“Thank you, Mac. For the dance, for tonight, for everything,” Ashley said breathlessly

He reached up and gripped her elbow, his fingers warm and strong. The consistent possessiveness of his touch thrilled her. No man had ever made her feel the way he did.

“You’re welcome, Ash. And you were right. It wasn’t so bad.”

“See, I told you—”

He leaned close to cut her off. “Mostly because I had the chance to hold you in my arms.”

Before she could decide if he was simply being complimentary out of politeness or if the shadows darkening his topaz gaze held something more, something closer to what she was feeling, she had to step ahead of him to avoid the waiters scrambling to clear the dozens of large round tables. But she had no doubt there was something between them.

Something very real, very compelling…and very dangerous.

Dear Reader,

It’s hot outside. So why not slip into something more comfortable, like a delicious Mills & Boon American Romance novel? This month’s selections are guaranteed to take your mind off the weather and put it to something much more interesting.

We start things off with Debbi Rawlins’s By the Sheikh’s Command, the final installment of the very popular BRIDES OF THE DESERT ROSE series. Our bachelor prince finally meets his match in a virginal beauty who turns the tables on him in a most delightful way. Rising star Kara Lennox begins a new family-connected miniseries, HOW TO MARRY A HARDISON, and these sexy Texas bachelors will make your toes tingle. You’ll meet the first Hardison brother in Vixen in Disguise—a story with a surprising twist.

The talented Debra Webb makes a return engagement to Mills & Boon American Romance this month with The Marriage Prescription, a very emotional story involving characters you’ve met in her incredibly popular COLBY AGENCY series from Mills & Boon Intrigue. Also back this month is Leah Vale with The Rich Girl Goes Wild, a not-to-be-missed billionaire-in-disguise story.

Here’s hoping you enjoy all we have to offer this month at Mills & Boon American Romance. And be sure to stop by next month when Cathy Gillen Thacker launches her brand-new family saga, THE DEVERAUX LEGACY.

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Mills & Boon American Romance

The Rich Girl Goes Wild

Leah Vale

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my mom, because she listened to each and every one of my stories, or at least did a darn good job pretending.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Having never met an unhappy ending she couldn’t mentally “fix,” LEAH VALE believes writing romance novels is the perfect job for her. A Pacific Northwest native with a B.A. in communications from the University of Washington, she lives in Portland, Oregon, with her wonderful husband, two adorable sons and a golden retriever. She is an avid skier, scuba diver and “do-over” golfer. While having the chance to share her “happy endings from scratch” with the world is a dream come true, dinner generally has come premade from the store. Leah would love to hear from her readers, and can be reached at P.O. Box 91337, Portland, OR 97291, or at http://www.leahvale.com.

Books by Leah Vale

MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE

924—THE RICH MAN’S BABY

936—THE RICH GIRL GOES WILD

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Bike shorts are padded, right?

The inane question was the only coherent thought Ashley Rivers could form, as she stood frozen in her descent of the grand, freestanding staircase in her family’s mansion.

Granted, the fact that a strange man in full bicycling gear with a bright yellow mountain bike hoisted on his shoulder had strolled through the front door first thing in the morning, without so much as a knock or call of hello, was shocking enough. But for that man’s skin-tight biking shorts and mud-caked short-sleeved Lycra shirt to hug his big, muscular body the way it did…well, it was little wonder Ashley found herself growing warm in her cream Chanel suit and incapable of thought. She practically gaped as he angled his body, well-defined muscles bunching and stretching, to close one of the oversize, dark oak, front doors behind him.

Having always preferred polish and sophistication, not to mention proper manners, Ashley should have been repulsed. She wasn’t.

Far from it.

The mud splatters and dark whisker stubble on his square jaw enhanced his rugged, chiseled features the way the best makeup enhanced a woman’s looks, and had, no doubt, been much easier to acquire.

He glanced up, his gaze as startling and disconcerting as his unexpected entrance and attire. His hazel eyes were the exact golden-brown of the sun-lightened streaks in his dark-brown hair hanging beneath his bicycle helmet to his collar.

Then he smiled at her.

Ashley almost dropped her day planner. His even, white teeth, and a broad grin that created deep grooves in his cheeks and a warmth in his eyes gave his looks the impact of a backboard shattering slam-dunk. The light in his gaze increased to an unmistakable, sizzling heat when he looked her over from head to foot with obvious deliberation, pausing significantly on her breasts and legs.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous.” His deep voice rumbled its way up to her and made her heart do something it had never done before in her entire thirty years—skip a beat.

“Good—” Her voice sounded horribly strangled. She cleared her throat and started again. “Good morning.” The ridiculous tenor of her voice was enough to shake her out of her hormonally induced stupor.

Her brain working again, she flipped open her day planner with practiced efficiency and scanned the day’s schedule. Nothing about her receiving anything via messenger. Besides, what sort of messenger let himself into the house?

Belatedly realizing she should be concerned, she leaned toward the rail and checked to see if Donavon, their houseman, was anywhere in sight. And while it was barely past seven in the morning, surely someone else, perhaps her grandmother, or her only sibling, Harrison, and his wife and son, should be up and about.

An early riser, her father would normally be in his den right off the large foyer, occupying himself with the management of the Rivers family’s huge portfolio, since he’d turned over the running of Two Rivers Industries to her older brother six months ago. But Dad was out of town, playing host to a charity golf tournament she herself had put together, and wouldn’t be home until next weekend.

Ashley returned her attention to the man eyeing her with far too much undisguised interest. Used to more subtle appreciation, she grew uncomfortable. The last man to so blatantly admire her, Roger Benton, had actually been calculating her net worth when they first met at a charity wine auction. She was, after all, the unattached daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Oregon. The ache of a heart that had been slow to realize Roger’s true focus was a potent reminder to steer clear of such men.

She allowed herself the indulgence of the slightest frown. Crude gold digger or not, it would be impolite to scowl. Determined to be the mannerly, devoted daughter her father had once assumed her incapable of being, Ashley strove to never be impolite. “May I help you?”

The man glanced at his bike, then shrugged it off his shoulder. “Nah. Got it handled. This bike’s my baby.”

His baby’s knobby, rubber wheels bounced when they hit the foyer’s once pristine black and white marble tiles and sent mud splattering as far as the round, carved marble table with its large flower arrangement in the center of the foyer. The pale yellow day lilies that made up the bulk of the arrangement bobbed as they were soundly decorated.

She pursed her lips and pulled her pen from its sleeve in the day planner. In the 8:00 to 8:15 a.m. space she wrote:

Reorder foyer floral arrangement.

She looked up in time to see him prop his filthy bike against the mahogany wainscoting. Her frown deepened despite herself. Her father loved this house, having been built by his own father to provide a home for all the members of the Rivers family, present and future. While her father accepted his grandson’s wear and tear on it with surprising good humor, he wouldn’t appreciate her allowing a stranger to mar so much as an inch of the place.

Before she could suggest that his bike was better suited to waiting outside on the circular driveway, the man said, “I could use some breakfast, though. Nothing like an early-morning off-road 20k—not counting the trek back up the gully I slipped down, of course—to get a guy’s appetite up.” He gave her another all-too-thorough look. “Though there are some things I’m always hungry for.”

Ashley blinked. Surely he couldn’t be implying—

An unaccustomed heat blossomed in her cheeks. She pulled in her chin. She never blushed. Never. Even when she’d found her almost-fiancé, the man she’d loved, in bed with another woman and overheard his plans to use her for her money she hadn’t blushed. Shook with so much anger and humiliation she’d barely been able to get the words out to end their relationship, yes, but she hadn’t blushed. Now, especially, she always made sure she was far too well prepared to be so affected.

The fact that this unscheduled visitor could have such an effect on her set her in motion.

Clutching her open day planner to her chest like the shield it was, she came the rest of the way down the stairs, rounded the foyer table and firmly asked, “May I ask who, exactly, you are? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.” Though she strove to keep her tone polite, she was certain he’d catch the censure.

After all, he had simply walked into her family’s home and appeared to be making himself comfortable. While making her uncomfortable. She would have been notified if any early-morning, 20k-minded visitors were expected. And who in their right mind would enter someone else’s home in such a muddy state?

If he didn’t have an excellent explanation for his presence he was about to find himself out the door and glad for his padding.

He stepped toward her, his expression definitely hungry, his sensuous lips curled salaciously.

Ashley violently wished she’d stayed on the stairs. While he had looked big from above, he was enormous on the same level. Without heels, she was considered on the tall side at five feet nine inches, but even with the sling-back, two-inch heels she was wearing this morning she had to crane her neck back to look him in the face.

She also had to marshal all of her old-world girls’ school etiquette training not to fidget under the intense appreciation in his gaze, reminding herself of the unmalleable Three P’s—Propriety, Presentation, and Principle—that had turned her into a woman her father could be proud of, one he would love. Normally the reminder helped, but even Roger had never looked at her with as much heat during their eight months together, and her own temperature rose with alarming velocity.

While she always took care to look her best so no one would doubt her capabilities, she had a hard time believing she looked that good. So there was no reason for her to be so…so…affected by this man’s attention.

A corner of his mouth curled upward and she felt an answering tightening in her stomach. “Oh, if we’d met, sunshine, there definitely would have been pleasure, and you’d remember it.”

His deep, rich and extremely provocative tone, not to mention his words, were like a warm, moist finger traveling up her spine, and it was all she could do not to shudder in the oddest sort of pleasure.

She took a hasty, and regrettably obvious, step back and pretended to consult her schedule while she struggled to gather her normally reliable wits about her. This man had the unique ability to unsettle her as easily as his filthy bike had muddied the foyer. Because her role in life had been to keep everything settled since her mother’s death nearly three years ago, she needed to regain her control and send the fellow on his way. But first, in the 7:45 to 8:00 a.m. block she wrote:

Consult with Donavon regarding household security.

Slipping the pen back where it belonged and closing the day planner with a snap, she said, “Yes, well…” She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders and offered him her hand. “I’m Ashley Rivers. And you are…?”

“Charmed.” He enveloped her hand in his big, warm grasp and gently, with unbelievable sensuality, squeezed. “And enthralled.” One of his rather wicked looking dark brows arched slightly beneath the shadow of his bike helmet. “Maybe even a little smitten. But I am most definitely—” he regained the step she’d placed between them and leaned toward her “—starved.”

For the barest of seconds Ashley thought he might kiss her. The warm, minty scent of his breath unaccountably overrode the impact of his mud smell, and instead of skipping a beat, this time her heart raced in expectation—something else it never did.

He didn’t kiss her, though. He pulled back, released her hand and asked, “Where’s the kitchen?” before strolling off toward the long hall that paralleled the large foyer and led to the back of the house, his molded-sole biking shoes making an unusual clack on the marble floor.

Her hand trembling ever so slightly despite her best effort, Ashley reopened her day planner to the day’s date, took out her pen and in the 7:15 to 7:45 a.m. block wrote:

Take extended cold shower.

MAC BEAT AS HASTY a retreat as he dared from the unexpected and potentially disastrous complication to his plan.

Damn it. How could he have forgotten Harrison had a sister? Because while he’d heard her name, he’d never met her, that’s how. No man with a pulse could forget meeting Ashley Rivers.

Holy haggis, the woman was Grace Kelly, part two. Polished and poised on the outside, with her golden-blond hair pulled into a perfect bun, her flawless, even features accented with just the right amount of makeup and her jewelry obviously expensive but not overdone.

Yet the spark in the blue-green depths of her beautiful eyes…he knew in his gut after being in her presence all of five minutes that on the inside she was as strong as steel and just as fiery when heated. The sensual possibilities made him hot.

But she would rat him out in a heartbeat.

She was a creature of her world. A creature he knew all too well. He shook his head in disgust, the bitterness he’d been nursing these past weeks bubbling. He’d learned his lesson.

Following his nose to the kitchen, Mac lengthened his stride when he heard the click-click of Ashley’s heels as she came after him. No way would a woman like her let him get away with an entrance—and exit—like that, not without pressing for details.

Right now he couldn’t supply any. Her looks had thrown him for a loop when he’d come through the door, and instead of doing the simple thing by supplying her with a random name, all he could think to do was come on to her. A natural enough reaction, he supposed, considering how her tailored cream suit coat accentuated the fullness of her breasts and her slim waist. The matching, above-the-knee length skirt drew the eye to her curvy, long legs right down to her cream, sling-back pumps. Man, what a view he’d had while she’d been up on the stairs.

Judging by her pink-cheeked, wide-eyed reaction to his mild flirting, Miss Ashley might be in need of a little excitement in her life. He certainly was never averse to excitement. Had sworn to make it his goal in life, he thought grimly. Though the fact that making her blush had made him feel like he had scored a goal in a World Cup soccer match wasn’t so bad, either.

Coming up with any old name but his own and a decent reason for invading the Rivers estate would have been smarter, but a more appealing idea formed in his sleep-deprived brain. Keeping Harrison’s obviously repressed society sister flustered would be an excellent way to keep her from figuring out who he was.

While the confining upper-class social circles he was obliged to inhabit were on the opposite coast, based on what Harrison had said about his younger sister’s big-time charity pursuits, Mac didn’t doubt for a second that Ashley Rivers knew the name Wilder Huntington MacDougal V. And why he should be in New York suffering under the glare of scandal instead of hiding out on the outskirts of quaint little Plainview, Oregon.

He’d had a hell of a time slipping away from the tabloid press, and the last thing he wanted was some society-page sweetheart dropping a dime on him.

“Excuse me, er, sir,” Ashley called in such a commanding yet exceedingly polite tone he stopped his trek down the never-ending, sun-washed hall lined with French doors on one side and noteworthy works of art on the other. He turned slowly so he could control his urge to tell her to go away.

He couldn’t believe she was still being so polite. By now, any of the MacDougal women would have called him a colorful name, tackled him and sat on his head until he came clean about who he was and why he was there.

The flustered look on Ashley’s beautiful face as she screeched to a halt out of his reach almost made him take pity on her. Almost.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to insist that you tell me who you are and what business you have here in my home, at this hour, and in that—” she waved her thick, black leather, antiquated day planner at his grubby riding gear “—that…state.”

Realizing he still wore his bicycle helmet, he slowly peeled it from his head and shook out the hair he hadn’t taken the time to have cut before he’d bailed out of New York. He needed to come up with a story to get her off his back, but he was distracted by how tightly she’d pulled her gorgeous golden hair into its bun at the base of her slender, elegant neck.

He stepped toward her. The urge to free her hair seized him. Which was ridiculous. Delectable women were as common as Blue Chip stocks and bonds in and around the MacDougal clan. And he’d never before felt the need to start a campaign to free repressed hair. Nonetheless, his fingers itched.

He leaned closer, catching a whiff of her delicate scent, a designer fragrance he recognized but couldn’t name. Admiring her willingness to stand her ground even though he deliberately crowded her, he said, “Do you like omelets? I make a killer omelet. Let me make you a great big, fluffy one and we can get to know each other the only way a man and woman should. Early in the morning, the spring sun shining through the windows after a long night…”

She blushed vividly.

Gooooaaaal!

But since he had had a long night—flying the red-eye, waiting forever to pick up his mountain bike and other stuff from the oversize baggage check, loading the rented SUV to the gills and arriving at his college buddy’s house so early he’d decided to go for a ride through the woods surrounding the estate rather than disturb anyone—he was too beat to think of anything else to say. And she looked as if she was about to scream for the police. Politely, of course.

Cursing his idiocy for not having come up with some sort of plan beyond hiding out at Harrison’s until after Stephanie’s manipulative lies became apparent and their families stopped planning a shotgun wedding, he stuck out his hand and said on a sigh, “My friends call me Mac.”

A freshly dried dirt clod lost its grip on his arm hairs and dropped with an ominous thunk between them.

She eyed his dirty hand, her posture stiff as a board, but her genetically engineered, flawless manners had her reaching for his hand. He engulfed her fair, slender and delicate hand in his big, dirty paw.

Just when their skin touched and the electricity he’d felt when she’d introduced herself earlier sparked and sent heat straight to his lap, he was hailed from behind.

“Wild Man! You’re here,” Harrison exclaimed.

Thank the god of good bagpipes. At last, a man whose brain might actually function around Miss Ashley Rivers.

HER HEART THUNDERED the way it had the last time this Mac person had taken her hand in his, and Ashley jumped at her brother’s greeting. She tried to end the handshake that wasn’t really a handshake, more a handholding, but Mac, or Wild Man, or whoever he was, wouldn’t let go. When he turned toward her brother, she sent Harrison a pointed look.

Harrison raised a golden brow, took in her trapped hand, then grinned at the other man. “I see you’ve met my sister. The hostess with the mostest.”

Not sharing her brother’s sense of humor, she said, “Actually, I haven’t been able to get him to tell me who he—”

Her captor turned his attention back to her and pumped her hand vigorously, a strangely relieved look shining in his hazel eyes. “The name’s Mac Wild. Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

Ashley had never heard a more fitting moniker in her life, especially compared to her brother’s polished, though just as big and handsome, looks. She couldn’t imagine Mr. Wild having any other name, with his unruly hair, his full-tilt enjoyment of life obvious in his muscular body, his animal magnetism that gave him such a sensuous presence…

Blinking, she forced herself to focus.

She racked her brain, but the name didn’t ring a bell. And she never forgot a name. His face did look vaguely familiar, but with his model good looks, she was probably thinking of some guy in a sports drink ad.

Giving a sudden, yet no less subtle tug, she extracted her hand from his and avoided his reflexive grab. Grateful her hand came away free of mud, she asked, “How do you know my brother, Mr. Wild?”

“Call me Mac.”

Harrison answered her question as he slung an arm around Mac’s shoulders. “Harvard.”

Ashley struggled to hide her surprise. Mac Wild looked more like a graduate of the X-Games than her older brother’s alma mater.

Mr. Wild cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it’s surprising what they’ll let on campus.” He raised an elbow and gave Harrison a rather rough-looking jostle.

Her brother let out a grunt then exclaimed, “Oh, that’s right. Yes, it is.”

Knowing her brother’s nonjudgmental nature would lead him to befriend a janitor as easily as a fellow summa cum laude—or fall in love with and marry a wonderful girl with a very different background than theirs—Ashley refrained from inquiring about his friend’s field of study.

Another dirt clod dropped from Mr. Wild’s person and made Harrison retract his arm and check the underside of his no longer entirely white dress shirtsleeve.

Ashley struggled to contain a baleful sigh. “What brings you to the estate this morning?”

“Other than omelets with a pretty girl? Well, let me see…” His words trailed off as he glanced at Harrison.

Harrison gave a slight nod. “Mac’s going to help me with the Dover Creek Mill modernization.”

“Really,” Ashley murmured as she opened her day planner, surprised at herself for having missed one of Harrison’s business contacts. Her father counted on her to be on top of such things. Heaven forbid Mac had been around six months ago when she’d coordinated Harrison and Juliet’s wedding. She’d be mortified to have failed to invite him, because clearly he and her brother were on good terms. And as he had intimated earlier, she would have remembered if she’d seen him at the ceremony, whether she’d met him or not. Mac Wild was not a man easily forgotten.

Harrison regained her attention by slapping Mac on the shoulder, dislodging more filth. “That’s right. Mac, here, or better known as Wild Man at Harvard, is my—” he gave his friend a head-to-toe look “—my Environmental Specialist. As a favor to me, he’s going to do an impact study of the changes I want to make at the mill.”

Ashley nodded, not surprised that Mac Wild would make a career out of something involving dirt. The man clearly was not averse to the stuff. His choice of transportation to what undoubtedly was an arranged, early-morning, casual meeting with Harrison before her brother left for his trip made sense for an earth-conscious guy. As far as Mr. Wild’s taking free rein with the Rivers’s home and hearth…Perhaps he felt his friendship with Harrison gave him greater privileges.

She heaved a sigh of relief. Not only was his presence explained, but her contact with the man would be minimal. Thank goodness. The last thing she needed right in the middle of planning Harrison’s two-year-old son Nathan’s christening was Mac Wild’s disturbing come-ons. Her hands were blessedly full as it was keeping her family’s traditions thriving and everyone from floundering beneath their social and philanthropic obligations, as her mother had done before she lost her battle with cancer.

Her gaze involuntarily flicked past the front of Mac’s bike shorts and her suit became too warm once again for the mid-May morning. Yes, it was a good thing she wouldn’t be subjected to Mr. Wild’s presence often. She didn’t have the time nor inclination for distraction.

After living her entire life in Harrison’s towering shadow, she wasn’t about to jeopardize her father’s notice and approval by losing her focus now.

And a man, especially one who could very well be cut from the same cloth as Roger, wasn’t worth the risk.

Or the heartache. Discovering Roger had been using her had rocked her to her soul. She would never, ever, open herself up to that kind of hurt again.

“Oh, hey, Ash.” Harrison drew her gaze. “I know you’ll want to kill me for springing this on you—” To his friend he gave a conspiratorial aside, “She runs a tight ship, and likes to do that whole gift-basket, arrange-for-all-your-needs-in-advance type of thing.”

Mac gave a sage nod in response, an oddly knowing look in his hazel eyes as his gaze traveled over her.

A sense of doom gripped Ashley.

To her, Harrison said, “But ol’ Wild Man is going to be our houseguest for oh…” He raised questioning brows at Mac.

Mac’s gaze fastened on hers, a predatory gleam making his eyes glow to a deep topaz. He neatly supplied, “No less than a month.”

Ashley dug her nails into the pliable leather of her day planner but forced her expression to remain pleasant. She silently chanted the Three P’s again.

Propriety, Presentation, and Principle.

“That’s right,” Harrison concurred. “No less than a month. Since he’s doing this study as a favor to me, and all, he’ll be staying here with us.”

Mac reached out and pried one of Ashley’s hands off her day planner, sending her body temperature through the roof. “And it’ll be enjoyable, I’m sure,” he practically purred before bringing her knuckles to his wonderfully sensual lips for a soft-as-you-please kiss.

For the first time in her highly refined adult life, Ashley wondered just how cold the McKenzie River, running smooth and deep at the edge of the house’s vast lawn, was this time of year. And if it would be cold enough to help her resist the temptation of Mac Wild.

Chapter Two

Mac watched Ashley’s perfectly bowed, lightly glossed and achingly kissable lips pucker ever so slightly before she made a visible effort to shift her features into a pleased expression. If he hadn’t been staring at her mouth he would have missed it. He pulled a sardonic grin.

Then he realized that for the exceedingly proper Miss Ashley to show even that much displeasure meant she must be heaving with it on the inside. Now, he knew he wasn’t that distasteful. Mud washed off, for saints’ sake.

She pulled herself up and flashed him a brilliant smile that he suspected would have knocked him to his knees if it had been a little warmer around the edges and had reached her deep-lake blue eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t know in advance about your arrival. You would have received a much warmer—er—hospitable reception.”

He smirked. Things certainly didn’t need to get any warmer between them. “No worries, sunshine. The less pretenses, the better, as far as I’m concerned.” The pretenses of dating had landed him in this nightmare in the first place.

His mood sobering, he turned to Harrison. “Do you have a minute, or are you on your way to the office? I know you’re the big boss, now, but you do still work Fridays, right?” They needed to get their story down so no other surprises threatened this so-far perfect escape from Stephanie and her attempt to use outright lies and scandal to land herself a MacDougal.

Harrison put a hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Boy, you must be tired. I’m not going in to work today. Remember I told you that Juliet, Nathan and I are heading down to the amusement parks in southern California for two weeks? I couldn’t wait any longer to take my little man to Disneyland.”

Mac ran a hand down his cheek, wiping off dirt stuck to his whiskers. “That’s right.” He was tired. Had been since he’d discovered his family intended to use the situation with Stephanie to force him to settle down.

He couldn’t. His heart was seared with the oath he’d made on the worst day of his life, and he wasn’t about to break it for the likes of Stephanie Thorton-Stuart. Even though Harrison was leaving, Mac had come anyway because he wasn’t here for a social visit. He was here to hide.

Thankfully not noticing Mac’s seriousness, Harrison chuckled. “I think Juliet is about as excited as Nathan. She’s never been there before, so she’s vowed to hit every attraction in the place. Nathan will probably sleep through half of it.”

A surprisingly soul-wrenching envy that his friend’s true love was alive and kicking broadsided Mac. Only practice kept him from doubling over with the ache. His throat constricting, he asked, “Nathan’s…two now?”

Still oblivious, Harrison grinned and his chest swelled up, definitely the proud pop. “Two and cute as all get out. We don’t have to leave until later this morning, so you’ll get to meet Nat and his gorgeous mama. Assuming, of course, they ever get their act together and come down here for breakfast.”

Ashley, who had been watching the conversation with a look that left no doubt that the wheels were noisily turning within her beautiful and clearly not so empty head, offered, “Why don’t I go up and inform Juliet about your guest while you take Mr. Wild to the kitchen. He claims to be in dire need of sustenance.”

Pushing away the pain he’d lived with for over a decade, Mac regrouped and returned her volley. “I’m in dire need of a lot of things, sunshine.”

She smiled, but it was still tight around the edges. “Harrison will take care of you, I’m sure.”

He wanted to say that there was no way in hell Harrison could take care of what she put him in mind of, but she turned crisply and headed back toward the front of the house. Mac settled for a soft whistle through his teeth and murmured, “Holy haggis.”

Harrison laughed and pulled him by the arm in the opposite direction, saying in a soft voice, “Come on, Mac. Better men than you have tried to get a rise out of that one.”

Unable to take his eyes off the sexy sway of Ashley’s retreating backside beneath her straight, cream skirt, Mac said, “But you know I’ve never been able to resist a challenge, Harrison old man, especially if I’m told it can’t be done.”

“Yes, but Ash is in a class by herself when it comes to single-mindedness.”

Mac jerked to a stop just inside the large, French Provincial-style kitchen. Maybe Ashley was in a class of two. Stephanie was proving to be very single-minded, also. Damn her scheming heart.

Heedful of the petite, gray-haired woman in a serviceable, light gray dress busily cooking pancakes at the professional range top, he said darkly, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harrison patted the small woman on the back as he went by. “Good morning, Marie.”

She turned and gave him a genuine-looking smile that lit up her olive-skinned face and dark, almond-shaped eyes. “Good morning, Mr. Rivers.”

“Marie, this is a good friend of mine—” Harrison indicated to Mac “—Mac, ah, Wild. He’s going to be staying here for a month or so. Don’t let him charm you into making him some haggis, or any of the other bizarre stuff he has a penchant for.”

Mac gave Harrison his best glare. “I do not have a penchant for haggis.”

“You’re always mentioning it—”

“It’s a family saying.”

Having never met a cook—either short-order or gourmet—he didn’t like, Mac smiled at Marie, hoping his pearly whites could wipe away from her mind the image of having to prepare sheep intestines. “I’m of Scottish descent. Though my family can’t seem to get it through their heads that living in America since the colonial days pretty much makes us Americans.”

His charm working, the older woman beamed at him. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Wild, and I’ll gladly cook you anything you wish. Just let me know far enough in advance so I can purchase ingredients if I need to.”

His stomach rumbled in anticipation, but Mac assured her, “You won’t have to do anything special for me, Marie. I can tell by the way this kitchen smells that I’ll be more than happy with what you normally prepare.”

Harrison peered over Marie’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re making Nathan pancakes again. You made them for him for dinner last night. The kid is going to turn into one.”

She laughed. “That baby couldn’t be anything but an angel, and today our angel is getting mouse-shaped pancakes in honor of your trip.”

Mac’s mouth started to water. “Ooh, if I go shower, can I have one?”

“Just wash your hands. You can have as many as you’d like.”

Mac grinned at her and made for the sink. “You’re my new best friend, Marie.”

She giggled and dismissed him with a wave, but she dumped a ton of batter on the griddle.

Harrison said, “Just eggs are fine for me, Marie.”

Mac washed and then sat down across from Harrison at the breakfast table, careful not to dislodge any dirt in Marie’s clean kitchen. Being in good with the cook could make a man’s life very pleasant. Double-checking to make sure she was too far away to hear, he said, “I can do Environmental Specialist.”

“It seemed right up your alley.”

“Come to think of it, it is. Too bad I have a billion in acquisitions and mergers to oversee or I might actually try it out.”

Harrison’s eyebrows went up. “So you finally broke the big ‘b’ barrier?”

“Yep. Last quarter.” Mac realized he’d puffed out his chest like Harrison had done at the mention of his son. Deep inside, Mac would have rather been a proud papa, but without Kate, that wasn’t going to happen. His business would be enough. “It’s been a real bear to hold on to, though. I’d gotten heavily involved in high-tech.”

“As well you should, seeing as all those neat gadgets let you do your job while on the back of your mountain bike, or hanging off a cliff…”

Or dodging paternity scandals. Harrison didn’t say the words, but Mac knew he was thinking them. His friend had stepped up and taken responsibility when he’d found out he’d fathered a child. But at least he’d actually had sex with the woman.

The bitterness simmering in Mac since his family had sided with Stephanie started to boil. “It’s past time for my family to accept that I have no intention of ever settling down, Harrison.”

His friend gave him a level look. “Kate’s been gone for a long time, Mac. She’d want you to—”

“I know exactly what she wanted me to do, and I swore I’d do it,” he snapped, the wound as raw as ever. But not wanting his friendship with Harrison to suffer, he reeled himself back in and after a moment, blew out a rueful breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this has all turned into such a mess. I never even slept with Stephanie. I took her out a few times, to make my folks happy, but it was clear from the get-go she was looking to set herself up for life in the manner in which she’s become accustomed.”

“Do you think she’s pregnant?”

Mac snorted. “No. She wouldn’t risk her figure just yet.”

“Then how does she think she’s going to get away with claiming she is?”

“She believes my family will be eager to force me to marry her quick to put an end to the scandal.”

“She doesn’t know the MacDougals very well, does she?”

“No, she doesn’t. Her father has had dealings with mine over the years, so she knows our bottom line, but that’s about it. Unfortunately my family is eager to get me to settle down, but not because of any scandal. They want me to start doing my part in increasing the Clan MacDougal.”

Harrison shook his head. “There’s a little more to it than that, I think.”

Before Mac could refute it, Marie came toward the table and set a huge, heavenly smelling pancake, complete with two little pancakes for ears, chocolate chips for eyes, and sliced strawberries forming a smiling mouth. Too bad he didn’t feel like smiling back. He did give Marie the smile and the thanks she deserved, though, as did Harrison when she served him a heaping plate of fluffy scrambled eggs.

They both dug into their breakfasts and ate in silence for a while.

Mac offered, “I apologize for dragging you into this on such short notice.”

Harrison answered around a mouthful of eggs. “No sweat.” He swallowed, then added, “I’m sorry I won’t be around right off.”

After Mac polished off his pancakes, he said, “Spending time with your son is important.”

“It is. And I love it.” Harrison pointed his fork at Mac. “I highly recommend it, Mac.”

The dark pain started creeping back out of its hole. He’d planned to head down that road once with a girl he had met in college who had shown him how to really live life. But he’d screwed up in the worst way possible. Knowing he would never be going down that road now, Mac steered Harrison elsewhere. “Finding out you have a son must have been a real shocker.”

“That, my friend, is an understatement. But I wouldn’t change anything for the world.”

“That’s great. And I really appreciate you letting me stay here. I wouldn’t have imposed, but I had to get away someplace where no one would find me. And I have to admit, the whole paternity thing put me in mind of you.”

“No problem.”

“I just hope my family, or the press, for that matter, doesn’t find me before it’s obvious that Stephanie isn’t pregnant.”

“Your family believes her?”

“I doubt it. But they see this as an opportunity. And that’s one thing a MacDougal can never pass up.”

Harrison made a noise in the back of his throat. “That’s the truth, if you’re any indication. Talk about the perfect predisposition for a corporate raider.”

Mac shrugged. “I suppose it’s the same spirit that moved my ancestors to relieve the British of all that burdensome loot on the way to resettling the clan in America.”

“It was probably rightly theirs, anyhow.”

“My, but you have turned into the romantic, haven’t you?”

Harrison’s eyes focused on something behind Mac, and he said on a sigh, “You have no idea.”

A husky, feminine voice said, “Ashley told me we have a guest.”

Mac turned and met the smiling, rich brown gaze of a very pretty woman with long, light brown hair. A towheaded little boy propped on her slim hip gave him a curious stare. Mac knew immediately who they were. Between her looks and the kid being the spitting image of his father, it was no wonder Harrison was so proud.

The ache didn’t bother to creep this time. It jumped straight on his neck and tried to choke him.

Mac rose to greet them as Harrison made the introductions around the last of his scrambled eggs. “Juliet, this is Mac. Mac, this is my better half, Juliet Rivers.”

She smiled, transforming herself from pretty to flatout beautiful. “Now, I don’t know what they teach at Harvard, but I’ve learned at community college that one plus one equals two, Harrison.”

Mac liked her instantly. “And this little guy doesn’t need an introduction. Hi, Nathan.”

Rather than getting all shy as Mac expected him to, Nathan smiled a toothy smile and pointed at Mac’s shirt. “Dirt.”

Juliet laughed. “Oh, you two will get along just fine. I’m so sorry that Harrison booked our trip the same time as your visit. Usually Ashley keeps him from slipping up like this.”

Mac came to his friend’s defense. “It’s not Harrison’s fault.” Unsure of what Juliet knew of his situation, Mac said tentatively, “Besides, since I’m here to help with the mill…” He drifted off when Juliet raised a curious brow.

Mac looked to Harrison, who shook his head. “Sorry, bud. She knows.” To Juliet he said in a low voice, “We’re saying Mac is an Environmental Specialist come to help me out at Dover Creek.”

“Why all the Mission Impossible rigmarole?” she asked.

Mac cleared his throat. “I’d rather as few people as possible know the truth.”

Her shrug said whatever. “As few being…?”

“Just you and Harrison.”

She glanced at her husband. “Dorothy?”

Harrison looked to Mac, but he shook his head, still certain the fewer who knew, the better. Besides, it’d be that much less grief he’d have to suffer from those who might think his family was right.

Harrison sighed. “As far as I can remember, Grandmother has never met Mac, and she has no reason to know who he is or why he’d be here.”

Juliet’s eyebrows went higher. “And Ashley?”

Mac vigorously shook his head.

Harrison concurred. “Definitely not Ashley. You know how she feels about duty to family.”

Juliet smirked. “You’ve got a point, there.” She set Nathan in a booster chair fastened to one of the seats.

The two-year-old immediately started banging on the table with his fat little hands and chanting, “Dirt, dirt, dirt.”

Mac looked away.

Juliet said, “Okay, whatever you boys want to say is fine. I’ll just keep my yap shut.”

Mac blew out a relieved breath, wishing again that he’d thought things through a hell of a lot more. “Thanks, Juliet. I appreciate your help.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Ashley offered as she came through the kitchen, a ringing cell phone in her hand.

With stricken expressions, all three of them hurried to assure her there wasn’t.

Ashley held the phone toward Mac. “Your bike was ringing.”

“Uh, thanks.” He glanced at the caller ID and fought a groan. This was his business phone and only his executive assistant, Bishop, was supposed to have the number. Damn it, had they gotten to him, also?

Knowing that simply turning the phone off as he was inclined to do would raise Ashley’s suspicions, he excused himself.

By all that was tartan, he prayed that Ashley’s rigid sense of propriety, the same sense that would keep her from being more than a distraction to him while he was there, had kept her from checking the display, also.

M. MACDOUG. Ashley tapped a French manicured nail against her teeth and tried to pinpoint the stirrings of recognition the name on Mr. Wild’s cell phone caller ID generated. She hadn’t purposefully looked at the display, but always checking her own before answering had created a habit.

Mac distracted her from her mental run through her Rolodex by heading toward the nearest door—the one leading to the wine cellar—his phone still ringing in his hand. She watched until he disappeared through the door, closing it tight behind him. She looked at Harrison and Juliet to gauge their reactions to Mac’s odd behavior.

Harrison shrugged and took a swig of his coffee.

Juliet grinned and quipped, “That cellar’s good for all sorts of things.”

Harrison choked on his coffee. He quickly set his cup down and grabbed his wife to pull her in his lap and whisper something in her ear. Blaming the tugging sensation deep in her chest on her happiness for her brother’s state of wedded bliss, Ashley rolled her eyes at their antics and went to the refrigerator to grab a muffin. Thanks to their unexpected guest, her schedule no longer held time for her usual breakfast of granola, yogurt and half a grapefruit.

Marie rounded the island toward her. “Can I get you your breakfast, now?”

Ashley waved her off. “That’s all right, Marie, I’ll get it.”

The refrigerator door blocked her view, so she only heard Mac emerge from the cellar.

He grumbled something to the effect of, “Family, what a pain in the—” then broke off when he caught sight of her stepping back from the fridge to close the door.

Her curiosity running rampant, she offered, “Is there something I can be of assistance with, Mr. Wild?”

“Mac,” he corrected absently as he shook his head in answer to her question. “No. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

She was seized by the strangest need to show off with something she was very good at and to ease the troubled look in his golden-brown eyes. “Harrison and Juliet will vouch for my ability and willingness to handle most any situation,” she pressed.

Harrison made a noise that sounded shockingly like a snort. “Better known as meddling.”

Juliet came to Ashley’s defense with a crude, yet effective, elbow to the ribs.

Ashley satisfied herself with the simple reminder by saying, “I don’t meddle, Harrison, I manage.” A skill that had finally earned her the only things she had ever wanted—an indispensable presence in the family business and her father’s love, given in the only way he seemed capable, through his approval. And taking over after her mother’s death had helped them all.

To Mac she explained, “For example, right now I’m putting together Nathan’s christening ceremony and celebration. But I’m certain I could find time to help you if something has come up within the Wild family.”

Harrison started to cough and choke, again. Hopefully he wasn’t coming down with something before his trip.

Mac glanced from his friend to her, the corner of his mouth quirked, but he reiterated, “Really, everything is fine in the—” he coughed, too “—Wild family.”

Harrison regained his breath and said to Mac, “Speaking of Nathan’s christening, you should come. Since the, ah, circumstances around his birth were what they were and my name wasn’t originally on the birth certificate—” he glanced at Juliet and she gave him her patent shrug “—we’re having his name legally changed to Rivers and making a big deal of the christening ceremony. It would mean a lot to me to have you there.”

Mac visibly blanched. “I…” He ran a hand through his long and incredibly thick hair, drawing Ashley’s gaze to the unruly mass and the bunching muscles in his mud-splattered arm.

She jerked open the refrigerator’s door and stepped toward the sanity-returning blast of cold air.

After a moment of heavy silence, Mac finally said, “I’m sorry, you guys, but I can’t.” He gave a sheepish sort of grin. “I don’t have any decent clothes. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want some bozo in Lycra or zip-off pants at my kid’s shindig.” He looked down at himself. “Just like I’m sure Marie doesn’t want Pigpen in her kitchen. I’d better go get cleaned up.”

Juliet hopped off her husband’s lap and offered, “I’ll find Donavon and we’ll get you settled.”

Mac let loose a heavy breath. “Thanks, Juliet. Harrison, if I happen to hit a bed and the bed hits back hard enough that I don’t wake up until you’re already gone, have a great trip. I’ll catch you when you get home.”

He glanced at Ashley, an unreadable expression on his face. For the first time she noticed the bruised-looking circles smudging the tanned skin beneath his eyes and the heaviness with which he moved as he followed Juliet out of the kitchen, as if all those muscles were suddenly hard to lug around.

Then he smirked at her. “Don’t catch a chill, sunshine.” The rough edges of his deep baritone raised the goose bumps on her skin in a way that the open refrigerator had failed to do. She started guiltily and slammed the fridge shut.

She looked at Harrison to see if he had noticed her foolish behavior, but he was watching Mac leave the room.

Harrison shifted his gaze to hers. “He was a very good friend to me in school, despite what he went through.”

She raised her brows. “What did he go through?”

“He lost someone very important to him.”

A pang of sympathy coursed through her heart. Surprisingly it seemed she and Mr. Wild had something in common, after all.

Before she could ask who he’d lost, Harrison added, “I’d really like to have him at my son’s christening, Ash.”

In other words, make it happen.

She would. It was what she did best.

Even though she’d prefer to keep the apparently wounded Mac Wild as far from her family, and thus her consciousness, as possible, she gave her big brother a reassuring smile.

Thanks to her wandering gaze, at least she wouldn’t be making a total guess when she gave the tailor Mac’s inseam measurement.

Chapter Three

Mac rounded yet another corner in the U-shaped mansion and decided that sometimes no sleep was better than just a little. While about half the size of MacDougal House, with a pretty simple layout, the long hallways of the Rivers’s home had him sufficiently lost on his way to the pool.

He shoved his long bangs away from his face, only to have them spring forward into his eyes again. He shouldn’t have gone to bed for what turned out to be a five-hour nap with his hair wet, but he’d been so dog-tired that he’d barely dried off from his shower before he’d hit the sack. He usually kept his hair shorter so he never had to think about it, let alone mess with it. But barbers had been in short supply on his last scuba diving trip, and when he returned, those in Stephanie’s camp had started hounding him about marrying her to the point that he hadn’t wanted to take the time to have his hair cut. He’d avoided sitting still in one place long enough to give any of them an opportunity to harangue him about settling down.

Mac rolled his bare shoulders beneath the towel he’d slung around his neck, fighting the tension he’d thought he’d outrun on the cross-country flight last night. Needing more than ever to dunk his head and burn off some steam swimming laps, he lengthened his stride until his black, slip-on soccer slides slapped against his bare heels, certain he’d find the back staircase at the end of the hall that one of the maids had told him about. Supposedly it would dump him right by the door to the heated outdoor pool.

An odd tapping sound snagged his attention and he glanced into the open doorway on his right as he walked past. He jammed it into Reverse, nearly stepping out of his loosely velcroed single strap slides, until he was standing in the doorway of a room awash in muted pinks and smelling of rose potpourri. Ashley Rivers, hair still perfectly repressed and cream suit still buttoned up tight, sat at a delicate and feminine Queen Ann desk in what should have been the sitting room area of her bedroom suite.

He could see the four-poster bed, buried beneath mounds of white lace and pillows, through an open door to her right. His blood automatically started pumping in preparation. Man, this woman main-lined his libido.

She was typing away on a keyboard as she stared intently at a computer’s flat-screen monitor. Sitting next to the monitor was the biggest Rolodex he’d ever seen in his life. The room even sported a file cabinet. The fact that she’d turned part of her private quarters into an office didn’t surprise Mac. From the short time he’d known Ashley, he figured her the all business, no fun type.

Knowing full well Ashley Rivers was trouble and that he should just keep on going, he instead grabbed the ends of the towel around his neck and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb all casual-like. A perverse, hitherto unexplored aspect of his personality wanted to get back at all the Stephanies in the world, even in such a small way as, say, being an annoyance.

In his best come-here-often voice he said, “Well, hello, sunshine.”

She started and glanced up. Her brow-marring expression of concentration changed into a pretty flush. He felt a jolt of satisfaction when her gaze traveled over him from head to foot and her eyes widened at the sight of him clad only in loose black swim trunks and black, foot massaging soccer slides. He indulged himself by pulling down on the towel to flex his biceps and pecs. Her flush turned into a raging blush.

Goooaaal!

Then it occurred to him that maybe she just found his epic case of bed-head offensive. Naa, it was the pecs. Clearly Miss Ashley needed to get out more.

He gestured toward the computer with an end of the towel. “What’cha doing?”

She looked back at the computer screen and blinked rapidly a few times. “I’m working,” she said as if reminding herself.

“You work in your bedroom?”

“This isn’t my bedroom. This is my office. My bedroom is through there.” She tilted her head toward the door on her right, making her tiny, gold hoop earrings sway.

Practically salivating with the opportunities she seemed in the habit of handing him, he grinned and rumbled, “Oh, really.”

The way she fought to deny the suggestiveness of his tone by primly folding her hands in her lap made him decide that goading her would also be an excellent way to keep his mind off his situation and make his time here at least a little entertaining.

She cleared her throat and returned her fingers to the keyboard with a determination that made him smile genuinely.

Without looking at him she said, “Yes. And I’m quite busy, so if you’ll—”

“What exactly do you do?”

She spared him a glance that said she didn’t think much of his intelligence. But when that glance became a perusal of his bare chest he made sure she noticed by spreading the towel a little wider than necessary, she kind of glazed over. “I…I—”

“You…what?”

She snapped her gaze back to her desk and made a grab for her day planner. She unfastened the flap with a yank and opened it, then flipped through the pages way too fast to be able to see what was on them. “Right now I’m planning the menu for the dinner following Nathan’s christening ceremony.”

“Ah. And when there aren’t babies to be christened…?”

“I coordinate everyone’s schedules, plan social functions and put together fund-raisers for the various charities we support.”

“So basically you’re the Rivers family social secretary.”

She straightened in her seat, visibly bristling. “I keep my family from floundering beneath their many and varied obligations, Mr. Wild. Just as my mother did.”

“Mac,” he insisted, his attention sliding to her Rolodex. “You must have the name and number of the entire free world in that thing.” Including a MacDougal and Thorton-Stuart or two, he thought sourly.

She looked at the monstrous cylindrical file of alphabetized name cards and one side of her pretty mouth curled upward. “I do my best.”

He glanced at his dive watch and decided to get her mind on something besides social connections. “Yeah, well, it’s quitting time in the rest of the working world, so why don’t you go pull on your swimsuit and come have a splash with me.” He forced himself not to consider what that body of hers would look like in even the most modest of swimsuits.

“I have too much to do, Mr.—Mac. Which is one of the reasons my office is located where it is. For expediency’s sake.”

Mac was struck by how sad it was that she’d put expediency over a place to have private time in comfort. “Well, for fun’s sake, I say you go get your suit on.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Okay. At least say you’ll go out to dinner with me later. Maybe we can even catch a movie. I’m pretty sure I saw a multiplex theater on my way through town.” He surprised both of them by pressing, but her state of perpetual work was a sorry thing.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide as if he’d asked her to stuff his sporran for him while he had it on. Then she pulled her elegantly winged, blond eyebrows together the slightest bit. “Like a…date?”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Mostly we’d just be having a little fun. I promise we’ll keep it casual.” Casual and physical. Like the way he’d kept all his relationships since Kate.

Because a MacDougal only loved once.

It was ancient family lore, but the generations of long, successful marriages had firmly established it as fact in Mac’s mind. The ache he still felt for the woman he’d committed his heart to provided further proof of the truth of the saying.

She shook her head with center-court-ref firmness. “I’m sorry, Mac, but to me, there is no such thing as a casual relationship. People deserve more from those in their lives. I believe that if you can’t commit—” her voice hitched slightly and she shifted her gaze to her day planner “—the most of yourself, then you shouldn’t enter into a relationship in the first place.”

She ran a manicured fingernail down a page in the planner. “And right now, I don’t have the time—” she looked up, this time meeting his gaze, her blue-green eyes glowing with conviction “—nor the inclination to enter into any new relationships.” She rose smoothly from her embroidered upholstered chair and walked toward him, her suit looking unaccountably fresh, the gentle sway of her hips shouting confidence and emotional strength.

He figured he knew the answer, but to be safe he asked, “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“No. I’m not seeing anyone. Nor do I intend to start. If you’ll excuse me…” She grabbed the edge of her door, her finely shaped chin held high. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Then she closed the door, forcing him to take a step back to keep from getting hit in the nose.

Mac stood staring at the gleaming dark wood, not used to being told no by anyone, especially a woman. Miss Ashley was going to be a tough nut to crack, but he was now more determined than ever to rise to the challenge. His pride demanded it.

He spun on his soccer slide’s heel and continued on his way down the hall, telling himself it wasn’t real disappointment he felt because Ashley Rivers wouldn’t come out and play with him, only annoyance that she’d cut short his bid to be an annoyance. She clearly needed to get a life. And he was just the guy to show her what she was missing.

ASHLEY SLUMPED AGAINST the door, finally able to say what she’d wanted to say from the second she’d looked up and seen Mac standing in her doorway wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a smile. “Oh. My.”

He was just too, too perfect. She pushed away from the door, peeling off her summer-weight suit jacket in an attempt to lower her temperature. No. Mac wasn’t perfect, with his too long hair and too casual attitude about propriety. That wasn’t what had her feeling like she’d stepped into a Swedish sauna every time he came anywhere near her.

If he wasn’t perfect, what was it about him?

The image of Mac leaning against her door frame, à la James Dean sans clothes clear in her mind, she haphazardly tossed her jacket at a white file cabinet where an overstuffed chair and ottoman had once sat. Then the answer came to her. She was simply having a base reaction to his overabundance of masculinity.

Yes, that was it, she thought as she shimmied out of her skirt, still too warm. Down to her slip, she kicked off her sling-back pumps and paced in front of her desk. While she had never been bothered before by a physical attraction—no, make that a simple reaction—to a handsome and, er, well-developed man, for some reason Harrison’s friend had such an effect on her.

She couldn’t exactly blame it on being too long in seclusion since breaking up with Roger. She had, after all, just contributed a healthy sum to one of her favorite children’s charities by “purchasing” a bachelor the weekend before last. The attractive and engaging gentleman had treated her to a delightful evening in Portland that had included dinner at one of the city’s finest restaurants and box seats at the opera.

Though she would have rather caught the professional basketball game that had been playing that night, she still had a pleasant enough time. At no point during the entire evening, however, had she perspired in the slightest. She had actually been quite chilled and had required her wrap.

Unfortunately Travis Norton IV hadn’t affected her the way Mac did. Neither had Roger despite his intense pursuit of her and her lonely heart’s response to it. No man ever had.

She put a hand to her forehead. Perhaps she was coming down with something. Was there such a thing as studitis? She rolled her eyes at her own silliness. She simply needed to strengthen her resistance to men like Mac so she wouldn’t be so affected by his magnetism during his stay at the estate.

She wasn’t worried about his charm. Her heart was locked up too tight to be in any peril.

She hurried to her desk and opened her day planner. In the 6:00 p.m. space she wrote:

Rent Indiana Jones series and Brendan Fraser’s George of the Jungle.

She closed her day planner with a decisive snap. If a hearty dose of handsome, unrestrained movie men didn’t do the trick, then she would go back to her original plan of keeping as far away from Mac Wild as politely possible.

THE NEXT NIGHT, ASHLEY headed toward the dining room, pleased with how well her plans regarding a certain houseguest were going. She’d managed to avoid him the remainder of the night before and hadn’t encountered him once today. She’d found that taking note of an odd prickling at the base of her neck allowed her to leave a room bare moments before Mac entered it. That and keeping an ear out for the odd way he tended to whistle softly through his teeth as he made his way through the halls kept her one step ahead of him and let her know which knocks on the door to her rooms to ignore.

Having spent the majority of the night before overloading on cinematic stud-muffins, she felt she was suitably immune to Mac’s animal magnetism and could dine with him tonight. Thankfully her grandmother would be there as a buffer.

Stopping right before she reached the open double doors to the dining room, she smoothed the front of her pink satin, sleeveless shell and checked the fall of the matching chiffon palazzo pants. She stopped herself and let out a disgusted sigh. She did not care what Mac Wild thought of the way she looked, so there was no point in fussing. She didn’t even know for sure if he’d be eating with them. She’d had a plate sent up to his room the night before, and he might prefer to dine that way again.

Determined to put an end to her foolishness once and for all, Ashley stepped into the doorway of the dining room muttering The Three P’s. She forced herself not to pause for more than the barest of seconds at the sight of Mac. He stood facing her on the other side of the long table that ran parallel to the doors, his big, tanned hands resting casually on the back of one of the Chippendale side chairs. His hair looked as if he’d finger combed it back from his face, which added to the casual, and disturbingly appealing, style set by his white cotton shirt, the long sleeves of which he’d shoved up on his muscular forearms.

Reminding herself that she’d effectively squashed any and all physical effect he had on her, she stopped on the opposite side of the table and smiled genuinely. “Good evening, Mac.”

His brows went up. Then his gaze traveled over her. “Whoa, look at you. Going out to some charity function?”

“No. I—” Dressed up to impress you. She struggled not to frown at the impertinent voice in her head. She had not dressed to impress him. “I prefer to adhere to tradition and dress for dinner.” She inwardly cringed. Her reasoning sounded lame even to her own ears, but she refused to admit that she had tried to look her best for this, this guy.

“Boy, did I miss that memo. Though I can’t say that I’m surprised.” He glanced down at himself. “I hope zip-off pants won’t get me tossed out on my ear. Like I told Harrison, I kind of packed light for this trip.”

She thought of the surprise she had for him and a spurt of satisfaction pushed aside the fear that she had craved his admiration. “I believe I can help you with that. But first, please, do sit down.”

“Ladies first.” He pulled out the chair in front of him. “The little name thingys really help a guy out when there are so many chairs.”

He had indeed pulled out the chair at the place setting bearing her name placard. His sarcasm was unmistakable. What had possessed her to have Donavon lay out a formal table?

Raising her chin as if everything was as it should be, Ashley rounded the table and took her seat. She was careful not to look at Mac, keeping her focus on the fine bone china set atop a brass charger in front of her. But she could do nothing about the goose pimples that erupted on every inch of her when he bent low, his breath minty smelling and warm on her neck, to push her chair forward.

He had to be doing it on purpose. He just had to be. There was no way a man like him didn’t know exactly how he affected women.

The thought gave her the bravado she needed to look over her shoulder and give him a raised brow.

Obviously getting her step back, please message loud and clear, he straightened away, though his smile was smug.

He made a grand show of perusing the remaining placards, which was silly since there were only two others. His had been set directly across from her, with her grandmother at her side.

He went around to his place, but eyed the one next to her. “Hmm. Well, I guess this is okay. Though I have to admit, the thought of rubbing elbows—among other things—with you does appeal. I’m a lefty, you know.”

Ashley swallowed as delicately as possible, unable to pull her gaze from his. “No, I didn’t, actually. But now that I do, I’ll be sure to seat you at the end next time.” She pointed to the distant end of the table, her smile masterfully sweet.

He raised a brow of his own, and she knew he realized she meant far away from me. Any retort he might have made was withheld when Donavon, in his standard white dress shirt and black slacks, came in through the butler’s pantry from the kitchen carrying appetizer plates of arugula and shrimp. Thank goodness he hadn’t dressed more formally. Then their guest would have reason to think she had a need to impress him.

She much preferred being in control of the situation with Mac, and smiled broadly at Donavon when he set their plates in front of them. “Donavon, since Grandmother appears to be running late—” darn her anyway “—would you please bring me the package that arrived this afternoon?”

“Of course,” Donavon replied.

She watched the tall, slender man who’d been their houseman for as long as she could remember, yet never seemed to change, leave the room before she looked back at Mac. The expression on his face oozed suspicion. What did he have to be suspicious of?

Before she had a chance to consider the question, Donavon returned with the large, rectangle box. She’d already inspected its contents when it arrived via overnight delivery service and made sure nothing was missing or could garner complaint from its recipient.

She stood, bringing Mac out of his seat, and accepted the box from Donavon so he could get back to helping Marie in the kitchen. She rounded the table to Mac’s side and set the box on his chair, her heart pounding with excitement over giving him a gift. No, she was excited about fulfilling her brother’s wishes, that was all.

She avoided Mac’s gaze nonetheless. “Now, before he left, my brother expressed his desire to have you attend what will be a very special event for our family, Nathan’s christening. With the goal of fulfilling my brother’s wishes in mind, I ordered you a suit from the tailor we use exclusively.” She lifted the darkbrown, summer-weight wool suit jacket from the box and held it up to him. “Granted, it’s off the rack, but it’s from an excellent designer and I think the tailor was able to alter it to fit you based on my estimates of your measurements.”

Mac looked from the jacket to her. “My measurements? As in my inseam?” He took a step forward until her knuckles were touching his hard chest as she held the jacket up for him, his topaz eyes lit with sensual mischief. “Tell me, Miss Ashley, exactly when did you take an estimate of my inseam?”

Ashley’s face caught fire with the knowledge that she had indeed looked enough at his body to feel quite comfortable guessing at his measurements. She became extremely aware of the heat seeping up her arms from where her knuckles touched his chest.

She stammered, “I…you…you’re similar in height and build to my brother, and having ordered clothing made for him on more than one occasion…I…well, it’s just something I’m good at.”

“Ah. But next time, promise me you’ll take the measurements the old-fashioned way. One inch at a time.”

The image of running a measuring tape up the inside of Mac’s naked leg flashed vividly in Ashley’s brain. She draped the jacket across his broad chest and took a desperate step back. So much for taking control of the situation.

Mac grabbed the jacket to keep it from falling to the ground, his initial annoyance at her pulling an end run to get him to go to the christening giving way to amusement. She was fun to fluster. And she was smart. She’d outmaneuvered him big time. Granted, he was sure he’d be able to come up with another reason to skip out on the ceremony. Avoiding occasions that made him yearn for what might have been was something he’d become good at. But he still admired her cleverness.

He was beginning to like the uptight Miss Ashley.

Pushing aside the unwelcome thought, he put one arm in the jacket. “Help me on with this, will you?”

He turned his back to her and bent his knees so she could reach to guide his other arm into the jacket and pull it up onto his shoulders. He adjusted it until it settled perfectly on his frame. It fit. Not that he was surprised.

He shook his head and turned back to face her, watching her intently as she fussed with the lay of his lapels. Damn, but she was pretty. Pretty, sexy, clever. And for the strangest reason, it struck him that she was nothing like the ruthlessly ambitious Stephanie after all.

Whoa. Time to back off, Wild Man.

She glanced up and met his gaze for a second and awareness crackled between them before she dropped her attention back to his lapels. She could sure rev his engine. All he had to do was pop the clutch.

While he had every intention of keeping his foot down firm on the clutch pedal, the stupid devil inside that made him hang from cliffs without a lifeline made him lean toward her sweet-smelling hair. “I can’t help but wonder what else you’re good at, sunshine.”

Her lush, pink lips moved, but nothing came out. He had just decided to momentarily suspend his decision to back off and put her out of her misery with a big, fat kiss when a feminine voice sounded from the doorway.

“Children, so sorry to make you wait.”

Mac jerked his head up and Ashley took a hasty step back as an older woman who had to be Dorothy Rivers swept into the dining room wearing deck shoes, white Capri pants, and a nautical-looking sweatshirt. Harrison had talked a lot about his diminutive grandmother and all the activities she still engaged in, but Mac wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind the Grand Dame of the Rivers clan turned out to be. And the sharpness in her dark-green eyes as she settled her gaze on him had him furthering the distance between him and her granddaughter.

Ashley recovered first. “That’s all right, Grandmother. As you can see, we weren’t ready to eat quite yet.”

Dorothy’s gaze went from Ashley to Mac knowingly. “Oh, yes, I see.”

Ashley gestured to Mac. “Grandmother, this is Mac Wild. He’s a friend of Harrison’s. They met at Harvard. Mac, I’d like you to meet my grandmother, Dorothy Rivers.”

Ever the hostess.

Dorothy extended a frail hand that revealed her age far more than her face did. “I know who this young man is.” Her wink was playful, but when Mac took her hand in his, the hard squeeze she gave him made him blink and look more closely at her.

Holy haggis. She knew who he really was.

She nodded, verifying the horror undoubtedly reflected in his eyes. “I met his parents once while visiting Harrison at school. Delightful family you have, young man, but they were so concerned by your risky behavior.”

“Oh?” Ashley asked with far too much interest for Mac’s liking.

He started racking his brain for a place he could go and hide out instead of the Rivers estate.

Dorothy smiled and said, “That is such a handsome suit coat on you.”

Surprised that she hadn’t elaborated on his family for Ashley’s benefit or called him Wilder, Mac answered stupidly, “Ashley bought it for me.”

Dorothy clapped her hands together. “How fortuitous. I happen to have the perfect place for you to wear it.”

Dread crept up his neck. “Oh?” he flatly echoed Ashley’s earlier question.

Her green eyes twinkling in the dining room chandelier’s light, Dorothy said, “I need Ashley to fill in for me at a dinner next Friday night—that is all right with you, isn’t it, darling?”

“But you’re receiving an award, Grandmother. Are you certain you can’t make it?”

Dorothy waved her off. “Oh pish. You deserve that award more than I do, and something more important has come up.”

Ashley hedged, “Well, if you’re certa—”

“You are such a dear.” Dorothy patted her granddaughter on the arm. “And Mac, you can be her escort.”

Not a good idea. Spending an evening with Ashley would not equal backing off. Mac shook his head. “I can’t—”

“You know,” Dorothy cut him off. “It has been too long since I spoke to your parents. How are they?”

On to her game, Mac dropped his chin and obliged. “They’re fine. I’ll tell them you said hello. And actually, I’d be delighted to escort Ashley Friday night.” Realizing he might still have an out, he added, “Assuming, of course, that it’s all right with Ashley…”

Instead of screaming foul as he’d hoped, Ashley raised her chin a notch and met his gaze, her eyes glinting with determination. “I think that would be fine, Grandmother, because I know it is customary for the recipient to have a…an escort.”

Mac nearly laughed at her refusal to say date.

“Oh, thank you, darling. Now you two sit down to your dinner. I won’t be joining you after all. Thelma Jacobson has returned from her trip to the beach and is having an impromptu clam feed, so I’m off to stuff myself on steamers. It was a pleasure to finally get to meet you, Mac,” she ended lightly, though ominously to his ears, before she hurried back out of the dining room.

Mac rolled his shoulders beneath his new suit jacket. Great. Not only did he have to contend with Ashley, but now he was being blackmailed by a granny.

He looked to Ashley. She wore a pleasant enough expression, but he could tell she was itching to dare him to complain about ol’ Dorth. He decided to make her pay, instead. The MacDougal way.

Because it seemed he’d jumped from one meddling clan to another, and damn if he wasn’t attracted as hell to their fair young ringleader.

Chapter Four

“Boy, this veranda sure has a gorgeous view.”

Mac’s deep voice breaking the morning silence behind Ashley startled her so much she jerked. A good portion of the hazelnut-flavored coffee she’d been seeking consciousness in slopped onto her cup’s saucer.

She turned in her chair, away from the view of the sprawling back lawn, to find Mac, dressed in a white, short-sleeve T-shirt tucked into black knit sweatpants above high-tech, all terrain hiking shoes, and standing just outside one of the many French doors opening on to the veranda.

He was looking directly at her, not the view.

Her system received the sort of jolt caffeine could never give her.

She pretended to misunderstand his statement. “The gardeners have done a stunning job with the grounds, haven’t they?”

He moved toward her, plowing a hand through hair that appeared damp in the morning sun, with the comb lines still visible on the side he wasn’t disrupting, like he’d just showered. His smile was lopsided and devastating. “Wouldn’t know.” He shrugged. “Haven’t noticed.”

She hid the heat his appreciation generated in her cheeks, along with the annoyance at herself and at him for affecting her so, by turning back toward the view of the lawn and taking a sip of coffee. She did make a quick check that her navy-blue skirt hadn’t ridden too far up her thighs and that the pointed collar of the matching blouse hadn’t opened too wide, though. No reason to let him think she was a willing participant in his pointless game. She did not need the flirtatious attention of some gorgeous wild man to know she had value.

When she felt certain her voice would remain steady, she offered with an encompassing wave of her hand, “Feel free to take a hike—or a stroll, if you’d prefer—around the grounds, then. They really shouldn’t be missed.”

He strolled right up to her instead. Releasing a noisy breath and looking out across the lawn, he leaned his sweats-clad hip against the side of her chair back and crossed his arms over his broad chest. The cedar deck chair creaked in protest. In the stillness of the morning she could easily smell his clean, slightly spicy scent and feel the heat radiating from his big body. He had indeed just showered, and she had never smelled anything so good in her life. She would have groaned if she could.

Instead she pulled in a bracing breath of crisp morning air, ignoring his smell. She focused on the faint scent of mowed grass, newly bloomed roses and the silent river flowing at the opposite end of the sloping lawn from where she sat on the raised, white veranda.

But every nerve ending she possessed tingled from his nearness. She shifted away on the cushioned patio chair and tried to regain her equilibrium by concentrating on the sun glinting off the new, shiny, dark leaves of the ancient oak tree that served as the lawn’s centerpiece. Of its own volition, her gaze dropped to the base of the old tree, a favorite spot for Nathan’s endless array of outside toys. She could see an oversize, orange plastic bat and a dragon pull-toy lying around the tree’s massive trunk.

The yearning for a child of her own that had begun when her nephew entered their lives last summer pulsed in her womb. She yanked her gaze away. Longing for a man’s touch was bad enough. She had to get a grip. Nothing but biology at work, she told herself.

And her determination to put such wants behind her was stronger. She would behave like the pleasant, mature adult she was, without letting Mac’s appeal affect her.

She turned to look up at him, forcing herself to meet his gaze directly. “Did you need something?”

His mouth quirked and his topaz eyes grew hot as his gaze traveled over her, but instead of the suggestive response she’d accidentally set herself up for, he blinked lazily, looked out at the lawn and declared, “You owe me.”

“Excuse me?”

He heaved a noisy breath and glanced down at her like she was a child. “I said, you owe me.”

Uncomfortable with the notion of owing Mac anything, she lowered her brows. “What could I possibly owe you?”

“If I have to do something that you like, then you have to do something that I like. And while off the top of my head I can think of—” he eyed her wickedly “—a lot of things I’d like to do with you, today, I’d like to go mountain biking.”

Certain she’d suffer a cardiac arrest if he shared even one of those other things he’d thought of, she closed her eyes, shutting out the sensuous curve of his mouth and her body’s response to all the possible uses he might find for it.

She should have had Marie make the coffee double strength, because she clearly wasn’t her usual self yet. She shook her head and sent her pearl drop earrings swinging. “I’m not following you.”

“Oh, on a bike, you definitely will, and I imagine you won’t mind the view too much, either,” he quipped. Her eyes snapped open in time to see his mouth curling in a suggestive smile.

What that view would entail presented itself quite clearly in her imagination, so she adverted her eyes to erase the image and said succinctly, “I do not owe you anything, let alone a bike ride.”

“Oh, yes, you do. If I’m going to escort you to that charity thing Friday—”

Her gaze leapt back to his. “That’s not because of me. Grandmother is the one—”

“Why? Does she think you can’t get your own date? Oh wait,” he supplied before she had the chance to do more than open her mouth to protest, “I forgot, you don’t date. You don’t have time.”

The burn of indignation had her out of her seat in a flash. Unfortunately she still had to look up to meet his mocking gaze. “I don’t have time to commit to a serious relation—”

“So your grandma has to fix you up. I understand.” He patted her shoulder, his hand big and warm and obnoxiously patronizing.

It took all she was worth not to kick him. “My grandmother does not have to fix me up.”

“Oh, really? If your grandma hadn’t appointed me to the job, who would you take, then, since you said it was customary to have an escort to this shindig?”

Her gaze trapped in his tiger-eyed stare, she stammered, “Well, I—I—”

His eyes narrowed. “Tell the truth.”

She raised her chin, his challenge to her principles returning her to her senses. “I model my life around three things, Mr. Wild. The unmalleable Three P’s I was taught in prep school: Propriety, Presentation and Principle. So I always tell the truth.”

A muscle in his clean-shaven jaw flexed before he blinked slowly. “Do ya, now?” he drawled in a way that reminded her of a Scotsman. “Even if the truth is…impolite?”

She stepped away from him, using the excuse of needing to set her cup and saucer down on the small round table between two nearby chairs. “There are always ways to phrase the truth so as not to offend—”

“Who would you take?” he pressed.

She went back to her chair and picked up her day planner off the arm, using the excuse of holding it against her to cross her arms over her chest. “My father. I would have asked my father to return early from his trip to Palm Desert to escort me.” She firmly added, “Since the award is honoring Grandmother, and she can’t attend, it would be appropriate for my father and I to be there in her stead.”

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