Risky Business

Jack folded his arms over his chest. “Sheer accident. I’m in town on business, and who do I see getting into a cab? The woman who walked out on me six months ago without so much as a goodbye. And now, for some reason, everyone thinks I’m your…husband?”

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. “Please, Jack. Will you just go?”

“Oh, no. If you’re going to pass me off as your husband, I’ve got a right to know why.”

“It was a harmless little…ruse. That’s all.”

He eyed her carefully. “Why me?”

She turned away. “The picture was handy.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What other reason would there be?”

Jack gave her a cocky grin. “I’m unforgettable?”

Rachel shot him a look of disgust. Oh, he was so arrogant. And so conceited. And so right.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always loved those crazy stories where somebody tells a tiny fib, only to have that little falsehood escalate into a problem of major proportions!

In Risky Business, architect Rachel Westover is desperate to land her dream job, but the big boss refuses to consider unmarried job candidates. She decides that Jack Kellerman, a fun, sexy, captivating man with whom she once had a scorching one-night affair, can become her imaginary husband, since he lives a thousand miles away and will never know. She gets the job. Her plans works perfectly.

Then, out of the blue, Jack shows up at her office, quite amused that he appears to be married but can’t seem to remember his wedding.

When everybody takes Jack to be her real husband, Rachel is forced to spend four days with him on an employee/spouse retreat at a romantic ski resort. Soon her one little fib has spiraled completely out of control. How can she, a serious, career-driven woman, be falling for a wildly spontaneous man who never takes anything seriously?

I hope you enjoy Risky Business. Visit me on the Web at www.janesullivan.com, or write to me at jane@janesullivan.com. I’d love to hear from you!

Best wishes,

Jane Sullivan

Books by Jane Sullivan

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

854—ONE HOT TEXAN

HARLEQUIN DUETS

48—THE MATCHMAKER’S MISTAKE

33—STRAY HEARTS

Risky Business

Jane Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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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

1

JACK KELLERMAN WAS A BORN optimist.

He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he hadn’t believed that the glass was half-full. That when a door closed, a window opened. That things always worked out for the best, that tomorrow was another day, and that life really was a bowl of cherries. And above all, that laughter was indeed the best medicine.

But even at his most positive, no way could he have predicted a day like today.

He’d caught an early morning flight from San Antonio to Denver. Nonstop. Arrived ten minutes early. Actual breakfast on the plane rather than a package of stale dry-roasted peanuts. Sat down next to a woman with a baby, and the child fell asleep when they took off and didn’t even wake when they landed. Gorgeous redhead from San Antonio in the seat to his left, literate, well-spoken and maybe even telling the truth when she said she was unmarried. She’d slipped her card into the pocket of his leather jacket as they got off the plane, giving him a smile that said, Anywhere, anytime, any way.

As he exited the terminal, he got a picture-postcard view of the snowcapped Rocky Mountains in the distance. He picked up a cab with a functioning heater. The driver, who actually spoke English, drove him into downtown Denver, where a light sprinkling of snow blanketed the sidewalks with a soft white powder.

And now, as Jack stood inside the lobby of the Fairfax Hotel, turning a slow circle and taking in every nuance of the late-nineteenth-century architecture and decor, he couldn’t help smiling. He’d wondered whether this trip would be worth it. He wasn’t wondering now.

Man, oh man, what a beautiful sight.

He checked his watch and saw that he was thirty minutes early for his appointment with the hotel manager. He stepped into the lounge, slid onto a stool at the bar and watched as a blonde sitting at the other end of the bar uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, giving him an inviting smile.

Nice. Very nice.

The only thing that rivaled Jack’s passion for historic places was his passion for beautiful women. And right now, he was experiencing the best of both worlds.

He returned her smile, knowing it never hurt to plant seeds. If she was still here by the time the manager finished giving him a tour of the place, he might just have himself a lunch partner. Maybe more. If this day got any better he wasn’t going to be able to stand it.

But business first. Then pleasure.

The bartender came by, and Jack asked for a cup of coffee. Then he pulled out his cell phone, tapped number one on the speed dial, and after a few rings, Tom came on the line. His cousin and business partner, Tom was holding down the fort in San Antonio while he made the trip to Denver.

“You at the hotel already?” Tom asked.

“Just got here.”

“Well? Is it everything we thought it would be?”

“More. It’s a gold mine. Crystal chandeliers, oak and mahogany floors, brass fixtures all over the place, and enough stained glass to fill the Vatican.”

“Wow. Sounds good.”

“It’s better than good. I can’t believe some idiot wants to demolish it.”

“Yeah, but their loss is our gain.”

Jack had to admit that was true. Their business was historic renovation, not demolition, but if they couldn’t stop the destruction of buildings like this one, at least they could salvage the interiors for use somewhere else. Still, the lack of foresight of some people really grated on Jack’s nerves. A fifty-story office complex might be the highest and best use of this property if a person was looking at it from strictly a financial viewpoint, but once those explosives were planted and detonated, a piece of history would be lost forever. How could anyone put a price tag on that?

Jack glanced back at the blonde, who was toying with a cocktail straw and not even trying to hide the fact that her attention was focused squarely on him. He didn’t have to be back at the airport until seven o’clock tonight. A lot could happen in seven hours.

“How long do you think it would take to pull everything out of there?” Tom asked.

“Hard to say. I’ll know more after I go through it. Trouble is, they want the building on the ground before the end of February.”

Tom let out a breath of frustration. “That could be cutting it close.”

“We could bring two crews up here.”

“That’ll short us on the Wimberly Building.”

“But that one has a longer fuse. We can afford that.”

“This all assumes we win the bid.”

“I’m telling you, Tom, if the rest of the place is as good as what I’ve seen so far, I’ll make sure we win the bid.”

The blonde picked up her glass of wine and took a sip, then teased her lower lip against the rim in a provocative back-and-forth motion. He was getting exactly the right kind of vibes from her—vibes that told him she wanted nice conversation, great sex—and a no-strings-attached goodbye.

Maybe they’d skip lunch in the restaurant and go straight to room service.

“So when is your meeting with the manager?” Tom asked.

“Eleven-thirty. I’m a little early, so I thought I’d—”

Jack stopped short. Looking out the window to the street beside the hotel, he saw something that froze him to the spot where he sat.

No. It couldn’t be.

He sat motionless, his heart suddenly beating rapid-fire, as he watched a woman on the sidewalk. She held shopping bags in both hands, her purse tossed over her shoulder, looking as if she wanted to hail a cab. Even at this distance, he could see the smooth, ivory skin of her face in contrast to the crimson of her lips, both framed by black-as-night hair that swirled in the winter breeze.

Hadn’t he touched that face before? Kissed those lips? Run his fingers through that hair?

It was her. Rachel.

No. That was wishful thinking. The woman he’d known in San Antonio had been all long legs and luscious curves and warm, soft mouth, and every move she’d made had been a sensual feast for the eyes. This woman was wearing a conservative wool coat with a hem below her knees, black gloves and black low-heeled shoes, looking so sharp and conservative that if a Marine recruiter had happened by, he would have dragged her straight to boot camp. Would the woman he’d known in San Antonio have dressed like that?

He wasn’t sure. He’d have to think hard to remember what she looked like with clothes on.

They’d spent one night together—one hot, exciting, unforgettable night—only to have her leave before daybreak without so much as telling him her last name. Not a day had passed in the last six months that he hadn’t thought about her, and he’d held out hope that someday he would see her again. And now, as he looked at this woman, the most uncanny feeling of recognition took him by the throat and refused to let go, telling him that today just might be that day.

“Jack?” Tom said. “Are you there?”

Tom’s voice had become as comprehensible as a mosquito buzzing in his ear. The blonde gave him yet another provocative smile, but that didn’t register, either. Every molecule in his body was tuned toward the woman on the sidewalk outside, and all at once the promise he’d made to himself that morning six months ago came back to him like a prophecy just waiting to be fulfilled.

He’d told himself that if he ever saw her again, he’d never let her go.

“Sorry, Tom. Gotta run. I’ll call you back later.”

“Hey! Wait! You haven’t finished telling me—”

Jack hit a button on the phone and stuffed it back into his coat pocket. He reached for his wallet, grabbed the first bill he saw—a ten—and tossed it onto the bar. The blonde gave him a surprised look, but he was already off his bar stool and heading out of the lounge.

He ran into the lobby, glanced out the window again and panicked when he didn’t see her. He burst through the revolving door onto the sidewalk, the cold winter wind slapping him in the face, just in time to see her pulling a cab door closed behind her.

“Rachel!”

He ran toward the cab, shouting her name, but the wind caught his words and blew them right back at him. The cab pulled away from the curb.

He spun around and ran to another cab, leaped inside, slammed the door and pointed madly. “Follow that cab!”

The driver, a gray-haired guy who seemed to be moving in slow motion, looked at him as if he was out of his mind.

“I know,” Jack said impatiently. “Cliché. Just do it anyway, will you?”

The man shook his head and hit the gas, accelerating quickly to keep the cab ahead of them in sight. It was no small task, since its driver seemed hell-bent on setting a new land speed record.

“Stay with him,” Jack said.

“Lots of traffic. I’ll give it a shot.”

By going five miles over the speed limit, the driver managed to stay just one car behind the other cab. And the whole time, Jack was consumed by thoughts of the day he’d met Rachel and the incredible hours they’d spent together.

That afternoon he’d gone by the Alamo in downtown San Antonio, partly because he had a little time to kill, and partly because it was one of his favorite places. She’d been out by the well behind the chapel, one of the only buildings in the Alamo complex left standing. He was first struck by her beauty, but it didn’t take long for him to discover that much more lay beneath her surface. After only a few minutes of conversation, he realized she knew more about the Alamo than he did, and that was saying a lot.

After spending a good two hours talking about nineteenth-century history, Jack had been positively entranced. Later they’d had dinner together, then strolled along the Riverwalk. And then they’d done something that was impulsive even for him.

As evening turned to dusk, their walk took them past the old Stonebriar Hotel. He didn’t know who made the first move toward it, but looking back, their thoughts had been so in tune that he imagined they must have done it together. Within minutes they’d checked in. He’d barely waited until they’d gotten into the elevator before he kissed her, and it was all they could do to get down the hall to their room before they came together in a fiery sexual encounter that made every other experience he’d ever had with a woman pale by comparison.

Then he’d awakened the next morning to find her gone. No note, no phone message, no nothing. And he realized that while they’d talked endlessly about history, she’d sidestepped more personal conversation, leaving him with only three pieces of information about her: Her name was Rachel, she was from out of town and she was an architect. And that was it. And from that day forward, he’d fervently hoped that somehow, someway, someday, their paths would cross again. How could he have known it would be a thousand miles away in Denver, Colorado?

All at once, the cab they were following accelerated, weaving hard to the right, then to the left, putting two more cars between them.

“You’re losing them!” Jack told the driver.

“The guy’s a maniac,” he muttered. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Jack yanked two twenties out of his wallet and held them up. “You need to do better.”

The driver had a sudden change of attitude and stomped the gas. “Hang on.”

With a little creative maneuvering of his own, Jack’s driver managed to gain on the cab ahead of them. Every muscle in Jack’s body was tense, every nerve ending alive. He had to catch up to her. He had to.

Then the light at the next intersection turned yellow. Jack’s driver slammed on the brake and brought their cab to a tire-squealing halt, while the other cab crossed the intersection and buzzed away.

“Damn!” Jack said, smacking the back of the seat with his fist. He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe he’d come so close to finding her, only to lose her again. He slumped back against the seat, still cursing under his breath.

“Hey!” the driver said, “It’s stopping half a block up!”

Jack sat up again, hope surging through him. Looking down the street, he saw that the cab had pulled up next to the curb and the woman was getting out. Her straight dark hair swung across her shoulders as she bustled herself and her packages through the door of a high-rise bank building.

The light changed. Jack’s driver hit the gas, and a moment later he pulled up to the curb in front of the building into which she’d disappeared. Jack tossed him money, then leaped out of the cab and raced into the building. Scanning the lobby, he spotted her standing in a crowd near the elevators.

As he sprinted toward her, a set of elevator doors opened and she got on. The crowd followed her, leaving just as big a crowd behind waiting for the next elevator. He pushed his way through the people with as much civility as he could given his desperation, getting dirty looks left and right. But he had to catch that elevator.

The doors were closing.

“Rachel!” he shouted.

He reached over the shoulder of a man in front of him and tried to wedge his hand between the doors.

“Hey, buddy!” the guy said. “Back off! The elevator’s full!”

The doors closed, and the elevator began its ascent. Another came, and the people turned and hurried toward it, leaving Jack standing there alone, cursing his luck. Or lack of luck. This was a forty-story building, and thousands of people worked here. How would he ever find her?

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. In a moment he had the manager of the Fairfax Hotel on the line and told him something had come up and he’d have to reschedule his tour for later in the day. The man sounded a little annoyed, but Jack couldn’t have cared less.

Then, as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, he remembered that he did have one piece of information about Rachel. If she’d been telling him the truth about her profession, she was an architect.

He strode back through the lobby, found the building management office, and a few minutes later he got what he was after: the names and addresses of five architectural firms housed within the building.

He returned to the elevators, his body humming with anticipation, images of Rachel swirling through his mind. She was beautiful, but the world was full of beautiful women, and his attraction to her had gone way beyond that. Even though their time together could have been counted in hours, for maybe the first time in his life he’d been thinking about the possibility of making a relationship permanent.

He’d find her. One way or the other, before this day was out, he’d find her. And if he had his way, he’d have her back in his arms again.

2

RACHEL WESTOVER GOT OUT of the elevator on the thirty-eighth floor, then turned and backed through the glass door of Davidson Design, dragging two large shopping bags along with her. If this day got any worse, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

She’d realized this morning as she was leaving for work that she really could use a couple of new sweaters and a few other things if she intended to go to a ski resort for the next four days. So she’d ventured out for an early lunch hour, fought the crowds at both Ann Taylor and Express, stood in line next to a woman with a screaming baby, paid far too much for everything because she had no time to shop for a bargain, then took a cab back to her office driven by a guy who didn’t know the meaning of the word brake.

But at least now she was ready for the retreat. Four days of skiing in Silver Springs, courtesy of the big boss, Walter Davidson. The man liked to promote a “one big, happy family” feeling among his employees, and occasional employee/spouse retreats were his way of making that happen. Rachel had never been very comfortable in social situations, particularly those which she was forced to attend, so she wasn’t looking forward to this one. Unfortunately, turning down such a generous invitation would make her look ungrateful. And with the new project manager position opening up, she definitely didn’t want to appear that way.

The receptionist, Megan Rice, an animated little redhead with big brown eyes, peered over her desk.

“Hey, Rachel. Have fun shopping?”

“Not in the least.”

“Aw, come on. It’s always fun to spend money.”

Not for Rachel. Saving money was fun. Spending it was painful.

The phone trilled. Megan punched a button on her console, answered it, then routed it with another touch of her fingertip. Most companies had done away with call-routing receptionists and gone to voice mail. But Walter Davidson insisted on maintaining the personal touch, and Megan manned the central nervous system of Davidson Design with astonishing proficiency. She greeted visitors, did overflow word processing and generally took up slack wherever she found it. But despite her obvious competence, there was something about her that had always made Rachel feel just a touch uneasy.

Maybe it was the barbed wire tattoo on her upper arm that occasionally peeked out from under her sleeve. Maybe it was the glint in her eyes that said she always knew way more than she was saying. Maybe it was the phone calls she made sometimes to somebody named “Blade.” But for one reason or another, Rachel had come to suspect the truth: lurking behind those big brown eyes was the heart of a hell-raiser.

And now the hell-raiser was smiling at her.

Under normal circumstances, Megan’s smile was just a smile. But today was Rachel’s birthday. Megan was the self-appointed celebrant of all birthdays on the premises, and she accomplished that duty in ways that struck fear in Rachel’s heart. Rachel hated people making a fuss over her. But when it came to birthdays, Megan went beyond fuss and edged right into human torture.

A bouquet of black balloons.

Candles that wouldn’t blow out.

A six-foot rabbit belting out a singing telegram.

A T-shirt that read, I’m Not Old, I’m Chronologically Challenged.

“Any messages for me?” Rachel asked.

“No,” Megan said with a smile. “But I have something for you.”

Oh, no.

Rachel glanced quickly over one shoulder, then the other. She saw nothing suspicious, but that didn’t mean a thing. It could come from anywhere at any time, so she had to stay on her toes.

“Please, Megan,” she said. “I know it’s my birthday, but—”

“Hey, calm down, will you? It’s no big deal.”

That hardly made Rachel feel better. Megan thought a dancing chimpanzee was no big deal.

“Please,” she said imploringly. “Just tell me…” She took a deep, calming breath and let it out slowly. “Just tell me it’s not a stripper.”

Megan looked horrified. “You’re kidding, right? A stripper? Would I do something like that?”

The answer was an unqualified yes. A stripper. A guy with a boom box and a G-string beneath his tearaway pants, ready to bump and grind his way through a routine that would make Madonna die of embarrassment. Everyone would come out of their offices to watch the show, and she’d have to tolerate it or look like a bad sport.

That Walter allowed such behavior amazed Rachel. But it was just one more expression of his core ideology: the employees who played together stayed together, and if a few practical jokes masquerading as birthday surprises enhanced that mood, he was all for it.

Rachel sighed inwardly. What had happened to workplaces where people were stuffy and uptight and gave out birthday cards with rhyming verses that weren’t dirty limericks?

Then Megan reached for something underneath her desk, and Rachel braced herself.

“Here you go,” Megan said, and set a cupcake on the counter. Rachel held her breath, eyeing it warily. A cup-cake? Surely there was more to it than that.

“Lighten up, will you?” Megan said. “It’s way too small for a stripper to jump out of.”

True.

Rachel let out the breath she’d been holding. Well. That wasn’t so bad. A nice, conservative cupcake topped with white frosting and a single pink candle. That she could deal with.

“I know you said you didn’t even want a cake,” Megan said, “but everybody needs a cake on their birthday. Even if it’s a little one.”