“I have no intention of selling the Princess.”

Olivia’s words hit Josh like a sucker punch, and he had to bite back the oath on the tip of his tongue. Yet when it came to the Princess, the very first hotel built by his grandfather, it was difficult not to let his emotions come into play. To see the Logan Hotel banner flying over the Princess again had been his dream for as long as he could remember. And once again, that dream remained just out of reach.

“Please hear me out,” she told him.

Josh nodded, settled back in his seat.

“I want to see the Princess returned to her throne, Joshua. Once I see that happen, I’ll turn over the reins. From the day your grandfather signed her over to me, she’s been run by a Jardine.”

“But your grandchildren have no interest in running the Princess. The only other Jardine left to run it is you,” Josh pointed out.

“Not necessarily,” Olivia told him. “There is another alternative.”

“Do you intend to tell me who this mysterious Jardine relative is?”

“My granddaughter. Or I suppose I should say, my other granddaughter.”

The Wager
Metsy Hingle

www.mirabooks.co.uk

My heartfelt thanks go to the following people who helped me give life to The Wager:

Dianne Moggy, Editorial Director of MIRA Books, for believing in me and this project. Without her support, this book would never have been written.

Karen Kosztolnyik, my editor, whose support, guidance and patience were invaluable to me in the writing of this book.

Tara Gavin of Silhouette Books for her support and endorsement.

Linda Hayes, friend and former agent, for her years of encouragement and advice.

Karen Solem, my agent and guiding force, for her enthusiasm and support.

Sandra Brown, my dear friend and mentor, for her encouragement and support.

Dave and Judi Burrus, dear friends and hoteliers, who introduced me to the business of luxury hotels.

R. A. Jardine, banker and friend, whose surname served as inspiration.

Linda Kay, Hailey North, Rexanne Becnel,Erica Spindler and Karen Young, fellow authorsand friends, for their support and encouragement.

The remarkable, talented staff at MIRA Books fortheir support and expertise.

And as always, a very special thanks goes to my children and family whose love and understanding enables me to spin tales of love, hope and happily-ever-after.

For Jim

My husband, My lover, my friend

Contents

Prologue

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 Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Prologue

The sound of skidding tires and metal crashing against metal finally stopped. So did the screams. Lying in the rain beside the mangled car, Laura Harte opened her eyes and listened. But all she heard now was the steady beat of the August rain and the distant hum of traffic from the San Francisco road. She drew in a breath and winced at the sharp ache in her ribs.

Then she caught it—the metallic scent of blood. Tamping down on a spurt of panic, Laura struggled to sit up and gasped as white-hot pain shot through her shoulder. Her stomach pitched. Her vision blurred, but not before she’d noted the odd angle at which her arm hung. Gritting her teeth, she managed to half walk, half crawl from the twisted car to the side of the dark road where her mother lay in a crumbled heap. The fear that had bolted through her when she’d seen the lights of the truck coming at them hit Laura again as she stared at her mother’s pale face. “Momma, can you hear me?”

Her mother’s eyelashes fluttered. “Looks like I ruined your big celebration,” she said, but the grimace that followed diffused the lighthearted remark.

“I don’t care about the awards banquet,” Laura soothed. Right now she didn’t care about her job, the promotion, anything—only her mother and the ragged sound of her breathing. “You’re going to be all right. Just hang on while I go get help.”

“No. There’s not enough time,” her mother said, her voice raspy. She caught Laura’s hand, held it. “There are things I need to tell you…things I should have told you a long time ago. About me, about your father.”

“Shh. Don’t talk anymore. You need to save your strength.” Biting back the panic threatening to choke her, Laura tried to keep her voice calm as she said, “You can tell me all about your great romance with daddy again later. Right now, try to lie still. I’m going up to the road to flag down help. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“T-too late for…hospital.”

“No, it’s not,” Laura insisted. She didn’t care if her mother was a nurse. She was wrong. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be too late. Then she heard it—the squeal of sirens—and nearly wept with relief. “Listen! Do you hear that? Sirens! That means help is on the way. All you have to do is hang on a little longer.”

Her mother squeezed her fingers, but her grip had grown weaker. “I’m sorry, baby. I always thought I’d have more time,” she said, her voice thready. “I need to tell you about your father…to explain…”

“I know all about Daddy.” Did her mother’s insistence on talking about her dead husband mean the injuries were even worse than she feared? Hadn’t she read somewhere that when a person was dying their thoughts focused on the past? No! Her mother was not dying, Laura told herself as tears ran down her cheeks and mingled with the rain. To comfort herself as much as her mother, Laura repeated the oft-told tale. “Daddy was a navy aviator who came to the base hospital where you worked as a nurse. He was the most handsome man you’d ever seen, with beautiful blue eyes and a kind smile. The two of you fell madly in love and after a whirlwind courtship, you got married.” The beautiful, tragic tale of her parents’ romance cut short by her father’s death in Vietnam had been as much a part of her life as breathing. Her father may have died before she was born, but Laura had grown up loving him.

“We were so much in love,” her mother whispered.

“I know,” Laura said softly, growing more terrified with each moment by her mother’s labored breathing and the gray cast to her skin. Then she heard it—voices calling out, footsteps. “Over here,” Laura cried out. “And please…hurry!”

“Laura,” her mother gasped. Her fingers tightened. “Remember I love you.”

“Momma, don’t—”

“Promise me you’ll go to Paul. Tell him—” A harsh cough stopped her.

“Don’t talk anymore,” Laura ordered, alarmed by her mother’s coughing and the pain in her dark eyes. The hand that held hers seemed to have grown colder.

“Go to Paul. Tell him I said to give you the key to the second box. And please, try to understand, darling,” she said, her voice growing weaker still. “Try to forgive me.”

“Momma, you’re not making any sense. What key? What box—”

But it was too late. Her mother’s eyes closed. The hand holding hers went limp. And then came that anguished animal scream of pain. It wasn’t until much, much later that Laura realized that the scream she’d heard that night had come from her.

One

“You don’t have to do this.”

Laura looked up from the second safety-deposit box she was about to open into the solemn hazel eyes of Paul Shaw, her mother’s attorney and oldest friend, the honorary uncle who had seen her through the bleakness of her mother’s funeral. “Yes, I do. It was the last thing…” Her voice broke, and Laura swallowed past the lump in her throat at the mention of that terrible night. “It was important to her.”

Reaching across the table, her uncle covered her hands with his own. “It’s only been a few weeks since the accident. You’ve barely recovered physically, let alone emotionally. Going through the rest of Juliet’s things now is only going to upset you. Why don’t you wait a few weeks? Give yourself a little more time.”

But going through the remainder of her mother’s legal papers and documents would be painful whenever she chose to do it, Laura reasoned. She still didn’t understand why her mother had needed a second safety-deposit box or why her uncle had been listed as a signer and not her. But whatever her mother’s reasons had been, they no longer mattered. She needed to do this for herself, Laura admitted. Once she had, maybe she’d be able to put the nightmare of her mother’s death behind her. “I’d rather just get it over with now.”

For a long moment, her uncle said nothing. He simply stared at her, his expression somber. “I guess you’re right,” he said finally, and released her hand.

Laura lifted the lid on the metal box, fully expecting to see more bonds, stock certificates and legal papers. Instead there was only a single manila envelope with a file folder inside it. After opening the folder, Laura frowned at the faded newspaper clipping of her father. Since Richard Harte had been killed shortly after marrying her mother, there had been very few pictures of him. And in those rare photos that she and her mother did have of him, he was dressed in his navy uniform.

But not in this photo. In this black-and-white shot, her father wore a tuxedo. And the bride standing beside him was not her mother. Stunned and more than a little confused, Laura glanced up from the news clipping to her uncle. “I didn’t realize Daddy had been married before,” she said. She would have sworn she’d known everything there was to know about her father. But then again, Laura reasoned, she could understand her mother not wanting to share this bit of information with her.

Setting the clipping aside, she picked up the next item—a birth announcement dated nearly twenty-eight years ago from a Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Jardine upon the birth of their son. There was a second announcement from the same couple dated three years later announcing the birth of twin daughters. Laura frowned again, puzzled as to why her mother had kept these announcements and why they were in her safety-deposit box. “I don’t remember Momma ever mentioning anyone named Jardine. Does that name sound familiar to you, Uncle Paul?”

“He was…an old friend.”

At the hesitation in her uncle’s voice, uneasiness began to stir inside Laura. Telling herself that she was imagining things, she reached for the next newspaper clipping. This one was less faded, and her father didn’t look quite as young as he had in the previous one. Once again he was dressed in a tuxedo and standing with the other woman. With trembling fingers, Laura smoothed out the piece of paper and read aloud the caption beneath the photo. “Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Jardine at the Krewe of Rex Mardi Gras Ball in New Orleans.” Suddenly the room started to spin. Her legs nearly buckled. “This can’t be right,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “There’s been a mistake!”

“Laura, honey…”

Frantic, she began digging through the rest of the folder’s contents. There were more newspaper clippings, announcements, magazine articles, all accompanied by photos of her father—her father, the man whose picture sat in her living room, the father she had been told had died before she was born. This man couldn’t be her father, Laura told herself as she tried to stifle her growing panic. Her father was dead. Richard Harte had died twenty-nine years ago, while this man…this man had clearly lived far longer, long enough to have a wife and a family. She repeated the words to herself like a litany as she dug through the rest of the newspaper and magazine clippings, the articles and photos all bearing her father’s image—and all identifying him as Andrew Jardine. A sob tore from Laura’s throat as she spied the clipping dated only a dozen years ago of this smiling man who so resembled her father with his arms wrapped protectively around two young girls. “Andrew Jardine and twin daughters at school fund-raiser,” the caption read.

Pain ripped through Laura like a storm. She squeezed her eyes shut, curled her hands into fists. How many times growing up had she wished that her father had survived that plane crash? That he’d been there to see her grow up—to carry her on his shoulders, to teach her to dance, to sit beside her at the father-daughter banquets at school? And how many times had she consoled herself with the knowledge that had he lived, her father would have loved her, been proud of the person she had become?

Opening her eyes, Laura stared at the face in the news clippings. This man wasn’t her father. He only looked like him, she reasoned. Her mother would never lie to her—certainly never about something so important. Sucking in a breath, she told herself there was a simple explanation for the resemblance between the two men. There had to me. “Uncle Paul, who is Andrew Jardine? And why…why does he look so much like my father?”

“Laura,” her uncle said, his voice heavy with anguish, “Andrew Jardine is your father.”

Laura flinched, the words hitting her like a blow. She stared down at the damning news clippings, the images of the father she’d loved and never known. No, she wouldn’t believe it, refused to believe it. “You’re lying,” she accused, her voice hitching. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “He’s not my father. My father was Richard Harte. His plane was shot down in Vietnam, and he died before I was born.” She knew the story by heart, had listened to her mother’s tales about their great romance, the idyllic marriage cut short by her father’s untimely death. This man couldn’t be her father because that would mean…

“Listen to me, Laura. There never was a Richard Harte. Your mother made up the name. Your father was Andrew Jardine. And he didn’t die in Vietnam. He died in New Orleans about five years ago.”

“You’re lying!” Sobbing, she glared at him through tear-filled eyes. “Why are you doing this to me, Uncle Paul? Why are you making up such horrible lies?”

“It’s the truth, Laura. I swear it on your mother’s grave. It’s the truth.”

Oh, God! He was telling the truth, she realized. All these years, her mother and her Uncle Paul had lied to her.

Which meant her life had been a lie.

She wasn’t Richard Harte’s daughter.

There was no Richard Harte.

The heritage, the good name she’d been so proud of all her life, they weren’t really hers at all.

Hysteria bubbled inside her. How many choices had she made based on who she’d believed herself to be? How many times had she found a relationship lacking because the man had not measured up to the sterling image of her father? When all the while her father had actually been…She choked back another sob.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

She thought of her mother, the person she’d loved and admired most in the world. How could you, Momma? How could you have lied to me all these years?

“I know what a shock this is for you, finding out this way—”

“Do you, Uncle Paul? Do you really have any idea how I feel?” Another bolt of pain ripped through her. Her heart ached as she stared at him—the honorary uncle she had loved and trusted all of her life. The man who had perpetuated the lifetime of lies her mother had told her. “I thought you loved me,” she told him, her voice breaking.

“Laura, I do love you. I’ve always loved you. You’re like a daughter to me.” He gathered her to him, patted her back the way he had when she’d been a child and had fallen and skinned a knee.

For a moment, because the ache inside her was so great, Laura took comfort in the feel of his sturdy shoulder beneath her cheek, the familiar scents of peppermint and pipe tobacco that she’d always associated with him. She wept, remembering how she’d crawled into her uncle’s lap as a little girl and listened to stories about his adventures in the navy and his close friendship with her father.

And not a word of it had been true.

The admission was like a knife in her chest. She lifted her head, took a step back and stared into his eyes. “How could Momma do this to me? How could you?”

“Neither of us meant to hurt you. Please believe that. Hurting you was the last thing either of us wanted.”

Laura mopped her wet cheeks with the handkerchief he offered her, then she clenched the white linen in her fist. “All these years I believed my father was a hero, that he and my mother had been deeply in love, devoted to each other.” The smiling face in the clippings on the table seemed to mock her as Laura recalled the child she had been, how each night she had gotten down on her knees and prayed for this man she’d believed to be in heaven watching over her. And all the while…all the while he hadn’t been in heaven. He hadn’t even been dead. He’d been alive and raising a family in New Orleans.

Pain ripped through her at the sight of him with his arms around the twin girls. She pressed her palm to her breast, trying to ease the ache in her chest. When her mother had died in her arms that night on the dark, wet road, Laura had been positive that nothing could ever hurt her so deeply again.

She had been wrong.

Learning of her mother’s deception and then having the memory of the father she’d loved stripped away from her was every bit as wrenching. It was like losing both of them all over again.

“I’m sorry, Laura. I’d sooner cut off my arm than hurt you.”

But he had hurt her…terribly. So had her mother. Wrapping her arms more tightly about herself, Laura ignored the twinge in her left shoulder, the reminder of the accident that had left her with a separated shoulder, bumps and bruises, but had taken her mother’s life. Oh, God! She swallowed back the spurt of anguish that came as she thought of her mother asking her to forgive her. This was what her mother had tried to tell her that night.

“Please, try to understand.”

“I don’t understand. I can’t,” Laura countered. She looked at the jumble of clippings and photos on the table. “And I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Believe that I love you,” her uncle told her, his voice softening. “And believe that from the moment your mother learned you were growing inside her and until the day that she died, she loved you, too.”

“Is that why she lied to me all these years? Is that why you lied to me?”

He brushed his fingers along her damp cheek where the last of the bruising from the accident had begun to fade. “It wasn’t my place to tell you. It was your mother’s.”

Laura stepped away from his touch. “And she chose to deceive me.”

Her uncle sighed. His hand fell to his side. “Juliet didn’t set out to deceive you. She only meant to help you. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

“Why should I?”

“Because it’s the truth. You were so smart, even when you were just a little thing,” he explained. “You were barely able to talk when you starting asking questions about your father. Where was he? Why did the other daddies pick up their kids from school, but your daddy never came for you? You were so eager to have a father that you even asked me if I’d be your daddy.” A pained expression flitted across his face for a moment before he continued. “Anyway, your mother was worried about you. And she felt guilty for not being able to provide you with the daddy you seemed to want so much. That’s when she started telling you the stories about your father.”

“You mean the lies about my father, don’t you?”

“She only did it to protect you. She didn’t want you to think that your father hadn’t wanted you.”

But her father hadn’t wanted her, Laura reasoned as she looked at the photograph of him with his daughters and felt that sharp sting of rejection. “My mother should have told me the truth.”

“She wanted to—especially as you grew older. But she was afraid that you wouldn’t be able to forgive her, that you might even hate her.”

“So instead she let me believe in a father who never even existed,” Laura accused. The all-too-familiar ache that she had lived with since her mother’s death welled up inside Laura again. As much as she had loved her mother, right now, she almost hated her. And the admission both shamed and angered her. Above all, it hurt. So much. So very much. She wanted to scream at her mother and demand she explain. At the same time she wanted to bury her face against her mother’s shoulder, to hug her close and breathe in that combination of talcum powder and the rose scent that her mother wore. The tears spilled over once more, streamed down Laura’s cheeks. “How could the two of you do it, Uncle Paul? How could you make up those stories? How could you let me love someone who wasn’t even real?”

Her uncle washed a hand down his face. For the first time he looked old to her, Laura thought, as though the very life had gone right out of him. He picked up an aging photo of the handsome navy officer and the dark-eyed brunette and traced the worn edges with his index finger. “He was real, Laura. Not everything was a lie. Twenty-nine years ago your father really was my best friend. We were flight buddies serving in the same unit. And your mother really was a WAVE nurse working at the base hospital in San Diego when she met Drew.”

Drew. Hearing her father referred to by the strange name shook Laura. Andrew Jardine was her father—not Richard Harte. She clamped down on the churning in her stomach that came with the realization. This was something she had to face, a problem she had to deal with, she told herself. Drawing in a deep breath, she reminded herself that she dealt with problems every day in her job as the assistant general manager at the Ambassador Grand Hotel. She would deal with this problem as she would any other—by listening, gathering information and analyzing the data. Then she would decide how to proceed, how to deal with the fact that she wasn’t the person she’d thought she was.

“I was with Drew when he met Juliet for the first time. He was recovering from knee surgery and hadn’t been cleared to drive yet, so I took him to the hospital for his first physical therapy session. I remember it like it was only yesterday,” he said. Her uncle continued to stare at the photograph. “Drew and I were sitting in the waiting room, joking about how he had to get his knee in shape so he could dance at his wedding that summer. Then we heard this angel’s voice calling his name. When we looked up, there she was. This vision with wild dark hair and sparkling brown eyes. I think Drew fell in love with Juliet right there on the spot. And Juliet…well, she felt the same way about him.”

“Did she…did my mother know he was engaged?”

“Yes,” Paul admitted. “Drew was honest with her. He told Juliet right from the start about Adrienne.”

Laura’s heart sank. Her mother had known he was an engaged man. And the two of them had had an affair, anyway. She felt the bitterness of disappointment as she digested that information. Only now could she admit to herself that she had been hoping for some plausible explanation, some tale about them being star-crossed lovers, anything to excuse her mother’s actions. She had wanted, needed to believe that the relationship had been innocent, that she hadn’t been a mistake.

As though he knew what she was thinking, her uncle said, “Don’t judge them too harshly, Laura. They tried to fight their feelings for each other. But Drew was at the hospital three times a week for more than two months for therapy and Juliet couldn’t very well claim that she was unable to do her job because she was in love with her patient. She was a WAVE nurse. She didn’t have that option.”

“She could have walked away from him. And he could have left her alone.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be in love, really in love, the way they were,” her uncle told her. “That type of love, it doesn’t happen for everyone. If you’re lucky, it might find you once. And when it does, it grabs you by the throat and takes charge of your heart and soul, and it refuses to let go.” The smile he gave her was fleeting. “Even if you’re able to walk away from it, how you feel about the other person doesn’t change. You don’t stop loving him or her. Juliet and Drew could no more have stopped loving each other than you or I could stop an earthquake from happening. Your mother was in love with Drew, and he was in love with her.”

“Then why didn’t they do the right thing? Why didn’t he break his engagement and marry my mother if he loved her so much?”

Paul rubbed a hand across his brow as though his head were aching. “It was complicated. The Jardine family is an old, distinguished family in New Orleans. Things were done differently in the South, particularly back then. Drew couldn’t just break off his engagement because he’d fallen in love with your mother. There were other people who had to be considered, other families whose livelihoods were dependent upon his marriage to Adrienne.”

“You make it sound like a business merger.”

“In many ways it was. Drew’s family was in the hotel business and so were the Duboises—Adrienne’s family.”

That bit of news came as a shock to Laura. Then she remembered the newspaper clippings with the photo of Andrew Jardine accepting an award in front of a hotel. A shudder went through Laura as she thought of the career she’d chosen in hotel management. Had her mother encouraged her interest because she’d known about the Jardine family’s business? Or had her choice of profession served as a painful reminder to her mother of the man she had loved and lost? Either option left Laura feeling sick inside.

“Drew was an only child with a widowed mother. He had responsibilities to her, to the other members of his family, to the people who worked for them. He couldn’t just walk away from those responsibilities.”

“So he walked away from his responsibility to my mother instead.”

Her uncle shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. He wrote to his mother, telling her about Juliet, that he loved her and wanted to break his engagement to Adrienne. Naturally, his mother was upset. Adrienne and Drew had grown up together, had been childhood sweethearts. Her parents were old friends and Olivia Jardine, your grandmother…”

A shiver went through Laura as she heard the woman referred to as her grandmother. She’d never had a grandmother. And though she’d often wished her mother had had an extended family, she didn’t want one now—not this way.

“…Olivia loved Adrienne like a daughter, and Juliet…well, your mother was a stranger and not even from the South. Olivia insisted Drew come home to discuss the situation before he did anything. So he did as she asked. He went back to New Orleans, and then he sent for Juliet.”

“What happened?” Laura asked, her curiosity overriding her hurt and disappointment.

“I’m not really sure. Neither Juliet nor Drew ever told me exactly what went down.”

They didn’t need to because she had a pretty good idea of what had transpired, Laura decided. Olivia Jardine hadn’t wanted anything to do with her son’s bastard child. Had her father wanted her? she wondered. Obviously, he hadn’t. She had been a mistake, the unexpected result of his fling with her mother. The realization left her feeling hollow inside. Turning away, Laura spied the clipping on the table of her father and his children. And as she looked at the photo of the Jardine family, Laura thought of her own life, all the years she had ached to know him, to be loved by him.

“Only your mother and Drew know what happened and why Juliet came back from New Orleans alone.”

“Unfortunately, they’re gone now and can’t tell us,” she said, her voice hoarse with the effort it took not to cry. “But here I am—their shameful mistake.”

“Your mother was never ashamed of you. She never considered you a mistake.”

“Somehow I doubt that the Jardine family would agree with her.”

Two

New Orleans, Louisiana

“It’s about time you showed up.”

Handing his coat to the houseman, Josh Logan glanced across the elegant parlor at Olivia Jardine. Despite the business rivalry between their families that spanned more than half a century, Josh admired the crusty old gal. “Good afternoon to you, too, Duchess.”

“Don’t call me by that ridiculous name,” Olivia reprimanded, pinning him with crystal-blue eyes that belied her eighty-one years. “I dislike it. And I dislike to be kept waiting. I called you over an hour ago.”

“And I came as soon as I could,” Josh countered as he made his way over to the iron-willed woman who had been at the helm of the Royal Princess Hotel for as long as he could remember. Even seated in the wheelchair, Olivia Jardine remained a formidable figure. With her head held high, her spine straight and diamonds winking at her ears, she reminded him of a queen. The royal moniker he’d tagged her with twenty years ago when he’d been a brash teenager still fit her perfectly. He could almost understand how a fiery, younger Olivia had managed to ensnare his grand-father’s youthful heart. But to this day, he still didn’t understand how Simon Logan had let his feelings for Olivia cost him the Princess Hotel.

“Considering your interest in the Princess, I’d have thought you’d be more eager to meet with me.”

Josh’s heart stopped, then started again at the mention of the Princess Hotel. It had been because he was so eager that he had deliberately waited after receiving Olivia’s summons. “I’m always eager to see you,” he said smoothly. “And as I said, I came as soon as I could.”

Olivia arched her brow. “Your grandfather could charm the skin off of a snake with his pretty words. I see you’ve inherited his charm as well as his looks.” Leaning forward slightly, she stared at his face out of eyes that seemed to measure him. “Tell me, Joshua. Have you inherited Simon’s spirit of adventure as well? Or do you shy away from taking risks?”

Josh smiled at the challenge in her voice and considered some of the more outlandish deals he’d pulled off over the years for Logan Hotels. “Oh, I’ve been known to take a risk or two,” he said evenly. “Of course, the prize would have to be worth the risk.”

“I assume you’d consider the Princess a suitable prize?” she asked smoothly.

Yes! Josh wanted to shout the word aloud, to pump his fist in the air. He did neither. And though it took every ounce of control he possessed, he managed not to give any hint of the excitement humming in his blood. This was it. The moment he had looked forward to for more than half of his thirty-three years—making good on his promise to his grandfather to reclaim the Princess Hotel.

As though it were only yesterday instead of almost twenty years ago, he remembered standing inside the lobby of the Princess with his grandfather….

“If only you could have known how it felt to own her, Josh, my lad. To see this vision in your head take shape, to watch mortar and glass and brick come together, to see the dream you’ve carried inside you come to life and create this thing of beauty. Ah, and she was a beauty, my Princess—even before I lost her to Livvy and she fancied her up with those antiques and expensive whatnots. All a body had to do was walk through her doors, stand on these polished marble floors in the lobby to know it, too. One look up at those crystal chandeliers gleaming like giant diamonds or a whiff of those pretty flowers stuffed in the giant urns, and a person felt like he was royalty. That’s why I named her the Princess.”

“Let’s buy her back,” Josh urged.

“Oh, I’d like to, lad. Believe me, I’d like to. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember. But I’m afraid Livvy won’t sell her. I’ve asked more than once, but she loves the Princess as much as I do. No, I’m afraid the Princess is lost to us.”

“But it should be yours. You built her,” Josh argued.

“Aye, I did, lad. But I lost her fair and square. She belongs to Livvy now—not to us Logans.”

“I’ll get the Princess back for you, Granddad. I swear I will. Someday she’ll belong to the Logans again. I promise.”

And that day had finally arrived. The rumors had been circulating for months in the business community that the old luxury hotel was taking financial hits in the fiercely competitive New Orleans market. The fact that Olivia was slowing down and had refused to turn over the reins to anyone had made selling the property the logical thing to do, Josh reasoned. Olivia Jardine was a shrewd businesswoman—shrewd enough to know that the only person likely to pay her top dollar for the aging hotel was the family of the man who’d lost it to her in that crazy bet fifty-six years ago.

“Am I to assume from your silence that you consider the Princess worthy of a few risks?”

“Given my most recent offer to buy the place, I think you already know the answer to that. I take it you’ve had a chance to review the offer?”

“I glanced at it,” she said, her tone noncommital, her expression inscrutable. She maneuvered her wheelchair over to the antique table and pointed to the chair opposite hers. “Do sit down, Joshua. I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you.”

Josh did as she instructed and took the seat across from her. “It’s a good offer.”

“It’s a fair offer,” she corrected him. “Tell me, Joshua. Just how badly do you want the Princess?”

“Bad enough to pay you more than it’s worth, but not enough to kill you for it.”

Her mouth twitched, and for a moment Josh thought she might actually smile. She didn’t. Instead she said, “I appreciate your honesty. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you.”

“Thank you,” Josh said, eager to end this cat-and-mouse game that Olivia was playing with him.

“So I’ll be equally honest with you. I have no intention of selling the Princess.”

Her words hit him like a sucker punch, and he had to bite back the oath on the tip of his tongue. Reminding himself of his first rule in negotiating with an opponent—to never reveal what he was feeling—Josh managed to keep his expression neutral while frustration churned inside him like acid. It was a skill that he’d honed in his eight years as head of acquisitions for Logan Hotels and one that had paid off handsomely for him and his family. He’d dealt with tougher negotiators than Olivia Jardine and for hotels of far greater value. Yet when it came to the Princess, the very first hotel built by Simon Logan, it was difficult not to let his emotions come into play. The Princess had always been more than brick and mortar and stone to him, Josh admitted. He’d fallen in love with the place as a boy while listening to his grandfather’s stories. To see the Logan Hotels banner flying over the Princess again had been his dream for as long as he could remember. And, once again, that dream remained just out of reach.

“You have a good poker face. I’ll give you that.”

“Are we playing poker, Duchess?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She paused. “But before we go over the rules of this particular game, I could use a brandy. Why don’t you pour us each a glass?”

Josh did as she asked, filling the heavy crystal glasses with the expensive vintage while he reined in his emotions. After he handed Olivia her glass, she took a sip, then leaned back in her chair.

The urge to toss back the brandy was so strong, Josh deliberately drank slowly, savoring the bite of the liquor and wanting to wash away the taste of disappointment in his mouth. When he reclaimed his seat, his emotions were in check once more. Deciding there was no point in pushing Olivia, he remained silent and waited for her to continue the game.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard the rumors that the Princess is losing money.”

He had. Despite the size of the city, New Orleans remained very much a small town in many respects. There was little that went on in the business or personal lives of its more prominent citizens that stayed a secret for long. And the Jardines had always been news makers. “I’ve heard the Princess has been feeling the pinch from the competition.”

Olivia snorted. “You and I both know that the Princess has been feeling more than a pinch. I’ve lost a small fortune keeping the doors open this past year alone. And I’m sure you also know that my family and financial advisers believe I should sell it.”

“Maybe they’re right, Duchess. I’ve offered you a good price. Why don’t we save ourselves some time and dispense with the game-playing. Just tell me straight-out what price tag you’ve set on her.”

All humor faded in an instant. “There isn’t a price tag,” she told him. “The Princess is not for sale. At least not at this time.”

“But—”

“Hear me out,” she said, lifting her hand.

Josh nodded, settled back in his seat.

“When your grandfather built the Princess it was with the intention that she become the grand lady of New Orleans. After Simon…lost her to me in that foolish bet, I made sure that she lived up to his dream. I turned her into the finest hotel in this city,” she told him, an intense light in her eyes. “I want to see the Princess returned to her throne, Joshua. Once I see that happen, I’ll turn over the reins.”

Josh couldn’t help it. Hope stirred in his blood again. “If it’s help you need, I can recommend a good management company, put together a team for you and help you turn the place around before you sell it to me.”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t want some stranger running the Princess. From the day your grandfather signed her over to me, she’s been run by a Jardine.”

Josh sighed. “Katie told me she offered to take over running it for you months ago, and you turned her down.”

“Katherine already has her hands full running the Regent. And before you suggest Alison, it’s out of the question. She has enough on her plate taking care of her daughter and helping her sister.”

“And Mitch isn’t an option,” Josh added, referring to Olivia’s grandson.

“Mitchell made it clear years ago that he wasn’t interested in the hotel business. Besides, it appears his security business is doing quite nicely.”

“That leaves Adrienne.”

“My daughter-in-law would be the first one to tell you that she’s far too busy with her charities and social functions to even consider working at the hotel, let alone trying to manage it,” Olivia informed him.

“The only other Jardine left is you,” Josh pointed out.

She sighed. “And as much as I hate to admit it, I’m getting too old to deal with the daily demands of running the hotel.”

“Which brings us back to my suggestion—bring in an outside manager to get the hotel back on its feet before you sell it to me. It’s your only option.”

“Not necessarily,” Olivia told him. “There is another alternative—one that would keep operation of the Princess in Jardine hands.”

His curiosity piqued, Josh couldn’t shake the feeling that the old gal was up to something that he wasn’t going to like. “Do you intend to tell me who this mysterious Jardine relative is, or am I supposed to guess?”

“My granddaughter. Or I suppose I should say, my other granddaughter.”

“All right. You’ve got my attention, Duchess,” Josh said. “You care to explain that?”

“It’s quite simple. I have a fourth grandchild.”

Before Josh had time to recover from the shock of that statement, Olivia continued, “Recently I learned that Andrew has another child. A daughter, the result of a…a liaison that Andrew had with a young nurse in San Diego before his marriage to Adrienne.”

Speechless, Josh could only stare at her. A Jardine with a child out of wedlock? While the rest of the world might have entered the new millennium, in this tight-knit corner of the South the moral climate remained stalled in another century—particularly when it concerned a member of one of the city’s most prominent families. The social mores simply didn’t allow for an admission to anything as potentially scandalous as the existence of a love child. And while, personally, he didn’t give a damn what the city’s holier-than-thou upper-crust members thought or wrote about him in their gossip columns, Olivia Jardine did care. She always had. A member of the city’s old guard, she lived by a different set of rules. So did most people in her circle. And Olivia had always insisted her family toe the line of responsibility that came with their good name. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t expect you to say anything. For now, I’d just like you to listen.”

But as he listened, Josh couldn’t figure out why on earth Olivia had decided to tell him about what must surely be a great embarrassment for her. Nor could he believe that she could seriously be considering bringing this supposed granddaughter into the family fold.

“The girl’s name is Laura Harte. She’s twenty-eight and lives in San Francisco. She works for a hotel there as an assistant general manager.”

“She’s in the hotel business?” Josh asked, and wondered at the odds of Olivia’s illegitimate grandchild being in the same field of business. More than likely, the girl had been steered into that particular career direction by a clever mother with eyes on the Jardine fortune, he decided. Otherwise, he’d have to chalk up the ironic twist of fate as a coincidence. And he didn’t believe in coincidences.

“I understand your reaction. I had a similar one when I first heard,” she explained, evidently detecting his skepticism. “That’s why I hired a private investigator and had her checked out. Here’s a copy of the report.”

Intrigued and still unsure why Olivia was telling him all this, Josh picked up the file she’d slid across the table. Opening it, he shuffled through the paperwork. Quickly he scanned the detective reports, birth certificate, old school and employment records. But when he came to the photograph, he paused. With four beautiful sisters and a healthy appreciation for the feminine gender in general, he was no stranger to striking women and had been involved with more than a few.

Laura Harte was definitely a striking woman.

It was her hair, he reasoned. The color of a summer sunset—dark flame shot with gold. The wild color seemed at odds with the no-nonsense style she’d chosen. And there was something about the angle of that stubborn chin that reminded him of Olivia. So did that in-your-face confidence he read in her blue eyes. Then there was her mouth. It was too wide for her narrow face, he reasoned. But her smile…her smile was part siren, part angel, he decided, and felt the inexplicable tug of desire. This was crazy, he told himself, whooshing out a breath as he dropped the folder back onto the table top. Definitely not his type. He liked petite blondes with curves—not tall, skinny redheads.

“The girl lost her mother a couple of months ago,” Olivia told him. “According to the information I received, she’s only recently learned the truth about who her father was.”

“It’s an interesting story and I’m glad that you felt you could share it with me. You have my word that I won’t say anything.”

“I never thought you would. But sooner or later, the word will get out.”

“Not from me,” Josh assured her. “But what I don’t understand is why you told me? You’ve apparently already made up your mind to have this Laura Harte take over operation of the Princess.”

“I told you because I need you,” Olivia informed him, an odd note in her voice. “In fact, my entire plan hinges on you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I need you to go to San Francisco and meet with my granddaughter and convince her to come to New Orleans to meet her father’s family.”

Caught off guard by the request, Josh asked, “But why me? I mean, it would seem more appropriate to send a family member. Maybe Mitch or Katie or even Alison? After all, this woman is their sister.”

“Half sister,” Olivia corrected him. “They don’t even know the girl exists yet. And when they find out, I’m not sure they’ll welcome the news.”

She was probably right, Josh realized. As Olivia’s heirs, the Jardine siblings stood to inherit a fortune. Regardless of how sizable the inheritance, the sudden appearance of another sister would mean a cut in the others’ shares. Josh took another swallow of his brandy, felt the smooth heat at the back of his throat and tried to imagine how he would feel if he were Mitch, Katie or Alison. How would he feel if he were to learn that he had another sister who was the result of an affair his father had had years before with another woman? Try as he might, the idea refused to compute. Probably because he still had both of his parents, and they were clearly in love with each other. On the other hand, the Jardine trio had lost their father years ago. Knowing how much they had all worshiped the man, Josh suspected the news that their father had had feet of clay would not be welcome—especially not by Katie. Of Andrew’s three children, Katie had been the one closest to her father. “When do you plan to tell them?”

“When the time is right. In the meantime, I need you to go to San Francisco and convince Laura to come to New Orleans.”

Josh shook his head. “You don’t need me, Duchess. Considering the state’s forced heirship laws, this Laura Harte stands to inherit a fortune as your granddaughter someday, as well as a portion of her father’s estate. My guess is one phone call from you telling her that will be all the convincing that she’ll need.”

“I did call her, and the girl informed me that she’d been well provided for in her mother’s will and that she had no need or interest in the Jardine money. She also said she had no interest in meeting me or in establishing any type of relationship with her father’s other children.”

“Obviously she’s not nearly as bright as those reports indicated.”

“Or perhaps she’s smart enough to realize that material wealth isn’t nearly as important as most people believe.”

For a moment Josh thought he saw pain flicker in Olivia’s eyes. Despite the headaches this woman’s refusal to sell the Princess had caused him over the years, he couldn’t help but feel sad for her. Growing up in a family far less reserved than the Jardines, Josh didn’t stop to consider his action. He simply reached across the desk and squeezed Olivia’s fingers. “Whatever her reasons for refusing, the loss is hers, Duchess. She could have learned a great deal from you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and withdrew her hand. She straightened her shoulders, her expression as stern as her voice, then said, “But I have no intention of accepting her refusal. That’s why I’m sending you to San Francisco, so you can convince her to come.”

Josh shook his head. “Count me out, Duchess. This is a family matter. I’m not about to get involved. Maybe you can send one of your attorneys and let him or her explain to Miss Harte exactly what it is she’s saying no to.”

“I want you to go, Joshua.”

“Duchess—”

“I want your opinion of the girl.”

“Why? It looks to me like you’ve already checked her out thoroughly,” he told her, motioning to the file folder.

She dismissed the report with a wave of her hand. “I’m not interested in the opinion of some overpriced detective or lawyer who will candy-coat things and tell me what they think I want to hear.” She leaned forward. “I want your opinion.”

“I appreciate your confidence in me,” he said, and meant it. “But I don’t see what my meeting her could possibly tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Modesty doesn’t suit you any better than it did your grandfather, Joshua. I’ve heard you have very good instincts when it comes to people. I want to know if my granddaughter has inherited more than the Jardine eyes. I want to know if she’s got the grit of a Jardine and can be trusted with the Princess.”

Because he didn’t know what to say, Josh remained silent.

“Will you do it? Will you go to San Francisco and convince Laura to come to New Orleans?”

Torn between his own desire to reclaim the Princess and the anxiety he heard in Olivia’s voice, Josh opted to be honest with her. “You know I want the Princess. My helping you bring this Laura Harte here to run it would be like cutting my own throat. You’d only end up turning it over to her. The smart thing for me to do is not to help you and let the place continue to bleed money. Eventually you’ll have to cut your losses. And when you do, I’ll buy the hotel.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” she informed him. “I told you, I’m not interested in selling the Princess. And I assure you, I am not going to change my mind.”

Frustrated, Josh said, “Then I guess we’re both wasting our time.”

“Oh, sit down,” she ordered when he started to rise. “I said I wouldn’t sell you the Princess. But if you’ll help me, convince my granddaughter to come home to run the hotel, then I’ll give you a chance to win it.”

Josh narrowed his eyes. “Win the Princess? How?”

“The same way that I won her from your grandfather.”

“I’m listening,” Josh told her, intrigued even though he tried not to be.

“If my granddaughter turns out to be the woman I believe she is, I’ll turn over management of the hotel to the two of you. You’ll have six months to turn the operation around. At the end of that time if the hotel shows a profit, no matter how small, I’ll sign over ownership to Laura and—”

“Forget it. I’m not interested in working for you, Duchess. And I’m not interested in a partnership with your long-lost granddaughter,” Josh countered, sure he knew where Olivia was heading. “I’ll buy the Princess from you right now. Name your price.”

“You’re just as pigheaded as your grandfather was,” Olivia accused, her mouth tightening. “For Simon it had to be all or nothing, too. That’s why he insisted on that foolish wager with my father. If Simon won, I would break my engagement to Henry Jardine and marry him. If I won, Simon would sign over the Princess Hotel to me and get out of my life forever.”

“And you won.”

“Yes, I won,” Olivia said. Wheeling over to a secretary situated in a corner of the room, she opened a drawer and retrieved a small package before returning to where Josh waited. She placed a deck of cards bound with a faded gold ribbon in the center of the table, then lifted her gaze to Josh’s. “I’m offering you a similar wager, Joshua. I’ll give you a chance to win back Simon’s Princess. Convince Laura to come to New Or-leans, to work with you and turn the hotel around. If you’re successful, at the end of the six months, the two of you will draw cards just as your grandfather and I did fifty-six years ago.”

“And the stakes?” Josh asked, unable to believe what she was offering him.

“The deed to the Princess.” She loosened the ribbon from around the cards, placed the deck in front of him and met his gaze once more. “One game. High-card draw. Winner takes all.”

“It sounds almost too good to be true.”

“I asked if you were a risk-taker. You assured me you were—if the stakes were right.”

The stakes were more than right. They were downright incredible. He shoved a hand through his hair.

“Joshua?”

“Six months isn’t much time to turn a hotel operation around,” he argued as he began to analyze the pitfalls in the crazy scheme. “What if we can’t pull the hotel out of the red that quickly?”

“Then all bets are off. I keep the Princess.”

“And there’s always the chance that even if we succeed in pulling the hotel out of the red, that Laura will win the card game.”

“True. But I can’t help thinking you might have better luck convincing Laura to sell you the hotel than you’ll have with me.”

Of course, she was right. Still, it was too easy, Josh thought. The way she had laid out the plan, the worst thing that could happen is he’d be right where he was now—without the Princess. On the other hand, he could win and end up owning the Princess for nothing more than a little of his time and effort. Or he could find himself negotiating with Olivia’s granddaughter to buy the place. He thought of the woman in the photograph again, remembered the unshakable confidence in those blue eyes, that stubborn take-your-best-shot tilt of her chin.

“I must admit, I expected more eagerness on your part at a chance to win back the Princess.”

She was playing with him, Josh realized as he rubbed at his chin. “Unlike my grandfather, I try to look before I leap.”

“Then why don’t I see if I can help you make up your mind?” she replied calmly. Her lips curved slightly, and he knew she was about to put him between a rock and a hard place. “Either you go along with things as I’ve laid them out, or you’ll have to wait until I’m dead before you get another chance to bring the Princess under the Logan Hotels banner.”

When he still hesitated, she said, “Just so you know, I had my annual physical last week. Despite whatever rumors you may have heard and the fact that I might use this chair occasionally, my doctor claims I’m in excellent health and could live another twenty years. And if you think that I won’t be able to sustain the losses at the Princess, you’d better think again. The other Jardine properties and investments are even healthier than I am.”

“You’re a hell of a poker player yourself, Duchess.”

“So I’ve been told,” she replied.

Josh thought of his grandfather again, remembered the way the older man’s face had lit up whenever he’d spoken about the Princess, the way his eyes had glowed with pride as he’d talked about building the hotel. And he remembered the promise he’d made to him all those years ago.

“What’s it going to be?” Olivia asked.

He was crazy to even consider this, Josh told himself. His grandfather had been dead for more than five years. Did it really matter if he kept his promise now that he was gone?

It mattered, Josh admitted. He’d made a promise, and his grandfather had taught him that a man always lived up to his promises. He stared across the table at Olivia, and couldn’t help but feel that he was about to make a bargain with the devil, a bargain he would come to regret.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yes, Duchess. We have a deal.”

And as he tapped his glass against Olivia’s to seal the bargain they’d made, Josh’s gaze fell to the open folder on the desk where Laura Harte’s picture stared up at him. There it was again—that slam-in-the-gut punch of attraction. And he couldn’t help wondering if he had inherited Simon Logan’s impulsive streak after all.

Three

“You had no right to contact her, Uncle Paul,” Laura said, still reeling from the call she’d received from Olivia Jardine three days earlier. She stared down at the Caesar salad she’d ordered in the hotel’s café and recalled how the older woman had practically ordered Laura to come to New Orleans.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you like this.”

At the expression on her uncle’s face, Laura immediately regretted her sharp tone. “I know you meant well. But you shouldn’t have contacted her.”

“I was worried about you,” her uncle explained. “I’m still worried about you. Look at you. You’ve lost weight. There are shadows under your eyes. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m fine,” Laura insisted, even though she knew that in the two months since the accident, her injuries may have healed, but the pain of her mother’s deception and the shock of learning the truth about her father had taken its toll.

“Then how come the only time you leave your apartment these days is to go to work? And why can’t I even remember the last time I saw you smile?”

“Maybe because losing my mother and then finding out everything I believed about myself was a lie hasn’t exactly left me in a mood to party or smile lately.”

Her uncle visibly flinched.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Paul. That was uncalled for,” she said, and reached for his hand, shamed that she’d hurt him with harsh words. “I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on you.”

“It’s okay.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know this hasn’t been an easy time for you.”

No, it hadn’t been easy. It had been a nightmare. And even though she’d told herself a hundred times that nothing had changed, that she was still the same person now that she’d been before learning the truth, she didn’t feel the same. She felt different, as though she’d been stripped of her identity, of who and what she was.

“You’ve been dealt several blows at once. That’s why I contacted Olivia Jardine. I thought that perhaps…maybe if you were to meet your family and—”

“They are not my family,” Laura informed him, snatching her hand free. “My name is Laura Harte—not Jardine.” She reached for the glass of tea with unsteady fingers. She refused to think of Andrew Jardine as her father or any of his relatives as her family.

“Laura, if you’d just—”

“You’ll have to excuse me, Uncle Paul. I really do need to get back to work.” She tossed down her napkin and stood, eager to retreat to her office and put an end to the discussion.

Her uncle frowned as he rose. “Will I see you for brunch on Sunday?”

Pain swift and sharp hit her as memories flooded back—memories of the Sunday brunches shared with her uncle and her mother for most of her childhood and a great number of her adult years. It had been a lovely ritual, but now it, too, was a part of the past. “I’m afraid I can’t make it. I promised the Realtor who’s going to list mother’s house that I would finish packing up this weekend so they can begin showing the house next week.”

“You’re selling Juliet’s house?”

The devastation in her uncle’s voice matched his expression. She’d long suspected Paul Shaw’s feelings for her mother ran much deeper than those of a friend. Losing her had been as difficult for him as it had been for her, Laura realized. She touched his arm. “It’s for the best, Uncle Paul. A house needs to be lived in.”

“But it’s your home, too.”

Laura shook her head. “It hasn’t been for a long time now. It’s too far out for me to commute every day. And you know I work crazy hours and weekends. The house is being neglected, and it shows. Mother would hate that. It’s better if I sell it to someone who’ll take care of it properly.”

“Juliet loved that house.”

“I know.” Her mother had adored the country cottage, and she’d spent countless hours tending its gardens. But each time she’d been to the house since her mother’s death, Laura found herself missing her mother more. “She’s gone now, and I have to let her go. We both do, Uncle Paul. We need to get on with our lives.”

“Yes. You’re right, of course,” he said, his voice sad but resigned.

“Listen, I’d better get back upstairs before they send out a search party.” She kissed his weathered cheek.

When she started to withdraw, he held on to her. “I really am sorry. About…about everything.”

“I know,” she whispered, and gave his cheek a pat before stepping back. She was sorry, too—sorry to have the fantasies she’d believed about her parents shattered into a million pieces.

Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face because her uncle caught her off guard when he said, “Maybe it would be a good idea if you were to talk to someone…a professional—”

“No.” Laura stepped back from him, eager to escape. The last thing she wanted was to share the shameful truth she’d discovered. How could she possibly tell anyone that the father she’d worshiped all her life had actually been a philanderer? A man who had abandoned his pregnant lover and child so that he could marry his society bride and father three legitimate children? Anger welled up inside Laura again—toward her mother, toward the man responsible for giving her life. How she wished that she’d never learned the truth, that the secrets had gone with her mother to the grave.

“But—”

“Thanks, Uncle Paul. But really, I’m fine.”

Only she wasn’t fine, Laura admitted the next afternoon as she rummaged through her desk drawer for a file. Her fingers stilled when she spied the framed snapshot of her parents. Her heart ached at the sight of the photograph that, until two months ago, had sat on her credenza. After learning the truth about her father, she’d banished the picture to the back of her desk drawer, hoping to banish with it the ache of betrayal. It hadn’t worked, she realized as she retrieved the photograph. Grief and anger warred within her as she stared at her mother’s young and smiling face. “Oh, Momma, I miss you so much,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

She traced the edges of the small pewter frame and thought of all the years her mother had spent alone. Wasted years in which her mother had turned away suitors, claiming she had found and lost the only man she would ever love. Laura squeezed her eyes shut and recalled her mother’s voice, the dreamy look on her face whenever she’d spoken about her fairy-tale romance, her great love and loss.

And it had all been a lie.

Just as her childhood, her very identity, had all been rooted in that lie.

Opening her eyes, Laura stared at the face of the handsome navy lieutenant with his arm wrapped around her mother.

Her father.

Not Richard Harte. Not the dashing hero she’d loved and respected and longed for all of her life. Her father was the wealthy, irresponsible Andrew Jardine—the man who had so carelessly discarded her mother and gone back to his society life. It wasn’t fair, Laura thought as anger burned in her heart toward the man. He had led a full life. He had had a wife, other children. While her mother…her mother had been left with a life built on lies and a child to raise alone.

The intercom on her desk buzzed, jarring Laura from her thoughts. She shoved the picture back into the desk drawer and reined in her emotions. “Yes?”

“Hello, sunshine.”

Laura smiled at the sound of Nick Baldwin’s voice. The general manager and owner of the Ambassador Grand and her boss for the past year, Nick was smart, charming and one of the nicest men she’d ever known. He was also one of the best-looking—a fact that was not lost on the hotel’s female guests or staff.

“How’s my favorite assistant GM this afternoon?”

Laura chuckled at his remark. “I’m fine. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m your only assistant GM,” she reminded him.

“That’s right! How on earth could I make a mistake like that?”

“Beats me.”

“Maybe it’s because you do enough work around here for two people.”

“And maybe I’m wondering why you’re laying it on so thick,” she teased.

“Just stating the facts.”

A rush of gratitude spilled through her at Nick’s praise. He was a great boss, one who never failed to let her know she was appreciated. He was also a dear friend and had proved so often during the past couple of months. She could think of few people who would have done what he had—handling the arrangements for her mother’s funeral, insisting she take as much time as she needed before coming back to work even though the hotel was extraordinarily busy. And there had been genuine worry in Nick’s eyes last week when he’d expressed concern about how she was holding up. Yet as much as she liked and respected Nick, she hadn’t been able to tell him the truth. She wasn’t sure she ever could tell him or anyone.

“Laura, you still there?”

Shaking off her gloomy thoughts, Laura attempted to recapture the happy mood Nick’s call had sparked. “Right here and worrying because I have a feeling that you’re about to drop some major catastrophe in my lap.”

“You’re a cynic, Ms. Harte.”

“Hardly, Mr. Baldwin,” she said with a laugh. “I distinctly recall the last time you were laying on praise this thick. It was just before you told me that the hotel was overbooked and I had to find fifty rooms pronto.”

“An honest mistake. Besides, I wasn’t the one who failed to block the space in the hotel’s main system.”

“Yes, I remember whose fault that was,” she conceded. She was sure that Nick remembered, too. The fault had rested on the very attractive, man-hunting reservation agent in the hotel’s sales department who had been so busy trying to catch Nick’s eye that she tended to let minor things like her job slide.

“The important thing to remember is that it all worked out okay.”

It had. Thanks to her scrambling like mad and absorbing the cost of those extra rooms at a neighboring hotel. The unexpected expense had played havoc with her budget, but she’d taken the hit to preserve the goodwill of the account.

“You got a few minutes?”

Laura eyed the file folder on her desk. “I was about to go over the meeting room charts for the cardiologists’ convention that’s arriving tomorrow before I sign off on it. After that, I’m free.”

“Great. How about coming by my office when you’ve finished?”

“Sure.” She paused, worried over her last conversation with Nick. She didn’t want to get into another discussion with him about what he perceived as her unhappiness lately. “Was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?”

“Actually, there’s someone that I’d like you to meet.”

A prospective client, Laura guessed, and felt a measure of relief. Perhaps it was just what she needed—the challenge of a tough new account to sink her teeth into and get her mind off of her own troubles. “Give me ten minutes to wrap this up and I’ll be there.”

Josh sat across from Nick Baldwin and listened to his old college friend’s side of the conversation with Laura Harte. In many ways, he and Nick were a lot alike, he thought. They both came from families whose fortunes had been made in the small luxury-hotel business. They both had grown up knowing that one day they, too, would be a part of the family business. And they both had been part of a dwindling breed of hoteliers who still retained ownership of the family hotels. Many family-owned chains like the Fairmont had done as its owners the Swigs had done—sold their interests to some Saudi prince or hotel conglomerate. The Logans hadn’t. Nor had the Jardines. And neither had the Baldwins—at least not voluntarily.

From what Nick had told him when they’d been at college, Big Jack Baldwin had managed to gamble all four family hotels away before his son hit eighteen. But from what he knew and the buzz in the industry, Nick had not only reclaimed the hotels lost by his father, he was on his way to buying more. And although Logan Hotels far outranked the Jardine and Baldwin family operations because of the number of hotel properties they held, all three families remained part of the elite group of hoteliers whose name was synonymous with luxury. Given what he’d seen of the Ambassador Grand, Nick was maintaining the tradition.

Josh grinned as he thought back to the first time he’d met Nick—a dozen years ago when the two of them had both been enrolled in the university’s hotel management program and working nights for Logan Hotels. He’d have sworn the two of them had had absolutely nothing in common. He’d pegged Nick as a West Coast prick whose rich family had used their connections to get him a job. In turn, Baldwin had pegged Josh as a dumb-wit Southern boy who didn’t know squat about hotels. They’d both been proved wrong. After several minor clashes, the two of them had been sharing drinks and dreams. The friendship had waned due to time, distance and Nick’s romance with Josh’s sister. But he’d decided to use what remained of the old friendship, anyway, as a means to reach Laura Harte. Instead of approaching Laura with Olivia’s request at her home, he’d opted to do so on neutral turf. He’d also wanted to get a chance to see her in action.

“She’ll be here in a couple of minutes,” Nick said as he hung up the phone.

“Thanks,” Josh said, dragging his thoughts back to the reason he was there—to try to convince Laura Harte to come to New Orleans and meet her family. Too edgy to sit, he stood and began to prowl the spacious office. He stopped in front of the window and admired the view of the bay. “I owe you one.”

“I’ll settle for you telling me what this personal business is you want to discuss with Laura.”

Josh paused. Turning, he studied the wary brown eyes of his old friend. “I can’t. You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that it’s personal and I’m here as a favor to a friend.” Yet even as he said the words, guilt plagued him. He seriously doubted that Olivia could be classified as a friend. At the admission, he once again cursed his decision to take Olivia up on her crazy offer. Why had he allowed himself to be talked into this mess? Just as quickly as the question formed, so did the answer—the Princess. He wanted her. He had from the very first time his grandfather had taken him to the hotel. His chest tightened as he thought of his grandfather, the vow he’d made to one day reclaim the Princess. That vow was the reason he was here, Josh reminded himself. He hadn’t been able to turn away a chance to win her back.

“At least give me a name. Tell me who this friend of yours is?”

“Come on, Nick,” Josh said with a sigh. He walked back across the room to stand before his friend. “Listen, I tell you what. After I talk to Ms. Harte, if she wants to share the context of our conversation with you, she’s free to do so. But it’ll have to be her call. Until then, I’m asking you to back off.”

Nick frowned. His fingers curled around the pen he’d been fidgeting with since hanging up the phone. “All right. I’ll back off—for now. Just remember what I said. Laura’s been through a lot lately. She’s been sort of fragile since her mother was killed.”

“I understand. And I promise, it isn’t my intention to upset her.” Yet if what Olivia had told him about Laura Harte’s reaction to the older woman’s phone call was accurate, Josh suspected that the lady might very well be upset when she discovered why he was there.

“Then make sure you don’t. Because I’m warning you, Logan, you upset Laura and I am going to be one unhappy guy.”

Josh narrowed his gaze. “What gives, Nick? Something going on between you and Laura Harte besides business?” For some reason, the idea of his friend being involved with the woman whose photo he’d studied repeatedly since that night at Olivia’s left a foul taste in his mouth.

“You know me better than that. I have rules about mixing business and pleasure, remember?”

“Yeah. But I also remember a time when you broke those rules with my kid sister.”

Heat flashed in Nick’s eyes. He pushed back his chair and strode over to the windows that overlooked the bay. When he turned around, his expression was once more inscrutable. “That was a long time ago. It wasn’t anything serious.”

“Tell that to Faith. She blamed me when my folks shipped her off to intern at the London hotel that summer. She didn’t speak to me for months.”

“She was just a kid.”

“Yeah.” For the first time, Josh wondered if maybe he’d been wrong all those years ago. Could Nick have been more serious about Faith than he’d thought? When he’d first gotten wind that his best friend was romancing his baby sister, he’d been furious. He’d been sure Nick was just toying with Faith since he knew Nick was like him when it came to women—he enjoyed them but wasn’t interested in commitment. After he’d torn a strip off of his friend, he’d gone to his father and spilled the beans. “Faith thought she was in love with you, and she blamed me for busting you two up.”

A haunted look came across Nick’s face. He turned away, stared out the window once more. “It was for the best. Anyway, I heard she got married.”

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t around to check out the scumbag until it was too late and she married him. But I did make sure I was around to help her pick up the pieces when she came to her senses and divorced him.”

The hand Nick had jammed through his hair stilled. He turned around. “Faith’s divorced?”

“Almost a year ago.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Nick said. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for her.”

Josh wasn’t sure what to make of Nick’s reaction. Was it possible that his friend had actually been serious about Faith?

“Listen, about Laura…I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. She’s a terrific lady. Smart, really sharp. She works hard and has a real feel for the business. She’s good. Someday she’s going to make a hell of a GM. But there isn’t anything personal going on between us. We’re friends. Good friends. But that’s all.”

Before he could stop himself Josh asked, “What about a boyfriend?”

Despite his casual tone, Nick frowned. He eyed Josh closely. “None that I know of—or at least no one serious. Laura’s career has always been her primary focus. What makes you ask?”

Josh shrugged. “Just curious.”

Nick hesitated a long moment. “Well, just remember what I told you. Laura’s been through a rough time and is kind of fragile right now. Her mother’s death hit her hard, and the poor kid doesn’t have any other family.”

Only Laura Harte did have family, Josh thought in silence. It might not be a family she wanted or accepted, but blood was blood. Nothing could change the fact that Laura Harte was a Jardine. And as a Jardine, she had a family—a grandmother, three siblings—and she was his key to finally getting back the Princess Hotel.

Four

Laura adjusted the lipstick-red scarf around her neck, then smoothed the skirt of her black dress just before the elevator dinged and the doors zipped open.

Exiting the elevator, she forced a smile on her lips as she approached the desk of Nick’s very pregnant assistant. Although Jennifer Simmons was only four years younger than her, the difference might as well have been forty. The other woman had not only married her childhood sweetheart, but she was also expecting the birth of her first child. Whereas he…she had yet to meet any man she could imagine a long-term relationship with—let alone marriage.

“Hi, Jen.”

“Thank you, God,” the other woman said, lifting her eyes heavenward before she beamed at Laura. “I was desperately in need of a break, and here you are—giving me the perfect excuse to take one.”

“To hear your boss tell it, you don’t usually need an excuse.”

Jen crinkled her nose. “Who are you going to believe? Me or the slave driver?”

“You, of course,” Laura said, grinning. “So how is the little mother-to-be feeling this afternoon?”

“Like a blimp with legs. But the champ here is doing great,” she said, smiling as she smoothed a hand over her burgeoning middle. “In fact, I’m convinced this little guy has a future as a football or soccer star.”

“Still kicking up a storm, hmm?”

“Do fish swim? Why I—” Jen gasped and clutched her stomach.

“What is it?” Laura demanded, suddenly alarmed. Fearing the baby was coming, she grabbed the phone and started to punch in 911. “Hang on. I’m calling the—” She stopped at the burst of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Jen told her, wiping tears from her eyes as her laughter subsided. “If you could have seen the look on your face.”

Her heartbeat once again normal, Laura primly returned the phone to its cradle. “I’m glad one of us finds this amusing. You nearly scared me half to death, Jennifer Simmons. I thought you’d gone into labor,” she accused, but had difficulty acting royally miffed when she wanted to laugh, too.

“I really am sorry,” Jen said again, the last of her giggles fading. “Although I have to admit there is a part of me that wishes I had gone into labor.”

“Well, I for one am grateful that you didn’t. You’d be in worse shape than Scarlett O’Hara when she went into labor, because I don’t know anything about birthing babies.”

Jen laughed as she was meant to do. “Oh, I think you’d manage just fine.”

“Well, I’d just as soon we not find out—especially not two months early.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jen groaned. “I can’t believe I still have two whole months to go.”

“It’ll be here before you know it.”

“I certainly hope so. I can hardly wait for this little guy to arrive. I want to hold him in my arms so bad. So does Bob,” she said. “I know it sounds sappy, but we love him already.”

“It doesn’t sound sappy at all. I think it sounds sweet.”

“It is,” Jen confessed. “But you’ll find that out for yourself someday when you’re expecting one of your own.”

A lump formed in Laura’s throat. Would she ever know what it was to share that kind of love with someone? To feel a new life growing inside her? At twenty-eight, she was no stranger to men. She’d dated her fair share but had never been serious about any one of them. She’d told herself it was because her career was her major focus. But deep in her heart, she knew the reason had less to do with her career focus than the fact that none of the men she’d dated measured up to the man her father was. Or at least the man she’d always believed her father to be, Laura corrected herself.

“Laura? Are you all right?”

“Hmm? I’m fine,” she said, shaking off the sad thoughts. “It’s just been a long day.”

“I know what you mean. This is the first time today the phone hasn’t been ringing off the hook.”

“Speaking of phones, Nick buzzed me a few minutes ago. He said there was someone he wanted me to meet.”

“Oh, terrific,” Jen said, her face beaming. “You can get the scoop on TDH.”

“TDH?”

“Tall, dark and handsome,” Jen explained. When Laura simply stared at her, the other woman sighed. “Tall, dark and handsome as in major hunk. When I returned from my doctor’s appointment and stuck my head in Nick’s office to tell him I was back, I saw him.”

“Him?”

“The hunk,” Jen replied, shooting her a warning look to pay attention. “He didn’t have an appointment scheduled. And the reception desk said when Nick came back from his lunch meeting, the guy was with him. The tongues in Marketing and in Reservations have been hanging out since he walked into the hotel. Everyone’s dying to find out who he is.”

“Probably a potential client,” Laura reasoned.

“Whoever he is, he is one gorgeous male specimen. He’s also unattached.”

Laura blinked. “How on earth do you know that?”

She held up her left hand, wiggled her ring finger. “No wedding ring,” Jen explained. “I checked.”

“Need I remind you that you are married?”

“Yeah, but I’m not dead. And there’s no reason I can’t appreciate a good-looking guy with a great tush.”

Laura arched her brow. “I wonder what Bob would say about you checking out the guy’s tush.”

“Hey, I was checking him out for you,” Jen defended herself. “But now that you’re here, you can go on in and check him out for yourself,” she said, and pressed the intercom button to announce Laura’s arrival. “Just remember—no drooling.”

Laura didn’t drool. But she could have. One look at the man Jen had dubbed TDH, and Laura admitted the other woman had been right. He was tall—a few inches over six feet, she guessed, with long limbs and too-die-for green eyes. His hair was dark. So was he. She’d be willing to wager a week’s salary that the deep golden tan he sported hadn’t been courtesy of any tanning salon. She also doubted that those linebacker shoulders that filled out the expensive charcoal jacket so nicely were the result of a fancy personal trainer. A quick scan of slashing cheekbones, a strong jaw and a mouth curved into a wicked grin, and Laura had to agree with Jen’s assessment. The man was flat-out gorgeous.

But then, so was her boss Nick. Fortunately, living in California where there were so many good-looking men, she had long ago developed an aversion, if not an immunity, to men with those movie-star looks.

“Here she is,” Nick said as he hung up the phone and stood. Moving from behind his desk, he put an arm around Laura’s shoulder and ushered her over to the hunk. “Josh, I’d like you to meet Laura Harte, not only the best assistant GM in the business, but the prettiest, too. Laura, meet Josh Logan, an old friend who’s in town for a few days.”

“Mr. Logan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Laura smiled and extended her hand. “And please, pay no attention to Nick. He considers it his duty to flatter every female who crosses his path.”

“But in this case, I have to agree with him. You’re even more lovely than he told me,” he replied smoothly, a hint of the South in his voice as he took her hand. “And please, call me Josh.”

Color warmed Laura’s cheeks as much from the compliment as from the approval in his eyes, and not for the first time, Laura wished her skin weren’t so fair. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“I hope you don’t mind if I call you Laura.”

“No. Laura is fine.” Keenly aware that he was still holding her hand, Laura withdrew it.

“Josh and I used to work together when we were in college,” Nick explained as he led them to the grouping of couches and chairs that filled a section of the executive suite.

Laura opted for one of the overstuffed chairs positioned around the marble coffee table. “In Florida?” she asked, since she knew that’s where Nick was from originally.

“Louisiana,” Josh replied. “Nicky and I did a little of everything—bussed tables, parked cars, you name it. The hotel grunt work that no one else wanted to do.”

Laura stiffened at the mention of Louisiana, her thoughts momentarily turning to the Jardine family. “Are you in the hotel business, too, Mr. Lo—”

“Josh,” he corrected her, flashing her that smile again.

The full impact of that smile warmed her like a caress. Caught off guard by her response to him, Laura shook off thoughts of the Jardine family and told herself she’d need to concentrate if she were to hold her own against the likes of Josh Logan. “Are you in the hotel business…Josh?”

“In a manner of speaking. I deal primarily in acquisitions.”

“Josh’s family owns Logan Hotels,” Nick informed her.

The words Logan Hotels and acquisition hit her like a slap of cold air. “I see,” Laura managed to say despite the sudden knot in her stomach as she considered the purpose behind Josh Logan’s visit. Larger than the Ambassador Grand Hotel that Nick operated, Logan Hotels was a major competitor known for its five-star properties throughout the country. The firm was also known for its rapid growth during the past decade by acquisition of competing luxury hotels.

“I’m afraid you don’t see,” Josh drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice. “At least not the right picture. Although the Ambassador Grand is a fabulous property, Logan Hotels isn’t interested in buying it.”

“Which is a good thing since it’s not for sale,” Nick added.

“Of course, there is that factor, too,” Josh conceded, his lips curving into a grin that had Laura’s stomach tightening again. “But the truth is, I’m not here on Logan Hotels business. This visit is strictly a personal one.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Laura began, and could have kicked herself when Josh laughed aloud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I don’t have anything against Logan Hotels.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Josh told her.

Laura laughed. “It’s true. I even stayed at your San Diego hotel a few years ago. It was lovely and fully deserving of its excellent reputation.”

“But?” Nick coaxed.

“But I’d hate to see the Ambassador Grand sold.”

“Because you like working for Nick?” Josh inquired.

“Yes. That’s part of it. The other reason is the hotel itself. When new owners come in, there’s a tendency to start making changes. I’d hate to see anything changed here. It’s a beautiful property, so rich in history, and Nick has done such a wonderful job restoring it.” Realizing how she must sound, Laura decided to change the subject. “Has Nick given you a tour of the hotel yet?”

“There wasn’t time,” Nick offered. “Josh and I had some other matters that we needed to discuss.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” she told Josh.

“Sounds like it. Any chance I could convince you to give me a tour?”

Laura hesitated. “I…of course, I’d be happy to do it. But I’m sure Nick’s looking forward to showing you around and using the opportunity for the two of you to visit a bit longer. Right, Nick?”

“Actually, Nick mentioned that he was going to be tied up all afternoon.”

Laura cut a glance to her boss, caught the warning look he exchanged with Josh. She frowned. Was she imagining things? Was there some serious tension between the two men? “Nick, I can handle whatever you have scheduled for this afternoon if you like. That way you’ll be free to show Josh around the hotel.”

Nick paused. “Thanks, but I have a board meeting across town, and I’m afraid it’s one that I have to attend personally.”

“So what do you say, Laura? I’d really like to see the rest of the hotel.”

“Well, if Nick is sure he doesn’t mind,” Laura began, confused by the undercurrents she was picking up in the room.

“It’s all right, Laura. You go ahead, show Josh around,” Nick finally said. He stood. “I’m afraid I need to get going if I’m going to make that board meeting on time.”

“Of course,” Laura replied as she rose. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right,” Nick said, his face somber. “But if you need me for anything…anything at all, you call me. Okay?”

“Sure,” Laura said, puzzled by the remark.

“It was good seeing you again, Nick,” Josh said, extending his hand. “And thanks for the help. I owe you one.”

“Just make sure I don’t regret doing you a favor. I’d hate it if I’d allowed an old friendship to cause me to make a mistake.”

He had made a mistake, Josh decided later that afternoon after Laura excused herself to respond to a page. Leaning against a column in the ornate lobby, he watched Laura cross the expanse to the front desk, where she began an exchange with a member of her staff and a middle-aged couple. Unable to hear the conversation, Josh’s thoughts turned inward once more.

Yes, he had definitely made a mistake in the matter of Ms. Laura Harte. Of course, it wasn’t the first mistake he’d made by any means, Josh conceded. A man didn’t reach the age of thirty-three without making a mistake or two along the way. And while he was grateful he’d seldom made mistakes when it came to business decisions, he wished he could say the same when it came to his decisions concerning women.

Grimacing, Josh recalled some of his more serious errors in judgment when a female was involved. Among the first to come to mind had been shortly after his seventeenth birthday—when he’d wrapped his classic ’65 Mustang around a telephone pole trying to impress Sarah Beth Whitney with his skill as a driver. Even now just the memory of wrecking that beautiful car made him wince. No question that had been a big mistake on his part—and a dumb one. So had the time he’d wasted a good bottle of Scotch getting sloshed after he’d been dumped by a woman. Puking his guts up for two days had been enough to cure his heartache. And as far as he was concerned, turning down the chance to do a horizontal tango with a future Miss Universe two years ago would always rank as a major flub.

Josh sighed. Experience should have made him a lot smarter and a hell of a lot more cautious when it came to dealing with females, he reasoned. Evidently, it hadn’t. Otherwise, he would have run in the opposite direction the minute Olivia Jardine had outlined her wild scheme. But the crafty old gal had known just what bait to dangle in front of his nose to get him to agree to her plan—the Princess. She’d known he wouldn’t refuse a chance to get the hotel back under the Logan banner where it belonged. It had all sounded so simple, and he’d had no doubt that he could pull it off.

Only he hadn’t counted on Laura. And that’s where he’d made a mistake—because Laura hadn’t been at all what he’d expected. She’d surprised him. So had his response to her. Sure, he had known from her photo that he would find her appealing. With that mane of red hair, the pale blue eyes and a mouth made for sin, he’d anticipated the physical attraction. After all, he was a red-blooded male, and she was a beautiful woman. But he hadn’t counted on the intelligence that shone in those blue eyes or the underlying strength in her grip when they’d shaken hands. And he hadn’t been at all prepared for that fist-to-the-jaw punch of arousal he experienced each time he touched her. He certainly hadn’t counted on being intrigued by Laura Harte.

But he was, Josh admitted, and he wasn’t at all sure why. He encountered beautiful, smart women every day in his business and personal life. He’d lost count of the times his matchmaking mother and sisters had paraded beautiful, intelligent women in front of him at various social functions and dinner parties, hoping he’d be inspired to marry and settle down. None of those women had generated more than a second look on his part. Certainly none of those women had piqued his curiosity or challenged something in him as Laura had. He’d grabbed the ruse of having her show him the hotel because he’d wanted time to gauge her as an individual before jumping in with his reason for being there. But he hadn’t expected to enjoy himself as he had. Continuing to watch her, he told himself there was no logical reason for him to find her so captivating.

Yet he did. Considering the role she played in his plans to reclaim the Princess, for him to become fascinated with Laura Harte was one mistake he couldn’t afford to make. Not when so much was at stake.

A personal involvement with Laura wasn’t an option, Josh reminded himself as she started across the lobby toward him. Still, there was no reason he couldn’t enjoy the way she filled out that black dress or the natural sway of her hips as she walked or the sight of those mile-long legs in killer high heels. At the sudden image of those legs wrapped around his waist, Josh nearly groaned. Get a grip, Logan, he told himself, and jammed his fists into his pockets.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” she said as she joined him.

“No problem,” Josh replied. “Everything all right?”

“Yes. There was just a slight mix-up on a room reservation. The couple I was talking with are here for their anniversary, and when they made their reservation, they requested the same room they occupied on their wedding night. Unfortunately, the agent who took the reservation on the phone last month, and who happens to no longer be with the hotel, failed to make a notation of the request when he booked the reservation. And the particular room they’d wanted is already occupied.”

“I’m assuming from the smiles on their faces that you worked it out.”

“I guess you could say that. I upgraded them to a larger suite, ordered a bottle of champagne to be sent to their room with the hotel’s compliments and issued them a voucher for a free weekend in the suite they originally wanted to be used at a future date.”

“Very smooth. And very smart.” It was exactly what he would have done were he the general manager—keep the client happy, and make sure they want to come back.

“Thank you. All things considered, I thought it was the best way to handle it.”

“Absolutely. Customer goodwill is important. You’ve not only salvaged their weekend and ensured that they’ll leave here happy, but that they’ll come back to use that voucher when giving them a free room will have little impact on your profits. And since the room is free, I’m sure you’ve figured that they’ll feel justified in spending more money in the hotel restaurant and gift shops.”

“Well, the thought did cross my mind,” she said, grinning. And this time the smile curving her lips held none of the caution, none of the insipid politeness of her earlier smiles. This time the smile she gave him was genuine.

And the result was staggering. Desire tightened low in Josh’s belly as he stared at her. He itched to fist his hands in that red-gold hair, to draw her close so he could breathe in that roses-and-sunshine scent of hers and then kiss that spot on her neck just below her ear. Dropping his gaze to her mouth, he watched her smile fade, heard her quick intake of breath, and he knew she felt that heat shimmering between them, too. The realization sent need shuddering through him. He moved a step closer, wanting to explore the shape and taste of that tempting mouth. Instead, he settled for smoothing the stray curl that had tangled on her scarf.

Laura stepped back. She made a show of checking her watch. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I guess the tour took longer than I thought it would. I’m afraid I tend to get caught up in the hotel’s history and go on and on. You should have stopped me.”

“Why? I enjoyed it.”

“Thank you. But I’m sure you have other things you want to do during your stay. As for the hotel, I think you’ve seen just about everything there is now except for the kitchens. Do you want to see them?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’d like a chance to compare the operation here with the one at our San Diego property.”

“Then follow me.”

As Josh followed Laura, he tried not to notice how her scent pulled at his senses, made him think of sultry southern nights and magnolia blossoms. He tried not to notice that her skin was the color of cream and looked as delicate as a rose petal. He tried not to notice that even with her lipstick worn away, her mouth was pink and lush and made for kissing.

She paused at the wide marble staircase that led to the mezzanine level. “Do you mind taking the stairs or would you prefer we take the elevator?”

“The stairs are fine,” Josh managed to say, despite the resulting discomfort caused by his musings. Placing his hand at the center of Laura’s back, he led her up the stairs where more polished marble floors, more glittering chandeliers and more urns of fresh flowers greeted them.

“Have you had a chance to visit the restaurant yet?” she asked as they crossed the spacious floor toward the restaurant.

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Nick and I met outside the hotel for lunch.”

“Well, you’ll have to have at least one meal in the Redwood before you leave. The chef here is excellent. And the restaurant’s won quite a number of awards for its food and service.” She stopped a few feet from the restaurant’s entrance, where from the looks of things business was brisk.

Noting her frown, he asked, “Something wrong?”

“No. Quite the contrary. It looks like a good night for the restaurant,” she said, indicating the activity inside the restaurant and the line of people waiting at the door. “But I’m afraid with things this busy, the chef will have my head if I go traipsing through his kitchen with you in tow now.”

“Since I’d hate to be responsible for you losing that pretty head of yours, what do you say we pass on the kitchen tour?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” she said, smiling.

It was impossible for him not to return that smile. He swept his gaze toward the restaurant. “Think there’s any chance I can still get a dinner reservation in there for tonight?”

“Well, seeing as how I happen to have an ‘in’ with the management, I think your chances are pretty good. Why don’t we go find out?”

“Ms. Harte, how are you this evening?” the maître d’ asked when they approached the restaurant’s entrance. With his silver hair and refined demeanor the man reminded Josh of an English butler.

“I’m fine, Douglas. Looks like it’s a busy night for you.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, a pleased expression on his face.

“Too busy to squeeze in another reservation?” Laura asked.

“For you? Of course not.” The older man’s eyes twinkled. He cut a glance at Josh and then back to Laura. “A table for two?”

“Yes,” Josh answered quickly. He stuck out his hand. “Josh Logan, Douglas. I really appreciate this. After hearing Laura rave about the food, I have to admit that I’m not only anxious to sample it, I’m starving.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir. And I assure you, you won’t be disappointed in the cuisine. If you’ll just give me a moment, I’ll see about a table for you.”

After Douglas excused himself, Josh turned his attention back to Laura. “Thanks for using your influence,” he told her.

“You’re welcome. And since you’re in good hands with Douglas, I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner. It was a pleasure meeting you, Josh.”

Josh took the hand she offered, held it. “Do you have to rush off?” he asked. Besides the fact that he had yet to come clean about his reason for being there, he was also reluctant to have her leave.

“No. But I thought…I assumed you had plans for this evening.”

“Nope,” he assured her. “I asked for a table for two because I was hoping I could persuade you to stay and have dinner with me.”

“That’s very kind of you, but surely there’s someone else—Nick or another friend or a business associate—that you’d rather have dinner with.”

Josh shook his head. “Nick is going to be tied up all evening. That’s why we visited earlier today, and I don’t know anyone else in San Francisco. Besides, the least I can do is buy you dinner to thank you for answering all my questions and giving me a tour of the hotel.”

She reclaimed her hand. “It’s really not necessary. I love the Ambassador Grand, and I enjoyed showing her off to you.”

Although the detective reports and his conversations with Nick hadn’t given any indication that she was romantically involved with someone, it suddenly occurred to Josh that perhaps there was someone waiting for Laura. To his surprise, the notion that she might have a lover stirred something stormy inside him. Telling himself that his reaction was ridiculous, Josh pressed. “If you’re refusing my invitation because there’s someone waiting for you, you’re welcome to ask him to join us.”

“No. That’s not it,” she said. “I mean, there isn’t anyone waiting. That is, I’m not involved with anyone at the moment.”

Charmed by the sudden color tinging her cheeks, Josh told himself if he felt relieved by her answer it was because convincing her to accept Olivia’s offer would be easier without a man in the picture. “Do you already have plans for this evening?”

“No,” Laura answered, nerves dancing in those pale blue eyes. “It’s just that…”

“It’s just that Tuesday nights are when you wash your hair?”

Her lips twitched. “No.”

Pleased that his attempt at humor had eased those nerves of a moment ago, he tried again. “Then tonight’s when you swore to yourself that you’d clean the oven?”

“Hardly,” Laura told him, and laughed aloud. “Besides the fact that I don’t use the oven enough to get it dirty, it’s self-cleaning.”

“Then take pity on a lonely stranger. Don’t force me to eat alone tonight. Say you’ll have dinner with me.”

She arched her brow. “You may be a stranger to San Francisco, Josh Logan, but somehow I doubt that you’ve ever been lonely a day in your life—unless it’s by choice.”

“Do I hear a compliment in there somewhere?” he asked, not at all surprised by her perception. She was right. There were actually a number of women in San Francisco he could call who would gladly join him for dinner and more. But none of those women were Laura Harte. And none of those women held the key to him regaining the Princess, he reminded himself.

Laura laughed again. “I have no intention of feeding your ego by pointing out your obvious attractions.”

“Which are?”

Laura shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Have dinner with me, anyway,” he said seriously. Because the urge to touch her was so strong, he reached out and curled a strand of her hair around his finger. “I’d really like a chance for us to get to know each other better.”

She took a step back. “I don’t think that’s necessarily a good idea.”

“Why?” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Is it because of Nick? You think he might object?”

“Nick has nothing to do with it,” she told him.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just don’t think it’s wise to mix business with pleasure.”

“Then we won’t mix them,” Josh assured her. “Tonight will be strictly pleasure.”

Five

“Is something wrong with your veal?” Laura asked, unnerved by Josh’s steady gaze on her.

“The veal’s excellent.” As though to prove the point he took a bite, but his eyes never wavered from her face.

“Josh, you’re staring,” she accused, hoping the rebuke would diffuse the sexual tension that seemed to have escalated between them in the restaurant’s cozy surroundings.

“I know,” he admitted, and instead of being embarrassed to have been caught, he merely flashed her another of those killer smiles that had her stomach dipping and her heart beating just a little too fast. “I was remembering that old adage about the eyes being the mirror to a person’s soul. Whoever came up with that particular phrase must have had you in mind, Laura Harte. You have the most incredible eyes—so expressive.”

So much for dousing the sensual sparks, Laura thought. His answer and the way he was looking at her—like he was a big cat and she was a tempting bowl of cream—had her already fast pulse racing flat-out. She drew in a deep breath, trying to marshal her reaction to the man. “Thank you.”

He chuckled. “See, that’s what I mean. A moment ago you were all business, and your eyes were an icy blue. But just now when I surprised you and you forgot to be Ms. Hotel Executive, the color of your eyes changed,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky drawl. “Now they’re a smoky blue—like the surf in St. Thomas at dawn.”

“I think one of us has had too much wine,” she said with a nonchalance she was far from feeling.

“Nope.” As if to prove his point, Josh took another sip of the cabernet. “Just making an observation. Surely I’m not the first man to tell you that you have beautiful eyes.”

“No,” she murmured, but she couldn’t remember any other man making her hot all over with just a look. “Thank you.”

He nodded but continued to watch her over the rim of his glass. “I’ve embarrassed you.”

“No, you haven’t.”

He grinned. “That’s not what your eyes tell me. They truly are extraordinary, the most unique color. Just when I think I’ve nailed down the exact shade, they change again. But then, I guess you’ve heard that before, too.”

“Actually, I haven’t, and I suspect you know it,” Laura said, determined not to let him fluster her. “You’re very skilled at this.”

“At what?”

“Flirting.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“Isn’t it?” she countered. “Those deep, soul-searching looks and all this talk about the color of my eyes when you and I both know that they’re blue. Plain, ordinary blue.”

Josh’s lips curved again. This time slowly, seductively. He leaned forward slightly, which increased the feeling of intimacy between them. “Trust me, Laura. There’s not a man alive who would look at you and ever see anything plain or ordinary about you.”

Laura’s pulse skittered. Her mouth suddenly dry, she reached for her wineglass, clutched it tightly and hoped he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her fingers. She disliked the fact that she was nervous, Laura admitted as she sipped the expensive vintage. She dealt with lots of men in her line of work. Men never made her nervous. Josh didn’t make her nervous. He certainly wasn’t responsible for this light-headed feeling she had or for the butterflies buzzing in her stomach. As she studied him over the rim of her glass, she told herself the way she felt had nothing to do with Josh or the fact that he was handsome and charming, and she found him attractive. No, it wasn’t Josh himself who was responsible for her feeling this way. It was the setting—the candlelight and romantic music. It was the fact that she was lonely and it had been well over a year since she’d been involved in a male-female relationship.

And she was lying through her teeth, Laura conceded. But only a first-rate idiot would buy the line he was feeding her. And she was no idiot. She’d met men like Josh Logan before—gorgeous, charming seducers out for a night or two of fun. And as interesting and attractive as she found Josh, a quick fling wasn’t her style. Yet, sitting here with him now, she almost wished that it was. “You’re a dangerous man, Josh Logan,” she said, giving him her brightest smile. “I can only imagine the long trail of broken hearts you’ve left in your wake down South.”

“Ouch,” he said, slapping a hand against his heart. “Those are some pretty sharp arrows you’re slinging there, Ms. Harte. Do you always shoot a man when he pays you a compliment?”

“Is that what you were doing? Why, I could have sworn you were trying to seduce me.”

She’d meant to make him laugh, had been sure he would find her comeback amusing. Yet the grin died on his lips. His eyes darkened, and she noted for the first time tiny flecks of gold in them. “Believe me, Laura, if I were trying to seduce you, you wouldn’t have to wonder if that’s what I was doing. You would know it.”

Laura’s breath stalled in her lungs. And despite her best efforts to prevent it, excitement shimmied down her spine.

“Are you finished, Ms. Harte?” the waiter asked, saving her from having to respond.

“Yes. I am. Thank you, Stewart.”

Telling herself that she wasn’t a coward for feeling grateful at the interruption, Laura used the opportunity to rein in her emotions. While Stewart cleared away the dishes and recited the dessert menu, Laura attempted to regain her perspective by reminding herself that Josh Logan was her boss’s friend and a man whom she would probably never see again after tonight. Just because she’d been lonely since her mother’s death was no reason to overreact to his innocent flirtation—a flirtation that was no doubt second nature to a man like him. Once the waiter retreated, they both said simultaneously, “I’m sorry.”

She laughed.

So did Josh.

“Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” she told him. “Thank you for what you said…about my eyes. It was very sweet of you—which is what I should have said to begin with instead of accusing you of hitting on me. I was out of line and I really am sorry.”

“Since we’re being honest, I suppose I should confess that you weren’t totally off base,” he replied, a wicked and totally unapologetic glint in his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I meant what I said. You do have beautiful eyes.”

“But?”

“But I guess I was hitting on you. It wasn’t a conscious thing on my part, but I was coming on to you all the same.”

“I understand,” she said, disappointed because there was a part of her that had wanted to believe he’d been sincere in the things he’d said.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I know it wasn’t anything personal. It was instinctive—the ‘you’re a man, I’m a woman’ thing.”

Josh frowned as he sat back in his chair and subjected her to one of those scrutinizing looks. “Tell me something, Laura. Do you have a poor opinion of the male population in general or is it just me in particular?”

She caught the edge in his voice, wondered how she had managed to put it there. “Neither.”

“And you, Ms. Harte, can’t lie worth spit.”

“Now, just hang on a minute,” Laura shot back, bristling at his reply.

“No, you hang on,” he told her, and pinned her with a steely look. “What I was trying to say and have obviously done a damn poor job of it is that I’m attracted to you. You’re a smart, interesting woman and I like the fact that you live and breathe this business like I do. I’m also fascinated by the fact that you look at an old hotel like this one and see more than just dollar signs or a lucrative investment. You see the beauty and history that gives the place its soul, that makes it unique. Add to that the fact that you’re a beautiful, sexy woman, and I would have to be dead or have ice in my veins not to hit on you.”

His little speech took the wind right out of her sails. For a full five seconds Laura could do nothing more than stare at him. One thing she was sure of was that Josh Logan wasn’t dead and never in a million years would she even think of suggesting he had ice in his veins. Quite to the contrary, Josh struck her as a man who would be passionate in all aspects of his life.

“Obviously, I’ve shocked you.”

The amusement in his voice nipped at her pride, making her feel like an awkward girl unused to going toe-to-toe with a man like him. Keeping her voice cool, she said, “Not at all. I’m just not sure how to respond. I can’t decide it you were apologizing to me just now or taking another stab at trying to seduce me.”

“Neither. I was simply stating the facts.”

“Thank you for clearing that up for me,” she countered.

“Glad to do it. But there is one thing I think I should clarify.”

The gleam in his eyes, coupled with that handsome face, made her think of fallen angels. Still she asked, “And just what would that be?”

“While I may have admitted that I was hitting on you a few minutes ago, I haven’t tried to seduce you.”

Yet. The unspoken word hung between them like a live wire dangling in a storm, and Laura’s already taut nerves grew even more tense. “I didn’t realize there was a difference.”

The smile he gave her was pure sin. “Believe me, there is. I’d be happy to explain it to you or even demonstrate, if you’d like.”

“That’s all right. I’ll take your word for it,” she said, deciding she’d be wise not to pursue the discussion. While she didn’t consider herself a coward and had enjoyed the verbal volleying with him, she suspected Josh Logan was far better at this male-female thing than she was. So she held out her hand. “Truce?”

“Truce.” But instead of shaking her hand as she’d intended, Josh kissed it. And Laura felt the touch of his lips all the way to her toes.

“It looks like dessert’s arrived,” she said, withdrawing her hand. And while the waiter prepared Bananas Foster table-side, Laura chattered about the restaurant’s other sumptuous dessert offerings.

Once the flaming delicacy had been served and the waiter retreated, Laura decided she’d be wise to avoid any more of the sensual minefields they’d been stumbling across all evening by shifting to a safer topic. “Nick mentioned earlier that both your father and grandfather were hoteliers.”

“That’s right. Gramps was still in his twenties when he built his first hotel. By the time I was born, he owned more than a dozen.”

“And now?” she asked before spooning up a taste of the ice cream.

“Now there are thirty-one hotels that bear the Logan Hotels banner.”

“Very impressive,” Laura said. “How does it feel to be part of a dynasty?”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure dynasty is the word I’d use to describe us Logans.”

“I don’t see why not. You and your family have been very successful in a business that’s extremely competitive.”

“True,” he said as he shoveled up another spoon of ice cream coated with the thick brown-sugar sauce. “But it’s hard thinking of Logan Hotels as a dynasty when I’ve been brought up to think of it as our little family business.”

Laura arched a brow. “Somehow, I don’t think thirty-one hotels classifies as anyone’s little family business.”

“Put like that, I guess it does sound silly. But it’s what we do.”

“And obviously you do it very well.”

He shrugged. “Gramps was a good teacher. And my family’s been lucky. We’ve gotten most of the hotels we’ve gone after, but we’ve also worked hard to make things happen.”

“I imagine you have. Still, it must be nice…you and your family working together.”

“It’s both a blessing and a curse….”

While Josh spoke of the fun and the madness of working with his siblings and parents, Laura couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. She thought of her own life, the closeness she’d shared with her mother, and considered the irony of the profession she’d chosen. Not for the first time since discovering the truth about her father, she wondered how her mother had felt about her decision to pursue a career in hotel management. Thoughts of her father invariably brought back the phone call from Olivia Jardine. Despite the older woman’s insistence, her heritage wasn’t in New Orleans. Why would she even want to claim the heritage of a man who had not only abandoned his pregnant lover, but had denied her as well?

“Is something wrong?”

Laura jerked her attention to Josh. “No. Not at all. I was just thinking about the dynamics of your family. How many of you Logans are there?”

“In my immediate family, there are five of us kids. There are also a half-dozen aunts and uncles and about twenty or so cousins.”

For someone who’d had no one but her mother, it sounded like an army. “You have four brothers and sisters?”

“No brothers. Just sisters. Two older than me—Meredith and Rachel—and two who are younger—Hope and Faith. And they’re all nosy, bossy and intent on driving their only brother crazy.”

“Those are interesting descriptions of your sisters. Makes me wonder how they’d describe you.”

“As their handsome, charming and perfect brother, of course.”

Laura laughed at the outrageous claim.

“It’s true,” he assured her.

“Sure it is.”

“And it’s obvious that you didn’t grow up in a house of pesky siblings.”

“Afraid not. It was just me and my mother,” Laura informed him, enjoying the easy banter between them. She sampled the banana swimming in the thick, rich sauce.

“You poor, deprived kid. You missed out on all the fun stuff like fighting for a shot at the bathroom, and when you get it, nearly getting choked to death on all the perfumes and girly lotions in the air. Or waiting your turn for the shower and discovering there’s no hot water left.”

“You’re right. I can’t say I’ve had any of that fun.”

“And I don’t suppose you know what it’s like to find half of your shirts and shorts missing because the newest craze in female fashion is men’s wear, do you?”

Grinning, Laura shook her head, both amused and intrigued by the images he was painting of his siblings. “No, but my mom and I were the same size and she used to borrow my clothes sometimes. Does that count?”

“Not even close,” he informed her. “True sibling torture is to be a lowly red-shirted freshman on the football team and have the foxy senior-class cheerleader offer to drive you home after practice, and while the two of you are making out in her snazzy car in front of your house, your bratty little sisters are spying on you. Worse yet, they run inside and tattle on you to your parents.”

“You’re making that up,” Laura accused, unable to hold back her laughter.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. My sisters drove me crazy when we were kids, and now that we’re adults, they take turns trying to drive me nuts.”

“But you love them,” she said, hearing the affection in his voice, seeing it in his eyes.

He shrugged. “What choice do I have? They’re family. You have to love your family.”

Not always, Laura mused. She thought again of her father, of Andrew Jardine. For the first time since discovering the truth, she allowed herself to think of his children—her half brother and sisters. She couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if things had been different.

“What about you? What was it like for you growing up?” Josh asked.

Laura pulled her thoughts back to the present. “Compared to your childhood, mine was very quiet. My father…I never knew my father. It was just my mother and me.”

“Nick told me she died recently and that the two of you were close.”

“Yes. We were close. She was a wonderful woman—sort of a combination of mother, sister and best friend all rolled into one. She was so full of life. Always had a smile on her face. I don’t think she ever met a stranger, or at least no one that stayed a stranger, for long. Everyone adored her.”

“She sounds like a special lady.”

“She was. And she didn’t have it easy, raising me by herself. But she never complained, never once made me feel that I was a burden. I always felt loved, wanted. She was a very strong and brave woman.”

“A lot like her daughter, I suspect.”

Laura swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she murmured, and stared down at her dessert.

“You still miss her a lot, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Laura admitted.

He tipped up her chin with his finger so that she met his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel. As much as I complain about my family, I’d be lost without them.”

Which described exactly how she’d felt during these past months—lost. But it wasn’t just the physical absence of her mother. It was knowing that all those years she’d idolized a father who’d never existed, that she’d believed herself to be someone she wasn’t. “I still have my friends. And, of course, there’s Uncle Paul.”

“Uncle Paul?”

“Well, he’s not really my uncle. He’s…he was my mother’s attorney and oldest friend. I’ve known him all my life,” she informed him. “He certainly treats me like family, though. He’s always nagging at me to eat, to go out more, not to work too hard. Judging by the number of sons and nephews of associates that he’s been introducing to me lately on one pretext or another, I think he’s made it his mission to marry me off.”

“Is that what you want? To get married and settle down?”

Something in Josh’s tone had Laura look up from the spoon that she’d been licking. Excitement danced along her skin at the hunger in his eyes as he watched her. “I suppose so…someday. If the right man comes along.”

“And what type of man is the right man?”

“He’s someone li—” She’d been about to say, he was someone like her father had been. But her father hadn’t been the man she’d believed him to be. He’d been an irresponsible coward and liar. “He’s someone honest and trustworthy. Someone who lives up to his responsibilities, who does what’s right regardless of the cost to him.”

“Sounds like you’re holding out for a hero,” he said as he stole a spoonful of her Bananas Foster.

“I guess I am.” She noted his empty dish as he swiped another bite of her dessert. “What about you?”

“Me?” He paused, his spoon already poised for another swoop of her ice cream. “I’m not holding out for a hero.”

“Funny,” she said, and tapped his spoon aside. His expression fell as she zeroed in on the last of the dessert. So she divided the remaining bite in half. “I meant do you ever think about getting married and settling down?”

Polishing off the bite she’d left him, he grinned and said, “Not if I can help it.”

“Josh, it really isn’t necessary for you to walk me to my car,” Laura said as they approached the bank of elevators that led to the parking garage.

“Sure it is.” He pushed the button, signaling for the elevator. “It’s late. The garage will be dark and you’re alone.”

“And your point is?”

“Besides the fact that it would be ungentlemanly of me not to accompany you, walking through a dark garage alone at night doesn’t strike me as being particularly safe.”

“Why? Because I’m a woman?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered carefully, catching that slight edge in her voice and the defiant tilt of her chin.

“You didn’t have to. Obviously you think that if some…some thug managed to get past the hotel’s security—which is excellent, by the way—that I, being a mere woman, couldn’t possibly handle the situation.”

He was in stormy waters here, Josh told himself. Thanks to his sisters, he knew just how prickly a woman could get when she thought a man was being overprotective. “What I think is that any thug foolish enough to mistake you for a potential victim would end up getting his butt soundly kicked—by you.”

“You’re right. I would kick his butt,” she told him, the militant gleam in her eyes vanishing.

“I’m sure you would.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Laura replied. “So why don’t we just say goodbye now and you can go on back to your hotel room? I’ll be just fine.”

“I’m sure you will, but I won’t.” He hit the button for the elevator again, watched her wrinkle her brows. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m from the South,” he teased, exaggerating his drawl. “I’ve already gone against the code of the Southern gentleman by letting you convince me to just walk you to your car instead of seeing you home.”

“There isn’t any such code.”

“Of course there is,” Josh argued.

She eyed him skeptically. “Then how come I’ve never heard of it?”

“Because, my doubting Yankee, it’s a secret code that only men from the South know about.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Josh gestured for her to precede him, then followed her inside. “What floor?”

“Five,” she said. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that business about a secret code?”

He punched the number on the pad and the elevator doors slid shut, enclosing them in the small space. “Do you think I would make up such a thing?”

“What I think, Mr. Logan, is that you’re very good at spinning tales and turning on that Southern charm to get your way.”

Josh gave her a forlorn look. “There you go, slinging those arrows again.”

When Laura burst into laughter, he couldn’t help grinning in return. He liked the sound of her laughter, he realized. Almost as much as he liked the way her eyes sparkled and the way the dimple winked in her left cheek when she smiled. Suddenly itching to trace the tempting curve of her mouth with his finger, he shoved his hands into his pockets. The truth was there wasn’t much about Laura Harte that he didn’t like, Josh admitted, as he felt the sexual sparks that had been licking at him like flames all evening blaze into full-blown lust.

Lust he could handle, Josh told himself as the elevator continued its ascent. Back in New Orleans when he’d first seen Laura’s picture, he’d anticipated the sexual chemistry. She was a beautiful woman, and he’d always had a healthy appreciation of women. Thanks to the dossier he’d read on her and what details Olivia had given him, his curiosity about the unknown Jardine heiress had been peaked long before he’d ever met her. So neither his attraction nor his curiosity about Laura had come as a surprise. What had been surprising was that he genuinely liked Laura Harte—not just the attractive package, but the woman herself. It was a complication that he hadn’t counted on when he’d agreed to Olivia’s plan. And it was the reason, he acknowledged silently, that all afternoon and evening he had put off telling Laura the real purpose of his visit—Olivia Jardine and the Princess.

Way to go, Logan. For a man who prided himself on never allowing personal feelings to blindside him in business, he had screwed up royally this time. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to come clean with Laura and still salvage whatever was happening between them. The elevator stopped and he was grateful to be able to escape the intimacy of the confined space.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Laura said as she turned to face him.

“Where are you parked?”

“On the other side of the garage. But you don’t have to—”

“I thought we’d already discussed this,” he said lightly. “Which direction?”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Funny. I don’t remember any discussion.”

“Sure you do. You agreed I would walk you to your car and save myself from getting booted out of the Southern gentleman’s union.”

“There is no such union,” she said, her lips twitching with laughter again.

“Are you willing to risk it and have my disgrace hanging over your head?”

“Whoever came up with the description of charming to describe Southern men forgot to mention that they were stubborn, too.” She sighed. “Come on. My car’s this way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Josh said, and fell into step beside her. With his hand at her back, they started through the cavernous garage in the direction she’d indicated.

As they walked past row after row of cars of various makes and models, Josh was conscious of the shadows shifting along the garage’s walls and the echo of Laura’s heels as they clicked on the concrete flooring.

She stopped in front of a sleek blue convertible. “This is me,” she said, and after unlocking the door with the remote on her key ring, she turned to him. “Thank you again for dinner.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed an evening so much.”

“Me, too,” she murmured.

The lighting was poor, but bright enough for him to see the glint of silver in her blue eyes, the satin smoothness of her skin. Desire kicked him in the gut as he stared at her lush mouth. He wanted to sample that ripe mouth, had been eager to taste it all evening.

“It’s getting late. I really should be going. So, I guess this is goodbye,” she said, and extended her hand.

Josh looked at the hand she held out to him. The smart thing for him to do was to shake hands, make arrangements to see her in the morning so that he could tell her about Olivia and say good-night.

“Josh?”

To hell with being smart, he decided. Going with impulse, he pulled her to him. Against him. Into him. He heard the quick hitch of her breath, saw her eyes turn cloudy. And then he swooped down and took her mouth.

She tasted just the way he’d imagined—hot and sweet, soft and strong. She made some primitive sound low in her throat. Protest or plea, Josh wasn’t sure which. He only knew that the desire for her that he’d managed to keep at simmer all afternoon and evening was now storming to a boiling point. And it showed no signs of slowing down.

Fusing his mouth to hers, he took.

So did she.

Tongues danced, mated. He filled himself with her scent, with her taste, with the explosion of her response. Still it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He tore his mouth free, speared his fingers into the fiery hair that framed her face. When her lashes fluttered and she stared up at him out of eyes that were the color of smoke, desire delivered another one-two punch to his system. He would have to pay for this lapse in reasoning later. Josh didn’t have any doubt about that. But for now, for now he couldn’t bring himself to care what retribution awaited him—not when the taste, the scent, the feel of Laura in his arms was a fire burning hot in his blood.

Using his teeth, he nipped at the soft skin of her lips, her jaw, her neck. He sloped his hands down her sides, shaped her waist, her hips. And when she arched her body, pressed herself against his arousal, Josh groaned.

“This is insane,” she whispered, her hands racing over his shoulders, down his back, setting off new fires wherever she touched.

“Yes.” It was insane. He knew mixing business and pleasure was asking for trouble. And considering the stakes, to do so now with Laura could prove disastrous. He didn’t dare risk it. But oh how he wanted to. How he wished he could just say to hell with it and take what he wanted, what she was offering now.

“I should go,” she murmured against his lips even as she wound her arms around his neck, drove her fingers through his hair.

“All right.” He choked out the words and started to step back.

Laura yanked him by the hair and pulled his mouth back down to hers.

Hunger whipped through him lightning quick, driving every thought from his mind save one—Laura. He feasted on her mouth, groaned as her teeth scraped his lip. But her mouth wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Breaking off the kiss, he captured her face between his palms. “I want you,” he confessed. “I’ve wanted you from the minute I set eyes on you.”

“I know. I know,” she said, her breathing as ragged as his. “It’s crazy. We hardly know each other.”

“Doesn’t matter.” All that mattered was this. All that mattered was now. Blinded by need, he reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. And he froze at the grumble of a car’s engine.

Sanity came slamming back to him in a rush as the headlights from an approaching car flashed on the wall behind them. Laura stiffened in his arms as the car turned off toward the exit lane and disappeared into the belly of the garage. When it was silent once more, Josh dragged in several breaths. He took a step back. “Laura, I—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. She sucked in a few breaths of her own. “Whatever you do, don’t you dare apologize.”

“I have no intention of apologizing—especially since I’m not the least bit sorry.”

“I…um, right. That’s good, then. I guess.”

Unexpectedly moved by the flush of pink to her cheeks and the distress swimming in her eyes, something inside of him shifted, softened. “Laura, it was only a kiss.”

“I know that.” She looked down at the ground as though it held all the answers to the mysteries of the universe. She looked everywhere and at everything except him.

He tipped her chin up so that he could see her eyes. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re two healthy adults who are attracted to each other.”

“I know. It’s just that I’m not very good at this sort of thing.”

“At kissing? You could have fooled me,” he teased.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, more color flooding her cheeks. “I meant that I don’t usually end up crawling all over a man I’ve just met.”

“That’s good to hear, since I don’t usually end up necking in hotel parking lots with assistant general managers, either.”

She laughed as he’d hoped she would, then eased back a step. “I’d better go.”

Josh stooped down, retrieved her keys where they had fallen just behind her foot. He held them out to her. But when she reached for the keys, he held on to them. He stared at her, wished that things could be different, that she wasn’t Olivia Jardine’s granddaughter and that his regaining ownership of the Princess was not tied to her.

“Josh? You’re going to have to give me my keys. I need them to get home,” she said, her voice light, teasing.

“I want to see you again. Will you meet me for breakfast in the morning? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The smile slipped from her lips as she reclaimed her keys. “Listen, Josh, there’s no point in me denying that I’m attracted to you after what just happened. And I know Logan Hotels has a reputation of being a great firm to work for. But Nick Baldwin is not only my boss, he’s my friend. I thought he was your friend, too,” she said, her voice as cool as her eyes. “So if you want to see me again just so you can offer me a job, I can save us both some time and embarrassment and tell you right now that I’m not interested.”

“Nick is my friend,” he advised her, hurt that she would think he would stab his pal in the back by trying to steal his employee. “My wanting to see you isn’t about business. It’s personal.”

“I—I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to jump to that conclusion. I had no right to assume—”

He cut off her apology with a quick, hard kiss. “You had every right to jump to conclusions and assume just what you did. Now, is eight o’clock for breakfast too early?”

“No. But I have a meeting then. Could we make it for nine instead?”

“Nine o’clock is fine. I’ll meet you in the hotel’s dining room.”

“All right,” she said.

After opening her car door for her, he waited until Laura had started the engine and strapped on her seat belt. Then he tapped on her window. Frowning, she eased down the car’s window. “Did you forget something?”

“Just this.” Leaning through the window, he gave her a long, slow kiss. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she whispered.

For a long time after the taillights of the convertible had disappeared, Josh stood in the dimly lit garage and thought about the explosive kiss they’d shared. “Dammit, Logan,” he muttered as he stalked off toward the elevator. Laura Harte was forbidden fruit—Olivia Jardine’s granddaughter and the key to his regaining the Princess. He had no business lusting after her because lust had a way of messing up a man’s mind. So what if she kissed like a dream and just thinking about her had him rock-hard and aching? He’d get over it. No way did he intend to let a few hormones stand in the way of his plans. Laura Harte was a means to an end. Nothing more.

But later, much, much later, while he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, he kept remembering ghost-blue eyes dark with desire, the feel of satin-soft lips, the scent of flowers and sunshine.

Six

“Thanks to the tourist traffic generated by the wine crush in the Valley, our occupancy rate for October is running at ninety-five percent. That puts us up nearly ten percent over last year at this same time period.”

Laura focused her attention on Tina Sawyer, the sharp brunette that she’d hired eight months ago as the hotel’s director of marketing. The other woman had been doing a fabulous job, which was evident from her report to the department heads at the hotel’s weekly meeting.

“Our holiday campaign blitz is already under way and the print ads are scheduled to start running on the first of November,” Tina continued.

Try as she might, Laura found herself only half listening to Tina’s report, her thoughts once again drifting to Josh. Despite a restless night in which she’d warned herself repeatedly not to read anything into that wild kiss that the two of them had shared, Laura hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind.

“I want to see you again. It’s personal.”

A burst of longing arrowed through her as she recalled the husky tone of his voice, the hot gleam in his eyes. He’d looked at her as though he’d wanted to swallow her whole. Biting down on her lower lip, Laura acknowledged if only to herself that for one crazy moment last night she had wanted him. And what did that say about her? While she would like to believe it was the loneliness she’d felt these past months that had caused her to react so out of the norm, deep down inside she wasn’t at all sure. She could imagine what her mother would have to say on the subject—no doubt something romantic about fate or destiny, Laura thought absently. A sharp pang hit her as reality came crashing back. She’d never know what her mother would have thought of Josh because her mother was dead. The jarring reminder sobered her. As Nick came to his feet, she realized she’d been in la-la land over Josh for most of the meeting. Silently, Laura promised herself to make up for the lapse in attention once Josh was gone.

“I think that about covers it for this morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you,” Nick said from his position at the head of the conference room table. “Have a super day, and as always, if you have any problems, you know where my office is.”

Amid the scrape of chairs and buzz of conversation, Laura stood and turned toward Tina, who was busy filing her notes away in a folder. “That was a good report, Tina. Very concise and informative. You’re doing a great job.”

“Thanks,” the other woman said, a mile-wide smile on her face. “I just hope Mr. Baldwin is pleased.”

“Mr. Baldwin is very pleased,” Nick said as he joined them.

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