up her arm to shut down her brain. She forced her eyes open as the plane levelled off over farmlands.

‘Kerikeri Airport,’ Marc said calmly, nodding towards a small cluster of buildings. ‘We transfer to the helicopter here.’ He dropped her hand to indicate a machine parked off the runway.

Paige swallowed. Marc was rich; she’d always known that. The locket he’d given her had been valued at an extraordinary price because of its workmanship and the quality of the diamond. He had houses scattered over the globe and, because he liked his privacy, he’d bought several islands.

Even his clothes, casual though they were, breathed an aura of wealth.

But this offhand use of chartered planes brought home to her just how much money—and power—he had.

Her mind raced, chanting, You shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t have come.

She looked down at her faded jeans. He was a different species, she told herself with a hard practicality that somehow didn’t ring true. You’re only here to pick up Juliette’s legacy. Tomorrow he’s going back to his world and after a pleasant, uneventful week in beautiful surroundings you’ll go back to yours, back to real life.

And you’ll never see him again.

The sombre words emptied out her heart and rang through the furthest reach of her brain.

As the engines changed in pitch and the plane slowed she asked something that had been niggling in the back of her mind since she’d looked up to see him come towards her and the dogs. ‘How did you know where I was this morning? Sherry said she could only give you general directions; I don’t always go to the same place with the dogs.’

He paused, before telling her calmly, ‘I had you checked out. My private detective told me you walked the dogs every week day and that you kept to a regular routine between parks and the beach.’

Her temper flashed. Staring straight ahead, she said rigidly, ‘That is completely outrageous.’

‘Just another perk of being obscenely rich,’ he said blandly. ‘It wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d been a bit more forthcoming instead of clamming up and hissing every time I tried to find out anything.’ He sounded cool, even mildly amused.

The plane touched down with a slight bump and taxied towards the buildings. As Paige sat fuming he ended with a caustic note, ‘And I’m sure nothing would have persuaded you to tell me that you’d been sacked because you wouldn’t sleep with your boss.’

‘How did you find—?’ Bright coins of colour standing out on her cheeks, she grated, ‘Don’t you dare say I’ve just told you.’

‘All right, then, I won’t,’ he said obligingly. ‘It wouldn’t be true. I’ll bet he wondered what the hell had bitten him when he tried to force you into bed.’

‘He didn’t get the chance,’ she said with cutting disdain. ‘The first time he groped me I told him I’d complain of harassment if he ever tried it again.’ Colour touched her skin. For weeks she’d felt dirty, as though the man’s touch had contaminated her.

‘So he sacked you?’

A swift glance revealed a dangerous razor-edge of light in the depths of his eyes. Shaken, Paige looked away to marshal her thoughts. ‘I was made redundant. Last hired, first off. And it was a bad year for farmers so the firm didn’t have enough work for me…Actually, I was glad to go.’

Although if she’d known how difficult it was going to be to get another job she might have fought to stay, in spite of the creep.

Marc said in a voice that contradicted his searching gaze, ‘He’s spread it around the city that you’re a predatory female who backs demands for an increase in wages with threats.’

Angry and bewildered, she stared at him. ‘Threats? Threats of what?’

‘According to him, you said that if you didn’t get a rise you’d accuse him of sexual harassment.’ He spoke in a detached, judicial tone that lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.

The plane slowed, easing to a stop. Her voice molten, Paige said, ‘So that’s why I’ve had no luck finding a new job. I should have put his pot on.’

‘Why didn’t you? You weren’t the first woman he’d tried it on with, and you must have known he’d do it again. Sleazes like him always do.’

Trust him to unerringly pinpoint the one thing that still worried her. She said defensively, ‘It was my word against his. He’s a well-known personality in Napier; why would anyone believe me? How did your private detective find out?’

‘By asking questions of a couple of women who’d left that office suddenly. One of them was your predecessor.’ The plane rolled smoothly to a stop. Marc got to his feet and said, ‘It doesn’t matter, anyway.’

And when she looked up in disgust he gave her a cold, merciless smile that jetted an icy touch the length of her spine. ‘His firm now knows exactly what’s been happening. He’s got one chance to keep his job, and that’s to keep his hands, his innuendoes and everything else to himself. He’s also been—persuaded—to stop spreading slander about you. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting a similar position when you go back.’

Paige’s jaw dropped, but the pilot’s voice over the intercom stopped the hot words tumbling from her lips.

‘Here we are in lovely sub-tropical Kerikeri,’ he announced, ‘gateway to the Bay of Islands. Hope you had a good flight.’

Pasting a jaunty smile on her lips, Paige said, ‘Coincidence is a funny thing. Just think, if I hadn’t come down the stairs of the hotel at the exact moment you turned around, you’d never have known that I lived in Napier.’

Marc’s eyes were cool and opaque, as unreadable as the expression on his gorgeous face. ‘New Zealand’s not that big—I’d have found you.’ He stood back to let her out into the aisle.

Something about his tone made her deeply uneasy. Trying to ignore the crawling tension between her shoulderblades, she got up.

The steward emerged to open the door, nodding respectfully as they stepped out into sultry sunlight and air that even the taint of aviation fuel couldn’t sully.

Refusing to look at Marc, Paige decided there was a difference about the atmosphere up here—somehow the countryside glowed, softer yet more vivid than the crisp clarity she was used to. The grass radiated green light around them as they walked across to the helicopter where another pilot waited.

Not that he was needed. The helicopter belonged to Marc, and it was he who flew them to the island, landing the chopper precisely on a hard pad several hundred metres from the homestead.

The big house sprawled in magnificent gardens beside a half-moon of beach; as they’d flown down Paige had noted a grass tennis court and a swimming pool, and what appeared to be a large two-masted yacht in the bay, anchored beside a motor cruiser.

Rich man’s paradise, she thought, struggling for balance and common sense, trying not to be overwhelmed. She knew Marc worked hard; Juliette had told her about his frequent absences and the long hours spent at his desk. But it didn’t seem fair that Sherry had to display her body to earn enough for a place of her own when Marc had all this—and it was just one of his residences!

The rotors died, and she realised Marc was turning around. Into the sudden silence he said formally, ‘Welcome to my home.’

‘Thank you,’ Paige said, enmeshed in an odd, swift shyness, because it seemed as though he was making some sort of statement.

Which was ridiculous. No doubt the formal welcome had been just a bit of old-world courtesy.

Marc was disloyal, a breaker of vows. Quite possibly the executive-cum-mistress whose existence had shattered Juliette’s life was already in residence, honing her cutting English accents for more put-downs.

The house seemed to grow in size as they walked through the garden towards it. Clinging desperately to her composure, Paige refused to gawk like a sightseer—although that was difficult once they were inside.

Not that the house was decorated in incongruous splendour. For all its size it breathed a warm, casual sophistication that made her feel instantly at home. After being introduced to the housekeeper, a middle-aged woman called Rose Oliver, Paige was ushered by her to a bedroom overlooking the bay.

Paige eyed the vast bed, its white calico spread tucked into a box frame of dark, warmly coloured wood. White walls breathed understated elegance; one displayed a magnificent kimono in black and cinnamon and a blue almost the same intense hue as Marc’s eyes, and on the wall behind the bedhead a triptych glowed like a jewel in the cool, beautiful room—a spare, exquisitely painted Japanese scene of mountains and river.

Apart from a terracotta pot holding a flourishing banana tree there were no other decorations, although the wall of stained wood shutters onto a terrace gave the room texture and pattern.

‘The wardrobes are in here,’ the housekeeper said, gesturing towards a door in the wall. ‘Would you like me to unpack for you?’

‘No, thank you.’ Paige tried to sound at ease. The last thing she wanted was to let someone who probably regularly ministered to heiresses see her clothes.

After showing her the bathroom, Mrs Oliver said, ‘I’m sure you’d like a shower. I’ll call for you in about an hour, shall I? If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ring.’ She pointed to a telephone tucked into a shelf below the headboard. ‘The numbers are on the set.’

She smiled and left the room.

All very polite and friendly, Paige thought as she headed into the large tiled bathroom. A huge shower covered an indecent amount of the floor, and an even larger spa bath took up another corner. Sunlight shimmered through palm fronds and dark shutters onto creamy marble and gleaming glass.

A delicious perfume led her to the soap; she lifted the cake and smelt it, then set it down again with a firm, set smile. Her own brand was fine. It was stupid, but if she used the soap that Marc’s money had provided she’d feel she’d been bought.

As she wallowed in hot water from four directions, she wondered if anyone quite so poverty stricken had ever been a guest in Marc’s house before.

Who cared? ‘Enjoy it while you can,’ she told her reflection defiantly.

Her scruples, if scruples were what they were, didn’t extend to not using the hairdryer, also bought with his money!

She got into a pair of olive-green trousers before tucking in her bittersweet red shirt. A final glance in the mirror revealed that the trousers hung a little loosely on her hips. Frowning, she pulled out the shirt to cover them.

Only just ready when someone knocked on the door—according to her watch, twenty minutes early—she opened it. Her smile set when she saw who waited outside.

CHAPTER SIX

LIKE her, Marc had changed. In trousers that skimmed his strongly muscled thighs and a sports shirt one shade paler than his eyes he looked big and unyielding—and forbiddingly attractive.

Paige’s heart kicked into a gallop, and she had to swallow hard to dislodge her breath from its sticking place in her throat.

‘Oh—I thought you were Mrs Oliver—the housekeeper,’ she blurted, only just saving herself from stammering.

Narrowed, steely eyes examined her face. ‘Would you like a look around before lunch?’

‘Thank you.’ She wanted to ask him about Juliette’s legacy, but it seemed crass and greedy. Instead she walked sedately beside him down the wide hall and out onto a terrace running along the front of the house.

She had to admit that Marc was an excellent host. With impeccable courtesy he showed her the garden between the house and the beach, a sub-tropical fantasy that fascinated her with its skilful mingling of colour and form and scent.

On the way back towards the house they passed the tennis court, and he asked if she played.

‘I used to,’ she said. ‘But not for a while.’

‘Perhaps we could have a game some time.’

Which meant never, of course. ‘Perhaps,’ she said noncommittally. She turned away and looked out over the bay. ‘Are those boats—the yacht and the cruiser—yours?’

‘Yes. Do you like sailing?’

‘I loved it when I was a kid,’ she told him, adding, ‘My father had a yacht.’

He frowned. ‘I’ll take you out one day.’

Like the suggestion of tennis, she knew he didn’t mean it. What was the sense of all this? Tomorrow he’d be gone.

He was just being polite, as though she was a real guest here, not someone he’d been obliged to host by his dead wife’s will—the wife he’d betrayed.

Abruptly she asked, ‘Where is Juliette’s box?’

Thick black lashes concealed his eyes for a second, then lifted to reveal intensely blue depths, unreadable and enigmatic. ‘I’ll have it sent to your room.’

In crackling silence, they walked up the steps to the wide terrace.

‘It’s a wonderful house,’ Paige said woodenly. ‘So warm and sunny, yet the eaves must keep out the summer sun. And the garden is magical!’

Marc watched her face, saw something like wistfulness there, and silently summoned a raw French oath at the wave of protectiveness he felt. It had to be because she was Juliette’s friend. And because she’d had a rotten time with that bastard she’d worked for. As well, she hadn’t entirely recovered from the flu.

A man who prided himself on facing the truth without flinching, he let the comforting lies lodge in his brain for a betraying moment, until cold anger banished them.

Yes, he felt some responsibility for Juliette’s friend, because she was in trouble. But this strange need to care for her was something he’d never experienced before.

He was gentle with women because they were smaller and more fragile, although he respected their different kind of strength and their endurance when many men gave up. And he didn’t prey on the weak; he chose only those sophisticated enough to look after themselves.

Even Juliette, he thought with a brief, hard smile, young as she’d been, had known exactly what she wanted.

But Paige got to him; he resented the fact that any offer of help would be flung back in his teeth. Determination shone from her face, from the set of her shoulders and the resolute line of her soft, tantalising mouth.

Although he admired her for it, he wanted to smash that challenging pride into shards and make her totally, completely dependent on him.

He’d never felt like that before.

Brusquely he said, ‘Lunch must be ready.’

It was served at a table on the terrace, under the benign and hopeful gaze of a golden retriever called Fancy, each mouthful of delicious food accompanied by enthusiastic, fearless chattering from a pair of fantails, tiny birds that swooped through the warm air as they sought unseen insects.

Desperate to subdue the rising tension, Paige said brightly, ‘They’re such friendly little birds, aren’t they? It’s difficult to think of them as mighty hunters.’

Marc’s smile hardened. ‘Like them, we’re all hunters,’ he said, ‘and we’re all prey.’

Shocked, she lifted her lashes. He was watching her with half-closed eyes, and as little rills of flame ran wild through her body he lowered his gaze to her mouth.

Deliberately intimate, blatant as a kiss, the brief glance burned through her defences. Colour flamed into her skin and she couldn’t think of anything to say—she who had been extremely vocal when her sleazy employer had tried to hit on her!

Finally she managed, ‘That’s an interesting perspective on personal relationships.’

With a slight Gallic shrug he stated inflexibly, ‘It’s the truth. Look at your flatmate.’

‘Sherry?’ She bristled. ‘She’s not a victim and she’s certainly not—’

‘She wants money from the men who watch her strip.’ His coolly dispassionate voice doused her spurt of temper. ‘The more provocative her routine—the more she promises with each gesture and movement—the more money she makes. But I doubt if she follows through on it.’

‘She doesn’t,’ Paige snapped. ‘She’s a dancer.’

‘So it’s a coldly commercial transaction—she encourages her customers to fantasise about her without giving them any warmth or tenderness or respect.’

Paige blinked and cast a swift glance at his angular features. It seemed an odd thing for a man who kept a mistress to say. How much warmth or tenderness or respect had he given Juliette? She could glean nothing from his face beyond a quizzical gleam in the blue eyes.

She said stiffly, ‘She’s doing it for Brodie’s sake. As for warmth and tenderness and so on, I don’t imagine many of the men who watch her dance go to the club for that.’

‘Your loyalty is praiseworthy,’ he drawled, not hiding the mockery in his tone. ‘So why aren’t you stripping for a living? She’s earning more than you are.’

Her appetite vanishing, Paige put down her fork and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Because I can do other things, and I don’t have a child to plan for,’ she stated coldly. ‘Sherry grew up in a horrifying family situation and ended up on the streets when she was only fourteen. She got herself off them by sheer guts, then she married, sure it was going to last for ever. When she told her husband she was pregnant with Brodie he scarpered off to Australia, leaving a pile of debts he’d run up in her name. She doesn’t enjoy working as a stripper, but her long-term plan is to make enough money to get out and give Brodie a decent life.’

‘That makes her prey,’ he said calmly, and changed the subject with an insulting blandness. ‘Eat up—it’s a long time since breakfast, and you didn’t have anything on the flight, so you must be hungry.’

He was right. Although Paige’s mouth set mutinously, she was hungry, and while she cleared her plate of a delicious salad that combined beans and strawberries Marc told her Arohanui’s ancient legend of two Maori lovers who laid down their lives for each other.

Lulled by sunshine and a deep, highly suspect pleasure, Paige clung to her common sense by sheer exercise of will. When he’d finished she said lightly, ‘How very romantic and tragic—Romeo and Juliet, South Pacific-style.’

His answering smile was smoothly mocking. ‘And you don’t believe a word of it.’

‘If it happened, I’ll bet they were very young.’

‘Meaning that only the young and naïve consider love worth dying for?’ He leaned back in his chair, long fingers curved around the stem of his wine glass, those thick lashes hiding his thoughts. ‘You could be right.’

Uneasily aware that for all his relaxed grace he was focused intently on her, she opened her mouth to answer, but was forestalled when his brilliant gaze took her prisoner.

‘How old are you? Twenty-three? From my perspective that’s pretty young,’ he finished on a note of amusement.

Heat washed through her in a smooth, feral response, shutting down her mind until the dog sat up to snap at a fly and the familiar, tiny sound dragged her back to reality.

Paige looked away and said stiffly, ‘If it’s cynical to believe that love is a much overrated emotion, then I suppose I must be cynical.’

His brows rose above glinting, metallic eyes, but he said mildly, ‘I agree entirely with you that love is a much overrated emotion.’

Well, she’d known that—so why did her heart contract painfully? ‘How astonishing! We have something in common,’ she flashed, then bit her lip.

He nodded. ‘My parents supposedly loved each other, but all I remember of them was the sound of their quarrels. And their silences.’

Paige looked down. A gleam of sunlight probed a knife-blade with metallic glitter. ‘My parents didn’t quarrel. My mother told me that she’d had no idea—she thought they had a wonderful marriage until we arrived back from Disneyland to find my father living with his secretary. I think that was why she never got over it.’

The moment the words were said she wished them back; wincing internally, she braced herself for his response.

Sunlight collected in mahogany pools in his hair as he looked down at her. ‘That must have been a difficult time.’

‘As I suppose you know, there’s no easy way to deal with marriage disasters. I managed,’ she said curtly, accepting a cup of coffee from him.

‘But your mother didn’t.’

Shocked, she looked up into eyes that were steady and sympathetic. ‘Your private detective has been busy.’

‘Drink up,’ he said, not disturbed by her bitterness. ‘After you’ve finished your coffee, why don’t you rest for an hour or so?’

In her bedroom, Paige decided ironically that he was good; he’d managed to cloak a desire to get rid of her with common courtesy. She’d even believed him—until she was free of his overpowering magnetism.

Stretching out on the daybed, she tried emptying her mind, but it kept replaying that enigmatic conversation over the table. She’d said too much, revealed more of herself than was wise. It gave Marc an advantage, because all she knew of him was that he had a particularly continental way of running his sex-life.

Well, no, now she knew that his parents’ marriage had been unhappy. Had he intended to tell her? He was so controlled a man that his oddly intimate disclosure had to be deliberate.

When she found herself daydreaming of other intimate disclosures—sexy, basic, urgent fantasies that smoked through her brain in a drugging miasma—she leapt to her feet and paced across the room to peer through the shutters into the sunlight, frowning ferociously as she reined in her vivid imagination.

Trying to be dispassionate and worldly, she decided that it was a pity she was still a virgin, at the mercy of her imagination when it came to men and sex! With even one lover tucked in her background she’d be more rational about Marc’s elemental effect on her.

Feverish shivers chased each other down her spine. Looking like a lover from an erotic fantasy didn’t make him some super-stud who’d automatically whisk her to the stars if he ever took her to bed.

First experience, she’d read, usually failed dismally to live up to expectations. Marc was dangerously attractive—and powerful and arrogantly confident—but he was only a man. He couldn’t work miracles, and if she’d made love previously she’d have outgrown these romantic, overblown illusions of the perfect lover.

‘Anyway, it’s not going to happen,’ she muttered, turning back to the daybed. An experienced man, Marc probably demanded all sorts of sexual expertise and techniques from his lovers.

She willed herself to think of more sober things, like the fact that when she went back to Napier she might find herself a job…

Thanks to Marc.

Slowly, inevitably, as the island drowsed under the afternoon sun, sleep took over and her secret desires wound through her dreams.

She was smiling when a sharp noise forced her from Marc’s arms, hurling her into the cold water splash of reality.

Dazed and disorientated, she tried to hide a yawn as she stumbled off the daybed and across the room, conscious only of the imperative knock as she opened the door.

Marc looked down into her bemused face, black brows drawn together, his beautiful mouth hardening.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked abruptly.

Colour swarmed up through her skin, heating it into acute sensitivity. Not only was her body aching with a hot, forbidden hunger, but her clothes were crumpled, her hair tangled around her face—and it seemed utterly elderly to sleep in the afternoon.

‘I’m fine,’ she croaked, adding with a brave attempt at poise, ‘for someone who a moment ago was being chased by pirates.’

One pirate, actually.

And why had she said that? Marc’s raised brow made her feel insignificant and stupid, yet she couldn’t drag her eyes away from his face. Deep inside her something shattered into shards so fine she knew she’d never be able to put them together again. She suspected it was her precious independence. Every instinct shrilling an alarm, she took a step back from the door.

‘Then it’s just as well I woke you up,’ he said promptly, but something had changed. A raw undertone deepened his voice and darkness swallowed some of the brilliance of his eyes.

‘I—yes.’ Her lips were dry, but she didn’t dare lick them. ‘I’ll just wash my face.’

The words fell into a charged silence, one made even more significant by Marc’s slight shrug. ‘Of course,’ he said non-committally. ‘I’ll be out on the terrace. I thought you might like to walk up the hill behind the house.’

Desperate to shatter the disturbing intimacy, Paige nodded. She needed violent activity to burn off the adrenaline that alerted every cell in her body; climbing a mountain would be ideal, but a walk should help.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said, and stepped back, closing the door behind her.

When he turned that lethal male charm onto her she had to guard every response in case she fell into the oldest trap in the world—the sex trap. Paige washed her face and took a couple of deep, grounding breaths before going out to join him.

She stopped in the wide doorway onto the terrace, her heart picking up speed. Tall, darkly dominant against the light, he stood with his hands in his pockets and a broad shoulder leaning against one of the columns that held up the pergola. The dog Fancy sat beside him, following his gaze out to the gleaming sorcery of the ocean and the islands.

Because he had his back to her Paige could allow her eyes to appreciate the way the superbly tailored fabric strained over his lean hips and moulded the strong muscles in his thighs.

An odd, twisting sensation caught her by surprise, as did a swift pulse of heat in the pit of her stomach.

Paige set her teeth and moved out to join him, pointing to a line of cloud bulging ominously over distant hills on the mainland. ‘Is that rain on the way?’

His hands emerged from his pockets as he straightened up to cast a knowledgeable eye at the dark bar along the horizon. ‘The wind’s gone round to the south-west, so it’s more than likely.’ Frowning, he examined her with a swift, perceptive survey, then returned his attention to the distant hills. ‘It’s not travelling fast enough to worry us, and often clouds like that don’t make it this far out in the Bay. Will you be warm enough?’

Too warm. In fact, she was heatedly, uncomfortably, unbearably aware of him.

And also aware that probably no other guest in his house had worn clothes as undistinguished as hers. Not that Marc gave any indication he’d noticed, but he’d have to be obtuse not to realise that her T-shirt and cotton trousers couldn’t compare with the exquisite outfit of the woman who’d been with him that first day in Napier.

And he was far from obtuse.

‘It’s not cold,’ she said, a shiver of alienation driving her to the edge of the terrace, where she pretended to scan the flamboyant combination of tropical and traditional garden forms.

After he’d left the island she’d spend some days storing this place in her memories. The plantswoman she longed to be relished the way fan palms set off native New Zealand shrubs and trees, and was excited by the exotic touch of upright cannas and bird of paradise flowers in electric blue and orange against the sprawling, extravagantly sombre splendour of two ancient pohutukawa trees.

She observed, ‘I suppose if you live on an island you need to understand the weather.’ And then flushed, remembering too late the circumstances of his father’s tragic death.

‘It’s not so vital as it used to be; we have the latest gadgets for forecasting, and the locals are pretty good at reading the signs.’ He gestured towards a path across the lawn. ‘This way.’

As they set off, with the dog racing ahead, he added with an inflection that came too close to mockery, ‘It’s steep, so we should work off some of the tension of being inactive all day.’

The tension twisting along her nerves, Paige thought grimly, didn’t come from inactivity.

The path led through a gate into a stand of huge, gnarled old pohutukawa trees, then struck off up a bush-clad hill. Paige liked the fact that apart from rock steps in the steepest pinches the track hadn’t been formed, winding its way up beside a little stream that chattered musically over rocks. Nikau palms and the softer, feathery fronds of tree ferns crowded close in stately, graceful profusion, blending into the dark mass of bush.

‘It smells deliciously fresh,’ Paige said. Oh, wonderful—just be as banal as you can! Other women—the woman with him in Napier, for one—would have been able to entertain him with lively, witty conversation. ‘And green, and somehow ancient,’ she added defiantly, stepping from one rock to another across the creek as Fancy splashed gloriously through the water.

‘It’s never been cut over, so some of these trees are centuries old.’ Marc was right behind her.

She concentrated fiercely on setting a cracking pace. Of course he kept up with her—and he wasn’t breathless with exertion within ten minutes! Paige was grateful that he didn’t try to speak, seemingly content to climb the slope in silence apart from an occasional command to the dog.

Sunlight stabbed golden shafts through the thick, scented canopy. ‘Oh—look!’ Paige breathed, slowing her pace and pointing, entranced by an arrow of light glowing like a halo around a small violet toadstool.

But the light vanished as though someone had yanked a shutter across, turning the green solitude into a murky gloom, still and threatening.

She said, ‘Has that cloud—?’

‘Quiet!’

Like him, she stopped, following his frowning gaze up into the sky, suddenly dark through the tangle of leaves. Above the short, soft sounds of her breathing she heard a bird cry out with shocking clarity in the tense silence. Fancy whined and pressed herself against Marc’s legs.

‘Thunder,’ Marc said tersely, clearly angry with himself. ‘I should have seen it coming.’

The distant mutter startled Paige, but not as much as the hand on her shoulder.

Exerting considerable pressure, he turned her and propelled her down the track. ‘That squall is blowing in fast. We’re almost at the top of the highest hill around, and under trees—perfect targets for lightning. Fancy, come!’

Another clap of thunder, nearer now, reinforced his warning. Fingers tightening on her shoulder, he gave her a little push, ordering curtly, ‘Faster!’

Paige began to run, picking her way down the path as the thunder rumbled closer and closer and the light faded into a waiting, taut dimness. She could feel the turbulent, dangerous energy building within the clouds.

Although she skidded a couple of times she kept her balance. Marc could have easily outrun her, but he stayed a step ahead, positioning himself so that if she fell she’d land on him.

Always the protective male, she thought, trying to quench a warm glow in the most secret region of her heart. It meant nothing—a male hangover from prehistoric times when a man had to be ready to defend his woman against predators both animal and human.

He had no need to worry about wild animals in New Zealand, and she wasn’t his woman, but she began to understand the seductive lure of masculine strength and power.

A strange exhilaration blossomed beneath her heart, expanding to fill her with bubbles of delight. Instinct warned her she’d always remember this mad dash down the hill through the moist gloom; time wouldn’t overcome the steamy rich aroma of leaf-mould, or the sight of Fancy tearing down ahead, gold hair flying, ears lifting and falling.

And Marc, moving silently and powerfully, all controlled, huntsman’s grace.

He glanced over his shoulder. ‘OK?’

Oh, more than OK—foolishly, crazily exultant! ‘Fine!’

Trying to curb this wild intoxication of the spirit, she began to count the intervals between the lightning that pulsed in staccato flashes through the trees and its accompanying thunder.

‘We’re lucky—the full force of the squall is going to miss the island,’ Marc said into the waiting silence. ‘Keep going—we’re nearly there.’

But a few hundred metres from the garden he grabbed her hand and hauled her ruthlessly into a stand of graceful small trees, their sinuous branches holding up huge leaves that formed an umbrella.

‘These will keep us reasonably dry,’ he said.

She protested, ‘We could make the house—’

‘Not without soaking you—and this rain will be cold. It feels like hail.’

Sure enough, the temperature had dropped noticeably. ‘I’m not made of sugar,’ Paige said, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Eyes glinting in the premature dusk, he surveyed her upturned face. ‘Far from sugary,’ he said in a detached, impersonal tone. ‘Rain is one thing, but hail can kill.’

Although they couldn’t see the rapidly approaching storm through the tree canopy, its presence was all around—borne on the wind that propelled its hissing advance towards them.

That cold breath flowed over Paige, rapidly banishing the heat from her headlong race down the hill. She clenched her teeth together, but couldn’t stop a shiver. Marc pushed her behind him, sheltering her from the full onrush of the squall.

He said, ‘Here it comes.’

Rain pounced, spattering noisily on the huge, glossy leaves before settling into a solid, heavy drumming that blocked out any thunder and turned twilight into darkness. A sudden gust lashed the trees, spattering huge drops over them. Marc stood foursquare onto the thrust of the storm, Fancy pressed against his legs.

Although cold, and a little damp around the edges, that suspicious euphoria still bubbled through Paige like the very best champagne. Groping for a steady place to anchor her emotions, she reminded herself of all the reasons she had to distrust this man.

Yet he’d put himself between her and the full force of the storm, and because of him her blood sang a primitive, taboo song while her body seethed with eager life.

She thought wildly that she’d remember this moment on her deathbed.

And, because that terrified her, she tried to push past him, saying hoarsely, ‘I’m already wet—I might as well go on.’

He turned and grabbed her wrist, giving it a swift shake as he yanked her back. Harshly he snapped, ‘Don’t be an idiot. It could still hail. It will be over in a few minutes, so—’

The words fell into a silence that wasn’t real, a silence conjured by pitiless awareness. I won’t look up, she thought defiantly. I will not look up…

But she did, straight into the blue heart of fire, into eyes both penetrating and molten at the same time.

He said something she’d never learned in high school French and let her wrist go. Some unregenerate part of her realised that it took him a huge effort to release her, and gloated.

She didn’t step back; she couldn’t. As the thunder muttered and grumbled above them she said one word.

‘That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.’ His voice was harsh and deep and textured with hunger. ‘Paige.’

Only one syllable, yet it was a caress, a note of raw need, a sensual promise.

But he waited, his eyes keen and measuring as they raked her face.

What was he doing? Demanding that she take the first step to surrender?

A stray raindrop plopped onto her lips, startling her into licking it off. He made a soft, feral sound that sent chills scudding the length of her spine, and the next moment she was being strained against his big, aroused body and he was kissing her, his mouth cool and controlled against hers—for a mini-second.

Until his steely discipline shattered into splinters and they kissed like long-separated lovers, as though they had kissed a thousand times before—as though after this there would be no other kiss, no other touch.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE day her boss had tried to force her mouth open beneath his, Paige had efficiently backed away before scorching his ears with a contemptuous verbal assault.

Yet now, when Marc did the same thing, she opened to him gladly, linking her hands behind his back and dizzily surrendering to the desperate urgency that surged through her like fire in dry fern. More thunder hammered in her ears, her heart’s insistent counterpoint to the tumult around them.

This, she realised as his mouth took hers again in fierce possession, was what she’d recognised in herself the first time she’d seen Marc—a wild hunger that knew no boundaries and suffered no restraints.

His arms tightened, bringing her against his hardening body. Every instinct of self-preservation shrieked at her to wrench free and race through the dying storm to the safety of the house.

But older, more basic instincts challenged her to stay, to find out what made Marc Corbett the only man with the power to smash down the conditioning of a lifetime.

And while she hovered between the promise of safety and the dazzling, embargoed beauty of danger, he kissed her just under the line of her jawbone, and one long-fingered hand traced the soft curves of her breast. Shockwaves of sensation exploded through her.

Trembling, she whispered his name again.

Marc ran his thumb over the demanding centre of her breast. Her breath lodged in her throat as fire scorched along secret pathways from his touch. Although lightning flashed against her closed eyelids and thunder roared around them, nature couldn’t produce as powerful a storm as the one that conquered her.

And then Marc lifted his head and with narrowed, blazing eyes watched her realise what she was doing.

Surrendering.

The heat in his gaze changed to coldly crystalline brilliance when shocked horror robbed her face of colour and twisted her mouth into a grimace of self-contempt. Marc had expected his wife to accept the presence of his mistress in their lives. And Paige had kissed him as though he was her one true lover, a man to die for.

‘Let me go,’ she croaked through numb lips.

Immediately he stepped back and gave her room. ‘What do we do about this?’ he asked uncompromisingly.

Shame flooded her face in a wash of colour that drained away to leave her skin painfully stretched. Cold and alone and empty, her glittering anticipation crumbling into ashes, she shook her head and said, ‘Nothing.’ But no sound came out.

However, he understood. She’d expected some protest—something!—anything but the hard, humourless smile that curled the corners of his mouth.

‘Then we’d better go into the house and forget that it ever happened,’ he said courteously. ‘The rain’s stopped and the storm is over.’

As Paige stepped out of the shelter of the trees the sun burst out in radiance.

From behind her came Marc’s voice, sardonic and infuriatingly self-assured. ‘But there will be other squalls, and I doubt if either of us will forget.’

‘There won’t be,’ Paige told him stiffly, adding with a swift resentment she instantly regretted, ‘As for forgetting—you’ll do that easily. Women are expendable, after all.’

A heartbeat of silence pulsed around them before he drawled, ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

‘I’m sure you know.’

‘And I’m sure I don’t.’ Iron ran like a threat through his tone. ‘Explain it.’

She bit her lip. Her damnable temper had to erupt at the very worst time, summoned by the intense frustration that tore her composure to tatters. If he hadn’t lifted his head and looked into her face she’d have willingly co-operated in her own seduction.

This humiliating knowledge spurred her on. ‘Simply that whatever you want from women is easily found. It means nothing more than momentary pleasure.’

His smile was cynical, almost cruel. ‘Indeed?’ he said with cool indifference, and stooped and crushed her startled mouth beneath his.

The kiss was over in a heartbeat, but while it lasted her lips had shaped to his.

‘Momentary?’ he murmured, his tone insultingly relaxed.

Shame burned like acid, concealing a pain she refused to face. She was too unsophisticated to play teasing, sexual games. Keeping her face averted, she walked beneath the bold heat of the sun and tried to ignore the man beside her.

He said, ‘And what makes you think I see sex as a game between men and women? Did Juliette tell you that?’

The ice in his words scraped along her nerves. ‘I’d have to be stupid not to know that women are, always obtainable—’ her voice invested the word with scorching disdain ‘—when you’re rich.’

‘A certain sort of woman,’ he agreed silkily. ‘But greed is not exclusive to the female sex—a certain type of man is always on the lookout for rich women. And you’re evading my question.’

They had reached the limits of the garden; automatically courteous, he reached to unlatch the gate and stood back to let her go through it first. Moving as carefully as though he were a tiger in ambush, she walked past him.

‘You have no right to ask that question,’ she said with steady composure. ‘My conversations with Juliette were private.’

He said with clinical assurance, ‘So she did.’

Paige waited tensely for him to reject the accusation, but he remained silent while they walked through the splendid gardens, past the tennis court and between two large citrus trees, glowing with burnished fruit like a treasure beyond price.

He startled her by observing with a judicial lack of emotion, ‘Your father’s defection presumably hit you hard, and making friends with Sherry would reinforce your belief that people exploit each other.’

Anger lit her eyes and tightened her lips—lips that still stung from his kisses. ‘We’ve had this conversation before.’

‘I’m just surprised that you accept her solution.’ He held back a wet branch so that she didn’t get drenched. Great drops fell like tears at his touch.

Paige cast him a glinting, dangerous glance. ‘She does what she has to,’ she said steadily. ‘Women do, you know—we survive, and for some of us it’s not easy or particularly pleasant.’

‘Then why aren’t you stripping with your friend on the stage?’ He slashed her with a survey as blue and hard as the gleam in a diamond.

Paige stiffened as his gaze travelled from the vulnerable length of her throat to her breasts, and then on to the apex of her body, assessing the contours of her legs beneath her trousers, and back up to her face, by then pale and set.

He said with brutal frankness, ‘You’ve a good body, and you dance like a dream. You could probably earn as much as she does.’

Paige’s teeth ravaged her bottom lip. ‘It’s not my scene,’ she said finally.

‘Then how about this—I will pay you to stay with me for—oh, shall we say a year? At the end of the year you’ll be free to go.’

Paige gasped, her breath almost strangling her. He couldn’t mean it—no, of course he didn’t mean it. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Smoothly, with enough cruel irony in his tone to set her skin crawling, he finished, ‘Those kisses made it more than clear that there is nothing ridiculous about the proposition. I’d guess it would take us a year at least to tire of each other.’

Pain blocked her throat. She could only walk beside him and listen to his silkily dispassionate voice tear down dreams she hadn’t known she’d been harbouring.

‘Of course when it was over I’d make sure you had enough money to set you up in whatever business you desire, and keep you for a couple of years while it was getting onto its feet.’ He paused, but when she said nothing he went on, still in that coldly amused tone, ‘All you have to do is satisfy me. I can certainly promise to satisfy you.’

‘I am not a prostitute,’ Paige ground out, staring wretchedly at a hibiscus flower, brazenly scarlet with its silken petals gleaming. She didn’t dare look at Marc, because he might guess that just for an instant—for a shameless fraction of a second—she’d been tempted.

‘I rest my case.’

She stopped and jerked around to face him, eyes glittering in her stormy face. ‘But I don’t know what I’d do if I had a baby to look after! Sherry believes that all she’s got to offer is her body. She wants to make sure Brodie never has to endure the sort of childhood she had, and to do that she’s got to have a financial stake. She’s getting it the fastest way she can.’

She stopped, infuriated by the inflexible expression on his boldly marked features. ‘And you—’ she finished with loathing ‘—you’re a narrow-minded snob.’

His expression didn’t change. ‘Whereas your loyalty seems to be exceeded only by your gullibility. Women like Sherry move through any level of society. The ones I meet are more sophisticated, but essentially they have the same practical attitude.’

Something in the deep voice caught her attention, yet she couldn’t decide what it was. Was he thinking of his mistress?

She began to walk towards the house, saying unsteadily, ‘It would probably do you good to be in her shoes for a year. Then you might learn not to judge people.’

Marc watched her march away, shoulders erect, her stifflegged fury unable to overcome the seductive, entirely unconscious sway of her hips. Fickle sunlight poured over her hair, turning it into a fall of dark honey-amber, still tousled by the rake of his fingers when he’d kissed her. Her skin echoed the colour, softened it and turned it into a pale, delicate glow so that she shimmered like a figurine, rare and precious and too delicate.

Heat slammed through him—heat that resisted the icy chill of logic and common sense. He bit back searing words and followed her, catching her up in two smooth, powerful strides.

At the intersection of two paths presided over by a superb marble Pan, she hesitated, not sure which way to go.

‘To the left,’ Marc directed abruptly, looking past her down that path. The cold control that had locked his features into stillness altered as he said smoothly, ‘Ah, Lauren’s arrived. She’s an executive in Corbett’s. In fact, although you haven’t been formally introduced, you’ve met her—she was with me in Napier. She has a special interest in New Zealand.’

Paige swung around and watched with an oddly kicking heart as the tall woman came towards them. So this was the woman who had darkened Juliette’s life. She suspected that she knew exactly what that special interest was—the man beside her.

Pain raked her with unsheathed claws; she took in a long, silent breath, stiffened her spine and angled her chin, wounded pride providing the courage to smile as she was introduced to the woman whose mocking voice she’d never forgotten.

Sleekly elegant, Lauren Porter possessed something a lot more special than conventional beauty—intelligence, and a knowledgeable sophistication that irradiated her fine features. And she had the same aura of confidence as Marc, an inbuilt assurance that set Paige’s defences slamming up. She looked younger than Marc, but probably only by a couple of years.

Juliette would have had no defences against a woman like this.

After that initial softening Marc’s unbreakable control masked his emotions, but his executive gave Paige a warm smile.

‘So we meet again. Are you enjoying your visit to the island?’ Lauren Porter asked.

‘Very much, thank you.’ Paige’s voice sounded stiff but pleasant.

Before the other woman could answer Marc interpolated smoothly, ‘And we’re both a little damp, thanks to that last shower. Let’s go inside.’

Back in her bedroom, Paige changed and showered and wondered at the smiling regard Marc’s mistress had turned on her. She seemed very—well, pleasant. But pleasant was a nothing word, emotionless and without juice. And beneath that charming exterior there had to be much more than mere pleasantness.

Raging sexual desire, perhaps.

Paige’s hand stole up to touch her lips. She clamped them tight to stop them trembling, feeling as though she’d walked through a barred gate onto a pathway leading down to destruction.

Which was ridiculous; she’d been kissed before.

Not often, she admitted reluctantly. As her mother had sunk into illness her friends had fallen away, so there had been no kisses after the unpractised ones stolen by the occasional boy at high school.

Perhaps her response to Marc was an indication of how utterly green and inexperienced she was; his lovemaking might not be anything special at all.

Perhaps any man might have that effect on her.

She shuddered with disgust, remembering her boss. Well, not any man…but any man she wanted. As for Marc; next time—if there was a next time!—his touch set off erotic explosions all through her, she had to remember why she disliked and distrusted him.

If she weakened at all towards him she could expect eventual rejection and bitter desolation.

Changing into jeans and a white shirt, she wondered miserably where Lauren Porter had bought her sleek black trousers and the pure red top made from merino wool as fine as silk. The black jacket over it was certainly leather, and so were the red gloves tucked dashingly into the pocket.

A very classy lady, Paige thought wearily. She examined herself in the mirror, then shrugged. She was no competition.

So why had Marc kissed her senseless? What would Lauren think if she knew? Perhaps a worldly woman wouldn’t care how many other lovers he had.

Whereas if he was hers she’d scratch the eyes out of—

‘No!’ she said as her appalled gaze flew to the hands curling into claws at her sides.

Oh, no. Apart from being the most appalling disloyalty to Juliette, she was so far out of her league she might as well be a sparrow hunted by an eagle.

Not that she liked that idea, either. A nice domestic tabby, she decided with a mocking smile at her idiocy, in the den of a blue-eyed tiger.

Paige swallowed an uncomfortable obstruction in her throat and fastened an interested, alert, uninvolved look to her face before sallying out to confront Marc.

But when she steeled herself to walk casually into the room Marc had told her they’d meet in she found it empty. Not for long, however; the housekeeper arrived hot on her heels.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mrs Oliver said without preamble, ‘but Marc asked me to tell you that there’s an emergency—business, not personal—so he won’t be able to dine with you tonight.’

Paige fought down the infuriating spasm of disappointment underlying her quick relief. ‘I hope it’s nothing too bad?’

Mrs Oliver said with complete confidence, ‘Marc will deal with it, whatever it is. He thrives on challenges. Shall I bring dinner here?’ She indicated a table at one end of the informal room that shared the same warm, appealing elegance as the rest of the house.

‘Thank you. Can I help with anything?’

The older woman smiled at her. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m too set in my ways to work comfortably with anyone else in the kitchen. Dinner will be in half an hour or so. Afterwards, would you like to watch television? Or a film? Marc gets them flown in.’

‘That sounds great.’

But later, after she’d made herself eat a delicious meal, sat in a fabulous home theatre and watched a taut, well-acted drama that hadn’t yet reached New Zealand, she refused coffee or tea in favour of an early night and walked back to her room feeling stupidly abandoned.

‘Ridiculous!’ she said sternly, closing the door behind her too vigorously. So Marc admitted to wanting her—that didn’t give her licence to develop a humiliating fixation.

His kisses had been dynamite. And her response had been scary. Somehow he’d smashed down all her barriers to reach some hidden, subversive part of her that gloried in the wildness and the heat and the urgent need his touch summoned.

However, although she’d wanted Marc with a desperation that scared the hell out of her, lust wasn’t love, so she had no reason to feel this stupid, useless, embarrassing sense of betrayal. Love meant need and dependence and sacrifice—and eventual rejection—whereas lust, a simple physical itch, was much safer.

In fact, if she were an experienced woman she might even be tempted to have an affair with him.

Getting ready for bed, she toyed recklessly with the idea of yielding to the tormenting desperation that ran like hot honey through her body whenever she remembered those moments in his arms. Perhaps indulging in a wild conflagration of passion would eventually exorcise it, because nothing so intense could last—the human frame wasn’t equipped to deal with prolonged exposure to such hunger.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she scoffed, stamping out of the bathroom. ‘Starting your sex life with an arrogant, autocratic, cheating magnate would be a very bad move.’ Yet an unknown emotion tightened painfully around her heart.

Some time during the evening the housekeeper had removed the white bedspread and replaced the bolster with large, continental pillows. Beside the jug of water on a chest were a bowl of fruit and some crackers.

Clearly Marc gave great thought to his guests’ comfort.

Not likely, she thought with an ironic smile. Apart from making sure he employed well-trained staff, he probably took it all completely for granted.

Why had he been so determined to fulfil the conditions of Juliette’s will?

Her lip curled as she marched across the room. The most cynical answer was the right one; he knew he’d hurt Juliette with his unfaithfulness, so this was a sop to a guilty conscience.

And it wasn’t costing him anything—not even time, because he was leaving tomorrow.

Aching with a desolate tiredness, she crawled into bed and switched off the light, waiting impatiently for sleep to shut down the chaos in her mind.

Only to have it play and replay with loving fidelity each delicious, forbidden kiss, every erotic stimulus, from the subtle friction of his shaven jaw to the vivid impact of flame-blue eyes, the experienced, knowledgeable touch of his hand on her breast, the blatant hunger of his hardening body…

Her own body sprang into eager life. Groaning, Paige turned her head into the pillow.

The telephone beside the bed shocked her with a soft, insistent warble. Heart jolting, she bolted upright, groping for the receiver. ‘Hello?’ she muttered.

Marc said, ‘I thought you might like to ring Sherry and reassure her that you got here safely.’

Adrenaline sizzled through Paige like a charge of lightning. ‘I—now?’ But guilt bit deep; she’d meant to ask if she could contact her flatmate, and she’d been so caught up in her own concerns she’d forgotten.

‘It’s not late,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’ll put you through.’

Paige opened her mouth to say something—she never knew what—but the number clicked up automatically and within a couple of seconds Sherry said, ‘Hello?’ into the receiver.

‘It’s Paige here. How’s everything going?’

She relaxed at Sherry’s soft, unforced laugh.

‘Everything’s fine. How are you? What’s your guy’s place like?’

‘He’s not my guy,’ Paige said automatically.

‘He wants to be,’ Sherry teased. ‘Talk about vibes!’

Paige said curtly, ‘We have nothing in common.’

‘You mean he’s rich and you’re not?’

Amongst other things. They also had completely different standards and values. Paige said lightly, ‘Yep. Now I know how a fish out of water feels!’

‘Rubbish,’ her friend said indignantly. ‘You’d fit in anywhere—you’re pretty and nice and you’re clever. What more could anyone want?’

Paige laughed, but Sherry’s quick support warmed her. ‘Thanks.’

‘Still, be careful, all right?’ Sherry’s voice changed into an almost maternal warning. ‘Men like him aren’t used to having women say no to them.’

Paige stated with such utter conviction she startled herself, ‘You don’t need to worry; he’s not the sort to turn ugly. Besides, the long-term girlfriend is here, and they’re taking off for parts unknown tomorrow.’

‘Oh. Pity,’ Sherry said, clearly not convinced.

‘The house is lovely—old, but beautifully restored and added to, and only a few steps from a fabulous beach with huge old pohutukawa trees along the beachfront. It will be breathtaking in summer—great crimson domes against the sea. And not another house in sight, although there must be a place for the housekeeper.’

‘A housekeeper?’ Now Shelley was impressed.

‘Yes. And the island is covered in native bush, so from the air it looks like a greenstone heart—fairytale stuff! Marc’s helicopter met us at the airport and flew us over.’

‘Cool!’ Sherry didn’t have an envious bone in her body. ‘You enjoy it—every minute of it. Don’t worry about me and Brodie, we’re fine and enjoying our holiday together, so don’t think of coming back until you’re ready. You might as well make the most of whatever good fortune comes your way.’ She paused, then said, ‘And, Paige, I’ve been thinking. If you want to stay—’

‘I don’t. I’ll be back home in a week’s time.’

‘Oh.’ Sherry sounded startled, but she went on swiftly, ‘Well, you might see a chance of a job or something there. You haven’t had much luck in Napier, so if one comes up, take it. Don’t worry about us. As a matter of fact, I think I might be getting a job myself—a proper job. I interviewed for it this afternoon—nice people.’

She sounded so elaborately offhand that Paige realised it was a job she wanted very much. ‘Where?’ she asked. ‘Doing what?’

‘In the country—well, about twenty kilometres out of Napier. I saw it in the paper after you left, and when I rang they were quite keen.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s light housework and taking care of a couple of kids after school. There’s a free flat for me and Brodie.’

‘It sounds perfect.’ If Sherry got that job, Paige wouldn’t be able to afford the unit. She pushed the thought to the furthest reaches of her mind and said heartily, ‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.’

‘Yeah, well, the money’s not as good, of course, but I’ll be able to save most of it. And it’s more wholesome for Brodie to grow up there. Oh-oh, he’s stirring. I’d better hang up.’ Dropping her voice, Sherry said, ‘Have a great time, and for once start looking out for yourself, OK?’

Paige’s smile faded as she hung up. She switched off the light again and lay down, blessing the employer who was prepared to look past the stripper to the warm, responsible woman that Sherry was.

The telephone rang again. Lifting herself onto her elbow, Paige stared at it, then slowly reached for the receiver.

Marc asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Fine, thank you.’ She heard Lauren Porter’s voice, sharply urgent.

Marc said, ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. Goodnight, Paige.’

‘Goodnight.’

But it seemed hours that she lay listening to heavy showers hiss across the sea and pounce onto the house. Was the emergency an all-night affair? Or was Marc with Lauren, making love on a bed even bigger than this one?

She turned over onto her stomach, thrusting her face into the pillow, and tried to block out the images that flashed through her brain. Eventually she drifted off to sleep, but she spent the rest of the night tormented by dark, agitated dreams, and woke with a jolt, aching all over, to the sound of the helicopter taking off.

Marc was leaving. Without conscious thought, she bolted out of bed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BY THE time Paige had pushed the curtains back, and wrestled open the shutters onto the terrace, the sound of the chopper’s engines had faded across the sea. The sudden hollowness beneath her ribs was invaded by a pain so acute she had to lean against the wall; narrowing her eyes, she frantically searched for the helicopter.

And when at last she caught the tiny silver glint buzzing across a cloudless sky, she whispered, ‘Goodbye,’ on a silent sob.

‘Good morning,’ Marc said from far too close.

Stiff with shock, she whirled around. Clad in well-cut trousers and nothing else, he’d walked out through another set of doors only a few feet from hers. The sun gilded his broad shoulders and magnificent torso and revealed the shadow clinging to his unshaven jaw. He looked like a buccaneer, sexy and sinful and formidably dangerous in every meaning of the word.

Heat exploded deep in the pit of her stomach. Squelching her first impulse to flee back into her bedroom, drag the curtains across and hole up there until the helicopter arrived back to rescue her from such reckless temptation, Paige stood firm and took a deep breath. If only she’d combed her hair before she came out! She could feel it rioting around her head like spun toffee.

Refusing to glance down at the shabby T-shirt she slept in, she said, ‘Good morning.’ And, while the smile curling his sculpted mouth wreaked untold damage on her nervous system, she blurted, ‘Where’s the helicopter going?’

‘It’s taking Lauren to Kerikeri. She has to catch the eight o’clock plane to Auckland.’

Dry-mouthed, she said, ‘I thought you were leaving with her?’

‘I’m not going until after lunch,’ he said, almost as though she had the right to ask.

She met his eyes steadily, but couldn’t read anything in his enamelled blue eyes and calm, outrageously handsome face.

The smile returned, high voltage this time. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Tamping down a wild response, she told him shortly, ‘Very well, thank you.’ No lie, either. Once she’d chiselled those images from her brain she’d gone under like a drowning victim! But some masochistic urge persuaded her to ask, ‘How about you?’

‘When I finally got to sleep.’ And before she had time to torture herself further with pictures of him in bed with Lauren he said, ‘I’m sorry about last night. I had to deal with something that wouldn’t wait.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ A cool breeze from the sea breathed on her, puckering her skin. ‘It was a pleasant evening, and I enjoyed the film.’

He frowned. ‘You’d better get into some warmer clothes.’

Did he ever miss anything?

He finished, ‘I’ll see you at breakfast in half an hour.’

‘Certainly,’ she said crisply, and walked inside, closing the shutters behind her.

Half an hour later he was coming along the passage when she emerged from her bedroom.

‘A punctual woman,’ he said. He regarded her with sardonic amusement. ‘Hungry?’

She had been, but the sight of him, shaven and with his splendid torso concealed by a shirt that darkened his eyes to smoky sapphires, stole her appetite.

Trying to marshal her tumbling emotions into some sort of order, she went with him to the room where she’d eaten her solitary dinner the night before. The dog Fancy ambled in through the open doors of the terrace to gaze adoringly at Marc, her tail wagging with expectation until he greeted her. Then, politely, she came across and let Paige stroke her head.

‘She must miss you when you’re away,’ Paige observed, approaching the chair Marc held for her.

‘I don’t think so.’ He looked down at the dog with a half-smile. ‘I probably miss her more. According to Rose Oliver she sleeps a lot.’

It felt as though a century had gone by since this time yesterday, when she’d been walking the dogs in Napier, Paige thought despairingly as he slid the chair in beneath her.

Well, things had happened—she’d flown up here, and she’d kissed Marc Corbett. A truly life-changing event, she mocked.

She surveyed her empty plate with absorbed interest while the scents of breakfast teased her nostrils—toast and bacon, the sweet tang of orange juice straight from the tree, the delicious promise of coffee.

Kisses didn’t have to mean anything, common sense assured her bracingly.

But Marc’s kisses had spun her world off its axis. When she’d caught fire her surrender had shattered her life’s safe, prosaic foundations into splinters.

‘Something wrong?’ Marc enquired. ‘No, I remember—it normally takes you a while to wake up in the morning. Do you need a kick-start—coffee, perhaps?’

Sitting mute as a fish was hardly cool. She said evenly, ‘Coffee helps.’

‘Pour yourself a cup, then. And one for me, if you don’t mind—black.’

It figured. Glad to have something to do, she lifted the pot and, while he made a sortie to the sideboard, carefully poured two large cups of coffee.

When he sat down she glanced at his plate, and in a voice she hoped sounded amused and light, asked, ‘Do you eat porridge every morning?’

‘At home I do.’

‘Like father, like son.’ The moment she said the words she’d have given anything to call them back. His father’s nickname of the Robber Baron hadn’t been affectionately given.

Marc shrugged. ‘In matters of breakfast,’ he confirmed blandly. ‘What would you like?’

‘Fruit, thank you, and toast.’

She got up and helped herself. Spooning yoghurt over tamarillos, she wondered angrily how just being in the same room as him made her respond so much more vividly; the yoghurt blazed like white fire against the ruby-coloured fruit, and the air stroking her skin was potent with fragrance.

While she ate Marc made polite conversation, his ease chipping away at her self-confidence. If those searing kisses had meant anything to him he’d be like her, almost raw with awareness, instead of giving off an aura of self-possession that meant he was fully in control.

‘As the weather has settled we’ll go around the island this morning,’ he said urbanely. ‘It will give you some idea of what the place looks like from the sea.’

It took all her will power to answer sedately, ‘That’s very kind, but you don’t have to entertain me.’

His brows rose. ‘It would be a pity if you don’t see some of the Bay while you’re up here.’

‘You don’t have to feel obliged—’

‘Paige,’ he said, his pleasant tone failing to hide a steely note, ‘I won’t kiss you again.’

A tumult of colour scorched her skin. Outside a dove cooed seductively, the soft sounds floating across the terrace and in through the wide doors.

‘You won’t get the chance,’ she said, hurrying the words out so fast they arrived joined together. She breathed in deeply, and asked with stilted steadiness, ‘Is there any chance of me seeing Juliette’s legacy this morning?’

She felt greedy, and somehow sordid, but she wasn’t going to pretend that this was a simple, carefree holiday, with yesterday’s exchange of kisses a diversion to be easily ignored.

‘Certainly,’ he said with a hint of frost in his tone. It had disappeared when he said, ‘I’ll make a bargain with you.’

Startled, she looked up into eyes as cool and crystalline as the heart of a sapphire. ‘What?’ she asked, oddly breathless.

‘I’ll get Rose to bring the box along to your room after we come back. In return, promise to stop looking at me as though I’m going to leap on you. I’m sorry for kissing you yesterday.’ His eyes were opaque blue gems against the tanned skin of his angular face as he scanned her face. When she moved uncomfortably in her seat, he said calmly, ‘I won’t make any excuses—you are deliciously desirable, and I temporarily lost my head—but it won’t happen again.’

Because he’d spent last night in Lauren Porter’s arms? Perhaps he did feel some loyalty towards his long-term mistress after all.

And she was very happy about his promise, Paige told herself, lying like an expert. ‘All right,’ she said gruffly.

‘Now, do you think you’ll be able to eat your breakfast instead of pushing it around the plate?’

Well, of course he was amused. He probably thought she was gauche and green and still wet behind the ears. No doubt he was kicking himself for losing his head temporarily yesterday, and this hideously embarrassing and painful conversation was his attempt at damage limitation.

‘Yes,’ she said stiffly, and began to force the food past the obstruction in her throat.

Marc’s motor cruiser was smaller than the big yacht; nevertheless, Paige decided, eyeing the galley and comfortable cabin, it was nothing like the family boats owned by so many New Zealanders. As well as looking like a rich man’s toy it exuded modern technology and luxury.

An uncharacteristic melancholy stole some of the warmth and colour from the day.

‘Do you know anything about boats?’ Marc asked, standing back to let her climb a set of steps from the deck to a high cabin above the main one.

‘I can row,’ she told him, going up nimbly. ‘That’s about it.’

At the top of the stairs he said, ‘This is the flybridge.’ He indicated an impressive bank of dials and screens in front of a leather chair fixed to the deck. ‘Sit down and we’ll get moving.’

Leather sofas stretched around the sides beneath windows that provided a panoramic view on three sides. The fourth opened towards the rear of the boat. Gingerly Paige sat down and watched Marc, big and dark and competent, take the wheel and deal with the array of dials.

Once they were out of the Bay and moving slowly down the coast he said, above the noise of the engine, ‘Glad I made you put on a jacket?’

She smiled and bent to stroke Fancy’s gleaming head. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s always colder on the sea. Would you like to try a stint behind the wheel?’

She hesitated, met a gleaming challenge in his eyes, and shrugged. ‘Provided you don’t abandon me there,’ she said carefully.

‘Trust me.’

Into a silence heavy with unspoken thoughts, she said, ‘I hope you know the way.’

‘I know the Bay like the back of my hand.’

He stepped aside and showed her how to hold the wheel. Trying not to notice that he avoided touching her, for a glorious half-hour she steered the boat with Marc beside her as he showed her his island.

Finally he took over again and brought them into a small cove where white sand gleamed against a thick forest of cabbage trees. Behind their spiky, surreal tufts of leaves reared forest giants, tall and dark and sombre as they climbed the hills backing the beach. Massive, sprawling pohutukawas clung to the cliffs of both headlands, their reddish aerial roots dangling in the spray.

The sound of the engine muted into a low throb, barely noticeable. ‘Cabbage Tree Bay,’ Marc told her.

‘I can see why.’ She admired the clumps of tall-stemmed plants, each slender trunk finished by a tuft of long, strap-like leaves. ‘It’s a lily—did you know? The biggest lily in the world.’

When he smiled her heart performed an aerial ballet in her chest.

‘I didn’t know. My father told me that the Maori and the early settlers used to eat the tender end of the inner leaves, which is why it’s called a cabbage tree.’

‘They were a prosaic lot, our forebears,’ she agreed, ruthlessly ignoring the expanding bubble of excitement in her breast.

‘Have you always been interested in plants?’

Paige fiddled with a button on the jacket she’d discarded. ‘Always. I used to drive my mother crazy long before I went to school. I’d haul up her seeds and seedlings to see what was happening under the ground. When I got older I was fascinated by the whole miracle of it—how you could plant a tiny seed and this glorious plant would grow from it.’

‘So you’re more interested in plants than in landscaping?’ Marc asked with a lift of his brows.

She concealed her self-consciousness with a half-smile. ‘There are two sorts of gardeners: artists who paint pictures with plants, and jewellers who treat each plant like a precious gem and try to find the perfect setting for it. I’m the second sort.’

When the silence stretched too long she risked a glance upwards. He was looking above her head towards the shore, his expression hard and ruthlessly aggressive.

Chilled, Paige felt Fancy push her head into the palm of her hand. Without looking down, she stroked the dog’s head.

Marc said, ‘Would you go to university if you could afford it?’

She shrugged. ‘Of course. But it’s not going to happen in the near future.’

He leaned forward and pressed a button. Startled, she heard a chain rattle.

‘It’s the anchor going down,’ he told her. ‘What sort of career do you have in mind?’

Career? She was silent, realising that her fight to survive had banished every dream she’d once had into a grey limbo.

Eventually she said slowly, ‘I’d like to hybridise plants. New Zealand does so well in that field because we can grow such a wide variety. There’s nothing I’d get more pleasure from than seeing a plant of my breeding flower for the first time.’

The silence that followed her words assumed overtones she couldn’t decipher.

With a narrow smile Marc nodded at the dinghy on the stern. ‘I’ll put the dinghy out and you can show me how well you row.’

‘Why?’ Paige knew she sounded bewildered.

Blue eyes gleaming, he said smoothly, ‘Because you might feel like puddling around in it. The homestead is just over the hill there; it’s an easy row from there to here. Satisfy me that you know what you’re doing and you can take the dinghy out whenever you want to, provided you wear a life jacket.’

Paige picked up the life jacket he’d given her and put it on, then ran lightly down the steps from the flybridge. After Marc had showed her how to heave the rubber dinghy over the stern he ignored Fancy’s excited barks and stood watching as with calm competence Paige worked the oars to move the little craft away from the cruiser.

It had been over a year since she’d rowed anywhere, but it was like riding a bike; you didn’t forget. This dinghy was wider and more clumsy than Lloyd’s old plyboard one, but it slipped through the water far more easily.

Under Marc’s assessing gaze she rowed around the cruiser and then out into the centre of the Bay, returning when the palms of her hands indicated that this was as much work as they were prepared to deal with that day.

‘You can row,’ he said as she shipped the oars and brought the dinghy against the stern of the boat. ‘Stop whining, Fancy—see, she’s back.’

Paige took his outstretched hand and was hauled up, up, up—almost into his arms. He let her go just before she got there and smiled down at her, his eyes narrowed into gleaming sapphire slivers.

‘Fancy loves going out in boats,’ he said, a note of mockery threading through his tone, as though he could read the mute, dark frustration that weighted Paige’s limbs. He glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better get back.’

Neither spoke in the few minutes it took the cruiser to reach Home Bay. Marc was withdrawing, his expression stern, as though the world beyond this idyllic island was already taking him over with its demands and pressures.

But as they walked up to the house he said, ‘Promise me you’ll ask Rose Oliver whenever you want to take the dinghy out. She was born on the island and she knows it well. She’s also pretty good on the weather.’

‘I’ll tell her where I’m going and listen to her if she says it’s not safe,’ Paige said evenly. ‘I’m not stupid.’

He gave her a glinting look, hard mouth curling into a smile that sent a million tiny darts of pleasurable excitement through her. ‘Far from it.’ And as they reached the door he said, ‘I’ll send Rose along to your room with Juliette’s parcel.’

In her bedroom, Paige sat down on the chair, struggling against a stupid urge to cry. She stared tensely across the subtle, sophisticated room; through the dark wooden slats of the shutters the sea danced and glittered in shards of pure, brilliant colour.

Someone knocked on the door.

Mrs Oliver carried a small box—one Paige thought she recognised. Why, she thought in bewilderment, would Juliette leave me her mother’s bracelet?

‘Mr Corbett asked me to bring you this,’ the older woman said. ‘And there’s this too.’ She looked down at an envelope.

‘Thank you,’ Paige said thinly. She held out her hand, and after a moment’s hesitation the housekeeper gave both the box and the envelope to her.

Clutching them, Paige backed into the room and closed the door, waiting long, hushed seconds before putting the box down on the white cover of the huge bed. A dark fingertip of premonition touched her soul.

‘Open it!’ she told herself, but it took her several more minutes before she overcame the sick panic clogging her chest and unsealed the lid.

She blinked back tears. A gold chain-link bracelet met her eyes, its heart-shaped lock set in small diamonds.

As a child she’d admired the little bracelet extravagantly, convinced it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Juliette had occasionally let her wear it, and she’d strutted around feeling like a princess.

And now Juliette was dead, and this was all she had of her—the bracelet, and the letter that had come with it. With tear-blurred eyes she picked up the envelope and read her name, written in Juliette’s distinctive handwriting. Paige tore it open and took out the note inside. Slowly, carefully, she unfolded the paper.

Dearest P, if you ever read this it will mean that Marc was right to persuade me to make a will! Sorry it has taken a couple of years to get this to you—there is a reason for it, but it is not important. If it ever does become important, you’ll find out why.

I know Marc will make it possible for you to stay here at Arohanui, no matter what your circumstances are now. Have fun—and that is an order. I want you to stay for a week because you work far too hard, and I know that you will not have had a proper holiday since your father left.

Are you wondering if I have any words of wisdom for you? Sorry, I have not. Just that you should grab life and enjoy it—especially the time you’re spending here.

Lots of love, J.

She’d added a PS.

You were always my best friend, as well as the little sister I never had.

Clutching the letter, Paige got to her feet and walked across to the window. She stared out with unseeing eyes until another knock at the door broke into the shell of silence.

Silently she dashed across the room and stuffed the letter beneath the coverlet.

Sure enough, Marc stood outside the door. ‘You’ve been crying,’ he accused, his voice clipped and hard.

‘No. Just—remembering.’ Before she could stop herself, she asked, ‘Was Juliette happy?’

He looked at her with an enigmatic hooded gaze. ‘She was always bright and serene, and she seemed perfectly happy.’

In spite of Lauren’s presence in his life? Not likely.

Paige said ‘Why did she insist I come up here to collect the bracelet?’

‘I have no idea.’ He paused, then added, ‘You didn’t see much of her after she went away to boarding school, did you?’

‘No,’ Paige said distantly.

‘Nevertheless, you must have had a strong friendship, to last so long and bridge distance and the years so successfully. Juliette always knew what she wanted, and she wanted you here.’ Marc glanced at his watch. ‘Lunch is ready—come and have it with me.’

He didn’t ask her what had been in the letter—not then, and not before he left. Paige sat on her bed listening to the helicopter engines fade into the distance, bitter tears aching at the back of her eyes and clogging her throat.

That night Marc rang from Australia, and the next night from Singapore, and the evening after that from Tokyo in Japan. The calls continued, and Paige found herself waiting expectantly through each lovely, lonely day for his ring.

He didn’t spend much time talking, but with the brutal intensity of physical awareness muted by distance she discovered a new Marc; he told her a little of his day, described each city with economy and a flair for bringing it to life. He joked with her, teased her a little, and asked her what she’d done.

She stored small discoveries to tell him—that the fruit on the loquat tree was being eaten by a pair of large, beautiful native pigeons who sat on the branches and peered interestedly down at her with heads tipped to one side. She told him she’d been rowing around Home Bay with Fancy for a figurehead, that Mrs Oliver was making guava jelly and had shown her how bake the perfect pavlova.

Later she’d realise that she fell in love with him during those telephone calls, but for now she just knew that they satisfied something deep inside her.

On her second to last night at Arohanui he didn’t ring. Painfully disappointed, she resisted the stupid feeling that because she couldn’t talk it over with Marc her day had been wasted and barren.

The next morning she came in from the terrace after breakfast and said to the housekeeper, ‘Summer’s come early this year.’

‘It’s certainly a glorious day.’ Mrs Oliver smiled, efficiently continuing her dusting.

‘I thought I might row around to Cabbage Tree Bay,’ Paige said, tracing the outline of a flower on a blue Japanese bowl.

Her sleep had been punctuated by long periods of wakefulness when her brain had twisted and turned in futile, anguished resentment. In the end she’d had to accept that she’d allowed herself to become subtly dependent on Marc for—oh, not her happiness, but for an intangible support.

She needed exercise, something physically draining, to stop her remembering that after she left Arohanui she’d never see him again.

Mrs Oliver nodded. ‘The forecast is excellent. I’ll pack you a lunch.’

‘Thanks, but you’ve got your own work to do. I’ll make it.’

‘It’s no problem,’ the housekeeper said, casting a knowledgeable eye across the sky. ‘Start back about two o’clock; at half-tide a current sets in around the headlands on that side of the island, and you won’t want to be caught in it. Once you get out to sea there’s nothing between here and South America.’

Half an hour later Paige stacked a change of clothes, sunscreen, her hat and enough food and drink for a regimental exercise into the dinghy. Fancy got in, taking up her usual position in the bow.

‘Here’s her leash,’ the housekeeper said, handing it over. She smiled at Paige’s surprise. ‘There are kiwis on the island, and they’re fatally attractive to dogs. Last summer Marc had a run-in with some yachties who brought their Jack Russells ashore in Cabbage Tree Bay; he sent them packing in no time. Fancy’s obedient, but even she finds it hard to resist kiwis, and you might want to take her for a walk.’

‘OK.’ Paige put it in with the pile. ‘I look as though I’m doing a Robinson Crusoe,’ she observed, smiling. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to eat all that?’

‘You’ll be surprised. Sea air makes you hungry.’ As Paige got into the dinghy Mrs Oliver said, ‘You’re not going to swim by yourself?’

‘No, I haven’t got my togs with me.’ She organised Fancy and the oars. ‘Don’t worry, I know how to deal with the water. I lived beside a river for years.’

Mrs Oliver nodded. ‘If anything goes wrong, just stay at Cabbage Tree and I’ll send my husband for you.’

‘OK.’ Paige waved and set off.

CHAPTER NINE

AT THE Bay Paige and a leashed Fancy explored the grove of cabbage trees, and when the sun reached its full height Paige sat down on a rug beneath a sprawling pohutukawa and confronted lunch.

It looked and smelt delicious; Rose Oliver was a superb cook. Yet Paige’s appetite refused to be aroused. In the end she ate a slice of perfect bacon and egg pie, followed it with the scented, custardy white flesh of a small cherimoya fruit, drank lime juice and water, and looked helplessly at the rest of the food.

Fancy lay a few feet away, eyes fixed on the hamper. She’d already drunk her fill from the small stream that trickled into the sea between the cabbage trees.

‘We’d better not waste it all, I suppose. And you’ve done a lot of dashing about and swimming,’ Paige said, and fed her a sandwich.

Tomorrow she was leaving this beautiful place, this dog she’d come to love, and the man who owned both island and dog. She wouldn’t come back, and he wouldn’t seek her out.

Even if he did, she’d refuse him. With Lauren Porter still in his life, Paige knew that the most he could offer her was less than she wanted.

After a glance at her watch she lay down on the rug and watched the sun dazzle across the sea. She had time to rest before she needed to set off again for Home Bay. Firmly, she closed her eyes.

Not a good idea. Helplessly, without mercy, her mind replayed everything Marc had ever said to her, every touch, each eloquent lift of his brow, the stunning brilliance of his eyes, his heart-shaking smile, the angular, powerful symmetry of his face…

And the way she’d gone up in flames when they’d kissed. The violent, incandescent heat of sensation he’d summoned so effortlessly.

She startled Fancy by getting abruptly to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she said raggedly.

The dog snatched up a stick from the sand and dropped it at Paige’s feet. Paige sighed, but said, ‘Well, why not? I suppose you’re missing Marc too.’

Ears pricked, Fancy looked around, as though expecting him.

‘He won’t come back until I’ve gone,’ Paige told her drearily, and picked up the stick.

Although the very simple game involved only hurling the stick into the waves and watching Fancy retrieve it, kill it on the sand and then bring it back to her, it should burn off some of the reckless energy that pulsed through her.

And perhaps it might keep at bay for a few minutes the secret unhappiness that had stolen like a thief into her heart.

She strode along the beach towards the rocky headland that separated this beach from Home Bay, trying to smile as Fancy pounced on the stick before dancing it back through the tiny waves, golden hair flying, sheer joy in every movement.

Pain gripped her. After tomorrow she’d never see the dog again. She’d never see Mrs Oliver, or her silent, shy husband, never see the vivid garden and the lovely, gracious house at its heart.

Never see Marc, her heart whispered.

Once more Paige threw the stick, then set off towards the dinghy, trying to banish the bitter taste of loss.

She stopped, shading her eyes to watch the dog. Sunlight sultry with the promise of summer beat down on her head and shoulders. The hollow emptiness eating into her self-sufficiency terrified her.

She had no idea when she’d made the decision never to rely on another person for her happiness; it hadn’t been a conscious one. Living with a mother whose sense of self-hood had depended completely on the man she’d married had produced that unspoken determination to keep her own identity intact.

And now it was under threat. Marc’s potent masculinity had bulldozed through her defences, but that was only part of the problem; she wanted much more from him than the promise of magnificent sex. She wanted the companionship he’d given her in those telephone calls—she wanted a future with him.

A shiver tightened her skin, chilled her heart. She crossed her arms and rubbed from her wrists to her elbows, staring blindly out to sea.

‘I’m not in love with Marc Corbett,’ she said aloud, despising the sound of her thin, unsure voice.

This acute physical awareness wasn’t love, and neither was her fascination with him. Naturally she found him interesting to talk to—intelligence always intrigued her. So did competence. And Marc was nothing if not competent.

If he’d been born without that solid wealth behind him he’d have made it for himself. Articles in the financial pages praised his raw ability and dynamic initiative, tempered by a disciplined, incisive brain and will; they were his defining qualities, not the results of his privileged background.

‘And don’t forget the fact that he looks like some romantic dream,’ she said on a whiplash of self-contempt.

Shaking her head, she narrowed her eyes against the brilliant light. The more she let Marc invade her mind, the greater power she yielded to him.

Frowning, she focused on the water, trying to pick out the stick in the shimmering, deceptive webs of gold the sun spun on the surface of the sea. Fancy was swimming steadily on.

‘Ah, there it is,’ Paige muttered, then drew in a quick breath.

The stick had acquired momentum, and was moving slowly, purposefully away from the beach. Squinting against the sun, Paige realised that it had been caught in a current.

She cupped her mouth and shouted, ‘Fancy, come back! Get back here!’

But Fancy ignored her. And she too was being dragged inexorably towards the rocky end of the far headland.

Fear coagulated in an icy pool beneath Paige’s ribs. Once past the cliffs there was nothing between Fancy and the open sea.

Marc loved this dog; if she’d thrown sticks along the beach, instead of into the water, Fancy would be safely on firm ground.

Paige raced over the hot sand to the dinghy. It took her precious moments to pull on and secure the life jacket, but she didn’t dare go out without it. And it seemed to take an age to drag the dinghy to the water’s edge.

Once it was floating she heaved it seawards with all her strength and flung herself in, snatching up the oars to row as hard and as steadily as she could. Within a couple of minutes she heard the current chuckle under the boat, and felt its inexorable grip carry her towards the dog. A brisk wind whipped her hair into her eyes; she shook it free and concentrated on getting to Fancy.

From what she remembered of the tour Marc had given her, the headland straightened out into a long line of cliffs facing the open sea, rock stacks cluttering their base. Although the sea couldn’t be more calm, there’d be no safe harbour there, so she’d have to make it back to Cabbage Tree Bay. And with wind and tide against her that could take some effort.

Fortunately that combination of wind and current meant she got to Fancy before the dog exhausted herself.

‘All right, girl,’ she said, steadying the little craft against the current; she shipped the oars and leaned over to grab Fancy’s collar.

‘Up, girl,’ she coaxed, and hauled.

It took a couple of heaves, but Fancy’s scrabbling cooperation and the dinghy’s inherent stability finally brought the dog safely in—where, of course, she promptly shook herself, drenching the only other inhabitant.

‘Sit down, you daft dog! We have to get back.’ Paige risked a glance at the headland, now ominously close, and wished fervently that the dinghy had come equipped with an anchor.

‘Well, it hasn’t,’ she said, beginning the row back to Cabbage Tree Bay. To hearten herself she told Fancy, now in her usual place as figurehead, ‘It’s do-able. We’ll just take it steadily.’

But the current showed its teeth. And the dinghy, so stable and safe, caught enough wind to make progress slow and difficult. After ten minutes Paige glanced up and realised with an abrupt arrow of foreboding just how far she still had to go.

She was only just making headway against that lethal combination of tide and wind; if either increased in strength she’d be swept out to sea.

Setting her jaw, she concentrated on rowing evenly, letting her mind concentrate on getting the dinghy a little closer to land with each stroke.

Where the hell were the boats that usually dotted the Bay? She could see sails, and some motor cruisers, but they were all too far away to be hailed and none came closer.

‘It’s a conspiracy,’ she muttered, trying to smile at the absurd idea.

The muscles in her shoulders were beginning to burn resentfully when Fancy barked. Paige cast a glance over her shoulder, and if she’d had any energy to spare might have cheered at the sight of the motor cruiser purling around the headland that separated Cabbage Tree Bay from Home Bay.

Waving frantically, she croaked above the growing roar of its engine, ‘There, old girl, everything’s fine now! We’re safe!’

An alteration in the pitch of the engines confirmed that the driver had seen her and answered her call for help. But, just in case, she kept rowing. The big cruiser idled closer; frowning, she scanned its lines, then looked up into the flybridge. Her pulses raced when she recognised Marc behind the wheel.

Such potent, overwhelming delight blazed through her that she realised just how much she’d been fooling herself.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, face white beneath her hat. ‘What have you done?’

Limp with reaction, she shipped the oars and waited until the cruiser eased to a halt between them and the flow of the current. At the helm, Marc cut the engines to a mere throb in the water.

Paige waited tensely as he manoeuvred the big craft with skilful, delicate precision; a couple of times she had to use the oars, until eventually the dinghy was swept gently against the diving platform at the stern. He left the engines idling and came rapidly down from the flybridge, hauling the dinghy onto its platform with raw energy that spoke of strong emotion.

‘Are you all right?’ he demanded, his voice abrasive with anger.

Paige looked up into his blazing eyes. ‘Fine,’ she said tonelessly.

‘Get out and I’ll deal with Fancy.’

He made it sound easy, but when she tried to stand up her legs buckled like straws. Strong hands grabbed her and hauled her up into the cockpit. Violently tempted to collapse against him, she forced herself upright.

‘I’m all right,’ she muttered. ‘Why have my legs given way? It’s my arms and shoulders that have done all the work.’

‘Shock.’ He plonked her down onto a padded bench and turned to fasten the dinghy after ordering, ‘Don’t move.’

By now Fancy was aboard, frisking around Marc until he spoke with crisp authority to her. When he bent to deal with a rope Paige watched the muscles in his shoulders bunch and flex, appalled at the power of the sexual instinct in humans. Although waves of tiredness were draining the energy from her, something feral and uncontrolled stirred in the depths of her body. She’d have to be dead, she thought, her palms clammy with fear, not to respond to him.

Marc straightened and gave her a very level, very blue glare. ‘Why didn’t you anchor and wait for someone to come looking for you?’

‘There’s no anchor in the dinghy.’

His jaw hardened and he swore beneath his breath. ‘I’m sorry. From now on there will be,’ he said grimly.

Fancy chose that moment to shake herself again, sending drops of water flying around her like silver bullets.

Paige watched spots darken Marc’s fine cotton shirt and the tailored trousers that clung to his lean hips and long legs, and started to laugh helplessly. For that moment the world shone with the promise of delight, because Marc had come home.

His hard face relaxed into a grin, and her laughter faded as she realised with a spasm of sheer, mindless panic that she’d fallen in love with him.

Common sense warned her that she didn’t know him well enough. A deeper, more primitive instinct told her she’d loved him—painfully, hopelessly, fiercely—since the moment she’d first seen him.

Some hidden part had recognised him as the man she could give her heart to. And she had; in spite of trying so hard to convince herself that it was nothing more than a crude sexual urge, she’d always known that she loved Marc.

She turned her head sideways to hide the tears that stung her eyes.

But he’d seen. ‘You’re exhausted,’ he said, his amusement obliterated. ‘Come into the cabin—I’ll make you a drink.’

‘I’m wet,’ she blurted.

‘So am I.’ When she still didn’t move he picked her up, ignoring her squeak of astonishment to shoulder his way into the main cabin.

Paige blinked desperately, fighting the lure of that strong shoulder. ‘It was my fault,’ she muttered. ‘I was throwing a stick for Fancy and it got caught in the current off Cabbage Tree Bay and she took off.’

‘So you rescued her. It’s all right.’ He sat her down on one of the seats and stood back, his eyes searching her face. ‘Do you want a shower?’

Paige could have killed for a shower, but she had no other clothes to get into, and the thought of climbing back into salty wet clothes was distasteful. ‘I’ll wait until we get back ho—to the house.’

Scarlet with humiliation, she closed her eyes. She had almost called the homestead home—as though she had some claim to the place!

She felt him look at her, but kept her eyes obstinately closed. However, when she heard soft sounds from the galley she forced herself onto her feet, wondering why her body felt like lead.

‘Sit down,’ he said, arriving with a glass of very pale orange juice.

She looked at him with a spark of defiance. ‘If I stay there I might never get up again.’

‘You will,’ he said coolly. ‘You don’t give up.’

She accepted the glass. ‘I try not to.’

‘We have that in common,’ he said, and put a hand on her shoulder, urging her back onto the banquette. ‘Stay there until you’ve got some liquid into you. It’s water with a splash of orange juice to flavour it. Straight juice isn’t good for anyone who’s dehydrated.’

‘It looks wonderful,’ she said, abruptly dry-mouthed and incredibly thirsty. ‘But I don’t need flavouring for water; I like the taste.’ She sipped slowly.

His gaze burned like a blue flame. ‘Honest and straightforward,’ he said curtly. ‘Yet you’re complex too, layer after layer after layer, and you resist every attempt to peel you back.’

Deluged by a slow, simmering tide of honeyed sensation, she veiled her eyes with her lashes. ‘You make me sound like an onion. Peeling them makes people cry.’

‘Some men might take that as a challenge.’ His mouth curved in a smile that had mockery and speculation blended in equal parts.

‘I’m not up to challenges at the moment,’ she returned promptly.

‘How do you feel? How stiff are your arms and shoulders?’

She wriggled experimentally. ‘Not too bad,’ she said, surprised.

‘You’re probably fitter than you think. Show me your hands.’

Blinking, she held them out. He startled her by taking them in his and turning them over so that he could inspect the palms. A sharp sizzle of electricity banished exhaustion; she drew in a sharp breath and had only just enough will power to force them to lie limply in his.

He felt it too, that hidden, dangerous warmth. Sparks glinted in his eyes and he let her go, saying harshly, ‘Another five minutes or so and you’d have had raw patches. When we get home I’ll get you some cream for those blisters. Stay there and drink your water slowly while I get us back.’

Silently she watched him go out and up the set of stairs that led to the flybridge. Her breath eased out between her lips and her heart-rate steadied, although it still raced. And, because it was inexpressibly pleasant to be looked after by Marc, she did as she was told, sipping slowly in bemused compliance.

Too soon, however, she began to swelter. She got up and stripped off the life jacket, then went out into the breeze. Fancy was snoozing in the cockpit; she opened one eye as Paige went up the steps to the flybridge.

‘Oh,’ she said, startled because they were in Cabbage Tree Bay. ‘I thought we were going back to the homestead.’

The anchor went into the water with another swift outcry of chain. Marc gave her a keen glance that settled into a scrutiny. ‘It won’t take us a moment to pick up your gear. I’ll do it; you and Fancy can stay on board. You look feverish.’

She raised a self-conscious hand to her flushed face. ‘Just a bit hot; I was stewing in the life jacket.’ She cleared her throat and found an innocuous subject. ‘Fancy looks very relaxed. I hope she’s all right—she was in the water for quite a long time.’

‘She spends summers mostly in the water. She’ll be fine. You’ll be the one who’ll be stiff tomorrow morning,’ Marc said, a definite note of reserve in the words.

‘I don’t think so. One thing taking care of a baby does is strengthen your arms and shoulders.’

She squinted into the sun and he said, ‘Go down and get into the cabin. You’re turning slightly pink, and the reflection from the water will make it worse.’

He watched her walk to the top of the companionway and disappear, using her hands carefully. No sign of stiffness yet; she moved freely, with the swaying natural grace he’d noticed the first time he’d seen her—an unconscious, elemental invitation to every male in sight. His groin stirred and he turned back to the wheel with a silent, impatient oath.

This, he thought with biting irritation, was getting to be inconvenient.

It had been a bitch of a trip. He’d been presented with a clear case of corruption by one of his senior executives, and apart from his cold fury at the deception tidying it up was going to cost; keeping it quiet was going to be damned near impossible. As well, a subsidiary in Asia had managed to offend someone very important in the government, which had meant a side trip to smooth things over there.

Yet for the first time he’d had to fight to keep his mind on the issues. It had exasperated him; he’d resented this woman’s ability to infiltrate an area of his life that had always been inviolate.

So he’d come back early, and realised just how much Paige had subverted his mind when Rose Oliver told him she wasn’t there. He’d taken the launch out because it was the quickest way to get to her.

And his blood had run like ice in his veins when he’d rounded the point and seen her rowing valiantly across the current.

The sooner they went to bed the better, he decided bleakly. Then he’d be able to get her out of his system.

He set off down the companionway, but Paige met him at the door of the cabin.

‘You took a bottle of beer out of the fridge,’ she said. ‘Do you want it?’

He’d intended to drink it, until touching her hands had driven the idea completely from his mind. ‘Thanks.’ He lifted the small cold bottle to his mouth to take a good gulp, relishing the honest taste and the refreshing chill of the liquid.

‘I didn’t know you were coming home today,’ she said out of the blue. She was keeping her head turned away on the pretext of looking at her juice, but her knuckles were white against the frosted glass.

‘Just as well I did,’ he said curtly. ‘I won’t tell you what I felt when I saw you being carried out to sea by the current.’

Her full mouth quivered, then tightened. ‘I was making headway,’ she objected. ‘I’d have got there. But I was very glad to see the boat come around the point.’

‘The most sensible thing would have been to let Fancy go. A dog’s life is not as valuable as a human’s.’

Paige’s head shot up. ‘Intellectually I know that, but I couldn’t just let her drown.’

‘You’re too soft for your own good,’ he said drily, eyes very blue as he surveyed her.

‘Ha!’ The word and the smile that accompanied it were pure challenge.

‘A woman who gave up her chance of a career to stay at home and care for her mother, then asked a pregnant down-on-her-luck stripper to move in has to be softhearted,’ he pointed out ironically.

‘How did you know that?’

‘Sherry told me you rescued her from almost certain destitution.’

‘Rubbish!’ she interposed robustly.

‘When her husband left her. You offered her a bed, helped her get benefit from the government, and you sat with her during her labour and the birth with all the devotion of a sister.’

‘Who wouldn’t?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

‘Not everyone would have taken in a stripper,’ he said drily.

Made uncomfortable by his keen scrutiny, Paige shrugged. ‘She stopped stripping as soon as she got pregnant. And all she needed was support.’

His brow lifted. ‘For which she’s eternally grateful, as she should be. She also made sure I knew that while you were soft she was not, and more or less warned me to watch myself.’

Paige’s jaws met with an audible click, damming the hot words that threatened to spill out.

‘Your eyes turn pure green when you’re angry,’ he said conversationally. ‘And they gleam gold when you’re aroused. It’s like being drowned in fire. I’ll see you in ten minutes or so.’

Stunned, she watched him free the dinghy and push it into the water, tell Fancy severely that she wasn’t going with him, and row for the shore.

He was back in the ten minutes he’d promised, and unloaded her gear onto the cruiser with another stern word to Fancy, who showed signs of wanting to leap into the water again. He looked up as Paige came out of the cabin to help.

‘Stay out of the sun until we get back to Home Bay,’ he said austerely.

‘Yes, sir.’

One dark brow lifted. ‘You’re not up to it,’ he said softly, and went up to the flybridge.

Once the wooden planks of the Home Bay jetty were safely under feet, Paige smiled in Marc’s general direction and said, ‘I’ll have that shower now.’

‘I’ll see you later.’

Which sounded ominous. Keeping her face and eyes averted, she picked up the rug and her bag and walked steadfastly away from him.

CHAPTER TEN

MARC caught her up as she reached the door of the house. ‘Get under the shower and let the water play on your shoulders and back. You know how to alter the head setting?’ At her nod he said, ‘Stay under it for as long as you can. I’ll send Rose along with that cream for your hands.’

Safe at last in her bathroom, Paige leant into the heavy pulse of the spray, trying to relax as the jets massaged away the ache in her upper arms and shoulders. Although the pummelling hot water brought her superficial ease, a deep inner tension still knotted her nerves.

What a naïve, weak-willed idiot she was! Somehow, in spite of everything she’d done to prevent it, she’d allowed herself to fall in love with Marc Corbett, world-famous tycoon and heartbreaker. Helpless against her hidden desires, she’d let herself be carried along by a force of nature, and inevitably she’d succumbed.

‘Like so many other women,’ she muttered, pushing her wet hair back from her face. ‘Like Lauren.’

A profound grief shadowed her soul. She couldn’t give way to it because she still had the rest of the evening and the night to get through, not to mention tomorrow morning before she left for Napier. Marc had organised it all; at nine the helicopter would take her across to Kerikeri, and the same executive jet that had brought her to Arohanui would take her away.

Only this time he wasn’t coming with her.

Choking back a sob, she grimly washed the sweat and the salt from her hair. ‘I can cope,’ she said beneath her breath. But the words echoed with bitterness, and she added silently, Because I have to. I’m not going to let myself end up like my mother, so fixated on one man that life without him was a dead end.

Eventually, when her hands started to wrinkle, she got out and wrapped herself in a large white bath towel before picking up the hairdryer. The play of warm air on her head normally soothed her, but not now. Raw grief waited like a predator, ready to catch her the moment she let her guard down.

She’d just finished when she heard the knock on the door. Tightening the knot that kept the towel safe, she shook her hair back and hurried across the bedroom.

Only it wasn’t the housekeeper with cream for her hands. Marc stood outside. He too had showered and changed, and he was utterly overwhelming—a proud prince of darkness—with the leaping blue lights in those astonishing eyes the only sign of emotion in his handsome, ruthless face.

Heart jumping in her chest, Paige opened her mouth to say something—anything!—and seized gratefully on the arrival of Fancy, who demanded a pat.

Stooping, one hand on the knot between her breasts, Paige stroked the dog’s head and tried to think of something sensible to say. ‘Oh,’ she murmured vaguely, ‘she’s still damp.’

‘I’ve just washed the salt water out of her coat. Here’s the cream I promised you for your hands.’

His voice was steady, almost deliberate, but the rasping note beneath the banal words tightened her every muscle, set every cell humming.

She straightened and without meeting his eyes said brightly, ‘Thank you. My palms are starting to regret the last ten minutes in the dinghy.’

Marc held out the tube. With a foolish nod she took it, careful not to touch him. Tiny drums beat in her ears, and she resisted a strong urge to say his name and look at him.

Clumsily she stepped back, and tripped over Fancy, who’d sidled behind her to check out the bedroom. Paige cried out and time slid backwards, replaying itself in slow motion. Again she jerked sideways, this time trying to avoid falling on the dog.

Once again strong arms caught her. Once again she was turned into Marc’s arms and looked up into eyes whose brilliant colour was being overwhelmed by darkness.

Paige’s breath came fast and soft through her lips. Mutely she stared at him.

‘This is getting to be a habit,’ Marc said in a silky voice that sent the blood beating through her veins in a merciless tide.

‘No,’ she whispered, but whether it was an answer or a weak plea for him to let her go she didn’t know, because her brain had turned to marshmallow the moment he touched her.

When his lips met hers it was like diving into the heart of the sun. Yet she tried to resist until her newborn love, reinforced by the bleak knowledge that after tomorrow she’d never see him again, flamed into a need so potent, so urgent, she surrendered to its insistent demand.

They kissed with a starving desperation that consumed her in a storm of sensation. Her hands stole up to clasp his neck and she opened her mouth and lost the last bit of herself in the taste, the scent of him, the heat from his body and his unleashed male power. Helplessly she responded to the rhythm of those kisses, falling further and further under the dark enchantment he wrought with his mouth and his touch.

She shuddered when he cupped her breast, shuddered again when his thumb moved across the urgent nipple. Sensations so exquisitely fresh they were almost anguish sliced through her in sweet ferocity. At last she was going to find out what real desire was like—and she was fiercely glad that she had waited until she loved him before yielding.

She had no sexual tricks, no sophisticated techniques to offer him, and he didn’t want her love, but this she could give—the untrained, honest responses of her body and her heart.

Yet he didn’t know she was a virgin, and he might not value her gift. For a moment she froze, assailed by a chill of shyness.

‘Paige. Look at me.’

The way he said her name and the kiss that accompanied it mixed desire and tenderness, as though he understood her fear.

She looked up, and he smiled and kissed her again, little kisses along her throat and across her shoulder, his mouth warm and seeking.

Her knees gave way; with a low, triumphant laugh he picked her up and lifted her high. Marvelling at the easy flexion of his body against hers, she looked up into his face. Passion emphasised the hawkish angles, gleamed darkly in his eyes, heated the skin across his sweeping cheekbones.

And then she remembered Juliette, and Lauren Porter. If she surrendered she’d be joining all those other women who’d loved Marc, only to discover that their love hadn’t been enough for him.

He saw it happen. His expression hardened into distaste, the blue eyes glittering like frozen fire. ‘You little tease,’ he said, in a voice that blended savage anger and contempt, and set her down on her feet.

Humiliated, because her damned knees still wouldn’t hold her upright, she had to grab his arm for support. But she found the strength to let him go and step back, although each movement weighed her down as though she was walking through quicksand.

‘I take it that’s a refusal,’ he said with a slow, dangerously threatening smile.

She shook her head, feeling the heavy weight of her hair hot and tumbled on her neck. ‘I’m not into fulfilling temporary needs,’ she said huskily, despising herself for the bitter ache of grief.

His brow shot up, devastatingly ironic, but his voice was straight disdain. ‘What do you want? A promise of permanence?’

‘What would you know about permanence?’ she asked in a low, scornful tone. ‘Juliette wasn’t enough for you, and even with Lauren Porter to cater to your every whim you’re unable to keep faithful to her.’

White around the mouth, he surveyed her with hooded, molten eyes. ‘Did Juliette tell you that?’

‘Who else would?’

‘She was wrong.’ When she lifted her brows in disbelief he said with freezing distaste, ‘Lauren and I are good and close friends, but there is nothing romantic or sexual between us.’

A wild tumult of emotions rocketed through her—a reckless desire to believe him, mixed with disgust and angry resentment. ‘So why did Juliette think there was?’

‘Like me, she grew up in a household where the husband couldn’t keep his hands off other women.’ He watched her with an unyielding expression. ‘Unlike my mother, hers accepted her father’s mistresses as a fact of life. Juliette grew up with a pragmatic outlook; she didn’t believe in friendship between men and women. For her, there had to be a sexual component to any relationship.’

Horrified by the strength of her need to believe him, Paige remained obstinately silent.

He said harshly, ‘I had no idea she saw Lauren as a threat until just before she was killed. I told her what I’m telling you—when I make vows I keep them. I was faithful to her.’

Paige couldn’t formulate any answer. The hunger to believe him ate into her will power, but she didn’t dare give in to it. Appalled, she realised that she was wringing her hands, and with an effort forced them apart to hang limply by her sides.

‘Look at me,’ he commanded.

Her hair swirled round her face as she shook her head.

‘Paige, I don’t believe this. You’re such a valiant fighter I’d never have taken you for a coward.’

The note of amused gentleness in his voice shredded her determination. She glanced up and was lost, her gaze ensnared by the piercing brilliance of his.

He said roughly, ‘I want you so much—so much—but not if you don’t believe me. If there is nothing else between lovers, there must be truth.’

No man could speak with such blazing honesty and lie.

A shudder of need tightened her skin; she felt the small hard points of her breasts peak beneath the soft material of the bath sheet.

‘Paige,’ he said between his teeth, his voice so guttural she had difficulty discerning the words, ‘turn around while I leave this room. Then lock your door after me.’

She’d intended to ask him whether Juliette had married him for practical reasons; she’d wanted to watch his face when he answered. But the idea fled as she met his eyes, points of sapphire flame in the golden skin of his sculpted face.

Longing and frustration combined like fire and petrol, urged on by an intensity of relief that Juliette had known the truth before she’d been so tragically taken; she said unevenly, ‘Thank you for—I needed to know that. And I’m so glad Juliette didn’t die believing that you had—that you were—’

He reached out to catch a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. In a hard voice he said, ‘So am I. I don’t deserve your tears, Paige, and she wouldn’t have wanted you to cry for her.’

And as if he couldn’t help it he lifted his hand and licked the tear from his finger. ‘I have to go,’ he said harshly. When she shook her head, he waited for a heart-stopping moment, then asked on a rough note, ‘Are you certain, mon coeur?’

My heart—probably an everyday endearment in France, but she’d cherish the way he’d said it for the rest of her life.

‘Yes.’ She had never been more sure of anything in her life.

Her clamouring senses demanded satisfaction, but it was an upwelling of love that drove her to hold his hand against her cheek. Nothing, she realised with a swift, intense relief, had ever been more right than this. The last virginal tremors dissipated like dew under a benign sun as passion rioted through her, dazzling her with its stupendous intensity.

He turned and closed the door on Fancy. Then he pulled Paige gently against him and his mouth came down on her forehead.

‘Are your arms and shoulders very painful?’ he murmured.

Dimly she understood that he was giving her another chance to pull back. In some distant recess of her brain common sense drummed out warning and instructions, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the clean, salty scent that was his alone. Essence of Marc, she thought desperately, fighting off the impulse to push her nose into his chest and inhale.

And his heat, curling around her like smoke, driving away the warnings until they turned into vapour and disappeared. Slowly, captured by the dilating intensity of his eyes, she slid her hand up to rest on his chest and luxuriated in his closeness.

Huskily, her mind finally surrendering to the barrage of sensory input, she said, ‘My shoulders and arms are fine, but I think I can feel a chill coming on.’

His heart kicked against her palm. The heavy catch in its steady rhythm filled her with astonished triumph.

‘We can’t have that,’ he said thickly, picking her up again and walking across the room.

Beside the bed she expected him to put her down, but instead he stopped and looked down into her face, his eyes almost black. Very quietly he asked, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

Did he guess that this was the first time for her? She didn’t care.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said huskily. And because she suspected that he was going to spell out that making love to her meant nothing beyond a momentary pleasure—a statement she wouldn’t be able to bear—she lifted her head and kissed the words from his mouth.

When his arms tightened around her, and his demanding mouth turned that tentative kiss into an avowal of naked hunger, she accepted that she’d regret this surrender. Yet she knew she’d regret much more not making love with Marc.

And then she could no longer think. Banishing the last remnants of fear, she slipped the leash on her senses and allowed them to run riot.

Some time—a long time—later, her feet touched the floor. She swayed on boneless legs, dragging air into her famished lungs when he slid his hands beneath the towel and opened it. The damp bath sheet fell to the ground and she was exposed to him.

Swift colour stained her skin, turning it rose-gold. He was probably accustomed to women in silk and satin, she thought wildly, and wished she had some sexy, sensuous garment to wear.

He cupped a breast in his lean, strong hand. ‘Look,’ he said, his voice a deep rumble that reverberated through her.

She obeyed, sensation knotting in the pit of her stomach at the contrast of his long, tanned fingers against her gleaming skin.

‘You’re the colour of a peach,’ he said quietly, and met her eyes with a stark urgency that splintered the last of her resistance.

All that mattered now was Marc, and her need to give him everything she could.

‘Don’t be shy,’ he said, the slight French intonation in his voice strengthening. ‘You are so beautiful, and I want you so much that I’m scared.’

‘You?’ she croaked as his thumb stroked the pleading nub of her breast with a skill that indicated his experience.

Sheer, astonishing pleasure shot from there to the rest of her body, scintillated across her nerves, lit up every cell in a parade of sensuous fireworks. Her breath choked in her lungs, then came and went swiftly through her parted lips.

He gave a soft, ironic laugh. ‘Is that so surprising? Any man would be terrified by such beauty.’ Before she could answer he buried his mouth in the hollow of her throat.

The touch of his lips fuelled her runaway anticipation, and when he nipped the spot where her neck joined her shoulder the sharp edges of his teeth produced an almost painful excitement.

She clung to him, gasping as he moved his hand upwards. For a moment she hung on the cusp between fear and violent anticipation, until he kissed her throat again and claimed her other breast with one teasing stroke of his fingers.

And then he said quietly, ‘Take off my shirt.’

Her hands were shaking so much that she could barely push the buttons through their holes. When Marc shrugged free of the shirt she sighed, devouring him with shadowed eyes.

‘You’re so—so broad,’ she breathed. Her fingertips lingered on smooth, hot, supple skin, sleekly taut over the hard swell of a muscle.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said harshly.

She gave him a swift glance and looked away, her hand falling to her side. ‘I know.’

And clearly he knew that she wasn’t experienced. Was she being awkward and gauche? Should she explain that this was the first time for her—and run the risk of having him pull back?

No.

‘How do you know that?’ He caught her hand and rested it lightly against his chest, the soft abrasion of the pattern of hair a stimulus in itself.

She bit her lip. ‘Pain is barbaric,’ she murmured, ‘and you’re very civilised.’

He gave a bark of sardonic laughter. Paige looked up in surprise.

‘At the moment,’ he said, curving his hand around her breast, ‘I’m very uncivilised—almost purely primitive, in fact. But I won’t hurt you.’

And he bent his black head and drew the tight, expectant nub of her breast into his mouth.

Paige froze, captured by impossible pleasure, by intolerable excitement. When he lifted his head she could have cried out in protest.

In a voice made deep and slow by carnal hunger, Marc said, ‘Yes, you are beautiful, delicate and fragile as a flower, yet like a flower there’s strength and determination in you.’

He picked her up and lowered her onto the bed. Still flushing, she watched with dilating eyes as he stripped. She was under no illusions; although she’d loved him for ever, and he wanted her now, his desire was deceptive and illusory as moonshine, a fleeting, beautiful thing. She would make love with him, and when it was time she’d leave with her pride intact and without a backward glance.

With slow, drugging expertise Marc kissed every thought from her head, and when he lifted his mouth he was beside her on the bed, an arm around her shoulders holding her against his lean, eager body.

A primal thrill scorched through Paige. Somewhere outside a gull screeched, its angry, spiteful call jaggedly reminding her that there was a reality outside the room and this man.

She didn’t care.

Turning her head, she kissed his shoulder, then licked where she’d kissed; the faint salty taste of his skin was fiercely erotic to her, as was the tight sound from his throat and the dark flames in his eyes.

He ran a hand down her body, beginning at her throat and finishing at the place where her thighs met, and while her lashes slowly fluttered down he gave a crooked smile and began to show her exactly what magic a man and a woman could make together.

The instinct that had warned her he’d be a consummate lover had been dead on target. Marc seemed to understand more about her body than she did. He knew that his mouth on her breast twisted sensation inside her, tightening it until she sobbed on a shivering wave of heated rapture.

He explored her with his mouth, unlocking a reckless response that built and built and built until she was sobbing with a delicious frustration, her hands clenched by her sides and her body a taut, pleading bow under his ministrations.

Eventually she whispered in a hoarse, desperate little voice, ‘Please. Marc, I can’t—I want—’

His kiss pressed her head back into the pillow with its depth and demand, and while she was lost in that sorcery he moved over her, prolonging the kiss as he eased into her.

A sharp jab brought Paige’s eyelashes bolting up. Dazedly she stared into Marc’s eyes and read astonishment there, and then—amazingly—a white-hot satisfaction.

Harshly he said, ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t know.’

‘It’s all right,’ she said, desperation cutting across the words as the ardent delight receded a little.

He kissed her again, and against her lips he murmured, ‘Try to relax.’

‘I can’t,’ she said, starkly honest, her hands gripping his shoulders. ‘I want you too much.’

‘So?’ The muscles beneath her hands bunched and he pushed, slowly widening that path until the fragile barrier ripped.

Urgently she said, ‘It’s not—it’s fine.’

‘Good.’ And he drove home.

What followed was pure drama. Never losing control, he wooed her with his body and his voice, driving her further and further up the sides of some insurmountable cliff, a long, pleasure-drenched journey where he was guide and mentor. At last, poised on the brink of rapturous knowledge, she reached the top and spun off into delight, ecstatic waves breaking through her body until she could bear it no longer.

Almost immediately he followed her, big body taut as a bow, and without realising it made her his for all time.

Her last thought, barely coherent before she slipped into sleep, was that whatever happened to her in the future she had this memory of delight to treasure.

It was dusk when she woke, with the distant noise of a helicopter buzzing in her ears. She turned towards the empty side of the bed, unconsciously questing, then remembered, and blushed, and lay for several moments while the memories flooded through her.

Stretching luxuriously, she thought that no other woman in the world could have had such a long, idyllically sensual introduction to making love. Marc had been gentle and skilful, until gentleness and skill had been abandoned in raw male fire as desire overtook him.

It had been perfect. Marc had been perfect. She thought idly that she was no longer a virgin, and smiled, enjoying the tiny signals of his possession—her tender lips, a small ache between her legs, the deep, lingering sensuality.

Loving Marc had opened her to change, shown her that if this once was all she’d ever have of him—well, it would be enough for a lifetime. Because after this there would be no other man for her.

But she knew now that she wouldn’t retreat from life as her mother had; instead, she’d live it richly and fully, because love meant much more than a cowardly dependence.

She moved restlessly on the bed, turning to look at the indentation on the pillow beside her where Marc’s head had rested. Satiety bred appetite; instead of being satisfied with the miracle he’d made for her she wanted to loosen the bars on the wild need that sang in forbidden cadences through her body, demanding a like response from him too.

She wanted him to lose control as she had lost it; she wanted him to know the almost aggressive craving that felt as though it might tear her apart—to feel it and to be forced to surrender to it.

‘It isn’t going to happen,’ she said aloud. ‘So take what you got and be contented.’

If she made love with him again it would shatter her self-esteem and break her heart. Marc might have ravished her soul from her body, but neither that afternoon or now had he said anything about a future.

So she’d have to resist this intense love that undermined every warning, every sensible thought and decision.

‘Why?’ she asked suddenly. After all, she’d made love to him knowing that he wasn’t going to offer her permanence—he’d made sure of that with brutal frankness.

Resisting him would be cutting off her nose to spite her face.

She had tonight—their last night together. And, because she wasn’t wasting a moment of it, she sprang out of bed and into the shower, then dressed swiftly before going out to see where he was.

Marc looked up from his desk. His eyes narrowed when he saw Paige wander across the lawn towards the beach. She looked forlorn, he thought, and found himself on his feet, setting off to make everything better for her.

Fortunately logic kicked in before he’d taken more than a couple of steps. His mouth compressed into a straight line and he strode back to his desk, stepping over a comatose Fancy.

This desire to smooth the way for her was suspicious. He swore beneath his breath; he’d assumed that at her age she’d have had some experience. Her virginity had surprised the hell out of him.

And pleased him far too much, he thought with a twist of self-derision. He hadn’t ever made love to a virgin before and, damn it, it changed things.

So what to do now?

The telephone rang. Impatiently he picked it up and barked, ‘Yes?’

‘Darling, I’ll be with you in an hour,’ Lauren said, not at all discomposed. ‘I’ve got everything ready; there’s just a couple of things to finalise, papers for you to sign off, and then it will be done. See you soon.’

Marc put the telephone down and frowned, his eyes on the solitary figure walking along the beach. Fancy had gone out to join her and they made a pretty picture in the dying glow of the sun, outlined in a crimson glow against the shimmer of the sea.

Closing down the computer took a couple of seconds while he sorted the papers he’d need later that night, when he spoke to his office in London.

Then he went out into the soft spring dusk, scented with the sea and the perfume of the season, a sensuous breath of growth and fertility. His mouth quirked cynically when he noted a glow behind the hill that promised a full moon. A cliché if ever there was one!

Yet clichés had power, and in spite of himself his instincts woke, strong and powerfully primal within him. But not tonight, he thought. For too many reasons; Lauren would be here, and Paige would be…

She’d gone down to the edge of the water and was standing very still as she stared out to sea, her slender body held upright by that steel spine.

As he watched she straightened already straight shoulders and stooped to pick up a stone, hurling it across the water.

It skipped five times before sinking.

‘You’ve practised that,’ Marc said drily, walking down to join her.

Paige’s heart jumped. Sheer force of will stopped her from whirling around, but her voice sounded breathy and startled when she said, ‘For about three months when I was ten.’

‘It must be a ten-year-old’s rite of passage.’ He strolled down onto the sand, Fancy a silent shadow at his heels. ‘My father taught me how to do it here.’

He stooped, picked up a flat, round pebble and sent it out with a deft twist of his wrist. Both watched it skip six times before falling into the water.

‘Do you take everything so competitively?’ Paige asked wryly.

He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t trying to beat your score, but competition was bred into me.’

He kept so much of himself hidden that Paige held her breath, wondering if she dared follow up this tiny hint. What had his father been like? Had he shown his son a softer side?

‘No quarter given?’ she asked.

‘He played to win, even when I was four and he was teaching me chess.’

Her heart twisted at the thought of a small boy faced with his father’s determination to beat him. ‘I’ll bet he was a bad loser.’

He laughed. ‘The first time I got him he admitted defeat with gritted teeth, but I heard him bragging about it to a friend. He was proud of me.’

‘Ah,’ she said softly, ‘one of those supreme moments, like the instant you realise that it’s you, not the bike, in control.’

There was amusement in his voice when he agreed, yet through the comfortable silence that followed a familiar wild hunger simmered through her veins.

She gestured at the crimson afterglow of the sunset over the mainland and said, ‘I can see why you call this place home. It’s completely, ravishingly beautiful.’

And she’d eat her heart out for it—and its owner—after she left.

‘Beauty beyond compare,’ he agreed, turning his head so that for a moment the crimson light from the sea was reflected onto his profile. His beautiful mouth sketched an ironic smile. ‘But if we don’t want to see a very stern Rose Oliver we’d better get inside and think about a drink before dinner.’

It was a definite closing of the door that had so temporarily opened. Paige flinched internally, but turned with him and went across the lawn and into the house.

‘I’ll change,’ she said quietly.

As she got into a simple straight skirt and a sleeveless scoop-necked top in a soft bronze that gave a deeper glow to her hair, she heard a helicopter fly in, fast and low, its rotors thumping as it landed on the pad.

Bringing someone? She stopped combing her hair and bit her lip, but she had no right to complain.

Yet outside the door to the morning room she stopped and gathered her courage in both her hands. Through it she could hear voices, so, yes, someone had arrived. And she was almost sure she knew who it was.

Her skin chilled, and she opened the door.

Marc and Lauren were looking out of the window at the sunset. Although they weren’t touching, something about the silence that encompassed them clamped every muscle in Paige’s body into punishing rigidity.

Anguish stabbed her in a region of her heart she hadn’t known existed. He had lied, she thought painfully; this was how Juliette had known they were lovers. Their intimacy was so obvious it blazed as brightly as Marc’s eyes.

She hadn’t expected commitment, but she had believed him when he’d said he and Lauren weren’t lovers—only to be betrayed. And he’d betrayed Lauren too.

Did any man keep his promises?

Forced to watch as Lauren looked into Marc’s face and laughed, she recognised love in that soft sound—and a teasing inflection that hurt even more because it spoke of knowledge and equality.

‘Oh, Marc,’ his lover said, ‘you darling idiot!’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BEYOND thought, acting on a desperate instinct to protect herself from utter humiliation, Paige made a production of closing the door behind her. When she turned back to the room both Marc and Lauren had swung around.

Side by side, the link between them blazed as obvious as the posters at the strip club. A slow anger began to boil inside her as she saw them focus their attention onto her, deliberately concealing that silent, intangible connection.

Whipping up the remnants of shattered pride to stiffen her spine, Paige went towards them, her head held high enough to strain her shoulders and neck.

His handsome face impassive, Marc said, ‘What would you like to drink before dinner, Paige? There’s wine and sherry, or orange juice if you’d rather.’

Paige would much rather. Anything alcoholic might loosen the fierce leash she’d clamped on her emotions. Forcing herself to overcome an anguish so strong she could barely breathe, she said, ‘I’d love orange juice, thank you,’ wondering if she sounded as stilted to them as she did in her own ears.

Marc glanced at the woman beside him. ‘Lauren? The usual?’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at Paige—a warm smile that hurt its recipient more than anything else since she’d come into the room.

She could see why, in spite of everything, Juliette had liked this woman.

Who said now, ‘How lucky you are to live in Hawke Bay. When I’m in New Zealand I always like to try your superb wines, especially the sauvignon blanc and pinot gris. And your winemakers are producing some excellent reds.’

She had what sounded like an impeccable French accent. As well as wine, she’d probably be able to eloquently discuss food and the latest books and shows.

If Paige’s smile was as ragged as it felt on her lips, neither seemed to notice. ‘Living in a wine-growing district means that I’ve absorbed information by osmosis, but I have to admit I don’t know much about it.’ Grateful for the steadiness of her voice, she added, ‘When it comes to discussing the finer points of New Zealand styles and vintages I’m lost.’

But after Marc had given them their respective drinks he began to talk of Northland’s new boutique wineries. Paige didn’t have to feign attention; he had the rare ability of being able to invest any subject with interest.

And even knowing that he’s lied to you and betrayed you you’d listen to him for the pleasure of hearing his voice, an inner demon jeered.

Cynicism was good; it stopped her from remembering how it had felt to be in his arms, to—

Ruthlessly she dragged her mind back to the conversation, which had moved onto new industries in New Zealand’s northernmost province. Northland’s long, slender peninsula, pointing to the tropics, had traditionally been an agricultural and holiday area, but this was changing, and from what he and Lauren said Marc was a major player in that change.

Paige found that she could cope if she pretended she was acting in a play—as the foil for the main characters, she thought bitterly. Every second since she’d walked in had reinforced the bond between them; they knew each other very, very well.

By the time the housekeeper called them for dinner her throat had tightened, and after a couple of surreptitious swallows she knew she wasn’t going to be able to eat.

Yet to save face she’d have to force food past the hard, heavy lump in her chest. A judicious lubrication of wine might help; she nodded when Marc offered a glass of red, and when it was poured took a slow, cautious sip.

‘Do you like that?’ he asked, startling her.

She looked no further than his chin. ‘It’s delicious,’ she said politely.

‘Tell me what you taste when you drink it.’

‘Is this some kind of test?’ she asked, her tone a little too sweet.

Lauren made a soft noise that could have been a stifled laugh.

Long fingers relaxed around the base of his glass, Marc leaned back and looked across the table. Candlelight flickered sensuously across his dark face, accenting the hawklike features. Paige’s stomach clenched into a knot and her spine went into instant meltdown.

I have to get away before I make a total fool of myself, she thought feverishly.

‘I’m interested in your opinion,’ he said mildly, yet a steely note ran through the words and his hard, blue gaze didn’t leave her face.

She shrugged. ‘It’s—well, the word that comes to mind is earthy—yet I think I can taste plums. And a hint of liquorice.’ She hesitated before adding with a touch of defiance that hid, she hoped, her wounded outrage, ‘All in all, an arrogant vintage with hidden depths.’

Lauren’s laughter broke the silence. ‘She got you there, Marc. As clever a piece of subtext as I’ve come across in a while.’

One raised black brow indicated Marc’s mocking amusement. ‘You have a palate.’

Shamefully flattered, Paige said stiffly, ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘Not as naturally sensitive as yours.’

When he smiled at her it was hard to remember that this was the man who’d lied to her, then seduced her, even though he must have known his mistress was arriving later that day.

She glanced at Lauren, caught an odd little smile curling her perfect mouth, and decided she was either depraved or she didn’t know what sort of man she loved.

Paige called on every ounce of composure she possessed to say, ‘How gratifying.’

‘Another accomplishment to add to your list,’ he said urbanely.

The note of irony in his words told her he’d recognised her withdrawal. Heat stung her skin. What did he mean by that?

Staring at the food on her plate with dogged determination, Paige responded, ‘A good sense of taste is hardly an accomplishment.’

‘And that’s a reply that shows a charming humility.’ Marc’s dry voice altered, becoming infused with a coolly goading irony that stopped Paige’s heart. ‘You should be proud of your many and varied talents.’

Surely he wouldn’t mention those frenzied hours in his arms—not in front of the woman who was listening with every appearance of composure—even, she thought on a spark of anger, amusement—to this conversation.

There was a deadly little silence before he finished, ‘Lauren has been remarking on your sense of style, and Sherry told me you have green fingers.’

The glimmer of the candlelight hid any expression in his eyes. And was that a sleekly patronising smile from the high-powered executive beside him?

Paige refused to respond with anything other than a wooden, ‘Thank you,’ and when Lauren stepped in with an innocuous comment about gardening she could only summon a resentful gratitude.

She chewed grimly and made herself swallow even when her stomach showed signs of rebelling. And she made stilted conversation about her interest in plants.

‘A friend of mine breeds roses,’ Marc said deliberately. ‘You might have heard of him—Adam Curwen.’

Her gaze, pure green in the subdued light, crossed swords with his. ‘He’s brilliant,’ she said thinly. ‘A trendsetter, yet his roses are tough and healthy and their scent is glorious.’

‘I’ll introduce him to you one day. He’d be—’

Rain drowned his voice—sudden, tempestuous pellets slashing onto the roof and across the windows. Paige noted the way one of Lauren’s brows shot up as she sent a swift glance at Marc.

In spite of everything she could do to quench it a tiny fugitive flame of hope flickered into life in the cold region of her heart. He’d spoken as though there was some sort of future for them…

No, she thought fiercely. She wasn’t like Juliette or Lauren—she wouldn’t share him. It was demeaning and humiliating; it would be a slow death of the things that mattered most—her integrity, her self-respect.

If she couldn’t be the only woman in his life she’d rather not have him in hers. Sometimes the price of love came too high.

When the fusillade of rain had passed, Lauren said sympathetically, ‘It’s a pity it’s been so wet while you’re here.’

Carefully avoiding Marc’s eyes, Paige smiled. ‘Actually, it’s been lovely in between the showers, and I expected the rain—Northland is notorious for its humidity.’

‘Spoken like a loyal daughter of Hawke Bay’s drier, more Mediterranean climate,’ Marc said. He paused for a second, then added in an aloof tone underlined with a subtle taunt, ‘Rain has its benefits—lush fertility, and an abundance of natural beauty.’

Light collected in his wine as he raised the glass to his mouth, then flashed crimson when he drank. Paige felt her colour deepen, and because her hand quivered she set her fork down with a sharp little crash that seemed to reverberate around the room.

She wondered if she was being absurdly sensitive. It was ridiculous to suspect an underlying meaning in everything he said!

Lauren murmured, ‘But all of New Zealand—all that I’ve seen, anyway—is beautiful. Even your cities are set in glorious surroundings.’

‘We’re very lucky,’ Paige agreed, welcoming the change of subject with galling relief. ‘Of the cities you’ve visited, which one did you enjoy the most?’

‘Paris,’ Lauren said promptly, with a wistful smile that made her seem more vulnerable. She was silent a moment. ‘But there are so many wonderful places in the world—and I hate to think that in one lifetime I’m never going to get around them all!’

And she talked charmingly of some of her favourites.

Later, as Paige prepared for bed, she prayed she’d been able to hide her turbulent emotions. She thought she’d managed to behave like an adult—one who’d never touched Marc, never kissed him, never lain with him in this bed and given him everything she had.

After dinner he’d asked courteously if she wanted to watch a film. Equally courteous, she’d told him that she was a little tired so she’d go to bed.

He had got to his feet. ‘How are your shoulders?’

‘Just a bit stiff.’

‘Shower before you go to bed and let the water play on your back again,’ he’d advised.

‘I’ll do that,’ she’d told him colourlessly.

Only twelve hours of this farce to go, she had reminded herself as she’d smiled meaninglessly in their general direction and turned towards the door.

Now, sitting on her bed, she wondered how on earth she was going to get through the night.

A bitter, aching sense of loss submerged her. And that was stupid, because how could she lose what she’d never had? Her involuntary, electric awareness of him—even her reluctant love—seemed indecent now she’d seen that invisible, undeniable bond between Marc and Lauren. But worse was the corroding jealousy that came dangerously near resentment.

‘Brooding isn’t going to help.’ She climbed to her feet with the effort of someone determined not to give in to pain, and went into the opulent, scented bathroom.

And she was not going to surrender to self-pity. She’d find the guts and determination to make something of her life. Marc’s sexual initiation of her might have been without the emotion she craved from him, but he’d given her a rare and precious gift—knowledge of her own sensuality and complete satisfaction.

Gripping the counter, she stared at herself in the mirror, meeting eyes tormented by secrets above a mouth with fuller, more ardent contours than she’d seen before.

In Marc’s arms she’d crossed the perilous border from inexperience to knowledge.

‘You already know that life can be tough—learn to deal with it,’ she advised tautly.

She had to, because after the next day she was never going to see him again.

Grimacing, she fought back another wave of pain. She’d been such an idiot—so eager to co-operate in her own undoing, willingly tricking herself into believing that making love to Marc would mean something to him, even when he’d told her it wouldn’t.

At least he’d made sure that there would be no unwanted results from their loving. She blinked hard, because now she knew why Sherry was so determined to do the best for Brodie; she too would have protected Marc’s child, no matter what she had to do.

She tried hard to feel thankful that it wasn’t going to happen.

Unbidden, a thought clawed its way through the tumult in her brain. Perhaps the closeness between Lauren and him was the rapport of ex-lovers who were now friends?

Her heart leapt, but Paige had done enough wishful thinking that day to learn her lesson. ‘No,’ she said with scornful contempt.

There had been real affection in their attitude to each other, a kind of unspoken empathy they didn’t notice because it was so familiar.

Was Lauren like Juliette, sweetly complaisant and docile, content with the sort of relationship that gave Marc freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted with any other woman he wanted?

‘She might be, but I’m not,’ Paige said grimly. In the mirror she saw anger contort her face, and thought painfully, I can’t bear this. I’m turning into a different person and I hate it. It’s better to find out now that I’ll never be able to trust him.

But oh, it hurt.

Back in Napier, away from his disturbing effect on her, she’d pick up the shards of her life and cement them back together; she’d find a job that had something to do with her interests. Certainly she’d opt out of the battle between the sexes. Love was a war zone, with far more losers than winners.

Until tomorrow she had to grit her teeth, keep reminding herself of the sort of man Marc was, and endure.

Although the prospect of life without him crumbled something strong and vital in her, she’d cope. Time was on her side, because she was stronger than her mother—she wasn’t going to waste her life yearning for a man she couldn’t trust.

Yet as she got into the shower she knew that some part of her would never recover; oh, she’d manage, but for her there would be no other man—she’d go to her grave wanting Marc.

‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ she scoffed.

Safely camouflaged by the rush of water, she let the tears fall, giving in—just this once—to the grief sifting through her soul like a grey mist.

Once in bed she kept her restless mind busy by working out vicious ways of paying Marc back. For what? she mocked. Making her want him? Making her lose her head? He hadn’t even tried; she’d fallen headlong and with insulting ease.

But anger gave her strength, whereas desolation leached it away. And right now she needed strength.

And she was not in love with him! If you loved someone you were supposed to want their happiness above all else.

What she wanted above all else was to get away from Marc and lick her wounds and remake her life…

After what seemed hours of tossing in the bed she opened her eyes, blinking at the hard, white slabs of moonlight that fell through the shutters and tiger-striped the floor.

She switched on her light and peered at the bedside clock.

She’d been in bed under thirty minutes. It was, she thought, her bravado fading under a wave of weary misery, going to be a long night.

‘Yeah, that’s good. You’re getting the hang of it. That graft’ll take.’

Paige flushed. The elderly nurseryman was sparing with his praise so this was a rare moment.

They stood for a couple of moments evaluating the rose bush before he remarked, ‘I don’t know why you’re so set on going to university—it’s a waste of time. Breeding new plants is mostly knowing what they want, and you get that by growing them. After that it’s gut feelings and persistence and a good eye. I reckon you’ve got those already.’

Paige too had been wondering whether the money Juliette had left her would be wasted on university fees. ‘I don’t have to make a decision for a couple of months.’

‘Well, you’re doing pretty good. Don’t forget to clean that grafting knife.’

‘I won’t.’

He strode off, then turned. ‘Knew I came out here for something. There’s a joker out front wants to talk to you.’

During the past three months Paige had thought she’d blocked out the fantasy that Marc might walk back into her life, but there it was again, painfully sharp and instant. Stop it now, she thought, putting the grafting knife down. It’s not going to happen.

She was knitting her life together with dreams and will power, and she wasn’t going to let a stupid obsession ruin her progress.

‘Who is it?’ she asked casually.

‘Never seen him before.’

She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m not expecting anyone. He can wait until finishing time.’

‘Ten minutes won’t do him any harm,’ her boss agreed. ‘But you worked all through lunchtime so you might as well go now.’

It took her ten minutes to wash her hands and take off her overalls, then run a comb through her hair without scanning her face. She knew what she’d see there—opaque eyes, a mouth that had somehow tightened over the past three months, a general air of tense control.

It was hot in the cloakroom; she pulled her T-shirt away from her body and puffed out her cheeks. She had a long ride home.

Small pack on her back, she wheeled her bicycle around the shabby building, part office, part greenhouse, then stopped in the shade of a huge silk tree. Dismay hammered at her—dismay and a wild exhilaration that broke through the crust of ice she’d moulded around her emotions. Only one man in her acquaintance would be driving a car like this expensive European saloon.

Marc had seen her coming. The car door opened and he got out, wearing strength and power with a formidable authority that reinforced his height and the spread of his shoulders.

‘Paige,’ he said with uncompromising self-possession, scrutinising her. ‘How are you?’

Dry-mouthed, she returned, ‘Stunned.’ And grubby and angry, she told herself fiercely. It had to be anger that drove the colour into her skin and stirred up her energy levels, sending blood racing through her body.

That satirical eyebrow shot up and he smiled narrowly. ‘Stunned? I’m surprised—surely you didn’t expect your coldly formal farewell at Kerikeri airport to be the final words between us?’

She was staring at him as though he’d walked out of a spaceship and demanded to be taken to her leader. It was, Marc thought with cold self-derision, patently obvious she hadn’t been expecting him. He knew why, too; all the men in her life had abandoned her in their various ways.

As he had.

Damn, she’d lost weight since he’d put her on the plane. Her face was more finely drawn; perhaps the heat and working two jobs were grinding her down. But her mouth still beckoned with lushly sensuous impact, and he still wanted her as much as he had before.

More.

‘I think we’ve said everything there is to say to each other,’ she retorted, not giving an inch, her square jaw lifting a fraction and her eyes gleaming green. ‘Do you?’ He held her gaze until the thick black lashes swept down and her colour faded.

‘Yes,’ she said coldly, hating him for doing this to her. ‘And I’m afraid I’m running late, so I have to go.’

‘I’ll give you a ride home.’

‘No, thank you.’ She sent a savage, meaningless smile in his direction. ‘I need my bike to get me here tomorrow morning.’

‘You work on Sundays?’

Feeling like a total idiot for forgetting that today was Saturday, she held his eyes steadily. ‘On Monday, then.’

‘Your bike will go in the boot.’

Her laughter lacked humour. ‘It will also scratch the paint.’

She stiffened at his negligent shrug, and the anger that was holding her upright intensified into cold rage when he said indifferently, ‘So?’

‘So I don’t want a lift home.’

‘I need to talk to you—’

‘What about what I need?’ she demanded.

Coolly arrogant, he returned, ‘You need it too.’

‘Like a hole in the head,’ she said inelegantly, adding with rigid disdain, ‘If it’s my welfare you’re interested in, as you can see I’m fine. I’m thoroughly enjoying working here, and learning a lot.’ She dragged in a swift, shallow breath and hurtled on, ‘Sherry and Brodie are settled and well. She loves her employers; they love her. She adores living in the country and she’s switched from saving every cent she can for the deposit on a house to investing in stocks and shares.’

‘The share market had better watch out,’ he said with a lazy smile that scorched the length of her spine. ‘Are you pregnant?’

Her fingers clenched on the handlebars. Well, of course! She should have thought of that. In spite of the precautions he’d taken, Marc Corbett covered all bases; he wouldn’t want an inconvenient child on the periphery of his life!

Fighting back a buzzing in her head, she said baldly, ‘No.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

She met his assessing eyes with a fiercely independent glare. ‘Absolutely one hundred per cent sure. But even if I were, what would you do about it?’

‘Marry you,’ he said grimly.

Astonishment widened her eyes, but she made a swift recovery. ‘Not even you,’ she said, the metal in her words as cutting as steel, ‘can do the impossible. I wouldn’t marry you if I were pregnant, but it isn’t relevant because I’m not. Now, go back to your world and leave me in mine.’

He reached her before she had time to swing her leg over the bicycle. Strong hands closed over the handlebars and stopped the machine from moving.

‘Once you asked me if Juliette had been happy. Now I’m asking you—are you happy?’ he asked, his voice aloof.

But when she looked up she read an iron, uncompromising will in the hard angles and planes of his face.

She folded her lips together firmly and met his scrutiny with defiance that covered, she prayed, the pain beneath. ‘Let my bike go, please,’ she said between her teeth.

‘I’d like to explain some things to you.’

‘I can’t talk to you. I have to get home because I go to another job, and I’m due there in an hour.’ She hated lying to him, but she had to get out of here—his closeness was melting her resolve like a blowtorch on ice.

Her father’s rejection had scarred her life and coloured her attitudes. Without realising it, she’d organised her life so that no man could get close enough to her to spurn her love. Somehow she’d twisted her feelings so much she’d even welcomed Marc’s statement that he wasn’t offering anything but sex because it freed her from her fear of rejection.

But she could no longer lie to herself. In spite of everything, she loved him, and every moment she spent with him brought her closer to admitting it.

‘Coming home with me will make up time,’ he said crisply. ‘Get in—I’ll put this in the boot.’

Mind racing, she hesitated; a seething glance told her he wasn’t going to move, and short of yelling for help she had no chance of getting away. And perhaps this talk he wanted would give her an ending, a way to finally cut him out of her heart.

‘Is this how you got to be a tycoon?’ she asked scornfully. ‘By nagging and harassment?’

He lifted the bike and dumped it in the car’s big boot, lowering the top carefully to avoid scratching the gleaming paint. ‘I prefer to call it bloody-minded perseverance,’ he told her gravely.

Once they were purring down the road she asked, ‘What is so important that it brings you here again?’

‘I’ll wait until we get home,’ he said with infuriating self-possession. ‘Tell me what you’ve been doing.’

Almost she snarled, but it wouldn’t do any good, so she unclenched her jaw and kept her eyes on the road ahead. ‘Working,’ she returned steadily. ‘And playing with Brodie when Sherry comes into town. He’s grown such a lot—he can sit up and make noises, and laugh.’ With the slightest of snaps she said, ‘How’s Lauren?’

‘She’s fine, and sends her regards.’

‘Oh.’ Disconcerted, Paige sent a sideways glance at him, and met eyes the polished blue of a gun barrel.

Her stomach jolting into free-fall, she turned her gaze ahead again.

Marc asked, ‘Why are you working two jobs?’

Shrugging, she said, ‘I need to earn as much as I can before the start of the next academic year.’

‘So what sort of job takes up your Saturday night?’

‘Oh, of course. Today’s Saturday,’ she said lamely. ‘Ah, during the week I clean offices.’ Ashamed, she stared out of the side window.

He didn’t say anything, for which she was grateful. She should have known better than to lie; her mother had used to tell her she was the world’s worst fibber.

CHAPTER TWELVE

BACK at the unit, Paige turned and fixed her gaze just past Marc’s ear. ‘I’m grubby. I need to shower and change.’

‘I’ll make you coffee.’ Marc looked across at the kitchen and observed with irritating blandness, ‘I’m glad to see you’re using the electric jug I bought.’

‘I don’t cut off my nose to spite my face,’ she said shortly, and disappeared.

After showering in record time, she changed into clean jeans and a dark green T-shirt. For the first time since she’d left Arohanui, she realised with a sinking feeling in her stomach, she looked human again. Sparks of gold glittered in her green eyes, her cheeks were pink, and her heart pumped blood so vigorously through her system that she felt alert and vital and ready for anything.

But when Marc left she’d be right back where she started—desolated and wretched.

So? She could cope, even if it took every ounce of will power she possessed.

She set her chin at a jaunty angle and walked into her tiny living room.

Marc’s glance registered nothing more dangerous than cool assessment. Handing her a mug of coffee, he said abruptly, ‘When I told you I was faithful to Juliette, I was lying.’

‘I know.’ She tried to hide her raw, exposed emotions with an expressionless voice.

A muscle flicked in his arrogant jaw. ‘You don’t know why.’

Paige bit back the scornful words that threatened to spill out and waited in an agony of apprehension for him to tell her that he loved Lauren.

He said levelly, ‘When I met you, I looked at you and I wanted you—the classic coup de foudre.’

Bewildered, she stared at his harshly angular face. ‘I don’t—’

‘Thunderbolt,’ he translated with bleak brevity. ‘And, like a thunderbolt, it scared the hell out of me. And it wasn’t one-sided. Don’t shake your head—do you think I don’t recognise when a woman wants me, even a seventeen-year-old virgin who doesn’t know what the hell has happened to her? You did your best to resist it, and you succeeded in hiding it from anyone else, but I knew—and was infuriated and humiliated, because there was nothing more to it than mindless, elemental hunger.’

‘I—yes, I know,’ she said inaudibly, bracing herself.

Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. He was going to tell her that he’d been exorcising an old obsession when they’d made love.

The thought made her sick. Get on with it, she told him silently. Just do what it is you need to do and then go! Clenching her teeth together, she stared into the depths of her coffee and watched the liquid swirl lazily around.

Tonelessly he said, ‘So I ignored it. I had made a promise to Juliette and I kept it.’ He paused, before continuing in a tone laced with self-disgust, ‘But I couldn’t forget you. I carried you like a shining talisman, a memento of something precious that never happened, in my head and in my heart. I don’t know whether Juliette sensed that, but I suspect it was what convinced her that Lauren was my mistress.’

Coffee slopped over the side of her mug. Ignoring it, Paige whispered, ‘Oh, no!’

‘She never knew,’ he said swiftly, taking the mug from her and setting it down on the table. ‘She valued your friendship highly. From the start we both understood that ours was a practical marriage. She wasn’t in love with me and she knew I wasn’t in love with her. I liked her very much, and I was sure I could make her happy. It never occurred to me she’d decide that Lauren and I were having an affair.’

‘How could she not?’ Paige still didn’t believe him, although something niggled at the back of her mind. She added trenchantly, ‘When I saw you and Lauren together there was such a sense of—of love and trust—and a deep, deep connection that can’t be mistaken. If she’s not your lover, what is she?’

He didn’t answer straight away. Paige couldn’t look at him; in an agony of suspense she waited, listening to her heart thud noisily in her throat.

Without inflection he said, ‘I must ask you to keep this confidential, although I have her permission to tell you. She’s my half-sister.’

Paige’s jaw dropped. Incredulously, she repeated, ‘Your half-sister!’

That small muscle flicked again in his jaw. ‘Her mother and my father had an affair—one of his many affairs—and Lauren was the result.’ He spoke austerely, his body language indicating his contempt. ‘She doesn’t want anyone to know because her parents are still alive and her father believes she is his child—as she is in everything but genetic heritage. She loves him, and he has a weak heart. She’s worried that if he ever found out not only would it wreck her parents’ marriage but it could kill her father.’

Stunned, Paige picked up her coffee mug and took a fortifying sip. All she could think of to say was a feeble, ‘How did she learn about it?’

‘A medical emergency when she was twenty-two—I donated bone marrow.’

‘But surely her father realised then—?’

His mouth twisted. ‘Her mother was desperate and contacted me, hoping I might be a compatible donor. Fortunately I was; apparently she told her husband that I was on the worldwide register. She asked me not to tell anyone. So I didn’t—not even Juliette. But I was determined to keep in touch with Lauren; when she asked if she could join the firm I agreed. She is extremely good at her work, and utterly loyal.’

‘I’m not surprised; you saved her life. I don’t know how I missed it, but you have the same bone structure,’ Paige said quietly, wondering now at her own blindness. It was too early, and too presumptuous, to be relieved. ‘And you both lift your left eyebrow; I noticed that, but not anything else except that special rapport between you.’

‘Juliette never saw the physical resemblance,’ Marc said remotely, his lashes hiding all but narrow slivers of blue.

Paige’s fingers twisted together. ‘But she knew that there was something not right about your marriage. I feel that I betrayed her.’

He stared at her as though she was crazy. She expected an explosion, and for a moment she thought she was going to get one, but eventually he closed his eyes and dragged in a breath. When he opened his eyes and expelled the air from his lungs he’d re-established control.

‘How?’ he asked, almost temperately.

‘If you kept on wanting me, even when you were married to her—’ She stopped, because so much had been unsaid.

His brows drew together. ‘Go on.’

The words tied themselves in knots on her tongue, but she had to keep going. ‘I can’t bear to think I made her unhappy.’

He exhaled again, and ran a hand through his black hair. ‘If anyone made her unhappy,’ he pointed out in a tone that strove for reason, ‘I did. You were totally innocent.’

She bit her lip. ‘I wanted you.’

‘Paige, stop staring at me as though I’m the enemy.’ He strode across to the door and stared for a moment outside, as though working out what to say next. After a charged moment he swung around. ‘Sit down. You look as though you’ve been run over by a Jumbo Jet.’

Reluctantly she obeyed, crossing her legs at the ankle, setting the mug on the table and then locking her nervous fingers together in her lap.

‘I need to tell you about my marriage, and to do that I have to tell you about my family,’ he said in a crisp, unemotional voice. ‘To begin with, my father was notorious for his affairs.’

Paige realised he was hating this. She asked soberly, ‘Is that why they called him the Robber Baron?’

He paused. ‘Only partly. He conducted business like one of the old robber barons of industry. He always vowed he loved my mother—and I think in a strange sort of way he did.’

Paige snorted, and he smiled without humour. ‘I couldn’t agree more. My mother loved him desperately. She couldn’t cope with his amours, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself. Not that he was a rake; he chose sophisticated women, not innocents. I think I told you once that my childhood was punctuated by hideous rows and even more hideous silences; what I didn’t tell you was that there were at least three suicide attempts by my mother. There may have been more.’

Paige made a shocked, sympathetic noise. Outside, the sun blazed down, silhouetting him against its brazen light.

Still in that toneless voice he said, ‘I decided that I wouldn’t ever put a woman through that; I wanted no part of love. I wanted a sensible marriage, where both of us knew exactly where we stood.’

‘I can see why,’ she admitted, horrified. Her own father’s behaviour was nothing compared to this—at least he’d stayed with his second wife until he died.

‘I chose Juliette because she loved children, she knew her way around the world I live in, and she was intelligent and kind. And she was beautiful—going to bed with her would be a pleasure.’

Outraged, Paige snapped, ‘It sounds as though you made a list!’

His mouth tightened. ‘And because although she liked me, and found me sexy and interesting, she wasn’t in love with me. You noticed that Lauren and I share a family resemblance—Juliette never did. Doesn’t that give you some indication of our marriage?’

She bit her lip. ‘I’m good with faces.’

‘Is that the real reason?’ She flushed, and he went on quietly, ‘With Juliette I knew there would be no loss of control, no passionate craving, no handing my heart over to someone who might treat it as carelessly as my father had treated my mother’s. I chose the easy, safe, coward’s path.’

Silence drummed between them until he said harshly, ‘So it serves me right that when I saw you—a child of seventeen—two days before our wedding, I fell so hard and so fast I went into shock.’

Unable to speak, Paige sat stiffly, her eyes fixed on his hard face.

He finished, ‘I don’t believe in love at first sight, not even now, but that’s what happened to me. I married Juliette because I had made a vow to her and because I knew I would be safe with her. And if she hadn’t died I would still be married to her.’

That flat, emphatic statement lifted Paige’s heart, allowing her to hope. This man would keep a promise, no matter how much it cost him.

‘I regret bitterly that she thought I was unfaithful,’ he said bluntly. ‘But, although she was pleased when I convinced her that it was untrue, she wouldn’t have left me if it had been, Paige. She was content with what she had of me.’ He paused. ‘Just as I tried to convince myself that I was content with the path I’d chosen.’

She looked mutely at him, blinking at the blazing heat of his eyes. ‘Then I saw you walk down the staircase from the strip club, and I knew that for six years I’d been lying to myself. The unruly passion I thought I’d killed had been hiding, and the moment I saw you with the child in your arms it burst out again—stronger for its repression, more violent than ever. And you felt it too—I saw it when you looked at me.’

‘That’s not love,’ she said unsteadily.

‘Perhaps not. But then I found that as well as being unbearably desirable you’re compassionate, strong-willed, spirited and intelligent,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘And I want you in my life until I die. Is that love, Paige? Because if it is, I’m in love with you.’

Unable to believe what she’d heard, she stared at his dark, angular face in shock. ‘In love?’ she whispered.

‘I don’t know what else it can be.’ He made an explicit Gallic gesture, his decisive hand slashing downwards. ‘Passion is wonderful, and when we made love it was like nothing else I’ve ever experienced, but it is only part of what I feel for you.’

She jumped to her feet and advanced towards him, eyes glittering with tears. ‘If you love me,’ she demanded, ‘why did you let me leave Arohanui? Why did you stay away for these past three dreadful months? You must have known how I felt about you, yet you, you—’

She grabbed his upper arms and shook him. It was like trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar. He didn’t try to stop her, and when she made an exclamation of disgust at her own weakness he locked his fingers around her wrists, preventing her retreat.

In a low, caustic voice he said, ‘I didn’t want to feel this need. I dreaded being like my mother, weak-willed and dependent, enacting jealous rages, an abject slave to love. That’s why I let you go, only to realise that without you there is nothing.’

He paused, a lethal gaze fixed intently on her face. ‘And I hope you love me too. You were a virgin, yet you gave yourself to me—was that easy, ordinary lust?’

Colour flooded her skin, and just as rapidly faded. ‘No,’ she admitted on a long sigh. ‘But, Marc—I’m not—I won’t be a suitable wife for you.’

‘I know,’ he said, solemn-faced. ‘In fact, you’re outrageously unsuitable. I’ll probably lose every cent of this money you find such a burden because I can’t think of anything but you.’

She smiled, as he had meant her to, but it left her with twisted lips and she said uneasily, ‘Your mother won’t—’

‘My mother wants me to be happy, and when she sees us together she’ll know that I am.’

Paige stared up, read the complete conviction in his expression, and let herself hope. But before surrendering completely she said quietly, ‘It’s not that simple, Marc. You know that.’

‘I know that together we can do anything we want to.’ His voice deepened. ‘I know that my life is a desert without you. If you can’t live in my world then I’ll leave it and live with you, anywhere you want.’

Swift, hot tears ached behind her eyes. ‘You’d get bored in a few months, and I wouldn’t—I won’t be happy unless you are.’ She took a deep, ragged breath and fixed her eyes on his face. ‘So if that means I have to learn how to behave in your world, I’ll do it. I’m a quick learner, and if your mother will help—’

‘She will,’ he said, but he made no attempt to pull her where she longed to be, into his arms, against his heart.

He waited until she let down every barrier and took that first, terrifying step into the unknown.

‘I do love you.’ Her voice quivered, but she managed a smile in spite of the shimmer of tears. ‘I’ve always loved you. And I want to make you so happy you won’t ever regret it. If that’s enough—’

‘I want more than that.’ His voice was slow and sure, vibrant with determination. ‘I want to take such care of you that you never get ill again, or are unhappy again, or want—’

‘Oh, Marc,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t promise that.’

‘I know.’ He laughed softly and, finally yielding to his emotions, pulled her against him. ‘But I’m going to try, my heart.’

At last convinced that this man would never use her or betray her, that she could trust him with her life and her love, she smiled crookedly at him. ‘I will too,’ she vowed. ‘And I can see that we’ll both be so over-protective we’ll drive each other crazy.’

His arms closed around her as though she was something rare and preciously fragile. ‘I can’t wait. And I can promise that if you marry me we will always be together, that I’ll always be there to support you, and that when you hybridise plants and call them after me and our children I’ll be the proudest man in the world.’

She lifted a glowing face and kissed him, and after that there was no more talking, except in the deep, exquisite tenderness of love.

Later, lying in his arms on her bed, she traced a path through the pattern of fine hair across his chest and said sleepily, ‘Now you can confess that you got Sherry her job.’

The wall of his chest lifted sharply beneath her finger. ‘How did you know? She doesn’t.’

‘I guessed. It came very conveniently, and when I thought about it I couldn’t really believe in people who’d overlook her past to hire her to look after their children—unless they knew more about her than that she was a stripper. Or unless they owed someone a favour.’

His eyes gleaming with lazy satisfaction, he pulled her exploring hand up to kiss the palm and then her wrist. Against the tumultuous pulse he admitted, ‘They’re friends. And they’re delighted with her—so much so that now they owe me another favour for finding her for them.’

Paige looked at him with adoring delight. ‘What made you do it for her?’

He paused, then shrugged, his skin sliding silkily, sensuously against hers. ‘I liked her, and thought she deserved a better chance, but the main reason was that you were worried about her.’

‘What about Juliette’s legacy—the money?’ When his mouth settled into a firm, inflexible line she leaned over and bit his earlobe. Into his ear she breathed, ‘That came from you too, didn’t it?’

‘I can see I’m not going to have any secrets,’ he complained wryly, easing her over onto her back. ‘When did you work that out?’

‘When you said you’d helped Sherry.’ She lifted a hand and stroked his cheek, fingers tingling at the soft roughness of his beard beneath the sensitive tips.

He turned his head into her palm and said in a muffled voice, ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of you struggling on with no financial base to keep you safe. I had to make sure you were protected, that you had choices and options.’

Ten minutes before—only five minutes before!—Paige had believed that making love to Marc had more than sated her every desire. So she was surprised when that subtle heat began to smoulder again, this time reinforced by a deep, abiding gratitude to whatever fortunate fate had brought them together.

‘I do love you,’ she said, turning the simple words into a vow. ‘I wish I hadn’t thought you were such a horrible man.’

‘You can make amends.’ He slid his hand up to enclose one soft breast.

She laughed softly and kissed his shoulder. ‘So I can,’ she said wonderingly. ‘I’m so happy! Everything seems newborn, as though loving you, knowing that you love me, has remade the world.’

‘Good.’ He traced the full contours of her mouth, his own softening into tenderness. ‘I wondered if you could trust any man enough to love one. Your father left you, your boss harassed you, and your cousin died without making sure you and your mother had some sort of security. And I coldly and deliberately turned my back on a temptation I found unbearably enticing and married Juliette.’

‘I fell in love with you on the telephone,’ she confessed, ‘at Arohanui when you rang every night. So I loved you before I knew you’d kept Lauren’s secret, and that you were loyal to Juliette. I couldn’t stop myself. It just happened.’

‘I don’t believe in fate. But then I didn’t believe in love at first sight either! Perhaps we were meant to find each other, meant to love, meant to live a long and happy life together,’ he said, and kissed her.

They were married on the island, a quiet simple ceremony with his mother and Lauren and Sherry and several of Marc’s close friends. Afterwards, in the room she’d first slept in, Paige changed her ankle-length oyster-coloured silk gown for travelling clothes. They were spending their honeymoon on an island Marc owned in Tahiti, a small one in an isolated lagoon. Later they would fly to Paris, and then on to Venice.

Anticipation mingled in her with a tiny stab of foreboding. She looked down at her cream linen shirt and matching trousers and hoped she’d pass muster.

A brilliant blue flare from the ring Marc had given her comforted her. She turned it a little, admiring the colour. He’d suggested an emerald, but she’d decided on a Burmese sapphire the colour of his eyes. Glittering against the band of her wedding ring, it was a symbol of his commitment.

Not only was she utterly confident in Marc’s love, confident enough to take on the world, but she had his mother’s backing. At their first meeting Mrs Corbett had hugged her, and the last week had made it more than clear that Marc had been right—his mother only wanted his happiness, and was prepared to do whatever she could to forward it.

And she and Lauren were well on the way to becoming friends too. Marrying Marc had given her a family once more. And there would be others—children, with his habit of raising an ironic brow…

Smiling, she picked up her bag, and was making sure she had everything she might need when a knock on the door lifted her head. ‘Come in,’ she called.

But it was the housekeeper who came in, not Marc. She looked a little worried, but she said, ‘Mrs Corbett, I promised the—’ she looked flustered, then recovered herself ‘—the previous Mrs Corbett that I’d give you this if you ever married Marc—Mr Corbett.’

‘This’ was an envelope with Paige written on it in Juliette’s elegant handwriting. A little chill ran down Paige’s spine.

‘I hope it’s all right,’ the housekeeper said worriedly. ‘She left me the two letters, you see—laughing a bit, because of course she didn’t expect to die. One was to be delivered when you came up to collect the bracelet, and the other was if you married Marc.’

‘Of course it’s all right,’ Paige said, hiding her momentary unease with a smile. ‘Juliette was my friend.’

But the cold foreboding wormed its way into her as she waited for the housekeeper to leave. Once the door had closed behind Mrs Oliver, Paige slowly opened the envelope, sitting on the edge of the bed to read the note inside.

Dearest Paige,

If you’re reading this then I’ll have been dead for at least two years and you’ll have married Marc. I want you to know that you have my blessing.

I feel silly writing this, but I need to. Not long ago I had a dream. I was lying in a swan boat with flowers all around me, lovely carnations and roses and long branches of mock orange in full white flower. Although it was strange, I was happy and excited, because I knew I was going somewhere wonderful, and that once I got there I’d meet someone wonderful. Then you and Marc walked out of the mist and stood looking down at me. You were crying, and Marc’s face was all stony, the way it goes when he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s thinking, yet you were linked in a shining glow, a kind of radiance. I tried to tell you both that I was happy, not to worry about me, not to grieve, but I couldn’t talk or move.

Paige’s heart clenched in her breast. She put the sheets of paper down on the bed, but picked them up almost immediately with trembling hands and read the rest.

I knew that this was the way things were meant to be. It was a lovely sureness, a certainty, and it stayed with me when I woke up. Of course it was just a dream, but in case it wasn’t, dearest Paige, sister of my heart, then I know that one day you’ll be reading this and that you and Marc will make each other very happy.

It’s why I left you my bracelet on such strange conditions. I wanted you to stay on the island so that you and Marc would get to know each other, but it had to be long enough after my death for neither of you to be constrained by sorrow. Two years, I decided, was a good period.

She’d signed it My love to you both, and under the signature she’d added:

By the way, Marc told me he has never had an affair with his English executive, and I believe him. There is a connection there, but it is not sexual or romantic. Dearest Paige, be very happy.

Paige was still sitting on the bed, her eyes drowned in tears, when Marc came in.

‘What is it?’ he demanded, quick anger abrading his voice.

Wordlessly she held the letter out to him.

He frowned, but took it and read it. Then he pulled her up into his arms and said into her hair, ‘I didn’t know—she never told me.’

Shivering, Paige leaned gratefully against him, absorbing his warm strength, the unfailing support she knew would be hers always. ‘It’s—uncanny. And not like Juliette—she was so pragmatic.’ She drew in a shaking breath. ‘I hope—I hope that after the accident she woke up in her golden swan boat, surrounded with her favourite flowers and drenched in their perfume.’

He said soberly, ‘The accident investigators told me she’d have had one moment of fear, perhaps, and then oblivion. She didn’t suffer, my dearest heart. And if this dream gave her some sort of comfort, I’m glad. As glad as I am that she tried to set us up together. Some unconscious part of her must have recognised the—the affinity between us.’

Paige nodded into his shoulder.

He went on, ‘After she died I told myself I’d wait the two years she’d stipulated and then hand her keepsake over to you and that would be an end to this inconvenient obsession. But the moment I saw you again I knew I’d lied. It was never going to end, and it wasn’t obsession. It was love. Not that I was ready to admit that to myself—I was too afraid.’

Startled, Paige looked up. ‘Afraid? You?’

‘You still don’t know how much you mean to me,’ he told her, smoothing a strand of bright hair back from her temple. He held her away from him and looked into her face, his own at last naked and open to her, not trying to hide the deep, powerful emotions she saw there.

Blue fire leaping in his eyes, he said thickly, ‘If I were a poet I could find new ways to tell you what I feel. But I can only say what so many men have said before, that I love you. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you that those three words contain everything important to me.’

Paige met his brilliant gaze with courage and a happiness that turned her eyes to pure shimmering gold. ‘And I love you,’ she said very softly. ‘With all my heart, all that I am. I always will.’

He laughed, the deep, triumphant laugh of a lover, and dropped a swift kiss on her nose. ‘Then let’s go. We’ve got a whole, glorious, magnificent lifetime together to discover all the facets of our love. I can’t wait to start.’

ISBN: 978-1-4268-1329-0

Copyright © 2008 Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

The Virgin’s Price

Copyright © 2006 Melanie Milburne

The Virgin’s Proposal

Copyright © 2003 Shirley Kawa-Jump

His Virgin Secretary

Copyright © 2004 Cathy Williams

One Hot Texan

Copyright © 2001 Jane Graves

The Innocent Virgin

Copyright © 2006 Carole Mortimer

Undercover Virgin

Copyright © 2004 Rebecca L. Barker

A Single Demand

Copyright © 2005 Cheryl Guttridge Klam

The Virgin’s Seduction

Copyright © 2005 Anne Mather

Craving Beauty

Copyright © 2005 Nalini Singh

The Millionaire's Virgin Mistress

Copyright © 2003 Robyn Kingston

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