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The plane banked in a wide, slow turn and the window tipped toward the ground. Lizzie braced her hand against the side of the fuselage and craned her neck to see the new view that unfolded. Her stomach didn’t roll quite as badly this time.
Just like any new experience, once you got the hang of it, flying wasn’t so bad after all.
The flight was forty minutes late by the time it landed at La Guardia. Tinged with gray, bleak as a closed barn door, the airport spread in drab determination across the patched asphalt. Inside the terminal, the air was thick with humidity and laced with the babble of strangers. Everyone appeared to know exactly where they were going and were in a heck of a hurry to get there, so Lizzie hitched the strap of her carry-on over her shoulder and let the stream carry her along to the baggage claim.
“Oh, Lord love a duck,” she whispered when she caught sight of the uniformed man standing beside the glass doors. Even though they didn’t have anything like this in Packenham Junction, she’d watched enough TV to recognize an honest-to-goodness limousine chauffeur when she saw one. And he was holding up a neatly lettered sign with her name on it.
That nice Mr. Whitmore had said that he’d arrange to have someone meet her flight, but she hadn’t expected anything quite so fancy. Dragging her suitcase behind her, she hurried to claim her ride before the limousine turned into a pumpkin.
The hotel room that had been reserved for her turned out to be a suite with a carpet that was thick enough to swallow small animals. There was a dazzling bouquet of flowers on the desk in the sitting room and another on the long, low dresser in the bedroom. And as if that weren’t enough to make her head spin, on the round coffee table in front of the couch there was a huge basket loaded with fresh fruit and a bottle of wine with a glittering gold bow, all compliments of Alexander Whitmore.
What an exceptionally generous man that Mr. Whitmore must be. He was being so kind to the partner he didn’t even know, what a wonderful relationship he must have had with her uncle.
One hour later, after a hair-raising trip in a taxi and an elevator ride that made her ears pop, Lizzie finally arrived at the thirty-sixth floor of the glass-and-steel tower that housed the offices of Whitmore and Hamill. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, pleased that she didn’t have to resort to counting backward this time, she moved across the reception area and stopped in front of a semicircular desk.
A slim, ruthlessly blond woman who looked as if she could have just stepped from the pages of Cosmopolitan smiled politely. “Good afternoon.”
Lizzie clasped the worn handle of her best purse and smiled back. “Hi.”
“May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mr. Whitmore.”
The woman traced a lethal-looking red fingernail down the list in front of her. “And your name?”
How long had it been since she’d been someplace where people didn’t know her? She wouldn’t have needed to identify herself to Mabel at the Packenham Clinic, and her dentist’s wife always greeted her by name on the rare occasions she nerved herself up to go for a checkup. But this was a different place. A different world, according to Marylou.
“Miss?”
“I’m Lizzie Hamill.”
There was a strangled gasp. “Miss Elizabeth Hamill?”
She nodded.
The woman pressed a button on the blinking array in front of her, lifted a telephone receiver to her ear and spoke quickly before hurrying around the desk to Lizzie’s side. “Please, come with me. I’ll show you directly to the conference room. Mr. Whitmore’s been expecting you.”
Treating her with all the deference due visiting royalty, the receptionist, who said her name was Pamela, ushered Lizzie toward a pair of doors at the other end of a wide hall. Assuring her that Mr. Whitmore was on his way, Pamela waited until Lizzie stepped inside, then closed the doors discreetly, leaving her alone.
Lizzie glanced around. Conference room? The place was long enough to double as a bowling alley if they got rid of the table. There were enough chairs here to accommodate a Pedley family reunion, although she doubted whether the place would look quite as pristine once they were through with it. She leaned over the table, checking her reflection in the mirror-polished surface, then gave one of the swivel chairs a spin.
Framed posters decorated the walls, many of them scenes from familiar commercials. She recognized the neon colors of a soft-drink ad and the desert landscape that provided the background for a line of luxury cars. Dominating it all, though, was the elegant sign at the other end of the room. There, on the wall, engraved on a huge brass plaque in letters as long as her forearm, was…
“My name,” she breathed.
Well, her uncle’s name.
Pursing her lips into a soundless whistle, she walked the length of the gleaming table and touched her fingertips to the scrolling letters. Even though she wasn’t the Hamill the sign had been made for, seeing it still gave her a thrill. No, it was more complicated than a thrill. It was a restless, stretching kind of tickle, like the one she’d felt on the plane. It was as if that unacknowledged part of her was still responding to challenge and adventure.
Run the company.
Her mouth quirked as Jolene’s outrageous comment came back to her. Ridiculous. Tracing the outline of her name was as close as she was going to come to the kind of person her Uncle Roland must have been.
The doors at the other end of the room clicked open. Lizzie used her sleeve to rub her fingerprints off the sign and turned around. At her first sight of the man whose tall frame filled the doorway, she splayed her hand over the letters once more, only this time it was for balance.
With the purposeful, controlled tread of a prowling animal, he moved closer. No, he was too civilized to be compared to an animal, wasn’t he? His shoes gleamed with a polish as glossy as the table, and his charcoal suit and snow-white shirt were as crisp as a new dollar bill.
Lord, he was too good to be true, she thought, trying not to stare. No man really could have hair that thick and black, or eyes that seductively brown, or cheekbones that strong or a jaw that square. His nose was perfect, straight, strong and regal. He smiled, and masculine lines in the shape of twin brackets framed his perfect mouth. His teeth were perfect, too. And as if to ensure that all that perfection wouldn’t get monotonous, there was a dimple in his chin.
He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. “Welcome to New York, Miss Hamill.”
His voice was as impressive as his appearance. It was deep and rich, with the polish of aged mahogany and the power of distant thunder. It was a voice that would be equally at ease commanding a legion of knights on horseback or murmuring incantations over a love potion.
She cleared her throat, certain there was a frog in it somewhere. “Hello,” she croaked. She dropped her hand from the sign and extended it tentatively, uncertain whether she wanted to risk destroying this hallucination by trying to touch it.
“I’m Alexander Whitmore,” he said, enclosing her fingers in a warm, firm and indisputably real grip.
Alexander Whitmore? No. He couldn’t be. This man was at least one and a half decades away from fifty, no more than a few years older than she was. He didn’t look old, or kindly. Or anything as bland as nice. “Mr. Whitmore?”
“Please, call me Alex,” he said in that love-potion voice.
“Alex,” she repeated like a tongue-tied idiot, although her tongue was feeling too thick and clumsy to do anything as agile as tying itself in a knot.
This was her partner? This man with the bedroom-brown eyes and toothpaste-ad smile was the man behind the name that was linked to hers? The man who had sent her flowers? Twice? And wine?
Of all the things that had happened in the past few hours—heck, in the past few weeks—this topped them all. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe in another second she would wake up to the sound of her alarm clock and her neighbor’s yappy poodle. Yes, it had to be a dream. What other explanation could there be? No living, breathing man could actually look like…that.
Or maybe it was more than a dream. Maybe, as Marylou had said, Lizzie really had managed to fall into a fairy tale.
She must have. Of course. It was the only reasonable explanation.
Because if this was a fairy tale, then she had just come face-to-face with an honest-to-goodness Prince Charming.
IT WAS ALL working like a charm, Alex thought, holding on to his smile as he extricated his hand from Miss Hamill’s grip. So far she had been cooperating beautifully. The campaign that he and Jeremy had planned was off to a flying start. And from the starry-eyed look on her face, his new partner was well on her way to being thoroughly softened up. Good God, it was going to be almost too easy. Like taking candy from a baby.
He sidestepped the burst of conscience that followed that thought by reminding himself he would be doing her a favor. Candy wasn’t good for babies. Besides, why should he feel sorry for her? She was a Hamill, wasn’t she?
Yes, she was a Hamill. Of that there was no doubt. She had the same uncontrollable red hair as her uncle, although she’d made a valiant effort to confine it into a knot at the back of her head. She had the same devilish arch to her eyebrows, although naturally hers were a narrower, feminine version. There were echoes of Roland in her broad forehead and her pointed chin, too, but the rest of her face was uniquely hers.
She poked at a strand of hair that had corkscrewed loose from its knot. “Mr. Whitmore?”
“Alex,” he corrected gently. “May I call you Elizabeth?”
“Well, sure. If you want.” She pressed her lips together and appeared to be wrestling with her tongue. “But most people call me Lizzie,” she burst out.
He watched as a blush spread over her cheeks. It gave her a wholesome, fresh-from-the-farm appearance. Damn, she wouldn’t last a day in the ruthless environment of the business world. He definitely would be doing her a favor by making sure she returned to Hicksville as soon as possible. “Lizzie,” he said.
“Yes?”
“You wanted to ask me something?”
“Oh.” She chewed briefly on her lower lip. She had full lips and a generous mouth that looked as if it were perpetually on the verge of a smile. “Oh, not really ask you, I guess.”
He waited, watching with interest while her deepening blush spread to the roots of her hair. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush, or known one who was even capable of blushing?
“I wanted to thank you for the flowers,” she said finally. “And the fruit and the wine. I didn’t try the wine yet, but I’m sure it’s really good.”
“It was the least I could do, considering how you’ve traveled all the way here to visit us. I want you to feel welcome.”
“Oh, I do. You’ve been so kind.”
Kind? If she was impressed by those throwaway gestures, persuading her out of her shares was going to be even easier than he’d hoped. “Please accept my condolences over the loss of your uncle.”
“Thank you.”
“His death was so unexpected, it must have come as quite a shock.”
“I’d never met my uncle,” she said, glancing toward the wall behind him. “It’s a shame, but you would have known him much better than I did, being his partner and everything.”
“Roland was a memorable character.”
“Did he think up those ads?”
Alex didn’t need to look at the posters to give her an answer. “No, unfortunately your uncle didn’t take an active role in the company for the last few years. Jeremy will be able to explain all of that to you later.”
“Jeremy Ebbet, your lawyer?”
He nodded. “But we have some time before we have to wade through all the legal business, Lizzie. Would you be interested in seeing the rest of the office?”
She hesitated for only a moment before her mouth gave in to the smile that had been hovering. “Thanks, I’d like that.”
The smile took him off guard. It dimpled her cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. And it was so warm and innocent and genuine, it zinged right past his brain to stir an unexpected, unwelcome and unmistakably masculine response.
The reaction jarred him. He shouldn’t be feeling anything at all for Lizzie Hamill. He never let emotions interfere with business, and this was purely a business relationship, one that he hoped to terminate as soon as possible.
She turned away, and despite his best intentions, his gaze dropped. The loose-fitting blue suit didn’t reveal much about the rest of her body, but from what he could see as she walked toward the door, his new partner had an astoundingly shapely pair of legs.
He knew he shouldn’t even be noticing, but he nevertheless found himself taking in the view, from her trim ankles to the beginnings of her luscious thighs. His gaze paused on the vulnerable, pale skin at the backs of her knees and he stared, oddly transfixed.
For a crazy instant, he wondered what it would be like to touch her there, to stroke his fingertips along those tender hollows. How would she react if he did? Would she freeze him with a look, the way Tiffany used to? Would she slap him with a harassment suit?
Or would another blush spread across her cheeks? Would those devilish green eyes sparkle with interest? Would her incredibly expressive mouth move into another smile?
What was the matter with him? It must be stress. The future of the company, the security he’d planned for his children, it all depended on his ability to persuade Lizzie out of her shares. Whether she knew it or not, she was his adversary.
So he simply wouldn’t allow himself to be affected by her smile or her legs or her wholesome attractiveness. Right. Discipline and control, that’s what was necessary to keep the company running smoothly. That’s what kept his life running smoothly.
The only aspect of Miss Lizzie Hamill that he could consider attractive was the fifty percent of his company that she owned.
And the only part of her body that he was concerned about was the hand that would sign over her shares.
Chapter Two
“And this is my office,” Alex said, holding open a door.
Lizzie stepped inside eagerly, knowing this was the culmination of her guided tour of Whitmore and Hamill. Maybe now they would get down to business and she’d learn what her responsibilities in this company would be. Besides lending her name to the letterhead, that is.
For the past hour or so Alex had ushered her around the entire complex layout of the thirty-sixth floor. They had progressed from meeting rooms to the tape editing rooms and the layout studio and then on to an array of individual offices ranging from windowless cubbyholes to spacious corner rooms.
As Alex had introduced her to the rest of the staff, she’d been astounded by the number and the variety of the people who worked here. She met a few fashion plates who could have been clones of Pamela the receptionist, and she also met some genuinely friendly people who had claimed to have been very fond of her uncle. It had been a pleasant experience, since overall the staff had treated her with the same polite hospitality that Alex had been displaying.
Their last stop had been the office her uncle had used, but there had been little to see there—Alex had already explained that Roland hadn’t been involved with the company for a few years. Lizzie had lingered, hoping to find some clue to the character of the man she’d never known, but the shelves and the desk were bare, giving away nothing that could begin to satisfy her growing curiosity.
Walking into Alex’s office now, Lizzie admitted to herself that her uncle wasn’t the only partner of Whitmore and Hamill that she was curious about.
“Why don’t you relax for a while?” Alex suggested, pausing beside the door. “I’ll ask Rita to make us some coffee while we wait for Jeremy.”
Lizzie smiled and agreed, pleased that her tongue seemed to have recovered fully from its initial paralysis.
Alex slipped out of the office with the same animal grace that characterized all his movements. His voice drifted back through the doorway as he spoke quietly with the dour, middle-aged woman he’d introduced as his secretary. Even though Lizzie couldn’t make out the words, she tilted her head, simply enjoying the sound. No matter how often she heard him speak, his words still evoked thoughts of spells and fairy tales.
She might never get used to his appearance, either. What normal woman would? Especially one whose last suitor had considered a ripped-out cedar tree to be romantic.
Hold on there, girl, she cautioned herself. This was her business partner. Their association had happened literally by accident. Just because she had trouble keeping her imagination in check didn’t mean that she had to let him know about it. Prince Charming. Lordy, he’d think she was a complete fool if he ever knew the thoughts she’d been entertaining about him.
Lizzie turned from the door and walked slowly around the room, pausing to read the framed certificates that attested to awards of excellence that the company had won. Her company. Whether it was deserved or not, she felt a surge of the same kind of pride she’d felt on seeing the plaque with her name.
It’s yours. For once in your life, you have something that’s just for you.
Well, it wasn’t all hers. Fifty percent of it was Alex’s. Clasping her hands behind her back, she moved toward the massive L-shaped oak desk that dominated the spacious office. There was a computer set up on one side and an area for paperwork on the other. No clutter marred the polished surface, though. Everything was neatly aligned, from the gold pen set and the leather-trimmed blotter to the telephone that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a space shuttle. Even the picture frame was angled so that it was parallel to the pen set.
Picture? After a quick glance at the empty office doorway, Lizzie moved closer and picked up the frame to get a better look. To her surprise, it was a photograph of a pair of boys. Brothers, perhaps even twins, judging by the smiles that were reflections of each other. They both had black hair and dimples and were completely captivating. Almost as captivating as…
Who? Their uncle? Their father? What relation were these children to Alex? They had to be related somehow. There was a strong resemblance to him, not only in their coloring but in their expressions. Even though the boys appeared to be no more than five years old, there was a definite twinkle in their eyes that would probably develop into full-blown charm by the time they grew up.
Lizzie felt herself smile in response.
“Rita reminded me it’s getting late,” Alex said, striding into the office with two steaming cups of coffee in his hands. “We’ll try to wrap up our business with Jeremy as quickly as possible.”
“That’s fine with me.” She glanced up. “Who are these adorable kids?”
He hesitated when he saw what she was holding. “They’re my sons.”
“I can see the resemblance. What are their names?”
“Jason and Daniel. Jason’s the one on the left.”
“They really are adorable. How old are they?”
“They’ll be five in a few months.”
Her smile grew. “Twins. I figured that. We have a pair of twin girls in the day care center where I work. They’re always full of mischief, but they’re only three so the mischief isn’t that hard to contain.”
“You sound as if you enjoy your work.”
“I love it. I’m a sucker for kids, always have been.” She replaced the photograph on his desk and reached to take the cup he was holding out to her.
He moved the photo she had replaced, realigning it so that it was parallel to the pen set, then guided Lizzie to the sitting area in front of the corner window. He waited until she had settled comfortably into one of the deep burgundy armchairs before taking the matching one across from her. “So, how long have you worked in the day care business, Lizzie?”
“Almost four years now.”
“And before that?”
“Oh, I worked at the Packenham Dairy and then helped my stepbrother Benjamin at the cheese factory.”
He sipped his coffee slowly, watching her over the rim of his cup. “Cheese,” he repeated.
She nodded. “Pedley Cheese. He couldn’t afford to keep me on, so that’s why I started up the day care center.”
“That’s an interesting switch. What made you decide on day care?”
“It seemed to come naturally. Like I said, I’m a sucker for kids. Probably because of my family.”
“Oh? I thought you were your uncle’s only surviving relative.”
“I mean my stepfamily. When my father died, my mother remarried, and her new husband was a widower with three young children of his own. I was fourteen, and as the oldest kid in the household, I ended up helping raise the little ones.”
“Do your mother and stepfather still live in Packenham Corners?”
“Junction,” she corrected. “Packenham Corners is on the other side of the county line.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” she said generously. “Lots of folks get them mixed up. Anyhow, my stepfather, Warren Pedley, still lives on the family farm about ten miles from town, but my mother died the year after she married Warren.”
He sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs as he cradled his cup between his hands. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
She shook her head, not wanting to remember those dark years of her adolescence. “The Pedleys were wonderful. They always made me feel like one of the family.”
“And in return, you tried to pay them back by being helpful,” he said.
The accuracy of his insight startled her. They had met less than two hours ago, yet he had zeroed in on one of the major reasons her life had taken the direction it had. She studied him over the rim of her cup. Maybe there was more to him than a pretty face.
Of course he was more than a pretty face, she thought, exasperated with herself for dwelling on his appearance. The success exhibited by the luxury of the Whitmore and Hamill offices, as well as the famous ads and slew of awards that were displayed on the walls, made it obvious that there had to be plenty of intelligence behind those brown bedroom eyes.
“I suppose you’re right,” she continued. “I still like to help them out, but instead of baby-sitting them, I baby-sit their children. Except for my youngest stepbrother. He’s a long way from settling down and raising a family of his own.” She heard the wistful note in her voice and shifted uncomfortably. “Of course, with so many nieces and nephews to love, he could be happy just the way he is.”
“You sound as if you’re still very close to your family.”
“Oh, yes. We’re not blood relatives, but we’re still close.” Her gaze strayed back to the photo of the twins. “You’re very fortunate to have two sons. They look like fine children.”
“Thank you.”
Suddenly she realized what should have been obvious at her first glance of Alex’s children. It had taken two people to produce those boys. That meant they had a mother, too.
She glanced at the large, capable-looking hands that clasped his coffee cup. There was no sign of a gold band on any of those long fingers, but that was no guarantee these days.
Was Alex married?
Not that it should make one whit of difference to her, of course. So it was simply polite curiosity, from one business partner to another, that prompted her to ask the next question. “Does your wife take care of the children while you work?”
“Excuse me?”
“As a day care provider myself, I was simply wondering who’s taking care of Jason and Daniel.”
“My housekeeper, Mrs. Gray. She’s been with us for the past few months.”
Simple curiosity, she told herself again. “I know several working couples who would prefer to have someone in their home like that.”
“Mrs. Gray certainly keeps things running smoothly.”
“What kind of work does your wife do?” she asked, abandoning her attempts at subtlety.